The Harvey Weinstein Apology

road kill frog or toad

Subtitle: Or All Men Are Rapists And If So… Sorry About That.

Disclaimer: this post is NSFW; it contains material of a sexual nature.

As much as I try, I can’t put myself in a mindset that can understand what women go through when it comes to sexual abuse. Seriously. I’ve tried. During one Halloween I dressed up like a sorority girl and I was sexual assaulted by numerous men. There was also the time I had my hair permed—when I still had hair—which was probably the most feminine thing I’ve ever done—and the guy that did it offered to blow me at least three times while I waited for the chemicals to set in; to this day I regret not letting him do it. During yet another period of experimentation I jerked off three dicks that stuck out of gloryholes—and not one of the recipients said thank you.

But all belittlement aside.

The thing I learned during my growing up days was that women, mostly because of men, have to have a different point-of-view when it comes to all-things sex. The simple-minded male oriented explanation for it is simple: it is just sex. For women…? Oh boy. Is it because there’s an added biological component that it’s different for women? You know, that whole procreation thing and the fact that women can be men but men can’t be mothers? Or is there something else?

What I could never really grasp is what exactly goes through a woman’s mind when she faces the abuse? I mean, it’s been going on for so long is there a physiological, biological, chemical, ecological evolutionary change? Which brings me to this worst-question: was it ever really necessary that Daddy give his daughter away?

Again. All belittlement aside.

Sex is everything. Just look at how the world works. Money has failed us. Religion has failed us. What’s left? You’re either getting fucked or you’re doing the fucking. This differentiation, by-the-buy, is waaaaaaay beyond the birds and bees, don’t you know. Hence, what’s the point of sexuality or things like gender differentiation if everything is always just about getting your rocks off? And. Does political correctness actually mean what we think it means or is it ultimately just a call back to the days when sex wasn’t everything?

I suppose there was a time when minds weren’t spinning so much (about sex) but those are long gone. And I don’t think they’re ever coming back—even though so many in my beloved #americant hope they do. Those were the days when it wasn’t ONLY winner take all—and there was one fucker and one fuckee. But then again, do we really wish for the return of those days?

There might be one good thing about sex being everything these days. And here it is as only worst-writer can write it: The days of the three little king-queens are gone. That is, money, sex and religion once ruled the world. (Not necessarily in that order.) Now only one of the three rule the world.

Still with me, dear worst-reader?

The Actress

All of this talk of sex abuse has gotten to me, dear worst-reader. It reminds me of those days when I once contemplated: am I a rapist?

I’ve had my way with a few women, don’t you know. And not just women. I’ve had my way with a few actresses. (But don’t call me Harvey Weinstein, baby!) Indeed.

I was once a itty-bitty play producer. And get this. I utilised my itty-bitty play producer casting couch whenever the opportunity arose. In fact, after my first play production, the opportunity–of my casting couch–arose more than I deserved. But let’s focus on the first casting couch experience, shall we?

She was a lovely young actress. She had beautiful skin, long wavy hair, thighs typically early twenties thick. While she read the lines of my play I couldn’t stop my mind from drifting to you know what. I looked at her neck and her lips and her elbows. Yes, dear worst-reader, I am a stickler for joints—my favourite being ankles but they are at times the most difficult to see. Needless to say, within minutes of starting to read the script I had a raging erection. What does one do with a raging erection when the cause of it is breathing next to you?

Due to the discomfort, I stood up in front the actress while she was reading her lines. I thought I was gonna get a cup of tea. But, while my cock was trying to poke out of my relative loose fitting chino-pants, she stopped me. Before I could apologise and make some excuse, the actress said something like “oh my” and “my goodness”. She was staring at the bulge. She then put down the script and told me that I couldn’t cum inside her and she didn’t like the taste of cum. I then quickly placed a huge kiss on her face and at the same time undid my pants.

Within seconds her pants were off and I was caressing her ankles with my ears. I then went down on her and kissed and licked her till she came. Dripping from so much activity down there, I heeded her request not to cum inside her—assuming she was referring to procreative, vaginal activity—and entered her anally. She let out another “oh my” and “my goodness”. Her discomfort aroused me even more. To this day I can still hear her mumbling and gasping and slurping.

And, by-the-buy, she was an awful actress. Her voice had no cadence. She kept screwing up the timing of the dialogue. When I asked her to say some lines without looking at the page, she couldn’t. In fact, she was completely incapable of memorising anything. But before I get too far off subject…

It took a few minutes but the she eventually relaxed. I don’t think she enjoyed anything that afternoon except me servicing her and the shower I gave her after I dumped my goo in her ass. After a few dates she told me that she had found someone else and, she added, that she considered our first encounter to have been rape because of the way I helped myself to her ass. Then she also added that she has a new job and couldn’t continue with my play. I asked her for one last sympathy fuck and when she said no, I thanked her, said goodbye and told her that I had found another actress anyway.

(For those interested, as far as the play is concerned, I eventually put the female role of my play, using casting couch actress #2, into a TV screen. This helped the productions in many ways. First, we were no longer dependent on an actress remembering her lines, i.e. we could just feed her cue cards. Second, of the three other actresses that were on my casting couch for that play, none of them mentioned rape even though we never once talked about all the fucking we did. And I had them many varying ways, too.)

The Other Girl

I met this girl in college. We went on a few dates, the movies, the usual. I could get to every base with this chick except home base. That is, she wouldn’t fuck me but she would suck on my dick if I promised not to ejaculate. (Who raises these chicks, by the way!) Then I met her best friend who said that she would fuck me. But I couldn’t/wouldn’t  go there; I didn’t go there. I simply didn’t think it the right thing to do—you know: date one chick who wouldn’t and then fuck her best friend who would.

About a year later, long after the chick who wouldn’t fuck me (but would suck me) was out of the picture, I met up with her friend again. She mentioned how we were both caught up in a world of bad timing. Now she was seeing a guy and because she was fucking him she wouldn’t fuck me. She only fucked one guy at a time, she said. But she also said, “how bout the next best thing?” One evening after giving her a ride home she invited me in to her apartment. I was indeed curious… about the next best thing.

Within minutes my cock was at the back of her throat. After about ten minutes of her proving why it’s called a blowJOB, she told me it was ok if I cum. I told her I wanted to fuck and then would gladly finish in her mouth. She told me once again about the other guy that she was hoping to have a relationship with and also added: “he’ll know if you fuck me, so let’s just do this… the next best thing.” I guess she was referring to the mess a man can leave behind. And I thought of two things: first, who doesn’t like sloppy seconds and second, girls don’t leave a mess behind?

Another ten minutes went by. She was getting tired and resorting to the use of her hands. “Please, come all over me,” she said. “Let me fuck you and then I promise to come on your face,” I said. But she was incorrigible. She took a deep breath and tried to break the back of the bear that would be her last ditch effort to get me to ejaculate. I could tell her knees were aching, her arms were getting sore, her nose was slapping the tight skin of my lower abdomen, her tongue was losing its ability to jostle my sack. She eventually fell on her back and my cock was above her, raging hard and blue. “Ok. You win. I give up,” she said. “Are you ok,” she asked.

I packed my blue junk as best I could back into my pants and kissed her on the forehead as I left. “Let me know when things don’t work out with your boyfriend,” I said. I drove home and it took me two days and countless jerk-off sessions to relieve myself of blue-balls.

A few weeks later we were in the same situation. I had driven her home and she mentioned how much she wanted me to cum in her throat. I smirked and admitted that maybe I would give in this time. But I also asked her if she would at least let me play around a bit. “Ok,” she said. “But you still can’t fuck me.” When we got into her apartment she immediately removed all her clothes and I proceeded to fuck her mouth every which way. She laid on her back on the coffee table with her head hanging backwards over the edge. She made me get on all fours on her dinner table and she attacked my junk from behind. She blew me while she peed. She even tried to jerk me off while talking on the phone to her mother. Of course, eventually, we reached that special moment. “Ok, come now,” she demanded. “I’m not ready yet,” I responded. She then gathered her guns, prepped her jaw and continued the good fight.

That’s when something hit me. Fuck this! I don’t have to take this krapp. And so. While doing one of her change-ups, relieving her jaw, my dick and balls getting bluer and bluer, I grabbed both her arms from behind, holding them together at the elbows. She squirmed but didn’t really try to get out of my hold. Slowly, already lubed-up from so much contact with her throat, I slipped my raging cock into her ass. Her squirms turned to a slight jolt but I pulled her arms back towards my chest. I leaned in with my hips and before kissing her neck I said: “is this what you wanted all the time?”

After I finally released, I sat on the couch and said something about needing more of the same in a few minutes. You know, that old saying: “Hold a sec, baby. I’m not done yet.” Then she turned to me and said something about rules and how I just broke them. I smirked. “You’re not serious,” I said. “You can do what you have to do tonight–I’ll grant you that. But this is it. I’m the one that sets the rules. You broke them.”

My jaw was hanging even though my dick was still raging. Then she mentioned that she had done anal a few times before but it wasn’t really her thing. She added that she would definitely not suck on my cock anymore even if I washed it with turpentine. Then I asked her if she was crazy. She repeated: “I’m not crazy. I set the rules.”

Since I was a good listener back then, I got up off the couch, grabbed her by the arms again and turned her around. I bent her over the dinner table and fucked her in the ass till I came two more times. It was glorious.

Finding Love

And so. I’ve had my way with a few women here and there. As far as I can recall there have been a total of two No’s and numerous encounters where the issue was never discussed but I still had my sexual fun. Through out all my years I’ve often asked: Have I always thought enough about her while I’m doing her? Is her orgasm as important as my release? Does any of this make me a rapist?

While growing up in my beloved and missed #americant, while entering the world of sex and relations and fun, of the women/girls I was with, the majority of them complained about being abused at one point in their lives. That thought has never left me. So let me try to say it again, put it another way. By the time I was 25—and I started having sex when I was 17—the majority of girls I had sex with complained about sexual abuse–and not by me but by someone in their family, their stepfathers, church, athletics, etc.

Whaaaaaaaaa the fuck is going on?

And so. I have never cat-called a woman. I have never asked any of my girlfriends or wives or fuck-buddies to either make me a sandwich or iron my shirt. I’ve never entered a woman once without at least taking her out to dinner or to a movie … afterwards—where I then tried to fuck her again and most of the time succeeded. I’ve also never had a one-night stand because to me, no matter how bad the first time was or what my (relationship) intentions were, I always believed you had to do it with the same woman at least three times to even begin to get it right. With that in mind, there were still two women in my life that said “no” and I fucked them anyway because 1) they wouldn’t/didn’t leave (when they had the opportunity to do so) and 2) they didn’t stop what we both started.

Now. Am I a…

Which brings me to #Trump, Harvey Weinstein and being raised in sexually repressed #americant.

The worst part of living in these nightmare times of a president #Trump is that he’s not just a sexually repressed man but he’s also an atypical greed-monger–and he is one among the many. So in a way, I guess, it’s no wonder women are going nuts. Especially those raised by very confused mothers. And so. Where has feminism got them? Did they end up not being like their mother(s) or did they just become the same (as their mothers) albeit wearing more fashionable fancy coats and shoes?

The other thing is, I feel like the thing that #Trump really is, is that he’s something that is everywhere and he is, unfortunately, that which raised me. And no matter what I do the thought of being an abuser because I had my way with a few ladies will never leave me–as I’ve worst-written about here today. Indeed. I have to live with that. On the other hand…

While I was out there trying to find love the Harvey Weinsteins, the Bill Clintons, the Bill Cosbys, the Woody Allens, etc., etc., have been ruining good fucks since day one. And for that I am very sorry. I really am.

Rant on.

-T

Only In The Land Of Free To Be Stupid Can You Get Fired For Being Smart

Screen Shot 2017-11-06 at 20.05.03
Screenshot from the article link below. Can you believe she was fired for this? I say, you go gurl!

Only in the land of free-to-be-stupid where 1st and 2nd amendments lay waste to, well, the ultimate stupidity, can you get fired for a deserved traffic gesture. On the other hand, some nutcase can beat his wife, get a military discharge that is not dishonourable, and then go about his bidness of being fcuking stupid, stupid, stupid–not unlike the morons that have given way to the stupidity of republican politics (including Hillary)–and shoot up a church. Oh wait. Am I worst-mixing things up here, dear worst-reader? Maybe so. But with that in mind…

Way to go #americant. I reckon it’s a good thing that something like this (see pic above and its corresponding link below) takes place because, well, if one considers the amount of time it may take for an otherwise ignorant populace to wake up (and smell the roses of distaste they have sewn for themselves) the/a window of opportunity (to change $hit) may have passed, passed, past.

I guess, considering what happens to a female that flips (her) bird to a Trump motorcade (pic above), it’s a good thing no one got a picture of me flipping a limp-dick Hitler salute to a passing Dick Cheney motorcade… back in the day. I was walking one morning down Mass Avenue in DC, still drunk but conscious enough after a night of debauchery, to realise Cheney’s motorcade was passing. It was just before some new-fangled war mongering was about to take place–that only dip$hit Dubya and his war-mongering cronies could come up with. You know, the shit these nutbags pull off on account they can only achieve through destruction (and not creation). Anywho. When I saw Cheney’s motorcade acoming, I couldn’t help but raise my right hand and arm. Heil Cheney–you rat-fink, chickin-hawk coward! And so…

resist trump much
Rear window of an old Volvo.

Come on #americant. Have you all lost your balls or have you always been this way while suffocating in a state of Orwellian perpetual war? Oh wait. Say! There’s a sale at the mall (or at your race-to-the-bottom Amazon website). Or how ’bout buying something on an equity loan in the hopes you too can partake in the leadership of free-to-be-stupid democracy?

Rant on.

-T

Link that motivated this post:

Malice And Spite Make Not Everything Nice

executive crime by president
Source: DailyKos; see link below

You’d think that a criminal indictment of a presidential candidates campaign worker would be enough to fulfil the greed-needs of mongers, i.e. stupid white people that are unable to cope with the harvest they’ve sewn. No. Seriously. Harvest. Like a harvest of wheat totally and completely compromised by excessive ergot exposure. Are republicans finally so high (ergot poisoning) that even they can’t tell the difference between stupid and more stupid? But I digress.

I’m worstwriting, of course, about my beloved #americant and its current iteration of humanity’s grandest experiment. Btw, let’s worst-look at the word indictment:

Indictment: An indictment is a formal accusation that a person has committed a crime.

Unlike being arrested, where a policeman takes you in after you’ve committed a crime, i.e. given him/her reason to take you in, an indictment is like a letter from a dire foe that seals the deal of your destined failed relationship with not only fear but reality for the $hit you’ve done and tried to sweep under the rug. Of course, is any of this a surprise? Just check out the chart above, stolen from DailyKos. The coolest thing about the chart? Check out Barry-0’s record of trouble with the law. Is that cool or what? Do you miss him, too? Oh wait. If you’re #americant and dependent on the greed-mongering you live in, I guess you don’t like Barry-O. But on that issue, I digress once more.

And so. What are we (yes, I’m still an #americant, too) really dealing with in these times of free-to-be-stupid? Well, according to the newz–that I’ve been avoiding for the last two weeks–the proverbial $hit may be hitting the fan for president stupid (#Trump). Would you believe his chief of staff has publicly admitted to a new level of stupidity? The Civil War, according to mister chief of staff, was caused by an inability to compromise. Whaaaa! I can’t believe what I’m reading. Does this person know nothing about the years of abolition prior to the Civil War? Oh wait. We’re in the land of president stupid and his dumba$$ minions–not unlike the morons that voted for him thinking that he’s gonna drain the swamp.

To add oil to the stinky flame of stupid, the US congress, filled with morons that more directly represent the morons of land of the free-to-be-stupid, have reversed the small attempt under the Barry-O administration to put some curbs on banks thereby letting cheated consumers sue them. That’s right, dumba$$es. If your bank screws you, if equifax screws you, if insurance screws you… you now have no recourse other than to submit your complaint to a group of men who have been hand picked by the entity you’re suing–who will then arbitrate your complaint.

Way to go #americant.

Rant on.

-T

Links that motivated this post:

Anti Relaxation, Boredom And Too Much Bat$hittery In The Homeland. But The Beach Is Still Grand.

Pics above a welcome change of scenery from all those months in #eurowasteland. Assateague Island galore, including a lovely but decaying flush mechanism from a beach outhouse that I feel compelled to include. I wonder sometimes if flush mechanisms have lost their value in these days of greed mongering, sex abuse by people who are sexually repressed and politics that always… always leave the rich their unearned, stolen wealth. But before I get too far off subject.

Last Homeland visit (to the land of free to be stupid) for 2017. Spent first week walking around mid-Atlantic cities and eating grand #americant breakfasts. Hotel beds were excellent. Weather has been unbelievably gorgeous–except for one storm. Other than a ridiculous dinning experience at a pseudo-Spanish restaurant in Baltimore–where we literally gave back our plates because the food was so bad–and the waiter told us that we had to practice eating locally in order to appreciate his kitchen–things have been a-ok. Of course, usually when I visit the Homeland–gosh, I just love writing/saying that dystopian name #americant has given itself because it/we made so many bad choices post 9/11–I try to avoid the newz. I don’t avoid it because it don’t agree with it. That’s a given in my worst-book. No. I avoid it because, well, I get better newz about the homeland when I’m abroad. The filters, including the willingly ignorant and inept minds that serve as nets, colanders, sling-shots for the propaganda (yes, that’s what it was called before “fake”) are simply too many to combat. One is bombarded here with so much bullshit from all walks of life that it’s no wonder things are the way they are. Or am I preaching to the choir, dear worst-reader? Am I just now realising this because of all my years abroad–or despite those years? Nomatter. This morning a fairly important confidant slash worker-bee of #americant’s favourite President Stupid was indicted. The hustle and bustle about this newest #americant political scandal means that flatscreens in all walks of life are blaring the newz. Even I, the grand wizard of worst-writtery, can’t avoid it all, dear worst-reader. And so. Here we/you go again with scandal galore. Which brings me to the following worst-conclusions:

  • Hillary did no wrong
  • Barry-O didn’t have one scandal (thanks to Hillary)
  • Dip$hit Dubya left #americant with a scandal it will never get out of
  • Who is #americant’s daddy, bitch! That’s right. You elected #Trump.

Good luck suckers.

Rant on.

-T

The Looking Mirror Avoided

“For example (and thanks to Doug Korty for this point), the total deficits of the federal government from 1950 to 2009 were $6.6 trillion. During those years, three Republican presidents (Ronald Reagan, George H. W. Bush, and George W. Bush) accounted for the vast majority of those deficits. All the other presidents (Harry Truman, Dwight Eisenhower, John F. Kennedy, Lyndon Johnson, Richard Nixon, Gerald Ford, Jimmy Carter, and Bill Clinton) combined accounted for a small fraction only. The three deficit-happy Republican presidents were the most conservative and subservient to major capitalists interests. They all increased spending (chiefly for military and counter-crisis purposes) while cutting taxes (especially for corporations and the richest individuals). Such policies forced huge federal deficits and rapid national debt hikes. The Obama administration ran very large deficits and boosted the national debt through stimulus outlays and costly wars without offsetting tax increases.”

-From the chapter Capitalism, Democracy, and Elections (2013), Richard Wolff’s book: “Capitalism’s Crisis Deepens”

Keep that in mind the next time you vote for someone on account of your taxes, your debts, Her emails, your general nonsense of living as an #americant soothed by pharmaceuticals and/or Disney and/or the lie of the mind that is your hope and desire of exceptional-ism. And now. Go buy something.

Rant on. And. Good luck suckers.

-T

The Ugly Truth From The Ugly Mouth That’s Never Been Washed #Soap

bar of soap - screenshot

“…the longer they talk about identity politics, I got ’em. I want them to talk about racism every day. If the left is focused on race and identity, and we go with economic nationalism, we can crush the Democrats.” -Steven Bannon.

The thing about hate is how it can go so well so unseen. I experienced this growing up in the suburban hell of my beloved #americant. The other thing about hate is how it can have so many faces. Then there’s where it comes from. My, oh my. Tricky little devil, ain’t she. Then again, love isn’t as diverse as hate (can be)? Or is that just my POV on account I’m so skewed by love-hate? Wait. I’m not skewed. Am I? Love has just screwed me. And love, for Simplicity’s Sake–that old Bitch, has been commandeered by half the human population. Indeed. Love has been turned into a weapon. A weapon of mass… sc(r)ew you. But I’m waaaaaay of subject. And so. I digress.

The quote above is from the infamous Steve Bannon. For those who don’t know who he is, just remember this: if there is anything or anyone that better represents what #Trump really is and what Trumpism is about, it’s Steve Bannon. Ever since this guy first entered the political realm of free-to-be-stupid #americant, I’ve been looking through the mirror window of my past, of my home, of that place I love-hate–and miss dearly. But I’ve already said that. Again. Digress.

Bitter and forced to under-achieve, stupid white men rule this moment (of history). And not unlike facing a sell-out for the first time, I must ask this question: if something is sold-out, who’s buying (it)? And there you have it. The buyers of the hate and simplemindedness that must culminate in all these years of conservatism run amoke, i.e. republicans, can only culminate in the likes of Steve Bannon. If there is one thing I learned from the love-hate of getting divorced it’s this: there really is nothing like the sk(r)ewed mind of hate born out of love. For me that’s a hard pill to swallow–on account I saw all those Disney love stories she saw. Yet. I’ve always thought the opposite of hate is NOT love but instead: respect. Oh well. Let’s stay on worst-subject, shall we.

At some point in his life Steve Bannon must have known love. Yet. For me? The transition of love-hate began a long time ago–not unlke Bannon. Yet again. I cannot hate like Bannon or the Steve Bannons of this world. Why is that? At best I’m least half a stupid white man. Let’s attempt to worst-elaborate, shall we?

When I was in junior highschool I went off on a teacher and told her to go fuck herself with her mother’s dick. Within about an hour I faced the principle of the school in his office and he put a bar of soap in front of me and a bucket of water. He told me that if I didn’t wash my mouth out with that soap within the next two minutes he was was going to hit me so hard with a wooden paddle–that he proceeded to take out of his desk–and I noticed that it had large holes drilled in it for aerodynamic effect–that I wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week. I stared at him and wondered what he would look like with his mother’s dick in his ass. Then I bit off such a large chunk of that bar of soap and began swishing and chewing it around my mouth that the principle’s secretary, who was also in the room, started to gasp. When I was finished and suds were dripping down my chin, the principle told me to put my hands on the edge of his desk and lean in. I did. He then got behind me with his paddle and said: now you won’t be able to sit down for the rest of the day. He whaled on my ass. (Btw, that was the first of three times I was beaten–or as they liked to call it: disciplined–with a wooden paddle by school administrators and/or teacher while attending #americant public schools.)

The problem with the Bannon types that have emerged is not the arbitrary and often blatant hate that they espouse. It’s the fact that there are many out there who believe this hate is an anomaly. With that in mind, welcome to a world where so few really, really bad dudes (n)ever got their mouths washed out with soap.

Rant on.

-T

PS By-the-buy, the quote at top of this post is more than a strategy to defeat the rational mind. What it really is, what it represents, is the good in the very, very few that cannot find a way out because, well, our mouths have been washed too often out with soap. Fuck you.

Links that motivated this post:

Golden Rain Fun In Moscow

golden rain golden shower trump

As I’ve said here, #americant deserves #Trump. And. From the get-go, nomatter what believers (i.e. the fail upwards middle-classes) claim as they are chocking on that belief, there was no doubt in my mind that president über-stupid likes the peepee. Now. I suppose it’s debatable if he’s one of them perverts that likes to watch the/his women-folk pee or if he likes the other version–being peed on. But there’s no doubt that he likes the stuff–probably the yellower (or is it goldener) the better. And since the pee-dossier (see link below) has received some new life in the media, why not begin the arduous task of researching whether or not #Trump actually kissed his mother with that butthole of a mouth he sells (and #Americants have bought whole-heartily). No. Seriously. Dearest worst-reader! Get this. If/when #Trump gets impeached or quits, the idiot base that elected him will replace him. Indeed. The religious $hitbags will then have finally gained what they always wanted. Seriously. That’s it. There will be more wars of choice. Further looting of the treasury. And women will be required–according to the standards dictated by inept interpretation of a book written during the bronze-age–to bear the children of men… that like to be peed on.

Of course, the saddest thing about #Trumps despicable, obscene, abominable behaviour is that the really bad stuff in the pee-dossier will not only reveal some truths about the man but, perhaps, the whole of the united mistakes of #americant. Yea, baby.

Rant on. Suckers.

-T

Links that motivated this post: