Accidentally Engaged????????????
Question:
I almost forgot: – Making fun of Pumpkinhead for having testicular cancer. : – )
Virgin, ballboi? (Or is that ONE BALL boi? <snicker)
http://tinyurl.com/4gkpe
Response:
Ms Pnoopie Pnats wrote:
Lobsterboy wrote: "Rainier" <rainierba…@hotmail.com wrote
[snip]
Definetly, you’re not aware where you’re going. This is not gonna be another of your games, there’s real danger here. yes this isnt a game.although to plenty think it is. if you are really going to do this, both of you go to pre marital counseling. I don’t think marriage means losing freedom if you pick the right person who allows you to be yourself and vice versa.
If anyone needs pre-marital counseling it’s them (assuming it’s not more Usenet performance art). And I’m not trying to be mean. It’s just that it’s obvious that they need top get some stuff sorted out and in the open. August Pamplona — The waterfall in Java is not wet. – omegazero2003 on m.f.w. a.a. # 1811 apatriot #20 Eater of smut Proud member of the reality-based community. The address in this message’s ‘From’ field, in accordance with individual.net’s TOS, is real. However, almost all messages reaching this address are deleted without human intervention. In other words, if you e-mail me there, I will not receive your message. To make sure that e-mail messages actually reach me, make sure that my e-mail address is not hot.
Response:
- Hide quoted text — Show quoted text -Dolores wrote:
Rainier wrote: Here’s the abbreviated story. I punk my gf for our three month anniversary last Saturday night. We’re sitting on the zebra sofa at our favourite pub when I begin the set up. I tell her my parents were already married at this point in their relationship and that I inherited my father’s impetuousness. Then I unleash a series of double entendres and sheepishly admit I’m really nervous because I had never done this kind of thing before. Finally I bend down on one knee, tell her to close her eyes and put a ring box in her hand. She opens the box and finds a . . . AA Battery Inside! After three months I finally found a way to leave my extrovert gf speechless. After several moments she pieces the puzzle together. "You bought me a vibrator?" Indeed I did! She found the joke very amusing and promised to tell all her friends. We try the rabbit vibrator out later in the evening and it was well worth the $40 I spent on it. Afterwards she whispers in my ear, "I would have said yes." Now am I the speechless one. I always assumed my gf was an aspiring Ab Fab girl who would wind up as an inebriated, promiscous, middle-aged tart who wore too much make-up and bragged incessantly about her college glory days. Essentially the only difference between her current self and the 40 year-old version would be wrinkles, sagging tits and an extra stone or two on the frame. She never struck me as the marrying kind. Anyways we engage in some innocent pillow talk about where we’re going to live once we get married. Then I take her home, we play phone tag all week and I finally talk to her yesterday. She is all excited. And guess what? That innocent pillow talk was not so innocent after all. She told all her friends we’re engaged and getting married! I didn’t even propose but I already have two guys fighting to be my best man. It gets even more bizzarre. Today she calls me. She found an old ring while cleaning her room and asked if she can wear it and tell people it’s our engagement ring! Damn! I guess this is my comeuppance for compulsively scripting my life. I have become a sitcom character trapped in a story of mistaken identity. I have literally been thrust into an engagement I don’t even want. The weird thing is I feel like a stereotypical guy. I’m getting married. There goes my freedom. Time for the old ball and chain. Yet what did I do with my 27 years of freedom? What am I losing by getting married? The opportunity to play Yahoo canasta in my underwear at 3 in the morning? Big fuckin’ deal! I’m going to play along. Though I’m kind of pissed that I got drafted into this engagement. I did want to do the whole "get down on one knee" traditional bit. How much should a guy spend on an engagement ring? Yesterday on the phone Rikki said: "You don’t have to get me a ring. I know what’s in your heart" which is female speak for "You better buy me a ring, you little bastard." Is $300 enough or will that make me look like a tightwad?
as long as it is a 1 carat marquise or round cut solitare set in yellow gold simple, elegant, and classic. — ———————————————————————— Ms Pnoopie Pnats Usnet Legend http://mspoopiepants.blogspot.com/ ———————————————————————— —————- ———————————————————————— —————
Response:
Hey, everyone. : ) I’ve been reading this NG for a few days and my bullshit sirens went off. : ) To all of the newbies out there who don’t know the story behind this poster: Sadi is a troll who goes out of her way to harass and antagonize innocent A.S.S.ers. In her short time here, she: – Spent several months lying about being a model to give herself an air of superiority over everyone. – Constantly harassed the male posters, putting them down because of their looks. – Created a video to entice someone into being her friend, only to say she set it up to humiliate the poster. – Admitted to taking joy in preying on the "weak and sexually abused". – Pulling pics from hotornot profiles and putting them in her version of the a.s.s. gallery, whether anyone wanted or not, even putting pics of people in who had specifically requested to be removed from the gallery. – Taking down her gallery (after her lie about being a model was exposed) and replacing the pics of A.S.S.ers with gaping assholes. If she seems like she’s trying to support you, it’s phony. If she seems like she’s trying to befriend you, it’s even phonier. Don’t trust her. Don’t believe her. Don’t argue with her. She is here, as her name so aptly conveys, to be Sadistic – nothing more.
Response:
Mad Mambo Master of Macedonia wrote:
Dolores <weaselpant…@sinmonkey.com wrote in
news:GdqdnbXxmPthqM7fRVn- – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text -
3…@comcast.com: jizzlob…@intergate.com wrote: Look bitch I don’t care how much you make or owe as long as you
pay
your share of the rent. I guess this is why marriage will never
agree
with me. Anyone who is planning on getting married should immediately move
to a
state that DOES NOT RECOGNIZE community property. Also, always keep seperate finances. Never go joint. You don’t want
to
spend the rest of your life fighting about money, and if you keep seperate finances you won’t have to. What if you want to buy a house?
Personally, I can’t ever imagine being in the financial position of being able to buy a house.
Response:
Mad Mambo Master of Macedonia <n…@newb.com
wrote in
news:Xns962EB1D4A85F5newbnewbcom@68.12.19.6:
It doesn’t have to be. So long as she is making timely payments her credit is in good standing. -phy Narrator: And here’s a man who claims to have actually met a woman
I can only blame it on posting past my bedtime. Why I assumed she was making timely payments is beyond me. I should have known better than to make that comment. -phy
Response:
Dolores <weaselpant…@sinmonkey.com
wrote in news:GdqdnbXxmPthqM7fRVn-
3…@comcast.com:
jizzlob…@intergate.com wrote: Look bitch I don’t care how much you make or owe as long as you pay your share of the rent. I guess this is why marriage will never agree with me. Anyone who is planning on getting married should immediately move to a state that DOES NOT RECOGNIZE community property. Also, always keep seperate finances. Never go joint. You don’t want to spend the rest of your life fighting about money, and if you keep seperate finances you won’t have to.
You will still end up fighting about money when one person doesn’t pony up their share of the expenses. You are right about moving though. -phy
Response:
Dolores <weaselpant…@sinmonkey.com
wrote in news:GdqdnbXxmPthqM7fRVn-
3…@comcast.com:
jizzlob…@intergate.com wrote: Look bitch I don’t care how much you make or owe as long as you pay your share of the rent. I guess this is why marriage will never agree with me. Anyone who is planning on getting married should immediately move to a state that DOES NOT RECOGNIZE community property. Also, always keep seperate finances. Never go joint. You don’t want to spend the rest of your life fighting about money, and if you keep seperate finances you won’t have to.
What if you want to buy a house? — The Morning-After Pill The FDA is deciding whether they will allow non-prescription sales of the morning-after pill Plan B. What do you think? Dana Conner Photographer "Why not? The tequila responsible for getting me knocked up in the first place is sold over the counter." Jared Maldonado Telemarketer "If this pill is sold over the counter, people will start, for the first time ever, having unprotected sex." Adrian Roy Systems Analyst "It says in the Bible that the morning-after pill is wrong. I believe the passage is Pharmaceuticals 3:16." Ana Huff Musician "Not for me, thanks. I’ve had a Dalkon Shield IUD in me for 30 years, and in me it’s gonna stay."
Response:
- Hide quoted text — Show quoted text -Rainier wrote:
Here’s the abbreviated story. I punk my gf for our three month anniversary last Saturday night. We’re sitting on the zebra sofa at our favourite pub when I begin the set up. I tell her my parents were already married at this point in their relationship and that I inherited my father’s impetuousness. Then I unleash a series of double entendres and sheepishly admit I’m really nervous because I had never done this kind of thing before. Finally I bend down on one knee, tell her to close her eyes and put a ring box in her hand. She opens the box and finds a . . . AA Battery Inside! After three months I finally found a way to leave my extrovert gf speechless. After several moments she pieces the puzzle together. "You bought me a vibrator?" Indeed I did! She found the joke very amusing and promised to tell all her friends. We try the rabbit vibrator out later in the evening and it was well worth the $40 I spent on it. Afterwards she whispers in my ear, "I would have said yes." Now am I the speechless one. I always assumed my gf was an aspiring Ab Fab girl who would wind up as an inebriated, promiscous, middle-aged tart who wore too much make-up and bragged incessantly about her college glory days. Essentially the only difference between her current self and the 40 year-old version would be wrinkles, sagging tits and an extra stone or two on the frame. She never struck me as the marrying kind. Anyways we engage in some innocent pillow talk about where we’re going to live once we get married. Then I take her home, we play phone tag all week and I finally talk to her yesterday. She is all excited. And guess what? That innocent pillow talk was not so innocent after all. She told all her friends we’re engaged and getting married! I didn’t even propose but I already have two guys fighting to be my best man. It gets even more bizzarre. Today she calls me. She found an old ring while cleaning her room and asked if she can wear it and tell people it’s our engagement ring! Damn! I guess this is my comeuppance for compulsively scripting my life. I have become a sitcom character trapped in a story of mistaken identity. I have literally been thrust into an engagement I don’t even want. The weird thing is I feel like a stereotypical guy. I’m getting married. There goes my freedom. Time for the old ball and chain. Yet what did I do with my 27 years of freedom? What am I losing by getting married? The opportunity to play Yahoo canasta in my underwear at 3 in the morning? Big fuckin’ deal! I’m going to play along. Though I’m kind of pissed that I got drafted into this engagement. I did want to do the whole "get down on one knee" traditional bit. How much should a guy spend on an engagement ring? Yesterday on the phone Rikki said: "You don’t have to get me a ring. I know what’s in your heart" which is female speak for "You better buy me a ring, you little bastard." Is $300 enough or will that make me look like a tightwad? I have the perfect scheme. For our 4 month anniversary I buy us a set of matching bowling balls. Rikki hates to bowl so she’ll just have to grin and bear it. Then when she sticks her finger in the hole, guess what she’ll find? Yep her legitimate engagement ring! The weird thing is I’m more excited about the bowling ball scheme than my impending nuptials. -rainier
Never joke about getting married or about having kids with your partner; if you don’t mean to follow through, it’s just cruel, and it leads to the situation you now claim to be in. — -=Lola Fuck you and quit dogging me, asshole
Response:
- Hide quoted text — Show quoted text -Lobsterboy wrote:
"Rainier" <rainierba…@hotmail.com wrote Here’s the abbreviated story. I punk my gf for our three month anniversary last Saturday night. We’re sitting on the zebra sofa at our favourite pub when I begin the set up. I tell her my parents were already married at this point in their relationship and that I inherited my father’s impetuousness. Then I unleash a series of double entendres and sheepishly admit I’m really nervous because I had never done this kind of thing before. Finally I bend down on one knee, tell her to close her eyes and put a ring box in her hand. She opens the box and finds a . . . AA Battery Inside! LOL! That was a really good joke.
Actually, I never understood the joke. Why is it that "Rikki" assumed that a AA battery indicated that Rainier had bought her a vibrator? There are hundreds of non sex toy type devices which use AA batteries. Why was it obvious that Rainier was trying to make a little joke out of buying a vibrator? There must be some context to this which Rainier has not chosen to reveal. [snip] August Pamplona — The waterfall in Java is not wet. – omegazero2003 on m.f.w. a.a. # 1811 apatriot #20 Eater of smut Proud member of the reality-based community. The address in this message’s ‘From’ field, in accordance with individual.net’s TOS, is real. However, almost all messages reaching this address are deleted without human intervention. In other words, if you e-mail me there, I will not receive your message. To make sure that e-mail messages actually reach me, make sure that my e-mail address is not hot.
Response:
- Hide quoted text — Show quoted text -Lobsterboy wrote:
"Rainier" <rainierba…@hotmail.com wrote Here’s the abbreviated story. I punk my gf for our three month anniversary last Saturday night. We’re sitting on the zebra sofa at our favourite pub when I begin the set up. I tell her my parents were already married at this point in their relationship and that I inherited my father’s impetuousness. Then I unleash a series of double entendres and sheepishly admit I’m really nervous because I had never done this kind of thing before. Finally I bend down on one knee, tell her to close her eyes and put a ring box in her hand. She opens the box and finds a . . . AA Battery Inside! LOL! That was a really good joke. She is all excited. And guess what? That innocent pillow talk was not so innocent after all. She told all her friends we’re engaged and getting married! I didn’t even propose but I already have two guys fighting to be my best man. It gets even more bizzarre. Today she calls me. She found an old ring while cleaning her room and asked if she can wear it and tell people it’s our engagement ring! Damn! I guess this is my comeuppance for compulsively scripting my life. I have become a sitcom character trapped in a story of mistaken identity. I have literally been thrust into an engagement I don’t even want. That’s not a joke… The weird thing is I feel like a stereotypical guy. I’m getting married. There goes my freedom. Time for the old ball and chain. Yet what did I do with my 27 years of freedom? What am I losing by getting married? The opportunity to play Yahoo canasta in my underwear at 3 in the morning? Big fuckin’ deal! I’m going to play along. Though I’m kind of pissed that I got drafted into this engagement. I did want to do the whole "get down on one knee" traditional bit. From this I’ve got the impression that you haven’t tought for more than a minute all what implies getting married; legally, financially, the impact on your lifestyle. It seems you don’t value much your freedom, but don’t you know that we don’t value some things until we lose them?. I have the perfect scheme. For our 4 month anniversary I buy us a set of matching bowling balls. Rikki hates to bowl so she’ll just have to grin and bear it. Then when she sticks her finger in the hole, guess what she’ll find? Yep her legitimate engagement ring! That’s fun too, but… The weird thing is I’m more excited about the bowling ball scheme than my impending nuptials. Definetly, you’re not aware where you’re going. This is not gonna be another of your games, there’s real danger here.
yes this isnt a game.although to plenty think it is. if you are really going to do this, both of you go to pre marital counseling. I don’t think marriage means losing freedom if you pick the right person who allows you to be yourself and vice versa. — ———————————————————————— Ms Pnoopie Pnats Usnet Legend http://mspoopiepants.blogspot.com/ ———————————————————————— —————- ———————————————————————— —————
Response:
jizzlob…@intergate.com wrote:
Look bitch I don’t care how much you make or owe as long as you pay your share of the rent. I guess this is why marriage will never agree with me.
Anyone who is planning on getting married should immediately move to a state that DOES NOT RECOGNIZE community property. Also, always keep seperate finances. Never go joint. You don’t want to spend the rest of your life fighting about money, and if you keep seperate finances you won’t have to. — -=Lola Fuck you and quit dogging me, asshole
Response:
- Hide quoted text — Show quoted text -Wilson wrote:
READ THIS BEFORE GETTING MARRIED: "Were a young man to ask me, "To marry perchance, or remain forever single?" I would, given the hostile circumstances today of law and love, urge caution. "Marriage is a commitment of several years of your life, plus child support," I would say. "Do not make it rashly." The question is simply, "Why marry?" As a young man full of dangerous steroids, your answer will probably be, "Ah, because her hair is like corn silk under an August moon; her lips are as rubies and her teeth, pearls; and her smile would make a dead man cry." This amounts to, "I’m horny," with elaborations. It is as it ought to be. The race continues because maidens are glorious, and striplings both desperate and unwise. Note, incidentally, that by the time October rolls around, corn silk is shriveled and brown. Why marry, indeed? In times past, marriage occasionally made sense. Life on a farm required two people, a woman to work herself ragged in the cabin while the man carried heavy lumpish things and shot Indians. Later, come suburbia, the man did something tedious in an office and the woman did two hours housework and stayed bored for six. It worked, tolerably. In the Fifties, nobody expected much of life. It generally met their expectations. And there was sex, though not enough of it — the scarcity being the propellant behind matrimony. Back then, before the miracle of feminism, women had not yet commoditized themselves. A lad had to pop the question before he got laid regular. Women controlled the carnal economy and, in a world that was going to be boring anyway, that was probably a good thing. At least kids had parents. Times change. Some advice to young fellows setting forth: First, forget that her lips are sweet as honeydew melon (though not, of course, green). It doesn’t last. One of nature’s more disagreeable tricks is that while men are far uglier than women, they age better. Remember this. It is useful to reflect in moments of unguided passion that, beneath the skin, we are all wet bags of unpleasant organs. Soon you will be a balding sofa ornament and she will look like a fireplug with cellulite. Once the packaging deteriorates, there had better be something to get you through the next thirty years. Usually there isn’t. Prospects have improved for the single of both genders. Sex is nowadays always available. If you don’t marry Moon Pie, which would be wise, you may get another chance when she comes back on the market with the first wave of divorcees. It’s never now-or-never. Getting older doesn’t diminish your opportunities. As you gain experience, you will recognize the tides, the eddies, the whirlpools of coupling — the urgency of the biological clock, the lunacy of menopause. Men by comparison embody a wonderful clod-like simplicity. As you ponder snuggling forever with Moon Pie, compare the lives of your bachelor and your married friends. The bachelors come and go as the mood strikes them, order their apartments with squalid abandon, drive Miatas or Harleys if they choose, and live in such pleasant dissolution as is consonant with continued employment. The married guy lives in a vast echoing mortgage beyond his means, drives sensible cars he doesn’t like, and loses his old friends because he isn’t allowed to hang out with them. Self-help books to the contrary, marriage does not rest on compromises, but on concessions. You will make all of them. Perhaps it doesn’t have to be this way. But it is this way. Moon Pie has only one reason for marriage: to get her legal hooks into you. She doesn’t think of it in these terms, yet, and she has no evil intentions. She just wants a nice quiet home in the remote suburbs where she can live uneventfully, raise progeny, and keep her eye on you. If you think surveillance isn’t part of the contract, try going out late with your old buddies. Marriage is an institution founded on mistrust. If she thought you would stick around if not compelled, she wouldn’t need marriage. She wants monogamy, at least for you and, with some frequency, for herself. She knows viscerally that you would prefer the amorous insouciance of an oversexed alley cat. You know it consciously. Marriage exists to control the male, until recently a good idea. Now, however, she can support herself, and doesn’t need protection. She doesn’t need you, or you, her. She will, however, want to have children. Women do. At which point, God help you. Given the schools, drugs, latch-keyism consequent first to working parents and then to divorce, and the cultural pressure on children to be slatterns and dope-dealers, reproduction is a gamble. You may not even particularly like them, or they, you. Nobody talks about this, but how many people do you know who hardly talk to their grown children? And you’ve just tied yourself into twenty years of raising them. The moment Junior enters wherever it is that we are, Moon Pie will have you screwed to the wall. She won’t think of it this way, yet. She’ll be delighted with the cooing bundle of joy, his little fingers, her little toes, etc. But divorce comes. The chances are two to one that she will file: Women are more eager than men to enter marriage, and more eager to leave it — with the kids, the house, and the child support. It won’t be amicable, not after seven years. You will be astonished at how ruthless she will be, how well she knows the law, and how utterly hostile to divorcing fathers the law is. You don’t understand how bad the divorce courts are. You probably don’t know what "imputed income" is. You think that "joint custody" means "joint custody." Think again. Quite possibly you will have to support her while she moves with your kids to Fukuoka with an Air Force colonel she met in a meat bar. In short, marriage often means turning twenty-five years of your life into smoking wreckage. Yes, happy marriages exist (I personally know of one) and there are the somnolent marriages of habitual contentment or, perhaps, of quiet resignation. But the odds aren’t good. Permit me an heretical thought. In an age when neither sex economically needs the other, in which women do not need protection from wild bears and marauding savages, not in the suburbs anyway, perhaps marriage doesn’t make sense, at least for men. The divorce courts remove all doubt. A young fellow might do well to stay single, keep his DNA to himself, pick such flowers as he might find along the way, and live his life as he likes. -Fred Reed, 2002
Fred Reed is, apparently, a plagiarist. — -=Lola Fuck you and quit dogging me, asshole
Response:
Here’s the abbreviated story. I punk my gf for our three month anniversary last Saturday night. We’re sitting on the zebra sofa at our favourite pub when I begin the set up. I tell her my parents were already married at this point in their relationship and that I inherited my father’s impetuousness. Then I unleash a series of double entendres and sheepishly admit I’m really nervous because I had never done this kind of thing before. Finally I bend down on one knee, tell her to close her eyes and put a ring box in her hand. She opens the box and finds a . . . AA Battery Inside! After three months I finally found a way to leave my extrovert gf speechless. After several moments she pieces the puzzle together. "You bought me a vibrator?" Indeed I did! She found the joke very amusing and promised to tell all her friends. We try the rabbit vibrator out later in the evening and it was well worth the $40 I spent on it. Afterwards she whispers in my ear, "I would have said yes." Now am I the speechless one. I always assumed my gf was an aspiring Ab Fab girl who would wind up as an inebriated, promiscous, middle-aged tart who wore too much make-up and bragged incessantly about her college glory days. Essentially the only difference between her current self and the 40 year-old version would be wrinkles, sagging tits and an extra stone or two on the frame. She never struck me as the marrying kind. Anyways we engage in some innocent pillow talk about where we’re going to live once we get married. Then I take her home, we play phone tag all week and I finally talk to her yesterday. She is all excited. And guess what? That innocent pillow talk was not so innocent after all. She told all her friends we’re engaged and getting married! I didn’t even propose but I already have two guys fighting to be my best man. It gets even more bizzarre. Today she calls me. She found an old ring while cleaning her room and asked if she can wear it and tell people it’s our engagement ring! Damn! I guess this is my comeuppance for compulsively scripting my life. I have become a sitcom character trapped in a story of mistaken identity. I have literally been thrust into an engagement I don’t even want. The weird thing is I feel like a stereotypical guy. I’m getting married. There goes my freedom. Time for the old ball and chain. Yet what did I do with my 27 years of freedom? What am I losing by getting married? The opportunity to play Yahoo canasta in my underwear at 3 in the morning? Big fuckin’ deal! I’m going to play along. Though I’m kind of pissed that I got drafted into this engagement. I did want to do the whole "get down on one knee" traditional bit. How much should a guy spend on an engagement ring? Yesterday on the phone Rikki said: "You don’t have to get me a ring. I know what’s in your heart" which is female speak for "You better buy me a ring, you little bastard." Is $300 enough or will that make me look like a tightwad? I have the perfect scheme. For our 4 month anniversary I buy us a set of matching bowling balls. Rikki hates to bowl so she’ll just have to grin and bear it. Then when she sticks her finger in the hole, guess what she’ll find? Yep her legitimate engagement ring! The weird thing is I’m more excited about the bowling ball scheme than my impending nuptials. -rainier
Response:
—–BEGIN PGP SIGNED MESSAGE—– Hash: SHA1 <delurk
On Sun, 03 Apr 2005 17:01:23 -0400, "Rainier" <rainierba…@hotmail.com
wrote in post:
<snip bs
Rainier, I didn’t think you could top your IceGrrl and RinkBoi stories, but you did. Teacher gives you A+ for creative writing, D for believability and D- for "punking" your pals on ASS. :-/ Perhaps you and Mitz should hook up. Your latest Pinocchio and his laughable "reverse sex-change surgery" story belong in The ASS Hall of Shame ™. </delurk
—–BEGIN PGP SIGNATURE—– Version: PGP 8.1 iQA/AwUBQlE6WBHSUETdEJzmEQL6DACg5YxwMIodyB3AzvfAmldWxCoiCsYAnA65 CzDps4960eHAnG0xz2EnvliT =/1Qc —–END PGP SIGNATURE—– — Sadi PGP key ID: 0xDD109CE6 (sxysadi)
Response:
Hardpan <hard…@yahoo.com
wrote in
news:ts725196tkoc3hahb0ec31eu6fggndbjd6@4ax.com:
Amen to that !!!!
I hate to be cynical but it is true. The only worse thing is to be single and alone all your life. -phy
Response:
Hardpan <hard…@yahoo.com
wrote in
news:b7o151t3481750p3f06oa4ufbldfin37qm@4ax.com:
Someone get that man a blindfold and a cigarette ! He’s a goner <bg!
My advice is that he needs to run a credit check on the woman before he makes any kind of commitment. Also, Ranier, it is never too late to back out until you say "I do". It isn’t too late then either, just a whole lot more expensive. -phy
Response:
Sadi <sxys…@gmail.com.INVALID
wrote in
news:1112619680.230564da18266fda63eca5987d7fa85d@meganetnews2:
Rainier, I didn’t think you could top your IceGrrl and RinkBoi stories, but you did.
Practice makes perfect. -phy
Response:
phy wrote:
My advice is that he needs to run a credit check on the woman
before he
makes any kind of commitment.
No need for that. She’s already told me she has $100,000 worth of private school debts to pay off so I assume her credit rating is in the crapper. -rainier
Response:
"Rainier" <rainierba…@hotmail.com
wrote in
news:4e58c1e7bbae8dbb9ac362f5b4604857@localhost.talkaboutsupport.com:
No need for that. She’s already told me she has $100,000 worth of private school debts to pay off so I assume her credit rating is in the crapper. -rainier
It doesn’t have to be. So long as she is making timely payments her credit is in good standing. -phy
Response:
phy <phy…@yahoo.com
wrote in
news:Xns962EBFE7AE2D8phy00xyahoocom@69.28.186.121: > "Rainier" <rainierba…@hotmail.com
wrote in
> news:4e58c1e7bbae8dbb9ac362f5b4604857@localhost.talkaboutsupport.com: >> No need for that. She’s already told me she has $100,000 worth of >> private school debts to pay off so I assume her credit rating is in >> the crapper. >> -rainier > It doesn’t have to be. So long as she is making timely payments her > credit is in good standing. > -phy
Narrator: And here’s a man who claims to have actually met a woman Man (who is obviously Crow T. Robot): And then I met this woman…and… Narrator: And then what happened, Sir? Man: She *gasp* married me! Narrator: Did you have any children? Man: I-I-don’t know! — "Please enjoy a fish anus." –Blood Waters of Dr. Z. "There is no way out of here. There is no way out." -Manos IV: Torgo Goes To Baghdad.
Response:
- Hide quoted text — Show quoted text -phy wrote:
"Rainier" <rainierba…@hotmail.com wrote in news:4e58c1e7bbae8dbb9ac362f5b4604857@localhost.talkaboutsupport.com: No need for that. She’s already told me she has $100,000 worth of
private
school debts to pay off so I assume her credit rating is in the
crapper.
-rainier It doesn’t have to be. So long as she is making timely payments her
credit
is in good standing. -phy
Look bitch I don’t care how much you make or owe as long as you pay your share of the rent. I guess this is why marriage will never agree with me.
Response:
—–BEGIN PGP SIGNED MESSAGE—– Hash: SHA1 If you’re not careful, Rainier, you’ll end up accidentally *married*. You might go to the court to inquire about marriage licenses, then find that that day is the last day before the fee triples, so you seduce yourself into legally marrying that day, when all you really wanted was the licence. That could easily happen if you suddenly found out that the licence expires before the official marriage date, so you decide to get it over with and marry right there so you don’t have to come back again later at great inconvenience. Hey, Rainier, I bet you could even use that scenario to sweep Rikki off her feet – you could work this into a scheme to abduct her to your (secret) honeymoon *before* the actual wedding. In fact, you could feign slightly "cold feet" as part of your elaborate ruse to maintain your poker face even as all the wedding guests "happen to" be at the resort too. (But careful that you don’t overdo the cold feet, or she might believe it a bit too much and bail.) Not that I would ever plant ideas for such choreography in your masterfully manipulative mind, Rainier. Anyway, now that you are accidentally engaged as you say, are you finding that all kinds of random people are coming out of the woodworks to congratulate you, whilst they were nowhere to be seen when you were desperately lonely and single? Those people who so love asking, "Why, Rainier! Are you STILL single???" (I wonder if they will now start asking, "Are you STILL engaged?" LOL.) Don’t sweat it – many of them probably just never "felt right" about talking to you about your singleness – now that you’re engaged they feel "safe" talking to you about it. You can tell yourself they were all secretly rooting for you before from their little hideouts. Oh, before I forget, congratulations! [Except, if "Rainier" is really real I doubt how enthusiastic he is about this accidental engagement. I wonder if Rikki isn't just exacting revenge for all the mindgames? Yeah, tell yourself that - it's just a mindgame. She took your AA battery theater performance and ran with it. Hey, wouldn't your creative writing class just *love* the drama of a bride calling off the wedding at the altar? Or how about an objection to the marriage from an estranged husband bursting through the church doors at the last minute?] —–BEGIN PGP SIGNATURE—– Version: GnuPG v1.0.4 (GNU/Linux) Comment: For info see http://www.gnupg.org iD8DBQFCUnBw/FmLrNfLpjMRAvpjAJ4lW3RyBG6IQssK4cuQjt9yepqD5wCcChc5 iC86dzMYMeJp3Qyqj942XDs= =fOpQ —–END PGP SIGNATURE—–
Response:
"Rainier" <rainierba…@hotmail.com
wrote Here’s the abbreviated story. I punk my gf for our three month anniversary last Saturday night. We’re sitting on the zebra sofa at our favourite pub when I begin the set up. I tell her my parents were already married at this point in their relationship and that I inherited my father’s impetuousness. Then I unleash a series of double entendres and sheepishly admit I’m really nervous because I had never done this kind of thing before. Finally I bend down on one knee, tell her to close her eyes and put a ring box in her hand. She opens the box and finds a . . . AA Battery Inside!
LOL! That was a really good joke.
She is all excited. And guess what? That innocent pillow talk was not so innocent after all. She told all her friends we’re engaged and getting married! I didn’t even propose but I already have two guys fighting to be my best man. It gets even more bizzarre. Today she calls me. She found an old ring while cleaning her room and asked if she can wear it and tell people it’s our engagement ring! Damn! I guess this is my comeuppance for compulsively scripting my life. I have become a sitcom character trapped in a story of mistaken identity. I have literally been thrust into an engagement I don’t even want.
That’s not a joke…
The weird thing is I feel like a stereotypical guy. I’m getting married. There goes my freedom. Time for the old ball and chain. Yet what did I do with my 27 years of freedom? What am I losing by getting married? The opportunity to play Yahoo canasta in my underwear at 3 in the morning? Big fuckin’ deal! I’m going to play along. Though I’m kind of pissed that I got drafted into this engagement. I did want to do the whole "get down on one knee" traditional bit.
From this I’ve got the impression that you haven’t tought for more than a minute all what implies getting married; legally, financially, the impact on your lifestyle. It seems you don’t value much your freedom, but don’t you know that we don’t value some things until we lose them?.
I have the perfect scheme. For our 4 month anniversary I buy us a set of matching bowling balls. Rikki hates to bowl so she’ll just have to grin and bear it. Then when she sticks her finger in the hole, guess what she’ll find? Yep her legitimate engagement ring!
That’s fun too, but…
The weird thing is I’m more excited about the bowling ball scheme than my impending nuptials.
Definetly, you’re not aware where you’re going. This is not gonna be another of your games, there’s real danger here. Read well the article Wilson posted, and think carefully about what you’re about to do. You still have time to stop it.
Response:
READ THIS BEFORE GETTING MARRIED: "Were a young man to ask me, "To marry perchance, or remain forever single?" I would, given the hostile circumstances today of law and love, urge caution. "Marriage is a commitment of several years of your life, plus child support," I would say. "Do not make it rashly." The question is simply, "Why marry?" As a young man full of dangerous steroids, your answer will probably be, "Ah, because her hair is like corn silk under an August moon; her lips are as rubies and her teeth, pearls; and her smile would make a dead man cry." This amounts to, "I’m horny," with elaborations. It is as it ought to be. The race continues because maidens are glorious, and striplings both desperate and unwise. Note, incidentally, that by the time October rolls around, corn silk is shriveled and brown. Why marry, indeed? In times past, marriage occasionally made sense. Life on a farm required two people, a woman to work herself ragged in the cabin while the man carried heavy lumpish things and shot Indians. Later, come suburbia, the man did something tedious in an office and the woman did two hours housework and stayed bored for six. It worked, tolerably. In the Fifties, nobody expected much of life. It generally met their expectations. And there was sex, though not enough of it — the scarcity being the propellant behind matrimony. Back then, before the miracle of feminism, women had not yet commoditized themselves. A lad had to pop the question before he got laid regular. Women controlled the carnal economy and, in a world that was going to be boring anyway, that was probably a good thing. At least kids had parents. Times change. Some advice to young fellows setting forth: First, forget that her lips are sweet as honeydew melon (though not, of course, green). It doesn’t last. One of nature’s more disagreeable tricks is that while men are far uglier than women, they age better. Remember this. It is useful to reflect in moments of unguided passion that, beneath the skin, we are all wet bags of unpleasant organs. Soon you will be a balding sofa ornament and she will look like a fireplug with cellulite. Once the packaging deteriorates, there had better be something to get you through the next thirty years. Usually there isn’t. Prospects have improved for the single of both genders. Sex is nowadays always available. If you don’t marry Moon Pie, which would be wise, you may get another chance when she comes back on the market with the first wave of divorcees. It’s never now-or-never. Getting older doesn’t diminish your opportunities. As you gain experience, you will recognize the tides, the eddies, the whirlpools of coupling — the urgency of the biological clock, the lunacy of menopause. Men by comparison embody a wonderful clod-like simplicity. As you ponder snuggling forever with Moon Pie, compare the lives of your bachelor and your married friends. The bachelors come and go as the mood strikes them, order their apartments with squalid abandon, drive Miatas or Harleys if they choose, and live in such pleasant dissolution as is consonant with continued employment. The married guy lives in a vast echoing mortgage beyond his means, drives sensible cars he doesn’t like, and loses his old friends because he isn’t allowed to hang out with them. Self-help books to the contrary, marriage does not rest on compromises, but on concessions. You will make all of them. Perhaps it doesn’t have to be this way. But it is this way. Moon Pie has only one reason for marriage: to get her legal hooks into you. She doesn’t think of it in these terms, yet, and she has no evil intentions. She just wants a nice quiet home in the remote suburbs where she can live uneventfully, raise progeny, and keep her eye on you. If you think surveillance isn’t part of the contract, try going out late with your old buddies. Marriage is an institution founded on mistrust. If she thought you would stick around if not compelled, she wouldn’t need marriage. She wants monogamy, at least for you and, with some frequency, for herself. She knows viscerally that you would prefer the amorous insouciance of an oversexed alley cat. You know it consciously. Marriage exists to control the male, until recently a good idea. Now, however, she can support herself, and doesn’t need protection. She doesn’t need you, or you, her. She will, however, want to have children. Women do. At which point, God help you. Given the schools, drugs, latch-keyism consequent first to working parents and then to divorce, and the cultural pressure on children to be slatterns and dope-dealers, reproduction is a gamble. You may not even particularly like them, or they, you. Nobody talks about this, but how many people do you know who hardly talk to their grown children? And you’ve just tied yourself into twenty years of raising them. The moment Junior enters wherever it is that we are, Moon Pie will have you screwed to the wall. She won’t think of it this way, yet. She’ll be delighted with the cooing bundle of joy, his little fingers, her little toes, etc. But divorce comes. The chances are two to one that she will file: Women are more eager than men to enter marriage, and more eager to leave it — with the kids, the house, and the child support. It won’t be amicable, not after seven years. You will be astonished at how ruthless she will be, how well she knows the law, and how utterly hostile to divorcing fathers the law is. You don’t understand how bad the divorce courts are. You probably don’t know what "imputed income" is. You think that "joint custody" means "joint custody." Think again. Quite possibly you will have to support her while she moves with your kids to Fukuoka with an Air Force colonel she met in a meat bar. In short, marriage often means turning twenty-five years of your life into smoking wreckage. Yes, happy marriages exist (I personally know of one) and there are the somnolent marriages of habitual contentment or, perhaps, of quiet resignation. But the odds aren’t good. Permit me an heretical thought. In an age when neither sex economically needs the other, in which women do not need protection from wild bears and marauding savages, not in the suburbs anyway, perhaps marriage doesn’t make sense, at least for men. The divorce courts remove all doubt. A young fellow might do well to stay single, keep his DNA to himself, pick such flowers as he might find along the way, and live his life as he likes. -Fred Reed, 2002
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— Dave Fossett Saitama, Japan 