Well, I’m not sure exactly how to advise you here, but I’d definitely recommend not saying “Stop acting like a crazy bitch!” There is plenty of anecdotal evidence suggesting this approach never works.
Just tell her to calm down. It works every time.
If that doesn’t work, tell her she’s being irrational.
Y’all are about to get this fucker murdered.
He likes to call his girlfriend a crazy bitch.
Don’t misunderstand – I am a fan of this tactic. Decrease the population of asshat dudes ANYTIME, friends.
Omg I’m dying
@tall-little-kitten and I are dying here. Thinking… damned if you do damned if you don’t. Never poke a angry woman unless you are wearing your anti angry woman undergarments and standing in you anti angry woman circle.
The snow in her hair like sparkling jewels in a crown. I looked at that photo and found myself drawn in.
For weeks afterward I found myself waking from my dreams with a feeling of longing and desire, unable to remember anything except the recollection of cool winter air and snow falling softly in front of me.
Slowly, the dream revealed itself. The air, cold and crisp. Filling my lungs. It is night time and snow is falling, illuminated by street lamps. The longing feeling in my chest…
The next time I feel her hand slip in to mine, silently, soft and warm against the cold night air.
And the next, I feel her beside me, her hand in mine, as we walk through the snow. The plume of vapour from our breath mixing in the air in front of us. I can’t see her, but I feel her next to me. Always the longing wakes me.
This time I feel her breath on my cheek, her laughter in my ear. I turn my head and see her in my dreams for the first time. The snow in her hair just like the picture. Her blue eyes and her perfect lips, laughing and smiling. I brush a snowflake off her cheek and she looks at me, her eyes resting on my lips. We are suspended in that moment before we both lean in…our lips meeting softly as I feel the electricity run between us. I wake with that now familiar longing, wondering if she ever thinks of me this way.
“Uh, yes, I was doing 60, which is the posted limit.”
“Please don’t use that tone with me, Sir.”
“Tone?”
“This is 42 Bravo, I’m going to need backup. Suspect is belligerent. Step out of the vehicle please Sir.”
Girls
“Hey sweetie.”
“Is there a problem, officer?”
“Well, you were going a little fast there, but I just wanted to say hello.”
“Are you going to give me a ticket?”
“Nah … a sweet girl like you just needs a warning.”
“Can I go then?”
“Aww, in a hurry, are you? Sure you can. Have a good day, cutie, and slow down a little.”
-VIS
I used to get stopped by this cop all the time when i was 18. He was the father or one of my classmates. He once handcuffed his son and I to the front door of the school. It was so embarrassing, but exciting too. I did enjoy being the centre of attention.
He used to stop me when i was driving late at night. I often snuck out of the house to go out dancing at the club, wearing heels and a mini skirt. It was those nights I had to come up with the best excuses for being out so late. Or often just to drive around with my girlfriends for a couple of hours on a hot summer night.
The cop and my friend lived at the top of our street. It was a cul-de-sac so i had no choice but to drive by. I don’t know if he would wait in his car or if he just ran out of the house if he saw me driving by. In the two years we lived there before I left home he must have stopped me 50 times. By the end I got brash and asked him if he was ever going to pull me out of my car and cuff me, or if we were just going to keep playing this game. He never stopped me after that.
Pardon me? My followers are broken, confused, and mentally ill? Man alive, you’re a judgmental douchebag, aren’t you boy?
Ah yes … I’ll never be remembered. Of course the books that I’m publishing in this genre won’t live on forever, because, you know, books are going to come to an end pretty soon (they probably already have for you). And my real career, the one that pays me enough that I can play on this blog, the one that allows me to pump out 3 books a year, the one that grants me a form of immortality in the printed word … yeah, that doesn’t count because (again) books are going extinct and financial legacies don’t last beyond my lifetime, right?
Sure, it’s true, I may not be remembered. But I remind you, neither will you. When I do leave this planet, it will be as a passionate man who constantly challenged societal norms, pushed the boundaries of sexuality, and encouraged loving power dynamics. You, on the other hand … *sigh* Son, the best you can hope for in your eulogy is “well, he always paid his bills on time. Give that guy a bill and he paid it!”
There’s a difference between you and my followers for sure. My followers are people who like to explore their fantasies. They like to ask questions about what they’ve been taught to believe. They have open minds. They challenge themselves.
And yet they’re being judged by an individual who is clearly stuck in a rut, isn’t interested in questioning his own beliefs, or challenging his self-imposed paradigms. My followers like to learn about themselves and about life. You like to surf the web and pass judgment on people who aren’t as boring as you.
That’s sad, man. The way you think is sad. I’m not angry with you. On the contrary … I pity you.
But unlike you, I won’t be an ass.
Instead, I’ll wish you the best, hope that life gets better for you, and hope that you let go of the intense anger you feel.
I’ve been saying it for a while, ladies: if you want him to be more dominant, be more submissive. If you want to be more submissive, make yourself pretty.
Sir's submissive 