Thursday, 23 March 2017
It's like I stepped into the real world when I moved to London. Or, simply, I descended into one of those undermost worlds where the most of you live. And where I live too, now. And here you must deal with all a series of troubles that during my previous life I couldn't even imagine afflicting the humankind. False and ridicule problems that people create on their own and then pass over to somebody else.
The main problem turned out to be women. The most part of them believes to be special when they're not special at all. It's for that reason that they throw at you all their shit: break promises, forget the commitments, use you as a gap filler. The only reason men allow women to behave in such a way it's the so much despicable (according to women) habit of men of thinking with their groynes instead that with the brain. They believe to be special but don't grasp that are considered nothing more than the mean of transport of a cunt. They are like the Polo candies, a hole with a sweet all around. Often a candy with a really bad taste, but what matters is the hole.
During my years in London, I've been busy to relate myself with women and girls who thought themselves special, and I'm sure I have dealt with the problem in a much worse way than the other men. After all, I had had the very bad luck of meeting in my previous life three women who special were for real.