The Industry

Francis was older than Marcel by twenty minutes. Even though they were fraternal twins, acquaintances often confused one for the other. Both were tall with chiseled facial features, blue eyes, short hair, and light sideburns. Their main difference was that Francis had a bigger nose while Marcel had a longer chin. Francis was also half an inch taller.

Their physical appearance was enhanced by a shared obsession of Brazilian jiu-jitsu and strength training, which partly explains how Francis got a job as a bouncer at the most exclusive club in the city—the type of club where men hope to exchange their status and wealth for the attention of beautiful girls who hope to exchange their beauty for status and wealth.

Francis was not prepared for all the female attention he was set to receive. It came not early in the night, when the crowds were begging to get in, but at the end, when girls realized that he was far better than the insecure men who were trying to impress them with pink cocktails and Grey Goose vodka. The girls would simply touch his big chest, ask for his name, and proceed with compliments about his muscles. If he didn’t take the hint and get the number, the girl would simply say, “Why don’t you take my number?” And it would be done.

He got into a routine of sending text message blasts on Sunday to line up dates between Monday through Thursday. Then he would work on the weekend and repeat the cycle. After two months on the job, Francis was able to lay 19 girls. It was hard to keep up his training in the face of such a rigorous fuck and work schedule, but he was managing well.

Marcel was jealous of his success—a brotherly jealousy that didn’t come with designs of sabotage or passive-aggressive criticisms. He hid his irritation when whichever girl Francis had over took too long in the bathroom or ate his roasted cashews. He didn’t want his brother to think he was a hater.

“Can you get me a job at the club?” Marcel asked one day.

“I can try, but they’re not hiring right now. I took the last spot.”

“It’s insane how much tail you’re plowing through just because of this job.”

“I’m starting to get used to it. I know I haven’t been working at the job long, but I have to think a while to remember when I wasn’t fucking as much.”

“Don’t take it for granted,” Marcel warned. “But please, ask again if they’re hiring. Hell, I’ll be a barback just to get my foot in the door, I don’t care.” Francis promised he would ask, and he did, with the utmost sincerity, but they were not hiring.

Several more months passed and Francis started to get bored of banging. His new thing was quality. He didn’t just want to bang a lot of sluts, but one very high quality girl that other men would envy him for. You would think there would be a lot of these girls coming through the doors of the club, but Francis became skilled at seeing behind the makeup mask and skimpy skirts. He wanted true beauty.

One night he saw such a girl in front of the club. While he stared, mesmerized, the club manager, a balding Iranian man who got into the business just to get laid, popped out and greeted her with a kiss on the lips.

Francis later asked his co-worker what was the deal. “He just started dating her. Houman goes through women quickly so you’ll see him with another chick in a couple months.”

“I would be happy with something like that,” Francis said.

“Houman doesn’t like it when people try to get on his girls.” This did little to deter Francis.

He quickly found out that she was a hair stylist at a local salon that has live DJ entertainment for its customers. It would seem suspicious that a man with already cropped hair is making an appointment for a $47 haircut, so he decided to get his hair colored from brown to surfer blonde. For the 20 minutes she attended to his scalp (her assistant did most of the coloring work), he was able to strike rapport with her by sharing tales of people acting stupid and drunk in the club. For good measure, he threw in a story of him beating up a tough guy who wanted to fight someone for stepping on his Steve Madden shoes.

“What do you do in your spare time?” he asked.

“I’m a bit of a yoga addict. I like to party a lot and have fun, but I need to balance it out with yoga and meditation. Have you heard of yin and yang?”

“Not so much, but I’ve always wanted to try yoga. My muscles get tired from my Brazilian jiu-jitsu training. Foam rolling is not helping me as much as I thought it would.”

“Jiu jitsu? That’s cool.”

“Yeah it keeps me active,” he replied. “It’s a useful hobby when you’re a bouncer.”

“In the studio I teach an introductory yoga class, in case you’re interested.”

He signed up two days later, and turned out to be the worst student ever in the eight-year history of the studio, remaining in Cassandra’s class well after others moved on to learn more intermediate forms.

Houman showed no intention of dumping Cassie. Francis could see why: she was sweet but energetic, beautiful but modest. She didn’t even have a Facebook account, stressing that she hated how it made her “narcissistic” and “obsessive with checking things.”

After most classes, he would squeeze in a brief chat. This graduated to walking out the studio together and soon they would have the occasional drink at a nearby local bar. One night, she relaxed her inhibitions and had a second drink, and then a third, and then a fourth. And so this is how they had sex, the best sex that Francis ever had.

“It was amazing,” Francis told Marcel. “Her body, her face—everything was perfection. When I was beating it up, it almost felt like a dream, that I got this girl. But at the same time, I felt like I deserved it, that I was worthy.”

“Good job, man. You’re fucking your dream girl while I’m trying to run game in the mall. I think I have a smoothie date tomorrow.”

“Yeah I need to hook you up at some point. Come to the club this weekend.”

“Fuck the club. I’m working on my day game. I read this book that says I have to act elderly to not scare the cat.”

“Scare the cat?”

“It’s not important. So what are you going to do now? Isn’t she still going out with your boss?”

“Yes, she is.” I’m going to take it slow. There’s no rush. Tomorrow I will go to work and pretend that nothing happened.”

Francis did not account for the guilt Cassie would feel for cheating on Houman, who overall did treat her well and gave her the status that she could never admit she deeply desired. She tearfully confessed to him that she slept with Francis, and that it made her realize that she loved Houman with all her heart. She begged him for his forgiveness.

It’s hard not to forgive a beautiful face covered in tears, so she was forgiven. Houman, to his credit, did play-act some toughness to not seem like a complete pushover, demanding that she never go out unchaperoned with another man, in accordance with Sharia law. She agreed.

Francis arrived to work and was told that Houman wanted to see him.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Houman asked. He was nervously scratching a keloided scar that crawled down the left side of his face.

“No, of course not.”

“I know you fucked my girl.”

“I…” Francis had no words. He couldn’t believe he found out already.

“You’re fired. I will make it my mission that you will never get a job in a club again, not even as a bathroom towel boy. Now get the fuck out.”

Francis was indifferent, because he still had Cassie, or he thought he did. She refused to return his calls or text messages. The manager of the yoga studio said that his presence made Cassie “uncomfortable.” He made an appointment at the hair salon under a false name, but was asked to leave upon showing up.

To cheer himself up, he took his brother’s advice and decided to call up a couple of his favorite sluts. They asked him if he still worked at the club. When he said no, they stopped responding to his messages. He slacked off on his training, moping around the house. What hurt him most was how Cassie could reject him after they made love. He didn’t understand why that meant nothing to her when they obviously had a connection, built from months of genuinely getting to know each other.

Marcel came to Francis’ room when he was playing video games. “Do you need anything?” Marcel asked.

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Hey, there’s something I want to ask you.” Francis looked up. “Houman called me today and asked if I wanted to take your spot in the club. Of course he added that if I fuck his woman he would fuck me, but he needs a bouncer and he knows I’m looking. Do you mind if I accept?”

Francis thought for a couple seconds. On one hand he could feel the jealousy rising up in his stomach, but he wasn’t going to deny his brother an experience that he wanted. “Yeah, go ahead,” he said. “I don’t care.”

“Awesome! Thanks.”

Marcel’s experience wasn’t so different from Francis’. Lots of numbers, dates, bangs, and so on. It’s as if they traded shoes. Marcel did throw Francis a bone now and then with a homely broad that was friends of the ones he was fucking, but it was a far cry from Cassie.

Francis saw her one afternoon in the old town. You would have thought she was a sprinter and not a yoga practitioner with the way she ran into her car and got away from him. Francis could only wonder why she hated him.

One night, Marcel was working at the club for a modeling industry party. He was spotted by a scout who said he had the perfect look for the new “beefy aesthetic” that was sweeping the industry. Marcel never considered being a model but figured it was worth a shot. He didn’t tell Francis when he went to get photos done.

The scout eventually introduced him to an agent who pushed a contract in front of him. Marcel signed. Two weeks after that his first gig came in—a shoot for a Men’s Health article titled “99 Ways To Do Bicep Curls Using A Squat Rack.” His high vascularity and aloof grin helped send more offers his way until Marcel was spending more and more time away from the apartment.

“You up to some shady shit?” Francis asked.

“No, I just… kind of fell into modeling.”

“What? How did that happen?”

“I was working the door one night when I was spotted by a scout. It sort of snowballed from there.”

“You were working… the door?” Francis’ face turned red. He went into his room, slammed the door, and started yelling profanities. He knew that if he was working, the likelihood that he would have been given the same opportunity was high, but he fucked the wrong girl who refused to even acknowledge his existence, and true to Houman’s word, no one in the club business would hire him, so now his brother was getting all the girls and soon would be doing runway shows in New York, LA, Milan, Paris, Stockholm, and Barcelona. Marcel wouldn’t just be fucking cute girls, but mind-blowingly hot models. Francis withdrew into the world of Call Of Duty while Marcel was traveling the world.

In a rare moment that they were both home, Francis went to Marcel’s room and demanded to see pictures.

“Pictures?” Marcel asked.

“Yes, pictures. I know you’re banging models. I just want to see what I’m missing out on because of my mistake.”

“There’s not much to show.”

“Don’t bullshit me, man. Let me see.” Marcel reluctantly pulled out his phone and opened the “Banged models lol” folder. It took twenty minutes to go through it.

Francis sat down on the edge of his bed. “I’m happy for you, bro, I really am, but at the same time, I’m upset this is not happening to me.” Francis gave Marcel a light pat on the back and returned to his room where he lay face down on his bed.

Marcel had to abruptly quit his job as a bouncer because the modeling gigs were keeping him busy. Francis was hoping to get a call from Houman, giving him a second chance, but it never came.

It was inevitable that Marcel got bored with the girls in his modeling clique. He was a rising star and felt that he deserved the absolute top. Perhaps the famous actresses and musicians? He wasn’t sure, but it did seem to him that he was one of the only guys who hasn’t yet banged Taylor Swift, so maybe that would be a good start.

A part of him wanted the heart of a beautiful girl instead of just her vagina. With his rising stardom and bank balance, he felt the pieces of the puzzle were falling into place to make that happen. How he would maintain such a relationship with his busy travel schedule, he had not considered, and if you asked him what exactly he wanted, he couldn’t give you a clear answer, but he was sure that he wanted more than what he had now.

When he was offered a spot for a runway show in Moscow, he became excited at the opportunity, in spite of the fact that male models never went to Russia. He had heard many things about the beauty of Russian girls, their flawless doll-like faces, their hypnotizing blue eyes, their icy feminine charm—all of which would serve a much needed breath of fresh air to the industry’s incestuous carousel. But he also heard about the danger. He knew Houman had been to Russia years earlier so he sought him out in the club office to get some advice.

“Houman, what do you think of me doing a show in Russia? You lived there, right?”

“Yes, I was there for three months.”

“And?”

“It was the most amazing time of my life. I always dream of going back.” He looked out the window of his office in reminiscence. “It’s a curious culture and the women are the most beautiful in the world, as I’m sure you already know.”

“But people say it’s dangerous. Is that true?”

“I had no problems.”

“Okay great. Hey,” Marcel added, “no hard feelings about me having to quit on short notice, right?”

“Nope, none at all.”

With Houman’s endorsement, Marcel went ahead with the Moscow show. It was a success in spite of some language misunderstandings. He was able to meet models from Estonia, Ukraine, Kazakhstan (a country he never heard of before), and of course Russia. He gravitated towards the Russian models, who acted stoic and firm throughout the show. Even when he reminded them that he was American, they barely gave him more affection than if he was a gopnik right off the street.

Nighttime came and everyone went to the hottest club in town. Unexpectedly, an ugly bouncer delayed Marcel’s entrance, thinking he wasn’t part of the modeling group. Marcel went ballistic, remarking how he had never been treated so poorly before. The mistake was quickly settled and he calmed down inside at the table by drinking vodka shots and bobbing his head to the electro music.

He vainly tried to get in with the Russian models. They were polite, but unlike slutty Western models, they weren’t throwing themselves at him like he expected. When he asked them to dance, he received “maybe later” responses.

Frustrated, Marcel started looking around at the club, noticing that some of the regular girls were even hotter than the models. The vodka courage helped push him to approach a perfect ten who was partying at the table beside him. He couldn’t identify a single flaw in her appearance. He ignored the two obese, old men that were with her and leaned over the couch to speak to her. She shook her head sideways. “Did she not speak English?” he wondered.

The obese men now focused on him. One started spraying words that Marcel couldn’t understand. If he spoke Russian he would have identified the words immediately as threats, but he persisted in trying to talk to the girl.

The girl noticed her friends were upset so she put her hand up to Marcel’s face so he would understand the rejection was not coquetry. He stood there, confused, until one of the fat men stepped up to Marcel, a laughable face-off since Marcel was much taller and stronger. “Go fuck away,” the fat man said. Marcel furrowed his brows and flicked his hand towards the man’s face before turning back to his table. If Marcel knew who the man was, a top manager for one of the largest shipping companies in Russia, he would not have disrespected him so.

Fifteen minutes later, Marcel went to the bathroom and picked a stall to piss in. Midstream, the door crashed open on his back. His head was shoved into the tile wall, crushing his nose. He stumbled onto the floor, bracing his fall on the urine-soaked tile, and then one of his hands was stomped on with tremendous force. The attack lasted only ten seconds, but it destroyed his face. Metal pins would be required to reconstruct the bones in his now monkey claw of a hand.

Francis was a fine nurse, serving Marcel chicken nuggets and banana shakes, telling him he will be back to normal even though the plastic surgeon told him that everyone had to be “realistic” about Marcel’s physical recovery. His modeling career was over.

With bandages still on Marcel’s nose, and a plaster cast covering his hand and half his forearm, Francis came into his room and reluctantly told him that he received a call.

“Your modeling agent called me today,” he began. “He said the beefy aesthetic is still in. Since our shape is similar, he wants me to come in for photos.”

Marcel hesitated for a long time. “I don’t mind, but the work is very hard. I don’t know if it’s worth it.” He went on to detail all the downsides of the job, and how it wasn’t a walk in the park. Francis nodded, as if he was considering his arguments, when the appointment with the photographer was already made.

Across town, Cassie was in Houman’s bed, snuggling against his swarthy body. “Did you hear what happened to Marcel?” she asked.

“I did. It’s a pity.”

“Didn’t he come to you asking for advice?”

“Yes, and I told him he’d be stupid to go. It’s how I got this—“ he pointed to the long scar on his face. “Russia is uncivilized and full of thugs. It’s sad that some people just don’t want to listen.”

Previous Story: An Afternoon With Stig Greybeard

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Malik Phillips
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Malik Phillips
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Bravo

Viva la Manosphere!
Guest

“99 Ways To Do Bicep Curls Using A Squat Rack.” lol

Persians
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Persians
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You forgot the part about gold curtain rods and purple carpet

Igniss
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Igniss
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There are so many excellent phrases and thoughts in this one. I am slightly confused about the final one, though:

“Alphas fuck each other up all the time”?

Romeo
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Romeo
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Easily your best short story.
Really enjoyed it.

Romeo
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Romeo
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Morals of the story; know the difference between arrogance and confidence.

You never know what you have until it’s gone.

Assume that the Men who’s girls you have fucked will hold grudges.

Romeo
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Romeo
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And being a twin is both good and bad – I know because I am one too.

kdolo
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kdolo
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brilliant !!

Blackie
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Blackie
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THIS IS A SHIT STORY MY DAYS.

Tom Dane
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Tom Dane
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“Go fuck away”..:)

RobP
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RobP
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Wow–very good writing!

Ryan
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Ryan
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Awesomesauce. Well done, Roosh… as always.

Eugenius
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Eugenius
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Awesome…why don’t you write more if these short stories…make them into scripts or something…and get a movie going…that will be a good natural next chapter in evolution.

[Roosh: They take considerably longer to write than regular posts, yet get the same amount of traffic/comments.]

Scandibro
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Scandibro
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Whats the point of this story exactly? Is it like some parabel of the fleeting nature of pleasure and status? An Icaros fable?

Please help me out here.

Anonymous
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Anonymous
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“He wasn’t sure, but it did seem to him that he was one of the only guys who hasn’t yet banged Taylor Swift, so maybe that would be a good start.”

LOL

Pnin
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Pnin
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Good story, but it’s “bored with”, not “bored of”. “Bored of” is the grammatical equivalent of a flat billed hat or an Ed Hardy shirt. In some circles, it goes over well. But those are cheap circles.

Paul
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Paul
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Awesome. The underlying messages here are a little more subtle than “stig greybeard” or the other stories- which causes you to pay more attention. One thing is undeniable both brother’s cases, the downfall started with excessive risk taking while they were blinded by confidence fueled by their success – banging the bosses wife, or hitting on the wrong girl in a russian club despite the obvious warning signs. One takeaway – confidence that comes from success can be blinding and you have to be careful to check yourself. But that same confidence/arrogance/appetite for risk-taking is testosterone and what attracts women. The truth is 99% of guys could probably use more risk-taking/boldness in their lives, not less. Most guys can’t work up the courage to day-approach a lone girl by herself, let alone try to put in work on the bosses hot girlfriend.

yes
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yes
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I disagree with the last sentence. The courage for a day-approach to a lone girl by herself and a boss’s girlfriend are two orthogonal things. Some men have balls to do big things, but getting cowardy doing small things.

Anonymous
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Anonymous
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Good story, but it’s “bored with”, not “bored of”. “Bored of” is the grammatical equivalent of a flat billed hat or an Ed Hardy shirt. In some circles, it goes over well. But those are cheap circles.

Kill yourself. Seriously.

captain america
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captain america
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great story. agree with eugenius, i could see it fleshed out into a screenplay. i hope you’ll do more like this. think about it, there’s got to be a market out there for anti-feminist fiction.

Deebos
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Deebos
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Confidence from game is strictly dependent on you success…which can be fleeting. The confidence from game is therefore fleeting and shallow, only true internal confidence matters. It is the internal confidence that reaps some of the best results.

WTF
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WTF
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Pnin….I hate you…a lot

double d
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double d
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wow, amazing read!

can’t wait to read some of rooshs adventures in russia

D-Man
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D-Man
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One of the things I like most about your writing is the unflinching honesty with which you portray the petty subterranean thought processes that go into your characters’ decision-making.

This requires a high degree of honest introspection, both on your part, and on the part of the reader.

We like to compose and edit our personae, but the stream-of-consciousness narrative – the grinding gears of our personalities – are considerably less glamorous than we’d like to admit, even to ourselves.

Anonymous
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Anonymous
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I think the take away is that women fuck you up no matter how many alpha traits you have. Even houman got cheated so…

Max
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Max
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Fantastic story, the narrative is deep and filled with meaning.

JJ
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JJ
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The shock appeal factor of variety to keep people off balance to think what will be do next is a likely motivator for some of these fictions stories.

I will say this one was good with a flowing detailed vibe that made sense. Some of the short stories have had a middle school locker room humor feel but this one could easily be a screen play.

I hope you could flesh out the meaning of the parable-
Is it that there really aren’t many women who are 10sminside and out?

Is it whether you are loaded with cash status and ruthless or you are buff and cool top women will still find a way to get over on you?

It’s like an ex NFL guy in his 40s whi ran with one of the most infamous pro athlrte players (the kind og guy
Who made $$$$ but is broke due to a ton of babies) of our time a d has a ton kf game himself said to me- women are the masters of game no Ayer out here has more game than most women and a chick can be fucking two dudes at once and sit there between them and a t cool as ice and pour them drinks without them picking up on it.

Have a Nice Dave
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The name of this story says it all “The Industry”. Full of all the pleasures you can handle with all the nonsense of being top dog one day and being a worthless piece of meat the next.

Game wasn’t utilized here as much as you think, because he would have known not to fuck with a girl that had 2 jacked dudes with her. Certainly not in a cold country like that and not being able to speak the language.

Overall it’s just 2 stupid dudes pussy sighted with no survival common sense. Pussy is blind (only one eye that can’t see!) and really so are the people that just focus on it to no end without having some afterthought about their actions.

This is merely about 2 greedy stupid guys in a stupid greedy industry.

Overall, great story!

Charles
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Charles
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Good story, and quite well written!

euneaux
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euneaux
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[Roosh: They take considerably longer to write than regular posts, yet get the same amount of traffic/comments.]

Thanks for taking the time to create some decent content and not just listicle click-bait.

euneaux
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euneaux
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Makes you think that no matter how good it gets, some other guy’s status makes you look like a cockroach. I love it how your male model gets no attention, when the oligarchs and mafioskis are the real power.

samseau
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samseau
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Couldn’t stop reading till I got to the end

Johannes
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Johannes
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Liked this a lot more than other fictional short stories I’ve read here.

It’s a lot more subtle so you have to think about it, bringing some fresh ideas to mind, instead of figuring out an obvious moral of the story already halfway through.

JJ
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JJ
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Ps-
I know women are snakes.

My own mom who treated me like the concierge at a quality hotel treats me like a 2nd class ape now since she met this scum bag conniver on FB. He’s got her believing I’m only about her money when he’s the one who’s trying to run a con.

What do you guys think I ought to do to defend myself against a crook like this?

Any game psychological tips
To discredit two faced jackals would be greatly appreciated.

doclove
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doclove
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Roosh,

My father told me based on his experience with Italian or Italian-American mafia and Russian or
Russian-American mafia that the Russians are by far more dangerous, crazy and Ruthless. An fellow co-worker, an Italian-American man of Sicilian descent and had family in the Italian-American mafia, said that the Italians, Mexicans and Colombians were bad but the Russians made them look like good, innocent never hurt anyone choir boys by comparison. I also knew an American born citizen man not of Russian heritage and fellow soldier and Afghanistan veteran who lived in Russia for 2 or 3 years before he joined the U.S. Army who told me that Russians are some of the hardest, most ruthless, most dangerous and most clever warrior men in the world, and that their women were the most conniving and ruthless women you’ll ever meet; and, he stated that in his travels throughout Eastern Europe that the men and women were mostly the same in the former Warsaw Pact countries.

Are you trying to subtly say through this story beware of going to Russia or even attempting to GAME Russian women anywhere? Are you trying to say beware of your surroundings and behavior when dealing with Russians especially their women?

Blaster
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Blaster
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I enjoyed this. It was a tight narrative and I enjoyed the humor, suspense and perspectives on femininity and masculinity.

But I did force myself to keep going on the basis that I’d enjoyed “Stig Graybeard” and “Patricia’s Smartphone”, even though based on the title and introduction I wasn’t initially excited about “The Industry”. Maybe some sort of synopsis, teaser, or subtitle would help increase traffic and commentary for stories like this.

Steve
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Steve
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You’re an excellent storyteller Roosh

Anonymous
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Anonymous
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Keep it up, Roosh.

Even though each of these stories takes more time to write but gets the same traffic as a regular post, it’s worth it, to refine your writing skills.

And please do check out famous writers with similar styles, like Steinbeck, Faulkner, and Theroux. Pay attention to their sentence structures and visual descriptions.

As you write more, you’ll begin to appreciate the ways those authors play around with the English language and you’ll get some good tips for your own writing.

You’re almost at the stage where you could write a novel or screenplay and have it professionally published/circulated.

Harland
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Harland
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“Did she not speak English?” he wondered.

Oh man that is gold right there. The sad thing is there are really people out there like this, who think everyone speaks English. And from their perspective: they’re right. It’s because they just flit from place to place and English-speaking foreigners are there to attend to their needs. It’s called “the bubble” and people can live inside it for years.

Lord of the Alphas
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Wow, amazing story. I don’t get all the points, but it was sick.

Anonymous
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Anonymous
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As my dad says, never bite the hand that feeds you.

Byronicmate
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Byronicmate
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Thank you for sharing this story Roosh. It gave me goosebumps.

Anonymous
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Anonymous
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Good story but whats the moral or lesson youre trying to present?

Jason
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Jason
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This is probably the most embarrassing shit I’ve ever read. Hahaha.

Blaster
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Blaster
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Not every story has to have a clear lesson but in this some seem pretty obvious to me:

Be careful to appreciate good luck– things that come easy can be lost easy.

Beware player burnout. Both brother’s got bored with endless pussy and wanted something more.

Beware oversized ego. However useful it might be when gaming girls, especially American ones, ego still distorts reality. Both brothers’ downfalls can be traced partially to an irrational overestimation of their own value and invincibility. Both made risky, even reckless decisions that a more modest or pragmatic man would not have made.

Beware obsession with a single girl, especially one attached to a high-status man. Francis began mistaking what he wanted to be true (That Houman would dump Cassie, that Cassie loved him more) for what actually was true and this delusion eventually leads to some stalker behavior.

Question advice and question adviser’s motives. Marcel failed to question Houman’s advice and did not do enough research on his own before traveling to a dangerous country. He was unprepared for the challenges he would face in Russia.

Also, of course, one lesson is bluntly delivered:
Beware Russia for it is uncivilized and full of thugs.

John Doe
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John Doe
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Marcel stumbled into work drunk one morning. His co-worker and close friend noticed his unkempt appearance and politely asked him “What’s up dude?” and Marcel replied “Nothing, was just drinking all night”.

Marcel then got on the phone to his local pimp, and requests two blonde escorts, with fit and trim bodies, and “I really can’t stress blonde enough”.

The two ladies arrived, and Marcel took them into the lounge, telling his co-workers “Sorry, got a short business meeting”, and locked the door once the two blond escorts were inside.

He proceeded to undress them and he told them to eat each other’s pussies out and make each other orgasm.

After the two blonds finished squirting their female ejaculation into each other’s mouths, Marcel bent them over and fucked them doggie style and make them both roar out in heavenly orgasmic agony.

Finally, after about 10 minutes of pumping, Marcel blasted his semen all over their tits and faces.

Marcel told them to clean up fast, and he unlocked the lounge door and went back to his cubicle and finished the morning’s work.

Just another day in the life of Marcel.

braziliandude
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braziliandude
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keep up good work Roosh.

I bought your complete book collection, worth every penny.

greetings from Brazil.

Good$in
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Good$in
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650 941 2500 Studio

Twenty
Guest
Twenty
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What I learned from this story:

Bitches are trouble
Russians are thugs
Models are dumb
Iranians are bastards

Anonymous
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Anonymous
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“Marcel then got on the phone to his local pimp, and requests two blonde escorts, with fit and trim bodies, and “I really can’t stress blonde enough.”

hah, Bateman

Tim
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Tim
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I love “awesome, you’re fucking the girl of your dreams while I run game at the mall.” Hahah story of my life