Someone told me in email that my habit of screenshotting text was annoying. Apparently you can’t read this crap on your gay electronic toy, designed by Steve Jobs. No, I don’t do it to evade copyright laws (that doesn’t work, and I always comment enough to meet fair use standards anyway.) I do it because I’m lazy.
Anyway, here is a heartwarming story about a poor old boy who busted ass his whole life to give his wife the little extras. They bought a house, raised a family, saw good times and bad go by, and generally contributed to civilization.
Once he got into his golden years, Mr. Alzheimer came to call. I’ll let his grandson pick it up from here…
During the last year of my grandfather’s life he had dementia, and was having trouble keeping track of reality.
His troubles were relayed to you through grandma, I’ll bet.
Before he was placed into hospice, he kept complaining about a man that was in his house. He would say that the man would come around at night, and that the man was taking his things, and using his stuff.
Grandma, of course, kept reassuring him (and everyone else) that she was the only one there. His doctor increased his medications, because he was losing touch with reality so badly.
Trust grandma. She knows what’s what. Trust the doctors, too. Take your Haldol like a good little old geezer, and fall off and go to sleep.
Fast forward to my grandfather’s funeral. A man showed up that wasn’t known by the family. It turns out that he was an old friend of my grandmother’s, who showed up to give his support.
Well, isn’t that nice? I’ve always wanted to crash funerals, to game grieving old widows while grazing on the free cake and casserole.
Well, about a year later, my grandmother lets slip that she is seeing someone. It’s the guy who crashed the funeral. At this point, it didn’t seem too odd. We all assumed that they had met at church. We thought it was sweet.
Yeah, that’s real sweet, all right.
Then a bit later, sweet, innocent ol’ grandma mentions that it’s their 3rd anniversary.
Grandpa died two years prior. Grandma’s new boyfriend was the person that grandpa saw in his house every night. This swinging dick was the reason that everyone thought grandpa was going crazy. This bushwhacking granny-gamer was the reason that grandpa was forcibly medicated into vegetation, for the last horrible year of his life.
O.K., I’m creatively editing for emphasis, but the story’s all here.
So, your grandpa complains about burglary and cuckoldry in his house, you should take him seriously. It might just be a perv with a fetish for old ladies.
And thus we see the fate of all us cowardly MGTOW misogynists, who don’t want to kill ourselves for years to give some filthy wimminz everything she wants, only to be slowly euthanized by the same woman, who will tell our communities that we’re crazy, while she’s cucking us with all and sundry.
I suppose I’ll accept my destiny, and die cold and lonely, using my money on myself.