take-away pizza, that's all it took to consider this observation; take-away pizza... take-away food-stuffs are so, *******, depressing, and so m.g.t.o.w.-ish... of the the joys of preparing your own food; it's almost like reviving the "idea" of a house-wife... imagine it though, saving the culinary orthodoxy of such said "attachés"; i cherish the well-valued time of cooking one's own meal, than breaking the backs of bangladeshi migrants in soft-sock factories... no! *******! i'll eat my own, once i've cooked it, myself! keep these lazy western europeam t.v. junkies, out of my agenda! *****, keep the migrants keep ******* on your take-away pizza... come on... watch me clap... clap... clap clap... clap clap clap... as if before a high jump!*

this isn't real, as you might expect,
such is the bond, existent,
between my mother and my father,
it's near-mythical,
   all she has to undergo is a hernia
operation,
  i'm a veteran in the procedure,
i was operated on several times,
first was my own hernia:
  thank you chernobyll -
now i really feel like being part
of the x-men...
   but it ******* stings...
      my father isn't a big talker,
after all, he was abasoned by his
       mother, and father, and wai
raised by hir paternal grandparents,
so the heartbreak is already there,
i have to deal with, every time i ask...
and i've met my paternal grandfather
once or twice,
   he called me his "buddy",
  and i replied with woe and agony:
i'm not your friend...
           as he was walking,
what i might expect to be my half-cousins...
****** didn't even have the tenacity
to call me his grandson,
   and he died, as we all do...
   and they wrote on epitaph:
a great worker...
          i walked past his grave,
peering at it,
   they didn't even bother to make
his name into an imprint, nor his
day & death date...
    not worthy the chisel,
written in ink...
  that's how you write the koran
on the tablets of the ten commandments...
the 11th amendment?
                  what about usury?!
i thought the ancient hebryes were
against magic, were against what usury
has become...
              fellas! we've been wrong
all along! we've found the philosophers stone!
it's there for the taking!
  look! usury! it manages to stealth tax people
into a skeletal grave...
      usury! usury! usury!
         but **** me,
looking at my father watering the flowers,
and my mother in hospital with
a minor operation concerning a hernia:
i had mine...
   thank you chernobyll...
  and what emerges?
    i'm a ******* when it comes to women,
i can't deny that,
   that's why i entertain prostitutes from
time to time,
   toughens the heart...
                but if this is what
m.g.t.o.w. movements comes down to?
      i won't say pathetic concerning my father,
but, ****!
       it looks pretty **** salt-on-the-wounds
type of material...
            do i look pathetic
acquiring so much sentiment for
   cats, or dogs?
       unlikely... i look liberated by comparison...
but that's the dice throw to think
about...
       men like my father,
who took to bringing an accomplice
that's my mother... well...
   when you invest so much into a woman...
that leaves you begging to try
to write a book, but never being able to...
        why bother?
  what sort of man would want to write
books, while at the same time write
the book that's woman?
   some fanciful idiot who can't sing
or memorise recitations?
                           memory, ah, spledid!
the function that gives man the gravity
of consciousness, and subsequent
articulation of arguments worth the pro-life
brigade...
    and, ah... memory, the function that
erodes, and keeps eroding,
  all other mental functions of worth...
bravo!            bravo!    applause! 'plause!
i've just looked at a m.g.t.o.w. simulation,
and... well... it's far from pretty...
             having a hernia operation
is minor, i already told you:
   i had one when i was a baby...
        when it comes to the details,
   i'm a mean *******...
               i survived two attempts of ******...
i can tune into the energies of fear,
and by fear, turn to bombast,
  and via bombast, attain a script, such as this.
i don't know what to recommend...
    if you spend enough time with women,
and without the women in question,
it's not that you look pathetic,
        but so tragic, that you break every
bone in the body of the person observing,
while at the same time, asking a doberman
pup to gouge your eyes out...
      how ferocious the man without a woman
looks...
       which signifies the opposite in a woman
without a man: how pathetic she looks;
man abides in solitude upon the diet
of feral forces,
                       he's so ******* scared,
that in his anti-phobia: complete-curriculum,
becomes, un-approachable.
believe me, i put my mother
into a coffin, before i extracted an answer
that she was simply in a hospital bed;
hernia? hernia?!
    i had more bother with wisdom teeth...
thank god i kept my third tonsil.