Poor ol’ Stanley

He’s worked for my family for 20 years. When the Eagles wrote “Desperado” they probably had some version of Stan in mind. We could have fixing fence for the entire agenda for the day and he would still show up in cowboy boots, riding chaps, and the lone rangers hat. If ever there was a victim of the times, Stan would be it. He’s been divorced three times. Excuse me, twice. His third wife shows up whenever the welfare check does. Im told she used to be quite attractive back in the day. But ever since she started practicing witchcraft (not even joking) her looks went downhill fast. Now whenever Stan mentions that they should get a divorce the waterworks start and he backs down. This only encourages her to show up whenever he receives his meager paycheck from either us, or U.S.

Im a little foggy on all the details, but apparently he came from money back east. His parents, brothers, sisters, and even children are all pretty well off. Stan is not. He lives in government housing and drives a miniature sea green Ford pickup truck thats in his sons name so his wife can’t steal it to buy booze and bed barflies. After his first marriage dissolved he apparently did what many men do, and went a little crazy. The solution for that of course, was pills. Downers to go to sleep and keep the voices at bay. Once he divorced a second time he got depressed and unable to get out of bed in the morning. The solution for that? MORE PILLS! Uppers to get up. As well as a prescription for nitroglycerin for his frequent heart attacks. My grandfather attempted to fire him once, but received a stern tongue lashing from the local priest. Apparently Stan threatened to kill himself in confessional. So like good catholics, we took him back in. But at least we’re going to heaven.

As far as job performance goes, Stan leaves much to be desired. For the past four years he has destroyed the transmission on the same blue dodge hay truck. He forgets to take it out of four wheel drive when he’s going down the highway at 70 miles an hour. I and another hand just got through replacing it. Again. When we decided to construct a fancy new cap gate to the entrance to our north western ranch, Stan let the brand new green swinging gate stay pristine for exactly three days before he ran a tractor into it. It still works. It just has a pretty severe bend in the middle. In the last year he seems to have lost his sense of balance while riding a horse. He’s left leaning. Not in a political sense. He leans to the left in his saddle until eventually he’s at a 45 degree angle. This would be rather amusing if it didn’t leave massive seeping wounds on the top of our horses. He’s scarred two this year. On our last riding exposition his horse knocked him onto the floor of the horse trailer (which thankfully for him, I had shoveled out the previous day) and I thought for sure he was going to be trampled.

A few days ago he called my grandfather to make sure he was on the feeding schedule. I worked with him the other day. I loaded probably eight square bales to his one. There comes a point where you have to pick them up off the ground to get them onto the wagon. These bales can weigh anywhere from 60-120 pounds. Therefore I was the obvious choice to fish them off the ground leaving him to stack them three tiers high on the wagon. I let him struggle for a good 5 minutes with lifting onto the final tier. Five minutes of “Mmmurph… Haaa…. You prick…” He calls the bales prick when they don’t magically lift themselves. Once the muffled farts started coming I decided to hop up there. A very sadistic and self serving recess of my brain hoped he would just die, but then I remembered I would be morally obligated to attempt to resuscitate the old bastard.

Fuck if I’m doing that. He smells like ditch weed and moldy clothes.

One man drives and the other rides on the wooden wagon, cutting strings and kicking off the now loose hay. While in the truck Stan almost never says a word. So neither do I. Before getting out to I make sure to tell him to put the truck in four low. I even make sure thats the gearing is correct. Alright ready to go. He manages to miss first gear on the main transmission and go straight to third. I think about yelling but decide its a good challenge. So out across the field we fly. I on my wooden rocket skateboard a dervish of strings, hay, and cattle…

Every once and a while though, he says something. Something profound. Something that makes you question if this really is the man you’ve made him out to be. But then… his eyes cloud over again, and he’s lost to his drugged stupor.


Called Out

Today one of the big dogs barked this puppy into submission. Ive been resting on my laurels. Sitting on my thumbs enjoying the fruits of what I’ve accomplished in the last year and a half. Enjoying myself. Taking it easy. I put on 15 lbs of muscle a few months ago, and now I’ve been coasting. I found a way to make significantly more money (for me anyways) so I’ve backed off on other solutions or making this one better. Now I’m finally making music whereas a year ago I would only piss and moan that I wanted to try it out. If I put just a little bit of effort in I can now find a woman to have sex with me, when two years ago I would scream up at the sky about how unfair life was. I really have come a long ways from the little bitch I used to be.

But this guy… he says good enough ain’t good enough. Im going to take his word for it. Why? Because the only reason I managed to accomplish any of those things was following his advice in the first place. So now I’m going to throw it all out there. Going to let hundreds of strangers see my bare naked soul in this one next line.

I DO want to be famous! I NEED to be famous.

At night I hear intricate, beautiful, bass filled music in my dreams. When I wake up… Its gone. I need to capture that and put it into the computer. The rest will follow.

Its do or die. Because knowing I could have but didn’t, would be worse than death for me. In the words of my deceased grandfather “Being satisfied is bullshit.” I got caught up in the trap. Its time to stop fucking around.

The takeaway from all this? Don’t start a blog chronicling your self improvement journey unless you want a swift kick in the balls. This guy will do it. Its his job.

ya… Im scared to post this… fuck…

Perpetual Indignation of the Butthurt Beta Male

I kept hearing the Blee-boo-dee-blee of her phone as the text messages rolled in. One after another. This was around the time that I had her in a brand new ball-gag that Id purchased on a trip out of town to acquire new dungeons and dragons books. Last night I discovered an awesome new sex position. Im pretty sure its only viable on the shorties because taller woman’s legs would probably be too long. Anyway, you start in missionary and put her feet, soles facing each other, directly between your pecks. This adds a sort of spring to help take some of the work out of thrusting. Another added benefit is it frees up your hands to grab her wrists and hold her in place so she doesn’t get any ideas about going anywhere. She insisted we put on a movie while falling asleep. I let her pick, and wasn’t disappointed when she selected Kung-pow! Enter the FistShe fell asleep in the first ten minutes, but I laughed my ass off.

The next morning she finally came out with the story of the incessant text messages from last night. Before our rendezvous she had attended a movie as friends with a couple of townies. Apparently the one who kept messaging her had misinterpreted the outing of asexual friends as an intimate love triangle filled with subterfuge and diverging interests. He of course viewed the other male as direct competition, and her seeing a movie with the both of them as a form of malicious cuckoldry.  She showed me the text messages and I will paraphrase as best as I can remember.

10:47 Im extremely pissed at you.

10:53 That was the most embarrassing thing Ive ever had to go through.

11:27 If you like him blah blah blah blah need to respect me blah blah blah totally fucking embarrassing blah blah blah blah call me when you grow up…

Alright lets delve into this behavior a little bit. Its obvious from the amount of time he spent poking around on his phone that he is invested in this woman. All pretense of not giving a shit is thrown out the window when you decide to send that first text. Also, great opener. “Im extremely pissed at you”… When has something like that ever elicited a positive response? Never. Next; if thats the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever experienced then you really need to get out of this one horse town for a few years. The rest is just disgusting verbal diarrhea that does nothing but put out negative vibes and further lower his value as a potential suitor.

I understand what he’s thinking. As hard as that is to admit… He’s thinking that by putting in the effort to type down his dissatisfaction in a fucking novel that the woman will interpret that as a sign of commitment and a willingness to communicate. Sorry dude, but all she sees is whining and bitching. Period. Women can be such happy creatures. I like to believe that their natural state is capricious, whimsical, and euphoric, without taking anything at all too seriously. The more you mirror their natural state, the more excuses you give them to bounce happily along right onto the end of your penis. This dudes small town scarcity mentality coupled with his ingrained feminine primacy does nothing but bite him in the ass at every turn. It is however very unlikely that he will ever reconsider his standard operating protocol.

Also, whats with all the words buddy? Wanna know what I texted her to get her to come over and fornicate all night?

9:30 Hey, come over tonight and we’ll kick it.

Edit: I probably am ripping off Heartiste for the title, but it just applied so well.

Just Some Slut

She snapchatted me photos of her moving out of her house.

“It would be nice to see you again. Come riding with me.”

I saddled the horses and we headed up the dusty red hills to gather up the sneaky ones who managed to avoid us the first time through. I trusted my gut and found all of them hiding in the first coolie I searched in. Under my guidance she turned out to be a fine rider. We moved them to the right field. On the way down, my hand bridged the gap between us to squeeze her thigh. Inside the house I threw her a popsicle. The most obvious phallic symbol I can imagine. But I sat far away. I took her out to the shop under false pretenses.

“Is my mouth blue?”

“I dunno, let me see.”

Our mouths were still cold from the frosty treats. After lunch we took the .22s out to shoot gophers. We killed a couple dozen of the little bastards. Doesn’t make any difference. They aren’t going anywhere. We walk around the lake, the fisherman guide hassles me. “Are you supposed to be out here?”I lift my sleeve to show him the family crest emblazoned on my right arm. Once we reach the edge of our family property I find a nice shady spot and proceed to ram my tongue down her throat. I rip her shirt off amid halfhearted protests. The bra is next but is proving difficult. She’s not making it easy… saying something about “No.” Once I figured out the catch was in the front I was able to force her out of it even though Ive never encountered such a clasp before. I sucked on her tits and tried to no avail to get her pants off. Finally I give up and take her back down to our southern ranch. Our skin is red from the august sun. I take her to my bedroom and we both have a laugh watching my arrest video. I start slathering her with aloe vera, massaging it into her skin. The bra comes off easier this time. Still no pants. I don’t let it stop me. I pull out my cock. I try to shove it into her mouth but she won’t have any of that either. She finally relents to a hand job and squirts the last of the aloe into her palm with that farting noise that comes when a bottle is empty. Handjobs suck. It feels good but I’m not really getting there. Until she starts massaging my balls with her free hand. I blow a yellow two week nut all over the both of us. She drives me to the grocery store and I buy ingredients for making fried chicken (with bacon duh) wraps.

The next day I finally charge my phone and see a half dozen messages. I tell her we’ll go on a fishing trip at our northeastern ranch. I tell her Im going to catch a fish before she does. We take the scenic hike a couple of miles to the most pristine river you’ll ever see. I leave her to fish upstream while I fish downstream. After losing several of her lures I head back to the fire pit. She arrives at the same time with a small rainbow. I suck at fishing. The thunder echoes through the canyon walls as we make our way back to my ancestral homestead. I give her a tour. She’s transfixed by the wind up record player from 1900. In one of the many upstairs bedrooms I strip her down.

“Wait, Grody… did you bring a condom?

“Psh… No.”

With false promises of cumming on her and not in her I enter. 5 minutes later I spread cream all over her milky white skin dotted by the occasional brown mole. I towel her off and dive in again. Another 5 minutes goes by. This time I let go and completely fill her up. “God dammit Grody…” She says between laughs. Now that I’ve gotten the first two loads out I can focus on fucking her like a pornstar. After 45 minutes of animalistic hair pulling, slapping, and choking I realize Im really thirsty. I walk butt naked to our spring house and fill an antique pitcher with pure water that stays year round at 35 degrees. I figure the woman would appreciate some liquid too so I make my way upstairs. I stand over her and pour half the freezing pitcher over her naked used body. This time I build a fire outside and cook us a couple of T-bone steaks with jo-jos. I don’t think Ive ever had a more delicious steak. We pack up and head back to town. This town rests on a spot of natural geothermal activity and as such has a natural sulfur hot springs. The hotel owners made a pool out of it and charge 7 bucks for a soak. Under the cool purple and blue neon lighting we play the whole couple routine. Its nice. We get back to the house just in time for the power to go out. In the dark of my bedroom she uses her phone light to gather all her shit, saying something about having to work tomorrow at six. Uh huh. I push her down on the bed and strip her down all over again. Theres just enough moon light that I can make out her face under her frizzy blonde hair. Her lips are parted and just the sight of her visage with eyes closed and softly moaning as my thrusts rock her back and forth is enough to make me come again. At 4:45 am she leaves. Another 100 mile journey.

She visits again on a weekday. Im still at work chopping down hay. I tell her to bring a gatorade out to the field.

“You’re lucky I like you.”

“Oop, you said it.”

I fuck her good and she thanks my by completely cleaning my kitchen.

This post is getting long winded and there are too many awesome memories to count from the 6 weeks she drove hundreds and hundreds of miles to partake of my tallywacker. I would love to share them all because they will always hold a special place in my heart. She eventually moved down to San Diego to get her degree in “Giving free government money to illegal beaners”. Her fiancé is a software developer there for a major company. I hope they are happy together.

But I seriously doubt it.

Grody Gone Galt

Im a long time fan of Don’T Tread and The Green Steelheads podcast. In it they advocate a Get out of the system (GOOTS) approach to life. Im sure you are familiar with the advantages of such a lifestyle. If you aren’t taking handouts from the nanny state, supporting yourself, and not contributing beyond the bare required minimum to society; you can pretty much just fart in their general direction every time a policy change is made to benefit the “me firsts” and the “gimme gimmes”

A cattle ranch is the perfect place to go Galt. Unlimited high quality protein for food. Gas and diesel in storage tanks. Modern (for the most part) machine shop to make repairs. Miles of space to isolate you from the crazies. Guns and ammo for when they decide to come to you anyway. Its been almost a year since I moved back here with little to no plan of ever moving back to town. Every day that goes by I give less and less fucks for whatever the movers and shakers in the big city are doing.

I can stay as busy, or as not busy, as I want. There are some exceptions, but most days putting in 5-6 hours of work puts me at an acceptable level of accomplishment for the day. Raising beef is a marathon, not a sprint. Before when I was living out here in the fog of blue-pill ignorance I couldn’t take my mind off how much I was missing.

I really miss buying expensive coffee in town and going on thousand dollar clothes shopping sprees. I have to get a bullshit degree to get a medium salary job. Gotta wear a suit with a tie and have an eco friendly car. Where can a steady guy like me find an equal partner that wants to support me as much as I do her? Im so lonely. I bet all my buddies are getting hammered and having a great time this weekend and I’m stuck slaving away out here…


The ability to be able to see through all the BS is probably the greatest gift a man can be given. Except it can’t be given. It has to be taken for oneself. One of the hardest red pills for me personally to swallow was the fact that a woman will never love me in the way I’m capable of loving her. She loves the plush couch, nice carpet, wooden paneling, and soothing music inside the elevator. She doesn’t give two fucks about the gaping shaft, cables, pulleys, and electric motors that make it go up and down, bringing her to new places. Once I went through the stages of grief and finally accepted this truth about the world, things started to go a little better, then a little more better. Then I realized that life had been great the entire time.

Now I think back on that pathetic little beta with a mixture of pity and revulsion. I hunt down the remaining remnants of him and meditate on the best ways to destroy them from my personality. I found one today. Another little beta piece that needs smashing. Im committed to self improvement. That is probably one of the founding pillars of this little counter culture movement. Getting in shape. Making more money. Running game. Reading great works and getting smarter. Some days I would fall short of accomplishment…

Play guitar… Don’t play guitar

Work out… Don’t work out

Read great works… Don’t read at all

Jerk off to porn… Don’t Jerk off

Program electronic music… Don’t program electronic music

Cook nutritious meal… Eat frozen bean burritos

Shave… Don’t shave

I would feel guilty on days where I fell more on the lazy end of the spectrum and it would eat me up at night. But then I realized it doesn’t matter. Nobody is standing over you with a whip MAKING you be the best version of yourself possible. Self improvement should come from a positive place of genuinely wanting to be better. Not as a competition with the rest of the world. It never ends. Theres always gonna be someone better than you. Im in pretty good shape. I don’t have a six pack but I probably look better naked than most men. I have more musical ability than 95% of the worlds population, but I’m not a professional. You will always be your own worst critic. As long as I’m working towards my #1 goal of being the best cattleman I can be, all that other shit takes a seat on the back burner.

I have goals ok. For this winter my number one goal… Is to buy a motorcycle. Ive found a way to consistently pull in $700-$800 dollars more per month. On top of my regular paycheck thats close to two grand a month with almost zero living expenses. I guess this could be considered my MGTOW diatribe. I like plowing fresh poon as much as the next guy, but now that I know I can get women with just a little more effort, its time to focus on other things. Maybe… Just maybe… your life kicks ass, and you don’t even realize it.

Take it easy… Or don’t

Your choice.

Treat It As A Joke

Ive had a breakthrough this week. The creative process is a finicky bastard. Theres a reason the archetype of the tortured artist exists. When you bother to pour your soul onto a canvass, into words, or through music, one prevailing need always shines through. You want to be accepted. Hell, you may even want to be worshiped. Let me guide you through my thought process to overcome perfection paralysis.

The last several months I’ve been producing original electronic songs with the program Logic Pro X. I probably have a dozen or so incomplete works sitting in my computer. I can’t get past the transitions too well. Interludes, breaks, finding the perfect chorus… How do I make them seamless? Fuck. Ill never be like Deadmau5. Deadmau5, Skrillex, and Kaskade all say they produce hit songs on the plane rides in between shows. They don’t even need all this equipment that I’ve bought.

Negative thinking. Knock that shit off.

Ok. So im not a professional. Heck Ill probably never be famous. There. Lets set the bar a little bit lower. What do I want? I just want people to listen to my stuff and maybe even dance to it. If they are dancing then they don’t even need to tell me they liked it. So. How do I actually finish something that I’m proud of?

In high school my friends and I started a basement band. We only made probably 10 original songs. All recorded on a laptop microphone. These songs had a humorous bent with satire and cynicism being the main lyrics. We were a joke. BUT. We posted the tracks on myspace for anyone to listen to. We did some promotion with the band profile and gave everyone that bothered to accept our friend request a personalized message. A weird thing happened. We started getting listens. A dozen. Fifty. A hundred. A couple hundred. We put out a couple more stupid simple songs. People at school started telling me that they had heard “The Danger Club” and that we were hilarious. Some people even commented that they actually liked the musicality. By the time we gave up on the thing we had a couple thousand listens.

Why can’t I do that now? Why does everything I put out need to be perfect? I doesn’t. Lets just try to pump out a complete song as fast as I can. It will be a parody of house music. Ill overblow the kick drum and use the cheesiest synths I can find. Ill completely abuse all the effects to the point where you can’t even understand the lyrics and the Ill put no thought into the lyrics whatsoever. That night I made a parody of a dance song. I uploaded it to soundcloud and it got 4 listens and one like. My first song.

Then a weird thing happened. The next day I pumped out another song of far superior quality. I viewed tutorials on more advanced processing techniques. Its better in every sense. I uploaded it and got seven listens. The listens aren’t the point. Im new to this. Ive got to learn. The point is not to get bogged down in making something “amazing“. Im going to settle for “good enough“. I realized halfway through writing this that what I’m trying to convey to you is the concept of outcome independence. It isn’t just for getting laid. When I started this blog I was just doing it for my own entertainment. I never dreamed I would get hundreds of views only a couple weeks after starting it. But guess what, I keep putting out content and getting my ideas out there. That fills me with pride. It really does.

There is something creative your soul is screaming at you to do.

Listen to it.


This is a post for the ladies. Hopefully I can shed some light on the average mans physical and sexual preferences in a woman. I know this is how I am. Ive talked to many other men and we’ve all pretty much come to the same conclusion. Not all men are like this mind you, but for the vast majority of blokes this list holds true. So without further adooo.

1. Boobs. Huge tits are unwieldy, but the novelty is amazing. Big boobs are great. Small boobs are good too.

2. Ass. A huge ass will immediately catch (and hold) my attention. Big butts are great for holding onto. Small butts are cute and deserve a slapping.

3. Stomach. A well earned beer gut doesn’t throw me off as long as the rest of her is in normal proportion. A little bit of flab (I think most women are in this category) looks good with navel jewelry and is fun to jizz on. A trim tummy looks sexy no matter what. A six pack… well, Ill give you my opinion once I’ve found one.

4. Legs. Big hips and calves are great and really bring out the caveman in me. Slender legs are feminine and make me salivate. If you have short legs that means you are short, which for some reason I find extra attractive.

5. Hair. Blondes are bodacious. Brunettes are sultry. Redheads are fiery.

Are you getting the gist of what I’m trying to say? Most guys aren’t THAT picky. Barring some ultra heinous deformity most dudes would probably take you for a roll in the hay. Having said this however Ill now turn to the UNattractive category.

1. Fat. You know who you are!

2. Ugly. Can’t fix ugly.

Hope this clears up the ladies questions. And remember, if you do run into a guy that has a weird hangup about some really stupid minor physical trait that you possess. Next him. The world is full of dong.

Closing Thoughts for #NoNothingNovember

Here are a few things that occurred to me while abstaining from my vices.


Technology really is effecting our way of life. For example, it wouldn’t even be possible to develop this nasty habit in a world without our current technology. I was alive and masturbating before the boom of the internet. When I did it was 5 minutes of dry rub off, then I was done. Now millions of gents waste hours a day touching their weiners. Its really kind of pathetic. But, I guess its evolve or die. Trying to use that energy for more productive endeavors.

It occurred to me sort of out of the blue, that lesbianism is of no benefit to me. Outside pornography it doesn’t do me any favors at all. I have yet to have a threesome, but until that magic day actually arrives I will continue to think of real life lesbians as unattractive and kinda awkward. Just speaking from experience here.

Sugar Water

This was the most difficult. Sugar tastes good. Its in pretty much all soft drinks. The only time I went to a fast food joint during the month of november I saw a soda dispenser that had a touch screen interface. It looked like something outta Star Trek. I got excited and forgot entirely about the challenge. About halfway through drinking 32 oz I remembered the challenge and payed attention to my body. A sort of dull buzzing went through my veins and I was actually more sluggish than before.

Water actually tastes good. Because its non carbonated you can actually leave it out and drink it at your own pace. It doesn’t go bad nearly as fast as sugared drinks. I bought a Brita water pitcher to take the massive amounts of calcium out of our well water. Whaddaya know, I actually like drinking water. Tea is good also.

Chewing Tobacco

Im really on the fence about this one. On the one hand its most certainly bad for you. On the other… I like it. The amount of nicotine in chew is 8 times the amount per dose thats in cigarettes. Nicotine is a vasoconstrictor. So its bad news when trying to put on muscle. It also has loads of sodium as another addictive agent. Mmm… Salt.

I dunno… Ill probably go back to chewing. Everyones gotta have a character flaw right? My pops has been quit for 20+ years, and he says that still; sometimes after a nice filling meal… He wants a chew. So Ill probably never be free of this devil, but I can try to limit my consumption to a couple cans a week. Like anything it can be used as a crutch for stress.


To say I enjoyed this challenge would be a baldfaced lie. But it was in my best interests. Its not in my nature to turn down a challenge. We have to harness our masculine virtue of competition to get shit done. Id Like to see more challenges from Kid Strangelove. But I need a willpower recharge for now. Perhaps #JettisonTheJelloJanuary?