I’m calling it. Feminism has peaked. From this day on you’ll see a sharp decline in the movement until it peters out in about 50 years when sex is abolished for Demolition Man-like virtual reality sex units.

Here’s a brief timeline summarizing how we got here:

1919
-Women granted right to vote in United States by 19th Amendment.

1960′s
-Rapid rise of feminism followed by female entry into the workforce, a coup for the elite since it kept wages down.

1970′s
-Women drastically ramped up use of their vaginas as sex game weapons, slowly creating demand for counterattack methods.

1980
-How To Pick Up Girls by Eric Weber released.

1990′s
-How to Get the Women You Desire Into Bed by Ross Jeffries released.
-The newsgroup alt.seduction.fast is created.
-Feminized men fight back by participating in the game community in order to better fuck feminists. It remains underground for many years.

Early 2000′s
-Other feminized men complained loudly about feminists and the court system set up to demolish them. These are your men’s rights guys.

2005
-The Game by Neil Strauss released

2010
-Most Western men completely reject feminist notions and have at least a partial understanding of game concepts.

It took many years for the game guys and the men’s rights guys to get some notice. When I was bashing feminism five years ago, I didn’t find other blogs doing the same—it was all done in forums. But now a lot of men sharper than myself are criticizing feminism, and even some women see enough flaws with the ideology that they prefer not being labeled as one. Things said in the past that were called misogynist are now becoming accepted as fact. Progress has been achieved in such a short time, and the backlash will continue as long as most women fail to learn how to please men.

We just need to be careful what we wish for because feminism and easy sex go hand in hand. If it declines then easy pussy will as well. Will this be a good thing for the next generation? Will relationships be more fulfilling? Will women learn how to cook and clean instead of pushing papers in an office? Will men become men again instead of half men who beg for sex from ugly girls? I don’t know the answer to these questions, but I’ve spent a lot of time in a traditional, non-feminist country (Argentina), to know that the alternative of working hard for mediocre sex can be a tough pill to swallow.

Either way, Westerners today are part of an interesting cultural experiment. The men’s right guys are fighting it, unplugging themselves from the Matrix while trying to convince others to do the same. The game guys, on the other hand, are comfortable playing by the current rules for their own hedonistic gain. Changing the world for them just takes energy that could go into fucking.

I’ve long since picked my side because, well, I like sex with different women. I believe that some things aren’t worth saving, and if you don’t like the women here simply import one from another country or go somewhere else. Just not Argentina.

My screening process malfunctioned on a mentally unstable American girl I had a one night stand with and then banged a few more times after, including once on a bus where I ejaculated inside her (she insisted). I dumped her when I got bored and got to pay the price by being stalked on the street and harassed via phone and email.

I will keep her identity secret since it would be a serious dick move to destroy her life, but I will say that she is taking steps to out herself through her blog, such as trying to brag like a groupie how she “personally” knows me and has met Virgle Kent and Roissy. There is a 25% chance she’ll end up posting a hilarious confessional after reading this post and be known forever in D.C. as one of “Roosh’s pump and dumps… who he came inside of.” God knows what exotic disease(s) she has now!

The background to this story is long and boring but all you have to do is grab a drink and read this unedited email that came a few days after I told her never to contact me again. I promise that you will not be disappointed.

to: roosh@rooshv.com
date: Thu, Sep 10, 2009 at 5:38 PM
subject: what’s up sand nigger?

dearest roosh fucking v,

hello pussy, how goes it? you get your say and me not mine? don’t think so.

you waste my time, insult me with lame ass, un-funny humor delivered from an awkwardly skinny, ridiculously hairy body and weak persona…

the nice act that feels pity for all things kind and soft and snugly…nope, not me. an act. I’m from New York, remember? I was raised on harder shit than you could ever throw. but your throwing regurgitated, unoriginal shit stolen from bigger and better apes than yourself did not spur me to be inspired to toss sarcasm and wit your way. why waste this body and brain with my best game, eh?

you’re a child-man. I chuckled nightly to myself with how you had to launch into a character of Borat to exchange words with a girl like me. you’re also a complete idiot because I would have fucked your brains out. free tip: sometimes it will be in your best interest to let the girl lead in bed. I have been fucked hard and right for many years and give the best head this side of the mason-dixie line for sure. we northern girls keep our boyfriend’s cocks warm at night as The Beach Boys sang about. ’tis true.

my answer to your unimaginative, pathetically structured robot hate mode was to be soft and sweet to counterbalance. they say to hug a bully.

you don’t know the first thing about me and you never went deep enough for my pleasure. but I kept quiet as to not scar your tiny manhood that proves itself to be deeply insecure due to the overcompensation of such a large, fake ego. I knew boys like you in high school and they and you reeked of dorky, sweaty, limp-nervous dick and they salivated as I walked by their lockers. I winked and said hi anyway but always dated much older guys because I had already been fucked, pinned down, slapped, spanked and rode up against a wall by real men and could only muster a yawn at the thought of potential sex with those boys. I slow danced with them sometimes and it always took them point two seconds to engorge with just a drift of fermions from my delicate, feminine, graceful neck.

I present myself humbly, quietly, chicly and cross my slender yet shapely legs so that my toe points with elegance to the floor. I am never loud or vulgar but have been unsuccessful in breaking my habit of cussing. I love to swear. It brings me oral satisfaction. I expose just enough skin in my tight clothing to elude to the potential of my sounds in bed and let my gaze linger on those whom I may find interesting. Every detail in the way in which I sit, stand and slither through the crowds is taken from the study of the Geisha, ballet and models.

I get approached so often I am a professional at turning guys down kindly, yet firmly. I am not the prettiest I know, nor am I the most curvy I know, but when watched by men (and I am watched…I can feel eyes on me in every bar, every country, and every public place) long enough they sense the signals of what lays underneath my outer shell. This weeds out the dopes, dorks, boys and tools because they don’t stand a chance. I’ve landed a structural engineer, a financial annalist, an architect/signed musician and a political economist who was published and on television for his work done at Duke University. I play in the big leagues, period. I have high standards. A girl like me doesn’t fuck around because I don’t have to. They come to me. Like I said, my confidence comes from my amazing experiences throughout my life of which I sought out and made happen and from the fact that I’m naturally gifted at singing, dancing, drawing, sports and style. I was not the average girl in school or anywhere for that matter, ever. I graduated with honors, played first singles position on the varsity tennis team and went to state play-offs, was a principle dancer in theatre, headed up the popular click but never followed anyone but myself. I did it with originality and with an artists edge, always. people copied me and they continue to.

I am one part elegant, one part down-to-earth, one part blue-collar raised, one part fashion-ista, one part boho, one part tom-boy, one part sally home-maker, one part girl who fucks you in the bathroom stall, one part girl who makes love to you at a five star hotel soft, sweet and slow with only your pleasure in mind, one part adventurer, one part ballet dancer, one part salsa/ hip shaker, one part mosh-pit jumper, one part punk rocker, one part jazz listener, one part wino, one part club goer, one part take home to meet your mother (while I dirty my knees in your former teenage bedroom behind the door closed), one part analytical, one part emotionally impulsive, one part spontaneous trip taker, one part drug doer, one part health nut, one part yoga instructor, one part older sister, one part faithful girlfriend, one part curious cat, one part explorer, one part designer, one part artist, one part lounge singer, one part care taker…..and always adding to my parts.

you see roosh, we are alike. we are geminis. I can’t stay in one place or with one person due to my inner spirit that calls to grow, evolve and seek. we’ve got one life. that’s why I preach quality. one life so bullshit doesn’t fit into my schedule or plans or time. I seek the best, most complicated and interesting people because I myself have formed me this way. I am a contradiction with passion, heart, mind and body and am searching for the same.

this will be the only time in which I will show an ego. mine is not fake because I truly am fucking cool. always have been too…was born with an inner something that was ripe for the sculpting. I don’t have to carry it on the outside because my quality is real. that’s why the boys stay with me for years. duh.

you’re a clown. you wasted my time and nothing offends me more. grow the fuck up and have real, adult friendships. our trip was a waste. I hate waste. you’re a drama queen and your inner loser leaks out at times. I saw it but gave you the grace of looking away so you could morph back into the actor you are. I bow and all the while I am the higher being. your loss. you live loss and will continue to. so go fuck YOURSELF. I know you have a callused right hand and you only get forgettable, typical and unintelligent girls. I would never claim or brag about the girls you get. you fucking failure.

if you try to pull anything with my personal information I will have you beaten. In all seriousness, I have someone waiting for my check (and I will pay) to hunt you down in Medellin and kick the living shit out of you. I have instructed them to focus on your dick and balls mostly so that you may never reproduce. also: given my group of nerdy friends your blog may come down with a virus that would cause it’s demise. if you go away quietly then noting will happen. my ex is 6’4″ (no kidding, seriously) and out-weighs you by 50lbs and will gladly whoop you mercilessly when you return to DC. I have your mom’s address and I will copy and mail your lovely e-mails along with my sob story to her and beg her to get you psychological help. I will post your photo all over DC and Jorge will post it all over Medellin saying you put drugs in girls drinks and to stay away from you. you are known by the owner now of La Octava and they will be watching you. Jorge’s whole crown including Clara ( who laughed hard at and shared yur line of “I’m 30, doesn’t that scare you?” in which she replied; “my ex boyfriend is 32″ ) know you’re a tool and are laughing hard at your ridiculous blog. you want hate…you got it bitch.

this wasn’t for the last word, you’re more power hungry than I…it was for the truth because your dumb ass never got it.

delete and done.

XXXXX

p.s. I faked my one and only orgasm because I felt sorry for you

She’s a real catch no? That last sentence was like a dagger in my heart!

Just one correction to her email: my line is a tongue-in-cheek “Are you intimidated by older men?” and not “I’m 30, doesn’t that scare you?”

I didn’t respond to this email or others but she continued to write me daily from new email accounts, usually excerpting poetry or quotations from Ayn Rand. (I’ve saved them all in case I need to file a restraining order against her when I return home.) One of her last emails stated:

My love for you knows no boundaries or limitations and I wish to help you find your soul again.

Bunny boiler alert!

Eventually she stopped because my forwarding of her emails must’ve made its way around D.C. and to her friends. I’m guessing they ran a “He’s no good for you girl!” type of intervention, and just like that my daily ego boosts were over. In the end I hold absolutely no ill will towards her and sincerely hope that the psychotic bitch gets the help she needs.

POSTSCRIPT: It has been brought to my attention from a friend that in the comments of her blog she is talking shit about my parents in an attempt to psychoanalyze why I dumped her. I may have to destroy her now. Let me see how my mood is later, but first I have to hit the gym, sunbathe, and then do some laundry.

The following is a guest post by my partner-in-crime Virgle Kent.

Man, on Monday I haven’t seen that much heat on this blog since I told a hipster chick that the band Grizzly Bear was slightly overrated—that one didn’t end well. Roosh wrote something about American women not showing enough interest when it comes to needing men and how the western culture has broken them, and I’m just paraphrasing there but for some reason this got me thinking on my normal chicken and the egg thought process of game and gaming. Now just follow me for a second.

Let’s say you spit game to a pretty girl and she’s very receptive, touching, laughing at all your jokes and at the end she gives you her number. You call in a couple of days and she picks up on the first couple of rings (yes this is DC, shut it). After quick conversation you set up the date and she shows up without flaking or even being “fake late” (yes, still in DC). The date ends with a make out and by date two she let’s you hit (I’m sorry DC, “Beat the pussy up”). Now after that nothing really changes, she hits you right back when you text, picks up phone calls or calls back as soon as she’s available, and sticks with plans. If you want a relationship she’s down, but not too pushy about it. My question is if you had a girl who knew how to “act right” in public or when you’re alone, and was generally a nice girl, would you still use as much game on her as you do with other girls?

By now if you’ve been hitting the DC streets you already know what’s up, you know the truth is that game works best on bitter women who believe that game can’t work on them. The jaded ones who’ve survived and been through oh so much are too wise to fall for silly alpha lines as they’ve developed anti-game to combat your game. These women are the ones who are serially pumped and dumped. Since women like this are too messed up to have relationships with once you’re anti-game radar goes off, go for the notch and be out faster than Snooki’s vagina when a Tiesto beat comes on (what is that beef jerky).

Although we could blame Western culture on the bitter girl who chose the pursuit of career, education and weight gain over not settling with a reasonable guy early, understand that the first girl who responded well to all your advances without putting up much of a front is the same girl at one who is ice cold and jaded—they are just at different times in their lives.

Guys get so used to running game all the time that it almost becomes a dating crutch. A script we follow down to the exact detail. If you overgame a girl who is open and already into you you’re just making it harder for the next guy that comes along after you because now he’s going to have to game her twice as hard. It compounds and builds and by the end she hates herself for liking guys like you. Gaming never really goes away but I do think there are certain times it’s not needed as much as one thinks.

This does remind me of this one time last year back when Roosh was being stalked by this psycho poetry chick that wrote a Valerie Solanas type S.C.U.M Manifesto. At Brazilian night on a Thursday I met one of her girls—she had an Israeli vibe going on and a phatty you could see from the front. I got her phone number and the next night she invited me to stop by her coffee shop where she would be working. She brings up Roosh and goes on to start talking all this shit about him. “That guy is such an asshole, he’s so pathetic, all that game shit doesn’t work, no real girl would give him the time of day, what a loser, blah blah blah blah.” By then she already knew about his blog from poetry girl.

I sat quietly and let her run her mouth for a minute or two enjoying my free food until I smiled and asked how long she’s worked at this coffee shop. She said a couple of years. I asked if she was working here sometime back last Spring and she said yes. I told her I remembered her because Roosh and I used to come in on Saturdays and sit in her section to get some work done. The reason I remembered was because Roosh flirted with her and got her number using standard waitress game, with lines he had used many times before. Her face turned bright red as she had honestly forgot and she was so genuinely embarrassed she begged for me not to mention anything back to Roosh.

There’s a lesson in that one somewhere.

My roommate from Denmark was locked out of his room the other day and waited in the kitchen for the landlord to deliver a spare key. I cooked dinner in the meanwhile and we got to talking. At some point he asked me, “Why are you here?”

—

“Everyone keeps asking me that and I wish I had a quick, powerful answer, but it comes down to two things: wanting to explore, something I think most men want to do, and wanting to get away from the American way of life. I really can’t say which one motivates me more to be here.

“In America you go to college, which you’re told is supposed to be the most fun years of life, and then you get a job taking orders from some pencil dick in this grand mission to chase money and accumulate stuff. I don’t need stuff—all I need in life is a laptop and good speakers. I’ll be happy anywhere because it’ll keep me busy. I can write, read, listen to music, stay in touch with friends and family… I don’t need more than that. Now I date girls young enough who think that type of lifestyle is ‘cool,’ but if I ever want to have a family some day I’ll probably have to make some changes.

“I don’t want to work 40 hours a week doing the same thing to be insulted with a 3% raise and a pat on the head every year. I don’t want to count down the days to the weekend where I punish my liver because my week was so lifeless. I don’t want to wait until Saturday to take a book to a coffee shop and lose track of time. In college they should sit you down on your first day and say: ‘Ladies and gentleman, your mission in life is to make the days of the week irrelevant.’ What day is today? I don’t know. Days of the week are bar and club names for me now, places I know are good. Sunday: Casa Rosa. Wednesday: Casa da Matriz. Thursday: Democratica. Saturday: Rio Scenarium. I feel like I’ve made it because I don’t care what day it is.

“Americans are lazy but they’re not. When it comes to money they’ll work like fucking mules. You’ll never see someone put in as many hours as an American, kiss ass like an American. They’ll do anything to make that extra dollar to get that plasma television or dine in some frou-frou restaurant that got a good review by some idiot on the internet. They’ll grin and take it in the ass when the boss asks them to stay in on Saturday morning a month before performance reviews are due. They will work and barely complain when you tell them they can’t take a long vacation. Hell, even if you give them a lot of time off they wouldn’t know what to do with it. They’ll take a trip to the Caribbean or some pre-programmed cruise to be trapped with a bunch of whales, one handshake from projectile diarrhea.

“When it comes to anything else Americans don’t want to lift a finger. I mean look at heath care. Americans think it’s pills and MRIs. Why aren’t many people connecting the dots between the American diet and health care? Americans eat like pigs, look like pigs, get sick with diabetes, heart disease, god knows what else, and then complain that health care is too expensive. Their lifestyle makes it expensive. Don’t get me wrong I believe the government should provide free health care for its citizens, but exercising four times a week is my health care. Eating vegetables, cooking all my meals, avoiding junk food, drugs, stress—that’s my health care. I probably spend more hours a week on my health than on making money. Americans don’t cook or simply take care of themselves because they’re too tired from making money. They want to pop pills with side effects to keep eating ‘comfort’ food and sit on their asses. After putting in a tough eight hours or more with the man that’s all they have the energy to do.

“And the women… ‘I don’t need a man. I’m independent. I don’t need a man, I got my own money, my own job. I don’t need a man.’ The result is that an American girl thinks it’s weakness to show a man how much she needs him. I don’t know if you had a corporate job in Denmark, but dating an American woman is like dealing with coworkers. They’re very careful with what they say. Every laugh is meticulously orchestrated—she must’ve laugh too hard now or you may think she thinks you’re funny. Every word’s use was analyzed and judged—she mustn’t show too much interest because that’s weakness. ‘Shit I just showed too much interest I have to be cold now—let me make fun of him about something.’ I’m lucky I’ve spent enough time down here to know that that simply isn’t real. That’s not how women, as in women of the human race, really are. Those American girls are basically programmed to be more distant than their nature. And they wonder why they’re so unhappy. Nature is a powerful thing, and you’ll always lose when you go against it.

“The other night I went out with this Brazilian girl. Very cute girl, a few years younger than me. It was our second date and we went out to some gringo bar and after our first drink she looks at me and says, ‘If you were leaving back to America right now, I’d come with you. I’d take a chance and do it.’ Other Brazilian girls have done and said similar ‘weak’ things, and Colombian girls as well. And that’s real, because the nature of a woman is she needs a man. These girls here understand that. They don’t hide it, and I don’t punish them for it. A girl that knows she needs a man, that that’s the point of her existence, will treat men very well. She’ll pleasure him, make him happy, hold onto him a little tighter at night. You think an American girl will ever say something like that?! If I tell an American girl some of the things that the girls down here have said to me, she’ll be shocked, ‘But but that goes against the book! They’re showing too much interest! They’re showing weakness!’

“You remember that American girl I brought back a couple weeks ago? Okay I know I’m in Brazil and fucking an American girl looks bad, but truth is American girls have become perfectly designed for easy, meaningless sex. It’s like one step above jerking off… no emotions, just business—like getting with a prostitute. It takes just three hours to get them in bed, and you’re fucking her for the first time and she says cunt this, cock that, like she’s in a porno movie, because she watches that too. I just met the bitch and she’s moaning that she likes how much I’m beating her pussy up! Look that’s fun, like how jerking off with your left hand is fun, but it’s not normal. A normal girl will be quiet the first time, will be self-conscious, will wonder if she’s pleasing you properly or not.

“The Western culture has broken the women. A girl wakes up and she’s 30 and has no man and no hope for a man, yet she already passed on several who didn’t give her the tinglies or butterflies in her stomach or whatever the fuck term she uses. Because of course the culture gave them this sense of entitlement as well, to think that with mediocre looks and ten extra pounds they can get a hot stud like they see in the magazines in line at the grocery store. And then they get old and have to compete with younger and prettier girls. They can’t win. They won’t. So what do they do? They throw themselves on young guys who still value older women as ‘experienced’ and ‘mature.’ But those guys age and get a clue, and then you see the woman going on 40, working hard at the gym, desperately trying to fight the sag, bragging that she fucked this college guy. What a miserable existence.

“My parents aren’t American but in the end I’m a product of that culture and it takes a lot of time and effort to fight the programming —to do what nature intended you to do. Unfortunately I think I’ll always be tethered to America. My family is there and I can’t even talk to my mom on the phone without her guilting me into coming back and taking care of her, even though she doesn’t need taken care of. I don’t know… I’m going to go back and the first month is going to be great with my family, and my friends, and then after that they’ll be nothing for me. I don’t fit in there, and I don’t exactly fit in anywhere else either. What am I going to do in the States—get an American girlfriend? Get a 9-5? Fuck that. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

These women are bringing a child into the world (because god knows we need more) with the knowledge that he or she will be more fucked up than the general population. Studies show that raising a child alone is the worst thing you can do to a human being, especially if that human is male. Is the woman going to teach her son how to stand up for himself? Is she going to teach him how to be attractive to women and then bang lots of them, like his genetics dictate? Is she going to give him the self-confidence to carve his own path in life? Is she going to teach him how to beat someone in the face? No, no, no, and no.

My parents divorced when I was 8, and for the next twelve years or so I visited my dad two nights a week. So when I got out of college, I was only 30% man. With much time, determination, and sex with different women, I have been able to become 99% man (yeah, I like myself a good snuggle from time to time), but it would have been a hell of a lot easier if I had a constant male influence in my life. Unfortunately many guys have been raised by their fathers but they might as well be fatherless—their dads didn’t teach them shit, sometimes because they didn’t quite know how to be a man themselves. This has happened because Western society has not demanded that men act like men.

I got to see a sad example of single motherdom in Pipa, Brazil, a small beach town in the Northern coast. There was an Italian mother and her 8-year-old boy traveling with the grandmother and aunt. Three women, zero men. They put a long rainbow-colored tassel in his almost shoulder-length hair and a piece of woven jewelry around his tiny ankle. They indulged his every whine without teaching him things like sports, play fighting, and smashing objects. He copied their feminine ways of speaking and the poolside sight of my hairy body nearly scared him to death—he literally trembled with fear like someone had dropped him into the lion sanctuary at the zoo. I’m absolutely certain this adorable little boy will be a huge fag when he gets older. Now how is that not child abuse?

While there’s nothing wrong with being gay (except the doing it in each other’s butts part), you must accept that homosexuality is on the deviant side of nature. The Italian mother was actually married when she had the future sausage jockey, but many Western women who have failed in love will be having kids using sperm donors. These self-absorbed women do not care that they are destroying a human life as long as they can attempt to relieve the immense emptiness in their lives, caused by chasing that cheddar in the corporate office instead of pleasing a real man who could fertilize her BPA-tainted eggs with a child. Thanks to their actions, society will be filled with a billion gays who wear tassels in their hair. And guys like myself will have the burden of having a lot of sex with the remaining women who are still wired to want a man who treats them like shit.

I guess this is all working out quite well for me then.

I stumbled on a DC blog the other day called Holla Back DC. The female blogger receives submissions of girls who were hit on by guys on the street, deeming it SEXUAL HARASSMENT. She pins the episodes on a custom Google Map, which she hopes will serve as a public service for other women.

Let’s take a closer look:

I turned and the man started asking me if he could have my number to call me sometime. I politely explained that I am married and hoped that would be the end of it (it never is!). He then proceeded to ask me if I would go to happy hour with him and his friend. (Sounds like a really great, safe idea, right? Ugh.) Again, I politely told him that I would not jeopardize my marriage under any circumstances.

Another:

The older man standing next to me leaned over and said, “You have two weapons on you, do you know that?” I ignore him. He says, “Your legs – those are your weapons.” I look right at him and say, “I don’t appreciate it when you make comments about my legs, you don’t even know me.” He shakes his head at me just as the light changes. As a walk down the escalator at the U Street metro I see him harass another woman.

Don’t be fooled by the attention whoring of these women: they like getting cat called. If you read through the blog you will see many cases where the women encouraged the men by responding back and answering questions. They have an innate need of wanting to be desired by the opposite sex, but their logical brain has to account for the feminist brainwashing that is guiding their current life choices. The end result is a behavior of writing in to some retarded blog to chart “harassment,” also known as human fucking nature.

Since it’s rare to see hogs getting cat called, my guess is these feminists at least have a pretty face or body. Let’s say the girls look something like this…

Not bad, but in short time she is going to look like this:

No amount of spray-on tanning, salon haircuts, or organic food will prevent this painful transition. Please prepare yourself for upper arms the size of papayas.

How many times do you think the girls will get cat calls in ten years? Zero. It simply will not happen. She will be invisible to the eyes of man, a non-entity, and that’s when I guarantee you she will miss the days when stocky Latinos considered her a sexual creature.

The one thing that bothers me most is the amount of control these women hope to strangle life with. Now they want attention only when they give permission. It’s not enough that men need consent to engage in hetero sexual relations, but today’s feminist wants to play God in simply who gets to exchange words with them in public. If it’s not in a way that she deems inappropriate, then it’s an unlawful, arrestable defense. Feminists want to make bad pick-up lines punishable by jail time. Take a minute to imagine how it would be like to have a relationship with these types of women.

“Stop giving me those googly eyes. We’re not having sex tonight!”

“Ouch stop pulling my hair. Treat me with the respect I deserve!”

“Don’t peel the carrot so deeply. The skin is not that thick! You’re wasting perfectly good carrot idiot!”

Holla Back girls, just be patient. Your “problem” will rectify itself, and soon enough absolutely no man will desire you except the sorry sap of a husband you’ve learned to dread having sex with.

Bartender-blogger-columnist Jack recently posted about a pair of ladies who criticized unmarried men over 30-years-old, a group I will be part of in under a year. The ladies have failed to realize that their snark could easily and brutally be spun back onto themselves. In fact, all they did was point out their own misgivings.

Hi! Me Unmarried Man Over Thirty. Call me UMOT! You pretty lady! I act same way I did 15 years ago. I hang with buddies, drink beer, smoke pot, play video games. Maybe in band? Play music! UMOT no want to grow up! I want to bang on my drum all day!

If a man rather drink beer, smoke pot, and play video games rather than take you out on a date, what does that say about you? Human beings are animals that respond rather predictably to punishment and reward—if there is no reward in trying to fuck you then men will choose other activities. I don’t think this is an insult to the man, but to the woman who has not worked on herself properly to be more interesting than Halo 3.

Sometimes UMOT get sad. UMOT’s friends get married and leave UMOT! This makes UMOT question fundamental lifestyle choices! Maybe UMOT should no have sold all personal belongings to follow Phish for three years/live in Costa Rican Jungle/hike the Appalachian Trail? UMOT do what UMOT want to do. That it! I no like do things I no like doing!

Are you sure the man is questioning his choices, rather than his friends? The risk of marrying an American wife is so great, as this modern institution is so decidedly anti-man, that the only acceptable option is to go with a foreign bride who is not well-cultured in materialism, entitlement, and celebrity personalities. I’m told there is a country called Thailand where slim yet slightly curvy women are physically resistant to aging. They trip over themselves to marry even beastly American men whose legendary sexless streaks coincide with lunar eclipse events. What do you bring to the table that motivates this beast man for your vagina?

Let me put it this way: if there was a Old Pussy stock traded on the NYSE (ticker: OPSY), it would have been kicked out of the exchange ages ago for consistently trading under a dollar. Take a look at this photo, of a man who purchased 10,000 shares of OPSY thinking it would rise up in price. How do you think he feels now?

If a man really wants to get married (not sure why when nothing can be gained through marriage that can be had by simply shacking up), a foreign bride is the way to go. American women are great for casual dating and easy sex, but make for horrible wives. A foreign bride will give you a good ten years before she becomes corrupt, and even then you’ll at least get home cooked meals. You always have the option of buying another bride, maybe her younger sister, for something like three donkeys and a bag of potatoes.

UMOT likes sexy with ladies but UMOT no want commitment. That why I date women who younger than me by 7 years minimum. They no make me feel immature. They no threaten poor decision making skills. I no commit to nothing besides beer, spliff!

I remain unconvinced that fucking young pussy is a “poor decision making skill.” It costs less, comes with lighter baggage, and is not as demanding. If men are choosing younger women instead of you, it’s time to find out what qualities that young woman has that you don’t. Actually I’ll tell you what it is: pristine youth, something you wasted and lost, for all eternity. The boat has sailed, and instead of buying a new ticket you are hoping for the captain to notice your high-pitched shrieking and turn the ship around. He won’t. Why don’t you do something productive like knit a sweater or write a romance novel? You gotta leave your mark on the world some way, because we all know you’re not having children.

I make baby in 10 to 15 years with pretty young lady who make baby easy! No lady my age need apply. You make UMOT uneasy with independence, intelligence. Scares UMOT. I no like lady my age! Go away lady my age! Go away!

Independence and intelligence are great qualities in men and women who want to excel in the corporate boardroom, but are horrible for those men who want a relaxed, easy life, where not every little thing is a life or death debate that can be traced back to something Gloria Steinem wrote 30 years ago. Women need to understand that men don’t want independence and intelligence. Men want femininity, excellent sex, a hot body, homemaking skills, and compliance with minimal talk-back. Women need to stop deluding themselves that men what the same thing in a mate as themselves.

Nice to talk to pretty lady! Maybe I text later? Maybe hang at my studio apartment? Make sexy? Okay, me tired now. Me drank PBR, tequila until early morning and must sleep now on second hand mattress. Night, night, pretty lady. UMOT go Dreamland. Me text later.

The reason I text you is because you are not worth my time. You are not worth the energy to pick up the phone and make sounds with my voicebox. You are boring and expendable, just another hole I want to fuck to pass the time. If you want me to pick up the phone and take you seriously, you can start by cooking me a meal from scratch and deep throating my veiny cock against the back of your throat. Until then, good luck finding a man who is willing to put up with your shit.

From my post Girls Who Read Poetry:

The most damaged and insane girls I’ve met have considered themselves budding poets.

Eight days after I wrote that I went on a first date with a young girl who was half-Asian. As you know I don’t have an Asian fetish (I’ve only been with two), but when I asked her what the Asian half was she got defensive and accused me of having the yellow fever. In her dreams. Anyway she told me that not only does she write poetry, but she organizes “slam recitals” as well. She also said she was going through a feminist stage, saying, “If you really think hard about it, every man has violated a woman not just by rape but by going too fast or too deep during sex.” I wonder much longer it will take for feminists to say the act of consensual sex is actually brutal rape.

Immediately after the date she googled me and found out about the blog (a gigantic headache compared to a girl knowing about it beforehand). Surprisingly, she didn’t take it well. She left a scathing speech on my voicemail where she sarcastically referred to Bang as a “bestseller” and in so many words telling me to have a nice life on my way to the fiery pits of hell. I saved her message and have since played it for a handful of my students during workshop downtime.

The blog giveth and the blog taketh away. She’ll never find out that my fuck style is fast and deep (I learned that if I make a girl’s vagina sore, it’s a guarantee I’ll get a callback for more of that pounding). On a side note, I keep meeting girls who actively write poetry which means I’m doing something to attract the drama queens. I don’t know what it is but please someone make it stop.

CONTINUED: Open Letter To Poetry Girl