"Pub Garbage" add-on story

In the story Proud Member of Pub Garbage,

I had said:

So proud of being the booty call of a rich boy... (that info was also revealed, possibly to trigger the competitive side in me)

Story is this,

After hearing what my friend does for a living, she tells him that her ex-boyfriend was rich.

I enter the scene without knowing this.

Somehow the conversation turns to sexuality, due to an open minded female friend of mine, and after my male friend leaves, this topic continues, and proudly she states:

“I was dating this rich guy. He was so busy being rich, I broke up with him. Now we meet now and then when he calls. We have sex, and he leaves”, with an aura of the child which upon doing something marvelous in its mind, goes: “Mom, mom, mom, Look what I did”

And I was supposed to acknowledge that, appreciate that, and tell her “Wow. Good Job!”

The last time I checked, it really was not that difficult for an attractive woman to find a (rich) dude to have sex with her with no strings attached, and no demanded responsibility on the guys side.

It really must be a big accomplishment for an attractive woman to find a guy who accepts this deal:
“You busy tonight?”
“No”
“I'll be there in half hour”
Door knocks, pants go down, after another half hour,
“Thanks babe, that was nice.”

Ooooh. Oooooh. Very very difficult.

Now I am all for people living their sexuality in a respectful manner, it is in the end a sharing of beautiful intimacy. This is not about the intimacy. Telling me she is having sex with a dude, in a matter of factly manner is fine, leaves me neutral. We are adults.

I mean this:

“I take it you are single”
“Kind of. There is a guy I meet now and then” or “No, I see a guy” or “Yes, but I got my sexual needs covered”, you get the picture. Matter of factly.

But a girl telling me that she has a dude who calls her, fucks her, and dumps her, with the expectation that her value will be raised in my eyes, that I will perceive her as a diamond that is a challenge to attain, really is utter disillusionment. Definition of idiocy. Ignorance. Stupidity.

By telling that to me in that way, you tell me you are a free shag for a dude who has better options than you. You tell me you don't deserve any better treatment from me. A proud free shag you are.

Nothing more. Nothing less?

No.

Nothing more, but way less, possibly worthless.

P.S. For the dumb****s out there (I know you, the reader, are not one. Yea, you), this story is written for the ones telling me they are having a fuckbuddy with the intention that I will get jealous or with the intention of raising their value in my eyes. Not for the ones just telling me casually in the flow of conversation.

Even obese get laid

I was sitting on the table together with one of the new students, a girl, enjoying the environment.

There was a group of five or six girls in front of us. One was a thirtyish dancer, not so beautiful, but extremely sexy. The way she moved her body was a sight to behold. The rest was chubby, at best.

Around 2 AM, a new girl enters the group. Twenty something, and obese. Obese to the point of weighing possibly same as me, while her eyes were at my shoulder level, and I am not a light guy.

The girl with me looks at her, turns to me and asks:

“Finndistan, do these kind of girls get hit on?”
“Wait till 3.25 AM, you'll see”

Apparently I underestimated.

3 AM, I need to visit the gents, after enjoying relief, I open the door of the gents, only to see:

An african dude, all dressed like a Harlem Brotha all over this obese girl, pretty much begging to continue the night. The girl apparently interested; playing hard to get.

To give more detail:

The African dude was a good looking man. In shape, tall, handsome, dressed to style, no matter how ridiculous I found the harlem style, good voice, he was the leader of his group of around five guys.

All in all, he was in the top three of the fifteen or so black guys in the venue. (Fuck political correctness. One of my best friends is a black guy. When we stand side by side, he... is... black... , I... am... dirty.. white. So, these guys were black.)

Top guy of his niche. He was going for one of the lowest in the barrel.

Then it made sense. The entitlement of the other girls in the group, the bitchy aura that was over that group. Hell, if the worst one in the group was getting hit on by an attractive man, what should the chubbies feel they deserve? What would the dancer feel worthy of herself?

Damn you guys!

Start being picky.

For one blubberfuck, you are fucking over the rest of mankind.

If you are attractive, go for attractive.

Stabilize the market, do not screw it up.

A future post foreshadow: (This obese had a cute face. She was not in the lowest rank, but in the second lowest. The lowest being obese and ugly face, similar to a man who is a bum, ugly, fat and a nice guy) Even the lowest ranks of women have it easier to find a short term mate than average, and even over average men.

Nails are not enough

Have you ever noticed that the women with the most made up nails are the fatties? Not just you run of the mill overweight women. The bitchy ones.

They go out with the H&M clothing designed for anorexic/thin/average girls: Leggings, tight tops, what not.

Three layers of blubber blubbing around their belly, three layers of chin hidden by make up, the extravagant shoes, and, like I said, accompanied by a bitchy behavior.

That is not what I got stuck at.

It is the nails.

The nails that were done that day by a nail paint artist

Lacquer on the pink part, and then some art on the grown long witchy nails, which is usually long enough to be a danger to a wild bear in the forest, long enough to necessitate a hidden weapons carry permit

Yes, even though I find those kind of nails disturbingly disgusting on these women, objectively, the nails may be good looking, but ladies, they do not make you beautiful.

The men you are interested in do not have a nail fetish, except the 1% hiding somewhere in the bushes. These men want a body in shape, a face not drowning in war paint, and an attitude that is pleasant.

You are fat. You war paint yourself. You are definitely a pain to be flirting with.

Showing off those expensive nails will not change a thing.

You are still fat, war painted, and a bitchy. You are unhealthy.

Painting nils will not change a thing.

A smile, a friendly attitude, a down to earth existence; now that will cause a change worthy of fireworks.

If you are willing to empty your wallet anyway;

Instead of paying the fifty euros to the nail painter, pay it to me, I will guide you and in six months, you will be the woman that you thought those nail paintings would have turned you into, but have failed, and are failing, and will fail. I will not fail.

But the nails.....

If not for guidance, then spend the money on sausage... At least you get something out of it.

Best rejection

“Hi”
“BYE”

Best comeback to a rejection

Middle easterner hits on fat chick... Gets rejected by a wave of a hand...

Immediately:

“You are RACIST” (spoken like “raschist”)

Half an hour must still pass till they leave together, after she announces “I am noooot racist”



The runner up:

Foreign guy hits on girl, gets rejected, and shouts back:

“FUCK YOU!”..

The girls eyes light up, in her eyes she already shagged him... They leave together...

Legendary.

Proud Member of Pub Garbage

She was good looking. She knew it. She was dressed to kill. And she was in the hipster bar talking with my friend.

As it happens I enter the conversation, and small talk comes out.

Oh she really does not like this bar. The people are strange. The music is strange. The bar is strange.

“Well” I ask, “where do you hang out?”

She lifts her nose up and tells me she hangs out at the -name- Club.

Oh, that club is the meat market of the town. I start smiling.

Then her nose goes even up and she proudly declares she actually spends more time in the Cellar Bar.

Now I am thinking to myself, “Cellar”... “Hell there must be a new place in town”

A few days later I remembered the conversation, and checked the cellar.

Turns out the “Cellar” is the second name for the cheapest bar in downtown, a dumpster, a shithole, (ok, has cheap shots... from sober to drunk in ten minutes, under ten euros is possible), a bar in the same category as the one in From Dusk Till Dawn, without the vampires, and without the class, without the sexy dancer to the sexy music.

Ah, my little girl, you are so confused.

So proud of being garbage...

So proud of being the booty call of a rich boy... (that info was also revealed, possibly to trigger the competitive side in me)

Education gone wrong...

That is damn bad luck

After enjoying a nice long leak, I opened the toilet door just to witness some girl shouting “Haista vittu” (Fuck off) to a guys face.

The poor boy just left with his tail between his leg, only to open up an opportunity for me to ease my curiosity.

Me: “Wow that was harsh... What did he do to deserve that?”
Her: “Nothing... “

Me: “What do you mean nothing?”
Her: “He said nothing bad...”

Me: “Wow.. .So why the “fuck off”?”
Her: “He was cute. But I am angry. Am waiting here fifteen minutes”

Just when she finishes that last sentence, the toilet door opens, and a little hipster boy exits the ladies loo together with a warpig, both tidying their hair.

That is damn bad luck. The cute boy could not have known he is getting a “fuck off” from a cute girl because of some hipster fucking a warpig... Now he is drinking his sorrows away, having an existential conflict, trying to understand why he is such a loser... Not knowing the reason was an irrelevant happening in the ladies' room...

I mean come on...

At least if the hipster was fucking some cute young perky hipster girl...

At least then there would be some point to it...

Germans are nice... Very nice

Standing with my brother, enjoying the views, chatting the night away,

And of course some dude gets curious cause he has no idea of what language his ears are picking up...

Him:“Where are you from?”
Me: “Germany”

Him: “Ha?”
Brother: “Mars”

Him: “Fuck.. What?”
Brother: “Mars, man, mars”

Him: “You are not from mars”
Me: “No, we are from germany”

Him: “No. You fuckers are finnish. You are too much of assholes to be german... You fucking assholes” and walks away...

Even I do not see finnish guys in such a bad light, damn you people have some image of yourselves...

Cheers!

The phone call

On my way home, decided to go to this one new age rock bar… Full of youngsters with the tight jeans. Jeans, which are hanging from the butt as if they crapped their pants…

I meet this friend of mine, and we are hanging by the dancefloor, scanning the environment.

He tells me “these three girls came here definitely for the lay”… I check the girls out.

The one gothic looking chick is all over a James Dean type.

Tonsils removal surgery in action.. It was a beautiful sight, two people in full passion, not caring about their surroundings, kissing as if their lips are on fire…
It was a beautiful sight,

Till,

My friend sees a light on the ground, looks down, and sees a phone ringing on the ground, picks it up, asks people about it, and the smooching gothic girl takes the phone…

At the moment my friend is telling me “Check this out. It was a Mikko calling”, the expression on the girls face was worth seeing. Suddenly she came back to earth, shame and guilt on her face…
That view now, was not only beautiful, it was excellent.

…

And to show how far guilt and shame and morals go, she was all over the Dean-Dude five minutes later.

The best pick up line

“Ola... I am Markho... I am sp-hanish... I am an exchange stud-dentt... You are beautif-hul, no?”

Said by a generic spanish to a finnish girl who had not noticed the guy before.

Two seconds delivery of the line, and the spanish dude got to pick up the goo, the molten leftovers of the girl, from the floor and take it home.

Years of observations compel me to do a public service: if you are a spanish guy coming to finland, be sure to mention spain at every opportunity.

This goes as well for french, americans, brits, scots, especially aussies. Use this info, and feel free to abuse it.

Italians need to exercise caution in making sure of coming across as a slimey bastard, which will keep the congruence with the mental image in the statistical majority of the ladies.

Oh and, if you are not from these countries, but think you can pull it off, you have my blessings. Go my young one, go. May the force be with ya.

I dedicate this post to S., the cigar smoker.

Bro, never listen to what they say. Trust your own eyes.

A reason of not listening being necessary is that ladies, as a population, have a need to create the illusion of supply being scarce.

Promise to write a long post about this once I can tie it to a story.

Kissing Italy

It is Saturday.

It is night.

We are out.

Sober.

Unlike our surroundings.

The energizer bunny of the group has been dancing on the floor for the last two hours, shoulder to the left, butt to the right, then reverse direction.

There is this girl, whose friends I know,
Watching her grind a Finn, I asked the girl that I know, “I did not know she is single”… For me to ask that question, that grind must be a bit more of an evolved grind, I must add.
“No no no… She is engaged”
“hmm”

After grinding the Finn, I spot her grinding an African dude… Long time…

After the long time, the lady is now grinding a Middle Easterner dude…

Interesting…

A few other grind partners later, I spot her grinding the energizer bunny… “Damn” I think to myself…

She dances, grinds, rubs her ass against his crotch..

Turns around,
Grabs the gum the Italian has been chewing all night long, puts it in her mouth and happily enjoys the pleasure of chewing on a gum with a substantial amount italian spit on it.

That view was still ok, until started thinking about element number 37 in the picture. The fiancée.

The fiancée, who will at the end of the night welcome this drunk slut (oh, did I just say that?) to a warm and welcoming home, and kiss her a passionate kiss, take her into his arms, and give her a passionate goodnight kiss, after some long (or short) lovemaking, involving a lot of kissing,

Having no clue that that all the time he is ingesting, swallowing, licking and tasting the spit of Energito Bunnito from Italy.

Food poisoning is something I prefer to this disgust.

And here we are

May 2008, fourteen months ago was my last post about the stories I had the honor, pleasure and misfortune to encounter.

Now, after fourteen months, I am back.

This time I have no intention to leave for some long time to come, have no intention to stop making the reader laugh, or get pissed off, for that matter.

Welcome back for some true stories, told as they happened..

And, here we go! Five new ones for you!

Enjoy!

Spartans in da toilet

It is late in the night, and a combination of beer, coffee, and water forced me to check out with the men's restroom

I go in, in a rush, and ignore my surroundings

After the first pressure leaves, I look to my right, to see two hipsters enjoying the urinal. (what is a hipster: www.latfh.com)

We got two hipsters, pants down to the ankle, bare butted, enjoying a swordfight with their wastewater.

Still ok... I used to swordfight with my pee when I was like five...

Still ok, till:

One of the barebutt, pants down to ankle guys breaks off the swordfight to continue peeing on his friend.

Now, I am there enjoying a pleasant relaxing moment, when I got two barebutt guys on my side, one peeing on the other.

The other hipster, noticing he s getting peed on, goes “Fuuuuuck”, and turns on his friend.

Now, I am still there enjoying a pleasant relaxing moment, when I got two barebutt guys running in circles like the duelling cowboys, and peeing on eachother... And succeeding.

A sight to behold, another reason to love this country.

I am the man

Out in a hipster club, shiny shoes, fitting jeans, and a tight shirt with only the bottom buttoned.

Yep, I a place full of hipsters who have no idea what sports is, I like to show off my well trained hairy chest. Perv? Proud of it.

It is almost the end of the night, and I am talking dirty to this one girl when I feel a hand, not the girl's, creeping up my chest.

I look down, see a hand on my bare chest, which by now is slowly scratching my chest hair, and I slowly follow the hand, only to see this little punk dude looking at my chest.

My eyes go to the punk's eyes with amusement in my face, the to the girl, whose jaw has dropped,whose eyes are wide open, and back to the punk.

I nod to the punk in a “whazzup dude” fashion, who looks up to me and with respect in his voice, utters:

“Tosi miehennn karrrrva”
(“Real maaaaans hairrrr”)

Reason I love this country #237

Ripe angels

Saw these two girls that I know.

One of them had broken up with her boyfriend three weeks ago, and here she was, single for three weeks, at twenty one.

The other one is an cute looking twenty one year old girl; an innocent smile with a hint of naughtiness in it. Sweet little cutie pie. So sweet. So cute. So innocent looking.

Talking to them, after the initial whazzups,

Me: “Hey, how is single life going?”
Single girl: “Ummmm.. Good?”
Me: “So what do single people do?... I have no idea..” (in my head I am making a funny comment, as I am a bachelor, they know it, being a smartass...)
Cutiepie: (looks to her friend, and then back to me, the angel eyes, and the innocent smile turn into a smile that can be only described as naughty as hell) “We fuck”

Smartass getting bitchslapped..



This story is dedicated to the men out there who think enjoying the company of legal aged younger women is a sin.

Guys...

Guys...

The fruit is ripe for the picking. It is waiting to be picked, eaten, devoured and enjoyed.

You continue thinking it is a sin.

The fruit is ripe now. Won't stay ripe too long.

By the time you decide the time is right, the fruit will likely be long way past ripe. Would not say spoiled, but overripe?

To the ones who will call me pervert:

Imagine me shrugging my shoulders and taking a sip from my whiskey.

Green: stop, orange: risky, red:GO!

After gym I went to get a glass of red wine, and sat on some comfy sofa to sip it.

In the table beside me were exchange students, enjoying an evening out.

As it happens, I eavesdropped on this conversation between two girls:
“Tomorrow we are going to the traffic light party”
“What is that?”
“If you are taken you wear a red sticker, if you are single you get a green one, if you say maybe, then you get an orange one”
“Guys too?”
“Yes”
“Guys in green sounds desperate”
“Yes it is desperate”
“Green is for looser guys”

Ahhhh my little ones… Ahhh your mate selection criteria… You amuse me so much.

You are going to a bloody singles party… Isn’t that “desperate” enough?

That is not the point though.

Let’s open the dictionary of the unsaid.

Green guy is desperate.
Translates:
Available guy is desperate

Translates further:
Single guy is desperate.

Now find an counter statement.

So who is not desperate?

The guy who is not single or does not seem to be single. The guy who is chosen by other women as worthy of their company.

Now we all know that the taken man is always more attractive than the single man, especially if he is taken by an attractive woman. Scientific studies back this up.

In my arrogance, I say more importantly, my experience backs it up…

It takes a lot of spine for a taken man not to succumb to the immense amount of opportunities. Added to these proofs, there are also the men who wear fake wedding rings to get laid more easily.

What happens due to this phenomenon?

Given the same qualities and attractiveness of two guys, these little girls will go for the guy who looking less single.

They will choose to be one of the many notches of the not-openly single guy, than the star of the single one.

Why?

Because if he is single, there must be something wrong compared to the not-openly single one.

And anyway, if he is not openly single, he must have women wanting him, and this means he must be attractive to women. This turns to “Oh my God! He is attractive.”

So what does the not-openly single guy do?

Possibly juggling few girls in the same time, getting a few more now and then,
And the “green guys are desperate” girls are choosing to be just another notch on the belt, only to complain a few years later, “there are no good men”, “all men are pigs”, “all men just want sex”…

But, who can blame them? Isn’t attraction illogical?
As for me, I don’t complain.
I either choose to play this game or traffic lights, knowing the unsaid rules,
Or I control the lights.
Who could ever blame me?

Endnote for the clueless out there: If you have problem getting female attention, find two good looking lady friends or relatives, and go out with them. For a few weeks. As long as you don’t kiss ass, watch yourself as you skyrocket.

The easiest way to get laid at any given time is to have an attractive woman – even better, women- showing sexual interest to you in front of other women. In the wrong hands, …oh…, I am smiling now when I imagine this strategy being in the wrong hands….

What language was I speaking?

Am talking to this old biker dude, actually having an entertaining conversation about Germans Finns and the Second World War;… in English, for the record.

About after half an hour of conversing, he stops, looks at me and asks,

“Hey, do you speak English?”
“Yea.. ?”
“Ha, … good”
“??????”