Thursday, January 29, 2015


by Mr. Mean-Spirited

You would never succeed anyway. Your whole life has been a failure – and this won’t be any different. You know that you will fall-short no matter how hard you try. You have never achieved anything, and your certainly aren’t going to accomplish anything now. You have never been victorious at anything – and your losing streak certainly isn’t going to change now.

You just can’t do it. You will never realize anything no matter what. You would only fail no matter how much effort you put into it. The vilest creature is simply a fellow who just wants to do his best.

You just don’t have the ability. You don’t know how to do it right. You need to accept the fact that you just don’t have it in you. The most useless human being is that person who knows he doesn’t have a chance, yet follows his dream anyway.

You don’t have the intelligence to pull it off. To put it simply, you just aren’t smart enough. You haven’t got the brains to do it right. The most stupid person is always the fellow thinking he has a fine education.

You’re just not good enough.  You know you won’t be successful, so why take the trouble? The most pathetic loser is a runner who knows he can’t win, yet continues the marathon anyway. The most worthless human specimen is a chap who just wants to be a good sport.

You’ve always been a disappointment to everyone. You were born as part of the herd, and you will die as just another also-ran. You won’t overcome shit. The most disgusting character is always the man who doesn’t realize how despicable he truly is.

And the sickest thing of all is that you want to be encouraged – instead of being told the truth about yourself. If you still want to be motivated, then that shows how empty you really are. The most repugnant thing about a wretch like you is that, in spite of everything, you still want someone to come along and inspire you – just so you won’t feel how repulsive you truly are.


Tuesday, January 20, 2015


by Mr. Mean-Spirited

A woman with herpes is one stealthy bitch. She doesn’t care about the possibility of passing the disease to someone else, as much as making sure that no one discovers that she is infected.

A female who knows she is afflicted starts to hide other areas of her life. Herpes changes a lady – not so much with periodic outbreaks in the pubes, but from the recurrent need to conceal things from you. And this constant concealment keeps her in a continual state of arousal. Going hush-hush makes her all hot and bothered. They call it “going undercover” for a damn good reason.

Herpes itself does not increase a woman’s sexual appetite, but the act of keeping the outbreak secret does enhance her sexual receptiveness. A woman’s erotic excitement increases in direct proportion to her efforts at keeping her contagion hidden. She likes it tucked away. She wants it holed up.

A woman with a sexually transmitted disease has more things wrong with her than just a virus. She is certain to have other areas of her past that she doesn’t want you to know about. She just doesn’t want to be found out. And she will use her sexuality to distract you from discovering the truth; she will do anything to keep you from making a proper diagnosis. She doesn’t want to be cured, as much as keep the evidence stashed away. Hide and secrete.

A perceptive fellow never trusts any woman who would be willing to have sex with him. A prudent man treats every lady as an afflicted creature – and acts accordingly. A shrewd gentleman expects the crotch of every girlfriend to be concealing a sexually-transmitted disease. A wise chap isn’t fooled by her deception, but still fools around with her offered body anyway. A sensible man ultimately takes the most precautions; a sage man is always the one who makes the most assumptions in life.

All women are diseased – some just carry more infection than others.

Saturday, January 10, 2015


by Mr. Mean-Spirited

Death should be a solitary thing. Dying should always be a lonely experience.

I have never understood why the mass media wants everyone to have this fear of dying alone. When the time comes for me, I don’t want to spend my last days being serviced by the medical industry.

When I am ready to take my last breath, I’d rather do it in private. When I need to leave this world, I’d rather do it alone. When I spend my last few hours on earth, I’d rather not be bothered by other people.

I’d rather die on my own terms. I’d rather die in a dirty bed in a cheap motel room than be watched by a bunch of sneering do-gooders. In those last moments, when I am vomiting all over myself, I don’t need any onlookers. In those final minutes, when my bladder empties, I really don’t require any witnesses. In those final seconds, when I lose control of my bowels, I don’t want any spectators.

I’d rather not have bystanders when I die. I don’t need any sullen health-care workers to harass me with catheters and harry me with blood tests. Death is going to be difficult enough without having a bunch of bored family members amusing themselves by watching my discomfort.

So even though my death will be some years in the future, I don’t need any acquaintances to clear their calendars. So even though my demise will be some time yet to come, I won’t need you to come-by to mop up the mess. When I succumb, I don’t want you around.

A man who can arrange to die alone has lived a full life.