The World O' Crap Archive

Welcome to the Collected World O' Crap, a comprehensive library of posts from the original Salon Blog, and our successor site, (2006 to 2010).

Current posts can be found here.

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Maybe We Can Still Be Friends, Though

Inspired by Jacqueline, I would like to tell all you losers why I am way too good for you:

1.  My hair has lots of bounce and body.  Not every woman’s hair is thick and full, as any shampoo commercial will inform you.  This automatically puts me in the top 10th percentile of desirability.
2.  I own a car.  Many famous people, to include Gandhi, Socrates, and Jesus, didn’t.  This demonstrates my moral superiority to them.

3.  I obtained a bachelors degree from an accredited college, so I am way more educated than most women who lived in the 12th century.

4.  My IQ has been tested and found to be higher than the IQs of several other people.  So, I’m not only educated, I can also darken little squares with a pencil.

5.  When I posted a photo of a porn starlet at Hot or Not? and claimed that it was me, I was rated as 97% more attractive than John Podhoretz.

6.  I was not born crippled or blind or anything, thus making me a much better catch than those blind and crippled girls.  And I’m way hotter than those chicks who lost their hair during radiation therapy for their cancer!

 7.  I was not directly affected by Hurricane Katrina, thus proving that God considers me to be a really good person.

8.  I am not a fat single mother on welfare.

So, now that you know how out of your league I am, will you all PLEASE stop dreaming that we have a future together?

47 Responses to “Maybe We Can Still Be Friends, Though”

Wow. She’s really quite the narcisstic ass, which is probably the kind of guy will attract until some of her higher qualities start to sag.
Ah, but do you run an offshore “positive expectation gambling” operation?
[she] will attract. Sorry.
I’d do her. And you too.
But, uhhhhhhhhhhh, I don’t think you’re in my league.
From Jacqueline’s blog:I have a strong libido and love having sex (my lover *never* has to beg, unless it’s for me to let him get some sleep!)
I can think of at least three reasons I’d beg.
Then I’d chew the leg that was caught in the trap off and hope I can hop quickly…
Puh-leaze! We all know you lust after random men on the internet whom you have never met. Take me, for example. Please!
Thank you, I’ll be here until I find a way to escape. Try the veal.
Well, I’m cranky and middle-aged and a (highly) indifferent housekeeper, and someone is married to me, so think how spectacular I must be.
First of all, four fucking names? I think not.
Although that pointy chin may prove useful should I develop a glass etching past time.
Now that I think it over, I’m not really sure I’d even let you work the camera…

Also you give excellent blog. As does Julia. You’re both way out of my league. But I’m still going to cherish the occasional fantasy, okay?
Me, I’m a good cleaner, and have a fund of ribald and humorous anecdotes. I’m also chronically undermedicated, seriously mentally ill, disabled, constantly headaching, fat, and I once scored 89 on an IQ test. And lately I’ve been covering my partner’s desk with all manner of paper Pokemon models.
Come right down to it, I’m not entirely sure *why* I’ve had the opportunity to become a slut, let alone why I’ve found one and occasionally more people who were perfectly willing to settle in with me for the long haul.
You know what? Personality can overcome an awful lot. And Jacqueline, honey, when your looks go, they’re gonna see yours and drop you like a rock. Try to cultivate a sense of humor.
When they start calling you ugly, you’ll wish you had. And sooner or later, they call every woman ugly.
OMG! Like, that list could totally have been written about me!
Or not.
[...] About five million blogs including TBogg and World O’ Crap have already driven bulldozers over Jacqueline Mackie Paisley Passey, the startlingly mediocre libertarian chick with too many names who posted this paen to her own wonderfulness. But if we can just elbow in here for a moment… I am a very high-quality woman. I know that sounds arrogant, but let’s consider the facts: […] * I’m attractive (my new picture has been rated more attractive than 86% of the women on Hot or Not — and the women who upload their pictures are a self-selected sample that is probably already biased towards being more attractive than the general female population) [...]
She had me at “I’m slim (whereas 62% of American women age 20 to 74 are overweight)”.
Actually, no, she had me at “high-quality woman”. The “I’m slim” bit was only to be expected.
Surprisingly, I’m still gay. I thought I could change that at will–Dobson lied!!1!
Here’s Jac courting a potential high quality guy from the Internet.
I already love you, S.Z. I don’t need no stinkin’ qualifications.
What a load of crap this measuring thing is. Did Jackie just never get told she was a special snowflake? It seems to me that Jackie and her ilk are going to get a hard comeuppance when their looks fail or the economy tanks (more) and they have not established the “perfect” relationship with someone who fits all their preconceived notions of how a man should be.
As for me, I’m overweight, so I’m hanging happily with the majority of women in the U.S. who do not suffer from eating disorders nor are addicted to the endorphin rush from serious exercise. Mind you, I was both young, hot and into exercising in my day. Then I had kids and have been tired for ten years. It was a worthwhile trade. Sure, my hotness was partially what attracted my husband to me. But if I’d been a snotty, material bitch (as opposed to a relatively grounded, non-greedy bitch), it wouldn’t have worked out.
I am smart enough to know that quality is not something that fits a rubric. The husband is a natural slacker, but he works like a demon when he is not on the injured reserve list. Every day he tells and shows me that he loves me and our kids. He cooks and cleans (albeit sometimes with prompting) and he’s a funny bastard without ever trying too hard.
Oh, and as for my other qualifications… I am a superb cook, maintain a clean home, am months away from finishing the degree (because I feel like it, not because I think it will somehow make me better than other people), and have a fierce and well-developed survival instinct. I can still work all day in the hot sun (not bad for a fat chick), and often do when landscaping fever takes over. I grow a heavenly tomato and the best herbs I’ve ever tasted. I read for fun (which far too few people do, so I must be superior, right?). Oh, and I apparently have a near legendary blowing ability, so hide the candles unless you want to be in the dark.
How can anyone pretend to tell a “quality” woman without getting a cat’s opinion?
Jackie claims to love cats, but does she give her percentage there? Sadly, no!
Any woman for me must score in the top 0.001% in the world on cat appreciation or my cat will just turn up his nose. Rejected! No soup for you.
Oh, and they must wear purple sometimes.
Also, I think it would be sweet if she meets a nice young man named Mr. Pooter to marry. Just because I think it would make her name even more perfect.
Ohhh s.z. I don’t want a future…I want right now!
“Positive expectation gambling” is so much hotter than “planning on losing the rent money” gambling. Indeed, all sources of anticipated revenue just light-up my crazed love-monkey accountant’s libido. I mean CPAs do it on the spreadsheet right? I’m too sexy for my actuary.
Very funny, rat (“Sorry, honey, but a man of your income level and age bracket only gets to do that once in every 22.5 couplings”), so I apologize for any buzzkill. “Postive expectation” is a measure of a bet’s ratio to the total pot multiplied by the odds of winning. So if you’re facing a $10 raise for a $20 pot, and your expectation of winning is even, you’d make the bet because you win $20 half the time and lose only $10 the other half. Of course, for every positive expectation there’s an equal and opposite negative expectation, and that doesn’t count your ability to estimate the chances of winning, or the rake, but then I’ve never yet met a(n amateur) gambler who didn’t tell you how much in won in Vegas while leaving out what he spent to get it. It’s the triumph of hope over mathmatics, which is why schools hold bake sales and bookies don’t.
That could also explain why a 28-year-old of (well-) above average intelligence seems to miss the point that the average 28-year-old will in fact be over 30 in just 2.51 years, assuming she doesn’t collide with a bus in the interim, or why she ignores the actuary’s warning that as she reaches her sexual peak in seven years’ time her appropriately qualified mate will be pursuing a newfound interest in ice fishing. That’s why the cards have backs on ‘em, we always say.
You all should be NICER to Jacqueline. I used to date her and she IS kinda special! She has allowed me to stay on as a friend and has blogged me now and then! One thing I remember is she had this cute little habit of backing up my toilet in the morning. But I didn’t really mind cuz it smelt like Cinnamon Chocolate Mousse!
Through the fingerprints and grime on my crystal ball, I can see the future for Jacqueline Mackie Paisley Passey. She will eventually marry someone who meets her high standards, have a passel of pretentiously-named kids, and become the next Megan Cox Gurdon. S. Z., your future as a blogger is assured.
I decided you and Jackie created a fine meme. My list is up because we’re all so much better, after all.
Yours is betterer so you’ll get the best of men.
The ghost of Ted Bundy is dying to meet her! He was a lawyer after all, and much more clever and charming that the average man. He was good looking too. And like Ms. Name Far Too Long to Contemplate, was a highly talented and extremely dedicated psychopath. What a pair!
The ghosts of Gacy and Dahmer, OTOH, aren’t so much interested. Their loss.
I’m kinda liking this one:
JMPP is what Kierkegaard called an “aesthete,” those who measure their worth and their happiness by factors outside their control and which can change in an instant, such as financial condition, age, health, mating partners, etc. SK judged such people to be in despair, and to exhibit symptoms of despair, just as JMPP has done with her fantastical construction of herself on her blog. JMPP doesn’t seek a relation with herself grounded in truth; she seeks a relation with herself grounded in the reflection of imaginary others out in cyberspace, whom she imagines inhabit the same despairing world as she.
JMPP is part of the first cut. Now we can move on to the adults.
You forgot #9 – I know what pain and sacrifice is. I broke a nail while putting a “Support Our Troops” sticker on my car (see #2)
My hair has lots of bounce and body
Hmm. Didn’t Charlie Brown feature a girl with “naturally curly hair”? Yeah, yeah, Frieda was her name. She appeared back in 1961.

I don’t give a shit about Jackie Pussy Pouter’s qualifications. Her’s is a fine blog because she posts a picture taken when she was young and cute. If you wanted a lot of rude email you too could post a photo for guys (and gals so inclined) to view while masturbating.
Well, I don’t need numbers. I know that I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and — doggone it! — people like me!
A very nearly pathologically desperate ploy for attention…
A ploy that certainly seems to have worked, based on the wide-ranging (and mostly hostile) responses across the wide world o’blogs to this self-aggrandizing post by a woman whom you’ve most likely never heard of before today. All the modest……
More sociopaths that may like her:
Ernst Zundel (currently in German prison for Free Speech);
E.A. Blayre III (currently has book “America Deceived” banned from Amazon);
Maybe she’ll like that nut who claimed he killed Jon Benet;
and any other delusional mental madman.
Final link (before Google Books caves and drops the title):

Okay, first of all, nice down-shot into the meager cleavage.
Secondly, I got a 145 IQ test result when I was 6-1/2, and after a closed-head injury and a few “experimental” moments, I’d wager that my tits are still more intelligent than Jacquie.
“(my lover *never* has to beg, unless it’s for me to let him get some sleep!)” — Geeeeee, SOMEbody feels the need for speed… or a pathetic craving for male approval/awe/spooge.
“Most of my interests tend to be more popular with men than women: science fiction, libertarianism, blogging, politics, economics, guns, gambling, etc.” — So, she’s a geek, in other words, and a geek who has serious issues about the size of her penis.
“So even when “relatively young” (an important criteria for most men) drops off that list, I should have added enough other things that my overall dating market value should remain the same or even improve.”
So, she’s a prostitute. Who advertises more effectively than your average out-call service, if her “e-mail stats” are to be believed.
“I found five men who met my listed requirements and wanted a relationship with me.” — “But they displeased me by having a tiny speck of lint on their dinner jackets, and thusly they are all dismembered, neatly packaged, and frozen in my basement meat locker.”
And didn’tcha just LOOOOOOOOVVVVE her “tips” to guys who don’t MEET her “criteria”??? “Look in the developing world.”!!!!!!!!!!! Nice. “You’re not good enough for me, no, certainly not. But you may be able to blackmail/coerce/date-rape some poor, stupid immigrant girl who’ll be happy to leave her homeland/family to come to Murka and live in your basement and put the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again!”
And Melior, if you keep talking like that, I might show up on your doorstep, buddy.

And y’know, if Jackie were the last woman on earth and there were only one man, I’d still bet on the species dying out, if only because if any chirrens WERE produced, she’d work them to death in sweatshops keeping her wardrobe updated.
And you know that that bitch can probably suck the chrome off of a trailer hitch, but she WON’T. Not without a ring and the possibility of serious alimony.
Though I be slimmer that 62% of American women and have
not love,

I am become as jiggling cellulite and sagging jowls.
And though I have an actual bachelor’s degree and an IQ that can remove mountains and
have not love,

I am nothing.
And though I do have my financial shit together and have not love,
it profith me nothing.
Love suffereth long and is kind, even to men who want children.
Love envieth not people who think Ayn Rand was a pompous fraud and yet seem to lead happy and fulfilled lives.
Love vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doeth not behave itself
unseemly — but it ain’t bragging if it’s true, man.

Seeketh not her own, at least not until she decides where her own is going to live.
Is not easily provoked, even by towering arrogance.
Thinketh no evil, not even of fat single mothers.
Bareth all things, though usually not at
Believeth all things, though one hopes not to the extent of interpreting Cylon porn fanfic as literally true.
Hopeth all things, even unto becoming bilingual.
Endureth all things, even Buffy message boards.
Love never fails, unlike Libertarian candidates.
suck the chrome off of a trailer hitch,
My favorite line from The Electric Horseman! You rock, Annti! You too, M – that was just….beautiful! Excuse me now whilst I find myself a fresh hanky.
Thanks, BeginningToWonder.
And M, that was the best rewriting of Corinthians that I’ve read in many a while. I think that somebody did an interpretation for the way that Dumbya panders by appearing on-camera with “some poor brown people,” but I can’t remember where.
And Melior, if you keep talking like that, I might show up on your doorstep, buddy.
And this, lads & ladies, is why I just adore Annti.
Marq, pumpkin, if you liked girls, I’d have been on your doorstep AGES ago. *sigh*
But such is life.
Um, I’m confused Annit-you’re saying your tits had a closed-head injury? (Hey, when I was a kid, I accidently smacked my head on a bedpost, bleeding all over the place and blacking out for some time. Not the same thing, I know, but it probably explains a lot about me.)
It’s been almost a week since there’s been a new post on this site. I wonder where the lovely s.z. and the dashing Scott C. have gone to? Can they have suffered some unspeakable fate? The horror!
Or maybe they just, y’know have lives. I oughta get me one of those.

Sorry, Annti, for calling you “Annit”. My typing skills suck. I know there was a reason I usually address you as “A.C.” :)
I have the ultimate qualification for attracting women: I’m married.
I don’t know what it is about married guys that attracts women. Is it the “well, he must be worth having, because SHE wants him” syndrome? Or just the sheer joy of stealing some other girl’s boy?
I know it’s the wedding band, because when I’m single, they won’t give me the time of day. But as soon as I say “I do” to some other girl, they start throwing themselves at me again. (not that it gets them anywhere – after two failed marriages, I finally learned to just say no)
What’s the deal, anyway?
Jacqueline’s philosophy and world view are fully contained within cute sayings printed on keychains and bumper stickers for sale at the local convenience store. Tuition was a total waste, apparently.
I can see where you might think that, Bill, but no. As gravitationally-challenged and depressed-looking as the ol’ gals are, they haven’t, as far as I can recall, received any head injuries that should’ve killed them.
They just look that way.
And Realist, it’s not ALL women, just the ones who have less self-esteem than they have brains. They’re probably cute as hell, too, huh? Yup. Great for a married man’s ego, lousy for everybody involved, ego, soul, mind, spine, you name it.
I’ve made that mistake once (I was the floozy, I’ve never been married) and have been trying to live it down for years. The sex was great, but as a person, he had some severe deficits. It’s probably the best possible situation that he lives on the other side of the country and I never have to see him again.
And Trashfire, darlin’, don’t downplay people who like bumperstickers. Some of us have gotten semi-infamous for them.
If y’all are still bored, btw, I’ve got a real warm & fuzzy & cozy little collection of Katrina memories going over at BlondeSense.
So, who’s going to S.Z.’s undisclosed location and find out if she’s unconscious and being nibbled-upon by her many loving pets? And will this mission require a St. Bernard, or will we just have Ted carry the liquor?
Dammit AC!
Every time I’m almot out you drag me back in!!
I’m too tired for even a John Stamos joke at your expense.
Awwww Teddddd, how could you???
Why would I bother to summon up the demon if he can’t even TRY to deliver?!?!
Tsk, tsk, tsk… Looks like we’re going to have to drag that ol’ Gimp suit out of mothballs again… You been keeping limber?
i’m over a month late to this party, but i had to add that i love this post. sometimes i doubt jmpp is for real, but your post made it worth reading her drivel.

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