This post is about you, the Roosh blog reader. After a couple of months at this, I have noticed some things that amuse me greatly. So I got the idea to turn the tables and comment on you and your writing. Below is a list my observations about you. I look forward to reading your comments about yourselves.

1. You think it’s all about you. You demand New Yorker quality writing 5 days a week for 52 weeks of the year. As soon as one post appears that seems to fall short of a Hemingway, you launch into hate. If Roosh is the writer, you tell him he is slipping. If I am the writer, you say I am ruining Roosh’s blog. It’s like you think Roosh and I work for you. My boss is easier going on me than you guys are, and he pays me.

2. You only comment when provoked. If Roosh makes an observation about women that seems less than flattering, all kinds of thoughtful comments and interesting discussion takes place. If there is a mellow post that doesn’t ruffle feathers, then there isn’t much response. If I write something that seems pro-relationship (God forbid), women don’t comment and men say I am a boring married guy who is ruining Roosh’s blog.

3. You get pissed off for being provoked. This is my favorite. You don’t participate unless provoked, but then some of you send hate for provoking you. Make up your minds! Since it’s obvious you guys enjoy being angry and indignant, shouldn’t you thank us for giving you a reason to get pissed off?

4. You love arguing with each other. In fact, some of you seem to get far more joy debating, attacking, and scolding each other than you get from actually commenting on the post itself. I have a feeling I could write a two line post that if controversial enough, could generate 50 comments from all the attacks and counter attacks you would launch against each other.

Roosh has already posted about how this blog came to be. The bottom line is: he does it for own interest and amusement. I do it once per week to help Roosh get a day off and because I thought it would be fun. Being opinionated guys, we like sharing our views. Some of our posts are serious, some are no-so-serious, and some are just silly. But in the end, it is always about posting whatever is on our minds in a way that interests and amuses us.

There is a threeway winding down between Virgle Kent, Ashburnite, and Velvet. I don’t have issues with the girls involved but I just wanted to put things in perspective.

A lot of people commenting are readers who have never been to the happy hours to see how these three interact in person. Just be reading body language — who stares at whom and who initiates conversation — it becomes obvious who is telling a story that best reflects the truth. When VK is talking to me about a girl who is on him hard, and that girl is currently staring at him, it doesn’t take a dating consultant to know what’s going on. It seems like the spinster jockeys who are commenting in these threads will believe anything they read as long as it’s written by a woman.

This past weekend I got to experience DC’s new no smoking ban. It was incredible. My lungs, hair, and clothes are so thankful that I have decided to send little gifts of appreciation to all members of the DC Council. I no longer have to air out my expensive club outfits after a night out.

The weather on Saturday night was rainy, so smokers were tightly packed under dry spots and conversed among themselves like they would in high school and college, rejects of society. While I usually look down on smokers, this is the first time I felt bad for them. Some may argue that drinking is not that different from smoking, but I have never stood out in the rain on a wet street to kill my screwdriver beverage. Smokers, addicted to a drug where hits are needed in fixed increments, don’t really have a choice, and must brave adverse environments to maintain normal physiological function. It must suck to depend on a smelly drug made by huge corporations just to live a normal life.

Me, inside the club breathing clean air:

Smoker, outside in the rain:

In case anyone is trying to be a DJ, I’m selling my CD decks and mixer on eBay:

-Pioneer CDJ-100s (2)
-Behringer DJX400 Mixer

100% positive feedback — bid with confidence!

VK’s Empire Of Dirt. And with that comes the first blog war of 2007.

You may have never heard of the movie Idiocracy because Fox has done all it can to not promote it when it was released last year.

The movie is about an average man and prostitute who hibernate for 500 years in a military pod experiment. When they wake up, the president-elect is a former porn star and the most popular television program is called Ouch My Balls, about a guy who keeps getting hit in the balls. The hibernators have become the two smartest humans on the planet now that the average IQ has dipped to around 50 points. Intelligent yuppies failed to procreate.

I suppose Fox didn’t want to publicize this movie because they would be making fun of the less-than-intellectual audience they entertain with such fine programming as Fox News and American Idol, but you can get the movie on DVD or download it using BitTorrent. It’s very funny, created by the same guy who made Office Space. Don’t read too many reviews because they give away a lot of the good jokes.

I like to argue that the dumbening of human beings has long ago begun. For ample evidence, go into any Walmart or highway rest stop.

Several years ago a friend and I decided to start throwing parties so we could get laid more. We didn’t have an original idea or even the willingness to make it succeed, but we had strong sexual desire. There had to be an easier way than approaching a lot of girls.

Our first party was at Topaz Bar around Christmas time. To draw in the females we decided to make it a Toys For Tots charity event, even though the last thing poor kids need is cheap toys made in China. The party itself was a success: about forty or so people showed up, which for the size of Topaz made it a lively event. A total of three people brought toys (including me and the co-host) so I guess that part of the party was a failure. A girl I met a couple nights prior came to the party so the promotion endeavor seemed to be working already.

Early in the evening we had two Marines show up in full uniform including the beret-like hat. Apparently there was a misunderstanding and I accidentally requested the presence of soldiers at the party. They had a couple drinks and impressed us with their awesome posture before they carted off our pathetic collection of charity. The bigger surprise guest of the evening was a 65 year-old man who arrived with a copy of the Washington Post. He requested my presence and talked to no one else, explaining how he’s trying to get his social life back in order. I’m not sure if this was code for homosexual sex or not but I blacklisted him from future events just in case.

During all the parties I had to be the good host and make sure everyone was happy while the girls I liked were hit on by a stream of my own male guests. I was cockblocking myself. If I look at how many girls I got from nights I hosted and how many girls I probably would have gotten on those same nights without being a host, the difference would have been zero. Looking back on the whole experience, my time would have been better spent working on my game instead of working on a gimmick. But some good did come from the experiment: two people I introduced at that first party are going to get married soon. Their lives are forever changed, all because I wanted to get laid.

In late 2005 I wondered how much each notch was costing me. Is my game saving me money over escort services? I decided to add a new line on my monthly budget called “Dating” and keep track of money I spent on dates. I added a separate line called “Nightlife” to account for drinking when I wasn’t in the company of a specific girl. This may hide the true cost of a notch since money spent meeting girls at venues such as bars add up, but my intent when I go out isn’t always to get laid (surprisingly).

My goal was to keep the CPN under $200. More than that and I’m heading into the hourly charge of escorts.

Because I had constant feedback on how much sex was costing me, I was able to always adjust in order to lower expenses. Midway through the year, to lower my CPN, I started doing more coffee dates and dinner dates where I would cook a meal from my Betty Crocker cookbook. Taking dates up to Baltimore also saved money. After all the sex was done and all expenses tabulated, my CPN for 2006 ended up to be $187. This number also accounts for those girls I went out on a date with but not did not eventually have sex with.

I have no idea if this number is too high or not because there are no benchmarks to compare it too, but the fact that I’m cheap as hell and try to get the bang as quickly as possible means it’s probably on the very low end for most guys my age in this area, especially when a significant percentage of guys seem to enjoy subsidizing a woman’s fine dining habit. I did not do a restaurant dinner date in 2006.

I strongly believe that sex with quality women can be had without spending money, so I am aiming for a 2007 CPN of $50. There is no reason that I should pay more for sex with a twenty-something woman past her physical prime when young guys in college are fucking tight-bodied coeds for practically nothing.