Misc.

More and more restaurants - and not just isolated ones - hire waitresses based entirely on physical looks, and specifically on physique, and then the restaurants dress them to look like hookers. In dress no different from that of hookers - in fact, in dress that even some hookers wouldn't wear - the waitresses make sure to touch the male customers of the tables they wait upon.

They know how to touch just right. When women use their touch in such ways on a habitual basis as their job, they can communicate just the right heat and softness to the person they touch; they also know how to sink into their bodies - while dressed like hookers - in such a way as to stimulate the lower appetites of men. I don't know if there is any language for this thing they do, but let's say they give the greatest expression possible to the sexual presence of their bodies by letting the body go entirely "heavy limp", or "purposely defenseless by seeming accident", and oh, is that my torso in an ultra-truncated "mini-skirt" a foot away from your face while you pay the bill on the debit machine? There's the tip button, right there. They hardly have to do anything but stand there and they communicate these things with a very specific intent.

They do this - dressing like hookers, touching the male customers and stimulating their lower appetites - to receive large sums of tip money. The food at such restaurants is typically mediocre crap dressed in the pretension of being good food and the drinks are ridiculously expensive. Such places, and such women, insult men, and insult them greatly - I would say, insult them gravely.

Men, be men, and don't go to such places.

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I still remember this one episode of E.R. - that stupid hospital soap opera of the 90's. In this episode a woman came to have an abortion, and while she is in the ward having the child killed, the husband comes busting into the hospital demanding to see his wife because he is against her having his child murdered (as any good husband would be), and the nurse with the dreadlocks (at least they looked like dreadlocks) oh so heroically stops the wild crazy stupid husband so that his wife can exercise her choice to murder her and her husband's child do with her body what she likes.

That character treatment is the ultra-kind version of  how the "post-modern" era regards men, and specifically fathers and husbands.

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If I was a priest I would kind of purposefully push young people away from marriage. I would make it hard for them. And if they treated me like the necessary tool for their photo-op ceremony I would tell them they could go find another priest. What did our Lady say in one of her apparitions - many marriages today are displeasing to God?

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In the modesty/clothing debates, there's always a person who says something along the lines of, "But you need to understand, women just aren't aware of what they are doing when they dress like that."

Is that supposed to be some kind of paramount excuse? Men just aren't aware that they sometimes piss over the rim of the toilet such that their urine spatters on the floor. What say you to that?

By that do you mean that these women are so sucked into their own egotistical, selfish, narcissistic worlds that, like all who sin, being paradigms of immodesty (which directly implies an unawareness) they "just aren't aware of what they're doing?" Then yes, sure, they aren't aware of what they're doing, and waking up would imply repentance - absolutely.

But that's not what is meant, is it? No, what they mean is that the unawareness, which is the fruit of their immodesty, makes them extra extra extra special or, rather, makes men more and more metro as they are expected to tread on eggshells and how dare you criticize women bastard this is America/Canada.

But anyways, many of them know exactly what they're doing when they dress like that.

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I remember reading this one forum somewhere on the internet, I can't remember what forum or what it was about, but someone in the midst of the conversation spoke about how his child in the grocery store, upon seeing a cover of a magazine with a sexed up woman on the cover, asked,

"Daddy, why does she want to hurt me?"

Poor kid. Didn't know how to deal with women.

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Men who drive big mini monster trucks, jacked up on huge wheels and flaming paint jobs with the testicles hanging off the back chrome axle: maybe if it was, like, the 80's, people would be like, "Oh that is so awesome! I want a truck like that!" But since it's post 2008 debacle, post-this and post-that, post-9/11 and people generally know that things are not going to go well in the near future, and people generally are coming more and more (incrementally) to realize (even with joy) what is really important in life, your truck only makes people think, "You have no responsibility with money and you're probably mired in debt just to keep your life cushioned with the artificial life-support of your expensive toys. Get real."

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Men in North America in the summertime (which has nothing on the tropics) who walk into stores without your shirts on as though your pectorals and abs were all that: put a shirt on, retards. What are you supposed to be - a male hooker on the streets of L.A. or something?

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Through the rolling meadowland I strolled where the path takes you over a plank footbridge over a pond that goes dry in summer, and in the spring I saw so many tadpoles flickering in the murk.

Then later I saw they got bigger, fatter, their eyes almost on the tops of the fat heads. Then another day they had little legs beginning, and they slurried around, or just hung there, all fat and bulbous. Repulsive. With spottiness developing on their skin. Their tails getting smaller. Their heads getting fatter.

Then one day as I came down the path there was a jumping thing that went plop ker-plink and plish splash. Ah! The agile frog so quick on the money!

It was good to see some improvements finally being made.

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Recently me and the Boss had to deal with an American bullfrog in a lady's pool. We came through the passage that cuts between her house, and ker splosh! right into the blazing blue of her pool; the water perfectly clear, we could see the muscular legs and spots of this giant kicking around in the depths of paradise. I think I heard the frog scream Cannonball! as it jumped into the water. The water uses the salt method rather than chlorine - though this too would eventually not be good for the frog.

I would honestly rather deal with a hairy tarantula. Really. I don't mind spiders.

And really, objectively speaking, people ought to be more afraid of the American bullfrog than of spiders because the American bullfrog is a nasty invader that gobbles up the biodiversity of other places that are not its proper home.

Oh! Am I saying something there? Who knows!

Anyways, spiders are great pest controllers (without the gobbling), and people really ought to cut them some slack.

The Boss made use of the pool net while I held the bucket. Oh my Lord, that bullfrog jumped from the net straight at me and there was no way I was going to stay there holding the bucket. We tried again and again. Finally, we got it in the bucket. I carried it to a corner of the yard behind which is a marshy area, but at the point where I was releasing the frog there were prickles - blackberry thorns.

As I tilted down the bucket - a deep plastic barrel really - I could see the massive squat silhouette of the frog through the white plastic sliding slowly down, then hopping back up so that he wouldn't come out. He was aware of the thorns. You see, frogs are like pigs. They are smart. They know when you're coming, and they see quite clearly.

When he came to the rim and knew that he had nowhere else to go, he jumped from the rim into the neighbour's yard, avoiding the blackberries that fronted the marshland.

He'll find his way.

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Comments about modesty will not be published.

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The internet is false time.

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Alex Jones and all the fear-mongering gold bugs make the moneyed internationalists quite happy. Alex Jones and Co. are very useful to them.