Roosh V A Dead Bat In Paraguay Bang

It’s only been a month and a half, but Furball’s blog is struggling to find an audience. I predict the end is near.



Breaking news: A whale has beached itself off the coast of Mexico.

Oh wait, it’s just Pierce Brosnon’s wife..

:whoa:

Hat tip to the banned reader who sent this in.


To me, Nelly Furtado was that quirky hot girl who had her own unique style. Some accent reduction and plastic surgery later, she has let a record company turn her into another generic music whore who sings about fucking (“Promiscuous Girl“). Here’s your soul, for a million albums sold.


Before


After



I read the entire 9,000-word lead article in last Sunday’s New York Times Magazine: Wanted: A Few Good Sperm. I have lifted the most interesting quotes from the article so you don’t have to waste your time like I did. The quotes are not all from the same woman. Grab a drink.

She also printed the [sperm] donor’s picture and kept it on the coffee table of her Manhattan studio apartment, where she sleeps in a Murphy bed. “I kind of glance at it as I pass,” she said of the picture. “It’s almost like when you date someone, and you keep looking at them, and you’re, like, Are they cute? But every time I pass, I’m, like, Oh, he’s really cute. It’s a comforting feeling.”

Translation: I’m totally capable of fantasy relationships.

“With online dating, friends used to say: ‘What about him? What about him?’ I’d say: ‘Don’t like the nose. Ah, the eyes are a little buggy. He really likes to golf, and you know I don’t like golfing.’ There was always something.”

Translation: There is not a man alive that meets my standards.

Single Mothers by Choice, a 25-year-old support group, took in nearly double the number of new members in 2005 as it did 10 years ago […] (the median age among members is 36)

“By choice” :laugh:

I made a graph to explain the amazing growth this group is experiencing:

Coincidence? I think not.

“I certainly never thought I would be the last one standing,” she said. “You feel a little bit resentful, like, Gosh, how did I get here? Blind date after blind date ? why can’t it be easy for me like it was for other people? Right up until I ordered the sperm and made the doctor’s appointment, I was filled with anxiety. I felt sad, overwhelmed. Now I’m completely at peace with it.”

Translation: I really fucked up but I can’t admit it.

“People would say, ‘Oh, it’s just a date ? don’t expect anything,”‘ she said, sipping her ice water. “‘Just go out and have a good time.’ But then you’d get four calls that night: How was it? What did you think? Did you like him? Why wouldn’t you go out with him again? There was so much pressure. It became a job.”

Translation: I loved bragging to my friends about all the attention I received from men. But then the attention didn’t do it for me anymore and I realized I’m not even capable of a normal relationship.

“I imagine one day when I get to heaven there will be a whole room full of missing socks and men :),” Karyn once wrote to me in an e-mail message. “I hope the men will be wearing the socks.”

Translation: ??
I have no idea what this means. Is sock a euphemism for fuck stick?

“But I think if I had to choose today between becoming a mom or finding the perfect man and I could only have one today, I would choose becoming a mom.”

Translation: My failed search for the perfect man has resulted in expensive monthly syringe injections of anonymous semen in my vagina.

A 6-foot-1 blonde who speaks with disarming frankness, she came to America 10 years ago with the man she would later marry, only to find that he didn’t want children. After their divorce, she was engaged to another man who kept postponing their wedding ? she still has a set of “Save the Date” cards in her closet. Having always wanted passionately to be a mother, she decided to use a “known donor,” a close gay friend, also German, to help her conceive.

Translation: I got pumped and dumped so many times it would make your head spin. The only man who is willing to father my baby is someone who would never do it naturally.

She was also attracted by the idea of a donor of another race. “I believe in multiculturalism,” she said. “I would probably choose somebody with a darker skin color so I don’t have to slather sunblock on my kid all the time. I want it to be a healthy mix. You know how mixed dogs are always the nicest and the friendliest and the healthiest? If you get a clear race, they have all the problems. Mutts are always the friendly ones, the intelligent ones, the ones who don’t bark and have a good character. I want a mutt.”

Translation: I watch a lot of MTV and everyone seems so beautiful and happy.

“He really was the typical Aryan perfect human being,” she said, laughing. “He was a bodybuilder. He played the guitar and the drums, and he sang. He was captain of the rugby team in college. When I had the in vitro process done, the embryologist said: ‘This is some of the best sperm I’ve ever seen. It just about jumped out of the test tubes.”‘

Translation: But if I really met him, I’d surely find something wrong with his appearance or personality.

“Taking this whole ‘I have to find the father of my child’ out of the equation might make it a lot more relaxed and easier,” she said. “The guys are smelling it, and they run.” And even if the guy held still, he might not be the one you’d pick ? or even consider ? if you weren’t desperate for kids.

Translation: I knew I was in trouble when I could no longer hide my desperation from men.

“This baby will be my baby, only my baby,” Karyn told me that night at Caliente Cab. “The thing I’m afraid of is that after doing this, I might not want to get married. It seems like a lot of hard work, a lot of compromise. Someone ends up short, and usually it’s the mom, because by the time you get to the child and your husband and the dog, there’s not much left.”

Translation: I never even intended to be a good wife.

“I thought I could have kids until my period ended, and menopause is 50, right?” said another woman I met at a Single Mothers by Choice meeting in Washington, who began trying to conceive at 44.

Translation: Blah blah blah feel sorry for my idiocy.

One [sperm donor] was Indian: “He’s got black straight hair,” she told me, “brown eyes, he’s six feet but he only weighs 150. Which is good. If I have a girl, she wants to be skinny, and if she can eat what she wants, that’s perfect. You don’t have to get in fights about food.” […] “Thick hair, which is also nice,” she said, “because if I happen to get a son, I don’t like bald guys. He’s Catholic, which I would obviously like, because I am. He has a very interesting book collection: he likes Hesse, Henry James, Lorca. Excellent vision. His parents are pretty boring professionally, so I was a little concerned about that.”

Translation: Babies are so much fun – like shopping for shoes!

One woman, a 40-year-old graduate student in biology in the Midwest, told me shortly after her first insemination: “One of the things that was so powerful about deciding to have a baby on my own was saying, I’m taking charge of this piece of it; I’m not going to wait around for a guy to give it to me

Translation: I waited for such a long time but no guy would give it to me.

“I have this big fear in my life that I never will be pregnant. You see these pregnant women on the street, and you’re, like, How does it feel? What’s going on in your mind, in your heart? I want to feel it!”

Translation: It’s like when you see someone with this amazing new purse and you just have to have it!

The doctor came back and placed the straw of clear, yellowish sperm in a slim glass cylinder and removed a drop to look at under a microscope. “We have very good motility,” he said. “This is a good specimen.”

I liked the use of the word specimen. Possible usage: “Sweetie, I accidentally got some specimen on your face again.”

Shelby does have a boyfriend: a 52-year-old bachelor who works at a pharmaceutical company, whom she met at a party when Christopher was a month old. “He’s been a great person in my life and Christopher’s life, but he’s not going to marry me,” she explained over the phone when we first spoke. “Some people just don’t want to do that, and he’s one of those people.”

Translation: He is a very smart men.

Last fall, she went to the Donor Sibling Registry and got a shock: the Aryan bodybuilder with the leaping sperm has fathered 21 children (and counting ? he is still an active donor), including four sets of twins. These children are all 3 and under, and their families ? four lesbian couples, three heterosexual couples and six single mothers ? have formed their own Listserv…

That guy has won the game of life. No one reading will ever father that many children. His seed will go on for generations while you continue wasting time on the internet.

He was saying he was one of these what he calls old-fashioned guys: if his wife is going to have a child, he’s going to be in the waiting room until the child is delivered and washed. I’m, like, wait a second. Don’t you think you should go through this together? He said, ‘No, I’m going to faint, and I’m going to throw up.” […] “He’s not cut out to be a provider, to be a protector or to be a patriarch,” Daniela said. “He can’t be there when the child is born; he can’t make the living for the family. Maybe what bothered him is that he couldn’t offer what he would like to offer. So he made it, like, taste bad.”

Translation: No man wants to knock me up even if I payed them.

I had never heard her so low. “Everything is so hard, and it’s so degrading,” she said. “You always think that you’d go through this with somebody that would support you. You don’t think about having all the problems, let alone doing it on your own.”

Time flies ladies. This could be you in 10 years.


It’s amazing how quickly things change. Just months ago I’d stroll into a happy hour with groupies wanting to meet me and guys wanting to learn how to be me. Now I’m a relic, a dinosaur, in a land of unmemorable blogs. Shockingly, I was blown off by a girl last night who was not told of my importance beforehand. If I want to get blown off I’d rather it be in the hands of coked-up, hot club whore than a blogger.

One encouraging moment from last night was meeting a 40 year old female commenter. I often make fun of older women as spinsters with unreasonable standards, and regardless of whether this particular one was a spinster or not (she did mention her dating life quite a bit), the way she takes care of herself would put many 25 year old girls to shame. She has given me hope, that in fifteen years when I pass 40, there will be girls like her who look good and have enough wit and intelligence to maintain a fun conversation. But she is the exception, and I have a feeling that my future will be spent trolling myspace for young girls, enticing them with the prospect of fancy dinners and vacations.

I like to think I have a sort of agenda-dar, the ability to tell if people have some type of malicious intent. I can tell when someone is telling me something spontaneous or something that has been in planning for some time. My agenda-dar went off at the Local 16 happy hour, when a certain unknown blogger made false accusations about yours truly. It went off again last night when SethJ’s Canadian girlfriend talked to me. If you don’t remember him, SethJ is a ex-blogger who had to shut down his page in shame because of real-life conflicts. The girlfriend started off on this speech on blogs, eventually getting to mine and ending it with, “…but I don’t read yours anymore.” I wondered if SethJ put her up to this as I let her continue. I was expecting her to hit me hard with how much I suck but I think she got scared and trailed off into the “I don’t understand why anyone blogs” spiel. The irony of this, of course, is her boyfriend was a blogger… who wrote about trying to hit on girls… who got sloppy and was busted. People, in the future, practice a little more before coming to me with some hate. I have buttons like everyone else but you really need to do your homework. It is disrespectful to me when you come at me with amateur hating.

And speaking of hate, I had a chance to reminisce about the good old days when the CPMC was around to hate on. Their demise has left a huge void where I have no real focus for my negative energy. My talent is going to waste.

POSTSCRIPT: The superlatives came in and I won three of them: Most Controversial, Most Likely To Be Completely Fictional, and Most Likely To Go Into Therapy. What they really mean:

Most controversial: “It’s amazing how he doesn’t sugar coat to appease the masses.”
Most .. fictional: “I have never met such an original man in my life, so how could he possibly exist.”
Most .. therapy: “He knows way too much for such a young, tender age. I hope he is not crushed by the knowledge of the world.”


Once upon a time, there lived a boy and a girl. He was not particularly handsome, and she was not particularly beautiful. They were just an ordinary lonely boy and an ordinary lonely girl, like all the others. But they believed with their whole hearts that somewhere in the world there lived the 100% perfect boy and the 100% perfect girl for them. To meet each other would have been a miracle, but this was a miracle that was destined to happen.

One day the boy and girl came upon each other on the corner of a street.

And the boy said to the girl: “This is amazing! I’ve been looking for you all my life. You may not believe this, but you’re the 100% perfect girl for me.”

She said to him: “Of course I believe it. You are the 100% perfect boy for me, exactly as I’d pictured you in every detail. It almost feels like a dream.”

So they sat on a park bench, and held hands, and told each other their stories for hours. They were not lonely anymore.

As the afternoon wore on, however, a tiny sliver of doubt pricked their hearts: They wondered if it was possible for dreams to come true so easily.

And the boy said to the girl, “Let’s test ourselves – just once. If we really are each other’s 100% perfect lovers, then sometime, somewhere, we will meet again. And when that happens, we will get married right then and there.”

And she said: “Yes, that is exactly what we should do.”

And so they parted, he to the east, and she to the west.

Now this separation was completely unnecessary, because they really and truly were each other’s 100% perfect lovers, and it was a miracle that they had ever met. But they were too young to know.

Then, one winter, the city was struck with an epidemic, and the boy and the girl became very sick. For weeks they drifted in and out of consciousness, fluttering on the line between life and death. Eventually, luckily, they recovered their strength, but the fever had ravaged their minds, and they had lost all memory of their earlier years.

Now these were two very determined young people, and so they worked hard to return to society. And eventually they were able to do the necessary things, like get to their jobs, shop at the market, walk to the post office. They even experienced love again, sometimes as much as 75% or even 85% love.

And so they lived, and years passed, and they grew older. Then, one beautiful April morning, the boy was walking to the market to get some milk, headed from east to west, while the girl was walking to the post office to mail a letter, west to east. They passed each other in the very center of the street. The faintest gleam of memory flickered for the briefest moment in their hearts. And they knew:

She is the 100% perfect girl for me.

He is the 100% perfect boy for me.

But the glow of their memory was too weak, and minds were not as clear as they had been years before. And so, without a word, they passed each other in the street, and disappeared from each others lives… forever.

Sad story, don’t you think? I came across it over three years ago, and it has now become relevant to me once again.


I did some thinking and I believe now is the time to let it go. There is nothing more to accomplish and people have been complaining for several months now.

Yes, I am retiring my funny t-shirts.

Goodbye funny Jesus shirt…

Goodbye funny virgin shirt…

Goodbye Care Bear shirt that got me many delicious hugs…

And goodbye morning wood shirt; I will remember all the conversations you ignited..

I’m too old for the funny t-shirt, no matter how awesome they may be. Time for me to blend in with the masses and realize that I am not special or unique. I will be going to Hecht’s to buy a pair of Dockers Khakis ASAP.