All you gotta do today is make one paragraph of OC.
You can write one. Or you can edit one. You have two drafts of a post about Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous. You have 400 pages of journals from this year. There’s at least one B side in there. There has to be one good, meaningful and true paragraph. But there isn’t. Or you would have posted it.
You can post one from True Love. But there’s the legal problem. The first chapter’s OK. It just doesn’t go anywhere. It relies on what comes after. So it’d be a shit post. Because you can’t see the rest for two years.
There’s The Lost Child, which… eh.
There’s the shit about Tanya. But you can’t post about why you don’t want to fuck someone. If you read something like that it would hurt your feelings.
There’s this. Which I’m taking care to type without typos. Which means it’s fake horseshit. Who cares. All I need is one paragraph of OC.
The squirrel’s doing something. Hanging by his feet upside down to pick a California black walnut. Squirrel– Eugene, or Eugene’s son since you’re obviously a smaller squirrel– do something that’s a metaphor for me trying to get pussy.
Relax, you have plenty of time. This is not the last weekend of your life.
I’ve lost hundreds of thousands of dollars. The house money. Retirement money. From a thing I can’t talk about. Not stocks but related to macroeconomic conditions. I knew it’d get yanked from me somehow. I’m relieved.
I’m on Filipino Cupid. A 22 year old messages me. She’s a born again Christian. I could handle this. As long as I don’t have to introduce her to anyone. Just us and God and our kids in our little jungle hut on Samar. Pray fuck and eat coconuts. What would I tell my mom. I’d say mom I found Jesus. I live on an island fucking and eating coconuts. Imagine the post nut clarity. Post coconut clarity. I’ve impregnated an idiot. I no longer have plumbing. Harried by 12 foot monitor lizards and stingrays. Phone stolen by macaques.
What’s the problem. I could sit in a boat with her dad listening to Scorpions. Kenny Rogers. Better than what I have in store today. Stair sprints and 8 rounds of bag work. Preparing for Muay Thai sparring where I could have my face broken. Writing my stupid blog and Substack.
Relieved about the money. It allows me to not care about my job. My status. My suitability to seed a branding executive’s frozen eggs and pay $68,000 a year to send the result to eugenic schools. I like being poor. It works for me.
If you’re a branding executive with frozen eggs, I don’t mean this in a mean way.
If you’re Tanya, I’m not fucking you anymore because I joined Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous.
Xochitl– why did you move to New York, you stupid cunt. Of course I don’t mean this. I love and care for you. I hope you find happiness. I want to impregnate you and live on an island with coconuts. I helped you with your resume. When that money was coming I would have made it so you don’t have to work. You could have written poems and made jewelry. But not now.
I’m relieved.
I’m looking at a Filipino Cupid profile. It says this:
Member Overview
Im student of hingth school
I find this attractive.
I can relate to her as much as I could the branding exec. More. We can talk about God and the lizards and eat coconuts.
The squirrel’s got a whole pile of walnuts now. And he’s gnawing the acidic green rinds off. Rotating the nut and taking off the skin in strips. Dropping the debris on the neighbor’s deck.
It’s not a metaphor. The squirrel’s preparing his nuts. I’m trying to make one paragraph of OC. I take a break. I go to the grocery store. The cashier has really big tits.
delicioustacos 
Was it Celsius? I’ve lost 30% of my net worth if, as all signs indicate, they go bankrupt.
A healthy level of antis*mitism could have prevented you from trusting Celsius with your funds. oh well. hope this is a learning experience. if you’re new to this kind of talk, do a quick search about “sinking of the uss liberty” or “lavon affair” or “Balfour Declaration”.
congrats on joining slaa, seems like a solid program for what you describe
All these pretend cool dudes follow the same arc.
A whole lot of boisterous talk when they just “discovered” that talking to girls is a thing. Suddenly they thought they were somehow special and God’s gift with their never ending posts about the same things every other dude in history figured out at some point already.
And now they’re losing their pants as not every last pipe dream of “investing” is making imaginary gains. Tacos, most likely a crypto scheme since that’s the latest hilarious turn of these same halfwits thinking they’re somehow smarter than everyone, taking a momentary thrill ride on what’s ultimately going nowhere.
You’re losers. You have no kids, no women, no money. Why? Because that’s what you are. You offer no real game, no value, no insights, no skills.
You’re just a whole lot of talk.
it’s all true. but you left out the detail about receding hairlines and having small peens. quite generous of you to do that.
I’m going through a Pussy Recession turned Pussy-Depression myself. No sex since the pandemic, which THEY haven’t decided to end yet. There’s still people wearing masks while walking outdoors, at the grocery store. Still see ads about getting vaccinated and boosted. Women don’t make eye contact. No smiles. Dead angry robot NPC faces everywhere, many hidden behind blue and black surgical masks made of polyester fiber. I am not well. Finances in steep decline. So when a dbag like you leaves a comment directed at DT *and* his readers, it’s like you’re digitally kicking a man while he’s already down on the ground, bleeding and gasping for air. Very rude and unsportsmanlike conduct. If you’re so successful, Gringo, then please regale us with your tales of conquest. Where is your website or soycial media? Do you have an Alpha male grindset blueprint course that I can purchase? Do you have a finished work of art, literature or business product that we can look at? No, it appears you are all talk as well. But if you are indeed successful, then why come here to taunt us? Go spend your goodgoy points and enjoy life.
Websites and social media are for posers. What’s possibly the point in advertising your hustle or girls online, to random losers and strangers? Only for posers and ‘influencers’ that BS. Business? Sure. Not anything to sell to fappers and peasant consumers, or need to advertise on some blog comment section. Who even thinks that ant-like when they think of success?
Kicking Tacos, yes. What does he need more though, a dose of reality or a bunch of ass kissers that get him nowhere besides just feeling better about continually doing nothing different? That’s LA, the graveyard of narcissists and pipe dreamers. And this comment section. Ohhhh Tacos you’re soooooo great. Keep doing what you’re doing, driving a second hand Toyota old-people-mobile and being a 9-5 secretary. Woooow Tacos you really really made it.
Millenial babies all forgot that hard times makes strong men. Not blogging or posting on Insta or patting themselves on the back. Roosh, Tacos, you name it. All the same breed. Tiny differences in outcome. One grows a beard, the other drives a Toyota. Both have no actual game. No women, no kids, no money, no nothing. Just yap yap yap.
All this looked promising 10 years ago. Now, just a giant disappointment you lot.
INT: SCHOOL LIBRARY, 1982.
I was five. Lampshade hair, blonde as Sting. Sears Roughskins.
Librarian was reading us a story about a kitten & a ball of yarn.
Reeeaal smooth, an ASMR voice. Panned the book L to R.
20-25 static electric kid scalps, pupils fixed & dialated.
Thinking, “Ahhh… Makes sense. Red yarn…I like this cat.”
Story ends, there’s a beat of silence.
So I go (because I have to),
“If Jesus died for the people on Earth,
did He die for people on other planets also?”
Five years old but a legit question. That poor, sweet woman.
No real answer, just her wild rolling Rodney Dangerfield eyes.
And the sound of her thin hand on the plastic book cover.
EXT: SCHOOLYARD. 3:00 PM.
My mom gets me in the ’76 Pontiac.
She’s all, “So how was school today?”
Distantly, I say, “Eh. Same old, y’know?” Houses scroll by.
Mom’s like, “Yeah. Got a phone call before…”
Was I in trouble, nah. Moms was cool. I didn’t miss G.I. Joe.
But she did ask, “So, why?”
My logic was: She’s a librarian; she works with books;
Bible’s a book; she oughta know everything in every book, ever.
Forty years later, yeah, I stand by that logic.
What I can’t remember was what happened on G.I. Joe.
A cliffhanger; COBRA controls the weather or some shit.
END TITLES: BLACK TYPE APPEARS ON AN ORANGE
BACKGROUND.
Live proud, and in peace. Love yourselves. I do.
And stay strong in that chokehold, fucksticks.
trash
You were referring to Paul Allen up there as “trash” ?
Kindly clarify. Thanks.
indoor plumbing is overrated. only morons shit and piss inside their own residence. first worlders do a lot of things assbackwards. a true King has an outhouse. bathes in natural pond, under a waterfall, or in a hot spring. eats fresh seafood, iguana meat, coconuts direct from the tree. has a shredded physique from just being active outdoors or banging multiple women under age 20. bronze skin and bulletproof immune system from plenty of sunlight.
compare that to the typical first worlder, who is up to his eyeballs in debt. stressed from work. gets exercise in some disgusting airconditioned gym bleached with cleaning chemicals. has to settle for some bitch over age 35 after she makes him jump through hoops and prove his worth. spine and neck fucked from sitting too much. few if any local friends or family, no social net. traffic. smog. pays taxes for every purchase, then income taxes. eyes damaged from computer and phone screens. dick shriveled from daily caffeine and nicotine. if you’re not moderately rich and living on an island by now, it’s over. in every piece of media i’ve seen of natives, they look happy, strong. in every pic or vid i’ve seen of citydwellers, they look sick and depressed. never before have humans had such comforts and conveniences thanks to technology. but it seems like we’re still miserable on average.
we’re basically just waiting, hoping, for the nukes to drop. or, the next stupid plandemic that leads to actual full-blown famine. 2020 was just a test run. things aren’t getting better. the 2021-2022 years were them fattening us up for the final slaughter. letting us get complacent and soft so we forget about the great reset, which is real. anyway, if you’re in LA you’re just waiting for san andreas to finally rip everything apart. perhaps we need mass death. only then will the earth get time to heal. free up living space. global climate change is just a euphemism for overpopulation. you feel it, i feel it. this unnatural life is bad. we cope by looking at cute animals and birds who we know will probably survive the next big happening. squirrels have their walnuts stored. birds and ducks, their instinctual migration patterns. what do we men have, horniness, anger? without planning and action, we just seethe online, as we impotently point out corrupt forces more powerful than us. maybe nancy pelosi will let me be her poolboy in her new Florida mansion. i’ll massage her shoulders and suck on her big wrinkly hangers. then she’ll moan and i’ll coom in her open mouth, providing her with necessary protein and nootrients. maybe Tacos will finally book that one-way ticket to Samar. retire on a beach like he always dreamed. no plumbing but plenty of spots to lay pipe. either way, the clock is ticking. let’s stay pozitive. we’re gonna make it….wagmi, baby!
Thank you.
you welcome ^_^
no, thank YOU for poasting, DT.
Flesh out Universal Basic Woman. It’s premise is too brilliant for a blog post. There’s huge gaps in that story. I want to know how the guy goes from successful wisecrack to moving her in with the dog. Don’t just mention the news anchors, what is their actual speech? I’m thinking Starship Troopers “Would You Like To Know More?” Frame the story in the propoganda of the near future. Maybe even throw the feminists a bone and actually make the woman the main character, her run in with fictional “you” is only one aspect of her life. Even when you shitpost I’m rarely disappointed, so just be like Kanye and put rough drafts out there, mayve come back and edit and make them good later.
No bones for feminists. They’ve been weaponized to destroy us. Well, destroy all of western civilization, really. They can find their own bones.
Back in your drinking days, you were living fast and dying with alacrity; now, you’re just half-alive and drawing out your days to extend the excruciating tedium of being a middle aged confirmed bachelor.
Like Bojack Horseman with the One Ring; slowly turning wraith over the eons in the hills of LA.
what if “middle age” is somewhat BS as long as you stay healthy with a clear mind. darin olien and elon musk are both 51 and they seem energetic enough to fly around the world doing stuff. darin’s been doing some sort of netflix travel show. elon just made two more babies for a total 6 kids? joe rogan still pumps out 3+ hour long podcasts. i don’t see why we have to dread late 40’s and 50’s as long as you take care of yourself.
the absolute mad man just recently creampied another woman:
https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-10989527/Elon-Musk-welcomed-twins-one-executives-weeks-welcomed-child-Grimes.html
#rawdog #makewomenpregnantagain
Who dreads being middle-aged? It’s the best time of my life so far. What would make it a time to dread would be fading out from the tree of life like a leaf turning crusty and brown in October. And fetishizing one’s self-abnegation-via-cowardice publicly in writing.
Brother, why are you still in USA? Paying outrageous inflated costs for everything? Just bounce. Go to SE Asia, or South Korea, or Hungary, or Romania. Just have fun. Live, create, love….
Ooops, sorry I confess I forgot your site for a couple years. Lost a USB hard drive. Laptop video card burned and fried the motherboard. Bought a new Asus gamer notebook and had to remember all my bookmarks from scratch. If I recall correctly, you were a damaged soul, addicted to alchohol and various drugs…?
If that is still the case, well yeah, then it kinda doesn’t matter what country or culture you are in. You will still destroy all those around you. Perhaps it’s impossible to create wacky third rail original stories and be a “balanced” individual. I’d like to hope it isn’t. I’d rather you ping pong back and forth between blackpilled prose and a happy life.
For what it’s worth, wish you all the best. Brothers in the journey of the soul. Namasteeznuts. ^>-<^
He’s been in AA the past seven-ish years. So now all his destructive energy has been transmogrified into malignant inaction and pining for what could have been.
Tacos = gay.
There you go, now it all makes sense. The massively overwrought details on how much he just loooooooves pussy. You ever hear a straight dude talk like that? No of course not. Cause it’s how gay dudes imagine straight guys talk about pussy.
No kids, totally obsessed with his looks and the gym? Gay dude. Straight guys don’t care nearly that much about their looks. And how often do you hear actual straight dudes go on and on and ON about their abs? Never? Yea that’s right, cause another dude telling you about his abs, is gay.
Is. Gay. Gay.
Maybe he doesn’t know it. Maybe he doesn’t know that straight dudes don’t think or talk about “sweaty pussy”.
Also why he can’t manage a girlfriend, or kids, or any of that. Just self obsessing and a whole lot of suspicious details about just how pussy. Pussy. “Yea guys, I have a whole blog where allI talk about is how much I love pussy. Oh, a gf? No, don’t have one. I just love pussy so much. Kids? Oh no way. Just pussy. I love it. Don’t have any but you know … my abs look amazing.”
Super gay
Regrettably that does make sense. I have the same suspicion about other reformed bad boy / manosphere types who, a decade after peak PUA, are still confirmed lifelong bachelors into their middle years, and childless. Roosh springs to mind.
Honestly with a basic level of game and also very basic effort (mitigating the most obvious flaws in looks and personality tics; forcing oneself to go out and approach women), pussy management soon becomes a chore of dealing with an embarrassment of riches. And having children is as easy as falling off a log (just stop worrying and overthinking, and start blasting). It’s been my experience that racking up a sizable brood is simple and fun, and it basically just happened on autopilot. Just get out of the way of Nature and stop trying to control everything so much.
It’s not some mystical holy sacrament that should be treated like something extraordinary and approached with utmost caution—having a woman and children is as basic and default as eating and bathing.
Tacos = homo.
There you go, now it all makes sense. The massively overwrought details on how much he just loooooooves pussy. You ever hear a straight dude talk like that? No of course not. Cause it’s how homobros imagine straight guys talk about pussy.
No kids, totally obsessed with his looks and the gym? Homo. Straight guys don’t care nearly that much about their looks. And how often do you hear actual straight dudes go on and on and ON about their abs? Never? Yea that’s right, cause another dude telling you about his abs, is gay.
Is. Hoooomoooooooooseeeexuaaaaaaal.
Maybe he doesn’t know it. Maybe he doesn’t know that straight dudes don’t think or talk about “sweaty pussy”.
Also why he can’t manage a girlfriend, or kids, or any of that. Just self obsessing and a whole lot of suspicious details about just how pussy. Pussy. “Yea guys, I have a whole blog where allI talk about is how much I love pussy. Oh, a gf? No, don’t have one. I just love pussy so much. Kids? Oh no way. Just pussy. I love it. Don’t have any but you know … my abs look amazing.”
Super homo
But if he were, this blog would be less about monkey teen wistfulness and a lot more about monkeypox.
This comment section is such a circular firing squad; it kind of reminds me of the glory days of Twitter before it reached Liberace/ Freddie Mercury levels of gayness.
Meanwhile I’m still trying to figure out what OC stands for. Original concept?
Original Content, or Orange County, one of those. A lot of the above comments sound like some spambot, but they’ll just call me gay for saying that, as if DT cares or needs defense.