“Let’s make some honey, honey, in so many words…”

 

A wise man once said:

“Talk is cheap.”

 

 

Look, I’m not Roissy, Rollo or Roosh.

So, take my thoughts as you will.

1} Emoticons rule. Before you run your mouth, remember: chicks like to natter; men prefer to act. Facial expression = action. Reply to most texts [if you must text at all] with symbols. She can fill everything in herself. Fuck, that’s what she’ll do, regardless.

2} It takes two to have a conversation. So, if it’s a topic you don’t care to discuss— don’t. Walk away. Grunt. Whatever. Actually, just say whatever you don’t mind discussing, instead. As a woman, she’ll feel compelled to give her feelings on the subject. I’ve never, in my life, met a woman that could stay “on topic” without my influence, thus derailing them is easier than singing the first bar of ‘Happy Birthday’.

3} Swat her ass. Often. If you feel the need to say something to her— smack her ass, instead. Let her work it out.

4} If you absolutely must say something serious to her about your relationship— immediately follow it with something silly. Rock her emotional canoe.

5} If she ever asks “What are you thinking about?” respond: WWI fighter–planes. They’re fucking awesome.  Works for me.

 

 

But if you really, really want to talk, know this:

That’s what other men are for.

 

 

Ω

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“… it’s telling me all these things you would probably hide.”

 

 

I tell K♦ that the truck was 6♠’s ride here.

K♦ looks at me, as we just pulled into the parking spot next to it.

K♦ knows 6♠ has a jeep, not a truck.

It’s written on K♦’s face:

How could this be his?

 

 

Now, I have no knowledge that K♦ does not possess.

So I reply to his quizzical expression:

The mud on it.

The park job.

The bent rear license plate.

Trust me; it’s 6♠’s ride.

 

 

K♦ trusts me.

Just not quite enough.

He smiles, saying:

“If it were more beat up, I’d believe you.

Although the plate is a good start.”

 

 

We walk the 40 feet to A♦’s place.

I knock on the door.

6♠ opens it, greeting us.

I say:

Hey, nice truck.

6♠ replies:

“Thanks! It’s my Dad’s but, since my jeep is in the shop, I’ve been driving it.”

I turn to throw K♦ my trademarked smirk.

Only to catch him looking down, grinning and shaking his head.

 

 

This is why I was the top investigator in my class.

This is why I tell people to not bother attempting to deceive me.

This is why my friend J♦ said:

“If had the same things rattling around in my head that you do:

I’d kill myself.”

 

 

 

Ω

“Hang my head, drown my fear; ’til you all just disappear…”

 

“I won a bet with myself.”

She looks up at me, more than just physically, as she says it with a smile.

I pause for the briefest moment – from drinking enough Jim Beam Devil’s Cut to kill a buffalo and smoking enough Marlboro No. 27’s to give me cancer by Halloween – to raise an eyebrow.

My wordless method of asking her what she means.

She continues:

“I bet myself that you would be made the leader of the group.

Especially when they split us all up by gender.”

 

I smirk™.

 

See, she bought us tickets to one of those “murder mystery dinners”.

And, when the time came to solve the crime, they separated us.

Even though this 20–something red–head had made me a birthday cake and given me more blow–jobs than a sane man could handle:

I was still surprised by her faith in me.

 

 

Truth be told:

I’ve been hiding a long time.

Having lost a fiancé, best friend, career, mother and beloved grandmother and squandered a small fortune on whiskey and cigarettes in an extended suicide attempt over the past few years:

I just wanted to be left alone.

 

 

I went on this trip to simply lose myself.

Ride the wave.

Be a nameless member of a group.

Simply to ease myself into being social again.

 

 

I’m overweight.

Not the best looking guy present.

Easily the worst dressed, as all the men present are in shirts and ties and [due to miscommunication] I’m not.

Yet, I’m made the spokesman/chairman/leader of the group.

As they say:

Man plans; God laughs.

 

Regardless, I take the role.

For whatever reason:

It always seems to fall to me.

Whether I want it or not.

I’ve worn crowns enough to know:

I never rest easy wearing them.

 

Now that I think on it:

Maybe that’s why I frequently end up with them.

 

 

Ω

 

 

 

 

“Just like smoke that fades and makes no sound…”

 

Donal Graeme penned an absolutely brilliant, eloquent and in–depth explanation of my work while melding it with his own:

http://donalgraeme.wordpress.com/2013/08/19/its-not-the-fall-that-kills-you/

I am compelled to say, these past few days have given me a tremendous and wonderful feeling of vindication.

More than a few in the ‘sphere have recently mentioned – online or in private conversations – that there is much greater and deeper wisdom in my work than would appear at a glance.

The reason Donal’s post, specifically, lifts my spirit is that he proves what I said to Lucky Lothario here:

It's according to plan ▼ pic.twitter.com/QyDUrYdQpR

— A♠ (@whiskeyandashes) July 31, 2013

I have said, countless times:

80–Proof Oinomancy was not chosen on a whim.

Am I “the smartest man in the ‘sphere”?

No, I don’t believe I am.

Do I possess a vision that few – if anyone, at all – shares?

Yes.

Very much so.

 

Everything I write, from the lyrics I choose to the final line of the post to tone itself, is crafted to have meaning.

Meaning to those that are ready to hear the message, at any rate.

In fact, the post you see as gibberish today will be clear tomorrow.

Or next week.

Or next year.

I’ve been doing this for nine years.

I know that of which I speak.

It’s my mission.

 

Do I have a “messiah complex”?

Definitely not.

I have, instead, a “John the Baptist” complex.

My poverty and bad neighborhood are my “camel–hair shirt”.

Who am I?

I’m Tesla feeding pigeons by the waterside.

I’m Preston Tucker working in his first garage.

I’m H.P. Lovecraft scribbling in Providence at dusk.

I’m van Gogh* painting with materials his brother purchased.

I’m nobody now.

I’ll likely be nobody until I die.

But I know my place in the grand scheme.

I’ve seen it.

* https://twitter.com/VManosphere/status/328209810858340352

 

 

 

Ω

“Steel needles kiss your pretty eyes…”

 

 

Once again, Sunshine Mary has a phenomenal post and accompanying dialogue:

http://sunshinemaryandthedragon.wordpress.com/2013/08/17/female-self-deprecation-is-a-way-of-bragging/

 

And, again, the comments are as telling as – if not more than – the post, itself.

The one that grabbed me by the throat was from the hostess herself:

http://sunshinemaryandthedragon.wordpress.com/2013/08/17/female-self-deprecation-is-a-way-of-bragging/#comment-21972

 

 

Of course Sunshine Mary is terrified of such a possibility.

For the very reasons I mentioned here:

https://80proofoinomancy.wordpress.com/2013/07/04/if-you-like-to-gamble-i-tell-you-im-your-man/

In short, she needs a man [not to mention men, in general] because of women’s deeply ingrained pragmatism.

Women have a million guidelines but never a single rule.

Everything spins upon utility.

She knows loyalty–unto–death is not a trait women display without tremendously compelling reasons.

If even then.

 

 

This is also why the preponderance of women, who are [not coincidentally] ignorant of the differences between male and female methods of communication, are inherently distrustful of “nice guys”.

They fear the kindness will evaporate once convenient.

 

 

Now, it would be easy to read this as an attack.

It would be an incorrect conclusion, however.

After all:

It was she that confessed she/a woman is a scorpion.

I’m merely drawing attention to the sting.

 

 

 

 

 

Ω

“…’Cause my shackles, you won’t be; And my rapture, you won’t believe.”

 

Recent events with my brother prompted this post.

As usual, I take a micro event (a slice of my life) and make it a macro lesson.

 
How to handle a break-up like a man:

1} Be polite. Harsh words will only paint you to be the asshole you most likely aren’t. End things civilly; disregard all attempts at dragging you into crass behavior.

2} Understand that, no matter what, you will be portrayed as the bad guy/instigator. Yes, the onus of getting a woman is on you as is losing one. Contrary to what the world will try to tell you – gender defines you.

3} Have sex with another woman as quickly as possible. A woman willing to sleep with you is willing to do just about anything else for you. This means, if you bed her, it’s very probable you have her in all other areas (or she is at least amenable to other options). A woman does not have this benefit from the same activity. This advice works for men and not women because sex is an end for men but a means for women.

4} Remember, women have a 463 bullet point checklist for men to meet. Men have 2 – youth and beauty. She will be easier to replace than you will be.

5} Her friends will tell her anything to make her feel better. Not to mention the fact that most of this advice will be counterproductive, considering the nature of female interaction. It’s also why a woman’s female friends will never suggest any type of self-improvement. All humans are in competition with one another – and that’s how women compete for the best men. De facto, this will make it much harder for her to replace you.

6} Realize you lost her because you screwed up. Tighten your Game, get in better shape, etc.

7} Understand that she will consider herself better off without you. And she is correct – for the moment. Do not expect her to miss you, mourn for losing you or pine for your attention. In this world of instant (internet) validation, she will be backed up by her friends (that want to keep her single AND out of the competitive pool) along with men that want to fuck her.

8} Do not contact/stalk her. As above, she doesn’t miss you and you will only learn things you would Truly rather not know. Give her time. As my father said (and it was brilliant) – if a woman wants to be with a man, nothing on earth will stop her from going after him. Never – not once – have I seen this disproven.

9} Have confidence in who you are. If you’re even half decent, it’s only a matter of time before she realizes what a prize she lost. Don’t wait for that, however. If her SMV is high enough, she won’t even remember she was married to you let alone shared a few drinks.

10} Understand most men have no Game. And most women don’t realize that their Game needs to adapt to their (quickly) decreasing SMV. This knowledge alone will be a comfort to the wise.

Extra Credit: Most of all, keep in mind [as it’s been said countless times] that women are the gatekeepers to sex; men are the gatekeepers to commitment. Sure, she will be banging another man mere days after the two of you split (I know from personal experience) but that’s no guarantee that she’ll find a fulfilling relationship before you do.

The world is harsh place.

The sooner you realize this:

The sooner you’ll prosper.

 

 

Ω

“And you got high on every little game…”

 

As old as I am and for as many women I’ve had in my life:

I’ve only had three official girlfriends.

 

 

See, the wise know:

What sex is for women, commitment is for men.

Making oneself vulnerable in deepest possible way.

Making oneself open to be nothing more than a conquest.

Making oneself, potentially, an accoutrement of status rather than a valued possession.

 

 

Sexual acquiescence and emotional investment are the respective coins.

And basest avarice afflicts us all, from time to time.

 

 

 

Ω