Take Action!
Many of the self-appointed gurus on Facebook write updates about their plans to achieve certain goals. One piece of advice comes up frequently: take action!
Get Ready for Nothing!
Watch out, people. Here’s a strong woman ready to take action:
Get ready! I’m going to do what makes me happy, and it’s only getting more clear now!
Immediately after her post her friend comments:
Best mentality to have!
Then a guy posts a picture of Beyoncé with the title:
I’m not bossy, I’m the boss!
The Beyoncé meme is kind of ironic. Is she really a boss when she lets her husband cheat on her and then does nothing about it? That doesn’t sound like a boss to me. That sounds like someone who is afraid to be alone and lets people walk all over her. Sounds like her overrated husband is the boss, but, getting back to this awful post, yep, this woman has inspired all of us!
Get ready? Get ready for what? I’m ready but nothing has happened since she posted this. You know what she’s going to do to make her happy? Something dumb like taking a cooking class. She read about some cunt on Huffington Post that starting taking a cooking class and it made her so much happier now. It sounds like by her post that she is finally ending a relationship. That’s a good time to learn how to cook when you have no one to cook for anymore, you dumb twat.
Bad Life Boss
This woman posted a picture of a cup of hot tea on top of a notebook. Her laptop is open for work. Then, she posted this caption:
Parties. Events. Dinners. Dancing. All of these things sound so promising on a Saturday night. However, this is where I shall be spending my night. Must do what others don’t so that I may have what others won’t! Work hard now, play hard later! #BossBabe #Focus
Sounds to me like this woman had nothing to do on this Saturday night so she decided to stay in and get some work done instead. If she got invited to any of those events she would have gone in a second. Instead she tries to put up a brave front and tell her friends what a hard worker she is and make them feel guilty because they’re out having fun on a Saturday night like most people do. You know she barely got any work done. After ten minutes she got bored, went on Amazon and bought a bunch of shit to fill the void in her empty life.
Chicks don’t stay home on a Saturday night by themselves. That’s the worst thing a woman can go through. They would rather go through menopause.
Work hard now, play hard later.
Why can’t you work a little and then play a little? What the fuck is the difference? You’re staying in on a Saturday night with a cup of tea. I’m sure you’re super fun when you play hard. How do you play hard, by getting up at the crack of dawn to hit the local garage sales?
Set Goals!
We live in the age of productivity. Everyone has read a book or seen a video about getting organized. Setting goals is not life-changing advice. It’s old, rehashed bullshit. Here are some awful examples from some awful human beings.
Improving My Nonsense
This was posted a few days before the New Year:
2016 will be a very selfish year. My time will be invested on improving myself. I want to become a better person physically and mentally.
Wow! What a fucking original New Year’s resolution!
You, sir, are special! Just when I thought nobody wants to improve themselves you come along with this inspiring Facebook update.
It has been quite a while since you posted this. Did you become a better person? What did you do different? Are you in better shape? How’s that head? Better mentally? No? Nothing? Do you still drink too much? Do you fuck random girls without a condom? Do you still steal at work? You do, huh? Hmmm. Sounds to me like you’re the same piece of shit you were in 2015.
Wonder Woman & Her Untamed Ego
Get ready for this delusional asshole. Here’s a woman letting us all know that she has conquered the problems of life. But before we get into what she wrote, let me give you a little back-story.
She refers to herself as Wonder Woman and her husband as Superman. She refers to her kids as the natives.
She doesn’t have a job outside the home so she spends her day on Facebook bragging how the natives are so fucking smart and great. Meanwhile, Superman is busting his ass at work. She’s at home raising the kids and cleaning up the place. It’s a nonstop brag-fest with her and her updates like this:
Taming the House Hydra today! On a side note, I come downstairs after getting ready for the day and I see the oldest native doing homework. I’m about to deliver justice and punishment when he proceeds to tell me that it’s homework that is due NEXT Thursday. He said that he didn’t want to have to worry about it during the break. Glad to know that my parenting skills are doing all right! Until later!
Good for your son but what the fuck did that have to do with you being a good parent? He did his homework a week in advance because he didn’t want to wait until the last second. He was probably lying anyway. He was really on Snapchat and had his homework out to distract you. He was telling his friends how he can’t wait until he turns eighteen because he has a mother that thinks she’s Wonder Woman.
Here’s the next update she posted:
Wonder Woman is back with a magical new boot I have tamed the House Hydra. I have defeated the Lotus Eaters of Laundry and delivered justice to the Clutter Cyclops that has taken over since my downfall. Next on the list… BAKE! And lots of it! Until later!
You’re telling me that you cleaned, did laundry, and now you’re going to bake after all of that? Get the fuck out of here! Let me guess, your next post is going to be about what an amazing baker you are and how you cleaned up the mess all by yourself! This woman’s face should be put on our currency when they update it. Pure narcissism at its finest!
Actually, this wonderful woman isn’t saving the world, she’s torturing it. She can’t stop posting shit like this:
I will be fabulous today! Despite the many things this Wonder Woman has to do I will do it looking fabulous, feeling fabulous, and sending vibes of fabulousity to all those I see. Why you may ask? Because I am who the world needs me to be! I am Wonder Woman!
No, we don’t need you to be anything!
Superman needs you to be a good wife and good mom and take care of the kids. The rest of the world doesn’t give a fuck about you! There’re maybe forty people in the world that care about you. The rest of us don’t know you, don’t want to know you, and after reading these posts—hope you drop dead soon!
But you can’t help yourself, can you? Here’s another one:
So remember that post I made a while back. Saying this Wonder Woman was going to work out for 100 days straight and wasn’t going to miss a single day? Well, today marks 200 DAYS of not missing one single day. Wow! I actually have mini-triceps, biceps, and I can see my abs. My Georgia Peach is looking pretty fantastic, I must say. Here’s to another 100 days of being absolutely curvaceous and fabulous and loving myself in every way. Until later!
Hmm! You think Wonder Woman is bragging here?
How does she do this? She cleans, bakes, takes care of the kids, and she doesn’t miss a workout?
I will call bullshit on this one.
Nobody works out two hundred days in a row. All of this is bullshit. She likes reading fiction, and she writes it, too. Here’s an example of one of her best bullshit stories:
Talk about a confidence boost from the beach! A woman comes over and compliments my bathing suit. She said the color looks beautiful against my skin and it defines my curves. She said it was the best-looking bathing suit on the beach and all her friends agreed. They also couldn’t believe the shape I had and asked me how many times a week I work out. They complimented me on how amazing I looked for a mom that has a few kids. Looking good and feeling good! Until later!
That never fucking happened!
A woman didn’t come up to you to compliment your amazing bathing suit and how it complime
nts your curves. She didn’t say it was the best-looking bathing suit on the beach.
Nobody said that. You are full of shit!
Women are jealous of other women. If they know your bathing suit looks good, they will tear it down. They don’t know you. They will not walk up to you, out of the blue, and compliment you on having the best bathing suit on the beach.
Six chicks didn’t walk up in a group and give you all of those compliments. It never happened!
You’re a wonder at one thing—being a disaster of a human being. Think about that.
Until later!
CHAPTER FOUR
STRIP CLUB PARADISE
I grew up in Central New Jersey. Technically, our family was middle class but my lifestyle was more white trash. The middle-class part of my life was the nice suburban home, hardworking father, stay-at-home mother, and a conservative Catholic upbringing.
The white-trash part of me lived on the edge of the highway that cut through our traditional family neighborhood. This was where Jon Bon Jovi famously grew up. Route 35 in Sayreville.
Right around the corner from the nice houses and the local 7-11 was a horny teenager’s dream. There were at least eight strip clubs in a three-mile radius. The Marleybone Pub. The Go-Go Rama. Fantasies. Every two blocks was another bar filled with dancers. This area was our white-trash mecca. A paradise lit up by strip club neon.
Because of my strict Catholic upbringing, I was sexually repressed. Stifling all of those sexual feelings messes with your head. I didn’t get laid until one month before my eighteenth birthday. I didn’t masturbate until I was twenty-one. Suffice it to say, I had my share of sexual hang-ups but I was in good company. All of my buddies were like me, crazy animals who desperately needed to blow a load.
I think it’s true when people say Catholic kids are crazy. Sexually repressed kids build up a lot of anger and rage. If you clean your pipes the pent-up energy calms down but until then you stay nuts. That’s my theory at least and it seemed to be true in my case. Of course, adults don’t teach young boys how to remedy that situation so you have to figure it out yourself.
We found our answer at the strip clubs. I had a bad mustache and a mullet haircut. I couldn’t talk to women unless they wanted to discuss baseball, football, or why Ozzy left Black Sabbath. So I had to pay to talk to girls.
Barmaid Babysitters
The first time I remember visiting a strip club was when I was fourteen. One of our friends bragged that a certain club near our home had served him beer. So, one afternoon I walked over there with two of my buddies to find out if the rumor was true.
Now, this place was an all-nude club. I’m still unclear on the laws and how they pull that off but I’m grateful we got in. When we walked in the first thing we saw was a dancer shoving a Heineken beer bottle in her snatch. It was AMAZING! It was the first time I ever wanted to drink a beer!
Sure, we had seen pictures in Playboy and Penthouse, but this was on a whole other level. We stepped up to the bar and ordered some beers.
“We’ll take what she’s having!”
The barmaid just laughed. She knew we were underage.
“Look, if you want to go over to that booth, I’ll bring you some sodas.”
Well, shit. It wasn’t beer, but they weren’t kicking us out. We took her up on the offer and found some seats close to the performer.
All I can say is that it was a fantastic, insane moment in my life. I was a fourteen-year-old kid drinking a Coke in an all-nude bar with two of my best friends. It couldn’t get better than that. These days, the barmaid would be arrested, prosecuted, exposed on CNN, and denounced by every parent with a social media account.
Here, no one bothered us. I sat there and experienced what it felt like to be jealous of a lubed-up longneck. To this day the only beer I drink is Heineken. Advertising really does work!
Double-Stuffing Dollars
Back in my day, the most common activity in the club was stuffing. A stripper comes over to flirt with you and you’d “stuff” her bra or panties by placing a rolled up dollar in her cleavage or in the elastic of her waistband.
One night, my brother thought up a way to get more out of our money.
“Let’s pool our singles, cut them in half, roll them up tight, and use them to stuff!”
He was literally cutting into the stripper’s profits. It was stupid and unnecessary, but we went along with the idea.
As long as you took the rolled up half-dollar bill and stuffed it quickly the dancer just assumed it was a regular dollar bill. There was only one problem.
“We have to make this quick!” someone said, “As soon as one of them finds out what we’ve done, she’ll come storming out of that back room and bust us.”
He was right. It wouldn’t take long to figure out the young broke scumbags in the corner were the ones scamming the strippers. Our strategy became stuff and run!
We stuffed our half dollars, watched the tits bounce for a few minutes, guzzled our beer, and disappeared as fast as possible. It was a game to see how many times we could do it and not get caught. So, after hitting one club with our scam we drove down the street to another strip club and did it all again until we ran out of money.
I do regret not seeing the faces of those women when they unrolled those dollars. I’m sure they were thinking, who in the fuck would do this?
Well, we did it and got away with it! Guess they’ll bring Scotch Tape to work from now on.
Lunch Break Lap Dances
During my strip club days, I worked as the delivery truck guy for Jacob’s Hardware. I was the kid who drove their big panel truck and dropped off mulch, grass seed, and lawn mowers to the customers. It was a good job for me at the time because it allowed me freedom during the day. I found hundreds of tiny ways to waste my time while out on delivery.
When I was bored, I’d find a way to get my friend Chuck involved. He was a slob like me and I really liked hanging out with him. I’d tell the boss I hurt my back and I needed Chuck’s help delivering the heavy shit. The boss always agreed. We’d take our time driving to the customer’s house, usually stop for lunch at Burger King, and finally drop off the item.
The best days were when we got tips. If the customer were generous with us, we would drive straight to Club 516. This was a strip club on Route 516 less than a mile away from our work. It was risky stopping here. The hardware store was right down the road and you could see any car that was in the club parking lot. Thankfully, there was one spot in the back I could hide the truck. I laughed when I imagined people driving by wondering, Why is the Jacob’s Hardware delivery truck at the strip club?
After a few weeks, we had mastered the strip club lunch break. We would get our tip. Buzz over to the club and buy one beer. We had to split it because we needed singles for the dancers. Usually, we’d get two stuffs and then finish our drink and head back to work with beer on our breaths. It was a fucking beautiful! Club 516 became one of my favorite strip clubs because of those memories. I wanted to have my son’s christening there but, for some reason, I got backlash from my family.
Never Sit Near the Beer Cooler
There’s a lot to learn if you want to enjoy your visit to a strip club. For instance, if I walk into a strip club and I see a guy sitting near the cash register I immediately know this guy is a rookie. Never sit there or where servers pick up drink orders. You are doing it all wrong if you sit around the bar clutter or next to the beer cooler.
You can’t be part of the action here. The dancer is literally eight feet away from you. The barmaid working in this area may talk to you but she’s going to be busy and cranky. This is no man’s land! Move. Find an empty spot near the dancer’s stage so her tits are an inch away from your face. That’s how the professionals do it.
Always Go with the Minority
Here’s another important strip club rule. If you want to get a good lap dance be careful who you pay to do it. In my expert opinion, you want a woman who puts effort into a l
ap dance. The rule of thumb is always go with the minority!
Never go with the white girl. She feels entitled and doesn’t want to be there. She thinks she is too good for this line of work even though she’s no better than anyone else. I’ve had long conversations with these women and I know them well. The conversation is always the same.
“I’m just working here because I’m saving to go back to school.”
She’s not!
“My grandmother is sick, that’s why I work as a dancer!”
Nope, your grandmother is perfectly fine.
“I’m saving to buy a house!”
Lie!
“I’m going to open a nail salon.”
Well, maybe the Asian Stripper is.
You spend all your money at the nail salon but you’re not buying one.
You may have a good night and make some fast money but you take it to the mall the next day and buy shit you don’t need. You feel good for three minutes. Then, you’re right back to the self-loathing and broken dreams.
Let me repeat. Go with the minority!
The entitled white girls are train wrecks. Especially, the ones from overseas. In the tail end of my strip club days, the Russians invaded and it ruined the clubs. They were looking for rich guys and acted indifferent to everyone else. It sucked the fun out of the experience.
Everybody Is Awful_Except You! Page 6