From: desiree@netcom.com (Desiree Champagne)
Subject: Re: Duck and Jive (was Re: Pre-Sex Contract )
Summary: We wish you a merry Christmas and drug induced New Year
Organization: Misandryists against Misogynists -- MaM
Date: Fri, 18 Dec 1992 21:27:43 GMT


The Electro-Shock-Induced-Creature (aka The One Without a Clue) further
parades his stupidity and slimeyness in yet another amusement-provoking
episode of Why The Contract Sucks (or: How to Avoid Direct Answers) with:

>I said:

>>	Give it up Creature.  I've already said you bore me.

>     If you are so fucking bored, why the hell are you responding???

	R-e-i-n-f-o-r-c-e-m-e-nt of what I last said.  

	And sheer and utter boredom.  Not to mention my nasty habit
of procrastination and not wanting to go Christmas shopping and fight
the hordes of bargain hunters.

	Besides, this is like being in a shooting arcade -- and you're
a sitting duck.  Blamo!  

>>  Don't
>>even try to fuck with me.  

>     I would rather die than fuck you.  I saw you at the party and
>although you are physically pretty, I think that, overall, you are an
>extraordinarily ugly bitch.

	Slip and slide.  Oh woe is me.  Whatever shall I do?  The
Creature doesn't find me attractive.  My identity is lost.  My self-
esteem is ruined.  My life is in shattered pieces around my feet.

>>	Forget it Firth.  I don't buy it and I'm still (and getting more
>>so) tired of the whiny men that complain about the wallet.

>     What is this?  Is a meal ticket all that you want?

	All together now, let's just see how far this can be 
stretched.  Be careful though, the elastic on your shorts is bunching
up.  (Typing with a wedgie is a real problem, eh Critter?)

	I never said that I wanted a meal ticket, now did I?  Huh, huh,
huh?  Now you wouldn't be trying just to find an angle for attack
would you?  Huh, huh, huh?  (Me thinketh the boy is on the ropes --
going down the last time, as they say...)

	But, since you did ask a question I will validate that.  (Although
you've seen fit, to date, to completely ignore my questions to you...)

	Warning:  Real answer follows.  Read carefully.  Read fully.
Read without moving your lips.

	No, I don't want a meal ticket.  Gave that up when I graduated
from grammer school and moved onto 7th grade.  I make enough money to
support myself in a manner to which I could become indebted.  All by 
myself.  (Eric Carman's birthday just passed...)  And I make enough
money to pull any child I may spawn down with me.  Glub, glub, glub.

	See -- big difference here RawNervedCreature, I see people as
people (where men are men and women are women or however it goes) and
I don't look at a sexual partner as a potential "way out of
something".  If I make a mistake in life, I'm a Big Kid and I handle
it.  I don't run away from my responsibilities whining and crying to
MommyGovernment.  Or just whining and crying.

	As I've said before:  if you wanna play the game -- you better
be prepared for zee consequences.  

>    Your marriage failed and you got a divorce. 

	Awww, you sunk my battleship.  Oppps.  Wrong game. Sorry,
I was confused for a minute there.

	Okay, two points.  You got one thing right.  You're doing just
fine.  Wipe your sweaty palms on your pants now and let's continue...

> Is that why you
>are so condescending to others?

	Damn!  And here I thought it was going to move into something
reality-based.  My mistake. 

	Since you've again posed a question, I'll again answer it:
				Nope.  

	Do you *really* want to know?  (Uh, gee, no, uh, I was, uh,
just trying to attack, uh, how do I squirm outta this one now, uh...
Duhhhhhhhhhhh.)
	
>     Get real and learn to respect others before you expect others to
>respect you.

	Damn!  The doctor said that nobody would be able to tell that
I'd had the surgery done.  Damn and double damn.  I should sue the
SOB, you know.  We had a contract and he assured me that nobody would
ever be able to tell.  Guess I learned my lesson, I shoulda made him
sign a pre-contract contract to a contract.  

	Who ever said I was looking for respect?  R-e-s-p-e-c-t
find out what it means to me...Great song that. Try listening to
a few stanzas -- you may learn something.  

	(Hint of the Day: In case Momma didn't tell you -- respect is
earned not given.  Any respect that I have from others I have earned.
Any respect that I show others is earned.  I know, it's too much for
you to understand...[this need of mine to help people is really
getting to be problem])

>>  As I said before,
>>if you can't pay the price -- don't enter the game.  The risks are
>>there -- even if you don't like them.

>     Maybe you will get suckers to play your sex games.

	Hehehe.  Well I certainly hope I'll get them to play sex games
with me.  Yessireebob, that is my hope and prayer.  Anybody out there
up for a hot game of yahtzee?

	(SideNote I: I really find you amusing -- you ignore my
statements and r-e-a-c-h for something that you *think* will get my
goat.  Doesn't work, Critter.  Learn a different tactic -- or better
yet, talk to people that *know* me...[Hey!  Why didn't I think of that?])

>  And maybe
>one of those times, you will become pregnant and he will leave
>you cold and wet.

	Oh and he tries the slam dunk approach!  Whamo.  Pzzzztt (how
do you make the ascii sound effect for whooshing air?)  Sorry your
ball(s) just lost air and stuck in the basket.

	As a final attempt to have a discussion based in reality
(I know, it's futile -- but it's cold and I don't wanna go outside) --

	I don't worry about getting knocked up.  I don't worry about
having a man leave me if that happened.  (Watch the next sentence
without yanking too hard) (I'll even type it slow - so let the opening
in your head (no, silly, the other one) form the letters and breathe
at the same time -- sound it out...)

	Iiiiii Llllliiiivvveeee Iiiinnnnn Ttttthhhhheeeee
Rrrrreeeeeaaaaalllll Wwwwwoooorrrrrllllldddddd.

	Tu sais?  The one where I'm a girl and he's a boy and we both
have a mouth.

	With that mouth we form words. (Okokokok, I admit --
sometimes we do other things with our mouths too, but that is getting
too personal and I don't lick and tell.) 

	The words string out into sentences.

	The sentences constitute paragraphs. 

	And the paragraphs -- when all strung along together --
make up (can you guess what?)  Yes!  That's it, communication. 

	Uh huh, that's right -- you guessed it.  We communicate.
Sometimes we do it with grunts and groans, though I have to admit.
And sometimes we even do it with our hands.  (Tricky, aren't we?)
	
	Anyway.  When we communicate (can anybody guess what happens,
when we communicate?) Yes!  That's it -- we learn to understand
one another (does everybody understand the word "understand"?)  Very
good.  I'm proud that you are with me so far.  Okay, moving right along.

	When we learn to communicate and we learn to understand one
another (see how nicely that ties together?) -- we learn that we can
make decisions about important adult-world things -- like babies, for
example.  Or what flavour croissant to have for breakfast.

	You see, ScarmouchianBeast, in a real world scenario -- big
kids have the ability to work out their problems.  At least in my
real world they do.  The last time I was pregnant, I was able to
discuss the situation rationally with my partner and *together* 
(difficult concept that...) we were able to come up with a solution
that worked for both of us.  

	Brrrrinnnnggg!  Ooppps there's the bell.  Class dismissed.
Don't forget to take your lunchboxes and backpacks home.

>>	If you can't understand that, you can't.  But don't bother me
>>with your crap.  
>
>>	The subject is dead.  Leave it there.  Understand?

>     And you lost, bitch.

	<whimper>  <cower>

	Perk up your ears and unhand yourself for a minute.  Done
that?  Good.  Now, step two: Lean in close to your screen and read
this:

	 The world is not divided into a large game lot.  This is not a
	win/win or win/lose proposition.

	Keep the scores for the valium ball games you're so fond of.
They have no place in interpersonal relationships.


Now you can resume playing with yourself...


Desiree


N.B.  Merry Christmas -- may Santa bring you oodles of fresh, crisp
      paper, nice sharp pencils and hoards of women with a burning
      scatological desire for pleasure.

Newsgroups: ba.singles,soc.singles,alt.sex