FIRST SWING - A FUCKING CONFESSION. (FUCKING CONFESSIONS Book 1)

I Took My Boyfriend to a Swingers' Resort
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host.successintheworld.com/22499-how-to.php After trying to suck him, and ending up only licking, he pushed me back and opened my pussy. His foreskin was rolled right back and his bell end was pinker than my cunt. I only took about seven inches before he started to thrust in and out. I grabbed his ass to pull him in closer, but Lawrence resisted my efforts. He was slow at first then he started to speed up, getting very hot and excited. I saw his teeth glinting at me. I was very nervous and when he first jammed that massive knob against my sphincter, I thought I was going to split in two.

I resisted at first and he was struggling, then, as if by magic, I involuntarily relaxed my sphincter muscles, and his cock slipped in, a good three or four inches of it. Gently he eased more of his massive dick into me. I started to cry. It was really painful. I think Lawrence enjoyed the pain I was experiencing. Holy shit! I had a massive black cock in my ass — all the way in!

Then he started to fuck me, withdrawing a few inches and shoving it back in. I remember I was perspiring a lot. I think he fucked my ass for about fifteen minutes, the strokes getting longer and deeper, until he was able to withdraw almost the whole of his dick from my shitter and then plough back in. Oh god I love it when he did that. Finally, gratefully, he came, not in me, which was sad as I love it in me, but all over my asshole and bum cheeks.

I spun around to catch the last drops and lick him clean. Since then I have been addicted to big black cocks. I'm 22 years old now and I am currently in an submissive relationship with a black guy called Marcus. I live with him and his two mates, both black guys and they all fuck me and treat me mean.

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I do work in bar — a bar frequently by black men obviously — but I am also a whore for my flat mates. Occasionally they rent me out or have men over and If i am lucky or good they give me some treats for my efforts. Currently I have what are called standing orders. When I am in the flat I am ordered not to wear clothes unless I am cooking when I am allowed to wear an apron. This can lead to some interesting situations when I answer the door naked. Sometimes I have been ordered to fuck or try to fuck whoever is at the door. Although I am not ordered to do this every day, when it does occur I spend most of the time hopelessly wet, simply begging for the doorbell to ring.

I am never allowed out of the house wearing panties. A bra is optional, but never panties. Again this has meant many men see my ass and pussy if I am not careful and especially when wearing skirt in a bar, a club or on the bus etc. When I am at work I am regularly fingered, felt up and squeezed by the men black and white as they know I am panty-less and braless when I work.

My skirts are deliberately shorter now too adding to the slutty look. I have fucked men in the bar in the toilets and let other men feel the jizz as it dribbles out of my pussy. I don't get paid for this. It is a given. I am sold, at least five or six times a week. Usually, but not exclusively, it is to a black man. I sometimes receive a gift money or clothes or a good hard fucking but must never ask for reward. These encounters usually involve s but I have had gang bangs and sex and swinger parties to attend.

One time I had to service up to sixteen cocks in a night. When I am sold, I am ordered to tell my room mates of the encounter and must spread for them if they want it, even if I am sore or tired. They always do and I never refuse. It is not an option, it is an obligation. I am not discreet, so I am now a well-known local slut and a well-known black cock whore. I will often seek out black men and get them, even when I know I have three hungry cocks at home. I always go bareback.

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When I was 20 I went ice fishing with my dad and his co worker we ran out of beer so my dad ran to get more beer what was an hour away. He kissed me and it felt so good to be kissed, his hands playing with me before I got over on my stomach and he fucked me in my slick hole. He was no ordinary thief, after all. How fucking proud!! Soon we were jacking then sucking on each other. Standing over her and gazing into her lovely brown eyes, he removed the pins and combs that held her hair in place.

This has always been the case with me anyway, but my room mates insist I must never ever use condoms. I am however on the pill. I actually have a signed contract to this effect. If I break the rules, I will get thrown out of the house. The strangest thing is how much more of a woman I feel. I mean, I always knew I was a sexy girl, that I loved cock and I had experience, but it has only been in the last year, when I have taken black fucking to a higher level thanks that I have appreciated how empowered and how powerful I am.

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FIRST SWING - A FUCKING CONFESSION. (FUCKING CONFESSIONS Book 1) eBook: KITTY STOKES, MOSES PARSONS: dynipalo.tk: Kindle Store. The priest asks if he would like to confess his sins and the man replies, and subscribe to one of thousands of communities. On the first tee I hooked my drive well left into the trees. The priest screamed, "Don't tell me you missed that fucking putt! He gets a decent swing off but the ball barely moves.

There was always an element of doubt in my fucking before, now I am absolutely certain it will be good. In terms of the social reaction, well, it can be tough but bearable. I do get bad stares from black girls, who I always think were jealous, but I never think much of it. I am reveling in the black meat I can fuck, which feels like the most wonderful thing imaginable. When I had short relationships or one night stands with black men I often noticed the shitty glances I got from white guys, who were jealous of the black cock that was going to be creaming my pussy and ass.

Now white guys generally give me wide berth. In my current black-fucking situation I find I am being treated ever more like a whore. Men are only interested in me for my body and the conversation switches to sex very fast when they chat me up. It doesn't help of course that I am a natural blonde. I have an all year tan and my skin is flawlessly smooth.

I have a smallish mouth, but it is now very capable of taking the biggest cocks. I weigh 45 kilos. I have a belly button stud as well as several ear piercings and a nose piercing. My best feature apparently is my bum, noticeable because of the dagger tattoo that points out where I want to be fucked hehehe. Cute huh? My mouth is also much smaller though my pussy and ass are equally accommodating. I walk almost permanently with my legs slightly apart, as my pussy and ass is fucked so often by huge cocks I simply cannot close up anymore.

My pussy is shaved bare I am an obsessive washer, I am very clean and immaculately presented, even when I am looking like a slut. I am always wet. This is a great advantage for quickie sex. I have a deceptively small pussy and ass, I can take a whole foot of cock in either hole and have done double-cunt as well as double-anal. I always wear high heels when I go out. Perhaps the most notable thing about me is that my attitude is so in your face sexually.

I have no idea how much money the boys make from me. All I know is that I do as I am told and that always means sex and that is always the most exciting thing! I know lots of Romanian women near where I live. A lot of them are prostitutes and I've used them when I've needed it but today was different. I had arranged to meet one of them, a woman called Bianca, for a lunch date. She knows me, we've slept with each other a few times, sometimes I pay sometimes not.

She's very free with her pussy. So we have lunch and I go back to her place where I know 4 other girls are usually working. Bianca steers me past the girls and into her room where we start making out. Sex with her is always great. I fuck her ass and her mouth as well as eventually cumming deep in her pussy.

I lick it out and then we go again. She's rampant and we are making a lot of noise. Afterwards we drift into a dozy sleep. When I wake up, Bianca is getting dressed. She tells me I have to hurry, she has a regular client coming. I am ushered into another room where two of the other girls are.

I know one of them Luisa but the other girl, a small young girl, I've never seen. Luisa tells me she heard us fucking. I try to steer away from the conversation, but when Bianca's regular turns up, I can hear everything and it turns me on. We chugged down a couple more before we got frisky. I went to the bathroom to wash my hands before I carried on, they were feeling a little icky. This is when she asks if I'm a dental student. I'm surprised by the accurate guess. Turns out she visits the dental school and is familiar with our routine hand washing habits.

Anyhow, we continue and the rest Afterwards, while we were just chilling, she tells me I must be a pretty good dental student. I said thanks, and ask why she said that. She said "it's easy, I didn't feel a thing". Anyways can someone please help me by answering the questions that follows.

What defines a man? What defines a woman? And for people who think it is something not so easily defined by ones genitalia or their genetics, can you please give me an answer that I can follow? Semester one finally finished. It feels like it took forever. This first semester has really been a doosey. The people you love from halls will quickly become noisy, dirty two-faced inconsiderate fucks. True colours are Lucky for me, after having my final exam I came home to an empty flat. I have never been a romantic person or one for relationships but for the past month or two, I have been so attracted to just about every guy that I have interacted with.

I am content with my sex life and have a very specific type which almost none of these guys fit so I can't understand where these feeling are coming from. So It was the day before my exam I was looking for an excuse to leave my cold miserable flat. I decided to go to the place that makes me feel happy. I went to snag myself the classic mc chicken. But then suddenly An Asian family were distraught for their love of chicken It was truly and undoubtedly a horror scene. Rip to that poor family. And there's this guy who I have noticed whilst studying at central over this exam period. Basically he's "my type on paper".

At first I thought he was just another breatha, but when he pulled out a fucking Love Island drink bottle from What breatha would willingly choose to use a piece of Love Island merch??? Jamie spoke it fluently. Jamie could tell how all of this impressed me. It was one of the most exciting times of my life. He encouraged me to enroll in an MFA program. We planned to write a book together. A few months later, Jamie fell off the grid for a few days. I am losing my family. Burdened by guilt, he confessed immediately after it happened. Being parents to a newborn had kept their marriage intact, but things had been on a downward slope ever since.

They argued about money, too.

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After Jamie won his fellowship, his wife, also a writer, put on hold her own creative ambitions so Jamie could finish his novel. The Manhattan lifestyle of a genius writer was being financed by her full-time job as a teacher, help from her parents, and ballooning credit-card debt. Meanwhile, Jamie, who was barely working or writing, had been avoiding his wife altogether—mostly by hanging out with me.

I defended my friend. I knew Jamie. I knew that he would never hurt his wife or, God forbid, their son. I thought it was unfair that he had to spend three days locked in a padded room with potentially dangerous, criminally disturbed people. As I later learned, Jamie was lucky—lucky that the police took him to a mental ward instead of the police station.

Lucky that, even with all that resentment between them, his soon-to-be ex-wife allowed him to continue to see their son. Still, my instinct was to take his side. After she threw him out of their apartment, I came in my car to pick up his things. For a time, Jamie and I were closer friends than ever. A Master of Fine Arts in fiction program typically is based on a workshop model: Once a week, a student submits a piece of prose, usually a short story, to a group of roughly 15 classmates who take turns discussing the work and providing feedback.

These workshops are led by professors who are established authors. MFA students also are given a chance to teach undergraduate English and, upon graduation, can become adjunct instructors like Jamie. Like our old Brooklyn neighbourhood by now, gentrified out of existence , the students varied stupendously by race and culture. I was excited at first, but soon began to sense a disconnect. Too often, their reasons for being there seemed to have little to do with a love of books.

Some only read within a single genre. Others actually bragged about not reading at all. I held up a used hard-cover of E. I dropped out at the end of the year. His only friends, he said, were those he grew up with in New Jersey. He seemed like a good role model. Jamie, meanwhile, was pursuing a relationship with a new woman. After less than a month, he told her that he was in love. We saw each other less frequently. When we did, it was at readings and literary events, where Jamie flirted openly with other women, including one of his former female students.

Charming as always, Jamie asked if she was enjoying the novel. The woman looked up and smiled. To the best of my knowledge, Jamie and Flynn had never met. Later that week, I confessed to Jamie my growing unease with his behaviour. Torn between moral discomfort and loyalty to a close friend, I explained that I felt complicit in his pretenses, especially in the company of others. I also expressed concern about him jumping into another relationship in the midst of his divorce, and about his cavalier behavior around female students. He was, after all, still legally married and fighting to keep custody of his son.

We spoke less and less, and soon stopped communicating altogether. When I did run into Jamie again, it was late Doctorow had recently died, and a New York real-estate celebrity named Donald Trump was preparing a run for President. I had an agent, and was finishing a book-length manuscript. Jamie, on the other hand, was in a difficult place. Jamie and I then had a heart-to-heart, in which he offered something approximating an apology.

He talked about his biological father—a black man whom he claimed to have never met. Jamie told me that his dad was a crack cocaine addict who repeatedly beat his mother, a slight Jewish woman, while she was pregnant with Jamie. As a result, Jamie was born dangerously premature, barely surviving the first few weeks of his life in an incubator.

One of only a handful of dark-skinned kids at his Catholic all-boys high school, Jamie recounted being bullied by other boys. No one knows what goes on behind closed doors, of course. Who was this Gatz before he became Gatsby, and what was it that really motivated him? What followed was a contentious exchange in which it became clear that Jamie has never read or finished many of the great books that I held dear. When I asked, in all sincerity, how he could teach writing to college students, he shot back by rejecting my beloved texts as artifacts of white, male European hegemony. They were not human to me.

With his stunning division of America into oppressed and oppressor, Coates seemed to be tapping into a moral world that lay beyond traditional Western ideals—a moral world that, in some respects, began to remind me of the one my Russian family had fled in the s. Things only got worse when I expressed reservations about voting for Hillary Clinton, whom I had found to be duplicitous and out of touch with the modern American left.

This was not a defence of Trump, whose misogyny and lack of integrity require no elaboration. For the first time in my adult life, I considered sitting out a presidential election. That, too, can be an act of resistance. Just ask any refugee from the Soviet Union, where voting was compulsory.

This is a big country, with different regions and attitudes and interests…But democracy does require basic bonds of trust between its citizens. Democracy grinds to a halt without a willingness to compromise; or when even basic facts are contested, and we listen only to those who agree with us. Jamie was unmoved. Surely, it would survive this one. After Trump was elected, I continued to seek the company of bookish kin, without fully realizing that they were in the process of excommunicating me.

Something shifted in late —and not just with Jamie. A number of my former classmates and colleagues remain Republicans. And some of them have come to my aid at the darkest, most tragic times in my life. Many are still my friends. They are police officers, nurses and combat veterans; they are Jews, immigrants, Asians, Latinos and African-Americans. These promises may have been empty and dishonest.

I also witnessed something else that alarmed me. Go translate media monitoring kits for Trump… How did you all get into our country? Jesus Christ…You are a great reason why we need immigration reform now. I hate my boss: Fuck Trump! My spouse hates me: Fuck Trump! No one will buy my book: Fuck Trump! Please, I want somebody to love me: Fuck Trump! Here, at last, was somebody we could freely hate more than we hate each other or ourselves. So…thank you, Mr. Trump, for channeling all my anger. As shown by the arc of my relationship with Jamie—and the many other Jamies who populate the New York writing scene—Trump is as much a symptom as a cause.

For free thought requires the free use of language, which is impossible when smart people like Jamie or Daniel are required to push the round peg of art and creation into the square hole of political sloganeering. I get halfway through a phrase, and already I submit it to Marxist criticism.

I imagine what X or Y will say about it, and I change the ending. I also have parted ways with my long-time girlfriend, who got swept up in these same currents, and who once literally wept in my presence because I had made a flattering reference to Camille Paglia. I thought of that episode recently, when I had the privilege of meeting Dr. Paglia at a speaking event. Her restless intensity that evening, her encyclopedic command of ancient culture and myth, always will stay with me. As I helped Dr. Paglia, a small woman with a noticeable limp, back to her car, a group of students followed.

But let go we must. Until then, I write pseudonymously, afraid to lose what little ground I have gained while taking flight from the apostles who once called themselves my friends. Featured photo: Brooklyn, photographed in by Jason McCann. Extract from a yet unpublished text. In that work, he is clear minded on Marxism and collectivism and he is explicit about what he thinks about reason. He chooses rationality. He stated it, he wrote it and defended it.

He also makes the hypothesis that irrationalism is a long-lasting struggle in our civilization since Plato and Aristotle and that our time will have to settle the question. History proved him right. Marxism is a chimera, a Freudian nightmare — macabre and powerful — where everything is interpretation but from which you never wake up. Sleep of the tong perhaps.

I Took My Boyfriend to A Swingers' Resort

Who is that philosopher? In the version after chapter 25, Popper add a addenda. What is the title of that addenda? The game of poker best exemplifies the never-ending pursuit of arriving at the optimal level of deception to use. The ability to optimally use deception is probably right up there with delayed gratification as a predictor of success. Your comment is fascinating and has me thinking about the parallels with Marxism and what is happening currently.

Thank you! Rapidly taking on attributes of a circular firing squad, or a snake swallowing its own tail see AOC and Linda Sarsour. Meanwhile, back in the real world. You might get that. Seems the intellectuals are the first ones rounded up, when this reaches completion. Not sure why they advocate for it so badly. Probably because at least a few of them get to be Pol Pot or V. Every revolutionary thinks they are going to be one of the nomenklatura, not one of the poor slobs scraping in garbage bins for food.

Yup…awaiting the implosion with glee and popcorn. Hopefully literary fiction is there anything more tedious? When someone tells you they are a genius, or the bestwriter in the room, or the smartest person, run away as fast as you can and delete them from your life. After reading this, I have to agree. I can scratch this one off. Artists are supposed to rebels but these days they all seem to think alike. Conformity to the leftist cult.

Duncan Smith, I respectfully disagree wholeheartedly with your statement! Artists are individuals, first and foremost; as with any and all vocations, skills, occuption, hobby, passion!

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I am a fiber artist. I was a ballet dancer, I am currently a fashion and interior designer by trade; so, I am extremely artistic and have spent the better parts of my life, in the arts world! One of my fiber art pieces won a statewide, juried competition, two others, regional! I have also been vilified, lied about and blacklisted by most of these groups; not all, but, most. I am a conservative, anti- feminazis, pro- life, pro- 1 A, 2- A, Christian; a left-handed, very petite and white, redhead! I am an anomaly in the art world!!! I am repulsed by vagina depictions in art works, and refuse to show in any such venues!

I believe art should be beautiful.

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Art can be beautiful and evoke deep, raw emotions! There is a late fiber-quilt-embroidery artist, a lady who survived the Holocaust, Poland invasion, torture, murders, talk about child separations from parents!!! Deeply emotional, deeply raw, deeply vivid; rated PG11, if needed! Google it; you will be amazed! While it hurt me deeply to be vilified and blacklisted by these arts groups, and, yes, I was stunned, I know now, it is just as this astute author has written; an elite group of singluar thinking sheep..

Not for me!!! I am, thanks be to God and the Bill of Rights, my own independent person!!! Not all artists are kooks and lunatics!!! Joan, I admire your willingness to travel in those deeply unfriendly circles, but I question your wisdom in doing so. You, as a petite white woman, are physically unsafe around those people and would do very well to NEVER forget that. At 50, Krinitz began working in a new medium — textiles. But as a fellow writer, I have to ask: why do you care?

It sounds like Junot Diaz was the wisest person you met. I read this long piece but I saw nothing about your writing, your books, your words, your art. I only saw concerns that you were surrounded by fools. You seem to care very much what theswe fools think of you. Go to the edges, and stop caring about them, would be my small piece of advice. The great writing of this era will be written, as it always is, by outsiders with a clear eye. By using these experiences in his explanation he put a human frame on his story and made it relatable. It also served to paint the literary scene and its standard characters for his audience.

If you can not bring yourself to agree with these people you are not necessarily a terrible person. I am glad that he wrote it. If by edges you mean asking people on the outside I half agree. Though if you are writing a story set in the NY literary scene it would be helpful to experience it. If you are suggesting a Dickinson style hermitage I would advise against it. If you want to write a satire about it — great! Good place to be. But most people have nothing to do with this elitist world, and you realise that as soon as you step outside of it to where the normies have always been.

I humbly submit that in the age of populist rebellion, we could do with more writers embedded amongst, or ideally emerging from, the demos, not ensconced in Brooklyn apartments. Having said all that, I enjoyed the piece, as I originally wrote. But now — back to your art, sir! If you are a writer you should know how to use adjectives with care. From the article it is clear that we are in the modern equivalent of Grub Street among the hacks and hackettes.

Evrybody is doing dead end jobs whilst hoping to make it as a writer.

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They are poor and not influential at all. Hardly of the elite. Well, how about us readers, what if I learned a great deal of truth from this piece? It was very interesting to learn about Jamie and his problems. And personally, I have lost some friends in the process of Trump age political side-. And it is definitely not about a few elitists or intellectual, it is a virus affecting the whole American society and those who have affinity for America and its culture. I agree, I liked the piece except for the lengths he went to disparage his former friend.

Seems like that could have been done a little more tactfully without losing the thread and the meaning of that relationship in reference to the article. Excellent advice to anyone in the arts, who lays bare their souls to the masses for adulation or evisceration. Being able to perceive the complexity is probably one of the most important virtues in the present days and it also makes you lose a few friends in the process. An excellent, wide-ranging piece and thanks for contibuting it. The sense of tragedy comes through well as we see otherwise capable, laudable people sow the seeds of their own demise, not least your ex-partner whose rigid ideological blinders cost her a much more meaningful relationship.

My condolences on the melancholy state of affairs in your country which necessitates you unable to sign your name to an otherwise innocuous observation of the human condition. Really good article, the kind of moving and intelligent reflexion you only read on Quillette. I wonder what here can be meant, something positive, obviously, but what? Thanks, sigh, I was going to look it up but enjoyed a laugh out loud when I read that you did instead. My guess is it pertains to celosia a type of amaranth. Web photos give an indication of this literary reference, a very satisfying one at that.

I dived into the amaranth once again, very interesting, all kind of stories. What I thought amarum-anthos bitter flower is probably not correct. The -h- is also wrong, it is a-marantus never dying mar same root as mortal , and an imaginary eternal flower, mythological, as are so many immortal plants, animals the herd without new births and dying off , humans and Gods. The name has been given to the family Amarantaceae Celosia, cocks comb is an ornamental in the family by taxonomists, maybe because the red flowers can stay a long time upright and red as dried specimen.

Recently, they got more fame as super foods, seeds and leaves of some varieties are edible often bitter and rich in iron, fibres and stuff. Thanks to challenges and side stepping here on Q. The tender portions are tasty when cooked. The spiny species is an good indicator of overgrazing. A great description of an experience we are all sharing in one way or another. We just ragged on each other all day, and built lasting friendships. Diversity can be something wonderful, as you indicate, but its appreciation excludes it being a ruling social principle. I notice a new kind of SJW style here on Quillette, of the kind of …..

It can take a while for reality to sink in. There are all kinds of reasons. Nothing is more human than fooling yourself. Autobiographical exit pieces can be a lifeline for such people. Failing that, at least these have some nice anecdotes about how obnoxious and self-righteous that scene can get. This sort of exposure of the morally pretentious is not published in many places, and so still seems fresh to many of us.

Leftist anger in family or workplace?? You live a lot better by that! Hakuna matata, they say in Swahili! It contains no self-pity that I can see. What he is pointing out is how the friends who have chosen to attack him have compromised their understanding of the world by blaming everything on Trump. He has also provided a character sketch of a friend in deep emotional trouble who has fallen into a potentially self-destructive way of coping with it, again by using ideology to explain his problems.

Jamie sounds like a narcissistic douche in the first few descriptions of him. The New York literary crowd, like many artistic communities of writers and actors and comedians today, has made a Faustian bargain in reverse. They have given up knowledge and artistic freedom for the intoxicating feeling of being part of a mob with a common enemy—attacking while simultaneously feeling like a victim, and being part of a noble cause fighting for justice.

For that they have given up being true artists. Some have lamented that there are not enough conservative writers. This is not quite true. They are just conservative about different things. Hopefully this is a sign a cleanup operation in progress which, while unpleasant for its victims, will make room for new ideas at least some of which will not align themselves with traditional progressive values. There are a lot of very artistically talented people in New York.

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This is an highly insightful comment, Martin, a very powerful summary of the current social dynamic. Keep up the good work. Members of Resistance badly need to talk to the few remaining members of the real Resistance. Especially the survivors of Gestapo interrogations. Or at least read some of their accounts of resistance, interrogation, and intrigue amongst the Resistance who betrayed Jean Moulin? It might be educational to a few.

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Excellent comment and observation! Hubby and I have been saying this for quite a while! He experinced the hideous, toxic, dangerous perils of East Germany as a wee lad! He was used as a smuggler to help family behind The Wall! He will never forget the reign of terror, silence, trains stopped with travelers frisked, or worse, removed, the dead silence in the streets, the blank stares in lifeless eyes, the propoganda everywhere… he was only and it left an indelible impression on him!

We fear for our future because of their abject ignorance, rosy- glass lenses perspective of the way they think things should be, their existentially unrealistic expectations and demands! Hope lies in the fact that the pendulum swings… and authors such as this article, who boldly refute the lunatics! This is a very well written article. It touches on a number of disturbing trends that are cracking our society. The slow creep of both doublespeak and doublethink are, in my opinion, the most disturbing of the pathologies discussed here. Donald Trump is a narcissist and a media whore.

There is little point in denying the damage he is doing to this country, both within and without. That being said, it is important to note that he was not elected in a vacuum. Both President Obama and Hillary Clinton left a nation filled with angry, disaffected people who were willing to vote for anyone, even Trump, who promised something different. Our checkbooks, not our ideas, delineate the borders of our lives.

That would be a terrible idea. Or do you think the return to power of the far left is a good move? There are people who think that history runs in approximately 50 year cycles. Perhaps Trump is the reset button for the next cycle? Well, you have a strong argument to call Trump a narcissist and a media whore, which is not like Obama at all, right?

Trump is an unlovely man, yet he is doing the country good by blocking the damage being done by the Democrats. I am amazed how the economy turned around just by swapping a socialist president for a capitalist president. And Trump will stop the insane Democrat plan to plant welfare families in middle class neighborhoods via Section 8 housing, turning suburbs into ghettos. You must live in a strange echo chamber if this is you assessment of the U. I taught math in jc after I got my MBA, which included a healthy dose of economics.

My professors seemed to think I mastered economics and I value their opinion more than yours, which is to say, more than a trash-talking troll. We are in an employees market, with employers starved for qualified employees and recruiters hard pressed to find them and get them hired. As for controlling economic growth with higher interest rates and taxes, the last thing we need is for Big Dumb Gummint to intervene in a hot economy. The market is smarter than the gummint and can manage itself far better. I think the statement about a Capitalistic president making a difference after so many years of Progressive policies is a matter of general observation, not an assessment of the economy.

At the moment, we cannot even believe what we are told about anything by our beloved media, whether economics or policies from one day to the next, but I am aware of rising wages among workers in my community, and a sudden dearth of people to fill starting level jobs people were scrambling to get only two short years ago.

There is a staggering contradiction here I would like to point out in the spirit of healthy discussion:. Some point to the far-Left and their pronoun policing and their pivot to postmodern victimhood culture, Marxism, and the like Quillette is a hub of this. In our current situation, why is damage BAD? Why not tear it apart and reweave it?

So which is it? Is the system broken beyond repair; or do you want the mean man in the big white house kicked out by any means necessary so that it can be repaired? The chaos he evinces looks awfully well orchestrated from an outside standpoint. Based on his results, I feel pretty comfortable concluding DJT is a whole lot cleverer than I am, or anyone writing on this anonymous comments board. Polarizing the political process to the point that a reactionary movement develops is not a good move. But constantly poking the bull with his mannerisms already gave us a divided Congress that will likely cause serious problems.

Really, this is all just fashion.

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The vast majority of these writers are progressive ONLY because they think New York writers are supposed to be progressive. There will be just enough people making the switch, so that there will be no risk in making a MeToo joke. It will make you rakish and edgy and sexy. I definitely see this happening in years, as more and more people exit communities like the one this article describes. I have always said so :. Please try harder to be less tribal.

Anyone with an open mind can clearly see extremist thought policing coming from many sides. Claiming identity politics is only a left wing problem is lazy. Identity is a core human trait and all of us react to having our identity challenged. The author of this article is pointing out thought policing on the left. Be very still, and try and get at the truth. And the first question to ask yourself is: How great a liar am I?

We both undertook difficult studies, Law for him and Medecine for me.

  1. I Heard My Country Calling: A Memoir!
  2. CONFESSIONS, A MOTHER SON TALE - Free First Time Story on dynipalo.tk.
  3. Dr Fillon et Mr Sarkozy (Politique, idée, société) (French Edition);
  4. Loving Wives Stories.
  5. Short Films.
  6. A Prostitute Tells All: Inside the Bedrooms Of a U.S. Brothel.