All posts by Roosh

My SAT Score

Back in my day, the most you could get on the SAT was a 1600 (it’s 2400 now), and something like 1300 was considered to be a really good score where I came from. I knew I was going to the University of Maryland and only needed an 1100, so I bought a book that had ten sample exams, took three of them, and deemed myself ready. I got an 1140—mission accomplished. The breakdown:

Math: 670
Verbal: 470 (national average is 500)

I’m glad I didn’t get something like a 1480 because I would always question whether I’m living up to my SAT potential. When you get a verbal score like mine, just being able to finish a book and understand the big words means you’re doing pretty incredible. I have made big success in life!

God Knows Where My Taxes Should Go

I visited my old job recently. My former coworkers welcomed me back and asked what I was up to. I told them I’m in the process of quitting my current job, the one I left them for.

A girl I didn’t like working with said, “Wait what are you going to do about health insurance?” She works in the science field but doesn’t believe in evolution because it conflicts with her evangelical beliefs.

“Well I’m not going to have health insurance,” I said.

“Oh great, now if you get injured my taxes are going to pay for you.”

God I hate that bitch.

I’ve met a couple smart conservatives, but I’ve never met a smart religious conservative. They are like kids who repeat what they hear from their authority figures. Yes, God is really pissed that 0.05% of your taxes are going to someone who broke their leg and can’t afford to fix it. He’s enraged that an illegal immigrant is using the emergency room to treat Lupe and her 103 degree fever. He’s going to send a lighting bolt down to the mother getting welfare because she just can’t seem to stop making babies. That’s because the real God is one that feels capitalism’s idea of individualism is far superior to a concept of society where we have to pay for people who are just too ignorant to go to a four-year university and get a “real” job. God wants you off the government’s teet.

I know where God wants my taxes to go: he wants it to go into my protection. He wants it to go to law enforcement to continue the war on drugs (a war we are about to win). He wants more cops on the street to stop crime for good. He also believes in speed traps and parking tickets because they save lives. But he wants most of my tax money going to the Pentagon to protect me from Muslim terrorists who are jealous of my way of life. They wish they had Uggs, traffic, monster thickburgers, tanning salons, and Botox. The Muslim extremists who we used to call freedom fighters are terrorizing us because they want to be us. We can’t let them take away our iPods! And I know this is what God wants because everyone else who believes in God never complains about law enforcement or military spending.

I used to browse through motorcycle forums back when I had one, where a common topic was helmet laws. The pro-helmet law people used an argument that went something like this: “If you get into an accident without a helmet, your health care bills will be more expensive and my insurance will be higher.” You want to guess how much motorcycle insurance went down once states implemented a helmet law? Hint: it’s the same amount that your credit card fees and interest rates went down after the new bankruptcy law was signed. People who have a master-servant mentality, like most bible thumpers, hate it when others are not doing what they think is best, since they themselves cannot live without rules, structure, and guidance. Tell me how to live and tell me want to think so then I can tell other people how to live and what to think.

As for my former coworker, I didn’t bother to argue with her because she is having trouble finding a husband. There is no punishment greater for a woman than a life alone—so I win!

Blogger Love

I gotta give a shout-out to I Now Pronounce You. After Saturday night, all I can say is that he is a white man you need to party with. At the next happy hour, look for the really tall dude.

:treehugger:

Comment Registration

Requiring registration to comment is working well so I’m keeping it (background).

When you register, the software sends you a random password. I recommend the first thing you do when you log in is to change it. To do that, click on your username above the comment box:

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Type in your new password on the bottom right. If you have a blog, enter the URL in the Website field. If you get tired of your display name, you can save a new nickname and then select it in the drop-down box.

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Click for big

The other fields are pretty useless since they are only visible to me. I don’t think it needs to be said but your email address will not be sold or distributed.

Deal Breakers

The NY Times has an article about deal breakers, qualities a potential mate has that would disqualify him or her from future consideration.

First, take a look at the picture of the really awkward looking man holding the stuffed seal. Do you want to know what he does for a living? He writes dating advice. And you wonder why we’re having problems.

The article gives several examples of deal breakers, mostly of women dumping men. In this female deal breaker rundown, I’m only counting things the article mentioned as a confirmed deal breaker and not something that is simply disliked.

1. “I take her to my apartment, go into the bedroom, and fling back the sheets, and she said, ‘My husband had these sheets and he was a mean-hearted son of a bitch and you must be like him and I’m leaving.’”

2. “He didn’t even seem sorry that he lived in a 12-year-old boy’s room, this was like normal behavior. It said to me, this person is not grown up yet. It was frightening. He’s lived his whole life in the attic.”

3. “He was very cute, but then I realized he was totally unsuccessful.”

4. “I can’t sit in a room with overhead lighting…It makes me feel like I’m in a police interrogation room. I believe in lamps that are casting warm glows, and anyone that doesn’t understand that, I can’t be in their house, men or women.” :huh:

The only deal breaker anyone should have is HIV. That’s it. Even if a girl tells me she has HPV or herpes, I would do a detailed cost-benefit analysis before making a decision. The deal breaker is a concept most likely to be held by picky, neurotic women who are single and over 25 years old. I’ve never heard a man use this term before. Having automatic responses to small behaviors or situations (“His toilet was kinda dirty!”) is a sign that you are not ready for adult relationships.

The irony in all this is that a woman’s propensity to have deal breakers is correlated to her increasing infertility. The older she gets, the more likely things like ear hair make the list (I got plenty of ear hair—my loss I guess!). Her inability to connect the dots will ensure her genes are weeded out, which means the deal breaker term will disappear in one generation.

Richmond Pictures

Continued from Big Daddy’s Sports Club.

This first picture was taken from the second level of Big Daddy’s. All the way up towards the roof are two planks where bouncers help hired club girls on and off from the swings. They get lowered down and swing back and forth in random patterns while everyone on the main floor stops what they are doing to watch (to make sure they don’t get landed on, perhaps). In terms of skill, if walking and chewing gum is a 0 and making the space shuttle disappear is a 10, their performance would rate a 1. (One point has been added for their attractive appearance).

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Check out the Sienna Miller clone second-to-left. I was talking to this group when Sienna Miller blurted, “Someone take a picture of me!” Yes, m’aam! I told her about the resemblance in an indirect way because I didn’t want to blow her head up even further. “You kinda look like that girl in Alfie,” I said. Like most people, she didn’t see the movie. She may live her entire life not knowing she looks like Sienna Miller. It was talking this group that almost got me beat up.

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If you haven’t figured it out yet, I have a thing for Sienna Miller. Even though I would cream my pants if she touched me with intimate intent, I’m confident I have the skill to still run tight game on her if I so happened to run into her at Dragonfly. But even though Sienna Miller was in the house, I was more interested in another girl who looked nothing the ones in my masturbation fantasies.

These two girls were the married chicks. The white girl on the right is natural-born-cockblocker with a grating personality and aggressive attitude. She is the type that goes around asking random guys to buy her drinks. I liked her exotic friend instead (no, she’s not Indian). She had many piercings and tattoos but was just so nice and sweet—the dichotomy made me lust for her. I won over the white witch eventually but it all proved to be for naught when the husbands rolled by to pick them up.

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Back at the house, I entertained myself by throwing an American football up and down and gripping it really hard-like. On the hidden couch to the left was a passed-out girl who for some reason drank more than she can handle.

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When the party ends and you look around and don’t see any prospects who are conscious, your goal becomes about sobering up and figuring out how you are going to get home. This wasn’t the case for VK because the girl on his left was not only conscious but unlikely to puke. In this house lived a couple heterosexual guys in their early-twenties, but I still can’t figure out why there is a sexy picture of a man posted on the refrigerator. An inside joke, I hope.

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Newsletter No. 4

This month’s edition will be about the most brutal and effective cockblock a girl has ever served to me, and how it can be repackaged for our own use. If you are not already on the list, sign up is on the top right. It will be sent this weekend.

Big Daddy’s Sports Club

I got the call from Virgle Kent on Saturday afternoon.

“Hey I’m thinking of calling an audible today. My boy is having a big party in Richmond.”

“Richmond? You mean that place past Kings Dominion?” I said. “That’s far as hell.”

“Yeah but there are going to be a lot of sluts.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to Richmond. This would be a good opportunity.”

A two-and-a-half hour drive later and we are in some guy’s house with sorority girls who are diggin’ the vibe that my 100% Huggable Care Bear shirt was putting out. Except for the token fatty who pretended she was hot, the girls were thin, friendly, and cute. I was going to find love that night, but then VK had to tell me all about how his fraternity brothers ravaged their every hole back in the day. Once a mental picture is planted, like for instance me telling all the girls reading this to imagine me hitting it raw from the back in 1-3 minutes of the most intense pleasure you could ever imagine, it’s really hard to get it out of your head.

We end up at Big Daddy’s Sports Club, which I was told is the only good club in Richmond. Considering it is a cheesy Tequila Beach clone, I started to understand why VK suggested I hype up my DC background, a nightlife paradise compared to the dive bar dreck Richmond has to offer.

Big Daddy’s is the whitest place I’ve ever been to in my life. Other than one staff member, VK was the only black guy there. Let’s just say that if you want to ensure a homogeneous crowd, enforce a “collared shirts only” dresscode for men. The only reason me and Tenderheart Bear got in is because of my social engineering skills I wasn’t black. If you don’t account for fake tans, I was the second darkest person there. If you don’t account for the sheep dog that made a brief appearance, I was the hairiest living organism present.

I don’t like American girls, but if they are like the girls in that Richmond club, I can get used to them fast. There were two Sienna Miller clones, one Kim Smith clone, and several blondes that registered in the 8 and 9 range. With so much competition, you notice the difference in attitude. For example, if I’m stationary in a bar and there is a moving target, I usually yell “Hey” and then go into my opener. In DC I have to be halfway through it before the girl actually stops (if she does), but in Richmond they usually stopped on the “Hey”—and these girls were hotter. Is it easier to get laid there? I don’t know. But I did feel more comfortable being treated nicely.

I like to say that if you can game in DC, you can game anywhere. I know I haven’t stayed in cities long enough to be certain about their girl population, but other than New York, I haven’t been to a city that gave me a deja-vu feeling. All these techniques I learned to deal with unapproachable or frigid girls are totally unnecessary when I go elsewhere. Some players will live and die never needing the things I and others here had to learn.

The club closed a little early at 2AM. With just a little bit more time I’m sure I would have landed that motel room venue change with the two married chicks, but alas, I ended up throwing hail mary’s on the street while my wingman was engaged in expected drama with the college ex.

I was bullshiting with a couple random girls when I heard some guy yellling close to me. I turned around towards the source of the noise, and there was a guy looking at me and all I could make out was “…fucking knock you out!” I’ve never seen him before in life.

“Well that’s not real friendly,” was the first thing to come out of my mouth.

Then this neckless, swollen man pushes my chest and next thing I know there are five meatheads encircling me ready to give me an unforgettable beating. Back where I come from, you usually get warnings before a situation escalates into physical violence. If you are hitting on some guy’s girl, maybe he will put his arm around her or physically block access to her. Or he’ll say, “Bro, she’s with me.” Or he’ll just pull her away. There are a lot of things that happen before the “I’m going to knock you out” comes out. These Richmond guys weren’t playing by the rules, damn it. I got pulled out of there by one of our crew members and decided to call it a night before I ended up hurting someone.

I’m not sure if the people at Big Daddy’s are representative of Richmond or the South, but even if it’s as much as 20% worse, the vibe, attitude, and quality of the girls at this one club blows away anywhere else in DC. And most of these girls were in sororities, a subpopulation that is composed the shallowest and snobbiest women in the world. I don’t know if I’ll make it to Richmond anytime soon, but it does get me curious about what else the South has to offer.

Part II: Richmond pictures

Solutions

I have been told that I don’t bring any solutions to the modern dating problem, that I just bitch and complain. The reason is because I’m pessimistic the course we’re on can be reversed within our lifetimes. But I do think about it.

Before I present my solutions to the problems of modern dating, we need to imagine a world where these problems don’t exist.

Roosh’s Dating Utopia: I want to be able to go to a leisure venue and be a man (approach) until I find a girl that I connect with. This girl will be open, affectionate, and willing to put in 50% of the effort. She will possess a healthy personality that places more value on life and pleasure than appearances and material gain. She will not have insecurities that make connecting with her on a deep level to be an impossible, teeth-pulling task. She will be sexually secure, emotionally secure, self-aware, and have a willingness to enter relationships without concern or fear for how they will end. She will live in the moment based on feeling and state instead of social norms and preconceived notions. She will not only hit my physical buttons but my emotional buttons as well, providing with me a state of mind that I cannot achieve on my own.

The American way-of-life makes the dating utopia an impossible achievement. Women fail to learn how to treat a stable and secure man, resigning him to a life of sport fucking without the strong pair-bonding that previous generations have enjoyed. That last sentence is critical: the reason I do not get into relationships is because—other than sex—relationships with the girls I meet do not give me anything I can’t get through on-and-off, low-commitment dating. It’s not the sex that leads to an end of these three-date relationships, it’s the girl’s inability to provide the man with anything more.

I believe that women should get most of the blame because they are the gatekeepers—they determine the rules of engagement and construct the dynamic that men respond to. They are the ones who have created the modern man through a basic system of reward (sex) and punishment (no sex). A man’s game and behavior is in response to women he interacts with. I do a certain move or behavior not because I was born with it, but because I learned it through experience as an adult. Since we are products of our environment, to solve the dating problem we need to re-engineer the woman by changing her environment, one that she has accepted without protest.

Solution No. 1: Regress to a society based on satisfying needs instead of consuming wants. Capitalism has created a disposable mindset that women have adopted into their relationships. “I’m just going to test this one out to see if it is perfect for me. I’m not going to get attached because maybe I’ll want to try something else.” Are we talking about shoes or men? Unless they become gluttons for disappointment, men have no choice but to return the treatment in kind, icing the dynamic for both sexes.

Solution No. 2: Other than giving women the right to vote and protecting them from abuse, stop teaching feminism, an ideology that will soon join communism in the history books as a nostalgic failure. Women were tricked by their man-hating, eternally single idols that in order to be treated better by men, they had to treat them worse. The strong man and submissive woman role that has worked for hundreds of thousands of years (the proof is your very existence) has been reassigned in a continuing experiment that goes against genetic roles and behaviors. Feminism is great for empowering women to spend most of their lives working in office buildings, but terrible at training them how to be good wives and mothers.

Solution No. 3: Stop destroying the middle class. The government’s complicit destruction of America’s manufacturing sector and drive towards globalization (i.e. imperial profit) has made it impossible for a man to raise a family on one income—to take on a role that creates stable households and balanced women who do not starve for attention and validation. The necessity for women to enter the workforce creates a lack of adult supervision in a home where two-hundred channels creates generation after generation of ADD-saddled zombie American girls who believe pleasure can only be derived from drug substances, merchandise, and wealth, not commitment, work, sacrifice, and effort. These young girls grow up with beliefs that poison male-female relations. It doesn’t help that the continuing shift of power from people to corporations and the government-led drive to foster voter apathy through secrecy and hypocrisy has created a neurotic, debt-burdened middle class that only looks forward to consuming products and obsessing over trainwreck celebrities. Girls grow up part valley-girl and part entitled princess, with a bunch of other stuff filled in with whatever’s hot in the glossy magazines

That’s how you do it. That’s how you create women who are capable of making a man happy, who will in turn makes her happy. That’s how you reverse the climbing age of marriage. That’s how you make human beings who are capable of being in an intense, fulfilling relationship for longer than three years months weeks. But no one wants to hear it because the solution doesn’t come packaged in a pill or magic diet where you can still eat all the desert you want. And no woman wants to stay home and fix buttons when she can spend money pretending to be like the one-dimensional soulless hacks she sees on television. We all reap the costs of her lifestyle.

Not all hope is lost for the American man. There are still countries in the world where the above conditions I propose still hold, where a women still values a man and understands how to serve his needs like she should. It’s our job, our duty, to get that first-hand experience to see and feel how different things can really be. No flashing cash and no flashing passports: if you worked to build yourself up to the man that you should be, all you have to do is show up. In the end there are going to be two types of men in this country. The first settles for a typical American woman who complains about his hair on the soap bar even though she resembles her mother—twenty years early. The second is the eternal bachelor, love and companion-starved, lamenting that his genes will not be passed on.

Both lose.

April Fools!

I thought PD&I.com would be an obvious April Fools Joke, but judging by the amount of “Are you serious?” emails I received, I guess not!

The phrase ‘puppy dogs and ice cream‘ is from the movie Swingers.

You take yourself out of the game, you start talking about puppy dogs and ice cream and of course it’s going to end up on the friendship tip.

So true.

New Blog

Now that I’m all big and stuff, I can take more risk and push projects that would have otherwise ruined my reputation. No one has ever attempted what I’m about to attempt—it’s just so different and cutting-edge. Without further delay:
Puppy Dogs & Ice Cream

RooshV.com will only be updated once a week so that my creative energies ensure the inevitable success of Puppy Dogs & Ice Cream. For media inquiries, please email me.

Goodbye Corporate Grind

By the time you are reading this, I have submitted my resignation letter to my master at work. I probably did it at around 10:45am, the time I usually stumble in. Two weeks of coasting and I’m out.

I’m moving in with my Dad tomorrow. I’m going to be there for about three months to wrap up my book and prepare for something I’ve been thinking about for almost two years now.

I do not have another job lined up nor am I looking for another job.

:banana:

Fresh Meat

I noticed three new DC blogs that linked to me. Figuring they must have an awesome sense of humor for doing so, I checked them out for a couple weeks.

Just Going With It

One-night stand no. 5 or 6: We were fooling around, clothes were coming off, so I naturally assumed that sex was pending. “Let’s save that,” he said. Whoa. A gentlemanly one-night stand. Unheard of. I was disappointed, but kind of flattered. Maybe this guy isn’t for the use ‘em and lose ‘em category. So we went to bed spooning. I was the little spoon. The little spoon with my bare ass against his big spoon. I felt a poke. Oh, I guess we’re not “waiting.” Wait a second … Is he … “Um, I don’t really feel comfortable doing that,” I said. His response: “OK, let’s just do it normal.”

That’s What She Said

i’m starting to get a little bit distressed about my tendency to black out every friday and saturday night. not only do i lose things (like my gov’t issued blackberry which i am going to have to PAY for) but i have absolutely no recollection of large chunks of time where i interact with people, go places, do things, etc.

The two girl bloggers above are friends and seem to black out often. I wouldn’t classify them as trainwrecks yet but the potential is there.

Something Catchier

Have you ever drank Aquafina water? If you haven’t you should. And then tell me if you think they carbonate their water. They advertise their water as “uncarbonated water.” It does not appear to have any bubbles or carbonation when you buy it or even when it is unopened, but as soon as you open the bottle, chug a few sips, and put the cap back on. Surprise, surprise! BUBBLES!

This girl seems more balanced. When I read her I don’t think, “Oh man she is so getting date raped.”

With these three girls the DC blog scene will once again see its heyday of early 2006.