Who Am I?

No, I’m not having an existential crisis. Instead, I thought I’d share a little bit of my journey; how I became the man I am today. I won’t give you my entire life story, but when you read someone’s work, it can be helpful to know some of the pivotal points that led to his perspective. So, let’s go on a ride together…

I was awkward in high school. I couldn’t dress well, and didn’t care. I had terrible acne and grew my hair long so it would cover my face and nobody could see how bad it was. Tried all the different creams, lasers, pills, soaps, scrubs and systems in existence. Nothing helped, so I just resigned myself to covering my face with my hair.

It got better around college, when I started to exercise more and expand my diet. I still had some acne freshman year, and I was still very pale and skinny. But I cared less, so I made way more friends than in high school and learned some important social skills that I’d missed out on while I was busy hiding my face from the world.

The first time I kissed a girl was on vacation in Mexico. I was 18, she was 16. Her name was Michelle, and she was from Canada. We were laying under the night sky on lawn chairs at the beach, and she looked up and asked, “Aren’t the stars beautiful?” Charmer-in-training that I was, I said “Not as beautiful as you.” She rolled over and kissed me. I couldn’t believe it worked.

I fingered her and went down on her, with no idea what I was doing. When my fingers first slid up her leg and touched her vagina, I didn’t even know which hole I was touching. That night was where it all began.

I lost my virginity the following summer, to my supervisor. She got my phone number from the employee phone list, and anonymously flirted with me one night until I demanded to know who it was. She told me, and I invited her over. She had red hair, big boobs, and a wonderful vagina. I looked for a condom, but was way too drunk the see them on my floor. We went raw instead.

I had been “waiting for a special girl,” which in retrospect was probably rationalizing my failure with women as some kind of higher morality than the animals around me who would sleep with anyone they found attractive. Such sinners!

But then once it happened, I realized it’s just a fun thing people do when they’re attracted to each other.

The floodgates were open.

I dated a couple girls in college, none of them seriously. Junior year, I was heavy into drugs to a point where i was not doing well in school. My health was suffering. I left university and went to rehab.

When I signed up, I was told I would be back at school in five weeks.

A year and a half and three states later, I returned to school. I took eight classes. I got seven As, and one B+. Rehab was one of the best decisions of my life.

The summer I got back, I met my first girlfriend in the elevator. She was a petite, beautiful blonde–the president of her sorority. I was in the middle of a family crisis at the time, so I had to blow her off until it blew over. I later found out she thought I was making the whole thing up.

We dated for five or six months, and the last couple were long-distance. She stayed in California at school, and I graduated and moved onto my adult life elsewhere. We loved each other and visited each other every once in a while. The last time I visited her, she flipped out on a skiing vacation and I never saw or spoke to her after that.

I had career ambitions at the time and followed them around the continent. I spent years attaining my dream job, just to be disillusioned in a matter of months. I went to work for another company in a similar line of work, and it was one of the worst job experiences of my life. It was a psych ward. My job was to restrain violent teenagers until they stopped screaming, and it was exactly as rewarding as it sounds.

I met my second and last girlfriend at the psych ward. We dated for eight months. The first three were monogamous, after which I couldn’t do that anymore and opened the relationship very much against her will. She stayed with me though in an open relationship, because we were very much in love. She is the Cluster B I often mention on here, and though I usually refer to her with rather terrible epithets, I did love her deeply.

I left her and the psych ward at the same time, and moved to Hawaii. My experience there was documented in my article, An MRA In Feminist Paradise.

Now I am back on the West Coast, single and doing meaningful work. I have no money, because I choose instead to work a job which contributes greatly to society and it gives me a feeling of real significance. Nobody I work with is getting rich in a monetary sense, but we are spiritually wealthy one and all.

Life is short. Make of it what you will.

And when God gives you lemons, throw the lemons back and tell him to suck your dick.

How I Got Over My Body Image Issues

I don’t care who you are. I don’t care if you’re a guy or a girl, or whether you’re fat or skinny. If you grew up in America, there’s a pretty good chance that you have some kind of issues with your body. Some part of you that you don’t like, that you secretly compare with other people even though you know doing so will accomplish nothing but making you feel bad.

Hey, we all do it from time to time–and some more than others. 

Therapists will tell you that you need to solve your childhood issues, keep a journal, and maybe even take medication.

It’s bullshit! 

I accidentally found a fantastic way to get over your issues and learn to accept your body in a way that’s quick, terrifying, and also pretty fun (once you get over the giggling part).

Let me explain. When I lived in Hawaii last year, one of my closest friends was this amazing Irish girl named Treasa. She was one of the sweetest girls I’d ever met, she was beautiful, and well on her way to becoming one of those “wise old women” even though she wasn’t even 30 yet.

We were getting drunk on wine and kava one day for no reason at all (that’s what you do in Hawaii), and decided to go for a walk to a nearby beach. I honestly don’t even remember how the issue came up, but we got to talking about body issues, how our culture shames us for looking or not looking a certain way, and those kinds of topics. 

In our drunkenness, we formed a plan: we’d strip naked on the beach, tell the other person what parts of ourselves we didn’t like, and then have the other person closely examine said parts. It was going to be one of the most uncomfortable moments of our lives, and that was exactly the point: to sit there under the proverbial microscope having someone stare right at something we tried to hide from everyone.

For me, it was my ass. I don’t like that it’s hairy, and for some reason I’ve always been embarrassed about it. This day, with my trusted and wonderful friend, I lay down on my stomach and let her look up close. It was pretty terrifying, and all kinds of doubts swirled through my mind about my body. Then she was done looking, and I was still alive! 

For her, it was her stomach. She was worried that it wasn’t flat enough. I tried not to tell her that’s ridiculous (she’s incredibly hot and has a wonderful body), but I’m pretty sure I did make a comment about how silly it was. Either way, I looked up close, grabbed a handful of the skin around there to make her feel flabby and move through it, etc.

To this day, I have no problem having people see my hairy ass when we’re hooking up or at a nude beach or anything like that. I even make jokes about it. 

The exercise was a really powerful day and I recommend sucking it up and doing this was a VERY trusted friend of yours. I know it sounds weird and crazy, that’s the point. It will blast through your self-esteem comfort-zone and improve your level of self-acceptance, which is one of the most important part of growing as a person.


A Path So Many Follow

There are guys who learn Game just to get a girlfriend or wife, and so when they achieve that goal, they throw away their copy of Mystery Method and never give the topic another thought. And good for them; achieving one’s goals is one of the best parts of the journey to self-improvement and a better life.

Then there are guys who learn Game just to learn a new skill and bring more love, sex and intimacy into their lives. Maybe they’re serial monogamists, maybe they’re poly, maybe they just want to rack up notches. And again, good for them.

But then there is a certain type, the kind with an endlessly burning mind, hungry for new knowledge, whose path continues far past the accumulation of lady friends. I have seen this pattern with a small but vocal group of men in the Manosphere:

A guy learns Game to pick up women. His crotch is satisfied, but his mind is not. So he lurks on the outer fringes of the Manosphere, eventually arriving at sites about gender dynamics as a whole (feminism vs. MRA). So much of the bigger picture now makes sense. He feels like he truly understands how men and women relate to each other, and why they make the choices they make.

Yet still his curiosity runs deep, and he begins to wonder in what other ways he is being lied to by society. Perhaps he learns about the food industry, the military-industrial complex, the top-to-bottom corruption of our government, and how money is the world’s greatest lie.

With every step down the rabbit hole, he sees more and more of the truth: that the 1% view and control everyone else as slaves and batteries, and everything he’s learned before was manufactured by the elite specifically to keep him distracted. It is depressing, and should the man have been a fairly cheerful fellow beforehand, his mind will want to reject the new information he’s learned. Maybe he will shut it down completely and continue to live in blissful ignorance; maybe he will allow himself to cross over to the Desert Of The Real.

Should he choose that path–if it can be said that it’s even a choice at all–it almost always leads to the nihilistic and fatalistic realization that the world is, to put it simply, fucked beyond hope of repair. Perhaps it always has been. He tries to reconcile what he’s learned by focusing on the positive, but then sees how little an impact it will make in the end. 

Where does that leave our wandering young protagonist, jaded at such a young age by the truth so many choose to ignore?

Only time will tell. The abundance of information on the internet, and the ability of anyone to have their voice heard, is still a pretty new thing. There has not yet been a generation raised on the internet to make it to adulthood and reap the seeds of what they’ve learned. Nobody knows what kind of society will be created by those with vast amounts of knowledge at their fingertips, a click or two away.

My hope is that people use this for good, learn lessons from history’s mistakes and build a functional society that leaves people happy and fulfilled. This is what my heart hopes.

Alas, my mind knows better. Human nature does not dictate learning from mistakes very easily (if at all) and I fear that things will continue in a cycle, as they’ve done since the dawn of civilization: Things are bad, things get better, things get awesome, then everything falls apart until the whole thing starts all over again.

Still, I hope we do something different this time; it’s the only way we’ll survive as a species.


Wife Requirements

Every once in a while, I entertain myself by wondering what life would be like in a serious, long-term relationship. To date, my longest was about 8 months, and I was miserable after 3. The only other “LTR” I’ve been in lasted 5 months, and though I remained monogamous to her during those 5 months, I didn’t really see the point in doing so. I just did it because that’s what I was “supposed” to do.

The LTR fantasies that I sometimes indulge in end quickly, because they look miserable to me. Same routine, same person, working my ass off to make money for someone else to spend…no part of that sounds appealing. I don’t even like having other people living in my house period–much less in my room and in my bed.

I wonder at times, what kind of woman would make that lifestyle “worth it” for me. While completely unrealistic, the only type of woman I’d marry would have all of the following belief systems, behavior patterns and attitudes:

1. Sex on demand, but I’d never have to demand it. Constant offers of vaginal, oral, and anal sex. I have had some women like this, and it makes enjoying their presence easy, breezy, and beautiful.

2. Bisexual. Loves threesomes, foursomes, experimenting with new partners. Again, I’ve had some of these. These items got on the list because I know how awesome they are.

3. Great at picking up women. For all the energy I put into it, I don’t actually enjoy the process of picking up women. I tolerate it to get to the sex and short-term relationship part. My wife will be a master PUA, hunting for me/us constantly because she enjoys the process and loves to make me happy.

4. Libertarian. Democrats are idiots, Republicans are greedy. I want someone who rejects both sides of the false dilemma and sees things for what they are. Understands that taxation is theft, government is useless and money is the world’s greatest scam (perhaps besides religion). 

5. Cooks like a champion, and loves it. My wife loves to make me breakfast, lunch and dinner, doing so with a smile on her face. She lives to make me happy, and because she’s so good at it, I live to return the favor.

6. Does all housework without complaint. Housework is easy. Understands that in successful family units, the man works outside the house and the woman works inside the house. There is no “oppression,” it is simply recognition of roles everyone must play to complement each other and succeed together. Zero whining about traditional gender roles.

7. Obviously, she will not be a feminist. Goes without saying.

8. Wakes up before I do every day, does her hair and makeup and nails in order to look absolutely beautiful for me when I open my eyes in the morning. Not because I told her to, but because she knows this is how to keep me highly attracted to and in love with her.

9. Exercises frequently and eats healthy food. She will maintain a certain body type, waist-to-hip-ratio, and BMI. She will be hot as fuck, and work her ass off to remain so. I work out almost every day, so if I’m gonna look good, so is she.

10. Signs a pre-nup without whining. On the chance that we get divorced, she will get exactly what she came in to the marriage with and nothing else.

When these 10 qualities are met, I will get married. Until then, back to short-term flings and one-night stands.

Obama Gets Off On Being Putin’s Bitch

Before I explain my premise here, it’s important for me to convey my personal opinion that Barack “Hussein The Antichrist” Obama is no way, shape or form a heterosexual. I have maintained from day one of his campaign that he enjoys dicks in his mouth even more than he enjoys dismantling our Republic.

Two reasons:

1. Many, many reports of him fucking around in Chicago’s gay bathhouses back when he was an unknown senator, and

2. The look on his face when he kisses his wife.

Point 2 is pretty understandable: Michelle Obama is one ugly fucking woman. But I think the reason he looks like he’s trying not to vomit is because, no matter how hard he tries, he can’t even pretend to muster attraction for a female. Just watch him next time you see them kiss. You’ll understand.

So with that understanding–that the Antichrist Obama is a homosexual shape-shifting reptilian–I think I understand why at every step of the game on the world stage, he constantly makes himself look like an inept little bitch compared to Putin.

It gets him off. I think Obama literally masturbates himself into a frenzy thinking about the extent to which Putin dominates him on literally every topic.

Obama sends a list of sanctions to Russia, supposedly to dissuade Putin from annexing Crimea. Putin laughs and sends him a list of sanctions back, while invading Crimea.

fap fap fap fap fap

Obama and Putin are in a room together. Obama talks in his rhetorically magical and utterly meaningless way, Putin sits there steely-eyed before speaking one or two sentences that perfectly wrap up his opinions and action plan.

fap fap fap fap fap

I can’t think of any other reason Obama would fail so hard, so consistently, at every opportunity to have some kind of diplomacy or consensus with Russia.

Oh wait, maybe Obama’s just a useless tool who wouldn’t know a sensible foreign policy if it fucked him in the ass…because he’d be too busy fapping to it.

This is what happens when you get a President on Affirmative Action. Voting for him because he’s black, having him in office somehow proves how far Civil Rights have come….wrong.

It proves that people are literally unable to think properly in this country, have nothing resembling foresight or critical inquiry, and will do anything just to avoid being perceived as “offensive.”


A great blowjob is better than mediocre sex.

It doesn’t seem that complicated, and yet, I can count on one hand the number of women who’ve been able to make me come with their mouths. That’s 5 or fewer, for those of you who struggle with numbers, out of a pool of…uh, let’s say considerably more than 5…who have had the opportunity to feast on His Most Glorious Rod Of Power.

Most of the time, I can tell within 10 to 20 seconds whether a girl has no idea what she’s doing. And then I have to stop her in a way that doesn’t hurt her feelings, so laughing and asking what the fuck she’s doing is out. Instead, I put a finger under her chin and guide her face towards mine, usually along with some verbal encouragement about how badly I want to kiss her right now.

Do they see through this ploy? Probably. But I’d rather make her uncomfortable for a few seconds than spend 30 minutes getting my dick sucked poorly.

This is something every woman should be able to do blindfolded and with her hands tied behind her back (literally). Every girl who’s loved going down on me–and remember, enthusiasm is 90% of being good at sucking my dick–has been in my life for many moons.

Whether it’s my old neighbor from Florida who liked to suck me off before dates with her boyfriend “because she really liked him and she’d be less nervous around him if she could just go down on me for a while first,” or my little Asian traveling friend who liked a finger in her butt while she polished my knob, or my favorite Hawaiian hippie chick who has drained me dry more times than I can count: I love them all dearly in their own special ways.

The BJs probably have something to do with it, though to be honest all those chicks are generally awesome people. At the very least, their oral skills aren’t hurting.

I mean, shit, even my last girlfriend–a nightmare vampire of a human being who was largely the catalyst for my adventures in Mens Rights and spawned my articles on Cluster B women and LoveBombing–couldn’t suck me off if her life depended on it. Is that why our relationship sucked so bad?

Or was it because she’d been with almost entirely black guys before me, and her pussy had been beaten into loose dangly oblivion?

The world may never know.

Ladies–suck good dick. I eat pussy like a champion and I expect you to please me in kind.

That’s what equality is all about.

Check out “I Can Give Head” for some instructions.

Fuck These Fucking College Kids

I moved nearby a college campus, hoping to expand my social circle and smash tons of hot college pussy. Mission half accomplished; I have tons of new friends. But the women?

Jesus Christ, I can’t even tolerate their presence long enough to feign attraction long enough to hit on them long enough to get them in a drunken one-night stand for an evening they’ll never remember no matter how well I hit it. Besides the awesome length and flow of that last sentence, I seriously can’t stand them. The fucking Top 40 music at EVERY. SINGLE. PARTY.

Do you children really not realize you’re listening to the exact same song, over and over again? Is it different this time? Did the latest Kesha or Katy Perry bullshit suddenly take on a deep new meaning for you?

HOW CAN YOU LISTEN TO THIS CRAP? There aren’t even guitar solos.

Because music no longer requires instruments.

All this “Lil Wayne” fake-thuggery bullshit or Drake’s sappy Beta whining about some girl who didn’t text him enough so he ended up masturbating into a jar of his own tears, or whatever the fuck the point of his songs are, ALL THE TIME. And no, retards, Lil Wayne is not a rapper. He’s a puppet who occasionally doesn’t fail to rhyme while pretending to be someone who he isn’t.

Enough about the music. Where the fuck are your personalities?? Why hasn’t ONE of you, in nearly 3 months, spoken a single sentence that made me stop and think? Actually I take that back, the 500th time you said “omg let’s take a selfie,” it made me stop and think…

About slapping you right in your stupid fucking face. But I can’t do that. Because that’s Domestic Violence. There you have it:


Someone put that shit on a T-shirt. I will wear it. Seriously.

And the loud screeching every time one of you coked-out skags needs to fake excitement about some bullshit or another, the incessant drama about who’s fucking who but he really likes so and so but SO AND SO secretly likes WHATS HIS FACE but WHATS HIS FACE is like, totally a loser.

I don’t fucking care. I’ve told you this. I’ve said to your faces, several times, “Stop talking to me about this. I don’t care” and then you laugh and keep telling me and I’m like “Seriously, I’m not joking. I don’t care about what you’re saying to me. Please stop telling me” and then you look at me confused until you realize I’m serious, so you go and tell someone else who screeches in phony excitement.

I can’t deal with you people anymore. How can you act like a 10 and think you’re better than me, when all of you saw that Filipina model I pulled from the club?? I MADE SURE you all saw her, and knew she approached me with the line “I have to get back to my friends, but gimme your number and we’ll hook up later.” It was the best girl-game I’ve ever seen, and she was leagues hotter than all of you. None of you approaches her in hotness, nor her “I like anal and cum on my face” modus operandi. Preselection should mean all of you stop talking and throw your pussies at me; this is not the case. The only ones throwing themselves at me in this college apartment don’t even pass the boner test.

None of you duck faces care, because all that fucking coke and Molly has turned your brains into mush and you’re so busy “living in the moment” you literally don’t even remember what happened an hour ago.

The children are terrible, our culture is fucked.