All Pugs Must Die. They’re the pandas of the canine race

Useless creatures who wouldn’t exist without humans…like pandas. Can they even fuck and procreate on their own? No! Stupid human breeders do it for them. They should seriously die off already. I don’t find either pugs or pandas cute enough for the effort to save them from extinction.

I’m going to skip a few chapters in my FTGBISH series. The guy I’m rooming with is short and annoying just like his dog. You know how they say owners look a lot like their pets? Well his is a pug. Pugs are ugly as sin. His has got lots of health issues. But he loves his dog more than anything. He hates it when I refer to it as an “it.” But I don’t give a shit.

They say it’s a good companion animal for people who like to feel needed. I can attribute this owner who shall not be named to be a very helpful guy. Always asking people what they need. Whatever you need, he can get it for you.

(I also can theorize that most owners like to be in control. They control when the dog eats and by neuturing it there’s even more control–birth control if it should ever fuck anything at all. Owner can’t control his ex wife or children beyond eating habits and “sleeping” habits so there’s more love for the dog sometimes as its the most consistent and stable thing in owner’s life. Even follows owner around too–what an ego stroke.)

The problem with Owner is he thinks he’s funnier than he is. He is not. So many racial jokes, and I have a pretty good sense of humor, but he is simply annoying. He toots his own horn nonstop. Talking about how he makes the best this, makes the best that. He has [insert car make and model] here that he bought for so and so, he has a slew of trophies there. His exes are busty & beautiful, blah blah blah. I’m sick of it!

NAPOLEONIC COMPLEX to the max this guy has. He drives a really big truck. Compensating for height issues. His legs are incredibly short it’s disgusting. He never told me his height. He asked me my height and I told him over the phone. He saw a photo of me and during a live chat caught a glimpse of my legs and commented about how long they are. I think they’re okay, definitely not Russian long, maybe track and field long, but not super model tall or anything. So I told him and I asked “and you?” He said “about the same.” I asked him how tall. No answer, just change of subject.

Red flag. Whenever a guy fails to mention his height by number, he’s definitely on the short side. Whenever a guy fails to send a head to toe longshot photo of him, he’s either

  1. fat
  2. short
  3. all of the above

When we first met in person I towered over him. I thought NO WAY. I saw how grossly short his arms were: the short length from his shoulder to his arm  gripping the wheel. When I saw how short his legs are it made me want to gag. So I asked him again. Forgetting that he already asked me and heard my height, he asks me. I said “oh no, not going 1st this time. How tall?”

He says about 5’5 and a half. NO FUCKING WAY IS HE 5’5.5. Guys always lie about their height by 2 inches. And if they have to lie about being 5’5 it’s even worse. The worst thing is to lie in front of my face when I can actually gauge your height. Idiot.

…and the complex continues. He is one of the least humble guys I have ever met. Constantly shoving pics of his work on his phone down my throat. Saying how great he is at his job how great he is as a father, how great he is as a lover, blah blah blah. I can see why he’s single. I can see why his last girlfriend left him thinking it was all about his money. If he had no money he’d still be a fucking virgin with n0 kids, I’m sure. Grotesque!

Now on to pugs: their stupid tongues hanging out of their mouths like they’re retarded. How anyone can love that creature is beyond me. I can barely stand to look at it. Bad enough I’m living with someone who has that dog, now he’s making me walk it. Ugh!

Oh and the vet bills this poor excuse of a thing rings up is astonishing. This bastard could help me get back into school with one fucking phone call. But he won’t. Instead he’ll use it to continue to spend however much money on this foul monster.

Hip dysplasia, asthma– Put the goddamn dog out of its misery and put it down already! He refuses.

The dog:

  • does absolutely no tricks.
  • Very stubborn. Follows no orders.
  • Useless, does not fetch things for you.
  • Hangs around you while you’re eating waiting for anything to drop onto the floor so he can eat it. Long ass nails annoyingly clawing as it walks around the hardwood floor in circles chasing absolutely nothing.
  • Barks at absolutely nothing like a retard.Even with a sore throat it barks stupidly.
  • barks at other dogs obnoxiously, even bigger ones I wish would just attack him already.
  • Tongue hangs out like a retard lapping up air because its tongue is too long for its goddamn mouth which is constantly soaked in its own saliva.
  • its head is too large for it’s  fat body on skinny legs…that lean from hip dysplasia
  • eyes bugged out and too far spaced apart on either side of the head like a horse
  • snout almost non-existant, face looks like it’s been bashed in with a shovel
  • snores
  • too old / too fat / too dumb to jump onto and off of furniture on his own ==wait that’s a plus.
  • PAYS NO TAXES, NO RENT, SUCKS NO DICK despite having an ADHD tongue

and yet IT will forever be spoiled more than me.

Evil Mimi–what Mimi wishes she could do VS Real life Mimi

Evil Mimi: kill this goddamn dog. get away with it–without a trace.

Real life Mimi: puts an oreo cookie down on the ground for this greedy, gluttonous, groveling  poor excuse for a dog…the dog sniffs it and doesn’t proceed to eat it.

Real life Mimi cannot catch a break. That damn dog will probably outlive me. it’s on his last legs but at least it has health insurance and an owner with a bottomless piggy bank supporting it.





Don’t Date (EX/active duty) Military

The constant need to be reminded of and thanked for their service is exhausting.

Unless you’re really desperate to take advantage of military discounts, benefits and/or would like the opportunity for a long-distance relationship akin to a conjugal fuck, then don’t date and ex or active duty military.

They are all mostly psychos. PTSD probability alone is above 51 percent of those who have seen carnage. A lot of them who haven’t even been on the front lines or seen any action besides being a cook or an IT guy or whatever else, those who haven’t witnessed any casualties of war or what have you, will still like you to believe their delusions of grandeur: how important they are that they serve(d).

The narcissistic God-complex, will it ever end?

Oh and if anything should happen like sexual assault, groping you in public against your will after you told him you’re not into pda, or taking risqué photos of you upskirt or downshirt without permission while you’re distracted, he will most definitely get away with it based on his connections, ESPECIALLY if he’s higher in ranking. The higher the ranking the more difficult it is to prove your case that that bastard is no saint.

Simply put, if I care about you, I recommend you not date a military guy. If I don’t care about you, and that’s the lot of you, feel free to do as you please. You’re not going to listen to me anyways. I’m nothing but a nobody civilian.

Day 1 of 365 as slave; 180 before surgery

I was to meet him at the Chatanooga airport though his family cabin is in North Carolina. I met the other woman in his life he calls “Mility.”  She said nothing when I said hi. She just sat there in the driver seat, eyes staring out into space as “Master” put my bags into the back of his red F150 or was it a 250? Either way, I can never look at a Ford F150 the same again. It was a long drive back to the cabin.

He, she, we are in his cabin for his birthday retreat before heading back to his home in Florida. The city in florida is the same name as a city almost every Italian hates. I’ve never been to Florida before and I was pissed that I had to fly to shitty podunk Tennessee and spend time in North Carolina before having to go there.

I saw a lot of references to bears, be they bear rugs, quotes on placards, paintings, etc. Fishing references of course but I’m more put off by bears than fish. His surname is Foster so naturally Foster’s beer neon sign hangs proudly above the pool table in the basement. His family doesn’t even drink that brand of beer.

He showed me around the cabin. When we first got to the cabin, he parked the car, put a collar and leash around my neck and told me to hop onto the back of the golf cart. The golf cart was wet. I didn’t want to destroy my sweater. He said, “you should be naked, but we have neighbors and that’s the only reason you’re not. Sit down.” In other words he doesn’t give a crap about my sweater.

Master instructs Mility to show me how to make and serve him a rum and coke. She pours rum into a red plastic cup, then opens and empties an entire can of Coca-Cola into the cup. She kneels before Master, dropping her head and raises the cup up above her head for Master to take it.

After the golf cart tour around the compound he sat me down–nay, made me kneel on the patio before him. He told me I am his birthday present (the next day would be his 34th birthday) and tried to get me to extend the yearly slave contract to 18 months. He says it’s fate that my name is like the 3 muses. He won’t give me the real name of Mility or how they met, but he nicknamed her that because it’s one of the 3.

He snapped at me for sitting on the couch and proceeds to turn me over, spanks my bottom 3 times as punishment immediately. In front of the retarded looking bitch he already had as his sub, housemaid, chauffeur or whatever cooking dinner in the kitchen. I don’t like being spanked in public. It’s not sexy at all.

He told me I am a slave, therefore should not be sitting on furniture. White slave doesn’t sit on the furniture either. Master says “Ask her how long it’s been since she sat on furniture” I ask her. She rolls her eyes back and says “about a year and a half”

The family cabin has a slew of puzzles and games. I want to work on a puzzle. Master wants an interactive game that we can all participate in. We play jenga instead. White slave Mility doesn’t play as much as she is fixated on dinner. Dinner is bland, not to my liking but I don’t complain.

Near bedtime master puts a blanket on the floor of the bed and puts a collar on me, chains the collar to the bed, and locks it. Mility is naked on the bed next to him.

I get up in the middle of the night and ask permission to use the restroom. Master is annoyed. This is not the first time of the night I am up talking either. The first time I tell him I need kleenex. He commands white slave to get up and get it for me. Mility gets a box of kleenex and serves it to me in a kneeling stance (the box isn’t over her head though as I am in a lower position on the floor). I’m taken aback by her nudity. She is kind of doughy, not in shape, wide but not fat, you can tell she eats a lot of junk. I am very tone and skinny compared, but it doesn’t matter–she has seniority over me. She, after all is sleeping on a bed.

Master forbade me from closing the door to use the bathroom. He stands there watching me as I squat over the toilet seat to pee. He comments on my squatting as “standing” to pee. I ask him why does she get to sleep on the bed and I don’t. He snaps, “You’re nowhere near on her level!”

I go back to the chains and blanket on the ground next to his bedside to try and get some sleep. I think, what have I done? Will  this all be worth it in the end? Will I be able to look in the mirror? After the surgery, will I still be able to look in the mirror and like what I see?


Who’s the Bigger whore, Asian, Caucasian or Latina Women?

More specifically Russian/Ukranian women, Chinese/Thai women or Brazillian/Colombian women?

Bigger as in height–Russian women are pretty damn tall.

Big as in weight- the Latina women do eat the most fatty foods, plus fat ass/injections galore

Big as in amount of men or sheer size of bank account –the Asians win.

Look at how many billionaires are married to asian women. Julie Chen Moonves, Priscilla Chan Zuckerberg, Wendy Deng Murdoch (not anymore, but she still counts!) to name a few. I’m not saying they are whores, but I’m not saying they aren’t either.

With the amount of mail order brides that are either Russian/Ukranian or Thai/Pinoy, I guess one could say it is tie for Eurasia.

if you’re an East asian in Russia or a Eurasian, how are you not a whore? How do you not have gold-digging skills running in your blood? The ability, the thirst to get a guy from the U.S. to marry you and make you a citizen, to get out of the shitty country you’re from (clearly the U.S. is better than Russia in so many ways, that’s just 1 of many reasons proving it). I knew an accountant from Oklahoma, a UT alum who visited Colombia and saw lots of women ogling him. This guy is an Opie-dopey looking fella. He felt these Colombian women were just interested in him because he was a white guy they saw as a ticket out.

When a foreign businessman comes to Brazil they are excited to do it mainly for the beaches, the broads and the booty. Sometimes all at the same time. And they like to indulge in what is for sure legal in Brazil and Colombia that isn’t in their country.

I remember reading a blog somewhere about a white woman on a dinner/hotel date with her white sugar daddy. He spent the whole night ranting about how black people always have their hand out. The woman is an escort. AN ESCORT! She has her hand out. She’s so translucently white, it’s blinding–HE CAN’T EVEN SEE HER HAND’S OUT! She wouldn’t be on a date with him if money isn’t involved and yet he can only see what he sees.

So…if I were to ask that guy who’s the bigger whore, asians, caucasians or latinas? He would definitively answer–BLACK!

The Very Definition of White Trash

“Scumbag. loser. fucktard”  This is what 40-something y/o Nick calls his only connection left to high school, John.
Farts and/or belches every 30 seconds, running to the bathroom or patio for a cigarette every 3 minutes.

marijuana, cocaine, tv-dinners, cans of pepsi for breakfast lunch and dinner— how is this guy still alive?

John possesses the guest bedroom that I would have lived in in an arrangement that would have been peaceful had I’d arrived 2 weeks earlier. His girlfriend kicked him out and John made note of and came crawling back to one of the only revolving-door friends with a big enough house—and even bigger heart—to let him in.

John —— background: (Nick likes to talk…a lot…behind people’s backs)

John’s mom- heroin addicted whore dies of heroin overdose when he was young– used to drop him off at a bar to go turn tricks for drug money.
the bartenders couldn’t give him alcohol so they’d serve him cherry cokes, it was no surprise John ended up addicted to grenadine—a non-alcoholic syrup they’d put in his beverage. He still drinks it to this day. “He goes everywhere with it,” Nick says. “he stashes the pepsi in his room, that’s how serious he is about it, he’d probably kill for it”  John also stashes his food stamp snacks in Nick’s guest room. Nick gave John a 100 dollar bill the first morning he introduced us. We went to the Olive Garden and John downed about 2 glasses of cherry cokes before his entree was brought out. He had about 4 total.
“John is a selfish whore.” Nick says pulling up to the driveway after noticing the absence of John’s car He can’t find a job but he can scour the internet looking for women—fat, old, ugly, you name it—desperate enough to pay him for sex.” That’s where Nick says John goes on weekends.  All he ever wants in life is to live with a woman who takes care of everything.He wants a sugarmama. His last girlfriend was a pharmacist.
I have a feeling his leeching + his annoying young cat also had something to do with it. The pharmacist probably had enough of him and took one long hard look at him, stopped feeling pity and started feeling disgust. Either that or she tried to quit whatever addiction he most certainly wouldn’t give up. Or maybe just maybe met someone else more worthy of her time, more her ilk, higher level.
John is very selfish. He will complain that he doesn’t have enough gas in his car, but if he accidentally sits on his cigarellos and breaks them he will get into his car and drive down to the corner store to get some new ones. He doesn’t know how to save and invest. His addiction to cigarettes and Pepsi have been priority number one in his life.  Old habits die hard. This guy is 43. He has no future. From what I’ve heard, he has quite the shady and shitty past. Currently his present is a gift from Nick’s mercy for sure. Nick looks at me and probably sees ass, ass and more ass. But deep down he knows there’s potential. I have a passion and I’m pursuing it. I still have a chance, I have plans and I’m doing something about my situation. I’m looking for a job so that I can save up to pay off my housing fees so I can complete my studies.
John  is a cubs fan. He even named his annoying black kitten Cubbie. You should hear the way this 43 year old man-child says his kitten’s name. A stark contrast from his unleveled voice that runs that gamut between trying to be deep and mid-leveled. He does this annoying clap whenever the Cubs score. He goes back and forth out to the patio to smoke and then back in to watch the game in his room. You see, baseball is so boring even the diehard fans don’t watch it from beginning to end. He freaked out when I asked him to close the patio door. That was the last time I spoke with him. I’m the queen of silent treatments. I will look past you like grass. See right through you like you don’t exist.
He knows nothing of what it means to be a man.
Unfortunately his mom died of a heroin overdose. I wish she had died of the hands of her pimp. Kill 2 birds with one stone. Maybe her spawn who has absolutely no quality of life would have picked up the habit and rid himself off of the face of the earth. Seriously that whole family is fucked up. He even says his sisters are all strippers and escorts. Would later find out that a couple of his siblings are doctors who he leeches off from time to time.
Where does Nick draw the line? He’s anti-drugs, but he allows a drug addict into his house? What the fuck? Why? What a big heart, a teddy bear. He says he doesn’t want it in his house, but what if it is? Will he then kick him out?
Nick said to John, “you’re not living here.” But did he give him a timeline at all? Did he give him a “if you don’t get a job by the end of the month, you’re out of here” plan? If not, then John IS living here.
This guy was dropping the n-bomb multiple times on purpose attempting to drive his friend’s new live-in roommate of color (yours truly) with something he couldn’t compete with (knowing that he would be more likely to get kicked out before I would) out of the house.  The plan failed. It only backfired in a way that it made me ignore him more. He would always try to start a conversation. His interviews were going nowhere, his jail record wasn’t doing him any favors. When Nick made John drop me off at an interview at a staffing agency miles away, he bitched about his gas tank. Nick gives John some money. John makes a stop to get gas using his gas card. He then makes another stop to get more cigarettes using Nick’s money. John tries small talk in the car. Very contemplative and subdued, I preferred to ride in silence. On the drive back after the interview, he made another stop to get a drink. He comes back into the car trying to bring up more shitty small talk about how he gets free drinks via his gas card. He then brings up why he opts to wind down the window instead of putting on the air condition. I ignored him, never answered him and left the car in silence after the drive back.
You wanna know how much he paid for the 2002 SUV he transported me to my staffing agency interview in? $500. He says he got a deal because he’s friends with the former coke dealer who owned the car. He points to the still-broken roof above the mirror where the dealer would transport the cocaine across state lines. Wow. Could it be the coke dealer is trying to rid himself of evidence? This John has been off the grid for quite some time. He says he is “street-smart” but I don’t think he can even spell the word “smart.” He only began paying taxes last year and he starting to want to stop being paid under the table because he says that he needs to start thinking about saving towards retirement.
He abandons his annoying cat to go chase sugarmamas, not job leads—sugar mamas. This cat jumps on me and spills a lot of crap that I’m forced to clean up. I didn’t sign up to babysit or catsit when I was searching for a live-in arrangement in Chicago. Hell, I was searching for a mature Chicago fellow who doesn’t smoke, and I ended up with someone who is housing a human-ashtray—the lowest of the low white trash—in the only spare bedroom available with no possible timeline for it to all come to an end.
I fear it may all come to a head. They’re both into crime shows. Nick enjoys the first 48, and John likes 48 hour mysteries. Hell, even I enjoy Forensic Files from time to time, no lie. However there’s something funny about someone who grew up in the streets, a drug addict who can’t seem to get his life together watching murder investigation shows. I’m surprised John isn’t taking close notes about how to get rid of me/ get me out of the picture so that he can have Nick to himself finance him for the rest of his miserable life

Fat Hypocrisy Amongst Men


An hour glass figure is curvy
A blob is a blob is a blob. 
Fat is not curvy. Although fat can be a blob.

I know too many fat men who look at other women, who are less fatter than they are and comment “cow.” One even cringed while watching one of these “cows” get fingered in HBO’s True Detective. All the other fit women were buck naked, but this one was clothed while being pleasured and it got a physical response of repulsion. The double standard is revolting. IF it makes you cringe that much then why don’t you ever look in the mirror and say the same thing and then do something about it?

Once Howard Stern said a long long long time ago how chubby chasers– people who like extremely obese lovers–are “sick” circa 1992. Of course he is in a position today where he cannot say this or would apologize and say he doesn’t really feel that way. But look at how lanky he and his wife are, oh trust me– he still believes it. But we’re moving towards a time where the politically correct thing is to not say anything about it…at all unless it’s spun in a positive light. I’d have more respect for Howard if he didn’t renege, but there’s a lot of money at stake.

There are men who pay for women to eat on live cams. I should really look into that. Unfortunately only thin asian women and fat white woman are cornering the market. I wouldn’t stand a chance.