Shut The Fuck Up!

            Some people who read this blog love when I write about Bananas and Birthdays. This post is not for you, so avert your eyes if you were planning to see something cheery to end your week. I am mad, and not just a little mad, incensed. It all starts right here and I advise that you read that so we can both be on the same anger level.

           

Are you with me? Good, let’s get started!

 

1. FUCK YOU NEW YORK TIMES: Question numero uno to ask yourself when writing: Is the subject matter worth it? If I were the author of this article, my pre-writing process would have gone as follows: “Whiney girls who start a blog because their rich boyfriends are being mean and broke. Nope not news, the economy sucks for everyone.” That’s it! Boom! Over! Nothing to see here! I’d rather spend my time and effort on something worthwhile. Instead, New York Times, you say: “Perfect let’s feature these putrid semen snatchers, promote their blog, and empathize with their plight.” Maybe if the article was written in a sarcastic tone I would have understood, but the fact that we are supposed to be empathizing with these women disgusts me. I don’t care if your rich boyfriend can’t buy you bottles anymore, really I don’t. I am the only employed member of my family, my parents have lost all of their money in the market, and my brother is graduating into the worst job market in decades. These ugly (and god that one in the picture is hideous) sluts can’t go out to a $200 dinner and I’m supposed to be upset? Welcome to the real world, get used to it, and shut the fuck up.
2. WHAT GOES AROUND COMES AROUND: I’m talking to the guys here and girls I’m sorry if I offend you, but I think you’ll realize in the end I am speaking the truth. Remember those girls at the club who were only hanging out with the guys at the tables? Maybe you were even friends with one of them. They were hot and sexy, but once you got in the club they didn’t want anything to do with you. They wanted to talk to the older guys who had the money. The girls didn’t even really like those guys and the dudes weren’t even really talking to them. But they kept hanging on for the free booze and the hopes that they’d bag themselves a wealthy one. Those are the girls featured in this article. The ones who would rather fuck someone that they don’t really care about just at the prospect of getting a Louis bag. I don’t blame them for wanting to make their lives Sex and The City, but DON’T GET UPSET ABOUT IT NOW. If you marry (or date) for money, and the money done run shawt, what you got left? A whole lot of nothing. Love someone for who they are on the inside; I thought this was the first rule you learned as a kid. My favorite is the whiney mistress; “oh the guy I’m fucking can’t afford to take me anywhere anymore.” Seriously?
3. THESE ARE THE ASSHOLES THAT DID IT: Ok, reality check, the very men they are dating are the same people that got us into this mess! Please don’t forget that! The greed that these hoes are helping to drive is what drove this economy into a recession. “I need my new Cadillac, that new beach house, a fleet of maids and drivers, college for all seven of our children (even the two that aren’t his), etc”. I’m being hard on the women; the fact that these dudes measure their dicks by paychecks is also a contributing factor. Being a trader could be one of the least macho jobs I can think of. You want alpha male? How about a firefighter, a general in the army, a shark wrangler, a surgeon, fuck it a construction foreman. “Oh oh oh, I work with numbers, wear a suit and tie, and make millions of dollars, how macho is that?” Nah man, macho is Nate Robinson, not the guy in the front row watching him. Anyone could do what you do; they’re just not afforded the same education and the same opportunity. Ever meet someone who works as a trader for Goldman Sachs? Tell me they’re macho with a straight face, go ahead, oh wait….you can’t.
4. “THE PARTY’S OVER”: Size Playa said that to me and I hope he knows I wasn’t referring to him in the last passage. He also said the following about working in finance in New York: “We are running towards the bullets, eventually one is going to get you.” Kid is spot on. So the fact that these girls are complaining is not news, it’s just a fact of life in NYC. These maleficent vulvas are just one small part of the game that is crashing down. In case I haven’t made it clear, I don’t feel for them. I feel for the working shlub who watched them squander his life savings, I feel for the security guard who doesn’t have a job because his building got cleared out, I feel for the African American single mother of three who got laid off because her company didn’t need the overhead. I feel bad for them, I don’t feel bad for you, and I don’t feel bad for me. Its time to end this fucking pity party, and figure out what the next step is. Take your support group and build a house for habitat for humanity, raise some money for aids research, fuck it go nuts and work in a soup kitchen for a day. However, whatever you do please do not ever complain again, you have no right. Especially over drinks at the Grammercy Park Hotel. I know people who could eat for a week off of what you are paying for your gimlet. Grow a meaningful sense of the world around you or go fuck yourself.

 

The funniest Dingle Berries yet will be coming up at 2. We didn't want to leave a bitter taste in your mouth. Sorry I had to get this off my chest. Much love from me, Teddy Jones here at The Gumption.