November 2009 Stupid Girl of the Month

The first ever Stupid Girl of the Month Awards are upon us, my friends. You are required to select between two of the most blockheadedly gina tingly members of the female species my loyal commentariat was able to dredge up. It is a heavy burden you carry, but one that is necessary for the future of the species. I salute all of you.

Our first candidate for November 2009′s SGOTM Award was submitted by sestamibi. She’s a Bronx floozy who fell in love with an adulterating alpha lawyer who chemically disfigured her, carried a flame for him during the near-decade-and-a-half that he rotted in prison, and married him after he got out. The rub: they’ve been together for over thirty years. Put away your ipecac, because this tale is guaranteed to reverse your peristalsis:

When they aren’t swapping insults, shopping for clothes or sharing egg rolls at the local Chinese diner, Burt and Linda Pugach busy themselves reliving for visitors their famously and darkly convoluted love affair, one that began in the late 1950s and continues to evolve to this day.

It is a love-hate relationship, which is moodily tracked in “Crazy Love,” a documentary arriving in movie theaters in New York on Friday. Crazy love is not a condition to be found in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, but the phrase aptly describes the arc of a romance that, off and on, has riveted the public for decades.

“Crazy”?! And there’s your Bullshit Journalistic Objectivity Understatement of the Week!

In the early summer of 1959, Mr. Pugach, who was then 32, began to court Linda Riss, 21, a Bronx-reared dark-eyed beauty in the Liz Taylor mold. Mr. Pugach, a lawyer who was also cock-proud of his small-time success as a filmmaker, wooed Miss Riss with flowers, nights out at the Latin Quarter and flights aboard his single-engine plane.

Awww, what a sweetheart. Pugach sounds like he comes close to the fantasy mix of Lover and Provider that every woman masturbates to on Saturday afternoons. He’s rich, connected, AND he moistens panties? You CAN have your cock and suck it too!

But wait, it gets better:

True, he was married, a matter of small consequence to him but naturally unsettling to Miss Riss.

“Unsettling” to her conscious brain, but Pugach’s tomcatting was part of what drew Miss Riss to him to begin with. Preselection triggers a lady’s downtown waterworks like nothing else. Never forget that women love men who are loved by other women.

Tiring of his promises to divorce his wife, she ended the affair and became engaged to someone else. Mr. Pugach responded by hiring three men to throw lye in her face, leaving her disfigured and all but blind.

Well, at least we know where Daniel Lynch got the idea from. But wait, it gets even better:

The crime and trial were tabloid sensations. But the Pugaches were merely at the end of Act 1. During 14 years in prison, Mr. Pugach nursed a fanatical ardor for Miss Riss, writing her love letters in a florid hand. Eight months after he was paroled in 1974, the couple renewed their courtship, and they were soon married.

Wow. I’ve never felt my sympathy for a victim evaporate so quickly. Remember gals, he burns you because he loves you! And as the alkaline melts your face down to the bone, you WILL know who is the lord of your thighs!

Really, this is all you need to disabuse yourself of the notion of female moral superiority. A girl will let a man do just about anything to her – beat her, cheat on her, blind her in a fit of jealous rage – so long as his masculine presence calls forth sufficient quantities of the lubrication of life. And in fact, several paragraphs later, our heroine confirms that she was thinking with her little head instead of her big one:

In the film Mrs. Pugach confides that after her attack, she “felt like damaged merchandise.” At the time she wished him dead. Years later, however, she felt the stirrings of a change of heart.

“I saw him on television; he never looked so good in his life,” recalled Mrs. Pugach, who still had limited vision at that time. “He used to be a skinny malinky — like those men in the muscle building ads in the magazines. In the can he started to weight lift. His physique was improved. And he looked good on TV.”

Having reached a kind of wary truce with her past, Miss Riss eventually agreed to marry the man who had maimed her. Why? “It’s not that complicated,” she said dryly. “Things get boring after a while. There was nothing terribly exciting in my life at the time.”

You certainly can’t get more exciting then being maimed with a corrosive substance, can ya dearie? And as it turned out, our friend Burt was still the same old sociopath:

Whether from choice or necessity, she remained loyal. During a widely publicized trial in 1997, in which Mr. Pugach defended himself against charges that he had sexually abused another woman and threatened to kill her, Mrs. Pugach took the stand in his defense. He was sentenced to 15 days in jail.

Mrs. Pugach maintains that she regrets none of it.

Oh, I’ll bet you don’t, you stupid slag.

…

November 2009 candidate number two was submitted by Vladimir. It’s the story of an unemployed white trash Limey who’s left a trail of welfare-sucking baby mommas across Old Blighty and is preparing to marry his eighth:

He has fathered seven children by seven women in just seven years and abandoned each and every one. Dressed in a tracksuit, jobless 24-year-old Keith MacDonald is enough to put women off men for life.

Yet, despite his appalling track record, the man dubbed Britain’s worst dad is to marry. And, naturally, the happy couple have already started trying for their first baby.

The binman’s son, who lives on £44 a week income support, has never paid a penny towards the upbringing of his children.

Nor does he see them. Apparently it is ‘too much of a hassle’.

I first heard of Keith MacDonald when In Mala Fide chum Sebastian Flyte wrote him up in August. I’ll let him elaborate on the reasons why this King of All Losers has been able to assemble his own de-facto harem:

Because women don’t care about the sources of male income – think Carmella Soprano or a Saudi Prince – they base their decisions on whether you are still petering around, well-fed enough, and above all are preselected by other women. Paradoxically, a good fitness indicator in the past was the degree of leisure time a man possessed. Men with a lot of free time had a lot going for them – allies, underlings, abundant resources, etc, so they did not have to put much into the bland work-act itself. Basically, wasting time is another example of the handicap principle – “that guy is so goddamn successful he can afford to do nothing with his time”.

If you were expecting women to think logically about the ramifications of shacking up with a welfare bum, fuhgeddaboudit, as MacDonald’s betrothed gushes about the love of her life:

But bride-to-be Clare Bryant, 20, is convinced he has changed and says they plan to have two children together.

‘Some people say he’s a bad dad – and, as he doesn’t see his children, for all I know he might be,’ she said yesterday. ‘But I think he’d be brilliant with our child.’

There are things that can shock even a hardened sailor of the stormy waters of the sexual marketplace such as myself, and this is one of them. The man you’re in love with abandoned not one, not two, not three, but SEVEN women he impregnated with his lumpenprole seed, and you, number eight, think YOU can change him?

They first started dating in March when MacDonald bumped into her at Sunderland bus station and asked her out.

‘He was drunk, but knew what he was doing, so I said ‘yes’,’ she said.

Classy. But what were you expecting from Britain, the perennial cultural backwater of Europe?

Three days later the couple boarded a bus and headed to Middlesborough for their first date.

‘He didn’t have any money after walking out on his trolley-collecting job in January, so I got us lunch from Greggs (the bakers),’ she added.

Being able to bang a girl without spending any cash on her is a mark of good game. Being able to get a girl to spend cash on YOU for the privilege of getting banged is on a whole ‘nother level. Those must have been some real wet panties.

‘He told me he didn’t see any of his kids any more, but I wasn’t bothered.

‘I was more concerned about the drinking or if he might cheat. Keith said he was a new man though, and I thought he deserved a chance.

‘My mum and stepdad told me I was an idiot. They didn’t think he’d change and told me not to let him get me pregnant.

‘After a few months I decided I’d like to have his babies, so there’s no point in using condoms now.’

My God, this is so formulaic it’s depressing. Memo, ladies: your pussy is not made of gold. Your impulse to change bad men into good ones is doomed to failure nine times out of ten.

MacDonald proposed in June after buying a £30 ring she had previously seen in a shop window.

‘He said: ‘So, do you fancy it? I agreed right away,’ added Miss Bryant. ‘I want two or three bridesmaids, and I’d love a honeymoon too.’

£30. Thirty pounds, which at the current exchange rate is $49.56 – less then the price of a brand new video game. And to think there are gainfully employed beta chumpoholics who are plunking down several months’ salary on overpriced shiny rocks mined by malnourished African children. The proles have got one over on the middle-class here.

The couple have since moved in together in a two bedroom council house in Sunderland, Tyne and Wear, and are applying for joint benefits of around £100 a week – leaving the taxpayer to pick up the £60,000 bill for his seven children.

‘I can keep an eye on him now,’ said Miss Bryant, who is also unemployed. ‘We only go out to the pub twice a week, and Keith only has one or two pints.

‘Every morning, I watch a few hours of telly, while Keith surfs the web. Then we go around town, and every now and then pop into the JobCentre, but there’s never anything going.

And this is the way the world ends. Not with a bang, not with a whimper, but with the screaming orgasmic cries of a fattie getting her cervix pulverized by the unwrapped tool of a polyamorous fool. This is dysgenics happening right before our eyes, created by our governments and sanctioned by the popular culture. There are hundreds, thousands of Keith MacDonalds in each and every one of the West’s welfare states, and even more Clare Bryants enabling their shiftlessness and careless breeding. Sebastian has the floor again:

In the past this behavior was impossible. Society would scorn him as a bum, parents would beat him to a pulp, but most importantly, the women who rewarded him with sex would be severely shamed. No more. This is one reason I have a visceral hatred for Leftist political ideology – it combines a thumbs-up to shocking sexual irresponsibility while rewarding such irresponsibility with free money provided by everyone else.

What will this genetic mixing via leftist-enabled polygamy mean for future generations? Eventually the productive classes will be selected out and society will collapse. Simple.

Thanks to the unrestricted ability of women like Clare Bryant to follow their tingling pussies everywhere and anywhere, future generations will be comprised overwhelmingly of the lowest of the low. Kiss your society goodbye.

I’ll let the “sex god on £40 a week” get in some last words:

‘Clare says if I go out with my mates I’ll just get myself into trouble, so I don’t mind staying in with her.’

I’m sure she won’t mind it when you leave her like you left the others.

Tagged as: Burt Pugach, Keith MacDonald, Linda Pugach, Sebastian Flyte