Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Women vs. The State of High Heeled Shoes


Women buy them, love them and wear them.
Women wear heels to boost appearances, self esteem, sexual pleasure with one self and for other.....miscellaneous style reasons....Whatever.

But on too many occasions do I hear girls cry out like fucking banshees when they wear them excessively. I'll be out with a group of friends and there always has to be the one girl crying out in pain because of her expensive heels. Digging into her Achilles tendons like scythes. I completely understand that they look nice, and you wanna make a statement with the thousand fucking jewels and the spikes on the sides, and the red bottom lining that nobody can fucking see anyway, and the $300-600 you spent on them but if they hurt, then don't fucking wear them. It's as simple as that.

I got into a very nasty fight with one of my last exes because she was experiencing piercing pain with her heels. We were just leaving from a friend's birthday celebration at a Japanese Hibachi style restaurant in Midtown Manhattan. "Ready to go, babe? These shoes are sucking really bad," she said to me. "Yeah, the train station is over this way." We had to walk all the way to 59th street to catch the bus downtown, but the trip wasn't so pleasant. "These heels hurt really bad, can we stop for a second?" It was already close to 2am, and we were nowhere near our final destination. The air was calm and cool. "What's wrong?" I asked. She took off her heel to reveal a nasty, open gash on the back of her left ankle that the groove of her heels caused. It bore directly into the back of her ankle. I immediately knew to help her whichever way I could. I suggested we go to a Duane Reade to get some bandages and gauze to help the wound, but there were none on 57th Ave. She became quickly and increasingly stubborn, "Fuck it! Let's just walk! I'll be fine!" The more we walked, the more she became unable to walk. She instantly started to get angry at me, "How much fucking longer until we take the bus downtown!?!" I bit back with agitation. "There are no pharmacies around and we're almost there! Why the fuck did you wear those shoes when you knew they were gonna hurt?" She yelled back, "Fuck you! I look good in them and they're fucking cute, now help me the fuck up!" We finally reached 34th street and she didn't want to talk to me.

Was it really my fault that she wore shoes that hurt?

I tried to keep as calm as possible as the clock ticked 3:30am. She had to take one more breather from the pain as we approached the train station, "It's because of you that we had to travel so fucking far!! You fucking idiot!" She became hysterical. I couldn't take it anymore so I yelled, "It's not my fucking fault you had to wear those pieces of shit you call shoes!" She got up and limped over to me. She gritted her teeth and whispered, "I swear to fucking god, if I get some kind of infection in my fucking foot, I'm fucking leaving you to die! Take me the fuck home!" She angrily walked off limping. I could do nothing more but follow.

It wasn't the greatest night ever.

So heels hurt. Why fucking wear them? An even bigger question I had in mind in my time being single is:

Does the same idea apply when girls date assholes? As they always say:

"If the shoe fits, wear it."

But I say:

"If the shoe hurts, why bother wearing it?"

Allow me to explain. Often do I hear girls' stories about dating complete assholes, and granted, I could care less. Seriously. But it does warrant some analysis. Girls often justify dating an asshole by saying that they look good with their asshole boyfriends, and girls who choose not to admit this will think this subconsciously. I already know this, and I finally feel like I figured out this strange paradigm between Men and Shoes in the eyes of females. Be it wrong or right, this is what I firmly believe. Too many stories I hear about girls and their shitty boyfriends. So why date him? Vanity is a subliminal idea that most girls enjoy, thus they need to look for good looking guys, to make themselves look good, seemingly no matter what the cost. (Just like when they need to look for good looking shoes to make themselves look good, seemingly no matter what the cost.) Girls feel that they have to benefit visually and cosmetically for whatever situation they find themselves in. A few weeks or even months down the line she's going through psychological pain and stress due to the "Mr. Perfect" she thought she found. But she chooses to continue the relationship. Because he's "cute", "sexy" or "looks good". You have your chance to leave your piece of shit boyfriend and save yourself the pain. You have your chance to NOT wear the heels and save yourself the pain. Girls like to look good even if it means getting hurt. It's a sad fact.


I rest my case.

Sunday, January 29, 2012

The Ballad Of I Don't Give A Shit About Sexy Women Anymore

I taught myself something very important lesson in the past few months:

I taught myself not to let super sexy women in the media like in videos or magazines, or the internet, or super cute/hot/sexy chicks on the street bother me. Doesn't bug me anymore. I don't care.

I'll hang with my buddy Mike (<-- That's his blog by the way, go fucking read that shit), and we'll chill at our friend Lil' Mike's (same name) basement having fun, bro'in it out and filming and shit and one thing that they like to do is watch Korean Pop videos with some of the most beautiful, gorgeous Asian women I have ever seen.

Here's a picture:

This is Girls' Generation. They're a girl group with like 9 fucking girls, its fucking ridiculous. I don't know how they do it. My friends love to ogle and drool over the girls when they play their videos and they have favorites, even though they look similar, but the videos are actually really well done, and fucking flashy and shit and they're awesome dancers and singers and shit, but whatever, and thats great and awesome. But sexy, out-of-my-league women like them do absolutely nothing for me. Mike would be like, "Bro, isn't she fucking hot?" and I'll be like, "Meh. She's okay." Doesn't bother me.

Consider this:

It's like if I spent most of my life eating shitty dollar Entenmann's cupcakes (which already I do, so we're off to a great start) and then every day when I walk the street, I'm "teased" by fancy chocolate mousse fucking cake just walking the street that I know is valued at like $80-100, and I know ill never be able to afford. Eventually I'll just be like "Fuck you, I can't hope to ever afford you, you won't ever fuck me so that's out, and you're probably into those big, buff idiot cakes with no education you'll probably end up ruining your life for and having a shitty kid with." I just don't care anymore.

So I'll go out on like a Friday or Saturday night to drink, or write or whatever, and see sultry sexy white women with fucking tight leather dresses with the ass popping out and the tits out to here and the nasal laugh, and the blonde hair, and the mini fucking purse you only carry a fucking chap-stick in, and I just don't care anymore!  I get coaxed all the time to approach one of these women. Like I'm really gonna be like "Duhh, hey baby, wanna sleep with me and then afterwards, completely regret it? Wanna check out my Jew PhD that I don't have? Wanna see my sweet abs? Wanna come to my hotel room up in Midtown so I can beat you senseless?" and they'll totally be into me. Yeah.

Like on Tumblr and shit people like to post naked women, or half naked women in bras and panties with the fucking frills and shit, or GIFs of dicks going into pussies. All the time you'll see cute girls posing on their knees in front of a fucking mirror, wearing fucking hipster RayBans wearing only panties, and sometimes even just a shirt, which is awesome but there's porn for that shit. Just flip it on, bust a nut, and life moves on. Why go through the mental stigma of "God, I wish I had a hot, sexy white girl."? Who gives a shit? 

Not me.

Not anymore.


Friday, January 27, 2012

Little Black Book Of Failure ("Final" Leak)

Excerpt from Chapter 6

      "What exactly is the deal with you and Leena?” Jake chortled, “Oh, me and her? Well one day, I was bored at my dorm, and my homework was done so, I wanted to do some exploring at the other campus, and I found her sitting by herself in one of the mess halls. I dropped over to say hi, and we became fast friends. Long story short, we had sex within the next few hours.” I opened my eyes in disbelief, “Seriously? That’s fucking crazy, man!” He boasted, “That’s not even the best part, bro. She’s a fucking virgin. Or at least she was! Ha-ha!” I dropped my jaw. I couldn’t believe what I heard. “Holy shit! You took her virginity? Within hours of meeting? Are you sure you didn't, like, rape her or something?” I was never able to see myself taking a girl's virginity unless I was going to marry her, and even then, how do you know you're going to marry someone within hours of meeting them? The story seemed farfetched. 
        He looked at me with great shock, "What? No! Are you fucking crazy? I didn't rape anybody! Listen!" He stood up from his chair with great pride and indulgence, "I’m not sure what it was that she saw in me when she met me, but I guess she knew that she needed me to be the one to be her first. I kicked it to her with the swag that I always do, she liked what she saw and she led me to her room to show me her pictures from when she was in camp, or some shit. Of course, I didn't care. We ended up play-fighting under her covers and then--” I interjected as he stood up. “Hold on! Wait a minute! You just meet a girl, and you guys become friends, and then you have sex. Not only that, but she decided for you to be the one to deflower her! I think I know you well enough by now to say you're a total douche, with extreme and wanton disregard for women and--” I trailed off in my words as I spoke. I did the math in my head, “Okay, yeah, I guess I can see how that makes sense.” He sat back down and gave a long pause. He raised his eyes up to me and stared with slight intensity. He took his pen and pointed it towards my face. “I do have to tell you though. There was a lot of blood involved. Like…a lot.” 

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

"Hey Mike, Whatcha Playin'" by YouTube's ImSeriesous

Since I seem to be getting a continuous stream of readers on my blog, which is very nice, I'll show you guys a short I'm in featuring my good friend Mike (AKA "Punching Fish With A Little Hope" I still don't know what that means, but y'know....whatever......) <--- That's his blog, so go and read that shit.....Watch the video and our other little bits and show your love and support.

Friday, January 13, 2012

Little Black Book of Failure (Another Leak)

Excerpt from Chapter 5

“Shut up and pull your pants down. Look up, close your eyes, and don’t say a word.” I was inclined to follow her exact orders. She starts massaging my legs with her warm hands. I hear a voice coming from below, “You ready?” I whisper back, “Ready for wha--….......oh.” It was something I wasn’t prepared for and something I've never experienced before. “Oh wow, whatcha doin down there, huh?” She was giving me my very first blowjob, and I had no idea she was doing it, or what was going on. It felt amazing. I begin to shiver, “Wow, this is fucking crazy, babe. You obviously done this before, I mean no one's ever wanted to do this to me and--” She pulls it out of her mouth and looks up at me and violently whispers, “Shut the fuck up, or were gonna get caught!” She then continues. It wasn’t until about 15 minutes later that she finishes the deed. I hadn’t even come yet. She stands up and comes over to kiss me. “Did you like that?” I respond with a healthy, hearty “Fuck yeah!” She giggles quietly. I then try to return the favor by digging into her pants to try to pleasure her. I figured I owe her that much. Keep in mind that I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. She takes my hand and pulls it out of her jeans quickly, “No, no, no. I’m on my period.”

Monday, January 9, 2012

Little Black Book of Failure (A Sneak Peek)

As a thank you for the 1000+ views, I wanna leak a little bit of the romantic black comedy novel I've been working on.
It's about 38% done and is in need of very heavy revising.
So here is a rough draft of the first paragraph.
(Forgive the rhyme)

About Me (A Prologue)

My name is Jim. Birth name James. I was born in July 9th. I’m 22 years old. My
Hobbies include, writing, throwing pillows, yelling at inanimate objects, drinking heavily, chasing birds, stacking cups, watching people dance, karaoke and making up hobbies. Who really cares about my favorite music? Interests? Going out, drinking, more drinking, binging, partying whenever I’m in the mood. Looking for work. No, I don’t want to fill out a stupid survey. I’m not great at meeting women, but I can make a great boyfriend and doormat. At the very least, I used to be a doormat. I’m never really a hard person to deal with. I'm pretty open-minded, maybe too open minded. Also outspoken. I’m pretty laid back, and mild mannered, but I have my crazy, not-so-ok side of me. I’m never really noticed much. I like throwing smiles and "hi"s whenever needed, I enjoy making people happy, and doing favors. Sometimes, sexual favors? No, that would never work. This is me writing a typical “About Me” section of multiple social dating sites on the internet. Yes, I've sunk THAT low.