Never Stop Trying to Be A Better Man…

…because you’ll eventually make it to place few have been before.


It takes time, its takes money, it takes scars and hate and the worst parts of you, but then you shed it all in an instant and find the world is a different scent from what it was before. There is nothing left but the reality of you, and if you’re lucky enough, you’re the big dog. You, despite your status, your age and the people around you, are the alpha. You see all. You are all. They can say what they want. You made it.



Guess I needed a longer rest than I thought.

Sometimes, you just need to step back and look at everything, one piece at a time. Sometimes, you need to just be a lazy fuck and let the world vanish to see the reality of it all. Sometimes, bitches be crazy.

Its been both eventful and event-less since August. Been out and around. Had interesting, even violent encounters with some really fucked up women who take the pussy pass to extremes, but inbetween that… nothing really. Work dried up in November, now picking back up again. And, with that, comes renewed ideas for posts. Things about male mentality, mental health, family dynamics and the like. Not women. Writing about women all the time gets boring, because most women are the same. The most interesting things about women we already know, so why repeat? Unless I find that good girl with a bad side who likes the dark edge of sexual exploration, I’ll be typing away advice, not battle reports.

To another year of remaining red pill!


The Redneck Achivement

Detestable Friend. The best name for a woman, a thing, that was secondary to the target. At Grand Central (of course), I came across them having a girls night out. Two girls, hammered, chatting loudly, screeching laughter. A dye job redheaded 6 and her mother hen.

I was deep in the slump buster mode. The First decided to be a big girl and she got in a relationship (that lasted about a month, more on that later). I was without a girl. And being with out a new notch since 2011, I was ready for almost anything.

I went after the 6 pretty aggressively. She was so hammered she didn’t mind it, but the walls were still up. She refused to cross any line that would upset her husband. I’ve got to give her credit for that. So being drunk I turn to the mother hen. We started making out within 20 minutes. At the end of the night cheat gave me her number. I woke up the next day and told myself I wouldn’t do that for a slump buster. There’s got to be something better.

Fast forward a few weeks. I run across them at Grand Central again. I’ve had no luck in between. Fuck it. With every disgusting intention to sleep with this person, I take the aloof route. Least amount of work for my gain. Like the last time the night ends with us making out. I text her a couple days later and its on.

After a few other meet ups at Redhead 6’s place we rounded second and third, she’s wanting to meet up but her boyfriend is always home. For 40 bucks I got a shitty motel room. Probably cheaper to do that then get to go back to the bar and not have a sure thing. She shows up and we fuck for about an hour. Pretty uneventful. We get our clothes back on. She took a cab, so I offer to driver her someplace. “Sure, can you take me to…


So what was just fucking an ugly chick in a cheap motel room turned into a surreal moment of cosmic comedy. This detestable person, oh white version of a Detroit welfare queen, fat ugly in loud, tops it all off by wanting me to drop her at fat ugly loud central. As soon as the door shut I was laughing. My mind couldn’t comprehend the pure luck. New notch. New story.

As I drove to Grand Central, going straight back on the prowl after getting laid, I looked up and whispered a thank you to the jester that apparently runs my sex life.

The Brony Fa(gs)d

So fellow blogger Simon Rierdon discovered a horrifying male sub-culture: the Bronies.

Unlike other cartoon fan bases, Bronies are teenage and adult men that watch and… play with… tiny colorful horses meant for little girls.

The First’s oldest kid loves Barbies, but he’s 5. He also loves them because they have tits, not because he can dress her up.

Bronies, on the other hand, have emotional attachents to these characters.

The characters aren’t one-dimensional,” said 15-year-old Christian Leisner, a brony in the Berkeley group. “They have flaws, they have backgrounds they’re ashamed of.”

They’re not the only ones.

It makes me wish for the days of Trekkers. Fuck, it makes me wish Beiber was more popular with men.

I went through shit like this as a kid, but with Star Wars toys. I watch the movies. I’d play with the ships. But instead of wondering what Luke or Leia had in their past, I usually ended up imagining mass murder and giant explosions. PEW PEW BOOOM! AHHHHHHHHH! Hell, I would create complex and deadly plot lines with my Hot Wheels and NASCAR toy cars. I never, ever brought in a tiny horse and said, “Now, how can we be friends!!!!” Bitch would of gotten blasted.

Men need to be men. Just having a dick isn’t enough. Go start a fight. Go fuck something. Just don’t, for the love of all that is manly, play with little horses.

Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked


Its been a boring few weeks. Very boring. My credit is nearing max, so I’ve had to cut back in going out. That’s has brought along a deep sense of uselessness and boredom. Job searching continues, but with a few rejection letters from even the easiest of jobs. The market is extremely tight, apparently. To the point even stock boys need experience to apply.

There’s been a lot of conversations with many friends, and the Ex. A lot of tumbling emotions, anger, and resentment. Missing and some lack of sleep didn’t help with that. But some conclusions came about. Good conclusions. Level up conclusions.

First, with the notch out of the way, without that obsession, I can now focus on myself. I’ve begun to work out everyday. Tiny ass weights, that’s all they got in the house, but its a start. Second, the anger and resentment for the Ex, that’s still around, that beat out the Zen, must be put into focusing on myself. I repress a lot. Too much. I try to stay calm 24/7 and it backfires. These last couple weeks have been that time. My friend, a submissive, a self-aware woman going through some of the psychological shit I am, and Kay, the friend who has been with me since the beginning of this year of hell, they has made it clear to me that I need to pull my brain out of my ass and start moving at warp speed towards something that isn’t repressed. That isn’t logic. That isn’t the right thing.

The problem with the right thing is that its based on society. Morality is the collective feelings of the upper strata. Its government, religion, rich and collective. I’ve hit many a hiccups thinking “is this right?” Fuck right. It came over me that I shouldn’t think “is this right?”, but “is this good?”

When I talk to a good friend? Good.
When I hit on a chick? Good.
When I don’t care for what’s around her? Good.
When I do whatever the fuck I want? Good.

It takes steps to reach a point like this. It has, obviously, since I’ve posted several realizations before this, but with each step: the loss of the fear, the Zen, the notch; it all culminates throughout my entire life to a point of happiness. My happiness. With myself, with where I am, with what I’ll do, and what I won’t do. A peace beyond religion and beyond work and people and everything else. A peace of myself for myself. If that involves tapping into things left behind because I was judged years ago, I’ll do it. If it means balking the flow of society, I’ll do it. If its good, bad or evil, so what?

There are some things you just can’t keep down.