Boomerang Effect

You know the old saying, “actions speak louder than words”. It’s obvious shit, isn’t it? It just means that people that actually do something for charity are far less murderously annoying than people that just bang on and on about socialist crap. Fuckers. One teacher being sent to the third world is worth at least a thousand vapid assholes chanting socialist bullshit in posh London bars. I’m a fucking capitalist and even I give money to certain funds, though admittedly it’s very hard to find one which isn’t a total backstabbing shambles.

Anyway, that’s part of a different rant titled “Why Chomsky should be shot in the testicle”. Obviously I’m going to talk about actions vs. words in terms of relationships, shags, love and cunt. For completeness’ sake here’s my updated version of the rule:

Actions > Words > Appearances

The new bit on the right just means that fat fucking bastards can and do get laid because if they spout the right sort of banter girls will still want to blubber-fuck them. This doesn’t usually apply with guys so if you’re a big girl, you know, good luck with that fatty. Interestingly, this is also why it’s quite feasible to fuck up and fall in love with someone’s words over the internet. Words are powerful stuff, man.

One of the most powerful words that I know is the word “cunt”. It’s a decent indecency and useful to describe certain classes of imbecile. One of these classes is the one that keeps going back to their exes. Don’t get me wrong – I’ve done this. When I was a fucking imbecilic cunt, I did this lots of times cos it’s fun if fun means driving a seventeen-inch nail into your left temple again and again until you’re full frontally lobotomised. But yeah I’ve done this, so I know how it goes. I don’t claim to be a psychologist, but it’s not like you need a degree in physics and biology to know that if some numbnuts jumps in front of a train going at 120mph his brain is going to experience a lethal and violent exposure to air. Right? It’s obvious. So here’s the 2-point psych eval to invoke the Boomerang Effect:

1. You’re desperate.

Not just desperate for anybody, though. You’re desperate for them in particular. There can be any number of reasons for this, and ones I’ve witnessed or partaken of include issues of trust with other people, familiarity, inability to find someone else, living in the middle of fucking nowhere, wild jealousy, false-hero-worship, being ridiculously ugly or just sheer, plain laziness. This list is not exhaustive by a long way.

But it’s never that you love them. You’re just incapable of loving anybody else.

2. You’re unable to evolve emotionally.

Whether it’s because you don’t want to evolve or you cannot evolve is unknown, but it’s true that it’s not happening. Why else would someone keep going back when it’s obviously not working? What happened to moving on? Emotions, like your body or mind, need to evolve or else they’ll get stuck in a stagnant state. And just like if you pull your face into a weird shape for ages it will get stuck that way (my mum told me), if you do it with your emotions the same thing will happen. Better analogies are addiction and acclimatisation.

The longer you do it, the harder it is to break the habit.

And that’s all it takes to be an inert, emotionally-crippled roundabout-thrill-seeker.

This can almost be excused in the case of people that keep firing up a relationship with someone that is feasible. By this I mean someone that isn’t continually fucking you over, that hasn’t told you “it can’t last” and that isn’t fucking married. Yet I’ve seen people doing each of those things recently, and it sometimes makes me wonder if some people are really born with matter in their skull that’s more faecal than grey.

Why in the name of every fatuous gospel do people consider staying in doomed relationships with cunts - cunts so massive they resemble the breadth, depth and stench of a sweaty fucking clown's pocket - for even a single second? I have no psych eval for it because I’ve never done it. But people do it, knowingly, all the time. Three hundred people have done it in the time you’ve taken to read this – no shit. Three hundred near-lobotimised emotional cripples are driving the last seventeeth of a seventeen-inch nail back into the scabby wound on their left temple as we speak.

I have no answer to this. However, I do have the cure. Yes, you monumentally retarded cackjaw, there is a cure to the fact that your love is married or keeps dumping you or is even more of a swollen purple vagina than you are. And it doesn’t even involve swivelling that nail in your skull around until your brain is mulch and you expire.

It comes down to something the clever and exceptionally attractive Pallas Athene said to me once, during her long-standing run of being a cretin and falling for a goit. She recovered, just as anybody should, by annihilating the two points I made above and saying this:

“If you keep going back to them, you give them no reason to change. They can sit back, knowing that they can carry on in just the same way, and you’ll always be back for more. The way to deal with it is; tell them what you need and then step away. If he concedes then you’re fine. If he doesn’t you’re better off.”

I’ve paraphrased her there (apologies) and the way she said it to me would have involved classical poetry and a touch of Latin. Anyway, she was spot fucking on with the solution: Actions speak louder than words. No amount of discussion or promise or lukewarm comforting pillow-talk will ever make the staggeringly complacent prick you keep going back to change. You have to gather up the last milligrams of self-respect you have and put it to action.

Maybe they’ll cut you loose. Maybe you’ll evolve. Maybe you’ll find happiness somewhere that doesn’t involve you getting hurt. And maybe – just maybe – they will come to you because they really do care and now have reason to change. Any of those nonexclusive outcomes are equivalent to decreasing the cuntishness of the world.

But of course, that’s not going to happen is it? Cos everybody’s a flaming fucktard with more capacity for self-asphyxiation than the gaping, saggy clown’s-pocket cunts they’re going out with.

Yes.