Category Archives: Humor

The Biggest Shitbags In Military Movies

Posted on by Standard Reply

Nearly every unit in the military has one, and you’ve likely had to pick up his slack — that guy who is kind of a shitbag. Even in the harsh suffering and carnage of war, the human psyche still makes time for petty rivalries. It may be a leader whose personal characteristics are lacking for the position or just another Joe trying to survive while failing to live up to his soldierly duties.

And since shitbags exist in real life, we also see them in military movies. These characters inspire loathing and hatred amongst those who serve with them — and those of us watching at home — as they harness a unique ability to make an already sucky situation suck more.

The amount that we love to hate these shitbags is a testament to the talents of the actors who portrayed them. Fiction imitates reality, and we’ve all encountered a soldier (or maybe we were that soldier) whose actions once made us exclaim, “What a fucking shitbag.”

CLICK HERE TO READ FULL ARTICLE AT COFFEE OR DIE MAGAZINE

~Raul Felix

What Your Choice Of Military Branch Says About You!

Posted on by Standard 14

SrA Jordyn Fetter

Deciding to join the military is one of the most demanding commitments a person can make next to getting married. Even marriage has the option of divorce if you and your spouse should grow disillusioned with one another. But, the She-Beast that is the military will smother you in her clutches long after the honeymoon period has ended.

When you’re shopping around, trying to figure out which branch will be pounding its green weenie into your ass for the next X years, keep in mind that just like an astrological sign can tell you everything you will ever need to know about a person, so does their choice of military service.

United States Army

SGT Steven Galimore

You really didn’t want to join the Navy like some homo and you may have a petty criminal past. Nothing too serious, but back on the block people didn’t call you Slicky Ricky for nothing. One night while lying in bed after banging your mediocre looking girlfriend you begin to contemplate the direction of your life. Realizing that it’s heading nowhere and fast, you say to yourself, “Fuck it! I’m joining the Marines!” After scoring barely above mentally retarded on your ASVAB and revealing your less than desirable past to a Marine recruiter, you’re promptly laughed out the office. Well, you’re in luck low-speed, high-drag; the Army recruiting station is right next door.

With the ability to draw from its vast hordes of manpower and capabilities, the Army is the all-powerful steam roller of the armed services. While the Marine Corps is looking for a few good men, the Army is content with a shit ton of OK ones. Outside of the Special Operations community, this leads to a relaxed attitude about what it takes to be a barrel-chested freedom fighter. If you’re able to show up at the right place, right time, and in the right uniform, you are half way to winning Soldier of the Year.

United States Marine Corps

CPL Aaron Patterson

There is no gentle way to say this Devil Dog, you drank the Semper Fi flavored Kool-Aid. At some point in your youthful years you were brainwashed by the USMC propaganda machine or your old man into believing that joining any other branch of the service makes you a big ol’ blubbering pussy. You were bamboozled into believing that utilizing subpar equipment, having lower chances at promotion, and working in an environment full of overzealous non-commissioned officers who are sticklers for the rules, equates to being a better tuned killing machine.

Fuck it, though. The misery of your existence is a point of pride for you. It makes you feel like you’ve earned the title of Marine. Something you will surely brag about whenever there is a few minute lull in conversation in any situation whatsoever. Everyone knows you’re the best, or else they’ll die like the rest. As substantial proof, you have those killer Class-A’s that get’s bitches panties drenched.

United States Navy

PO3 William McCann

You’re probably a homosexual. Not that there is anything wrong with that. Don’t ask, don’t tell was repealed by the Obama administration, so you can at last be out and proud with your flamboyant gay ol’ self. We always had our sneaking suspicions of what you did while at sea, sailor boy. No worries seaman, we all knew you were in the closet and working up the courage to come out to us. We’ve always loved and supported you, even if you do choose to live an alternative lifestyle. Hugs!

The Navy is the service for those who want to leave their shitty lives behind to see the world, but want to minimize their chances of dying in the process. While there are some jobs in the Navy that does its share of ground-pounding, the lion’s share of combat casualties in modern warfare are taken by the Army and Marine Corps. That makes it the optimal choice for a service member who wants all the perks and benefits of being in the armed services without having to do anything other than suck cock.

United States Air Force

SrA Nick Emerick

You know what’s pretty fucking sweet? Driving into work, while drinking a hot cup of joe, listening to some boom-boom-I-beat-my-wife country music as you pass a bunch of soldiers from the nearby Army base doing a 12-mile ruck march. Then you walk into your office, say, ‘Good morning’ to your superior using their first name, go on a brisk 2 mile run, and then go about your daily tasks.

See, for an Airman, military service is not about having a job that will impress people or requires physically taxing work. You don’t really care about proving how hard and tough you are. Your life back home didn’t suck too badly and you really didn’t want your life in the military to suck either. If you’re honest with yourself, you are kind of a nerd and freezing or sweating your dick off doesn’t seem too appealing to you. Now learning some technical skill that will give you good job prospects in the real world, that’s what drew you into the service. Plus, Air Force chicks tend to be the hottest from all of the branches and one may even become your girlfriend/wife. Until you find out she has been banging an Army Ranger in the Task Force she was attached to while deployed because she wanted a real man.

United States Coast Guard

PO3 Andrew Barresi

No one knows or cares about you. You are like that kid in high school who committed suicide and has a quarter page memorial in black and white in the back of the year book, but no one remembers who you are. Thanks for your service, I guess.

~Raul Felix

Read: 5 People You Will Meet In The Army
Read: 3 Things People Who Served In The Military Do That Make Them Look Like Tools
Read: Army Rangers Talk About The Times Their Words Have Shocked Civilians

Read more of my work at Thought Catalog
Follow me on Instagram.
Follow me on Twitter.

Two Bros Smoke Weed And Compare Notes About Women

Posted on by Standard 5

When you spent enough time working alongside someone, you tend to develop a good understanding of them. Sometimes you like them, sometimes you hate them. Usually, it’s a healthy mix of both. Yet when that former coworker who became your friend comes to visit you for a couple of weeks, you can’t help but get back to the old shit-talking routine. When my crabby and grumpy security contractor buddy, “Grumps”, came to visit, that’s exactly what ensued.

Grumps: “That chick from last night won’t text me back, fucking cunt.”

Raul: “That’s because she’s getting a train run on her by a bunch of black dudes.”

Grumps: “No, she’s my little white angel. We had such a deep connection. I’m fucking serious, Raul; I would have married that bitch.”

Raul: “You only talked to her for thirty minutes.”

Grumps: “So? I felt it, man. We were made to be together. Why is she being such a bitch and ignoring my texts?”

Raul: “Because she’s currently getting triple-rodded by Tyron and his buddies.”

Grumps: “Fuck, you’re probably right.”

Raul: “It doesn’t matter. You probably would’ve taken her out on a nice, fancy date and only gotten a peck on the lips as you dropped her off. What was her name again?”

Grumps: “Sammy.”

Raul: “Then Tyron would’ve called her up and been like, ‘Yo Sammy, I’m comin’ over. I’m bringing my boys, too. You better have some good weed this time, not that weak bullshit of full seeds and stems like last time. ’”

Grumps: “That white boy feed you good? You gonna need dat energy.”

Raul: “Speaking of weed, roll us another fucking blunt.”

Grumps: “Goddamn it, hold on.”

Grumps rolls us a nice blunt.

Raul: “These are fucking good days we’re living, Grumps.”

Grumps blows smoke into the air.

Grumps: “Mmmmmhmmmm. Dude, I’m having so much fun. Listening to music, smoking green, drinking, and hanging with my boy Raul.”

Raul: “Yep. You see how many hot bitches there are out today?”

Grumps: “Yeah, man. It’s like as soon as I stop checking out the ass of one, another fine bitch passes by. Too bad they’re all a bunch of libtards.”

Raul: “Hey, man, liberals ain’t that bad. Sure, they’re annoying as fuck, but they’re pretty cool and nice if you avoid political conversation with them.”

Grumps: “Oh man, don’t fucking get me started on these fucking liberals, you know what the fuck I saw on Fox News…”

Raul: “No, no, no. We’re not getting into your simpleminded Midwest rhetoric. All you do is fucking get on Facebook and hate-read whatever the conservative propaganda machine wants you to be pissed off about that day.”

Grumps: “All right, fine. Oh man, did I tell you about that fight I saw earlier?”

Raul: “No, what happened?”

Grumps: “Oh, fuck, man. It was hilarious. These two fat bitches start yelling at each other in the middle of the street. One of them was pushing a baby stroller, too. Then one of them starts screaming some shit about the other being a gossipy, shit-talking slut. Then they start slapping one another until a few dudes broke them up.”

Raul: “Holy fuck. I wish I would’ve seen that. Did you get it on video?”

Grumps: “No, it happened way too fast for me to record it.”

Raul: “What time did it happen?”

Grumps: “About three or so.”

Raul: “Oh yeah, that’s when all that welfare trash starts walking around town after going to their appointments or picking up their kids or whatever the fuck people on welfare do.”

Grumps: “They did look ratchet as fuck.”

Smoke fills the room as Grumps swipes through his Tinder.

Grumps: “Oh Raul, so many bitches want my cock.”

Raul: “No, they don’t.”

Grumps: “Yes, they do. I got all these hoes I’m working all over the place. I take them on a date to get some good food, then I let in my fucking rags-to-riches life story and their mouth drops.”

Raul: “Bitches only want you for your money, Grumps.”

Grumps: “They ain’t going to get shit. Making them sign a prenup.”

Raul: “That’s good that you think you got some game. Remember, I ain’t no broke piece of shit either, motherfucker. Sure, I ain’t contractor-rich like you, but I do decent.”

Grumps: “Fine, you’re a mini-baller.”

Raul: “Damn straight. Plus, you need money to get bitches. You’re not a fucking artist like me, Grumps, where you can just work a low-paying gig while waiting for genius to surface.”

Grumps: “Raul, your writing sucks. I could write better shit than that without trying.”

Raul: “Like I really respect your opinion regarding literature. What the fuck is the last book you read?”

Grumps: “Hell if I know.”

Raul: “See Grumps, I play the long game. Using my words, stories, and shit to show chicks I’m a deep, thoughtful soul and not just a Latin stud.”

Grumps: “Well, I got a Mercedes SLR and my own house paid for. Bitches’ panties get drenched for that shit. Maybe one day you’ll be rich like me. I hope that for you.”

Raul: “Awwww…you’re sweet. Whatever happened with that one college chick you took out on a date the other night?’

Grumps: “I took her to the mall and bought her some lingerie. Had her little tight twenty-one-year-old ass model it for me. Then I tore that puss up and filled it full of freedom!”

Raul: “Smash that puss! You know she is going to be wearing that lingerie for one of her college boys, right?”

Grumps: “Pfff, I don’t give a fuck. She was just a random piece of pussy to me.”

Silence fills the room for a few minutes as we relax.

Raul: “These are good days we’re living, Grumps.”

Grumps: “Mmmmmhmmmm.”

~Raul Felix

Read: Four Things Only Mexican-Americans Will Understand
Read: Guy Talk: Hot Tranny
Read: 3 Winning PR Strategies For Muslim Extremists

Read more of my work at Thought Catalog
Follow me on Instagram.
Follow me on Twitter.

What Basic Bitches And Bros Think About Dating Profile Pics

Posted on by Standard Reply

Online dating—whether it be Tinder, Plenty of Fish, or OKCupid—appears to be stacked in favor of women because all they have to do is not be ugly, and hordes of men will send them a message consisting of either:

A. An uninspiring “Hey” that showcases his laziness and inability to begin a stimulating conversation.

B. A longwinded first message that has been perfectly crafted to show sincerity, wit, and/or humor to pique her interest. (He has also been carpet-bombing every chick who’s crossed his path with the same message.)

C. Unwarranted, unoriginal, highly sexualized messages referring to BDSM and hyper-aggressive male dominance, because chicks totally dig that Fifty Shades of Grey shit from random guys who have a shirtless bathroom #selfie that shows the toilet in the bottom-right-hand corner.

D. Dick pic ambush!

There are certain types of pictures that highlight a woman’s fine qualities and make a man hope that she’ll take a risk on true lust by swiping right. Others will make him reconsider her a bit, but then he will decide she has a nice rack and swipe right anyway. Here are five types of such pictures:

1. Sticking Her Tongue Out

Basic Bitch Thinks: “This will show that I am a silly person and I don’t take myself too seriously. Look at how much of a goofball and dork I am. LOL!”

Basic Bro Thinks: “That bitch’s mouth looks like it sure know its way around a dick, and I know she’s eager to get sloppy all over mine. She is presenting that sweet tongue as an approved target for ejaculation. I’m going to send her a dick pic.”

2. A Group Picture With Her Besties

Basic Bitch Thinks: “We all looked so hot at Becky’s bachelorette party. A guy will totally notice how sexy and classy I looked in that black dress. I just love how my bangs looked. My boobs look a bit bigger, too. Oh no! I’m holding a lollipop that’s shaped like a penis. I’ll just crop that out. Sorry I have to cut you out, Lindsay #notsorry. Caption: BFFFFFFFFFFFFs<3.”

Basic Bro Thinks: “What the fuck is up with bitches making a group picture their default picture? Now I have to check the rest of her pics to figure out who she is. Oh, fucking great! The next pic is of her and thirteen of closest BFFs. Oh please fucking God, don’t let it be the fat chick I’ve seen in both pictures.”

3. Picture Of Her In A Bathing Suit

Basic Bitch Thinks: “I so love the beach, biaaaatch. All that working out has paid off. Even so, I hope boys will like me for my brains and not just how good I look.”

Basic Bro Thinks: “I want to skull-fuck her until her brains spill out of her ears.”

4. Picture With Her Holding An N64 Controller

Basic Bitch Thinks: “I’m such a nerddddddd!”

Basic Bro Thinks: “Who the fuck still plays N64?”

5. Picture From An Extremely High Angle While Pressing Her Boobs Together To Make Them Look Bigger While Concealing Her Protruding Gut

Basic Bitch Thinks: “I really have let myself go. Goddamn lack of exercise since college and Netflix marathons where I eat all the ice cream. Ben and Jerry’s solves all wounds—even broken hearts. I’ll just show off my huge breasts and no guy will ever notice.”

Basic Bro Thinks: “While I want to use those boobs as pillows, I know she is hiding a gut underneath them because chicks are shady like that. More than likely, I’m going to take her out and be horribly disappointed, but since I’m already committed to the date I’ll let it go on. Then I’ll drink until I don’t really care about the gut anymore and fuck her without a condom because condoms fucking suck. Then the next day I realize I made a mistake and buy her a Plan B because there is no way I’m going to fucking let this fat fuck produce dream-crushing offspring with my DNA. Goddamn it, that shit costs $50! Fuck. I’m going to send her a dick pic to make sure she’s DTF. Bitches love unsolicited dick pics.”

~Raul Felix

Read: The Pick-Up Follies: Taqueria Hottie
Read: Guy Talk: Animal Love

Read more of my work at Thought Catalog
Follow me on Instagram.
Follow me on Twitter.

4 Things That Security Contractors Love To Spend Their Money On

Posted on by Standard Reply

The Global War on Terror has offered unique career opportunities for American veterans that past wars have not. The US military’s inability to recruit enough troops to fill the mission requirements in Iraq, Afghanistan, and other sites throughout the world has created the need to hire private security contracting firms.

Being a private military contractor allows a combat veteran to grab some of those big bucks that are usually reserved for those in the upper echelon or technical side of the military-industrial complex. Since well-paying jobs on the home front are hard to come by, it makes perfect sense for a man who was willing to fight in a foreign land for less than $20,000 a year to become a shooter for a six-figure income. If you’re one of these men, you come back with quite a bit of money in your pocket after doing a contract or six. How should you go about spending it?

1. Getting a sweet ride.

Now that you’ve spent a few of the best years of your life in a shithole country being the personal security for some faceless executives of Tax Payer Money Funnel Incorporated, you’re ready to live out your own dreams—unless you’re a closet hipster who has wet dreams about owning a Prius, which signals to the world you’re trendy, environmentally conscious, and gay. It will include one or all of the following: a truck, a badass sports car, or a motorcycle.

You’ve been stalking the vehicle that catches your fancy for months. Checking out every color and trim variations. Deciding which features and extras you must have: sound systems, limo tint, grills, and lift kits. You know what? Fuck it! Just murder that motherfucker out. Should you put 24s on it? You fantasize of cruising down an open highway with your hands in between the thighs of a hot brunette sitting in the passenger seat in a tank top who is barely able to contain her breasts and singing along to the latest Taylor Swift hit single because you’re confident enough in your heterosexuality to listen to pop music without irony.

You’re finally able to strut into a dealership like an OG gangster with cold, hard cash. You’re not playing any games; you’re getting the car you want.

“I have $XX,XXX cash,” you say to the shady salesman who is eager to take as much of your money as possible. “You will give me this car, at this price.” He’ll then try to swindle you by saying they don’t give special cash discounts. You’ll then be like, “Hey Broseph, I ain’t no dumb private just out of Basic that you can financially rape with your 18.99% APR loan you’re able to secure through a subprime lender because I got a secure job in the military. I’ve been contracting and doing my research. You’re going to give me the car I want, with the specs I want, in the color I want, and at this fucking price.” You then drive away with a gangster lean in your car because you just dick-slapped the dealership.

2. Taking a vacation that fully indulges your vices.

Sure, your friends and family back home will be eager to see you and have missed you dearly. But if you have learned anything from your years when you were in the military, it’s that being home on leave is pretty lame after two or three days. All your friends and family are doing their own thing. Even if you do show back up, you’re not really going to see them more than once or twice. Why sit around in your hometown where not much has changed when you can take a trip to a foreign place where the foreigners aren’t trying to kill you?

Wolf Of Wall Street

Wolf Of Wall Street

If Hollywood and music videos have taught us anything is that it’s standard operating procedure to celebrate your newfound riches with scantly clad women in an exotic location while snorting mountains of coke and popping piles of Viagra to combat chronic erectile dysfunction. However, since you’ve spent the last few months around men, your game with females may have suffered. No worries; the time-honored profession of prostitution is there to make sure you have someone who will pretend to care about you for the allotted amount of time that you have bought her. Make sure to hide your drugs.

Perhaps you’re not the hookers-and-blow type. Perhaps you’re the drinking copious amounts of alcohol, brooding by your lonesome, thinking to yourself how everyone in the bar seems like a pussy and you miss hanging around real men, awkwardly hitting on chicks, and then falling asleep as you jack off type. No matter; you’ll have a way better time in foreign places where your American brutishness will be considered a cultural flaw rather than a personal one.

An extravagant vacation may not give you any tangible assets, but it will give you life experiences. Think of all those stories you’ll be able to tell while you’re pulling security at your next contracting gig to break up the monotony of everyone bitching about who they think are total cocksuckers on the contract and bragging about how hard they were back when they were in the military.

3. Embracing your right to bear arms.

You can’t spend all your money on cool toys, travel, drugs, and hookers; you need to be an adult and make a responsible investment. A gun is an asset that assures the security of the rest of your assets. It insures that any person who intrudes upon your person or property will get two in the chest and one in the head.

As much as freedom haters will protest, gun ownership is your right as an American. You risked your life for this country not just selflessly in your military service, but for personal profit when you became a mercenary—I mean, a security contractor. You’re the embodiment of patriotism and capitalism, two major principles in our mighty nation.

Now it’s also crucial that you just not have enough to arm yourself, but everyone in your household, and two or three of your closest friends. When Obama causes a nuclear holocaust, currency won’t be stocks or deeds, but weapons and ammo.

4. Getting yourself out of the rat race.

OK, you’ve blown your money from your previous contracts, but this time you’ve learned your lesson. You can’t keep on deploying anymore. You hate being away from your wife/girlfriend, kids, or dog. You need to figure out how to make your money work for you, not the other way around. While the pay is great, this isn’t a long-term career. You have to make plans for the future on the off chance that the zombie apocalypse doesn’t happen.

You’ve sacrificed and put a lot at risk for the opportunity you have now. You can use your money to start that business you’ve always wanted to start. Or invest in real estate to create a steady stream of income. Or learn a new skill set that actually has a market in the US.

You earned the money; whatever you do with it is up to you. You’ve been broke before and now you’ve gotten a taste of what making real money feels like. You know having money is awesome and it allows you to buy the things and experiences that make you happy to be alive. But it’s also a trap to keep you coming back for more and more. With a little smarts and a bit of luck, you can figure out how to have a sustainable income instead of being caught in the up-and-down cycles of being contractor-rich.

~Raul Felix

Read more of my work at Thought Catalog
Follow me on Instagram.
Follow me on Twitter.

Army Rangers Talk About The Times Their Words Have Shocked Civilians

Posted on by Standard 4
Sgt. Brian Kohl, 55th Combat Camera, US Army

Sgt. Brian Kohl, 55th Combat Camera, US Army

Men in Special Operations units look at the world very differently than the average civilian does. There is no subject or phrase that is too taboo for us. All kinds of jokes are commonplace: rape, racist, dead baby, misogynist, and plain disgusting ones. You’ll never get scolded for offending someone; if anything, you’ll get mocked for not being offensive enough. Such an environment has a lasting effect. When we’re set loose on the civilian world, we must learn that most people can’t handle our dark, twisted humor. I asked my Ranger buddies about times they have said something that horrified society’s sheep.

Raul Felix:
When some cunt broke my heart I was drinking at the bar I worked at drowning in booze, my own tears, and woes. I told the young female blonde dumb bartender, “I want to slit that bitch’s throat.” Then word got around that I was a psychopath.

George:
“This [name a situation] is a fucking abortion, it’s a bloody mess.”

Leo:
I told a woman that was trying to take my dad’s beer that I would fillet her like a fish.

TJ:
When people ask me, “What’s up?,” I say rent and the price of pussy. Both are always going up.

Matthew:
In film school I was in a class that was covering all the things you needed a permit to legally do—shut down a street, fire a gun, etc. So I was doing a short at the time that required shooting someone in the back of the head and that person falling off a building. So I ask, “What do I have to get in order to shoot someone in the head and throw them off a building?” I thought it was a perfectly logical question considering the movies that come out these days, but holy shit did everyone else, teacher included, think I was a psychopath.

Calvin:
In reference to an abortion [my girlfriend] had: “No, I felt OK about it. After all, it was one more confirmed kill.”

James:
Saw new talent in the office, told my coworker that I would “pee in her butt.”

Raul Felix:
At my best friend’s birthday I had been heavily drinking. They had two short female friends they were close with but that simply tolerated my existence. I joined the group and said, “I like to dominate small women” and patted one of the chicks on the head like she was a dog and walked off. They were upset about that for a while.

George:
“You’re looking at me like you either want to fuck or fight; either way it’s a good time.”

Steven:
“Look at the turd-cutter on that chick. I’d eat a mile of her shit to see where it came from.”

Dirty Dick:
I can’t think of a story or anything I’ve said out loud off the top of my head because I’m so inappropriate all the fucking time. But you can talk about how my cousins showed me videos of the cartel mutilating each other and I laugh about it while they’re staring at my crazy American Psycho face.

Chris:
I used a freshly skinned rabbit pelt for a puppet to the horror of the college girls at the campout. I guess skinning it without a knife didn’t help.

Calvin:
Felt a pregnant classmate’s belly in a bar—classy, Oregon—and said, “That’s so cool that you’re adding life to the world. I always wanted to leave it with less than I came.”

Matthew:
I was sitting in the newsroom at NBC in Kansas City and felt the presence of the cameraman and reporter over my shoulder as I read a text message [in] which the thread included a thumbnail of my most recent dong shot.

Steven:
(In reference to the Ice Bucket Challenge): If dumping a little chilly water on yourself is the level of intestinal fortitude that you consider being Rangerrific, then you, sir, should be a Seal. If the challenge was to pour a gallon of ISIS and virgin blood over my head while I aggressively masturbate to “Two Girls, One Cup” while I fist-fuck a porn star’s ass and kick a puppy in the face, then, sir, we are on the same page.

Alvin:
A few civilian friends and I were going to pull a train on some chick. While they were all arguing about who was going to go first, I called dibs on last.

Erik Larsen:
Civilian to me when I was a recruiter in New York: “How do you live with yourself knowing you killed innocent children in Iraq?” My response: “Don’t knock it ’til you try it.” Civilian walks off in horror.

Rammers:
Before I leave certain locations or say goodbye to people, I use certain words to say goodbye instead of the usual (“have good one,” “see ya later,” “keep in touch”). Most of the time I say, “Don’t get shot.” Once, before I left my economics class prior to the Thanksgiving weekend, my professor told the class, “I hope everyone has a good holiday weekend” [and] I replied, “Hopefully no one gets shot.” She then repeatedly asked, “Who’s getting shot?” three times. I laughed and said, “Getting shot is always a possibility where I am from.”

~Raul Felix

4 Things Women Can Do To Be More Attractive (From A Non-Beta Bitch Male Perspective)

Posted on by Standard 3

Most of you girls seem obsessed with the fact that you’re still single and there are no good men left out there who can handle that you’re a strong, independent woman who don’t need no man. By the way, there are—you’re just too much of a stuck-up cunt to realize it. So I’m going to give you some #realtalk girlfriend advice because I don’t give a shit if I offend you or not. It’s not like you were going to fuck me anyway.

1. Shave or trim your fucking pussy.

Just as you’ve been brainwashed by Hollywood to seek out the perfect man who meets an impossible list of standards that the average Joe isn’t capable of reaching, we men have been brainwashed by porn to want a woman with a shaved—or at the very least, neatly trimmed—pussy. No, this isn’t our desire to fuck a prepubescent girl like so many fuzzy-vagina feminist writers want to #hairlesspussyafcionadoshame us into believing. It’s because a shaved pussy, like shaved legs and armpits, looks distinctly more feminine and sexy.

We don’t want to trudge through a jungle of your pubic hair just so we can find your clit. You are aware that they are not as big as a cock and balls, right? We have to dig to find your cute little cunt cap, then hold it open and go to town. We don’t want to have your hair go into our mouth and teeth when we are trying to lick and suck on your clitoris and labia.

By having a shaved or trimmed pussy, you’re showing a man you actually take care of yourself and aren’t too lazy to do such a simple task. Yes, I know it’s time-intensive, but you know what else is time-intensive? Living up to all these damn standards you demand from us on your listicles.

2. Keep your fucking pussy fresh.

There are few things more exciting for a man than the prospect of getting laid. All of our hard work—taking you out for drinks, flirting, putting up with your flaky bullshit, pretending to care about your hopes and dreams—lead up to the moment where we are feeling you up, kissing you, and throw you on the bed. Then we slip off your jeans and see your glorious body in your underwear. Then, when we’re ready to fuck you, we take your panties off, only to be hit in the face like a bag of rocks by your cunt funk because you decided you didn’t need to shower before the date because you had a long workday.

It has always boggled my mind when a girl can’t tell her pussy stinks. I’ve sat across chicks wearing skirts that I had every intention of fucking. Then they would briefly open their legs in an effort to entice me, but all I could focus on was the fact that I could smell the wretched stench of her meat curtains. I’m pretty aware when my balls stink and make it a rule to have them be fresh whenever I have the slightest chance of getting laid.

You ladies need to adopt a similar philosophy. A foul pussy can be a boner-killer for a lot of men. Yet a fresh and clean pussy is one of the most delicious and wondrous things in the world. It’s an addicting smell and taste that we can’t get enough of. If you keep your lady bits fresh for me, I’ll make sure to have you squirming with my tongue.

3. Put your fucking phone away.

I know you girls’ lifeline is your phones and you have 56 #selfies on your Instagram with slightly different angles with 100+ likes because desperate guys on the Internet like to over-inflate your ego by liking your picture that literally required no effort on your part to take other than to make a #duckface in irony, but put that shit in your purse. We are trying to form a connection with you and get to know you. We want to make eye contact with you and see your smile in its natural state, not the heavily altered best-of-10-pictures state.

You ladies bitch and moan about how modern men aren’t real men anymore. But are you even real women anymore? Are you stuck as a caricature you developed through your online persona that constantly needs to be reaffirmed and validated? Why the fuck do you care if CoolGuy69 liked your picture if all you’re going to say is he is a creep for doing so? Is your real self such a hollow shell of a human being that your only form of effective communication is through filtered pictures, Marilyn Monroe quotes, emojis, and putting 20 different hashtags on each picture?

Or are you more? Are you capable of giving your undivided attention to one person? Are you able to be truly disconnected from the cyber world for an extended period of time and just enjoy the real world for what it is? Are you able to be sincere, talk about meaningful subject matter, and ask intelligent questions? Oh, fuck—I lost your attention already because you’re checking who liked the photo of you modeling that killer lipstick color you discovered.

4. Acknowledge that you’re equally as responsible as men for today’s fucked-up dating culture.

Here is a double standard you ladies refuse to acknowledge: When a man is a flirt who gives you every signal in the book that he is into you but then decides he isn’t, he’s an asshole. But when you talk to a dude in a flirty way, lead him into thinking he is more than he is, and then you decide you’re not into him, that’s just your adorable little personality and you are having some innocent girl fun. It may sound strange to you, but we men have feelings, too. We become smitten, form crushes, and become enthralled with a chick that has caught our eye. We just don’t show it because we’ve learned through trial and error that as soon as you show a woman any form of emotion, you scare her away because she no longer sees you as a challenge.

You want us to stop playing games? Then you need to stop playing games, too. But you won’t because you refuse to acknowledge that you’re even playing a game. You operate in this fantasy world where women are always the victims who are incapable of doing anything wrong. While you’re bitching to your #bff about McDreamerson and how much of a dick he is for not returning your text, you have three or four texts from other guys in your inbox that you have not returned. That makes you as much of a dick as the guy you are hung-up over. Oh, right—you’re a girl and thus are allowed to be a pussy because it’s the man’s job to understand that you’re not into him.

You seek to blame men for treating women like objects, when you treat men like objects yourself. Just like you may be a brunette with a fine ass that we can’t wait to pound, we are a tall, muscular guy you can’t wait to blow. Just like you may be a fat, gorilla-faced chick who falls far below the Jack Off Line, we are that short, pimply-faced, creepy guy who still lives with his mom who won’t stop texting you. We both see the other person as objects, not as people.

Maybe I’m just a bitter misogynistic pig with a small penis so you should dismiss everything I say as wrong because it doesn’t fall in line with your fairy-tale princess fantasies. Or maybe I’m calling you out on your bullshit like a real human being and friend will do to help you understand things from a male’s perspective. Either way, it’s on you whether you incorporate my advice or ignore it like that one chick that I like is ignoring my text message right now.

~Raul Felix

Read more of my work Thought Catalog.

3 Signs A Woman Is A Dependopotamus

Posted on by Standard 4

The Dependopotamus is a vile creature that can be spotted throughout all branches of the US military. She is the dependent of a military man and lacks any form of self-awareness and cognitive capacity to realize what an utterly worthless sack of shit she is. Since most women who marry a military man are upstanding people and citizens, the Dependopotamus is able to disguise herself as a person of character like an insurgent among the local populace. It takes a skilled eye to spot a Dependopotamus in the wild, but if you pay attention to these tips, then you, too, will be able to spot these wretched parasites in their natural habitat.

1. She has an unearned sense of entitlement.

The Dependopotamus has no real-world accomplishments to call her own other than dropping out of the cosmetology program of her local technical college because it just wasn’t her “thing.” Though she is a lazy bitch, she is also a prideful one who boasts to the world that she is a somebody. To sustain her masquerade that she is a contributing member of society, she’ll take her military man’s professional accomplishments and hardships as her own.

She holds on firmly to the belief that just because her husband is a Sergeant First Class, she automatically earns his prestige by proxy. She’ll look down on other women who are married to men who are of a lesser rank, even attempting to boss them around and implying that if they don’t do what she says, it could negatively affect their husband’s career. She shamelessly wears her husband’s rank, not realizing that just because a man sticks his dick inside her body, it doesn’t mean she gains ranks through whore-smosis.

You’ll see her in the comment section of military articles, talking about how her husband has been deployed three times and how hard that’s been to her on the home front, even though all she did was get fat as fuck, spend all his money, and have a half-dozen other cocks inside of her while her husband was in Iraq hoping not to get his legs blown off by an IED.

Yet she will insist on wearing her XXXL T-shirt with yellow pit stains on them that boldly proclaim to the world, “Army Wife: Hardest Job In The Army”—as if sitting on the couch while eating bonbons, fucking around on her iPhone, and watching Netflix as she lets the house get progressively dirtier can compare to being a real soldier. She’ll bitch about how lonely she is because her hubby is always working and deployed, and she’ll use that as her justification to fuck other men—despite the fact the she has no real career or even semi-respectable means of employment. She leeches off the trusting nature of her man in uniform. Poor sucker doesn’t even realize that his homely wife is the incarnation of what is wrong with modern society.

2. She spurts out one baby after another.

While dimwitted, the Dependopotamus is a shrewd beast who knows that there is one surefire way to trap a man: Bear as many of his offspring as possible. Since having a baby in the military is free thanks to the dependency benefits, she’ll be in a constant state of hosting and developing new fetuses that she isn’t certain are from her husband or one of her many lovers.

Though she has three or four offspring, she has little to no motherly qualities or skills. She will allow them to roam wild through the base’s housing tracts like feral critters as she sits in front of her computer Skyping her sister, a fellow Dependopotamus, bitching about how she feels military wives aren’t appreciated enough. She doesn’t see her offspring as children who need love, attention, and care; rather, they are pawns in her scheme to secure a permanent position in the life of her military husband—or, more importantly, a cut of his paycheck and benefits.

The Dependopotamus knows that she has no shot of surviving in the real world without someone else footing the bill. In a different life, she would be one of those women who lives off welfare and has seven kids by four different men, then expects the government to pay for her dumb cunt mistakes. Luckily for her, she grew up near a military base with plenty of young, desperate soldiers who don’t know any better. Like a predator on the hunt, she sought out the weakest of the pack and sank her claws and teeth into them. Poor Private Snuffy never stood a chance.

3. She is a fat fuck.

Not all fat chicks are Dependopotami, but nearly all Dependopotami are fat chicks. A hallmark trait of a Dependopotamus is her gluttony and sloth. Unlike a self-respecting woman who will take advantage of her free time to improve herself, educate herself, and at least keep some token form of physical fitness, the Dependopotamus is content with feasting on junk food, booze, and her husband’s soul.

When she does leave her den, the poorly bathed Dependopotamus will waddle very slowly to her car. She will then drive to the Dependopotamus social ground, the Post Exchange (PX). As she and other Dependopotami sit there eating their third Big Mac and gossiping away, they will scoff with jealousy at the younger, skinnier wives who aren’t complete pieces of shit like themselves. They will stare them down in an effort to shame them for giving their husbands a reminder of what a woman who actually takes care of herself looks like. God help the poor, pretty lady if her husband happens to be in the same chain of command as these green-eyed monsters. For surely they will make her existence miserable until she falls in line and agrees to take measures to become a blubber-bag herself.

The Dependopotamus is a paradox. She is an utterly useless woman with a high sense of entitlement and self-importance. She is completely repulsive, fat, and poorly hygienic but is able to secure a new dick willing to lift up her floopa and smash her guts easily. She is extremely fertile but should be on a list of human beings who aren’t allowed to reproduce because her genes are toxic and will only perpetuate more parasites throughout society. She’s poorly educated yet cunning enough to know all the benefits, regulations, and loopholes to keep her dependent status, secure child support, and extort alimony after divorcing her husband because he had the audacity to accidentally catch her doing a gang bang in their bedroom.

Armed with this useful information, you are now ready to go to your local military base and see if you can spot one of these creatures, but be warned—it will cause you to lose what little faith you may have left in humanity.

~Raul Felix

You can read more of my articles at Thought Catalog.

A Day In The Life Of A Debauched Traveler

Posted on by Standard 1

While I don’t consider myself a globetrotter yet, I’ve done my share of traveling and have established a daily pattern while on the road. While some travelers take tour packages, stay at resorts, eat local delicacies, and buy knick-knacks, I tend to stay at cheap hostels, don’t buy any souvenirs, and eat at the cheapest place I can find. I opt to invest my money in more pleasing activities such as heavily boozing and paying the local strippers to rub their tits in my face. A typical day for me goes something like this:

11:12AM:Wake up with a vicious hangover, not quite knowing where I am, with random scratches and bruises all over my body. My muscles ache and are in desperate need of potable water. My bladder is full of piss, but I am unable to gather up the motivation to move my body out of bed. I decide to sleep some more.

12:30PM: Get a rude awakening with a bladder that is ready is to explode. Run to the bathroom and release a stream that gives me pleasure equivalent to an orgasm. Enter the shower and wash the smell of disgrace from my body.

1:04PM: Decide it’s time go see some touristy shit. If it’s a travel day, I decide it’s time to ride my motorcycle 250-300 miles to my next destination.

7:00PM: Finish either traveling or seeing touristy shit. Go to hostel to shit, shower, and eat chow.

8:00PM: Begin drinking either while socializing with people at the hostel or surfing the Internet while sitting in a dark corner by myself as I brood about my loneliness and how I wish I had a beautiful chick with whom to share this magical adventure.

10:07PM: Have a good buzz going and decide it’s time to go get some pussy. Either do a solo mission or go out with people in the hostel who aren’t lame.

10:48PM: Arrive at a bar and talk to people and hit on women. Get rejected by 90-95% of them. One eventually likes me enough, but I misinterpret her kindness as her wanting my cock in or around the general vicinity of her mouth. Make bold move; get slapped.

11:42PM: Go to a different bar because that one is full of total bitches that don’t realize how much of a catch I am. Lose the people from the hostel and join a new group.

11:48PM: Order a beer and take a shot. I’m a fucking beast. Look around the bar and see a chick across the room who isn’t totally disgusting.

11:50PM: Get mediocre chick interested in me by casually dropping the “former Army Ranger” card and mentioning that I’m traveling on a motorcycle. Her panties get wet, and I’m pretty sure she wants my cock.

12:01AM: Take a shot with mediocre chick.

12:17AM: She and I form a deep emotional connection. She becomes progressively prettier as I get to know her better, and I start imagining how life would be if I were to make her my woman.

12:36AM: Make out with mediocre chick.

12:54AM: Decide to take another shot. Vomit.

1:10AM: Mediocre chick runs away because I become overly aggressive with the ass-grabbing and biting.

1:12AM: Get kicked out of the bar because I start slurring, cursing, and spilling beer all over myself.

1:21AM: Stumble into another bar while attempting to seem as sober as possible. Make small talk with fellow patron that evolves into a deep philosophical conversation.

1:40AM: Say “goodbye” to my new friend who has altered my worldview forever. Leave the bar and immediately forget everything we’ve discussed.

1:54AM: ?

4:13AM: End up making it back to my hostel room somehow. Immediately get on Facebook and try to get whatever girls are online to send me nude pics. Fail.

4:34AM: Fall asleep while jacking off to pictures of chicks that have sent me nude pictures in the past because the Internet at the hostel is fucking slow and won’t load porn quickly.

11:12AM: Wake up with a vicious hangover, not quite knowing where I am. Decide I’m still too tired and go back to sleep.

Read more of my writing on Thought Catalog.

Carrie Nation: The Temperance Leader With A Bad Temper

Posted on by Standard Reply

CarrieNation

Imagine yourself as a turn-of-the-20th-century working-class American male. After spending all week in appalling working conditions marked by long hours, low pay, and shitty treatment, the only light you have in your otherwise bleak existence is your Friday night at the saloon. You’re boozing and gambling away your meager paycheck with your equally browbeaten buddies trying to forget the utterly unsatisfying and endless turmoil that is your existence, but you’re thankful you made it through another week without having your arm ripped off at the ol’ mill. Suddenly, the door of the saloon bursts opens and in enters a hatchet-wielding, spectacle-wearing, middle-aged woman yelling, “Men, I have come to save you from a drunkard’s fate.” That was the 1900s equivalent of “You motherfuckers need Jesus!”

That menacing woman was Carrie Nation, a named both feared and mocked by drunken lowlifes of yore. Carrie Nation was a part of the temperance movement before being a part of the temperance movement was the fashionable thing for devout Christian women to do.

You sit there not sure what to do. You’ve read of this rampaging woman in the papers, but you never imagined she’d come to the place where you drink your misery away. She raises her hatchet and skillfully smashes several bottles of whiskey with one devastating swoop. Then she takes another swing and another. A few minutes later, every bottle of alcohol in the saloon lays shattered on the floor. Grown men stare stunned. She leaves the saloon and heads to another. She’s only begun.

Carrie Nation really fucking hated alcohol.

Born in 1846, she had a life filled with tragedy. Her mother died in an insane asylum. Her first husband was a drunk and became increasingly unreliable. He drank himself to death shortly after Carrie left him. She married again, only to have it end in divorce.

Realizing that marriage, love, and happiness probably wasn’t her thing, she devoted herself to God and the temperance movement. Carrie’s early strategies involved doing peaceful protests with hymns and japes at the bartender by greeting them with “Good morning, destroyer of men’s souls.” This plan yielded little results in stopping men whose only saving grace in life was alcohol.

Carrie knew she needed to step it up a notch if she wanted to get results. As a God-fearing woman, in 1900 she got on her knees and prayed to the Lord Almighty. She prayed with all her will and devotion. Back then, God wasn’t the flaky asshole he is now about answering people’s prayers, so he promptly gave Carrie a vision:

“Go to Kiowa [a town in Kansas]. I’ll stand by you.”

Since God always likes to keep shit vague, Carrie ran with it and took it as meaning: “Go to Kiowa and fuck some saloons up with rocks.”

And fuck saloons up with rocks she did. She walked into a bar in Kiowa with a bag full of rocks—or “smashers,” as she termed them—and valiantly threw them against the mirrors and bottles of the saloon. She was getting her revenge on the place where the serpent drink crushed the hopes of her early years. She repeated this action at two more bars. By the time she was finished with the third, a crowd had gathered cheering her on. When the sheriff arrived, Carrie displayed how much of a gangster she truly was—she dared him to arrest her. He didn’t.

Emboldened by her God-approved vandalism, she headed off to Wichita and attacked the most popular saloon in town. The Wichita police weren’t the pushovers that they were in Kiowa, and Carrie was arrested for defacing property. “I am defacing nothing. I am destroying,” she said as she was being arrested. Jail didn’t faze Carrie: “You put me in here a cub, but I will come out a roaring lion. I will make all hell howl.”

After getting out of jail, she adopted her trademark hatchet as her instrument of booze destruction. She headed off from one small town you’ve never heard of to another you’ve never heard of. She would be arrested time and again, each time scoffing at the law and paying the fines for her release. She even had the governor of Kansas plead with her to stop her attacks. “You are a woman. And a woman must know a woman’s place.” Carrie strutted out and called for a hatchetation.

Now, what the fuck is a hatchetation?

A hatchetation was when hundreds of women and a few men who really fucking hate alcohol would destroy over 100 saloons throughout Kansas. It was so effective that it forced state senators to actually do their jobs and enforce the laws already on the books regarding prohibition in Kansas.

Even back then, Americans were a fickle bunch and as quickly as Carrie Nation got things going, the movement faded away. Carrie didn’t give a fuck; she went solo on her crusades and kept many bartenders on alert until her death in 1911.

You’re with your buddies, stepping over the destruction that Carrie Nation left behind. You shake your head in bewilderment and look at the sign above the bar:

“All nations welcome, except Carrie.”

~Raul Felix

Read more of my articles at Thought Catalog.