For The New Guys: You Are Not The Chosen One

You are not the chosen one.

You will not save the human race.

You are not gods gift to the world.

You are not special. At all… You aren’t even that good at that thing that you think you’re good at.

You are the same as everybody else.

The progressives are right.

Everyone is equal.

Equally shit.

Do everyone a favor and lose the golden boy attitude.  I know you have it.

How do I know you think you’re special?

Cause you’re just like me. Im just like you. I like to think I’m special.

Im not.

And neither are you.

Nobodys special. 

Once you get over your little hissy fit, you’ll realize that its better this way.

Once you get used to this idea, you’ll actually derive peace of mind from it.

Once you finally internalize this truth…

Thats when the work can start. 

Materialist

“For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul?”

-Margaret Thatcher

I just installed my new seat covers. They are wool. Woolen. They are soft. They are of high quality and they make me happy. You can have a set just like them for more money than most people are willing to pay. They compliment my paid off truck nicely. Every morning I wake up in a king size bed. Except its not a king. Its a double twin. I just threw a foam mattress pad over identical twin mattresses. It happens to be the same size as a king. I have a mini fridge next to my bed where I keep filtered water and green tea cold. I like to wake up with frosty cold and filtered beverages. It depends on how motivated I am; if I get out of bed to use my $3,000 dollar desktop or if I just browse the ‘sphere on my smart phone. I find transit to the shitty gym in town tedious, so I am gradually making a dumbbell collection in the spare room upstairs. Im doing it gradually because paying a dollar per pound for essentially useless iron rubs me the wrong way, not because I can’t buy all the sizes I need. My flatscreen TVs sit on top of DVD, VHS, and video game consoles… They are gathering dust. In my room I have 3 dressers. They are all filled with clothing. Sturdy, warm, work clothes for the harsh winter and stylish, expensive, tailored clothing for when I want to look nice after the work is done.

Some men would dismiss me outright. Im not making multiple hundreds of thousands of dollars, so I must be a useless bum. Never mind that Ive already been down that road. According to them I should spend every spare second of my life analyzing the stock market and studying spread sheets. Then I could be just like them. I’ll make sure to get right on that…

After I finish watching this paint dry…

Seriously. Is enough ever enough? Marble countertops? You can’t hear it, but I’m making a farting noise with my mouth. Its not really about all that though is it? Its about being better than the next guy. Thats pretty empty for me. I never was much into sports so maybe thats where you lost me. I have more than enough. Chances are you do too. You want more than the next guy so you can feel and act superior. The middle road of having nice shit, and enjoying your life has no appeal to you.

Maybe Im all wet though. Maybe professional gambling has more intrinsic value than what I do. I produce food. How mundane. What a serf I must be. Everyone knows that food is just a passing fad anyway.

Go ahead. Dedicate your life to winning the rat race. Be my guest.

Just remember though.

Even if you win…

You’re still a rat. 

Abortion Stairs

Theres a reason you haven’t heard much from me lately. I can pretend all I want that this blog is about high minded philosophy, but in reality its more like an examination tool for my dating life. That aspect of my life has been going well. Hence the dearth of posts recently.

Im seeing someone long term. I picked her up, and kept her interested, using game. I know a lot of dudes are gonna get royally pissed off at my definition of game, but here it goes.

75% of game = Acting like a self obsessed, self righteous, dick bag. 25% of game = Conversational skills, and setting yourself apart from other men, fictionally or realistically. 

Its chick crack. They eat that shit up. Especially this one. Ill save you the rom-com stuff and suffice it to say that… Ive never been this deep in mutual love in my entire life. I’ll be the first one to admit, I’m new to this self improvement and pickup stuff. The PUAs and self improvement gurus say that you shouldn’t get a girlfriend until you’ve played the field for years and fucked scores of women. But, I have a feeling they are coming from a place of already having had that kind of intimate girlfriend relationship. Maybe it went sour for them. Maybe thats how they came to the red pill. Maybe they are assuming thats how it happened for you too. Well, I never had that. I was screwed out of that standard experience. Im enjoying it now, thank you very much. Besides, I’m not going to throw away a deep love because of some shit that youtube ViGTOWs are spewing. I’m not going to be so committed to the the player lifestyle that I fuck around and dump the woman of my dreams to never be heard from again. Every thirsty dude within a 50 mile radius has made a pass at my woman. Alphas, Betas, Thetas… You name it. She’s turned them all down. She’s mine. I won’t admit it to her… But I’m hers.

Ive been having bone-raking sex nearly every day for months now. She’s on birth control. (Yes, I really believe she is. Yes, I know women trap men that way. Please save it for an Elam post.) I always pull out. If I don’t pull out I use a condom. The amount of sperm I’ve spent in this girl is probably less than the inkwell in a ballpoint pen.

A few days ago she told me that she was a week late. I thought nothing of it and attributed it to stress of her moving and working full time. Around the ten day mark I could see the writing on the wall. She needed help moving but wouldn’t ask me. I would have helped her if she had asked. She said she had it under control. The real reason I didn’t show up is because I needed to run. I needed to get out of town and stop thinking of the child I heavily suspected was on its way. During the drive my chest closed in around my heart. What was I going to do? Abortion was out of the question. It took me a lot of searching to figure out that God was real. It took a lot of convincing on his part to drive that point home to me. God is real, and he fucking despises abortion. My girlfriend hates it too. So that little shortcut was cut short. We had talked a little about adoption. I don’t know very much about it, but everyone I’ve talked to says there are plenty of old rich couples waiting to buy a kid.

By this point I had to remember some friendly self help advice. Just fucking breathe. 

I came into town and immediately hooked up with some friends at the bar. We shot the breeze as well as some pool. I talked to a friend of mine, Chuck, and he said he had been in the exact same boat once. I really appreciated his words of wisdom. They helped me immensely.

“I’m sure you would make an excellent father. But, if you are having any doubts, then now is NOT the time. There are plenty of old rich couples looking to adopt. Give them the gift of a child and your child the gift of a privileged life. You know when people make great parents? When they know they are ready.”

After that I relaxed. I even managed to make two approaches and have extended conversations. One with a corn-fed country girl who had just turned 21, another with a skinny bookworm hipster who was obsessed with WWII. I felt better. All of this was out of my hands anyways. I crashed on Chucks couch.

The next day I ran errands and went the see the Avengers movie. During the flick I got a call from my woman. I sent her a text. No reply… I called her after the movie. No reply. It got me to worrying, so I cut my day off short and drove back to my little cow town. I found her sitting of a plastic pallet outside the grocery store where she works. She was smoking a cig and playing a variation of tetris on her phone. She wouldn’t give me any attention so I did my shopping and bounced. I got a message that night, so I called her and convinced her to come over.

She had taken a pregnancy test and it had read positive. But, while moving heavy shit up her stairs she had tripped and fallen backwards. She tucked her head to her chest and rode straight down on her back. 2 hours later her period started.

Thank God. My shitty selfish attitude saved me again. If I would have been there the accidental abortion probably would have never happened. What? You expect me to change diapers?

And clean up vomit?

Dress the little guy?

Take him to the baby sitters house?

Hang his macaroni art on the fridge?

Go to shitty parent-teacher conferences?

Teach him the value of a dollar?

Wach his soccer games?

Read him “The Hobbit” like my father did for me?

Tell him all about how scandalous women are?

Have to take him Elk hunting on land thats been in the family for 150 years?

Have to attend his shitty, boring high school graduation? Then college?

Have to take a phone call in the afternoon explaining that I’m going to be a grandfather?

… Who needs all that…