All posts by Roosh


What would happen if I came up with a phrase and sent it to five alpha males in sequence to add or edit in any way they wish? The answer: a masculine essay that represents the strong realities of real men. I sprinkled some Roosh dust on the final result to bring it all together.

The magic phrase that was sent to the first alpha male: American culture.

The essay comes out to 1,000 words so I know I’m flirting with the edge of your attention span, but it is possibly the best collaborative effort the internet has ever seen.

Read it here.

Affection Follow-Up

Well that was quick.

Why is it so rare to find girls who put out a natural warmth and openness where you can cut through the manufactured bullshit and start to connect like two normal human beings?

March 14, 2007

I met a girl in a club one week after I wrote that. Even though her parents weren’t from the U.S., she put out a very strong American vibe since she was raised here since puberty (pink Coach bag, Asian-straight hair, fake tan, etc.). American girls are not my number one preference but as long as she is cute and not a complete moron, I’m going for sex. We talked for about 30 minutes with light petting involved. She had to leave because her girlfriend’s boyfriend got into a fight or something, so it was time to wrap it up.

“I think we should hang out for a drink,” I said.

You know her answer is going to be good or else I wouldn’t write about this.

“That can be arranged.”

It gets me so hot when girls treat me like a coworker. Going forward, can we add value in Meeting Room 2? I want to leverage your best-of-breed interface so bad…


I guess I’m asking for too much to want replies like “I’d love to” or even “I’d like that” because then she would be showing too much interest and I would stop considering her as a life partner. I got her number anyway because I was horny at the time, but why bother calling when you know at the very least you will be subjected to phone tag and “Let me check my schedule”? It’s time to hold girls to a higher standard where wanting to go out with me is not enough: I want you to show more enthusiasm than someone in one of those in-and-out comas.

Girls Getting Back With Ex-Boyfriends

Many times a girl has dated me after ending a serious relationship and then dived back into the arms of the ex-boyfriend when I put on the brakes. I have nothing to worry about as long as these girls don’t turn gay, but I think I know what this could mean.

1. They can’t cut it in the dating scene. It’s brutal out there. Telephone calls that aren’t being returned, lonely men sitting at the bar waiting for a date that will never show up, statements being wildly misinterpreted, and testicles exploding from too much internal pressure. This scene is like an underground drug den with dirty needles on the ground and zombies walking around with infected veins (emotions) that will never heal. The death blow is that last rejection that prompts the sad but inevitable “Is there something wrong with me” pity party. The fragile human ego has not evolved to handle the volume of rejection and disappointment seen in modern dating.

2. They don’t like being ultra-dominated in bed. I think a little bit of pain mixes quite well with pleasure because it makes that pleasure even better. I’m talking about contact with the cervix, bright-red hand imprints on asses, and neck-jerking hair pulling. Every girl is born to like this, but some take a few extra years to break away from feminist programming to fully enjoy being handled like a real woman. And it works both ways: when a girl is on top of me and doing that around-the-world move where it feels something is about to snap off, you don’t hear me whining like a little bitch. I can take the pain, just please don’t lean too far back.

The getting-back-with-the-ex phenomenon is common American behavior. A break-up is not the break-up but which break-up—just one of several that drags on a relationship past its shelf date. I look at it like this: if Don Johnson and Melanie Griffith couldn’t make it work a second time, then no one can. Unless something intrinsic about the environment or the personalities involved changes, the second and third and fourth break-ups will be low-budget sequels destined for the bottom shelf at the video store. You shake your head at the cover of Police Academy VIII and wonder, “Why did they bother?”

She’s Like A Doorknob, Everybody Gets A Turn!

Michelle is a cute 27-year-old whore. It says so right on her tattoos:

“I Swallow Cum”
“Fuck My Whore Ass”
“Cum Slutt” [sic]
“For Deposit Only”

Let’s find out how this came about.

I started the tattoo process during the time I was initially trying not to act out on my addiction. Since I was trying hard not to actually have sex with everyone I spoke to during a day, my sexual addiction came out in other ways. My mind could not, would not, and could not stop focusing on sex 24/7 — I was wet and turned on all day, every day. My pussy ached so bad for attention that I could barely function.

My last job was an $80,000 a year position as a supervisor for RTD in Denver — I was fired for having sex with the people I supervised. I found out I was known as the “pass around girl” by the bus drivers. It was not a term of endearment, I assure you. The term just sort of stuck, and that is often how I am referred to, and I often refer to myself as such.

Good for her for embracing her sexuality. A lot of you girls reading right now could take a lesson or two from Michelle, who I guarantee you knows how to please a man in bed (or in a Wendy’s bathroom, janitor’s closet, dark alley next to the dumpster, etc.). I wouldn’t worry about going overboard with the tattoos like her though, just one that says “Fuck My Whore Ass” should be enough.

Some body modification magazine interviewed her and published nude body shots, including a close-up of her vagina. It will leave you speechless.

NOT SAFE FOR WORK: Michelle, The Pass Around Girl

Hell yeah I’d hit that.


Worst Starbucks Barista In The Universe

I ordered a tall Americano and a water at the cash register. I waited a couple minutes by the bar but the water never came. No big deal, I’ll just ask again.

“Can I get a cup of water?”

The Asian lady barista said, “Sure I’ll get it for you this time but next time can you get back in line and ask for it?” Suck deez.

That barista is actually a manager, and I’ve seen her give attitude to others and reprimand her subordinates in front of customers. After I got my water I briefly considered using my Pulitzer-worthy writing skills to write a letter to corporate headquarters, but that would take too much effort.

A large black man next to the bar sees I’m waiting for my coffee drink. “My drink is taking forever too,” he said.

We small talk for 30 seconds. I looked at the Asian barista and said to him, “You see that woman? I really hate her.”

“That’s my wife.”

“Haha yeah right.”

“No really, she is my wife.”


“Uhhhhhhhh yeah I’m saying that because I tried to get a water but she was not very nice.” It only took five seconds for me to regress into a beta male.

“Oh she can seem tough but this store is very busy.”

Phew, he’s cool with me hating his wife. I chat a little to alleviate my guilty feelings as my intoxicating charm wins him over: he ends up introducing me to her as his “homeboy.” He told her to look out for me in the future, so talking shit to a man’s wife may actually get me free coffee. I didn’t learn a lesson from this.

Wearing The Engagment Ring After The Wedding

As a teenager I learned that engagement rings are only worn during a couple’s engagement period. But times have changed. Because women make such a big deal about wanting an engagement ring that costs at least 15% of her fiance’s yearly salary (Zales said so), they’ve become reluctant to hide such precious jewelry just because a couple vows were exchanged. Everywhere you look women have now settled on the retarded trend of wearing both the engagement ring and unglamorous wedding band at the same time, on the same finger. They do this because they want to continue advertising their life partner’s salary. How else will her peer group judge her worth as a woman? It takes way too much work to judge a person’s character and personality—but that shiny diamond is like a billboard that everyone can understand. “She married a guy with money and fulfilled her purpose in life! I’m so jealous and depressed—where’s the chocolate?!”

I would love to see a man try to reason with his long-term girlfriend that an expensive engagement ring is a waste of money, that it’s better well spent towards a house or interesting vacations. I’d get the popcorn ready as she rails on him for being unromantic, selfish, and “out of touch,” because nothing says romance and generosity like a rock whose supply is artificially controlled by multinational entities.

A woman who wants such a ring is going to be trouble down the road. Next thing you know the car is old because it needed two repairs in one year, a storage facility needs to be rented to house all that shit that went out of style, the McMansion needs an upgrade because the kitchen doesn’t have enough space for a restaurant-sized refrigerator to store carry-out, and a hot Polish au pair must be brought into the house to watch the kids while cool mommy is in Pilates class.

It is up to us to put the engagement back into engagement ring. If a woman finds it socially unacceptable to wear an engagement ring after the wedding, she will not push for something so costly to only wear for a year or less. Next time you see a double-ring wearer, all you have to do is ask the shallow woman why she wears both rings. Peel at the scab to get to her true shameful intentions. Since women are hyper-sensitive to mainstream opinion, once millions of people catch on to the idea I have written about today, the expensive diamond ring will be history.

Free Dunkin’ Donuts Coffee

Photo Credit

Dunkin’ Donuts has free iced coffee all day today. While I find donuts to be repulsive, I will hit multiple Dunkin’ Donuts to get as much free coffee as my little heart desires. If I smell like donut grease in the process, so be it.

Full Disclosure: Dunkin’ Donuts has paid me $10,000 for this post.

My Doug

Dear Doug,

I’ve been seeing you for two years now without complaint. I came to you after I ended my three year relationship with Anthony and his inconsistent ways. He was much cheaper but you know me—I need complete satisfaction. You were so green when I first started seeing you, with your wide availability and barely-visible corner space, but you kept introducing new techniques that made me feel good about coming back for more.

This past weekend I noticed you had three stations, an entire row. They are not going to give you all that space and not raise your price, so I mentally lubed up my ass for the pounding it was about to receive. Sure enough, the price came to $50. With $12 tip on top of that, you now cost the same amount as a weekend date that ends in sex. I went out that night and girls made fun of me, telling me their haircuts cost less than mine. It’s not your fault, but I’ve lost all my alpha male credibility. I felt so beta the next day that I bought a couple Armani Exchange shirts and some steroids from the internet. Therefore I don’t think I can see you again—professionally, anyway. You’ve always liked my hair long so I think I will try your advice and be a ponytail guy like Choco from Domino. Don’t worry, I’ll let a couple strands hang on my face like you said. I’ll stop by soon because you know I like checking out all your coworkers.

With big love,


6 Qualities Of A Good Rape Scene

I just saw the movie 300, which had an awful rape scene—it didn’t arouse me at all. Real-life rape is brutal, horrible, and something I don’t believe in, but I dig it in movies and porn where the fake rape is a symbol of male domination. Here is what makes a good rape scene:

1. Not too much physical violence. There should be no blood and hitting of the girl with a closed fist, though hair pulling is acceptable. The girl can beat the guy on his chest as much as she wants, and she has to say “no” and “please don’t” several times. But not too much.

2. Lots of eye contact. This makes the rape more intimate.

3. Some facial grimacing. It should hurt a little initially, but not during the full strokes. Definitely no tears.

4. No protection. I accidentally stumbled on a French porn clip of four masked men “raping” two French girls. Not only did the guys put condoms on, but the girls helped them do it. I was so disgusted that I stopped watching.

5. Change in opinion. The key to a good rape scene is seeing the girl change from hating it to loving it. She has to want to be raped again.

6. After-sex joking or cuddling. She should learn to love her rapist. None of that crying on the floor naked while in a fetal position stuff.

Both genders have rape fantasies and that’s normal, but there is a definitive test to see if you really love rape or not: watch the movie Irreversible. The nine minute rape scene in that movie is so violent that it disfigures the victim (Monica Belucci) and puts her in a coma. I did not get aroused during that scene, like I normally do when watching rape, so that means I can joke about rape because I’m not really a rapist (sort of like how black comedians can make fun of black people). That movie turned me off from cinematic rape for several months.

The Last Book Update

I finished the 1st draft last month. It came in at a morbidly obese 75,000 words. Double-spaced with size 12 font that comes out to 210 pages. So far I’ve edited 50 of those pages, spending at least three hours a day to do so. Each page takes me 20-25 minutes to edit.
The blog may suffer during this editing process. Posts may arrive at stranger times.


April: Finish the 2nd draft. Send to hand-picked editors. Do my taxes.

May: Decide on a book title (with your help) and create cover. Complete the book.

June: Self-publish. Complete blood vow to never write a book again.

This project has ruined my life, so I will be pleased when it’s over.

I Dated A Girl Who Was In A Gangbang

Yesterday I mentioned how a girl I dated told me she was in a gangbang. Let me share with you how that came about.

Several years ago I was seeing a brunette who put out a girl-next-door vibe but was a piranha in bed. She was perfect for me. Since she was a keeper, I showed her my appreciation by hanging out with her in public instead of just my bedroom.

One afternoon we were at Barnes and Noble reading magazines. She was into the female health magazines like Shape and I was into Maxim and Stuff (give me a break, I was just out of college). I was still dreaming of a threesome, and this girl, due to her unbridled sexual energy, was my best shot at it to date.

“Have you ever been in a threesome?” I asked, quietly.


“Cooooool! How was the girl like?”

“Umm. There was no girl.”

“Wait. How is a threesome possible without another girl?”

“It was with two guys.”

“Oh, no.”

At that moment, she was dead to me. Alright maybe not dead, but the freak in the sheets and lady on the streets image I built her up to be imploded like an old Vegas casino. She proceeded to give me details as my face turned from ease and contentment to looking like I was dumping a log in the toilet. I listened to her every word as she told me how guys pounded her multiple holes during one drunken night in college. I had to stop her from telling me more. It was my fault for not recognizing the warning signs: her ambivalence towards condoms, her penchant for public sex, and her love of record-setting gangbang events where a random guy off the street has to put in just a couple strokes to make it count. I should have known.

I continued having condomless sex with her but it just wasn’t the same: I kept imagining my best friends tag-teaming her along with me, asking me if I’m “having a good time” and if she is “always this freaky.” A few more months of that, after these kinky bedroom thoughts progressed into a heterosexual gray area, I decided to end the relationship.

In relationships since then I’ve had to stop girls from opening their big mouth and telling me their past sexual history, lest the image I have of them in my head be disturbed. Unless the girl is a virgin. I’d like to know that ahead of time so I can find some black tape to cover the red record light on my Dad’s camcorder.

Teenage Girls Are Better

After a couple recent posts talking about girls and young age, I recommend you go read Irinia’s Teenagers are hotter than me.

The most attention I’d ever gotten from men was when I was a teenager. Especially from older men. I used to think they were creepy, but now I realize that they were just over 25. Even with some acne, and a then boyish body, men still honked their horns at me. And now, even if I look good, fewer are going to pay attention because I think the youth has been sucked out of me. I look at these girls on the subway or bus and I’m constantly amazed at how they’ve all got it going on. On their worst day, these girls, with their youthful glow and childish attitude is far more attractive than me.

I guess this is one of her more depressing posts (if you are a female) but it is accurate and brutally honest. I’m proud to be a reader of her underrated blog. I found her first!

Craigslist Slut

A reader requested I write about this Craigslist posting, about a woman who dated 34 men she met off Craigslist in one year.

The posting is written in a universal font size, but when I came across “I’m young, very thick, cute, tall, and blonde,” my brain read it like this:

I’m young, very thick, cute, tall, and blonde.

Her profile sounds reasonable. If it wasn’t for the very thick part I can imagine myself hanging out with her and her progressive personality, if of course what she said reflected reality. By now I’ve learned that girls describe themselves with how they wish they were, not how they are. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was more annoying than that random dog that pissed on my leg last year.

I am promiscuous. (Wikipedia has a great definition of the word if you’re interested). I like sex. A lot. Actually, I love sex. I haven’t been in a real relationship in a very long time, and I miss regular sex (among other things). I’m multi-orgasmic, and while I’m not going to get too into it, I’m wierd when I’m not getting a sufficient dose of coitus. Now granted, while I am on the ADVENTUROUS side, I am no slut. I think the right guy is out there for me somewhere, but I don’t know where the hell he is, or why I haven’t found him yet.

Nothing wrong with being horny and fucking a lot of guys. As long as a girl doesn’t infect me with her tropical strain of the clap, I don’t care too much about how many dicks she has had inside her. Okay, maybe I do care, but the fact that I will never ask her about her sexual history means the issue probably won’t come up, unless she can’t help but tell me about the gangbang she was involved with in college where she was the only female (true story).

I’ve gotten over 3500 responses in the past 6 months

I believe it. Trying to get laid on the internet makes you an excellent copy/paste monkey and really takes “playing the percentages” to a level the idea of courtship has never seen in the history of man. No matter how monstrous the girl is, the internet is an attention generating machine that makes her think her value is higher than a girl who weighs under 200 pounds.

Even though our BBW is “not shallow or close-minded,” she proceeds to destroy most of the shlubs who dated her.

Little did I know that you would turn out to weigh about 100 LBS and look like a cancer patient

Seriously. You sent me pics, and I saw Calvin Klein Ads. You brought yourself, and I saw Kramer from Seinfeld. What the FUCK??

The minute you put the condom and slid inside me once, you came. PEACE OUT!


Seriously, I know I give good head, but leave a girl alone man, it’s creepy.


You had white fizz at the corners of your mouth, and made me want to vomit.

YOU WERE THE WORST I’VE EVER HAD. Poor guy, you don’t watch enough porn.

You kinda had this strange constipated look on your face all the time.

…little did I know you would turn into a depressed, ADD, and OCD FREAK. When I touched your dick, you came in my hand.

I wanted to laugh just listening to you and your ridiculous little gay laugh

…and so on. We are now living in a society where a very thick girl can judge other men who, unlike her, have the willpower to stop shoveling double-meat cheesesteaks in their mouth.

She did have nice things to say about me though. I make an appearance at number 18 under my fake name Pat. Yeah I fucked a fatty off Craigslist. So what, who are you to judge? I was going through a cold streak and needed to build some momentum to resume fucking the supermodels that I usually get with.

18) PAT ROOSH : Wow you had a big dick. You were the greatest fuck buddy ever, because we weren’t attached, and didn’t know much about each other either. You sure did show me a good time more than once!! You were pretty cocky though, I mean.. you were hot, and you knew it. But come on, you still weren’t no Don Juan. You went and found yourself a girlfriend :(

Emphasis mine. The girlfriend excuse was a line, of course.