short-Timer

Obsessed with Trump.

Pathetic Troll.

Stalker.

Your load of crap is biggest ever in the history of mankind.

Nothing says deep cultural understanding like parading Thai friends around for a live roast of old foreigners, truly the Anthony Bourdain of condescension. Then it’s cocktails at the Marriott while looking down on everyone else, the purest form of cultural immersion. And bold move lecturing on ‘quality’ women while rating foreigners like cattle at a meat market, real classy stuff, mate.

So says Mister Modest. And if someone doesn't believe you then they can just ask you, right? Post photos. Then you'll get a real review.

Nothing like having you, Susan, the house expert on the subject of "wrist overuse" chime in about it. In case you haven't noticed, there are also plenty of non-local women in the country. All the continents are represented. But you wouldn't know that from spending all of your waking hours in ladyboy go-go bars.

Forget it. The sexy curves train left the LOS ages ago. Now just about every girl looks like she just won a food eating contest.

Picture is worth 1,000 words innit.

What is this? Fekkin ghey YouTube video happy hour? Fa-Fooonk sakes GG, why don’t you just post links to your 10 favorite ladyboy tug-job clips of the week???

Forgot you grew with the backward arse Amish not knowing that there is a big world out there. https://dictionary.cambridge.org/dictionary/english/todger

So it's Rita you are getting drippy about when you are sprinting around your house with a pink pompom ball shoved halfway up your arseholio with 50 air conditioners blasting in the background set on 10 degrees, while you furiously rough up your sorry excuse for a todger?

I love how he drops the name of a song and, without missing a beat, you’re off to YouTube like a man on a mission, hunting down the link and posting it like the rest of us are helpless, drooling invalids who’ve never used a search bar in our lives. Doesn’t all that frantic YouTube foraging cut into your busy schedule of sprinting around your house stark naked with 50 air conditioners blasting, while you furiously fluff-up your bell-end to the tune of grainy Polaroids of your wife cleaning the kitchen floor in her underwear from half a century ago?

What about for bald dudes who feel too naked without any hair from their head down to the tool shed?

I thought the man in your avatar was fixing all of those swamp problems? What about mangoes? Do you have any good ones? What variety? Can I send my maid and driver to pick them up on his day off?

In my uncle’s region of Upper Uzbarkhstan we have ancient disco-ballad called Need a Woman or At Least a Goat With Strong Balls. It was banned in 1987 for causing too much passion at wedding. Very spicy lyrics, one line goes, ‘She milked the stars and made cheese of destiny.’ Is this the one you mean? We used to dance it with buckets on head and scream into cabbage. Great times.

Wow, fascinating stuff about your mangoes and how long you’ve been lurking around Asia like a ghost with a fruit basket. Genuinely, what would this forum do without yet another nostalgic detour through your decades-old memories and completely unrelated personal history? Your account of the Macau mangoes hanging below your belt really added a rich, almost mythological layer to the topic of rotting fruit. The blend of geopolitics, produce, and testicular imagery was bold. It’s not every day we get a post that reads like both a fruit review and a blatant cry for attention. The thread was about the quality of fruit now, not a memoir of your tropical testicles and how they’ve weathered the tides of Asian history. Most of us have been here long enough to remember when durians were spiky, pineapples weren’t metaphors, and you weren’t in every thread trying to remind us you once ate a mango in 1979. Maybe try actually responding to the topic instead of turning every discussion into an unsolicited tour of your internal monologue and expired travel diary.

Is there any point to any of this?

You got issues. I am not your problem. Go look for something else to hate on. I can't help you feel better. I tried. Write whatever you want. Follow me around like a stalker if that makes you even happier. Whatever you like. I wont reply again.

Swamped with what?

Pointless. OK.

I don’t know what to tell you. You used to seem more balanced. Now you come across as angry and frustrated all the time, just scathing, short-tempered rants, post after post. It’s like you’ve become obsessive about it. And how many a day now? Looks like the politics has got a firm grip on you too. Before, it felt like you had more going on to keep you busy. Is all this angry trolling really working for you? I don't think so. Your attempts at hard little jabs are painless, in case you haven't noticed by the way most people react to you now. Maybe it’s time to look for something else. You can come back with another smug or snide remark to what I am saying if that’s what your fragile ego needs, but I really think you should take a step back and think about what I’m saying. Anyone who's been paying attention can see the pronounced change from where you started to where you are now. You’ve become noticeably more aggressive and condescending, not funny or pleasant to converse with the way you used to be at times. You used to have moments of displaying a clever, light-hearted wit before. That’s all gone now. Nothing left of anything that anybody would want to engage with. It feels like you’ve drifted into a darker space. Is the weed not working for you anymore? Or maybe it’s starting to have the opposite effect. Either way, it might be time to shake up your routine. Any change at all might do you good.

You were more likeable as stoner, but now you are just this big BM, posting obsessed and scathing at every turn. Can you deincarnate? Never liked reincarnations.

Ah, BM again, the artist formerly known as Stoner.

Just shave it all, mates: cock, balls, taint, chest, back, shoulders, arms, neck, ears, nostrils, the whole minging lot. No one wants to turn into the next Susan Harris doppleganger.