My Name Is Burt

I started using a fake name in the beginning of the year. It was hard at first to be called something completely new, but after a few months I got used to it. Now when I hear the name called out in public I instinctively turn my head as if it was my own. Let’s just say that my fake name is Burt.

Burt lives in an age where curious women can’t help but Google every man they meet. The problem is that Burt’s real name and nickname is unique enough that both lead to the page you’re reading right now. Burt was tired of consoling crying women who found out about his blog after sex and tired of losing prospects who found out before sex. The latter group didn’t want to have anything to do with a man who has written horrible things and has proclaimed his desire to use women as nothing more than cum receptacles.

Burt’s game plays up his worldly experience and creative-type background. He tried rolling with fake office jobs but they didn’t match his personality. The vibe was off because it didn’t explain why he has been to so many countries and likes to talk about culture and life and happiness and all the stuff that comes from not having a soul crushing 9-5 job. So Burt is a “travel writer” who writes little city guides that “focus on the nightlife.” He downplays his work as boring and when a girl asks to see a sample, Burt says that his sister is going to send a care package with his latest book in a month, knowing full well that the odds he will still be talking to the girl by that time are just about zero.

Burt got a fake email address and linked it to his fake Facebook account, locking up the privacy settings so that girls can’t see each other. He also set up two browsers on his computer. One browser is for daily use and the other is for when women are over, with no bookmarks or history that could lead to Burt’s real identity. Since girls love showing Burt their favorite songs on Youtube, one of the first things he does when he gets a girl in his place is to launch the safe browser. But when he takes a shower or cooks a meal, he gets a little nervous that a girl will click the wrong button and find his secret life. He’s thinking of ways right now to eliminate that chance.

Burt started introducing himself to guys as Burt. It’s not because he’s scared guys would find his blog, but because it gets confusing on what name someone knows him as. He’s Burt to everyone now, even taxi drivers and landlords. He even has a resume with Burt as his name.

Burt hides his passport and credit cards. It would be disaster if a girl found out his full name, so he makes sure to keep that out of view. Surprisingly, not once has a girl asked him to see any identification. Burt can be Jack or Stan and he could get away with that, too.

Burt was hesitant to use a fake name at first. What if he falls in love with the girl? What if he wants to get married? But then Burt looked at his past, and realized that it never really mattered if a girl knew his real name or not. If it came down to marriage, Burt would say that Burt is a nickname. “Remember when I told you? You were probably drunk.”

Burt is surprised how gullible women are. He knows he could make up just about any story that is slightly connected to his life and a woman will believe it. Burt used to pride himself on spitting “honest” game, but now he will lie if he thinks it will help him get laid. He found out that only logistical lies are useful, not the “I make a billion dollars” lie. He will lie that he is in town longer than he is or that his apartment is closer than it actually is. Burt’s last lie was telling a girl that after she comes over, he will personally escort her back home in a taxi. After he busted his nut, he could barely be bothered to call her a cab. Burt sees his little lies as being part of the game. In just a few years he’ll probably have to lower his age, too.

Burt is a manipulator. He will do anything it takes to get a girl to willingly come to his apartment. He will hit her with pleasure, pressure, guilt, romance, or cold withdrawal, whatever it takes to get her to open her legs. If Burt was evil, he could easily make these women sex slaves by entrapping them into his dungeon, but Burt is not evil—he just wants a lay, a tidy expression of his masculinity. The girl may even get to experience a nice orgasm in the process if she’s lucky. Burt knows he is dishonest about his real identity, but his lies do not result in physical pain, and very rarely emotional pain, so there is little guilt. He sleeps fine at night, as long as he doesn’t drink too much coffee during the day.

Burt is conflicted. He feels his identity loosening from his grasp, but he’s not making any effort to reverse the course he is on, of telling girls the truth. He has learned the hard way that girls are picky creatures and need certain requirements to consider a man for sex. She wants a guy who lives here? He’s him. She wants a guy who is interested in marriage? He can’t wait to find his soul mate. She wants a guy who loves dancing to club music? More Rihanna, please! He is everyone and he is no one.

My name is Roosh. No girl knows the real me. They think they know me, but they couldn’t even begin to imagine who I really am. They will never find out.

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