I know we have a whole year left but I got an interesting email from a guy who has been reading me for ages, before blogs were known as blogs. He informs me that Shlonglor, one of the internet’s first celebrity gamer geeks, knocked up a girl who is now destroying his life. In addition to his child, he’s raising her 6-year-old from a previous relationship, calling the kid his own.

Let’s take a closer look.

So I give her $400 for groceries, next day she wants money. She was supposed to take some of the money up to her moms and use it for groceries this month so her mom wouldn’t have to pay for everything. She spent $100 in one day here. She just took another $100 and she wants another $50. I bought airline tickets for $800, GPS/Camera (like $500). It never ends.

See I’m buying a house and It’s like $3,100 a month vs. $2,000 a month for my current rent. When I met her I was at $1,200 a month. She doesn’t have a job so it’s up to me. :(

I’m going to have to pay like $800 to move, get a washer, dryer, fridge. I have to pay like $800 to get out of the apartment. I have $77/month college loan payment coming up, I have $3k on my credit card because of all these bullshit purchases, and I owe $1k on car insurance. She’s getting us another loan to help stay alive that I have to pay back within a year.

It’s a horrible time for me to buy a house… I should say no but this is the only time I can probably get a decent place where I got it. She keeps saying that if you wait, you might never see interest rates like this. She might be right. We’ll see.

She made him buy a house during the biggest housing bust since the Great Depression. Ouch.

I got rid of cable, netflix, gametap. That’s like $150.

She made him give up everything that kept his meek existence the least bit enjoyable.

I will eventually in a year get like 10k back in taxes for the house but that’s a long time to survive until then. I’m thinking of borrowing some money from my 401k despite it being down $40k.

What a shitty way to live.

He confesses in the comments that he complains about his girlfriend online so that she’ll see it and hopefully get the hint. Fucking epitome of beta. A man who doesn’t stand up for himself and instead cries on a blog with sad emoticons deserves nothing but total ruin. Get a spine man! Stop giving that bitch money! The only question is if she will be able to find a bigger beta to raise his kid once he’s reduced to living in his Honda.

If you’re wondering why a man would put up with this sort of thing, it’s the same reason why women stay with men who slap them across the face from time to time. Low self-esteem, low confidence. They think they can’t do better and that they’re lucky with whatever they got.

I believe he has reached the point of no return where no amount of advice or game will change the outcome. Helping him would be like trying to put toothpaste back in the tube.

On my site meter I can see how people visit my blog. Often times it’s from Facebook but I can’t always read what comments were written about it. One recent time I could. Here’s how my blog was introduced:

are you ready for this??? He’s a legend in his own mind. His hairy hairy mind.

Typical Roosh hater right? But then I look at the name. It’s a girl that I know. I don’t use my blog to settle scores (anymore), but since her friends are swinging by here I thought they’d want to hear another side of the story. This is a public service for them.

*Cracks knuckles*

At the last happy hour a drunk girl comes up to me and says she loves my blog. She bought Bang, is writing about it for some academic paper, and is generally “fascinated” with me. She says that we met before a year ago at Dragonfly before it closed but I didn’t remember. I have a witness to her affections: Lemmonex was looking and laughing at her because she was so drunk and obvious.

She says she’s not leaving without me. Notch it up! Or not.

I’m all about sex, of course, but she is drunk to the point of swaying and I was on my first drink. If I took that girl home it would have been rape, and I consider myself above rape. It was just a matter of time until she puked. I got her number knowing full well it’s likely I’ll never see her again.

A few minutes later she gets kicked out of the bar because she started smoking inside. The bouncer came up to me explaining why he’s kicking her out (“I couldn’t let it go… smoking has been banned for a year now”), but I tell him that she is not my girl and I don’t care what he does to her.

Ten minutes later I peek in front of the bar and there she is, waiting for me in the freezing cold. I go outside and tell her to go home but she says not leaving without me. I say no, but allow her to make out with me for five seconds. Then I go back to hosting the happy hour. I can only imagine how many guys tried to pick her off while she stumbled her ass home.

A couple days later we chat on the phone for a bit and agree to hang out. I put in the effort, if you want to call it that, because she was born in Saudi Arabia and I wouldn’t mind getting such a difficult flag out of the way. On the day of the date I call to confirm a time but she doesn’t return my call. So the drunk girl ended up flaking on me. I manage to find the strength to get over her.

I did want that Saudi flag but I wouldn’t have changed what I did on the night we met. If you saw her wrecked state then you would understand.

Fast forward two months. I’m at a bar with friends. One friend ends up talking to this girl for quite a while and later tells me that I know her. I look at her closely and it’s the blog groupie chick. I tell my friend the story, we have a laugh, and then I go on with my night talking to other girls. I don’t say hi or make eye contact with her, even though she was never more than a few feet away from me.

I’m talking to a girl with an ugly beret hat when the blog groupie chick, trashed like before, comes up and plays the same game. Her crotch is rubbing against the side of my thigh while I’m seated on a stool and she’s literally pawing at me. She goes on about Bang but is slurring her words, and it’s at that moment I understood what type of girl she was: while drunk you can do whatever you want with her, including ass to mouth, but while sober she is a worthless flake and a colossal headache. Again, it would be nice to have that Saudi flag, but I pass. May Allah (الله) be with the next guy who tries to ride that.

I tell her nicely to go back to her friends, but she doesn’t want to leave. I ignore her to talk to the beret chick, whose hat I took off because I wanted to see how she really looked. She was pretty and I decided to stick with that, but the groupie is still rubbing up her bits on me.

“Did you two used to date?” the beret chick asked. She was becoming extremely curious.

“Nope,” I said, and continued talking to her like there wasn’t this drunk girl oddly placed in our conversation.

The groupie was proofing me so hard that I could have replaced my game with reading out of a television manual. Other girls in the bar were blatantly staring.

Eventually it got old and I had enough. “Can you just GO AWAY! I don’t want to talk to you.” Sometimes with these girls you have to be firm. Finally the groupie chick gets the hint and leaves. By the end of the night she can barely stand and her friends have to hold her hand to walk through the bar. I felt sorry for her.

The next day she goes on Facebook and says I’m hairy and a legend in my own mind. I think the only mind who I’m a legend in is hers. If she ever sends me an update about how her academic paper about me is coming along I’ll let you guys know.

This story happened a couple months ago but I just remembered it the other night while thinking about my life.

I was at a small lounge with a couple friends when I made small chat with this alright looking girl. It went nowhere but later I got much farther with her cuter friend. The deeper the conversation got the more the original girl interrupted, until she finally squeezed me out of the conversation by making her friend dance.

One hour later I’m leaning against the bar and who is dancing in front of me but an Americanized Brazilian girl (good enough). I hit her with my gringo Portuguese and she’s curious, wondering why this gringo spent a month in her country. I mentioned a couple popular Brazilian foods for good measure, but I didn’t overdo it or else it would come across as me trying to impress her. She asked me to dance.

Apparently half the girls at the bar knew each other, including all three girls I’ve mentioned so far. While I’m getting somewhere with the Brazilian, the original cockblocker comes up to her.

“Oh, you’re talking to him. He hit on everyone tonight.”

I was doing a dry run of the day game workshop with a friend. I told him in day game girls are polite and go out of their way to be helpful even if they think the approach is a pick-up attempt. But in bars if you get a couple girls together the behavior they exhibit is anti-social and downright psychotic. Show me a man who has tons of experience meeting girls in clubs and I’ll show you a man who has generally negative views on women. Stupid. Sluts. Idiots. Worthless. Attention whores. Bitches. Mindless. Boring. Etc.

After the girl told the Brazilian that I hit on “everyone,” I knew I was done. The Brazilian’s face turned upside down and she backed away. Two people who were getting along had it cut short because of a girl who morphs into this beast whenever she walks into a bar. How unnatural.

It’s time I share with you my plan to end the cockblocking phenomenon once and for all…

Continued… How To End Cockblocking As We Know It

“Hey Javi, my buddy, life is good?” I asked.

He didn’t smile. “It’s a little rough lately. My mom can’t find a job. My parents are thinking of putting me to work shining shoes.”

“How old are you now?”

“Twelve.”

“Well that sucks. Someone was telling me the other day that your neighborhood is one of the poorest in Buenos Aires. You’re going to be a man a lot sooner than kids in my country.”

“I’m already a man!” He flexed his little bicep muscle.

“Very good. Well I know you’re interested in America and how life is like there. I wanted to tell you a cool part of our culture.”

“Okay.”

“Cupcakes.”

“Cupcakes?” He looked confused.

“Cupcakes! I’m surprised you don’t know. Cupcakes are huge in America. The largest cities have several shops that focus exclusively on selling handmade cupcakes.”

“You mean the little round pieces of cake with frosting on top?”

“That’s the one. But in America we make luxury cupcakes that are just incredible. The best cupcakes you’ve ever had. They only cost $2 or $3 each but if you buy them by the dozen you get a nice discount.”

“$2 can feed for me for the entire day.”

“Oh really, that’s pretty interesting.”

“I mean do they have meat in it? How big are they?”

“No meat, and they’re not very big. I can finish one in about four bites, three bites if it’s especially tasty, which they usually are.”

“Is this a joke?”

“Javi I’m not joking! In my city there is a store called Georgetown Cupcake and people my age line up around the block and wait twenty minutes to get a taste of their amazing designer cupcakes. Another shop opened up nearby and the competition is awesomely intense with people choosing sides over who has the best cupcakes in town. Friendships have been strained. The number one cupcake shop used to be this shop called Cakelove, but now everyone agrees their cupcakes are worse than the ones they sell at the Korean supermarket.”

“Line up for cupcakes? I line up for meals from the government when my parents run out of money. These cupcakes must have drugs in them then.”

“No, no drugs. Just the highest quality ingredients: sugar, butter, eggs, flour, and sprinkles. Delicious!”

“And this is popular in America?”

“So popular you wouldn’t believe. There are articles written about cupcake shops in newspapers. On the internet people furiously debate which shop has the best cupcakes. Talk shows do pieces on cupcakes. They are web sites about cupcakes with close-up shots of cupcakes. Soon there will be cupcake franchises across America like Starbucks and McDonalds. There are even bus tours that stop at culturally significant cupcake shops. It’s fun!”

He didn’t respond. I had trouble convincing Javi that I wasn’t bullshitting with him.

“Javi, remember these are the best cupcakes. I’m pretty sure you’d get caught up in the cupcake craze if you lived in America and weren’t so poor.”

“I miss eating chicken and steak,” he said.

“Um that’s nice.”

Stupid little kid. He just doesn’t get it.

The first time I saw it I did a double take. A man and a woman, who were obviously together, wore headphones on their individual iPods at the same time. I’ve also seen it with same sex friends, usually girls, who sit next to each other on the bus, both wearing headphones. Every now and then they remove one headphone to communicate a few words, and then put it right back.

Only an American can take music, something which if you look at the history is supposed to bring people together, and use it in a way to isolate themselves further from friends and lovers. It’s no coincidence that none of my close friends own iPods. If someone cannot tolerate the company of their own mind for an hour then there is no reason why another human should.

Here is a video of me having sex with a girl doggy style. Note how I switch it up to oral without asking permission. Never ask for permission!

Sometimes I rather just be alone. Here is a video with my sex toy I call Mr. Frog.

I have nothing more for you today.

The Dark Knight, the worst movie of the year, broke a record for the fastest to reach $500 million in film history. Here’s why it means nothing…

1. Ticket prices go up every year. I don’t believe I let my friend pay $11 for me to see The Dark Knight. In college a ticket at the newest theater with stadium seating cost me $7. That’s an increase of 57% in 7 years. But…

2. Box office grosses are not inflation adjusted. Especially not when reported by the MPAA. That’s why each sequel of Spiderman and sorry Star Wars kept breaking records. And even if they were inflation adjusted…

3. The U.S. Governments CPI which is used to provide inflation adjusted figures is pure fantasy. Since the 90′s the CPI has been grossly under reporting inflation. It barely accounts for the things that are actually going up in price (food and gas) because they are too “unstable.” No shit.

Why aren’t box office numbers measured objectively with number of tickets sold? Because ticket sales are flat. No hype can be created in flat numbers and no records can be broken. The music industry uses objective numbers with album sales and look how far that has gotten them the past decade. (No music record involving physical CD’s will be broken ever again from this point on.)

Box off records are propaganda to get you excited about seeing increasingly bad movies that cater more and more to teenagers, a reliably bored audience that swallows tripe like The Dark Knight.

It was a cool summer night. I wore a thin cashmere jumper my mom bought me for my birthday. At the bar I took steady sips of my caipirinha while talking to my two wingmen about our dimming prospects. And then I saw her. It’s a cliche to be drawn into a girl any guy would rate as beautiful, but then again my tastes are not particularly refined.

“She’s a 9.5,” one of my friends said.

“No, she’s a 9.” I replied. I had to bring him back down to Earth.

The problem with Washington DC is that it’s hard to get hot girl game practice. In a place like Argentina that’s all you get. Besides the occasional 8, most of what we deal with are 6′s and 7′s. They’re cute but with generic personalities they don’t make you want to quit the game and settle. In a land of 6′s I had to roll up with game. I had to be a dick.

She was with a group of eight other girls and I waited until she broke off from the main group. Before I went in I tapped the shoulder of one of my friends so he could witness the whole thing and praise my attempt if it warranted.

“Hey.”

She turned around.

“Let me guess… you are from… Argentina,” I said.

“Nope, guess again.”

“Italy.”

“Nope.”

“Colombia.”

“Nope.”

“Spain.”

“Nope.”

“I give up.”

“Bolivia.”

“Really? Cool, well, you don’t look bad, because Bolivia has the ugliest girls I’ve ever seen.”

“What?! My family is from Bolivia!!!”

“I mean…”

“How can you say that!!!” If she was any uglier the conversation would have been over, but she wasn’t. I fake backtracked.

“You must be from the east of Bolivia.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Sucre?”

“Yeah.”

“Well I traveled through the west, which was definitely very ugly. The east it a little better, especially the parts closer to Brazil.”

“It doesn’t matter!!!” She taps her friend and tells her I said that Bolivia has ugly people. Her friend is just as outraged. But she’s still standing there in front of me.

“Look no other guy knows Bolivia like I do. I was there for three weeks. In fact I have the parasites to prove it.” I put my hand on my stomach. Actually I was there for only ten days.

“Where are you from?” she asked.

Soon she grabbed both of my hands and we danced. I forgot what exactly what I said but I joked that things weren’t going to work out between us. I think because I noted her hair was shorter than mine. Then she made a comment about some boyfriend and thirty seconds later her friend pulled her away. I shined for six minutes.

The problem is if I see a 9 here I have to be at your best because there will be no other 9′s for weeks. It’s quite silly actually and the odds of getting one from a cold approach in this manner in this town are about the same as winning the grand prize in a scratch ticket lottery game, but it’s important to try anyway. Until I get out of this city it’s impossible to live up to my game potential.

I ended up getting a number of a 7.

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