They’re all out to get you

I read a lot. Always have, always will.

I probably spend the best part of fours hours of my working day trawling through the Manosphere and other blogs. I like the writing. It’s thought provoking although from time to time I wonder if we’re completely fucking paranoid. I mean is there really female privilege? Are feminists really intent on the destruction of masculinity and men?


It’s easy to get sucked in to one train of thought. One side of the argument. You lose perspective. But just cos we might be paranoid doesn’t mean we’re not right.

The fact remains that sexism is rife in mainstream society. And I don’t mean in the traditional sense, I mean in the men hating, masculinity burning flip-side of the equation.

Yahoo News ran a story this weeks on 10 ways he cheats on you without being unfaithful. It’s Yahoo news so it’s a pile of steaming shite but the inference was only men cheat. Even watching porn was considered cheating – we’re all fucked!

To be fair the comment section took the idiot who wrote this to task. There was even some Red Pillism in there which seems to suggest a lot of men are getting sick and tired of the fucking double standards shoved down their throats from birth.

Underlying all of this of course is the rhetoric that women can’t be criticised. That to do so is misogynist and inherently anti-women.


Return of Kings published an excellent piece this week about Dr Warren Farrell experiment with role reversal. It’s a great read and I highly recommend you check it out, but the long and short of it is that women feel very little empathy towards the challenges that men face.

As the author points out, it’s socially acceptable for men to be called creepy, but as soon as a man criticises, or even suggests a form of standards for females, he’s branded a pro-rapist.

Witness the teenage heartthrobs from the show The Vine. They found themselves at the center of a baying mob for daring to suggest they like petite, attractive girls with personality. Listen ladies, these are good looking young guys who can probably get pussy at the click of a finger. Despite feminists rantings against all fucking logic and common sense, they are never going to like rotund, short-hared chicks with a privilege complex through the roof.

And that brings me on to a quote I read over at Sunshine Mary – Just because a man is silent, it doesn’t mean he’s been converted.

This, of course, is what terrifies feminists. The thought that the chap sat next to you might not think that young women slutting it up all night is a rousing vindication of female empowerment. He might just think they’re sluts.

Welcome to the revolution!

All that you can’t leave behind

“Don’t let yourself get attached to anything you are not willing to walk out on in 30 seconds flat if you feel the heat around the corner.”

I posted this on Bodi’s blog in reply to his post ‘Early Retirement’ and had some Blue Pill, white-knighting chump whining that if we all thought this way we’d have never have left the cave.

Obviously still waiting for his oneitis to fill that heart-shaped hole in his soul and give him the validation he so sickeningly yearns for.

But I digress.

Back to the quote – I’m a great believer in this philosophy. Even before I’d snorted the Red Pill I was always aware that possessions and affections slowed you down.

As Tyler Durden says, “The things you own, end up owning you.”

I own very little, and nothing I couldn’t jettison in 30 seconds if the heat was on.

It’s an approach that has proved useful. I’ve bailed on two long-term relationships in a matter of minutes. The first when the crazy bitch had gone on holiday and the second when I was holed up in Hong Kong, nursing a bad case of oneitis.

In both instances I was able to pack a couple of bags and get out of Dodge. In Hong Kong I packed a backpack and flew to Jakarta. I was sipping beers on Jalan Jaksa before I’d had time to think what the fuck just went on.

The point being you are not a homemaker. It is not your job to make sure the nest is properly fluffed. You are the hunter; the gatherer. It’s your job to kill the beasts that offer threat. Is it my fault that sabre-toothed tigers no longer roam the wilds of Wandsworth Common? I think not.

I even point this out to chicks when they comment on my spartan living arrangements. They fucking dig it.


Having said that there is no excuse for not being clean. Girls will forgive many things, but if your lying in a puddle of your own filth you can forget about fucking.

So put the Ikea catalogue down, grab a shower and go and do what you were put on this earth for: Hunt!

The Heart of Darkness

So it’s not been a bad week. Two lays and two make outs. Probably could have got the hat-trick but I was tired and didn’t push it. Three were re-runs and one a new lead from work. So not bad. Scrap that. By beta standards it’s spectacular. This what the Game is about. So as the journo asked George Best: Where did it all go wrong?

Well as any PUA will tell you sometimes it all just comes together. Who knows why. Maybe the stars have aligned. Maybe the Pussy Gods have smiled in your direction. What I do know though is pussy ain’t free. It takes work and last week was the culmination of a year of graft. Week in, week out, trying new leads, getting shot down, but slowly building the empire.

In addition, my frame has completely changed. OK I’m still prone to the odd bout of oneitis as the last post showed, but with new leads I’m perfecting the charming asshole role. Think Hank Moody in Californication. In fact, don’t think, be Hank Moody in Californication. That’s what I do. If I’m stuck, what would Hank do. Even if I bomb, it’s a blast because I amuse myself. And that is the kicker.

Because get this guys, women will do everything in their power to fuck things up. Both Bodi and Krauser have hit on this in recent posts. Bodi tells a story how one girl wouldn’t fuck him because it meant he’d be winning, not her. He rightly says this is a tragic fucking attitude. Women today are emotional children. They will self sabotage the fuck out of themselves. So what’s the answer? Simple: Don’t give a fuck. Next em, and next em quick.

I like the Game. I like women. I like the chase. But as soon as that girl starts fucking around, then she’s gone. What’s the point? If she wants to not get fucked then fuck her.

Of course, it’s not always that simple. We’re guys. We care. We want to be loved, but the simple fact is no girl is ever going to fill that gaping fucking hole in your soul. They’re just not that good and this is not fucking Disney.

That idealism. It’s fucking with you. More importantly it’s fucking with your game.  I think it was Roosh who said that in his Beta days he would instantly fantasise a life for him and his new oneitis. I used to do the same. Fuck, did I do the same. Now all I’m thinking is when do I get the pussy. And guess who gets the pussy?

Of course, feminists and white knights would argue this makes us sociopaths. That a REAL MAN would never behave this way. But how far is this from our true natures? We were born to fight and we were born to fuck. Fight meant we didn’t go hungry. Fuck meant our legacy continued. Of course, society has constrained those instincts but if you look into the heart of any man – even the most betarised chump you can find – there’s a fucking darkness simmering away. A quest for domination.


Feminists have sought to extinguish that desire. Being male is everything that’s wrong with this world. We’re rapists or chumps. But why is it that even strong, independent women go weak at the knees when an Alpha looks them straight in the eye and tells them, unapologetically, he wants to fuck em. You can twist society all you want. Mother Nature’s not so easy.

Not that feminists haven’t been successful (Just read this entitled shite). The majority of men have been feminised since birth. Better men than me have written about this – just look up Rollo – and we all know the results. A generation of men, afraid of their masculinity. You kick a dog long enough and he gets used to it. But there is another way. The way of Game.

I’m not perfect. Fuck I get blown out. My game is sloppy and I still have approach anxiety but I’m getting there. It’s not fucking easy. In fact it might be the hardest thing you ever do, but it’s worth it. It’s worth it for the feeling you get when you look a girl in the eye and tell her you want to fuck her.

It feels like being a Man.

And gentlemen that is what we were put on this fucking rock to be.

Viva La Manosphere!

P.S. The views have been blowing up of late from all around the world. It’s good to know that word is getting out and that people enjoy what I’m writing. Have a great Christmas gentlemen.

Oneitis is a bitch

It’s been too long. I know, I know. I’m lazy.

I’ve also been on two holidays recently and while I would have loved to have been hammering away at a keyboard day in day out, drinking White Russians on a tropical beach kind of took precedent.

It was a strange three weeks. Thailand again. I’ve been so many times, I’m a fucking walking Lonely Planet.

tropical-beach-wallpaper-1191I wonder if it’s just the nostalgia that takes me back now. Koh San Road and Soi Cowboy. Good times, but the darkness is back.

She tried to befriend me on Facebook before I went away. Two years and hardly a peep and there she was – staring out of my laptop like a fucking beautiful car crash.

I’ve got to admit the adrenalin hit of seeing that name was electric. Two years since I walked away and took the Red Pill. You think you’re over it. Think that if you met again you’d have the upper hand but fuck, those oneitis demons never let you go.

I emailed back.I didn’t want to befriend her. Didn’t want to see her perfect life on my feed everyday. I told myself I could just ping off an email and it wouldn’t look like sour grapes. Good plan but she bamboozled me when she asked to meet.

Wouldn’t it be great? Hadn’t it been so long? How was I? Fuck, fuck, fuck. I didn’t want to. I really didn’t but then again that body, that attitude. I didn’t. I made some bullshit excuse that I had to go to Tokyo. She knew it was bullshit, but what were we going to do. Sit across a table and talk about how my life had gone off the fucking rails thanks to her.


I know it was the right decision. People who’ve never been in my position and are so fucking smug in their relationships tell me so. But when that hour hand creeps round and the night seems like it will never fucking end, those rusty razor blades drag across my emotions. In the end I think I suffer from depression. It wouldn’t surprise me. My mum was sectioned and I often feel I’ve run out of steam.

It probably didn’t help that before I went away I decided to knock all my leads on the head. To be fair one girl I was regularly fucking went back to her ex, but I decided to ditch the other two. I’m not sure why. Maybe I was bored. Maybe I wanted a new challenge. I feel a bit bad for the girls. I’ve pulled the chute and they don’t really know why. But hey, one of their sisters pulled the plug on my fucking Nice Guy TM act a long time ago. It’s payback with a smile.

And so I’m back in that dark place. Not quite so brutal, but when she lands on Saturday I know I’ll be thinking about what she’s doing. Think of that epic fucking session on that tropical beach. Jesus, now that was a holiday.

On the plus side Bodi sent me a message warning me off hookers. Don’t worry brother I had the chance in Thailand – boy did I have the chance – but I still want to earn my pussy. And Bojangles, another guy I read, has been in contact. It’s good to hear from these guys. You want to hear about the successes.

So as dark as it is inside my fucking head right now, someone is shining a light. I’ve just got to head towards it.

Some Men Just Want To See The World Burn


Hey, I’m back after a not so enforced sojourn. I was actually in Egypt taking it easy and enjoying the fact that civil wars tend to fuck over the tourism industry – benefit? Beach to yourself.

I actually had some great ideas for blogs when I was away but never got round to writing them. As such I thought I’d just randomly type and see what lands on the page. Fuck, it worked for James Joyce.

So Lou Reed’s dead. Bit of a bummer. I mean the guy was a bit of a cunt and 71, but you like to think he’s around. Then again you can’t say he didn’t live his life. That’s what I admire about true cultural icons. They really can look back when the delirium tremors have set in for one last time and think ‘I had an impact’. I mean how many of us can say that.

I used to think the same about travel. I mean I’ve been a fuck load of places in my 38 years – met some great people, seen some great things. But you know what? POF has fucking ruined it for me. Every fucker has been around the world. It’s practically fucking required if you want to get a job as a corporate drone. Fuck! If I read another dating profile that says ‘I love to travel’ I’m going to buy a crossbow and go medieval at a Women’s Institute meeting.

It truly is depressing how fucking similar everybody is. I’m not excusing myself here. All I want to do these days is go to the pub and watch sport. I love it. Love the bar; love the atmosphere. I even go on my own and read Manosphere blogs. It’s fucking pathetic, but nothing else appeals.

This is where I have issue with the Manosphere’s mantra of self improvement. I mean I agree with it in principle, but it’s fucking exhausting. A pint and an pack of pork scratchings is fucking easier. OK. I might not attract a nine but sometimes I wonder if it’s all worth it. I mean the majority of women I meet bore the fucking shit out of me. It’s not their fault. They’ve never had to be interesting. I get it. Vagina=no fucking conversational ability. It’s ok. I don’t really want to discuss burning issues with you. The problem is you won’t let me fuck you without some semblance of a social interaction. So we go out and I pretend I’m fucking interested in whatever shit you’ve got to say, when all I’m thinking about is when can I fuck you. It’s terrible I know. i objectify you, it’s true. I don’t respect you, right? What can I say. I’m a bloke, we’re programmed to fuck anything female with a hole. Still, I’m sick at my complicity in this fucking delusion. My bend over backwards, nod, nod, ingratiating smile, sickens the living fuck out of me. Hey, we’re both fucking morons.


On the flip side I’ve got quite a few leads at the moment. In fact as the Game masters testify, you do a hell of a lot better with women when you don’t give a flying fuck. And I really don’t anymore. I sometimes think it’s a shame that I’ve lost that wide eyed innocence. I don’t think of long walks in a leafy glade and what our song could be. I just wonder when I can fuck you. It’s depressing. I know women can’t fill the gaping hole in my fucking soul, but at least as a Beta I could dream. But would I go back?

Anyway that brings me to another earth shattering revelation. I love women in short skirts and black tights. Jesus, I just look at them and wonder what it would be like to bury my head in that crotch and inhale. Is that fucking normal? Like most guys, I thought the urge to fuck everything might subside as I got older. The truth is I’d still nail almost anything with a hole. Put a short skirt and tights on her and I’d probably self harm to fuck it. It’s more than an urge; It’s a fucking all-consuming desire to put my dick into every new vagina I see – or don’t, more likely.

And this is why I can never understand married men. I mean why the fuck would you want to give up the chance of nailing new pussy? It’s putting you’re dick in a fucking cage. I can’t do it. Fuck I’m usually bored after fucking a girl three times. Very few keep me interested beyond that. I don’t believe any can. I think it’s a fucking myth and the ones who say they can are usually the most fucking disappointing.

Anyway Bodi posted two new posts about his adventures in Prague. I’d love to meet that guy. He’s a fucking hero. I like Krauser but Bodi is the best. There’s something unbelievably human about his writing. Check him out.

Of course, for all the good stuff out there, there’s also no manner of shite. Now I didn’t want to turn this blog into another feminist shooting board, but sites like Roosh and Me are really the fucking limit. God this fucking idiot is so right on, it’s sickening. Look have you ever considered men like being men. That some of us are quite happy acting this way. That we are in fact just blokes and that means fucking dominating. Fuck Roosh and Me.

Anyway that’s enough. I’ll read back through this for typos but I’ve quite enjoyed the freedom of writing like this. Who knows one day I might make a fucking point.


To whore or not to whore…..

I’ve fucked two whores in my life. One in Amsterdam and t’other in the Philippines. It was pretty good. Not great, not bad. I probably preferred the Filipina – mainly because we’d been hanging out getting drunk before we retired to my single bed for me to beast her. Having said that the Pole gave me the best fucking blow job I’ve ever had. Through a fucking rubber no less. It put the hamfisted effort of your average girl – who will treat a cock with all the tenderness of a demented monkey – to fucking shame. Hey they’re professionals for a reason right?

Paying for sex is really not a topic covered by the Manosphere. Ok that maniac at Delicious Tacos is scraping the barrel in Tijuana but most PUAs dismiss it outright. I admire their purity. Their clarion call is that pussy bought is pussy lite. Fair point. No complaints here. However, for those of us who have dipped our pecker in a paid-for slot, I think there’s a worthy argument:

Sometimes guys just want to fuck.

Crazy I know. Some might say revolutionary. But still true. Now we all know if a girl wants to get laid it’s not really a big deal. Skimpy top, short skirt and a lack of morals, and she’s going to be enjoying the delights of new a cock every night. I accept for beasts that probably isn’t the case, but boo fucking hoo – lay off the Haribo. For guys getting pussy is a pain in the fucking arse.


I can count on one fucking hand the amount of easy lays I’ve had. One. One where I had to do very little. Where the girl saw me, asked my mate if I was up for it and then dragged me off into the bushes. One fucking time out of a N count reaching the 50s. If I was to rely on that sort of luck I’d still be living in my parent’s basement, jacking off and writing a blog about getting laid (hey wait a minute).

The fact is that most of my lays have come through sheer hard work and old-fashioned persistence. Even if a girl wants to fuck, she’s not going to do a lot about it. It’s down to the guy to lead the interaction, ignore her fucking shit tests, listen to her drivel and when she’s willing to follow, make sure you’ve got the fucking logistics right to seal the deal. That’s the easy lay. What about the tough ones? Those girls who want to fuck but put up every damn hurdle imaginable? The so-called ‘we’re not having sex tonight’ brigade. Yeah fucking right sweetheart. It just happened right? As Jack says – take away reason and responsibility and you’ve got a woman.

So baring in mind the fucking shite you have to wade through just to get your dick wet, is it any surprise some guys slap down their money to go hell for leather. The simple truth is sometimes we can’t be arsed listening to the mind-numbing drivel that comes out of the average woman’s mouth.  I don’t care about your fucking job as a corporate fucking drone. I really couldn’t give a fuck about your spinning class. Your best mate is probably a fucking moron although I’d fuck her if she’d just shut her gob for a moment. And as for your leftist/feminist politics – go fuck yourself.

At the end of the day it’s just sometimes easier to pony up.

Still, as men we’re driven to go through the pantomime. Most guys I know use hookers, but rightly consider pussy earned  a greater prize. That’s why we write these blogs; read these forums and spend hundreds of hours in the field. When you think  about it ‘the effort to pussy ratio’ really doesn’t make any sense when you can just buy it on the corner.

And they say women are fucking crazy.

Riding the Siberian tiger

Channeling the spirit of Bodi and Krauser I’d thought I’d share some text Game with my loyal readers.

This girl I found on the world wide web. Russian and a definite 8. Now this isn’t perfect by any stretch of the imagination. At times I’m so sloppy and there’s stuff here that you just couldn’t get away with a native English speaker. However, I think at times it shows what you can achieve with a little Game. How you can frame the conversation and get girls qualifying to you.

And in the end the proof is in the pudding. As the girl says – talking to you is no boring. God I love chicks with bad English.

siberian tiger 77

Sysiphus: A tiger? Are you fierce?

Sysiphus: I’m fine as long as you don’t have claws.

Tiger: Im tiger-lovely and tender..but can show my cute claws if it is required

Sysiphus: That sounds interesting. Not sure too many tigers are tender. I like your picture on the water. Where’s that?

Tiger: Its Davon,thanks)

Sysiphus: Cool. Where are you from?

Sysiphus: Do they have tigers there

Tiger: from Russia.And u?

Sysiphus: I’m from England. I think they have Siberian Tigers?

Sysiphus: Where in Russia?

Tiger: siberia)

Sysiphus: Ha Ha I was right

Sysiphus: What are Siberian girls like?

Tiger : yes u re was right

Tiger: we like freedom

Sysiphus: I’m good a guessing things about people.

Sysiphus: Really? Freedom to do what

Tiger: o realy?ist intuition?

Tiger: everything

Sysiphus: Yes very good intuition.

Tiger: ok)

Sysiphus: I think you’re down to earth but can be crazy And you like to experience new cultures.

Tiger: ur intuition is very bad

Sysiphus: ha ha. Why?

Tiger: I dont know.ask yurself

Tiger: Im not down to earth,but can be crazy plus I like new cultures,but not everything)

Sysiphus: Ok so two out of three. I’m warming up. English culture?

Tiger : english yes,perhaps)

Sysiphus: English guys?

Tiger: as everything of english yes,perhaps)

Sysiphus: But maybe I should be careful if you’re crazy

Tiger: should be?

Sysiphus: Well you might try and attack me with your claws Good job i’m adventurous.

Tiger: Im the noble representative of tigers family and my claws just for extrimaly situation

Sysiphus: Ha ha. Well I’ll just have to believe, but keep an eye on you in case its an extreme situation

Sysiphus: Where do you live?

Sysiphus: If it’s near I think I might take you for a drink

Tiger: where do u live then?

Sysiphus: I live in (deleted). It’s great.

Tiger: Nice area

Tiger: what do u do for life?

Sysiphus: I’m a journalist and writer.

Sysiphus: I like it. I get to travel and do cool stuff.

Sysiphus: You?

Tiger: mm,interesting.writer of what?

Sysiphus:I write for my day job and write freelance sport stories for a newspaper.

Tiger: Im cook

Sysiphus: Cool. What do you cook?

Tiger: everything

Sysiphus: Cool. I think I could come round and you could cook me a Siberian specialty What would it be?

Tiger: damplings and pie with meet or fish

Sysiphus: I like it. Ok I’m going to hire you to be my own specialist cook.

Sysiphus: 5 holiday days a year and Christmas off. how does that sound?

Tiger: if u write a best reviews about me for best magazins or new papers

Sysiphus: It’s a deal. So where can I try this food. What restaurant?

Tiger: its in moscow now

Tiger: but soon in london u can try

Sysiphus: Cool. You must get me on the guest list. I’ll say I know the crazy chef.

Tiger: cool

Sysiphus: Do you like Thai food

Tiger: yes I like

Tiger: I like spicy food

Sysiphus: Cool. I can only go out with girls who like Thai. It’s my favourite.

Tiger: hahah

Tiger: why?

Sysiphus: Because otherwise they will go hungry

Tiger: what about italian or french food?

Sysiphus: I like Italian but I don’t like French people

Sysiphus: ha ha

Sysiphus: Whats your favourite?

Tige: realy?why??

Tiger: why u like italian?

Sysiphus: English and French don’t get on.

Sysiphus: Italian is tasty. Women are crazy though.

Tiger: ok,like italian temperament?

Sysiphus: Yeah. I think maybe more than Siberian cook

Tiger : ok bye

(I focussed too much on the craziness and nearly lost it here)

Sysiphus: Ha ha

Sysiphus: Bye, And you never told me where you lived.

Tiger: not far from u

Sysiphus: Cool. I think we go out for drinks and Thai. I know a great place.

Tiger: what about siberian and italian temperament then?)

Sysiphus: Oh I like crazy. Believe me

Tiger: wow

Sysiphus: ha ha everybody has different tastes.

Sysiphus: Do u like a challenge?

Tiger: exactly)

Sysiphus: It makes for good times

Sysiphus: So when are you free?

Tiger: challenge?no.and dont like when people like this)

Sysiphus: But you like adventure?

Tiger : be honest in dictionary we have “challenge” in differents mind,Im no sure what did u mean

Tiger: ah adventure)

Sysiphus: yes adventure. I think you like adventure.

Tiger: I like be safe

Sysiphus: Really?

Tiger: yes

Sysiphus: So no meeting new and interesting people?

Tiger: : u mean dangerous adventures?

Sysiphus: like bungee jumps and skydives

Tiger: safe dont mean that i dont like new or meet interesting people or experience

Tiger: Im not so brave for that(

Sysiphus: ha ha I’ve done both. Crazy times.

Tiger: but sound very nice

Tiger: I think it s more men’s prerogative

Sysiphus: Maybe. To prove we are brave

Tiger: women are more tender)

Sysiphus: Yes. I like that.

Tiger: probably need be more tender and safe

Sysiphus: I like tender girls who have claws sometimes

Tiger: ha,be careful)

Sysiphus: Why i’m adventurous and brave ha ha

Tiger: man

Sysiphus: yep

Sysiphus: So i need a girl to be different

Sysiphus: then there is balance

Tiger: balance balance

Tiger: good..

Tiger: well,good night)

Sysiphus: yes I think you need a strong man to keep you safe

Sysiphus: night Tiger girl

Tiger: was no boring with u

Ok I’ll end it there. As I said not perfect but the girl wants to chat again and I told her I would take her out. So we’ll see. Even if nothing comes of it I still enjoyed this exchange.  And it’s good to see what you can get away with.

On a learning note I probably needed to get more sexual. I had it with the ‘I like girls with claws’ comment but I should have followed that up. Still this girl wasn’t giving a lot away so I’m not beating myself up too much.

Here there be monsters

There’s a girl. I fucked her years ago. I was 30, she was 20. Ever since that night in Argentina we’ve pretended to be friends. She was shit in the sack but I’d have another go if the opportunity arose. She knows this and takes it as proof I want a relationship. I don’t but I’m pissed she has this view. Pissed that her ego is through the fucking roof.

This is the result of a society that dishes out validation to at the touch of a button. Feeling a bit down? No problem. Take a selfie and post it on Facebook. Watch the legion of adoring betas castrate themselves to get her attention. One hundred and nineteen likes. One hundred and fucking nineteen likes – that’s what her last picture got. It was cute but to read the comments you’d have though she was the fucking reincarnation of Audrey Hepburn.  Ego boost achieved. All is right in the fucking world.


So we now have a situation where moderately cute looking girls are walking around like fucking tens. Couple that with a women’s inability to foster any kind of self awareness and you’ve got a recipe for disaster. Hoards of hungry betas scavenging the wastelands while women spend the best years of their life riding the cock carousel. But the party has to end. The hangover’s in the post and boy is it a fucking beauty. Monstrous self delusion is shattered by the Wall and even the once thirsty betas might be tempted to pass on the cold remains.

She’s 27 now my friend. She told me the other day she feels young. She’s also dating a younger guy and don’t you know it’s just fabulous darling. Well great. I’m glad. You just go grrrllll! Jagers all fucking round. But just remember your ovaries don’t give a shit. They don’t care how young you feel. Nope. They’re churning away on a primitive timetable that even the feminists can’t change. So enjoy the party, enjoy the ride. Just remember to book a taxi.

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