Rock Accountant

Tag: Women

Trapping women with cars

The first car I paid for by myself was a Buick Electra convertible. The make was commonly considered the longest car ever manufactured in the U.S.
I abandoned it, sandwiched by cornfields, broken down in Nebraska in 1969.
It remains the only car, at least in the Midwest, with a mailing address, as two families are comfortably still living in it. My girlfriend dumped me right there and thumbed back East with a stranger, setting in motion a disturbing course of using my cars as revenge.
Until I was married, it never occurred to me that the only reason I worked at all was to buy expensive cars.
Fine cars are a clear indicator of compatibility to a woman, even more, precise than astrological signs and a sense of humor.
I know this was oafish, but I mainly hunted beautiful girls. I was wounded, and this seemed an appealing brand of retaliation.
These stunning women, some of whom could barely sneeze without advice, could report to you the price and year of any car on the road.
I had a little money at the time and engaged my prey without conscience.

When I married, the dynamic of seduction had to be re-calibrated. Using my car as an aphrodisiac was now unthinkable ( as well as perilous).
We moved to a small town that magnetized itself to young couples.
Everyone buys Volvo station wagons, just like we did. It is the car that women start coaxing men to buy before they have even broached the idea of children.
These fertile women use the pretext of “might need the extra room for a dog.”
The Volvo is the most duplicitous machine ever marketed. It is breathtakingly fast ( drawing in, the unsure erect male). What never comes up is that crash test dummies sometimes play Scrabble during high-speed collision tests in Sweden.
My current car is big like my first one. We are getting old together and are entering more predictable repair periods now.
It takes me to doctors, and I take it to George, our Iranian mechanic on Main St.
I am beginning to sense a queer but certain smugness coming from this car. Like it thinks it might outlast me.
Then that hardness in me shows itself again, and I suggest that it might be like an apartment in Nebraska.

1969 Buick Electra 225 for Sale | ClassicCars.com | CC-1228771

Pardonable Poetry

Even in the urgency of a bar’s “last call,” a woman can smoothly counterfeit a sentimental landscape that will help her overlook the alleyway or the cheap hotel where she will wind up on any given night.


Women do not declare love at the last minute based on sexual hysteria as men do. They are more agile. They invent pardonable poetry to envelope their poor decisions.

No photo description available.

The Misfortune of beauty

We rarely get a glimpse of how hard it is to be a woman. It is because they all share the misfortune of beauty.

Women's Beauty Captured 100 Years Ago In Vintage Postcards From 1900-1910 |  Bored Panda

Philosophical Women

I find it impossible to have philosophical conversations with women. They are aggressively uninterested. Nearly all confuse crusted jealous aggravations with being profound. They use earrings to corner a man’s common sense then dagger it.

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Women masquerading as Steelers fan

The life of a woman consists of one adventure which can be multiplied by coupling with one or more men. This product, in and of itself remains essentially unvarying except for the occasional very unexceptional children or, perish the thought, dangerous ones.

All else is filled with chatter and worry. The life of the man is an continuous exploration for avenues to be competitive without killing or being killed prematurely each other.

This only applies to men who are Steeler fans. All other men are actually women.

No photo description available.

Dark words for dark bars

“The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.” Henry David Thoreau

I dragged this gravely handsome phrase into many dark bars in my twenties. Although a false introspection on my part, it predictably generated a sexual eagerness in most women who equated words, they did not understand, with all the preconditions for the love they had earlier memorized while pouring through romance magazines.

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My Wife is a Dangerous Immigrant

My wife is a dangerous immigrant. She hid quietly inside our world until she was indistinguishable from the talent around her. Now we get can’t get rid of her. She outranks us.
None of our belittling tactics bridled her. She wore the burka of sexuality that made us dumb, the heels, the makeup and she carried herself with cunning deference.
Now it is too late. There are cells like her now everywhere. Set to detonate.
They recruited from the young. Men are tired and anxious. Too timid to provoke them even to preserve ourselves. We are afraid of their anger. Somehow we think this is all our fault.
We deport them to motherhood when we can, but their leaders return after a time.
We are going to need a wall.

Perhaps this is what God would do if he really cared.

It is time for another Israel in the Middle East only much bigger. Perhaps in Mexico as well. Life in these two geographic regions has been a miserable proposition for a long time. The West did not cause it. The Kings, Mullahs, and oil-rich chieftains kept their people in poverty and allowed them only God as comfort for hundreds of years. In Mexico, the poor were supported only by our tourism, our insatiable need for drugs and the Catholic Church.
Bringing these people here is moronically ill-advised.
We should use our weapons and military to carve out new Edens for the suffering instead of destroying everything to catch a few.

Perhaps this is what God would do if he really cared.

eden

Annex Mexico

We are entering a new century of wars conducted by swarming immigration. Water always flows downhill. Immigration will replace the nuclear weapon in the coming age.
People always move to where their life is better if they can. They will not neatly stay in a place where their children are in danger. I think human beings with stop short of treating each other like locusts, destroying intruders on mass. But one does have to recall Hitler.
The problem with our Southern border is manageable. Europe’s dilemma may not be so easy.
I think Trump is correct that we need to document people who come here, that’s only common sense. The Democrats don’t support this because they see human beings as voting blocks. The Republicans see immigrants from Mexico as vermin.
To me, our solution is simple and has been historically validated. We just annex Mexico and make it a nice place to live again. Tidy.

swarm-of-locusts

The Photographers

How can a photograph be copyrighted when it’s confined to the  public domain by definition? A song comes out of nothing.  A painting is as much the hand on the brush as it is anything inherent. Movies manipulate atmospheres and the medium simultaneously. A camera’s image becomes art only when interpreted in the aftermath. Could it be that photographers are more critics than artists? Could it be that there are no artists at all, only reviewers?

Photographers - page 158

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