I had a dream where Hercule Poirot was performing cunnilingus on me, and I couldn't stop laughing because I kept seeing his waxed mustache. I kept giggling and couldn't relax. He kept glancing at me angrily, but I just kept laughing. My husband woke me up and kept pestering me about what I’d been dreaming, but I was too embarrassed to tell him.
Once, while chatting with some girlfriends, we got onto the topic of how embarrassing it is to poop away from home. Well, one friend declared: «I absolutely cannot poop anywhere except at home.» She ended up in the hospital and didn't have a bowel movement for a whole WEEK just so no one would hear her fart. She described the sensation like this: at first, it was really uncomfortable, but eventually, the urge just went away. I managed to hold it in until I got home and finally dropped a week's worth of poop with a clear conscience. I’m still amazed her ass didn't tear open.
I accidentally found a vibrator in my grandma's nightstand. She’s 70. On one hand, I’m happy for her; on the other, it feels a bit weird.
Everyone knows about double penetration, but few have heard of double cunnilingus. My dorm roommate was a girl with a high libido and a vivid imagination. As it happened, both I and another guy we lived with wanted her. To avoid hurting anyone's feelings, we took turns sleeping with her. Things were going well until she said, «It's either double cunnilingus or I'm moving out.» We agreed. It was a strange experience—one moment I was licking her clit, the next he was...
How being late can change your destiny. I’ve been dating a guy for six months; he’s affectionate, gentle, and fun. We decided to spend our vacation together to enjoy some quality time and nature. I stopped by a travel agency to pick up our trip vouchers. I got held up a bit while finalizing the paperwork—the first time I’d ever been late for a date. Breathless, I rushed to the meeting spot, eager to see my boyfriend, only to see an ambulance driving away. He was nowhere to be found; there was a bouquet of white roses and blood on the pavement. I overheard two police officers talking: «He showed up for a date, then a car hit him—killed instantly.» My vision went dark, my legs gave way, and I sank to the ground. Strong hands caught me and helped me stand up. It was my boyfriend! Tears streamed down my face, smudging my mascara. He was alive—he’d just been a little late—while the guy who died was someone else, someone whose date would never show up...
I really wanted to try rimming a guy. After a lot of persuasion, he agreed. And it was absolutely disgusting!!! But I was too embarrassed to tell him. Yet, he ended up liking it and is asking for more. FUCK.
Once again, I realized I want to be a man. Men can cheat—«it's just nature»; masturbation, blowjobs, and strip clubs—«that's not cheating»; they can scratch their balls anywhere, go shirtless in the heat, flirt with acquaintances without risking a «slut» reputation, fuck whenever they want without being tied to a cycle, and not shave if they don't feel like it. They don't need to get all dolled up before going out, among many other things simply unavailable to women. It's a man's world.
My internet started lagging one day. I checked everything and found out a neighbor—who had turned down my request for a date—was stealing my Wi-Fi. I changed the password, and the next day she came over: «Could I use the Wi-Fi a bit?» «And what are you willing to do for that?» She thought about it: «Would a kiss on the cheek work?» It would. A couple of days later, I changed the password again and asked her to go on a date with me in exchange for access. We had such a great time that I walked her back to my place instead of hers. She lives with me now, but I still change the password sometimes if I want something spicy from her in return.
Many people are familiar with the habit of keeping one's hands busy while talking on the phone (doodling on paper, fidgeting with small objects, etc.). Slip your cock to your girlfriend while she’s on the phone, and she’ll definitely start jerking it off. It worked with mine.
I want to address the husbands and boyfriends of women who teach at schools or universities—specifically the young female teachers, because they are the biggest bitches imaginable. Could you please fuck them? Like, really fuck them—fuck the demons right out of them. I’m a first-year student myself, and sometimes *I* want to fuck my professors because it’s obvious the men in their lives aren't getting the job done; I want to do a service—not just for you guys, but for the students, too. If your ladies act like sweethearts at home, I suggest sitting in on one of their classes to see what I mean. You’ll be shocked at what a total bitch your darling little «home kitty» can turn out to be.
What I want most of all is to turn back time. I used to be an athlete—handsome and fit. I studied at a top university in the capital. I spoke two foreign languages and played musical instruments. And most importantly, I had the feeling that something great lay ahead for me. Well, something *did* lie ahead. Fifteen years later, I’m a depressed recluse, obese, and earning a below-average salary. I have no relationships. My diploma is gathering dust in a drawer. I failed to make all the right decisions when I should have. Now, I live in a state of apathy and regret over the past.
When I was six, I took a deep whiff of my own shit and threw up violently. My mother scooped me up and rushed me to the hospital, thinking I was sick. We sat in line for half the day, ran some tests, and went home. Because of all that, I missed my cousin’s birthday party—an event I’d been looking forward to for ages because they always served amazing cakes. I still regret missing it, even though thirty-six years have passed.
A friend of mine is pushing forty. He’s still unmarried and has a massive complex about it. He frequently falls into bouts of depression and searches for a wife with manic persistence. But in reality, his search always ends with him bedding total bitches and gold-diggers who care only about his money and fame, not him. It makes me wonder: is he just an idiot, or is he pretending to want a family so he can sleep around with impunity—only to look at them with puppy-dog eyes later and say, «But I thought we’d be together...»?
Other Trash Stories
Why is the birth rate falling? Where do so many divorces come from? Why do over 40% of children live in single-parent families without fathers? There are many reasons, and here is one of them...
Men are being taken for suckers via the civil registry office; this is from a private facebook group that teaches young women how to handle men. This has long since become a routine operation...
Let me explain the simplest scheme.
So, I’m a woman. I meet a man who has a house, a car, and pre-marital savings. I have nothing. But he enters into a marriage contract with me without giving it much thought. What’s my plan of action?
First, I need to make the house marital property. I convince the man that we need a new house in a different neighborhood—one with better clinics, schools, and infrastructure.
I argue that we’ll be raising children there in the future and definitely need a larger place, since we want a big family.
My husband sells his pre-marital house and buys a larger one, putting his pre-marital funds into the upgrades. Congratulations. We’ve accomplished step one: the house is now subject to division, and the money that previously wasn't subject to division now is, too—it’s tied up in the house.
Step two.
The car. I convince my husband that his car is old and we need a newer one; after all, we don't want to put the kids in danger if the old one breaks down, and we need something more spacious—we have to haul strollers around, too.
My husband sells his car and buys a new one, adding in his remaining pre-marital savings. Good. The car is now subject to division as well, and all those pre-marital funds have been converted into marital assets. Any money earned from this point on will also be subject to division. Three points checked off. But wait—we’d only get half, right?
Now, we have a child.
One is enough.
Three years of maternity leave. I’m being supported, I don’t have to work, the renovations are done exactly how I wanted, and we’re living in a house in a neighborhood that’s convenient for me—close to the kindergarten, school, and clinic; everything is just right. The child starts kindergarten. I can go back to work; it’s time to wrap up the plan. I find out that, during my three years of maternity leave, my husband has saved up a new sum of money—an amount that suits me.
I file for divorce.
I’m entitled to 50% of the house. But, since I..." There is a child registered in the house, and by law, custody of a child under 14 is awarded to me; consequently, his share of the property effectively remains with me as well. I already own a 75% share of the house. The judge suggests that my husband gift his 25% share for the sake of the child. If my husband is a fool, he’ll do it. But even if he doesn't, the court might order me to pay him for that 25% share at a reduced price. I would agree to that, because by paying for 25% I effectively acquire the other 75% for free—in essence, I’d be buying the house for 25% of its real value, and at a discount to boot.
I also end up with 50% of the car, having insisted in court that I need it to drive the child to kindergarten and for family errands. The court either awards the car entirely to me or—just like with the apartment—requires me to pay for my husband's half.
I take out a loan—either myself (leveraging the good credit history I built up over the years using the credit card my husband always paid off) or through friends or family. I use it to buy out 25% of the house and 50% of the car. Then, after the divorce, I pay off the loan using the money I received from my husband's share of the assets.
I buy champagne.
So, here is the bottom line:
I have a child; I am a mother—that box is ticked.
I receive alimony for myself as a divorced mother, plus child support—meaning passive income for the next 10+ years.
I acquired the house for 25% of its value (or essentially for free)—box ticked.
I got the car for free (or for 50% of its value)—box ticked.
I paid off all my loans using the money won from my husband in court and am debt-free—box ticked.
I have a house in a good neighborhood, a car, a child, and no debt. I did a great job. The «business venture» was a success. «Now one can look for the next man—this time, for the soul...»
Now, consider why women are so unhappy that men don't want to get involved with them. Men realize they can easily be dumped, and the person doing the dumping faces no negative consequences—in fact, she comes out ahead! Nowadays, a huge number of women are simply not fit for family life.
They are incapable of building a real family—one where partners stay together through thick and thin, through riches and poverty, in sickness and in health, supporting one another.
Everyone is happy to share the good times—the health and wealth—but the moment trials arise, they immediately run off to find a «real man.»
Men are treated in a purely transactional and functional way—like bio-robots who owe everyone everything—without anyone seeing the person beneath… The institution of the family has collapsed, and this is one of the reasons for the declining birth rate.
A healthy family is like a team of two climbers making an ascent: both are climbing upward, supporting and belaying each other. That is the only way it works. But when one climber hangs around the other's neck—constantly blaming, criticizing, causing scenes and stress, draining the other spiritually and physically, contributing nothing, complaining, playing the victim, and remaining perpetually dissatisfied—what is the point of such a partner?
1. I realized this while camping. A girl I was with was afraid to park her car on the grass; she thought the grass would grow, puncture the tires, and cause them to go flat.
2. My husband thought that people whistled when setting off fireworks. He didn't realize the sound was actually produced by the fireworks themselves. Well, it’s a harmless bit of silliness.
3. A girl I dated in college broke my laptop while trying to insert a flash drive into the USB port. The drive wouldn't fit, but instead of flipping it over, she just pushed harder, damaging both the port and the motherboard.
4. I brought home some fresh broccoli, and my husband asked why I’d bought such a huge head instead of the usual, smaller kind. He thought broccoli actually grew as tiny, bite-sized florets.
5. He believed potatoes never went bad; his mom always kept a whole sack in the pantry. I asked if they ate a lot of potatoes, and he said yes. He came from a large family—his parents had six kids—yet the connection still didn't click for him.
6. My husband was convinced that bees and wasps were the same insect, just at different times of the year—that bees turned into wasps over the summer. I love him, but… HOW?
7. A girl I dated claimed that Spain was part of Latin America. When I pointed out that Spain is in Europe, she insisted she was right and even said she was studying Latin America, so I was definitely mistaken.
8. I love my wife, but South Dakota is not located north of North Dakota.
9. My (now ex-) husband genuinely believed that a hysterectomy was the removal of the vagina, not the uterus. He was very puzzled about how women peed after that. During our conversation, it also turned out he thought that after the surgery, everything down there became smooth, like a Barbie doll's.
10. We had a girl at work who kept faxing the same document over and over again. The recipient even called to ask her to stop; she replied that it wasn't working—no matter what she did, the document kept coming back out of the fax machine...
11. My husband stopped by a Dollar General discount store to get toilet paper. We only had fifty dollars left to last us the week. And this man bought forty dollars' worth of mango juice because—wouldn't you know it—it was on sale… But he never actually bought the toilet paper. We drank the juice, of course, but I was furious.
12. I once mentioned that I’d gotten my period, and a guy asked me what my favorite tampon flavor was. He actually thought tampons came in different-colored packages because they had different flavors—that the flavorings would absorb into the bloodstream during use and I’d be able to taste them. I have no idea where he got that idea.
13. After our dog had her puppies, we took her in to be spayed. My boyfriend saw a note in her medical record and got upset: he thought the entry «postpartum period» meant our dog was depressed.
14. My wife often made snide remarks about a man who went through women like socks. One day, we saw him with a child, and she quipped: «I bet he doesn't even know who the mother is.»
15. My partner was grumbling and groaning by the trash can: «We need to buy new trash bags; these ones don't fit at all.» I looked over and saw he was holding a roll of small black dog-waste bags; he’d unrolled one and couldn't figure out why it wouldn't fit. We had regular trash bags, too—he’d just grabbed the wrong ones and was trying every which way to make the tiny bag work, but nothing was happening. And how could it, when the trash can was about fifty times the size of that little bag?
16. We’d only been dating for a couple of months at the time. My husband (then just my boyfriend) was watching me cook. The frying pan was a bit warped and wobbly, so I shoved a plastic spatula underneath to level it out. Yes, right between the pan and the hot stove. Naturally, the spatula started to melt. His first thought was: «I’m dating a total moron.» And I don't blame him. We did get married eventually, but now he’s the only one who cooks.
17. My husband wasn't feeling well and started Googling his symptoms. He was sitting there reading when he suddenly turned to me in horror: «I think I have preeclampsia!» (a pathological condition occurring in the second half of pregnancy).
18. Every time we went out, he’d tell the exact same joke to the exact same people. It hadn't been funny the first time, either.
19. During our first long road trip, my girlfriend (now my wife) and I were driving when I got tired and asked her to switch places with me. She got behind the wheel and said, «Don't worry… but remind me, which pedal is the gas and which is the brake?» I sent her right back to the passenger seat and drove the rest of the way myself.
20. I really love my girlfriend, but… she thought that if she got a tattoo, her baby would be born with the exact same tattoo in the exact same spot...
Sad thing is bunch of people will get scammed and than cry about it on TV.
Hooray! Everything is read.
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