Things have changed. Got some stories to tell. But in the meantime Bodi still making a lot of sense.
See you soon.
Things have changed. Got some stories to tell. But in the meantime Bodi still making a lot of sense.
See you soon.
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!
“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!
I’ve just read this and thought the lady has a point. If only all feminists showed such common sense.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.