“You thought you made a man, you better think again…”

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[Since tone and body language are absent via this medium:

 

The following post is a playful jab at @LuckyLothario.

 

Although the advice contained herein is both sincere and serious, I attempt to convey it in a humorous manner.]

 

 

 

One thing I hear with increasing frequency in the ‘sphere is:

 

“I only read blogs with actionable advice”.

 

Well, what is that, exactly?

 

Step by step instructions?

 

1. Bathe.

 

2. Talk to girls.

 

3. Don’t shit your pants if they respond.

 

(Actually, don’t shit your pants, regardless of outcome)

 

et al

 

 

 

Labeled pictures?

 

[EAR = NOT A PLACE FOR PENIS

 

NOSE = NOT A PLACE FOR PENIS

 

VAGINA = PENIS GOES HERE!!!!1111!!!!

 

genital_happy_hour.jpg]

 

 

 

I started this blog for three reasons.

 

1} So, in the future, I could honestly count myself among men that tried to help wake others to the reality of the world that has so assiduously been concealed from them by everyone from media to teachers to parents and preachers.

 

2} Because a metric shit-ton of half-wits with a keyboard and a working Internet connection felt the burning desire to “share the wisdom” they utilized to one time fumble gracelessly in the back of a used Hyundai with a 6. And then sell ebooks. Thus, one more wouldn’t hurt.

 

3} Most of all, the ability to say “I told you so!” to people who didn’t listen the first 2,847 times I said something.

 

 

 

Of course, being the man I am, I felt it better to discuss the larger, broader and deeper issues that confront men of all ages in a style that prompted thought and careful consideration.

 

Rather than write in such a fashion as to explain dealing with women in a manner akin to kanji-scripted 1987 stereo assembly instructions.

 

Fool I was!

 

 

 

That being said, here is some solid, actionable advice.

 

(Although, saying my previous work is not “actionable” is like saying  Taoism, Christianity and Stoicism aren’t “actionable” but, hey, there’s no pussy in any of those.)

 

Some of which is new, some is old but all of it easily implemented:

 

1} Buy a good pair of scissors and keep them in your kitchen. Stop tearing open bags and spilling shit like a baboon. Use tools; they improve life.

 

 

2} Keep a cheap, ugly pair of sunglasses in your car. You won’t want to wear them anywhere but you’ll always have safe driving conditions come unexpected glare. Happens way more than you’d think.

 

 

3} Keep baby wipes in your car. Great for cleaning yourself up after emergency repair, greasy drive-thru meals and sloppy “road head” blow-jobs.

 

 

4} Only date women that love cats. Watch how they treat them. That’s you in three months.

 

 

5} Throw a towel over your headboard. Keeps her from cracking her skull when you get carried away. Plus, things often get messy if you do it right.

 

 

6} Don’t “troll” online. Do it in person in real life. Reactions are infinitely more satisfying that way. Plus, if you reach my level, no one will know when the fuck you’re joking or when you’re serious. (Pro tip = I’m at my most serious when I’m joking.)

 

 

7} Get married before you’re 40. After that, you either lose your drive or women lose their charm. Sometimes both.

 

 

8} Find a girl hot enough that you can maintain an erection with her. Anything more than that is focusing on the wrong attributes. You have to talk with her before and after sex so a personality that doesn’t make you want to jam her in a steamer trunk and mail her to Jakarta (unless you’re already in Jakarta) is vastly important.

 

 

9} If you’re not 100% certain kids/wife are what you want, then don’t get married; buy a dog. When the dog dies, buy a cat. You’ll like them by then, trust me.

 

 

10} Understand that constantly seeking “actionable advice” is literally asking someone else to map out your path in life. So do it sparingly. It’s an adventure; don’t leave the fun parts to everyone else.

 

 

 

Pax.

 

 

 

 

 

Ω

“…a hell of revelation too sudden and insidious to escape…”

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As he’s one of my favorite authors and I share so much in common with him (both good and bad), I felt it apropos to post a brief take of mine on his story The Horror at Red Hook on the anniversary of H.P. Lovecraft’s birth.

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Every one of them is young, crew-cut, tall, thickly muscled and uniformed. Huddled together as they are, they seem like a college football coach’s dream. After going over the entry plan with his team, the SWAT captain strides to me. He’s holding two coffee cups; one to drink, the other to catch expectorated tobacco. I wonder if he ever confuses them.

“All right, detective”, says the captain; he spits my title like it were a racist slur. Thankfully, no tobacco comes out along with it.

After placing his cups on the ground, he continues: “We’ll move to the fifth floor by way of the stairs; weapons drawn and at low-search. Upon reaching apartment 517, we’ll announce ourselves then use the battering ram. Once complete, we’ll enter at high-search. If we find it’s safe enough for you, we’ll call you in.”

His last sentence is markedly condescending. I know because I read people for a living, although a 3rd grader would’ve caught it. I don’t play into his hand. I just tell him it sounds good. He grunts, dons his helmet with rest of his group and the operation begins.

Even on this sunny afternoon, the building is dimly illuminated. The multitude of tromping feet kicks up more dust than I’d have thought possible though the place seems like it’s seen no activity since the prohibition era; bone white walls, dark wood steps and wainscoting. The rust-speckled, wrought iron railings keep people from falling off the right side of the winding staircase onto the black and white marble floor below. Art deco electric sconces flicker in the few places they work at all, as if keeping the shadows at bay is exhausting. We reach apartment 517.

The corridor in which I find myself is little different than the staircase. Only the deep red carpet and series of doors let me know I’ve gotten anywhere. Three SWAT cops – captain included – stand on the left side of the door, closer to me though I’m a few yards farther back. Two stand to the door’s right. The sixth and final member of their cadre stands in front of the sealed ingress. Number six pounds on the door, shouting “Police, we have a warrant! Open the door now!” The face shield of his helmet muffles the order enough to make me think of a fast food drive-thru. It’s then I hear a high-pitched whine.

It takes the SWAT guys a half-second to notice, considering the helmets they wear, but they do hear it. I’m only wearing a cheap suit and my badge on a chain around my neck – as policy mandates. The operation stalls for a mere instant as the captain and a couple of his men check their communication gear for feedback or a malfunction. It’s at that point a pale, blue light floods out of the apartment from under and around the door. Number six raises the battering ram and the door explodes – towards him.

He’s killed just as the ram reaches the pinnacle of its backswing. His head and arms are torn off by… something. They, along with the ram, hit the floor in a pile. The others start screaming.

In a heartbeat, the room is full of gunfire and its accompanying smoke. Catatonic, I watch as the SWAT team gets torn to shreds. The room, bathed in blue and red, morbidly reminds me of the lights on a patrol car.

It’s over as fast as it began. Despite the ringing in my ears from the brief, thunderous cacophony, I hear footsteps leave the apartment and head the opposite way down the hall. I can’t see the figure clearly due to the poor light, the smoke and my shock. My pants are warm and very wet. Given events, I assume I pissed them. When I finally regain enough self-control to look down, I see: I didn’t.

 

 

Ω

“Between the velvet lies, there’s a Truth as hard as steel…”

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It’s really a shame that I remain as fringe in this already fringe area of the Internet as I do.

 

I suppose the outlaw persona I’ve cultivated has been a bit too successful.

 

I say this not out of any tremendous desire for popularity [I’d be lying if I did not apply that adjective as a qualifier].

 

Rather, that my obscurity leaves quite a few men bathing in the wrong light when they’d be better served with my help among the shadows.

 

Case in point:

 

http://thequestforever.com/terminal-oneitis/

 

 

 

Many have been the times I’ve warned against that very trap.

 

Frequent have been the moments I counseled the means to avoid it.

 

Thus, I’ll repeat a few points here and now to save newcomers the search (although a thorough read  – and occasional reread – of this blog is recommended).

 

The key is not, in fact, to “go fuck 10 other girls”.

 

It is, instead, to get 10 other girls to want to fuck you.

 

The act itself is, in all reality, the least important part.

 

(Quite honestly, the risk is often greater than the potential reward.)

 

 

 

To explain using a metaphor I created long ago:

 

Sex and love are like a cup and saucer.

 

To men, sex is the cup.

 

To women, sex is the saucer.

 

Both are needed for a proper service of tea.

 

But only one of the two contains the actual nourishment sought.

 

 

 

At this point, it may seem as though I’m presenting an argument contrary to my initial statement.

 

But that appearance is deceiving.

 

See, nourishment may be essential for biological life, but it’s not at all associated to purpose.

 

As the Arabs say:

 

“He who eats when he is not hungry digs his grave with his teeth.”

 

Seeking meaning via the fulfillment of base needs is foolhardy, at best, and insanity, at worst.

 

I mean, defecation is a strong biological urge but who centers their life around the toilet?

 

 

 

For a man to feel purposeful and fulfilled only one thing will do:

 

Respect.

 

Respect, perhaps not from the world at large but from his chosen circles, at the very least.

 

Men, being the gender often considered expendable, need respect to carry them through life.

 

Respect tells them, at a deep level, they are not easily cast to the graveyard.

 

(As a parallel, women seek validation/love to be told they are not merely breeding tools.)

 

 

 

What does this have to do with getting 10 women to fuck you?

 

Everything.

 

What do you think a woman’s love is?

 

Respect.

 

That’s all.

 

Love, as men understand it, is what women feel for children.

 

They don’t feel it for men (again, as men understand it).

 

[Love, like the stone it is – with all the good and bad that entails, rolls down hill.

 

Think on that.]

 

 

 

Now, a young man may ask:

 

“Well, I respect guys that get laid a lot, so that counts, right?”

 

No.

 

It doesn’t.

 

Because you don’t respect that man.

 

You envy him.

 

You covet what he has.

 

But you don’t respect him.

 

So, as usual, all of my work builds upon itself while dovetailing with reality. 

 

Unsurprising.

 

The Truth has a habit of doing that.

 

 

 

 

 

Ω

“… when the band plays Hail to The Chief, they point the cannon at you…”

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Just about every blog in these parts talks about being “Alpha”.

 

How to act “Alpha”.

 

How to speak “Alpha”.

 

Even how to stand “Alpha”.

 

 

 

Now, as anyone that’s read my work for oh these many years knows:

 

I don’t like to bullshit anyone.

 

Moreso, I sure as Hell don’t like to tell folks to be something they’re not.

 

The Truth is that most men reading this are not “Alpha”.

 

And never will be.

 

 

 

Again, however, as anyone who knows me can attest:

 

That’s not a bad thing.

 

 

 

See, the key isn’t to be “Alpha” or not.

 

It’s to be the man you are.

 

Shamelessly.

 

Unapologetically.

 

Honorably.

 

 

 

Thus, countless “Beta” men, permit me to give you some properly focused advice.

 

You are the mortar that binds the stonework of civilization. 

 

Work for no one – man, woman, government or corporation – that fails to appreciate your contributions.

 

Should, in these difficult times, you find yourself unable to escape such service – look harder. 

 

There is an out and you will find it.

 

 

 

Never follow; choose to be led.

 

There is a tremendous difference between the two.

 

Realize yours is the sword that carves nations.

 

Yours are the hands that build palaces, cathedrals and everything in between.

 

Yours is the shield that defends both land and the way of life upon it.

 

 

 

Understand that, though you do not stand upon the pinnacle, the heights cannot exist without you.

 

Expect praise when warranted.

 

Demand recognition if it becomes necessary.

 

 

Above all else, realize that no matter how powerless you feel at times, you are a free man.

 

Your inaction causes the wheels of the system of which you are a part to grind to a halt.

 

Feel no shame in – and have no fear of – using that tactic.

 

 

 

In short, do not give your loyalty or service lightly.

 

Although you may be many while “Alphas” are few and far between, a chain of one link is nigh on useless.

 

 

 

 

 

Ω