I just had a tentative realization. I heard a female DJ wax poetic about love on the radio today. Today is the ‘big game’ that is so patented the pronouncement of the mere name is more politically restricted than the name represented by YHWH.
As Tom Leykis likes to opine, women get lonely on holidays. Since the NFL is the Nutless Feminazi League, its biggest day is becoming a chick holiday. Maybe I was wrong to think that the bar won’t provide opportunities tonight. Usually, from what I have seen, any woman out to watch sports at a bar is out with her husband or serious boyfriend. If you live in a real city, I think the odds will be with you if you can work multiple venues. Otherwise, I think not.
What does seem certain from logic is that since the big game is now a chic holiday, women without a trophy man or mangina-ATM for the event will be blue. I expect this to become more pronounced as chick egos become more inflated with the nutless pretenses of the ‘Murican circus. Maybe next year that will be my opening narrative for the preceding week: “Any plans for the Big Game?”
For all you coward men who vent your masculine political aspirations on the faux tribalism of circus as if it matters, go fuck yourselves. I hate you. I’ll be trying to get some work done for that social leverage that makes all the difference in social interactions with liberated sheeple. No matter who wins, accolades will lionize all manor of scum above upright, red-blooded men of European descent, the men that gave you and me modernity, and I have had enough of that shit.
If you go out, accept no substitute for free pussy and never relinquish your natural freedom to develop and apply husbandry skills on sheeple. We are the NT’s.
—‘Reality’ Doug, 01 February 2015