I’m six foot one. Barely over peak age for a man. Visible obliques. Even in soft light now. I earn ninety four thousand dollars a year. Drive a new car. Live in a cool neighborhood. Not birth defect ugly. Hobbies. Passions. Rough edges but I’m basically a good person; I play guitar at expert level. Draw. Paint. Write at a supernatural level. Travel the world to see monkeys in exotic destinations. Good sense of humor. Discuss any topic. Genuine desire to learn and engage with these stupid women. Not into the rough sex thing but don’t mind wrapping a sinewy gym forearm and/or hand with insane classical guitar grip strength around her– not the throat– you want to cut off her blood supply. I don’t mind using my anatomical knowledge to painlessly crush her carotids while jamming a stiff finger the shitpipe; watch her watch herself sputter and weep in my full length mirror. Which is what it takes all women to cum now. At a minimum. I don’t like it. I do it for her.
I can cook. Pretty eyes. Not bald not short no acne; my penis is at least standard issue. Not blacked.com material but longer than my iPhone. Wider than shit I used to try to fit it in such as the mouth of a Prego jar with sponges in it. Quality of my work aside I do have thousands of devoted fans. My writing enjoyed by hundreds of thousands of people. Tech billionaires try to hire me for $200 an hour to write TedX type shit. I say no. I have integrity. My shoes aren’t so bad. Clothes aren’t so bad. My face isn’t so bad, my soul– I’m not so fucking bad man. I’m not so fucking bad to be around. I daresay it’s usually pleasant and occasionally fun to be with me. And I can’t get any pussy. I can’t get a 36 year old Tinder bum who’s “CEO of Me Incorporated” and looks like fucking Admiral Akbar– I got her home and couldn’t get her god damn pants off, Angela.
It’s over out there man. You need everything plus money plus title plus the dick won’t fit in a Costco size Chock Full O’ Nuts can and your face… there is ONE problem with my face. Just one. Now you need fifth lead on General Hospital face. For a 2017 woman to not recoil with hate baked in her chromosomes. Eight feet tall, planetcrushing cock, six trillion cash. You need a harem you keep pregnant to get a cocked eyebrow from a pig who can do fifteen minutes off the cuff on the quirks of a Scorpio. You need everything to have a girl who’s anything at all. Which is to say Asian.