How can this be explained?

How can this be explained?

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elitedaily.com/dating/why-negging-needs-to-stop/1666301/
twitter.com/SFWRedditVideos

Diego Maradona has a huge dick

manlets will always have to settle

She's average at best, am I missing something here?

The public virtue signal reasoning: Blah blah blah inside that counts
Actual reason: Tina Fey has to be a boss bitch in every single facet of her life

She must be really funny.

Jews

just be urself lol

yes

he eats pussy better than any of us

He negged her hard when they first met and first impressions last. I negged a girl who is out my league and we're going out now, I'm gonna have to marry her cause she's wife tier and they don't come around often.

I eat pussy really well though.

surely he's just her merkin.

Is he the based pusy poster?

...

She lost her virginity to him.

I bet they're into sizeplay.

College sweethearts. She didn't get hot till she was 26.

All of this according to her memoir.

Dude gambled and won big time

she had bfs in HS, so she probably sucked cocks and tried vaginal bacj then

>She's average at best, am I missing something here?
About 100 IQ points you dumb yard ape

imagine getting this reaction everytime someone finds out she's his wife, poor little fella.

btw I dreamed that I was fucking Fey when she was not hor

Can someone find the page in the PDF of bossypants that describes him negging her? Im 99% I didnt imagine it but I cant find my PDF

No she was ugly as fuck in highschool.

...

he overcompensated and got a girlfriend above his league

hmmmm is there really something to this "negging"

now that i think about it when i met my gf i was apparently a drunken cunt

she might've been still too traumatized to have sex at the time, from getting her face slashed as a kid.

I guess that would leave me with a 120 IQ then.

>negging
I di not know this term. THere is even articles about this
elitedaily.com/dating/why-negging-needs-to-stop/1666301/

Translated in non bitter terms: He won

Every man wins who gets a girl better than him to be loyal to him and breed his children and raise them well. FACT.

This. If you've ever deflowered a bitch you know that pussy will always belong to you

There's no way that story is true.

Move the decimal place once to the left and you're right.

ew.

jesus fucking christ

When I met my gf who is out of my league she was running some college thing and I had to sign up for cheap entry into college things. Basically verbatim

>Hi I'm girlname
>Hi, why are you guys doing this?
>I'm the president of collegething
>Yeah? I never voted for you

she stared at me in silence and as I stared back at her I fucking loved that bitches face

after that I asked her out and she was super eager. more eager than any girl id ever asked out.

That nigga legit fucks her pusy raw

Nice blog, redditard.

She really turned things around.

you cant neg me faggot

I'm a manlet and this unsettles me

I will never get married anyway, fuck your shitty living

The only negging you've ever done is to yourself after you lose in your le vidya you dumb manchild.

All real men choose loving and caring women below their league. If you choose your wife with your dick you will have a horrible life and become a philosopher

This is a fact

I just searched ''negging'' and the word is not here.

>He won
He actually lost, as he is a manlet

yeah she doesnt use the word negging she describes the story somewhere and im sure he was a dick towards her then asked her out

maybe i saw her talk about it in an interview

The woman doesn't have to be below your league but the woman should love you more than you love her, that's the way to a succesful relationship.

We're all gonna make it, lads.

>ywn be one of the producers or whatever who is always in the background of these photos

literally living the life. all the money and bumping shoulders with none of the fame intruding on your privacy.

imagine that little manlet making love to tina fey.

just imagine it.

>taking advice from a person who thinks/writes this

i sure hope you girls aren't doing this

like she said in 30 rock, se dislike men who pee in jars

...

B-bottle doesn't count as a jar, right?

im starting to think she tells the story of her husband negging her on inside the actors studio

he's a multi-millionaire composer

...

The mineralismo is coming

12) The Most Important Rule of Beauty
If you retain nothing else, always remember the most important Rule of Beauty. “Who cares?”
Remembrances of Being Very Very Skinny
For a brief time at the turn of the century, I was very skinny. This is what I remember about that
period.
I was cold all the time.
I had a pair of size-four corduroy short shorts. That I wore. To work. In the middle of Manhattan.
I loved it when people told me I was getting too thin.

I once took a bag of sliced red peppers to the beach as a snack.
I regularly ate health food cookies so disgusting that when I enthusiastically gave one to Rachel
Dratch she drew a picture of a rabbit and broke the cookie into a trail of tiny pieces coming out of the
rabbit’s butt.
Men I had met before suddenly paid attention to me… and I hated them for it.
Sometimes I had to sleep with a pillow between my legs because my bony knees clanking
together kept me awake.
I had a lot of time on my hands because I wasn’t constantly eating.
I ran three miles a day on a treadmill six days a week.
I felt wonderfully superior to everyone.
I didn’t have a kid yet.
We should leave people alone about their weight. Being skinny for a while (provided you
actually eat food and don’t take pills or smoke to get there) is a perfectly fine pastime. Everyone should
try it once, like a super-short haircut or dating a white guy.

iirc he was with her when he had a bigger career than she did

Remembrances of Being a Little Bit Fat
For a brief time at the end of that last century I was overweight. This is what I remember about
that period.
My boobs were bigger.
I once left a restaurant in the middle of dessert to get to Krispy Kreme before it closed.
Even though I only liked McDonald’s fries, I believed it was more nutritious to make a meal of it
and have two cheeseburgers as well.
If I was really ambitious, I would get a Whopper Jr. at Burger King and then walk to McDonald’s
to get the fries. The shake could be from anywhere.
I could not run a mile.
I wore oversize men’s overalls that I loved.
Guys who were friends with me did not want to date me… and I hated them for it.
On at least three occasions, I vomited on Christmas Eve from mixing chocolate, peel-and-eat
shrimp, summer sausage, and cheese. No alcohol was involved.

As a size twelve, I took pride in the idea that I was “real woman”–sized. “Size twelve is the
national average,” I would boast, “no matter what magazines try to tell you.”
Once, while ironing in my underwear, I grazed my protruding belly with the hot iron.
We should leave people alone about their weight. Being chubby for a while (provided you don’t
give yourself diabetes) is a natural phase of life and nothing to be ashamed of. Like puberty or slowly
turning into a Republican.
A

My Honeymoon, or A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again Either *
My husband doesn’t like to fly. He does fly now because he doesn’t want our daughter to grow
up thinking he is a Don Knotts character. But when we were first married, he didn’t fly.
I made him fly once before we were married because he was offered a free trip to Vienna,
Austria, to direct a sketch comedy show for an English-language theater. If you know anything about
Vienna, you know that they love Chicago-style sketch comedy! *
Anyway, not knowing then the depth of his fear, I bullied him into taking the free trip to Austria,
assuring him that I would be with him all the way and talk him through the flight. To get to Vienna from
Chicago, you fly to Zurich, drop through the bumpy air pockets around the Alps, land, and then take off
again. This is the worst thing for fearful flyers because they all cling to that same fact nugget like
Rainman: “Most planes crash during takeoff and landing!” We were doing twice as much taking off and
landing as he had agreed to. This was unacceptable. He was miserable the entire week we were there,
distracted by worry about the trip home.
I swore I would never make him fly again.
Just years later, we get married. Marriage leads to a honeymoon, which traditionally involves
travel.
For our honeymoon, we book a cruise to Bermuda because the ship leaves from New York. (We
don’t have to fly to Miami to get on it.) We board the ship from a giant hangar on the West Side of
Manhattan. There are guys playing steel drums and handing you drinks. They don’t ask if you are a
recovering alcoholic or if you are on any medications that might interact negatively with alcohol. This is
maritime law! You get a drink without asking. After a brief “muster drill” where no one pays attention to
where their lifeboat station is, the fun begins. And the first few days are pretty fun.
We have a little room with a balcony. The couple next door has a balcony about ten inches
away.

If you piss in a container and keep it you are a white nigger.

They don’t introduce themselves, but they are comically drunk most of the time and the wife
wears a spangly American-flag bikini, leading me to believe she is a retired stripper.
There’s a pool, kind of. It’s more like a big sloshing kiddie pool, and if you get in it, you feel like
you are taking a bath with strangers.
There are some wonderful Filipinos who fold your towels in the shape of a different animal
every night. It might be an elephant wearing your sunglasses, or a duck wearing your sunglasses. It’s just
fun. Don’t overthink it.
There are fun activities hosted by our cruise director, who calls himself “Dan Dan the Party
Man.” He has recently replaced the previous cruise director, “Pete Pete the Party Meat,” who replaced
“Guy Guy the Funtimes Person,” who had recently died of autoerotic asphyxiation. No, that part’s not
true! That’s a joke-lie. I’m not going to lie to you in this story because I want you to know that the rest of
it is true.
Dan Dan the Party Man leads poolside games that include: People pretending to be horses in a
steeple chase. A dance contest. Something with beach balls.
At mealtimes we sit at an assigned table. The other two couples at our table are middle-aged
in-laws from the Delaware Water Gap. Richard and Barbra, Betty and Bernie. We talk about dog breeds
and fishing; my knowledge of both topics is equal. We agree that the ship’s food is as good as any
restaurant in New York (between 48th and 50th Street on Seventh Avenue). Betty and Bernie say they
wanted to take this trip as a do-over of their honeymoon. Apparently, they had honeymooned in
Bermuda thirty-five years ago and the whole trip had been a disaster because Betty broke her arm
falling off a scooter. “Never rent a scooter in Bermuda,” Bernie says. Betty overlaps him, “They always
tell you on these cruises, don’t rent a scooter when you get to Bermuda. You’re not used to it. You’ll
have an accident. But people don’t listen.” We all agree; people just don’t listen.

While our little six-top gets along fine, we are all silently jealous of nearby table twenty, a mix of
young couples and stray gays who are hitting it off big-time. Every lull in our discussion of “German
shepherds we have known” is filled with a boisterous drunken laugh from table twenty.
It is worth noting that at this time, I had been doing Weekend Update on Saturday Night Live for
two full seasons. I am not recognized by anyone. Well, I am recognized by the guy who refills the
soft-serve ice cream machine by the pool, but not for being on TV, just for lingering. For O! The desserts!
Rows and rows of pastries laid out cafeteria-style. Some of them are unidentifiable squares of pink stuff.
I think we called it junket back in the seventies. They don’t taste good; but like a schoolboy at his first
coed dance, I am drawn not so much by their beauty as by their unlimited quantities.
On day three I am very excited to attend one of our special excursions for which you pay extra.
We are going to get off the boat early in the morning in Bermuda, where we will be given bicycles. We
will ride our bikes around the island with a guide to a special secluded beach where we can swim and
have rum swizzles and then we will be taken back to the ship by a party boat. Sounds pretty good, right?
That’s what I thought, too. I wouldn’t shut up about it. For weeks before we left I bragged about how I
had chosen the best excursion. It was fun and fitness combined! It was a great way to see the island! My
husband and I wait at the designated pickup point at 8:30 A.M. No one else shows up. A quick check of
our itinerary reveals the heartbreaking truth. The bike trip was yesterday. In my excitement, I
memorized it wrong. I cry. I cry like a three year old who just wants to take her toy cash register into the
bathtub. I cry in a way that reveals that I’m not finding the rest of the cruise that fun.

This is definitely the low point of the trip, until the fire. Oh yes, there’s a ship fire coming in this
story. Wait for it.
Once my fitness-and-fun dreams are dashed, I start to lean hard into the food. Soft serve, hot
dog time at the pool, a nightly aperitif called the Chocolate Mudslide, which is basically a twenty-ounce
chocolate shake with a thimble of Bailey’s in it.
The last night of the cruise is formal night. My husband, who for legal reasons I will call Barry, is
wearing a suit that he had custom-made for him by a Portuguese tailor in Pennsylvania. I am wearing a
dress that was foisted on me by some aggressive Russian salespeople on the Upper West Side of
Manhattan. Needless to say, we are feeling very continental. Photographers come to the tables and take
formal photos of us all, as well as novelty photos of us being menaced tableside by a woman dressed as
a pirate. During dinner there is a passenger talent show. And sure enough, the little gay from table
twenty does a tap dance, cheered on by his new best friends. Those assholes.
After dinner we settle into the ship’s thousand-seat theater to enjoy the eleven P.M.
performance of Fiesta Caliente. The house is packed for this musical dance celebration of Latin pop
music. One of the dancers is “warming up” on stage as part of the preshow, a theatrical convention that
my husband and I can appreciate because we’re from New York and know about things. My Chocolate
Mudslide is going down smooth when we hear the three bells. Bing. Bing. Bing. But instead of Dan Dan
the Party Man, it’s a woman’s voice and she’s breathing heavily. She sounds Filipina, if that’s even a
thing. “Bravo… Bravo… Bravo,” she pants. “Main engine. Starboard side. Bravo… Bravo… Bravo.” We
hear the speaker shut off. People look around a little nervously. The dancer warming up on stage makes
a beeline for backstage. Within seconds the three bells are back. ”

That has to be a fake name. It's like her mom didn't say it aloud before giving it to her. It's a cartoonish name. Too many l's

god DAMN she writes like an asshole.

id let her dominate me tbqh

He went after her friend, while ignoring her. She couldn't stand it so she went for him. Oh and he cheated on her recently, but she's still with him. My point is: he kept ignoring her and degrading her self-value with his actions and she wanting to somehow prove she was better kept going after him and staying with him.

>manually released my buttcheeks

he bagged her when she was fat and ugly and broke

it's the wife equivalent of buying amazon stock back in the late 90s

>Charlize Theron

No thanks, that bitch is one of those retards who keeps on adopting kids from Africa. And yeah, I know she's from SA, but it's still fucking retarded when you adopt black kids when you're not even black yourself.

most SA whites are redpilled as fuck

shes not retarded with blacks cause of SA but because of Hollyweird

...

has that worked for you?

He's not bad looking, but he does look like a child, so..

this reminds me of her love for the midget in 30 rock

Not as bad but still

He looks like Louis CK

Hah

Rekt

True. It still seems like the girls that were virgins in high school or college are still kind of clingy. Most of the time they would pop back up at certain points and try to get back together.

smugness would be my reaction after a while of it

this guy gets it.
when he met her back in the 90s she was fat and looked like someone frome a reubens painting.