An Alpha Mannerism: Nope, Can’t Hear Ya…

“Hey, your hair is looking a bit thin on top.”

“Whats that?”

“I said your hair is thinning out a bit.”

“Excuse me?”

I said you’re losing your hair.”

“Wait… One more time?”

“You’re going bald!”

“Could you repeat that?”

“You bastard…”


Psychosis, Paralysis, And Pants Shitting: My Experience With Synthetic Marijuana

I saw in my Bing news feed that “Spice” has finally killed a bunch of people. Truth be told, Im really surprised it took this long. I know that in my writing I tend to take a non-mainstream stance on a number of topics, but trust me on this one. If you follow the link I’ve provided, everything they say about that nasty shit is true.

It looks like… Spice

Spice, or Synthetic Pot, or JWH-(???), or K-2 is essentially lawn clippings harvested by a brown or yellow person with a bunch of designer drugs sprayed all over it. A regular hipster bukkakke. They package it in different sized tin foil baggies, and sell it as incense in head shops. Buuuut, you don’t burn it as incense… oh no… You smoke that shit, in a pipe, like a bunch of other awesome drugs I’ve heard about. At the time I was messing with it, you could buy anywhere from 1 gram, to 8 ounces in a single bag. There are several advantages to Spice. Its about 10 times as strong as regular Pot in its effects. Its about one quarter the price of real weed. The high only lasts for about 15 minutes, but is cumulative in its stupefying effects throughout the day. Last but not least, you won’t fail a drug test if you smoke it.

In my former employment, I was subjected to urine tests. Spice was the logical decision. (duh) A brand called “Bizzarro” was my favorite flavor. You would think that being at a high risk/high performance job that my co-workers would have noticed immediately that I was a fucking stoner. Nope. By the time I started smoking that nasty crap my work had become second nature to me. I was experienced enough that nothing threw me, and stoned enough that the uncomfortable working conditions didn’t phase me. I was on top of my shit and generally amicable. Nobody suspected a thing. It was pretty easy to get addicted. When I wasn’t in a work environment people started to notice. I was retarded. If you get addicted to spice… It makes you retarded. Theres no rationalizing it. I guess you could consider this my warning. I know a lot of you young gents like to party it up, and one hit won’t kill you despite what the media says. (Fuck, I probably smoked pounds of the shit) Heed these words. Never buy your own bag of the stuff. It is so powerful that regular weed won’t get you high anymore. But, you’re a big boy, do what you want. Ill tell you what its like to smoke so you can make your own decisions.

At first it was a miracle. Cheap, and strong, and not long lasting. I would buy one gram bags and go for cruises in the mountains. It tastes better than weed and I can smoke it without having a coughing fit. Music was amazing. I would turn my pair of Boston 12″s on full blast, drink an energy drink, and be ready for the bars when night rolled around. I would have half a bag left to blow my friends away when they got drunk enough to try it.

I moved up to the four gram bags. My nine hour commute to work felt like 20 minutes. I literally couldn’t remember anything.

I started smoking it all the time. I hated my job, and hated my lot in life. It was my own personal morphine. The days would go by in a blur. I didn’t care. I had money, and booze, and music. I didn’t need anything else. My friends told me they were worried about me. I didn’t care.

My buddy dave had a talk with me… I still remember it clear as day…

“If you keep this up man, you are gonna die. If you keep driving fucked up… You are gonna die man.”

I didn’t listen to any of them. I kept smoking. I withdrew to my crib and would smoke, drink, and listen to tunes for hours. Its how I wanted to spend my life. I would smoke so much that I was unable to move for 30 minutes at a time.

The wake up call was pretty abrupt. I was listening to this song.

I had taken a big old rip and had finished my whiskey and coke. A stick of real incense was burning on the coffee table… I watched the smoke curl up, and around, and hang there… I was tranced to passing out.

I was driving my pickup. The black modded beast would roar around dirt corners. I looked to the passenger seat to see an old room mate… He looked me in the eye and said “Well you wanted this…” The truck couldn’t handle the turn. We flew off the road at what must have been 85 miles an hour. We flipped a dozen times and I remember hitting the ceiling and every window in my pickup. Then… Everything went black… But not black… Red… I panicked. The most severe panic in the world. “Thats It! Im dead… ohfuckohfuckohfuck… As I retained consciousness, I realized that if I could continue to exist after death that it wouldn’t be so bad after all… The red… I was looking at the inside of my own eyelids.

I went cold turkey. Every drug I’ve had to give up has been a struggle. But now I’m done with them. For good.

Oh and if you still feel like trying it just remember.

Take the worst, most crippling diarrhea in the world…

And multiply it by five.

How To Get A Girlfriend

I believe Ive stumbled upon a panacea. Like all my recommendations Ill avoid going into long drawn out explanations. I like to keep things to the point on this blog and it wouldn’t be fair to the reader if I bloviated all day with all sorts of tactics and science. I’ll just tell you what worked of me.

How to get a girlfriend:

Step 1. Convince yourself up to 95% certainty that you do not want a girlfriend.

Step 2. Enjoy girlfriend.

coming up next on IMGrody: How to unget a girlfriend. Stay tuned.

The Traveling Gas Can Man

I was driving to the grocery store on the outskirts of town. Figured I’d pick up some beans for home made chili.  On the side of the road I spotted an unobtrusive looking fellow trundling along with a ten gallon gas can. Now I’m not much for philanthropy, but I will help someone out if it doesn’t really blow too big a hole in my day. Poor bloke, I thought. His vehicle must have stalled a few miles out of town. He probably humped his way into town with that gas can and now he’s on his way back. The least I can do is give him a ride for a few miles.

I rolled down the window and offered him a lift. He immediately, and enthusiastically accepted. This was the first thing that threw me off. Usually a self reliant man is hesitant to accept any handouts, even if they know its no skin off the other guys back. It just comes with an attitude of every man for himself. Not this dude. He just jumped in. I was about to ask if he could put the gas can in the bed, as Im not really a fan of having my cab smell like a refinery…  But then I noticed there was an installed buckle and hinges on the side. The entire side of the plastic gas can had been cut out to make a… Treasure chest?

Great. Just another crackpot. I decided to play dumb.

“Where did you run out of gas?”

“Oh, I didn’t actually.”


“See, Im the traveling gas can man. Im headed to Billings.”

He opened up his makeshift treasure chest to reveal… shit I can’t even remember now. Typical bum stuff. Just a rats nest of knick-knacks that most normal people wouldn’t think twice about throwing out. There was no way in Hades I was going to Billings. Its a 2 hour drive, and thats if you’re going 90 miles an hour.

“Well man, I hate to tell you this. But, Im just heading to the grocery store.”

“Oh thats ok. You can look me up on Facebook. “The Traveling Gas Can Man” Leave a comment and say that you drove me three blocks. I think that would probably be the shortest distance!”

I dropped him off at the highway and went to do my shopping. When I came out of the store he was still milling around out there. Another truck had stopped to offer him assistance. I returned home irritated and got online to look him up. The closest thing I found was a guy dressed in a foam gas can mascot outfit to advocate for the oil industry. There was no Facebook page.

Fuck you Traveling Gas Can Man. You are the reason nobody wants to help anyone else. You use deceit to pray upon peoples generosity. If you could just stick your thumb out and carry the trash in a backpack I could respect you. But noooo! You have to waste everybody’s time and hijack rides from people who weren’t in the market for a long term hitchhiker.

Heres some advice you faggot. Throw that gimmick on the fuckin burn pile. Stick your thumb out so you aren’t using deception to get what you want. Travel with people who are willing to give you a ride, all the way to Alaska. Go into a fish processing plant, and start gutting. In a few weeks you’ll have your own car. In a few months, you’ll be able to afford a place to live. In a few years you might actually look on con artists with distain…

As it stands now though… You are just another parasite. A pimple on civilizations ass. A dingleberry in societies butthole. Anybody who bothers pickin’ you, just gets shitty.

Is “Credibility” A Valid Concept?

I might as well just start off with what I’m talking about. This morning I saw a post by Sonny.  20 Red Pill Lies. I give him props for writing it. He probably knew it would stir up some mud and thats why he wrote it. To be honest, there are only about 3 or maybe 4 points where he calls out  a legitimate red pill lie. The rest seems to be just his own opinion.

But thats just me talking.

Who am I? I told you. IMGrody. Nobody. Why should you listen to me? I don’t give a fuck if you do or not. Thats the nice part about not trying to squeeze money out of this blog. I don’t have to pander to you so you buy my stuff. Whatever it happens to be.

So lets get to the meat of this post. It was inspired by this line right here.

Personally, I don’t like the negativity being spread by sources that have little to no credibility in the first place. It’s even more depressing when kids develop such a disillusioned outlook on the world.

Credibility. Well whats that? Oprah has credibility right? Her face is everywhere. She has a Brazilion dollars and her own TV show. I can’t think of anything more credible. Yet its a pretty widely held belief around this part of the internet that – No, In fact… She is a big fat liar.

MSNBC is credible right? They are a gigantic arm of the mainstream media right?

Do you see where I’m going with this?

Here. Lets do a little experiment. Lets take a respected man in this ‘sphere of the internet (you might even say he’s credible) and totally discredit him to the vast majority of english speakers.

“As a man you have to know the right way to choke a woman.”    – Mike Cernovich

“My attitude is generally negative towards all humanity. Men are generally fat slobs with nothing interesting to talk about.”  – Mike Cernovich

“So if I smoke some 5-MeO-DMT, don’t fucking tell me that I’m about to “communicate with the divine,” or that I’m going to undergo “ego death.” Just let me take my drug in peace in quiet.”    -Mike Cernovich*

Wow. What a monster. A misanthropic, woman abusing, druggie. Who would ever listen to anything that guy has to say. There, that was easy, wasn’t it? All you have to do is totally take everything out of context. This, I believe, is what Sonny has done to the red pill in trying to spin it as a lie.

Heres a crazy idea. Instead of worrying about how much “credibility” someone has, why don’t you just give their advice a try. If it doesn’t work, you aren’t going to be decapitated. If thats a possibility you’re probably reading the wrong sites. Here. Ill give you an example.

Grodys’ method for never waiting in line at the bank again.

1. Wear a ballcap. Pull it low over your eyes.

2. Wear sunglasses.

3. Don’t bother taking either off as you enter the bank.

4. Always put your hands in your coat pockets and look around shiftily, trying to avoid attention.

5. Enjoy being rushed to the front of the bank line.

If you use this method, you won’t ever have to wait in line at a bank again. It would be insulting to you the reader, if I went into great detail about “Why” it works. Im assuming you all have brains. You can mentally separate the wheat from the chaff without “credibility” of the author.

The larger point of this post is to get all of yous guys who read it thinking about “credibility”. I swear on my prostate gland that everything Ive ever written about is the truth. Is that enough for you? I don’t care. As far as I can tell, all this “credibility” nonsense is nothing but a popularity contest.

All this is not to bash on Sonny. I believe he’s a good dude, and that you should visit his site. Its obvious the man has integrity and is doing his best to help his readers out. I just couldn’t stop thinking about his post for about four hours so I had to disagree politely.

*I used mike because he’s demonstrated time and again that he doesn’t give a shit about haters and besmirchers of character.

A Short Proverb From The Book Of Grody

I have been stowing away money for my getaway fund. Its been piling up. Ive had to resist the temptation to buy cool gadgets and truck upgrades. Last night I fell asleep exhausted and slumbered a long, dreamless (which is unusual for me) sleep. Right before waking however, I had a clear view of a placard. You know the ones. The kind that religious crazies hang in their bathrooms. In archaic font I slowly read these words.

“Vast wealth, and feeling good, often go hand-in-hand.”

Sure enough, I felt exceedingly superb both physically and mentally. A plan is coming together.