The Afuckingpprentice.

The Apprentice 2014

The Apprentice. A British series from the BBC consisting of  12 episode where 16 physically and morally nauseating,  cankerous sores from the arse of the bed ridden Earth make a desperate attempt to win the favour and financial backing of the delightfully wealthy Lord Overly Londonish Sugar.

This year (2014) is the tenth year that the series has been running, and to celebrate, Daddy Sugar has bought in 20, instead of 16,  of the foulest, most self-indulgent  bum cracks you could ever hope to hate.  About 17 of those I’ve not even acknowledged as existent so far but ignorance needn’t be the enemy of my hateful rambling, and I’ve found a list of the buggers, complete with pictures of quiffs and thin red lips to get my hate juices flowing. Let’s begin.

Bianca: Meh.                                        Chiles: Looks like a bad guy from a movie. Any movie.

Daniel: His jaw line makes me want to scoop my own eyes out with the discarded shell of a king prawn.                 Ella: Meh.            

                                                     

Felipe: Talks in the third person a lot. That’s hilarious. Tammy likes this and it makes her like Filipe.

James: I wish death upon for no particular reason.           Jemma: Meh.   

Katie: Meh.                                           Lauren: Meh.                 Lindsay: Meh.    Mark: Meh.   

    

 Nurun: Meh. Notice a theme?    Pamela: Meh.                                 Robert: Makes me sick to my stomach. What a festering, useless ball of crap this half man is.

Roisin: Sounds like… hoisin?                                                        Sanjay: Looks too commonly English to be a Sanjay.

Sarah: Looks like an aging prick.   Solomon: Meh.              Scott: Meh.

Steven: Reckon he’s gay. Not that that’s an issue. Just an observation.

So there we have it. My sweeping and all-knowing judgement based on the first episode of The Apprentice this year. Despite the fact that each of these disgusting pupae make everyone else in the world want to demon form and rip their cum dumpster mothers’ heads from their shoulders, I doubt they’re entirely to blame for how festering a hatred they stir in even the most placid of people.  Charlie Brooker did a thing on his (amazing) show where he put together a tiny version of The Apprentice and showed how much editing can make someone come across as likeable as a squawking  baby covered in the blood of the innocent and a white, pointy hooded robe.

However, and it’s a big however, there’s not a doubt in my mind that these people are just as arrogant, self-righteous and downright mock-worthy off the TV screen. Want to prove me wrong? Please… please try.

That One Night

Okay... so this is a little bit weird. There's a large part of me that tells me not to share this with you, but a large part of me that totally has to.

So, apparently I have Histrionic Personality Disorder. They call it a "trait" now though, rather than a disorder. I think in this case, disorder is a perfectly good word to describe it.

So... when I was 16 I went to a psychiatric hospital in Plymouth for six weeks before I escaped and bunked a bunch of trains back to Sussex. I wanted to get back to my boyfriend of a year or so from Worthing. I ended up in Salisbury at 2am with nowhere to go. A 36 year old guy said I could sleep on his hotel room floor, and laid out a little bed for me. I chose to sleep in the bed, and sleep with him.

I made it back to Worthing, slept in a car park for two weeks whilst working as a waitress to make enough money for somewhere to live. Social Services kept offering me somewhere, but I refused.

Eventually though, I got angry at work and threw some cutlery at someones head, so I left. I took Social Services' help and moved into a tiny box room in a bed and breakfast. I started smoking soap bar - the most delicious, oily, plastic bag filled hash in the world. I bought it off homeless people, and then we hung out because I was lonely.

So, I got high one day and went to see my Social Worker. On the way home, I met two guys, around 17, in a park. They invited me to a party. So, that night I maintained my standard level of being completely fucked on the lowest quality hash and went to the party. While I was there... I met a guy. He said, "Don't worry,,, I'll take care of you." Then he convinced me to let him fuck my arse in the street in a quiet corner.

Then he walked away. I went back to the house party and he came out of the front door. "What happened?" I asked. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said. "Don't talk shit about me or I'll stab you. I should fucking kill you just for being here..."

I ran away. Halfway down the road I met another group of guys - the ones I had walked to the party with. I told them what happened. "Don't worry, I'll take care of you," one of them said, and then pushed me down on the floor and pulled his trousers down trying to push his cock into my mouth.

I ran away.

I made it to an alleyway where I met three guys... all about 20. I can't remember what I said, or what I did to get myself into the situation but after five minutes I was on the floor, backed up against a fence whilst two of them pushed their cocks into my mouth. One of them was telling them to stop, to leave me alone and just go home.

They stopped, and started walking away... but the one guy that told them to stop... I followed him.

I followed him, begging for him to talk to me. He told me to leave him alone, but I couldn't stop following him. He was so nice, not to fuck my face. He was my hero that night and I wanted to fuck him so that he knew that... I wanted him to like me. Why didn't he fuck me? Wasn't I good enough for him? But he shouted at me to fuck off... and eventually I left and went home.

From this I ended up with paranoid delusions, they call it. Everyone was reading from a script, winning points based on how much they could make me do with them. I stopped trusting my social worker, because she was the one that told me to go home that way that day. She was in on it. I stopped trusting everyone, everything anyone said was all an elaborate con to make me look stupid. I'm a disgusting slut, I know that. I also know that paranoia is a hilariously self obsessed delusion. Those people didn't give a shit about me or my feelings, who would put that kind of time and effort into making someone look stupid?!

Exactly. No one.

But... Well... Histionic Personality Disorder, apparently. It's like reading a bio about myself. I don't know where it came from, but it's fucking with my head... since I was 15, and still now.

Sorry for writing this thing.

I Shat In My Pants... Can I Get In Yours?

My brain gave me a window. It's was like a shiny, tiny little window where I thought, "What the fuck are you doing? Pull yourself out of this..."

And I did!

Fuck London. Fuck crazy Tinder people. Fuck running businesses that I don't want to run.

I'm going to play games, get a PS4 in time for COD, get my tits out for the lads on cam and eat pie. Apple pie.

You know those 'choose your own adventure' books? Well, they make them for browsers too, like a game. I'm making one. You're going to play it when it's done? It'll take a good long time, though, I'm doing it properly.

I'm going to take a picture of my tits and post it on Twitter right now, so that you read this.

I'm happy. I went window shopping on Amazon last night and added lots of stuff to my wishlist, that I'm just planning to buy as soon as I can! I'm a full on craft fiend. Have you seen my art journal? Oh, I'll post pictures of everything! ^_____^

I'm going to go and walk the dogs with my friend now. Wish you were here, so we could get a slushie and chill out by the river!

x

Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High?

So, it's been a year, pretty much, since I felt the need to reach out and complain loudly and via the medium of text.

I've been on antidepressants for a year or so. They made me great for a while, then good, then average, then lame... then we upped the dosage. We got greedy - well, I got greedy. That made me suicidal.

I came off them cold turkey and moved to Brighton. I had a terrible time.

I went back on them and came back home to Truro.

Now... I'm going back to London. Originally, it was because I met a fruit loop on Tinder that was a dead ringer for my ex. Same name and everything. I thought he was my puzzle piece (you know, the person that fits everyone just right without having to try...) but he isn't, because he can't deal with the camming stuff and videos.

So that's gone. Now I'm wondering whether to get drunk. I got drunk on my own at midday in a field the other day, because I managed to crush a relationship by text before we even met. Amazing. A record, even.

Getting drunk sucks. Feels awesome, but then I have a SAVAGE headache for about 5 hours and feel sick for the next three days.

I don't know why I'm moving to London. It feels like it's not my future. Like I'm watching a film of someone else's retarded and boring life.

I'm so whiny it actually makes me want to slap myself upside the head. I'm trying, but I can't gather enough hatred to do it properly, because I look all pathetic and weak. That's right, me, play dead. Curl up all small and un-intimidating so I don't beat you up...

Now Who Likes A Good Story About A Bridge...?

Let me tell you about my shit. Stay a while and listen...

I talked to a dude who resprays cars and bikes. I'm going to do a few hours here and there for him, and then make myself invaluable so that he has to hire me.

I'd like to own a bike breakers, with a respraying place and a polishing place on site also. Also a Captain Jaspers style restaurant with more food and alcohol. One where the owners DON'T hate their main clientele (bikers).

Meanwhile, this soap stuff is bollocks. Hate it. Hate it with a passion.

I'm tired.

That's all.

***NEW CAMFREEBAY BLOG... THIS IS WHERE I'LL BE FROM NOW ON! ***

http://www.camfreebay.com/blog/ukgamegirl/

Fuck You

So... maybe I should leave more time between texts before freaking out. But he looked at each one. Then eventually, he said he was driving. Must have been driving from the second he rolled out of bed, because haven't got anything all morning.

Seriously? If I had met with someone that I liked the night before and then said I'd text them tomorrow, and didn't... and they freaked out because of it... well, fuck it, I'd chuck them a text letting them know that I was driving, or busy, or hated them, or whatever. Just so that they could chill the fuck out.

I would never leave someone hanging like that - but then, I know what it feels like to be bored, have depression and lie in bed half crying and reading 9gag all day whilst waiting for someone to text you that you just spent days worth of energy getting to like.

I'm clearly nuts.

***NEW CAMFREEBAY BLOG... THIS IS WHERE I'LL BE FROM NOW ON! ***

http://www.camfreebay.com/blog/ukgamegirl/

American Visit! Fancy Hanging Out With Me?

Alright lady friends, let's go through this.

I'm coming to America, for about 10 or 11 days. Probably around the 12th August to the 22nd. I'll most likely come in at JFK!

So, here are my stops.

1. New York
2. Florida
3. Tennessee
4. Oklahoma
5. Texas
6. Southern California

Here's what I'm asking for: $150 for FIVE HOURS with me, plus you buy me some breakfast, lunch or dinner while I'm with you, or my mood will suffer and I'll beat you up in the street.

Here are the terms and conditions:

• No sex. 
• I will carry a weapon and delight in killing you with it if you annoy me. 
• A deposit of $50 must be made once the plans are secure and a date is assigned to you so that I can book the flight!
• Failure to make payment will result in you being killed.
• Failure to buy me breakfast/lunch/dinner will result in you being killed.
• Don't be awkward.

Send an email to wtfgtfoplz@hotmail.com to register interest or book yourself in. Also... delight me with tales of American Mcdonalds... the cheeseburgers are so fat and cheesy.

***NEW CAMFREEBAY BLOG... THIS IS WHERE I'LL BE FROM NOW ON! ***

http://www.camfreebay.com/blog/ukgamegirl/

Grumpy Morning POF Profile

As always, remember that 'Hey', 'Hi', or indeed, 'Hello' will get you ignored... Because Screw You, that's why.

Just so you're aware, for the majority of people on here that message me I'd rather scoop out my own eyeballs and fill the sockets with jam and cream cheese, whilst rubbing my boobs against the hairy bumcrack of a lifelong smack head than actually spend one second of my time typing a word out that you'll benefit from reading.

I hate your faces. Your flabby attempts at six packs. The way you have NO GODDAMN IDEA what the difference is between 'your' and 'you're'. I absolutely hate your ridiculous and generic hobbies, likes and dislikes. I hate the way that you put 'music' and 'movies' as your interests... when I've never once spoken to someone who DIDN'T like any music or movies. They're the main forms of worldwide entertainment, you tit, of course you like them.

I hate when you ask if I want to chat, asking my permission to converse when you've already gone ahead and spammed my inbox with your bullcrap ramblings, so asking for permission is essentially pointless.


I like gamers, people that message once and then don't keep bothering me, bikers under 25 that still have hair. People that DON'T have their snapchat name on their profile because what kind of bottom feeding, pathetic little ballbag sucker actually just gives out their facebook, number or whatsapp? ANY thunder thighed, sperm burping gutter slut could call you. Are you so desperate that you're going to cast your net that damn wide? You're a fool, and a feeble one at that.

My mood suffers when I'm hungry in the mornings. You may or may not be able to tell. I'm really a lovely person, or whatever.

***NEW CAMFREEBAY BLOG... THIS IS WHERE I'LL BE FROM NOW ON! ***

http://www.camfreebay.com/blog/ukgamegirl/

Fuck Marine POF Profile

Oh, hey there, fart farmers.

Before we begin, know that if you just message 'Hey' or 'Hi' or, indeed, 'Hello', I'll ignore you. And please don't ask me how I am. You don't wanna know.

So, obviously I'm a couple sandwiches short of a picnic, hence why I'm giving up my day job to be a Marine Hunter. Yes, that's right, I'm going to plant attractive women on Plenty of Fish and wait until marines make plans and then start ignoring them on the day of aforementioned planned event. (By the way, mate, I fancy your friend with the dragon snake tattoo...) And then string them upside down by their ankles and feed them laxatives until they assplode in a shower of steriods, protein shake, chicken and wholemeal rice.

You're a dude, right, so you don't understand. But that is what they do. And then they just stay out of your way for the rest of your life, and ignore your messages... Like sackless, scrotum sucking, bumcrack snifflers.

WHY?!

Only the Baby Jeebus knows why, my friends. These are the men employed to have balls to save us from other dudes with balls... and they can't even let a girly down gently. But I'm quite finished being messaged by flakes, faggots, fatties and men who wear aviators and pout. 

There. I said it.

I'm sorry...

If you don't want to read this, don't. I honestly don't know what compels me to actually type this shit out. I'm so desperately reaching out for help that it looks completely ridiculous.

All of a sudden I don't want to write this stupid thing anymore, but just a few seconds ago I thought it was the best idea.

I'm going to lay it out there.

I'm going to take antidepressants because I'm so tired of trying to ride this out on my own.

But I know that what I'm riding out is just shitty feelings from being rejected, and unwanted, and trying to find someone that wants me. What a fucking ridiculous thing to be upset about.

I am actually ready to stop being alive today. I genuinely hope I don't wake up. For something as stupid as not being able to fuck the people I want to fuck?!

What's wrong with me? Why am I so damn childish and dependent and constantly looking for someone that wants to be my boyfriend. Why does rejection make me want to abandon living and why do I feel like shit when something that never even happened goes wrong?

I keep nearly crying, but then not crying... because what the hell would I cry for. I wish I'd stop typing, but I feel like if I keep going then eventually someone will go, "Aaah, actually... now I get you. That's totally legit."

I feel sick with hatred for my shitty personality, and my pathetic behaviour.

Burger Van Boys and MMA Guys

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I am SO sorry, Eyeballs of You.

I'm sorry to type more words at you today. Honest to Jeezaz, I feel really dreadful about it. But I'm doing it now, and like a half finished wank, I can't stop until I'm done otherwise it'll stress me out and probably make me sleep with someone that I don't really like.

Well, not really like that, but you understand.

So, I'm a total crybaby. Had you noticed? I just noticed. I was sitting at Jacks, shooting heroin into my eyeballs and smoking a hench crack pipe whilst enjoying a pure codeine enema (all at the same time, obviously) when I realised that I'm getting depressed about nothing.

Obviously, depression is a whimsical creature and sometimes sneaks up on you when everything should be lovely and sunny and sparkly with glittery flecks of joy - but I tend to let myself sink into it.

I made a video a couple years ago about CBT, and how it might help to stop me wallowing in shitty feelings. I'm naturally prone to dithering in it as I most of my life from 8 to 18 years old feeling alternately like shit, and then like someone told me I was a billionaire with a fast track pass to Disney World.

But I realised that I don't need CBT. I need to stop being a soppy shit stick with no back bone and get on with shit instead of dehydrating myself with tears and thinking of glorious ways to top myself that would both amaze and stun the world, and earn me a world record at the same time so that I can die in a blaze of miserable glory.

My sentences are too long.

This might be the lack of depression right at this moment talking... and I'll see how it goes before I cave and ask the doctor for one of the -pam family drugs, but bare with me.... I'll start being funny again one day.

FUCK today. FUCK YOU.

I am having THE shittiest day.

The boy I like is an arse clown (this is a different boy to the one I liked a few weeks ago, of course) and now I've been all stroppy at him. I want to turn around and run away as fast as possible when I start to feel like someone might be making a mug out of me.

Some cunt texted me and acted all weird and retarded when they realised I didn't know who they were. I will find out, and I'll destroy you so fast your eyeballs'll explode.

My fucking cupcakes didn't work properly, and now my massage bar has broken because I tried to get it out too early.

I have to pay for a mistake I made at work last week, meaning that I can no longer afford food with my wages tomorrow. What a treat.

Luke is being a fussy cunt because he thinks I'm seeing someone, and he's super overprotective and moody all of the time.

I can't find my Iphone anywhere, so I have to keep using this Nokia fucking Lumia that sucks wholesale quantities of cock.

I left my notebook at the warehouse, now I don't have ANY OF MY FUCKING NOTES and I'm going to go crazy without that thing because my stupid Arse-burgers means I get all jittery if I can't write my shit down.

FUCK YOU.

Now I'm going to call Howard and he'll have bad fucking news for me.

Shit Worries Me, Dudes...

I'm going to whine here...it's not going to be funny, or smart, or interesting. This is a disclaimer. Sold as fucking seen, absolutely no returns. No warranty given or implied.

I have a headache. I had so little to eat all day and then ate a curry and my belly went loopy and I got a headache. Why is that?

My cat just tried to take a piss on the carpet. That worries me... Why did he try to go there instead of in his litter tray?

I'm going to London this weekend. The cat pissing on the landlords lovely carpet whilst I'm away worries me.

I've got the hiccups. That worries me.

It's my second week in this house and already had to ask the landlord if I can pay my rent on Monday instead of Saturday because I need the petrol money to get to see my dad for Fathers Day. That worries me, but he's pretty chilled.

Jack is coming over later. I hope the landlord doesn't mind. That worries me.

Notice a theme here, kiddies?

Only annoying people with quiffs message me on Plenty of Fish. Guess what? That worries me.

My friend Tom just came back from Australia after it wasn't as awesome as he hoped it would be. He got in touch with me on Plenty of Fish. He said he made it just so he could get in touch again... I believe him. He says I was the last person he slept with. I believe him too... for various reasons that I shall not disclose here. That was a year ago. He had a proper cock block of a wingman in Australia - so he told me about all the times he nearly got to fuck someone but then didn't. He said I was so good that he doesn't even really want to sleep with anyone else. I know he's just kidding about that. He thinks he might want to settle down now. I wonder whether he's for serious. I hope so, actually. He's very funny, and he totally has the same sense of humour as me. He makes me laugh a lot - over silly things that lots of people might not get. We both have a motorbike and a van... we both run our own business... That's three whole things in common. I think about him too much.

I've lost my door key. That worries me, obviously.

My head fucking canes. http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=canes

What The Fuck Is A Lounge?!

Don't answer that - I don't give a flying fuck, really. MFC can tickle my testicles with its tonsils; it's the most corrupt place in all of Christendom.

I'm starving hungry. All I have is chocolate and yogurht. Yoghurt. Yoguhrt... It's NOT Yogurt. HA - Yogurt. What a funny word.

I'm going to go back to watching Nashville for an hour.

In the meantime, I need you to meet me in ten minutes behind Sainsbury's with a rifle, a large packet of pistachios and a dildo shaped like a bass guitar.

See you there.

Half Eaten Pitta Bread

I've decided to take my blog titles from the things that I have around me. Half eaten pitta bread just stood out to me, and seemed to link in nicely with all the things that I want to talk about. That is, my landlord, stomach bugs, moto vlogging and sexual relations. See how relevant it all is?!

Last night I woke up because something was banging in my room... and found my landlord sitting naked and cross legged on my floor. I was like, "What the hell?... Go away?" and he was like, "Okay, just give me a minute.." then waited a minute and got up and left. He came home drunk from a night out. Still unacceptable. I wonder what he'll say about it when he wakes up.

I've had a stomach bug for three days. I was only sick once, five hours after I started feeling ill... but the queasiness has lasted for days and days! URGH! Better today, hopefully all better tomorrow.

I need to get an SD card and a lapel mic to get my motovlogging thing done - but lapel mics are hard to find. I wish I'd just bloody got one of Amazon when I bought the cam and audio recorder, it could have been fucking sorted by now.

Sexual relations are great. I never have them anymore.

The End.

Pukeasaurus.

I had spag bol for tea today, cooked by my new housemate who used to be a chef. Then I got bloated and wibbly, and then felt sick. I rode as fast as I could to Tescos and got some Andrews salts, but they haven't helped at all. Now I teeter between feeling sick, and then feeling a little better for a while. Urgh.

Luckily, I'm not panicking. Maybe that's because I don't feel like I'm literally about to be sick - but pretty close. Maybe this will be one of those times that I don't have a panic attack whilst being sick.

I want to go to bed and read my book but I absolutely hate the idea of lying down; I know I'll instantly feel shit.

Okay - thanks for listening. I'm gonna hurl.

Moto Vlogging and Arse Fingering

Alright! Alright! Stop nagging at me for another blog post! (No one is nagging at me for blog posts...)

So, now I have a van. I'd post up pictures, but I don't want you to know my company, or you might spend all of your money there and end up homeless and with no teeth. It would be a shame for you to lose your home... and not even be able to do the Africa face, even, with your lovely teeth..

I'm still homeless. Yes, that's right, but I have so far kept all of my teeth. I type this from a McDonDons doorway, stealing their internet. I'd go in and get a coffee but I haven't the money because I spent it on the van and some sharpies to draw on it with. (I'm kidding - I'm typing this from a luxurious Jacuzzi bath.)

I'm looking for somewhere - but no joy so far. I hate when people fuck me about and waste my time. I turned down another house for that place (and they knew it, too) and then they backed out. That's messed up.

I liked a boy, but he didn't like me. I messaged him to tell him that he was behaving in a cowardly and pussy 'ole-ish manner... and he responded that he was just busy and everything was fine. That's a good thing - but he's so busy that I'm never going to get to see him anyway. I dreamed that he fingered my arse the other night. It was hot, for whatever reason. It was a threesome, but we totally just ignored this other guy. He was an arse fingering rookie and my dude was showing him how to do it properly... Fascinating stuff.

So, my motorbike is fine, also. She's still going - bless her soul. I spent £70 of amazing amazon gift vouchers (Thank you!!) today on a mountable camcorder and audio recorder so as soon as it arrives I'll get out on my lmaotorbike and start moto vlogging. I can't go too fast or anything because if I get famous (as I undoubtedly will, for being just the weirdest creature and singing in my helmet) I'll get done in by the rozzers, mate, so I'll be keeping the riding chilled out for the most part and just nattering on... but on my motorbike. You clearly get sick of my face and that's why you read my retarded blog instead.

Alright, I'm bailing out because I have a shit tonne of work to do. (I'm going to watch The Apprentice...)

Goodnight, creatures of the internet. Don't have heart attacks in your computer chairs until I get there.

An old blog on FatUglyorSlutty

So, after reading this article http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-18280000 and seeing this site http://fatuglyorslutty.com/ I have been in two minds about the whole thing.

 There's feminist Tammy (who barely exists but can understand where they're coming from, when they're not being completely ridiculous) and normal Tammy who faces the same shit every day that millions of women do and takes it in her stride... because that's being a actual strong woman - not bitching about being a female all the time.

So, firstly I think: Quit your fucking moaning. Women seem to be so self obsessed they assume everyone who is nasty is being nasty because they're female. What if (and I know it's hard to imagine seeing as you're so soft and smell like strawberries) those other people simply don't like you? They don't like your attitude, or they don't like the way you talk and conduct yourself. It's akin to the situations when I call someone a cock end and they ask, "Woaaah, time of the month?" Wow. As if some people must imagine there has to be some hormonal reason why I consider them to be retarded. Perhaps... perhaps you're just retarded and it's nothing to do with my hormones. I'm calling it as I see it, regardless of where my womb lining is at the moment. You can't suggest to a dude that it must be his hormones when he decided to smack you in the face, so what's his excuse? Exactly, maybe you're just a prick.

Anyway, put simply: many female gamers have a huge chip on their shoulder, coupled with the idea that they're not only the sole female gamer in the universe, but also gods gift to gaming (and men) simply because you've got excess breast tissue and a wizards sleeve. That attitude makes people target you because it's disgusting, quite frankly.

However, I imagine that these women begin perfectly nicely. All female voice (trying to sound sexy?) and talking about girly stuff. Even worse, trying to fit in with the blokes on the game. "HA, yeah... tits... love 'em. Good old titties, eh?" Okay, so what exactly is your reason for needing to speak on Xbox Live? You know you get abuse hurled at you (whether because you're female or just fucking annoying) but you continue to speak out loud knowing that it's going to awaken the troll and pervert in everyone online. I think it's an attention seeking thing. I play Xbox Live and I listen to the chat, but I don't talk. I'm usually in a private chat with some friends while playing with them, and everyone else on the game. Would it hurt you to just... not be known as a female? Do you need to have the name, "SexyStacy2001"? Do you need to use constant smiley faces and giggle? I don't think so. If those guys didn't know you were female, they'd ignore you and that bothers you more than any abuse could.

I wonder if, after a session with the guys hurling abuse and you stammering back what you believe to be scathing retorts, you feel satisfied. Or, do you feel like shit? You made a fool of yourself. It was ten guys against one puny little girl. You're not even particularly good at the game. Any nice comments were from the fat guys that assumed they could form a long lasting friendship that would last well into the night and result in naked pictures. Pictures that they would be inevitably disappointed with as I've yet to see a genuine female GAMER (not one of those ones who played WoW for a month, thinks they rule Halo or takes pictures of themselves seductively sucking their Xbox controller) who was actually hot.

So clearly, my anti feminist side has taken the lead here. I'm sure I'm wrong. There are real life female gamers who just want to be able to chat on xbox live while they play a game. Why shouldn't they be able to? Sure, it's a male dominated world, but why should it be? I shouldn't have to just sit and listen to the chat while not being able to speak for fear of having every male start throwing his shit around like an aggravated monkey.

However, if you'd pull your eyes away from your tits long enough to take a look at any youtube video of COD (and your ears from wherever they happen to be...) you'll notice it's not just you that gets abuse. It's everyone. Every man, woman, child that chooses to speak will at some point be subjected to, "Suck a dick, you fucking faggot. God, you SUCK at this game." It's just that when a smart arse woman's voice comes on, they begin to formulate more appropriate insults.

Whatever. The point is, suck it up. Everyone gets insulted. It's a male world and you'll never fit in. Just enjoy the game enough that it doesn't matter.

Last point is just about the website, Fatuglyorslutty.com. What a stereotypically female thing to do. That's just like women: Get shouted and bitched at, APPARENTLY dominate the whole game and the whole chat with your crippling wit and mad skillz and then cry on the internet about it. How bitchy can you get? Bless them, all grouping together like a flock of seagulls just shot in the tits by some kids with a BB gun. I know you all think you're just laughing about it, but it seems to me they hurt you. They got to you, you're feeling insecure and you need your gal pals to fake laugh along with you because in the end you've come out top. Only... you haven't. You look like a hurting pussy and everyone can see it.