My long lost friend has resurfaced to inform me, that between relationships he recently went back to the business of escorting middle-aged women into the fields of savage bliss that their media approved mates and drones are incapable of transporting them to. Of course, Dope Dick has an advantage that most of us are not blessed with, and blessings, it has been observed by wise men of yore, have a way of turning into curses, like meeting a woman you really think is marriage material and then have her eyes bug out in dread at the full extent of her pending experience and saying, “How about if I just blow you?”
Hence, the life of Dope Dick Jones is spent bouncing between that extreme and the extremes below, recounted to me at an eatery on a recent Wednesday night…
The Dao of Dope Dick Jones
I was having pretty good luck meeting decent women on line. I finally met this girl that was perfect and then she called me up and said we couldn’t see each other again. She was such a decent human being, such a good, unpretentious woman. I went crazy looking for her and then found her obituary a month later. She had been diagnosed with late stage cancer like a week after we met.
Then I met this Zumba instructor, 52-years-old and looks like she’s 25. She fucked my brains out. But when we were done I just wanted her to leave. Just my luck that she falls in love with me—if that’s what you want to call it. She sends me texts all the time that she just has to fuck me. Then, I give it a chance and we start having the obligatory relationship conversation and she gets jealous at me spending time with my daughters. So I say, “That’s it, we’re done,” and she keeps on texting and calling and saying she just wants to suck my dick, so I let her. Let me tell you, it was a violent act. I fucked her face for two hours. It was ridiculous. I thought that would be the final callous act that would get her to leave me alone. But no, she loved it, wants me to do it to her again, talks about how much she wants to eat more of my cum. This bitch is driving me crazy.
A while back I met this perfect girl. I didn’t even want to have sex with her. It turns out she works for the federal government oversees and is gone for a year at a time. It’s a shame. She’s perfect in every way, but she’s basically a deep state operative. Her father gave me the message from her that she was leaving and then later gave me the message that she wouldn’t be coming back in a reasonable period of time.
Which brings me to the craziest one. I also met her on matchdotcom. She looks great in her pictures and likes my profile and suggests we have a date. I suggest a restaurant and she says, “No, my place.”
I said, “That is not the way it is normally done.”
She says, “Look, I’m a Secret Service agent, I already know everything about you” and she rattles off my social security number, my occupation, the names of my family members, etc.
So, I went over to her place, figuring I’d take her out to eat. She’s in the yard in a halter top and shorts and she’s smokin’ hot, mid-forties, great body, still pretty and she takes my hand and walks me inside. Then, when we step into the kitchen, the door shuts behind me and locks with some kind of advanced mechanism and I’m looking around at this place—a really nice house—that is a mess. It wasn’t dirty but there were bottles all over the place, clothes thrown in a corner, that kind of stuff.
She walks me into the living room and starts kissing me, aggressively grabbing me, then going down on me. Finally I made her stop and said, “Look, I’m not ready for this. You’re beautiful, but I was really thinking we’d grab a bite to eat.”
So she sweeps me off the couch, throws me on the floor and mounts me. Then she grabs me by the throat and punches me right between the eyes.
“Holy shit,” I think and I sweep her and mount her and pin her hands back and she looks up at me panting and says, “Don’t you understand that I want you to rape me!”
I immediately put my hands up and said, “I am not raping anybody and to whoever is listening, I am leaving. There has been no sexual contact.”
Then I bolted. It was like a horror movie. I get to the door in the kitchen and there are all these locks I am fumbling with, one turns this way, this one slides and this bitch is on my back and I was out of there running for my life. I hoped in the car and never even looked back!
I can tell you that dating women in the D.C. area is very dicey—a lot of high quality looks and a lot of high quantity insanity.
On Bitches
link › jameslafond.blogspot.com
Your Trojan Whorse
I know this a blog for boxers and knifers, but the last scenario shows the value of a solid grappling/groundfighting game!
Hail to the Chief!
Clinton with fly unzipped, hand in pocket, two young blondes approaching:
anonymousconservative.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2018/04/Clinton.png
I have a pal in Philly with a dark power. He's 6'1 and raw-boned with the hungry look. Women go nuts for him. He walks with the grace and command of a USN Seal but has never adventured outside the bedroom. Woman don't care. He looks the part. He appeals to their innate fantasies.
I told my mom about him during the recent election. "He slays the most arrogant and uppity Hillary supporters with ease. The most independent. The most sophisticated and self-important. They fall all over him. And they beg to be roughed-up in the bedroom."
This confirmed what my mother always told me about female nature: women can't stand to be bored. It insults their sense of entitlement as born ϲunts. On the other hand, my pal is bored with his redundant XXX conquests. I couldn't quite tell him to pivot into the realm of men, and test himself against real alpha-characters in martial arts or some kinda mercenary legion. So, I told him to go pro as a gigolo. He blushed like an innocent altar boy. He couldn't face the challenge of looking himself in the mirror and hardening his conceits.
When I challenged him to take his merry-go-round to the next level and develop real professional cool, he lost form. Basically, he's no better than the liberal supergirls that he screws. He has to pretend it's love. He has to pretend he cares. It's the only way for the game to work.
That was entertaining!
Off to[pic but I think you might appreciate this. It's a lot of posts a guy saved on the Soltreans and put together. Basically it's saying that the Cro-Mags used to be all over the East Coast of the US until a huge comet strike wiped them out. The survivors moved to Europe and the Mediterranean.
206.223.147.218/pol/2.html
I actually wrote a novella, Out of Time, about this. I am sold on the Younger Dryas theory.
JJ- Just tell him "The only easy day was yesterday".