BellGab.com Archive

Quote from: GravitySucks on January 28, 2018, 04:56:47 PM
I have a daughter who is a millennial. I have confidence in her and her friends. I let her start college chasing a dream which would have had her be in a career with limited income potential. Last year she decided to apply to their business school so she could minor in business and go on to get her MBA. Now I think she wishes I would have steered her away from that dream, but that very thing had happened to me when I was 17 and I harbored that resentment for a long time.

I have a son that is Gen X. And a daughter that is a millennial. They both made their own decision and voted for Trump.

We need to change the voting age to be equal to the last year you can remain on your parent’s insurance.

The weather is all wrong for studying the humanities, which I presume is what was being pursued.

But that all could change.

"I must study politics and war, that our sons may have liberty to study mathematics and philosophy. Our sons ought to study mathematics and philosophy, geography, natural history and naval architecture, navigation, commerce and agriculture in order to give their children a right to study painting, poetry, music, architecture, statuary, tapestry and porcelain." - John Adams

That said, in this climate, I would like my sons to become tradesmen.

And the polls are not suggesting what you say. Recent polls even have conservative millennials wishing for the president to be primaried.

Which is only natural. The fat old dope essentially has split the party.

I've always believed people with actual lives don't go to these things. I wouldn't, anyway.

Who has time to march, or time to go see Cheeto Jesus stumble through a speech at a ruby-red Rotary Club. Who has the time?

You are going to need to reconcile that millennials will constitute the largest voting bloc in American history, in the next electoral cycle. The trend is they tend to wait, but these people are starting to build families now and don't want to be whisked back to a 1950s way of life because your fat, old, feeble, frightened president wills it so.

Quote from: GravitySucks on January 28, 2018, 04:13:52 PM
I believe there is more rabble chasing the progressive dream than attending Trump rallies. Just compare the litter from a right wing rally with a left wing rally. Pound for pound the liberals win every time.

There are a lot of Instagram chasers at those demonstrations, I'll grant that, but there is also the possibility that some of these people are in an economic pain.

I was at a dinner party last night with some of the SJW set. They don't even like it if you're ambivalent to their cause.

QuoteRe: President Donald J. Trump
« Reply #67639 on: Today at 04:13:38 PM »

    Quote

You are ignoring this user. Show me the post.

You also grossly misunderstand the sort of contempt the framers had for 'rabble.'

You know, the kind of termites who attend Trump rallies, stay unemployed while waiting for their obsolete jobs to return, or dissolutes who post on Bellgab 19 hours a day.

Quote from: Kidnostad3 on January 26, 2018, 11:21:46 PM
You must be kdding.   If Hilliary was elected there would be no investigation and the corruption would have never been revealed.   That was the assumption of all who participated in the whitewash of Hilliary’s many crimes, the development of a bullshit dossier to use as probable cause for spying on Trump and the lies and manipulations that led to the appointment of a special prosecutor who himself was involved in the perversion of justice to benefit of Clinton and Obama.

Your ignorance of the facts is stunning as is your preposturas rationalization for abdicating your responsibility as a citizen.  The American Nero that you so detest is doing what he was elected  to do and the average American is better off than he was a year ago by every measure.  Trump will be elected for a second term and all who participated in the conspiracy to exonerate Hilliary and prevent Trump from being elected and later to unseat him will be held accountable.  No doubt when that happens you will still be the nihilistic cynical cop-out that you are and still be lurking on the edges.

Like your fellow Trumpanzees, you don't appear to know or understand how freaked-out the founders were over foreign influences in our government, or its instrumentalities.

There was a reason they agonized over three anti-corruption clauses in the Constitution.

(You're old enough to remember when all the howler monkeys made Jimmy Carter give up his peanut farm.)

All the other garbage you wrote sounds better in the original Russian.

Quote from: Kidnostad3 on January 26, 2018, 05:31:34 PM
If you were a non partisan, why would you care if I voted for Reagan?  Christ, are you transparent.
Some of us had the character to make a choice rather than abstain and whine incessantly about the results.  Why don’t you tell us how much better off the country would now be if Hilliary were elected.

You chose between bone and colon cancer. Either one's eventually going to kill you, with varying agonies.

I abstained from the choice. You chose the American Nero. Don't think people will forget it either, as you failed the greatest test of your civil life.

Assuming that all the monkeying around with the election had no effect on the congressional races, Mrs. Clinton would have been impeached, or at best, a one-termer.

We would have been rid of the two of these terrible candidates, the decks cleared for 2020. A good flush was all that ever was needed.

Somewhere in Grime . . . presented by Starbucks and Glade Air Freshener:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M_bMXLcvFj0

So you voted for and carry water for a talking yam who was a Democrat in 1980, and in 1990 . . . until it became expedient for him not to be one. (Note: Until it became profitable for him to run for president under the Republican banner).

People like you are the bane of libertarians, worse so that you claim to be one. You're a Reagan Republican in fig leaves.

Your head is so far up your ass and you've been spoonfed and told for so long what to believe that you can no longer conceive of a middle lane.

We were meant as a people to have a third party. That is the lion that needs to be addressed before 2020.

Told you a dozen times, old man, I am non-partisan. I certainly didn't vote for Barry or Bill, as one of the brownshirts here admitted he did.

You need to stop rooting for the laundry and think for yourself.

Only to see if the script has changed.

Somebody fed you guys poisoned monkeybrains ... not only made you nuts, but increasingly less humorous.

Quote from: 21st Century Man on January 25, 2018, 11:54:02 AM
Damn, it is dead on Bellgab today.  The fish ain't biting at all.

This thread is an echo chamber. Find a better fishing hole.

The McDonald's spread at Mar a Lago is going to get cold.

Mr. Bannon waddles back to Washington.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TXXO9_3gb3o

Not getting drawn into one of your dull-as-fuck exchanges.

Get a job.

I wasn't talking about you, Einstein.

You're like the atomic clock of bad posting around here.

The hobbit who provoked this decision, and killed Vandeven's AdSense golden goose, literally posted a hundred times a night.

MDMD is a poster straight out of the usenet days. Remember alt.flame? That's the province of MDMD and Swishy.

At this point in its existence the most frequent users of this board should be made to pay for usage. There are two or three people doing 75 percent of the posting.

GIFs with no accompanying text carry a surcharge.

Weighs 239 pounds, just 100 less than MDMD, 200 less than Senda.

Quote from: SredniVashtar on January 11, 2018, 10:29:17 AM
No matter what guest he has, he manages to steer the conversation back to his own pet subjects. He could have Stephen Hawking or the Dalai Lama in there, and it would end up being about diet ('ketosis, man'), MMA, and getting high.

Is there a bigger bore than someone talking at any length about personal dietary choices?

Fuck, try it on your doctor or spouse and please talk about anything else.

I predict there will be at least one declaration in 2018 that he is no longer doing videos on YouTube.

Paul Ryan, who seems to think he's Adam Smith these days, said last week the next thing is welfare reform, so Senda better get in the 'unboxings' while he can.

The funniest part is Senda voted for these guys.

I think that level of cupidity is surprising, yes. I mean I knew he was greedy as fuck, but not to the point where he'd be itemizing the effects of his dead friend of however many decades in a public video, not long after rigor mortis. There's not much left to say, this is who Senda really is.

I hope the guy's survivors tell George to shove it when he goes over there with 'written advice' for handling the deceased's effects, as Senda said he would do in the video.

No one needs to deal with shit like that.

four years following George's story it's the most nakedly greedy thing I've seen him do, eyeing this guy's belongings not two days after he's dead.

It's surprising even for Senda.

Senda knows the surviving wife ought to get some generous military pension benefits, so she's not going to need all of those old books. George needs them to sell on eBay.

Sorry for the loss of Senda's friend. Not an easy thing at any age.

Probate disputes are nasty enough without someone coming in from the fringes and laying claim to certain objects. Senda at least could have waited a few weeks. But this is how selfish he is.

Quote from: SredniVashtar on December 24, 2015, 04:08:49 PM
Falkie's Christmas Carol - Stave Two - Part Two.

(Cont.)

Things had gotten serious, and Senda needed to think. He had thought himself into a doze when he heard a tumult of confused noises in the street outside his hovel. Cautiously peeping out of the window, Senda saw what looked like a fleet of limousines parked outside, and a group of official-looking men in shades and earpieces milling about and looking busy. At a signal from the senior man, the door of one of the limos opened to reveal a familiar figure, who marched in purposeful fashion to Senda's toilet/apartment. Senda thought he was looking into the mirror - if he hadn't already known that Sweet Kathy had broken six mirrors in the last month and he hadn't bought another one since he kicked her out. It looked like Senda, but yet it wasn't. This one was wearing a suit and George hadn't worn a suit since his last court appearance concerning that unfortunate business at the children's playground ('I had an itchy dick and was just trying to scratch it, that's all, so STFU!') so this prosperous-looking Senda was puzzling. Then he decided that, blood being thicker than water, a long-lost Senda relative might be perfect loan material, and rushed to open the door, his grifting antennae twitching urgently at this new potential income stream.

'Please come in,' said Senda, trying to moderate the ghastliness of his appearance with a muscular spasm that he hoped was an ingratiating smile. 'I'm sorry I haven't had a chance to clean today, but...'
The visitor looked piercingly into Falkie's fat face, taking him in at a glance and swallowing hard to control an urge to vomit. It could have been owing to the natural loathsomeness of Senda's features, the three months of skidmarked laundry piled in a corner of his hovel, or the aroma of the three rotting cats he had already spatchcocked in the last three months but not had a chance to clean up yet...take your pick. The unexpected guest cleared his throat and began to speak in a deep rumbling voice:
  'I am President George Senda,' said President George Senda.
  'That's fascinating,' said Senda. 'Anyway, can you lend me 100 bucks till the end of next month? I am guest speaker at the fourteenth annual “FatBastardCon” and I am having trouble finding the airfare to get there, so if you wouldn't mind doing the decent thing and spotting me a bit of spending money...' rambled Senda. 'Hang on a minute, you can't be president. That's some jungle bunny from Kenya.'
  'I am President George Senda nevertheless. In an alternative universe I am the world's most loved human being. America is like the Garden of Eden, there is no unemployment, and everyone lives useful productive lives. Work is prayer, my friend,' said the president, a beatific smile wreathing his bronzed, distinguished face. 'What's the matter? He said, looking concernedly at his alter-ego.
  'Would you mind not using the 'W' word in front of me? It's in very poor taste,' said Senda, clutching his chest.
  'I am also the Ghost of Christmas Past, come to teach you the error of your ways. This life of living on handouts and public charity has got to stop. In my world, everyone has their place and contributes to society.'
  'Fuck you! Said Senda. 'I am a respected YouTube commentator; do you think I just turn the camera on and say the first shit that comes into my head or something!? And as soon as they find life on another planet, George Noory promises me they will be able to sell that TV show we did. I thought we nearly had a deal the other week, but those fucking Eskimos backed out at the last minute, saying they didn't have cable in their mud huts, those stupid bastards!

President Senda sighed, grabbed Senda by his greasy 'Got Conspiracies?' T-shirt, and flew out into the night. After they had soared through the air for some time, Senda looked down and saw a street sign that said “Bell Avenue”: a tidy, well-kept area of town, peopled by apple-cheeked children and decent, upright churchgoing folk. Except for one seedy, tumbledown shop with blacked-out windows and a rather dubious collection of characters entering it - looking from right to left in furtive fashion before dashing into its unhallowed portals. The sign above the shop said 'The Hanky Spanky' â€" Adult Book Shop'.
  'Oh, I remember this place,' said Senda. “It brings back memories. It's where I saw my first fisting  video,' he said, glasses misted over with nostalgia. 'That's how I bonded with my good ol' buddy George Noory. He was running a competition to guess how many babies he could fit into a donkey's anus and...'

At that moment, they descended to the ground. After a brief period of haggling, when Senda tried to get the ghost to pay for his phantom journey, they made their way to the door of the bookshop. They entered the shop and were confronted with a 25 year-old Senda serving at the counter: fishnet T-shirt, assless chaps and a Jewfro. It was a busy morning: Not only was it Christmas Eve, but Wednesday was always new book day, and Senda and his boss, Loretta LeStrange, were readying themselves for the usual rush of perverts wanting to get their hands on the latest fap material.

Loretta, born and raised in the Shithole district of the Bronx, opened the bookshop nearly 10 years ago on the proceeds of her previous career selling crack to schoolchildren. Stunningly beautiful - in spite of being totally bald, only having one ear, a glass eye, and a wooden leg â€" her naturally sweet disposition was soured irrevocably after being abandoned by the love of her life, a Lebanese immigrant called George. She assuaged this heartbreak in her leisure hours with a combination of casual sex and baby-punching. Despite his initial reluctance to earn less than his boss, or be told what hours he should work, Loretta and Senda had managed to bond over their shared hatred of Mexicans, or “those ugly fuckers”, as they preferred to call them.

'Right, you fat lazy fuck,' said Loretta. 'Don't forget, when you are finished with the morning rush, I want you to finish decorating the Christmas tree.'
  'Yes,' said Senda, 'I was meaning to ask you about that. Is a tree decorated with dildos quite in keeping with the birth of our Saviour? Even if I am Jewish?'
  'They're different colours, aren't they? I don't think many of our customers see too well anyway, so they'll probably think they're just Christmas pickles. Oh, but I think I'll keep that one,' said Loretta, taking a 12-inch black one from the box.
  'Anything else?' said Senda.
  'Yes. Remember to put the fairy on top of the tree. I paid good money for a genuine squirting one, so don't forget!'
  Senda nodded, while sliding the January edition of “Weird and Nasty Shit” into a large brown envelope and addressing it to “Mr W Crow”. It had been a tiring morning; it was already 9.15am and he had worked nearly 15 minutes. He slumped down on a nearby stool, only to hear a splintering, squashy sound, and a kind of muffled yowling.
  'OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE. Not again! Look, Senda, when I said I'd like you to destroy my pussy later, this is NOT what I had in mind,' said Loretta, holding what looked like a furry long-playing record between finger and thumb. 'This is your final warning,' she said, frisbeeing the former feline out of an open winow with a casual flick of the wrist. 'If you sit on another cat I will take it out of your wages. Well, I would if I were paying you any. I normally pay you in piss porn vids.'

Loretta stalked off into the back office, while Senda busied himself with a new title for the festive season: an African-American gay Santa porn called 'Jungle Balls'. He was halfway through writing 'Batem-' on the address label when the bell rang and a customer bounced in.
  'Hello, my name is Dolores Lesbian. I'm a lesbian. Has the latest issue of “Chubby Lap-Lickers” come in yet?'
  'Here you are,' said Senda. 'Do you want it in a bag?'
  'Oh no,' said the lesbian. 'I want EVERYONE to know I'm a lesbian,' said the lesbian. 'By the way, do you have anything about someone who has a creepy gay obsession with an elderly radio host that hardly anyone has heard of?'
  'Oh, sorry,' said Senda. 'We just shipped the last copy off to Australia.'
  'Never mind. Oh, by the way,' said this committed Sapphist, 'I have just opened the new cycle shop across the street. Here's my card.'
The lesbian reached into her dungarees and produced a small, embossed piece of cardboard with a monogrammed 'Y' above the legend 'Dykes on Bikes.' Then, having paid for her book (making sure she got her usual 10% lesbian discount), she sashayed out.

The bell rang again and an elderly customer shuffled in. He was wearing a long raincoat, frayed at the cuffs, and the considerable expanse of bare ankle suggested he had neglected to put any trousers on this morning.
  'Is the latest issue of “Farmyard Fun” out yet?' he rasped.
  'Here you are,' said Senda, placing a heavily laminated copy on the grubby counter, with a picture of a Friesian cow (eyes blacked out to preserve its anonymity) on the cover.
  'Oh yeah, baby!' the customer said, looking at the centre-page spread. 'Mr Ed, behind the camera. That shit is hot! I love the retro stuff.'
The customer riffled further through its pages and gave a sudden squeak of pleasure.
  'Fame at last!' he said, pointing to the readers' wives section, and indicating a picture of a sheep called “Flossie”. 'My neighbour married a pig last year, the fag! Do you know they have almost exactly the same DNA as humans? Where's the fun in that?'
Senda nodded. He'd met a woman called Kathleen the other day, while she happened to be upside- down in a dumpster scoffing potato peelings, and had reached much the same conclusion himself.
  'I don't dig the kinky shit. Oh, sorry!' he said, as half a dozen gerbils rolled out of his coat sleeve on to the counter. 'Anyway, I must be going. I have patients to visit this morning. You know, there are some really fucked up freaks in this world, and they rely on my guidance.'

After the customer tottered out, Senda was left on his own again, with nothing but an old copy of “Random Slags” to keep him company. While perusing a couple of elderly women calling themselves Darth Sandra and TigerLily, and wondering what end was up, he heard the door slam against the wall, and a priestly figure strode in, asperging the soggy carpet and grimy shelves with Lysol.
  'Begone, filth!' he said.
  'Mom, is that you?' said Senda.
  'I am the Reverend Everard Forboys!' he said. 'I am secretary of the “Campaign against Unnatural Naughty Things” and I am here to shut your ass down!'
  'Does that mean you won't be wanting your copy of “Choirboy Chronicles” this month?' enquired Senda.
  'STFU! I was only doing research. I had to find out how DISGUSTING this place really is,' said the Revd, accidentally knocking over Loretta's 'alternative manger scene', featuring the Three Kings teabagging the baby Jesus.
  'We are not having you lowering rents in this area any longer. The pure air of Bell Avenue is being defiled by the stink of this place and we will have it no longer. This is a notice to quit,' he said, throwing a document on the counter. 'You have one month and then you are out of here!'

Falkie awoke with a start. What a horrible nightmare! He didn't know what was worse - being sacked, or having a paying job in the first place!

(To be continued. Falkie is visited by the Ghost of Christmas Present)