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Diary: An Actress

16 Feb

I need to jack off, to that chick (REDACTED), whatever the fuck her name was.  She showed up to dinner with (REDACTED)’s parents wearing dark gray yoga pants and when her legs hit the right angle you could see the outline of her vagina.

She is hot.  Skinny, in good shape, perfect bone structure hot.  In her youtube videos she looks merely “quirky hot,” like, her face looks a little fuller and her teeth look like a mouth full of jagged chiclets and she just, you know, looks like the kind of chick you would see across a room and think “that chick is kind of hot.  Maybe I have a chance.”

Then in person it is clear she is the kind of chick with whom you have no chance.  She has that sleek, lithe build like a lemur, or one of those whippet-looking marsupials that just went extinct– the thyalacine.  A thyalacine I want to fuck.

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Reader Mailbag: How to Be Attractive to Women

15 Feb

(REDACTED) asks:

Long time lurker, first time poster. Needless to say, I love your writing. My question is, “As a guy, what should I do short-term and long-term to increase my attractiveness to the opposite sex?” Please answer the converse question about what a woman can do to increase her attractiveness. Don’t give obvious answers like “hit the gym.”

Well, look, do hit the gym.  Don’t forget how shallow women are, in case you think they’re not.  Women are great about systematically lying to themselves and everyone else about everything, and they have this collective con set up where we think they care most about confidence, personality, etc.  Women and men are much more alike in shallowness than people seem to think– women like a chiseled jaw, a small nose, pumpkinseed shaped deltoids, visible obliques, etc. etc.  The standards for an attractive male body are much more exacting than they are for women.  You better have less than ten per cent body fat, which is physically not so tough but psychologically impossible to maintain unless you take speed.  But get close.  Do hit the gym.  Make yourself look as good and stylish as you possibly can.

And then there’s the whole other part.  Things having to do with extroversion and self-assurance and etc., which all boils down to: the way to be attractive to women is to already be fucking other women.  I get that it’s kind of hard to separate cause and effect here– maybe the guys who are fucking other women are just intrinsically more attractive, but— I don’t know, I’m gonna get religious here for a second: I really do believe they can “smell it on you.”  Walk into a party with a hot chick and walk in solo and see the difference in the way other women treat you. Just like you have to have seed money to get rich, you have to already be getting laid to get laid. Continue reading →

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Everybody Thinks

13 Feb

it’s so easy for everybody else.

I was at a party.  A party full of gays. Me and a gay guy were talking about dating, and he said something to the effect of: “well it must be great for you, because you’re a straight guy in LA.  You can get whatever you want whenever you want.”

WHAT THE FUCK????!!!!  ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?  Does this guy not know?  Has he not seen every single party and bar and restaurant and grocery store line, ever, in Los Angeles?   There is never an attractive enough to fuck girl ever, and if there is she has a boyfriend, or there are three of them and 10,000 guys, or there is one by herself but she is creeped out at the prospect of even looking at you. And of course he’s never been on one of these online dates  where it seemed like it was going pretty good until you went for the makeout halfway in and she turned her fucking cheek toward you, because it turns out she is new to online dating and hasn’t yet gotten the memo about how the plan is we show up, we drink, we fuck.  She thinks it’s going to be some old-timey courtship from the antebellum South where maybe you get a kiss on the third date if her chaperone nods off after a mint julep on the porch, and then I high five the slaves on my way out.
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Diary: I Need a Girl

8 Feb

I canceled my drinks with (REDACTED). Even though I like (REDACTED) and would totally enjoy hanging out with her.  She is–  she took me to a museum once.  She is really smart.  She knows a lot about art and literature and stuff.  And I think she kind of had the hots for me.  See, why couldn’t I date someone like that?  A chick who went to Harvard and has her shit together and knows who fucking Albrecht Dürer is and can distinguish between different phases of his career.  Who knows who Lucas Cranach the Elder is.  Someone who has a finely tuned taste for the works of various Northern Renaissance engravers, is what I need.  Someone who can tell apart multiple different interpretations of works by Claude Debussy.  Who can hear the orchestral version of some Claude Debussy shit and know that it was orchestrated by Maurice Ravel, or whoeverthefuck. Who legitimately enjoys these things. Someone who knows about plants and animals. Hummingbirds. Insects. Continue reading →

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What Now, She Says

6 Feb

We go out a couple times. We make out, maybe we bone. Or maybe we don’t, and I just never call you. Or maybe we do, and then we get married and move slightly out of town to some place where people of modest means can get a pretty big yard, and we get a goat, but the fucking thing is too loud and keeps chewing through the fence- they are surprisingly clever animals. Maybe it actually figures out the latch. But point being the goat keeps getting out and getting into the neighbor’s yard and eating his heirloom tomatoes or whateverthefuck- maybe we laugh at this. Maybe this discord with our neighbors only brings us closer together, like, us against the world. Maybe not, maybe you never wanted to get it in the first place, maybe you never wanted to move to the suburbs, maybe you secretly blame me for everything moving too fast and now you’re stuck here out in Calabasas or something and now you’re like 33 and if you leave me you’ll never have biological children, but if you stay with me you don’t know how you can stand even one more fucking second in this house in the middle of nowhere and separating the bank accounts is going to be such a god damned pain in the ass, and the goat isn’t cute anymore, it was a stupid idea, and it has an expected life span of like 35 more years but any place you give it away to might use it for meat and that would pretty much be unconscionable. You don’t want it, but you can’t get rid of it. That’s what it’s going to be like with you and me in like four years. Maybe. I mean, I don’t know. I don’t have a fuckin crystal ball.

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Girls who can get off, and girls who can’t get off

5 Feb

Every few months there’s a scientific study about how only point eight, or whatever, percent of girls can really get off through vaginal penetration.  Something on Jezebel, or some shit, and then all the comments (that don’t somehow work hating men into it) are talking about how more guys have to give better head, etc.

Virtually all girls seem to get off with me, but I accept that this is a lie. If they want to pretend to get off, and not tell me, fine.  I’m not going to press the issue. If a girl gets to the point in life where she’s fucking me, generally she’s fucked a thousand or so guys before me and if she can’t figure out how to come on a dick– old dog, new trick.  And frankly I don’t care.

There are a couple girls who clearly actually get off, or at least put on such a kegel-and-light show that even the foremost expert couldn’t tell they’re faking. Girls who get off early, and get off multiple times.  This is great, obviously, especially because if a girl pops in the first minute sometimes it’s nice, for once in your life, to give in to your own urge to pop off real fast.  Nothing on this Earth feels better than premature ejaculation. Nature’s way.
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Girls Who Like to Get Fake Raped

2 Feb

I have a friend who has a rape buddy.  She texts him with a few hours notice, and at some point that night he comes over, fakes breaking into her house, and fake rapes her.  Knowing her she probably screams her fool head off and is completely committed to yelling “no” and “stop” and fighting back, etc., and basically— like, I bet she did not arrange with him to back off when she says “banana.”  Once she hits send, the rape train is coming to town.

Obviously, this is weird, but this is the kind of girl who had a real rough life and you sort of expect these things.  Similarly my college ex girlfriend lost her virginity by being gang raped at fifteen and she used to beg me to fake rape her.  I couldn’t do it without cracking up.  It seemed to me like the dude who studies karate and when you’re drunk he says “punch me.”  Like, no, it doesn’t work that way.  How about some time in the next few weeks I’m going to come up behind you and punch you when you least expect it. Some time in the next month a van will pull up and a masked man will throw you in back and he will not stop when you say “banana.”  And it might not even be me.  I might farm this one out.  You think it’s going to be me, but in fact it’s my roommate McClure and I’m getting him back for that case of Yuengling he bought.

Anyway, this came up again last night because I went on a first date with a girl who likes to get fake raped.  Needs to get fake raped.  It came up early, as these things often don’t— I forget what we were even talking about beforehand but she came out with how she had to dump a guy because he was too much of a pussy to choke her.  She was saying that it’s a symptom of the decline of manliness basically— men are too pussified to hold a girl down and smack her around, and that’s what women really want.  Her, anyway.  To get choked once in a  while and held down and fucked even if they say no.  It felt like a let’s-get-this-out-of-the-way-early thing.  And it kind of felt like a don’t-stop-fucking-me-when-I-say-no-later kind of thing.
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Back from the Pussy War

31 Jan

I’m back from the pussy war. This is the war that men fight for 20 years, starting at around age 15.  Maybe sooner.  You spend 20 years thinking about nothing but pussy, how to get pussy, I need new pussy, where is there going to be pussy.  You get out there in the trenches and you battle for pussy, you learn about the enemy, you try to take them down.

Now I’m thirty-five and a half and some hormonal switch has been thrown.  Maybe it’s just age, maybe it’s my job crushing it out of me—who knows.  But I no longer give a shit about pussy. I’m back from the pussy war. Continue reading →

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Protected: OKCupid: Fatties

29 Jan

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Miranda Catches the Gay

25 Jan

Cynthia Nixon recently said in the NY Times that she “chose” to be gay, which caused controversy and people freaking out and etc. To all of which Andrew Sullivan responds:

“My own view is that female sexuality is inherently more fluid than male sexuality, and that lesbians and bisexual women, because they are less fixated on crude physical signals for arousal, have more of a choice than men, gay or straight, in their choice of loved ones. I think this is about the difference between lesbian identity and gay male identity. For all the attempt to corral us into one vowel-free liberal conglomerate, I know few communities less alike than lesbians and gay men.”

That is a beautiful and succinct way of putting it.  Let me put it another way: my sexuality is tectonic plates miles thick and thousands of miles wide grinding away beneath the earth’s crust on incomprehensibly powerful tides of magma, grinding and crushing and destroying and building up vast pressures sapped only momentarily by hellfire explosions and earth-shattering quakes that ruin civilizations and crush lives. Your sexuality, womankind, is a toy house made of toothpicks and gumdrops that you can disassemble and restructure on a whim. Your sexuality is as the mustard seed, small and unassuming but capable of flowering into something beautiful, delicate and complex under exactly the right circumstances.  My sexuality is the fucking SUN. Continue reading →

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