A friend of mine who reads the blog introduced a fellow writer to my humble scribblings. Since my friend is a big fan of my style, the assumption was this guy would like it as well. Apparently not. Observe his response:
He has a blog about game? Are you serious? So – he’s been hurt and that justifies him being full of shit? I’m sorry, but Alpha v Beta male, how to pick up women, mysogyny? It’s all spoiled-little-boy, self-centred crap. Even from the little you’ve said about him it appears quite obvious that somewhere deep down you know that.
Oh, oh, oh. This is not the day to be doing this, hombre. Been up way too long. No. Day? Fuck it. Not the year.
Continued, after some lengthy talk:
On the other hand we have Jordan – a self-centred mysogynist, a sociopath who likes to blame others for all his woes. Across his path strolls [friend], they fit together like hand in glove ie. it suits him perfectly to indulge her honourable desire to be given attention by submitting to his very dishonourable desire to get laid.
My friend lives across the pond in Europe. She is happily married. She loves my writing as I love hers. We both write dark and gritty and real. We’ve known each other for a very long time and know the ins and outs of each other’s minds. You couldn’t ask for better friends. You also couldn’t as for worst logistics.
Enter, the white knight. A much older, well polished white knight who thinks my writings, not to mention my playful flirts with my long time friend, are somehow damaging her and her relationship with her man. That her love of my detailed indiscretions or my advice on women or my recent fiction will blow her mind back and turn her into a quivering victim of domestic abuse.
I will admit he’s accurate. I am self-centered. But what man who has any balls or any self-worth isn’t? Even the greatest father and husband in the world still pulls his wife aside during house parties and gets a blowjob while his guests play Jenga. You can’t be confident without being self-centered. Jesus was a self-centered prick like me. I blame The Ex for what happened to the marriage. I blame myself for not slamming my foot down more often. Making sure she knew who’s boss. But you’ve seen the pictures. I’m much better off. As is my food budget.
As for misogynist and sociopath. He’s way off base. I support a woman’s right to vote. Their constant mind changing and backstabbing is probably way the incumbency rate is at the low ass percentage it is. Otherwise, you’d have stoic party loyalists keeping everyone in at 100%.
Men, meet a full blown beta white knight. Men, meet a single man in his 60s messaging at married woman in her young 20s over a writer’s website.
What does this guy write? Poems. What’s his topic? Domination.
C’mon! REALLY? I call bullshit.
Bullshit on that he really does it. Bullshit on his lifestyle. Bullshit on his attitude. Bullshit on him from soul to scalp.
This guy is 100%, Grade Z(ed), mama’s basement with poutine and gravy bowls piling up on his lap POSER.
I’m no freak in leather. I’m no whip carrying card member of the National Association for the Advancement of Kinky People. I don’t have paddles. I can’t fucking afford them.
I, like most of my brethren, like the power and know some of the upper hand moves. We know them because they work. We use them because these ladies turn into wild animals when we do.
Would I like a woman to do my bidding? Of course. What fellow mansophere blogger wouldn’t? But is that hate? Is it hate to believe in a woman’s deep inner desire to be ruled? Is it hate to prove it with every chick I come across who likes my direct game?
Its not hate. Its empowerment.
Because they choose. Like the feminists want. They choose to get down on their knees. They choose to give themselves to us. They choose to fall sway to us. Or they choose to dress up like lumberjacks or scary muffin top hookers and choose not to fall sway. Their brains tell them to or not to. Is it wrong or illegal to know someone that well? Fuck no. That’s what relationships are all about. Knowing that other person so well. That and fucking, but I digress.
This guy, seeing a pretty young thing in “distress” when an alpha comes by, beats his chest like King Kong and moves in for the save. Except that, like King Kong, when he gets to the tower and congratulates himself, he gets fucking shot down.
Observe, the response from my friend:
I am fully aware that a blog about ‘game’ or picking up woman could be seen as juvenile or un-PC – i have come across this before. He’s been called a masogynist and sexist and all the other words you described there. Do i think it’s behaviour from a cowardly little boy? No. We have literally grown up together. I have seen him go from a cowardly boy to a man with all the mistakes he’s made along the way, and become something confident. He’s proud of that confidence, and i am proud of it for him. This is a 13 year friendship, not somebody i picked up off the street last week. He’s helped me with things i’m not prepared to discuss, and i hope he’ll always be there. My friend. The one who saved me at a very difficult time in my life. One who i don’t think i could hold my head up as far as i do, without.
I love my girls, my friends and my friends of intimate knowledge, because they are loyal. They know me and I know them. Some I’ve known only a few years, some for over a decade. I am a king, THE king, because when push comes to shove, it won’t be just be strangers in the circle of on lookers. I’ll have Ghaddfi’s Amazons right there as well, rooting, not because I told them, but because they want to. And a man, 50 notches or just 6, couldn’t be prouder.
I’m Mighty Joe Young. I got the girl, I won the fight and I lived.
Fuck King Kong.