Girl-porn is: every time one or more women conspire to keep a secret; or when women work together to create the false appearance that a man is worse than they are, collectively.

And, of course, semi-nude pictures of Miley Cyrus, or whoever the latest femfabulous cutie is who is making the rounds and showing her ass to the world–Ariana Grande, Igy Azealea, or whoever–but  women love to hate young women who they cannot control or contain.

But they also love to compare themselves to that ‘new’ woman and to assert their dominance or superiority over that new woman, secretly.

Many if not most women then do a personal, secretive mental calculation that takes into account:

1)the body parts (compete, compare, devour with the eyes; and then, dismiss any and all carnal or challenging thoughts that they have as the result of being trapped in [patriarchy, which forces us to compare, compete and devour…’ Its always someone else’s fault that women are each, individual, and beautiful, or desirable in different ways–so, they must be contained within a monolithic structure before their individual impulses run wild )

2)the ‘intelligence level’ of that new woman(compete, compare, seek weakness, compete against perceived weakness, come up ‘morally superior’ to the imagined weakness of that woman thus compared) and then

3) to draw up a plan of action that they can employ/deploy within themselves to defeat the narrative of raw, youthful beauty (compete, compare, assess and defeat)

4) Lastly and most important-project their own deviance onto men; onto patriarchy; onto anyone they can scapegoat, or use as a human shield to deflect insight away from themselves.

And, more often than not, they project the sum total of this odd rationale upon the world, and project any and all sensual or sexual feelings that they might have about the latest ingenue onto MEN (MEN! Those bastards!!!)

WEll, where I have lived for the last several decades, I have had such beastly women following me around.

Its as if the “Cult of Jodie Foster wanabe’s” just can’t get enough of the smel of my soiled underwear.

They folow me to the grocery store, the bars, the colleges, and anywhere else I go–and they have literally formed a carefully scripted narrative–a secret and as yet be actualized fantasy about who “I” am.

And they have used the power of institutions, law enfarcement, plain gossip, and many many other tools, not least of which is “TIME” to create the narrative of a bogeyman–a regular Georgie Porgie, who somehow deserves their spite, and their scalding shame.

BUtr I beg to differ–because really, these types of women–who are afraid of debutante’s–are really angry, violent, sociopathic and narcissistic bitter hags who look within themselves, and fail at attaining the beauty that counts: that inner thing, where one is lovely, because one is innocent.

And these hags are not either, on the inside, no matter what they look like on the outside.

And it is this desire to rape the privacy of others that makes them no better thanmen, and, most likely, predators whose secrets may never come to light, because their narrative–that of a monolithic woman who claims to ‘protect’ women, is actually an empty shell–like a hermit crab of a person–collectively organizing to face the truth that all hermit crabs face: they smell bad, and even worse when grouped together; and even then, they are scavengers, who do and will eat the most foul detritus of the sea.

Amelia Earhart herself likely died at the claws of such crabs–but these crabs were much bigger, and they had no compunctions about eating their own.

So, for me, it has been an od few decades, with women such as these baby-sitting my personal space, and time–wiretapping me, and forming groups to cause me to fall ( I have been taking names, you know)–and al of that because I do NOT cry when all the boys come out to play.

Instead, I seek to enlighten those boys about how women such as these empty shells smell badly–and about what it is in them makes them rot.

Freud would call it “projection,” but to me, it is simply the way female bullying works in a war based economic structure.

And, no, I am not in the slightest interested in kissing “all the girls.” Just the beautiful ones, and also maybe,, secretly, I want to kiss Marge, who lives in a nursing home, trapped in her own body, and her wheelchair, who said to me recently ” I just want to die.”

Why did Marge want to die? Because–you guessed it: her sisters did not want to visit her.

Probably, they are too busy chasing down Georgie Porgie–that’s my guess. Or too busy, enlisting the aid of ‘good men’ who ‘respect’ their forms of objectification, and their means and methods of fighting the ‘evil’ of ever escaping youth.

Which reminds me of this one guy–you know this guy, I know you know this guy: slim, slight goatee, baby face, just the nicest fellow.

Well, I know him to–he ame al the way up to Mamasota in a Naperville squad car, just to help out those who are on the prowl for Georgie Porgies everywhere–yeah–he IS the Apple of his Mothers eyes.

So of course, I tasked him with the complete subterfuge of Avrams computer. As he said at the time, it wasn’t just one user there, it was “five of us.”

Then–as will be witnessed to by the ‘good’ Christian boy, he whipped out a disk of the best that HS has to offer, and gee whizz–it sure was an interesting disk.

But I am SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO used to that. ike, for the last many years and counting, every time you approach me, it is nefarious, but ‘well-meaning,’ for the sake of people who are like YOU: crabs, in a bucket.

So, I don’t want YOU to get the idea thatI was somehow newly aware of what you have been doing–I don’t suddenly “look back and it all makes sense….”

Nope. As you can see from my writings, my records and many other things that you have now raped right out of me? Yeah–I have ben watching YOU about as long or longer than you have been watching me.

Which by my records (which date to a certain attempted frame-job in 1997-8) is probably longer than you thought. I mean after all, you are so original–so unique–such a one of a kind lovely lady that your obsession with me has only been a recent one, right?

Nope. Because you are not alone, they are not alone, and I though isolated, have indeed(as your records show) tried in every single way possible, previously,  to merely LIVE without people like you assaulting me, invading me, blackmailing me, investigating me, following me, and mostly, using my life as a blank page where you can write whatever YOU want in the margins–or to leave whatever bookmarks behind –what you have been doing since then is really the essence of why I exist these days: probable doesn’t mean anything next to innocent–which is what I am.

But you and yours? Smelly, ugly crabs, trying to steal my shell, and drag it back in to your bucket.

 

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