I read a lot of “man-o-sphere” blogs. Roosh and Chateau Heartiste and stuff like that. It’s part of the reason why I write about getting laid so much, or failing to get laid– because I like these blogs. You read shit like that and you want to write about it yourself. Screeds about internet fatties and so on. Yelling at women for not having a sense of humor.
You read enough of this stuff and you pick up an adversarial tone toward women. Or rather, it brings out the natural hatred and resentment of women in a guy who thinks he doesn’t get laid enough. A guy who thinks other guys are getting laid more than him. Who thinks this relates to his own deeper worthiness, the judgment of some drunk chick. Your failure to get her to act on some base impulse when another guy was successful at it. It means you are a loser. It affirms your own deeper self hatred. And you get pissed off.
The weird thing is, I get laid plenty, and I still feel like this. I get more ass than a toilet seat despite my self-loathing being pretty dead-on in a lot of respects. I am an underachieving mean-spirited layabout and chicks still like me. Why on Earth do I get so mad at them– they like me a lot. Most of them end up fucking me, and they call me, and I don’t call them back. Why am I so resentful of women who are supposedly not wanting to sleep with me, when they are in fact sleeping with me. I’m the one blowing them off. You have to create more and more elaborate standards to keep considering yourself the victim. You become angry that nineteen year old girls under one hundred twenty pounds with small noses and perfect facial symmetry want to sleep with some famous guy in a band rather than you. You become angry that guys with so-called “game” are getting laid more than you, when in fact game is completely accessible to everybody and if it were such a big deal, why didn’t you just learn it. You become angry that guys with small noses and perfect facial symmetry have an easier time getting laid than you. Not that they get laid more than you, but that they have an easier time of it. Like being rich by your own hand and getting pissed at people with inherited wealth.
Well shit. Am I a loser, or am I not a loser? Am I the alpha, or the omega? I was out last weekend at a pool party; I noticed a hot girl in line; I resentfully thought “see, that type of girl would never even talk to me, that fucking cunt,” and then two hours later she was grinding her labia all over my pool boner and making out with me so sloppy that we almost got tossed by security. I was out on the 4th of July, talking up some classically good looking drunkard from Alabama who had fucking approached me; we got briefly separated and I saw some other dude talking to her using aggro Tyler Durden style game where you can’t pry the dude off. I got pissed off; I stewed about it all afternoon. Until night fell and I ended up at another party where some baby faced 22 year old came home with me. And I woke up with a bunch of text messages from girls I had talked to wanting to hang out with me, and I didn’t remember any of them because I was blackout drunk.
Everywhere I go I get laid constantly with decent looking girls who were born when I was in high school. Then I come home to sit down at my computer and complain about how I can’t get laid. But I get distracted by OKCupid messages from attractive local women that I don’t bother to answer. Jesus Christ.
And it’s not even because people who talk about how much they get laid with hot young ass are boring and gross. They are, or I guess we are: self-aggrandizement is dull and creepy, and self-deprecation is honest and hilarious. But that’s not why so much of this blog material is about what a loser I feel like. It’s not trying not to be the horrible creepy and gross guy; I actually feel this way. Like I’m a hideous unfuckable sewer mutant. What’s it gonna take for things to be different.