It’s the holiday season. I know, because I’m starting to see men’s rights and MGTOW web sites declare as much, and in the same sentence, they’ll tell me about how our liberation from feminism is right around the corner. Nevermind the fact that they’ve been posting identical shit every single year since I started reading such web sites, which would have been something like 2007. Unlike the rest of them, I’m not going to lie to you. Nah, I have some practical advice for the lonely hearts, instead.
’round about mid October, I got my ass on Plenty of Rotten Tuna, OKStupid, Stumble, Snatch dot Com, Bender, and all the similar sites, just to enjoy the show; and, what a show it is, too.
Every desperate slut within 500 miles has suddenly regained interest in a relationSHIT, conveniently right before the holidays, when they’re suddenly confronted with the fact that they’re alone and no one likes their dumb asses.
As much as we may like to deny it, there are certainly male correlates to the holiday wimminz on the dating sites. Just as Jane is ready to get down on all fours to take dick in return for not looking like a total loser to her parents at Christmas dinner, so is John ready to suffer through dinner at Jane’s father’s house, in order to get some cunt.
It might not even be sexual. Maybe he just wants a few facebook profile photos to show his skank-ho ex that he can pull a better looking piece of ass. Whatever his motivations, it is wild season on the internet.
So I’ve been hitting lots of new holes in the past few weeks, and striking out with orders of magnitude more than I land. Such is the way of the holiday hoez. And I don’t have any doubt that I’m not the only one.
Of course, if you are one of those nearsighted men who wants a relationSHIT at this time of the year, you might be deceived by the scarcity of responses in light of the overwhelming traffic. A few things you will want to remember, my brothers.
In the first place, you aren’t going to find a decent woman on the internet. The decent girls don’t get on Tinder or Bumble, because they don’t need to. What you will find on the internet are beyond being called prostitutes. A professional skank-ho at least has the dignity to perform a competent service, with a minimum of hassles, and leave when the transaction is concluded.
None of the skank-ho bitches you meet on the internet are worthy of a decent man’s time or attention. A more meaningful relationship can be fostered with a cat or dog, and there are plenty of those down at the shelter. You may have to feed a pet, but that pet will not fuck your friends, wreck your car, or sue you for lifetime alimony.
Every bitch on the fucking sites has taken miles of cock, and no matter how sweet or innocent little Janie looks in her profile photos, it’s a safe bet that she sees you as nothing more than a new piece of furniture, to be used only so long as you continue to be amusing, and to be discarded the moment you become inconvenient.
So you can start crying tears at the fact that little Janie has quit responding to your messages, and send her ever more invitations to connect, making yourself look more like a thirsty simp. Or you can message Susie, Staci, Josie and Amy, and let one or more of them worship your cock, until that day that little Janie decides she actually does want a new rocking chair (with penis attached) and finally calls you up.
You can be absolutely certain that you are not the first chair that little Janie has lowered herself onto — in fact, your turn will most likely be in the mid three digits. No matter how tough you might be, or what a good earner you are, little Janie has already seen every simp move you can make, and your lovesick messages telling her how she’s “the one” is about as interesting to her as a Star Trek rerun.
When I was a little boy, I just assumed I would get married and have a wife, in whom I could confide things, through whom I would get children, and with whom I would build a complete life. Of course, when I was that age, I also assumed I’d get a flying car, just like the ones I saw on the Blade Runner movie, and I assumed that I’d be able to take a trip to Jupiter, just like I saw in 2001: A Space Odyssey.
I can keep wishing it were so, and by extension, wishing that I could bring back the innocent mentality of little Boxer who was naïve enough to build such mental castles-in-the-sky, and the minute I act on such immature wishes, I have set myself up as prey for a wimminz, who will eventually divide my life’s work up between herself, the state, and a bunch of scroungy divorce attorneys.
Or I can live in the real world, and accept the material conditions on the ground as they actually exist. Life is not all bad here. After work yesterday, I met Angie, and fucked her hard. Then I went directly from her house to Rachel’s, and after a late dinner, I fucked that bitch, too.
Angie texted me this morning, wanting to fuck again this weekend. Rachel texted me this morning, telling me that I was an asshole, and warning me to shape up or she’ll quit talking to me. I texted Angie back, in a noncommittal way, and ignored Rachel. Stacy also texted me, inviting me to her place on Saturday. I’ll probably accept.
Happy Halowe’en. Happy Veteran’s Day. In case I don’t see y’all, Happy Thanksgiving.