A Boring Dude from a Country Without the Death Penalty

Note: This is a personal essay of my experiences and impressions. I do not intend to name or identify any specific individual, but the text contains potentially offensive language and explicit expressions. Reader discretion is advised.

Guys from a country with no executions — they seem to think manners are optional.

They lick at things they shouldn’t: people’s time, people’s dignity, people’s patience.

If you’re desperate to lick something, go eat pussy.

(Not that your tongue would actually do anything.)

“Didn’t want to be rude, thought I should plan for half a day”?

Please. Your planning sense is stuck at middle-school recess.

Even at a wedding, people know how to host with some grace.

You once boasted, “When I show my collection, you can take whatever you like.”

Big words. But in reality? You can’t even cough up taxi money.

Double talk and empty promises — apparently that’s your national brand.

And the place you wanted to go?

One of those spots that only looks “fun” if you drag a woman along to dress it up.

Newsflash: I’m not your garnish.

In your country you probably know only salt and vinegar — no sweetness, no umami.

So you treat women like condiments rather than people.

You drop words like “dominant” and “imperialist” like you’re some kind of sex god.

Honestly? You reek of bad sex.

Comforted by women’s kindness, thinking you’re better than you are.

More like a limp cock in a cheap crown.

Maybe some Japanese girl with broken English will giggle and call your ignorance “exotic.”

But me? I’m not your Nintendo.

Smash the buttons all you like — nothing lights up. Game over.

Men from a country without the death penalty are boring and rude.

In a place where the line between life and death is erased, rudeness seems not to die either.

Do me a favor: every time a woman hates you, die a little inside.