I am your party host…

In If Only… I told you a story of pre-red pill futility. Where I got stuck with my one-itis in a situation and basically buried an entire summer in beta bullshit. Let’s flip that a little bit. As I told you, I found Roissy a short while after that incident and my life started to change…


Once again, a party was the scene. This time it was a cast party for a show I’d written and performed in. Earlier in the night, in between performances I ran into one of my cast-mates. She’d brought one of her friends to the show, a very cute red head that I’d met at a party previously. “Is it alright if she comes to the cast party and stays at your house too?” Why yes, yes it is. We spoke for a few minutes before getting ready for the show, but I kept everything brief. I made sure to give some eye contact to her while delivering a few of my lines but nothing major.

The party was far bigger than I anticipated. The cast was a decent size and everyone brought friends, who also brought friends. I think the stage crew showed up as well. Drinks flowed, shots went down, pong was played, jams were bumped and there was dancing. The following week granted me rave reviews. I was happy with it. But back to business.

There’s little you can do that imbues you with more value than hosting a (good) party. I’ve said before to host a party but I realized you have to do a little bit more. You need to make sure it’s good. Make sure you actually have girls there (I think the ratio for this one was 60/40 which isn’t bad for a college house party). Make sure you have good music. Don’t do that BYOB only bullshit that other terrible party hosts do. If you provide and have people bring their own as well, everybody is going to get drunk. Beyond all of that, you actually have to run shit. Make sure people listen to you, make sure everyone knows that it’s your house, and make sure as many people as possible are enjoying themselves. If you’ve never hosted a party before it can seem overwhelming but my best advice is to have as much fun as possible with it. Talk to everyone. If you’ve ever walked into a club and seen the promoter/owner fraternizing with top notch talent and having more fun than anyone, this is your chance to BE THAT GUY. If you’re feeling out of place or overwhelmed at your own party you have to flip that mindset.

Anyway, I was bouncing around making sure everyone was having fun. I wingmanned for my best friend for a bit while he worked on one of my cast mates. One of her friends was trying to mother hen for the evening because she was DD’ing and I was not having that bullshit. I distracted her by asking her how she enjoyed the performance and getting her to talk about the stage direction and other shit, then challenging her and a partner of her choice to pong. Best friend moved upstairs to talk to my cast mate in a ‘quieter area’ while mother hen’s back was turned. Mission successful.

I went out on the porch to chill for a while as people discovered the trampoline out back. I don’t know why drunk people love trampolines so much but I generally don’t want people to break their necks so I leave it far out back, but people found it and dragged it close to the porch and were jumping off the porch onto it and shit. I wish I had waivers for drunk people to sign before doing dumb shit but sometimes you just gotta shrug and let people have fun.

You’ll notice all of this is leaving out cute red head from before. That’s my point. I barely had to do any work on her for the first two hours of the party. As long as she’s having fun at your party (and not being targeted by your best friend or something), you’re in there. So when I came up to her two hours in after we were all feeling pretty good and brazenly put my arm around her waist and pulled her close to ask her how her evening was going, it felt like the most natural easy thing in the world. She giggled and said she was having a great time and asked if I hosted parties often. Only on special occasions. Too much of a good thing and all that. We watched a game of pong with our hands on each other. Mine went to the top of her ass pretty quick.

Night progressed, my buddy and cast mate somehow got back downstairs unnoticed and he quickly confirmed his +1 and she was hanging all over him. Party moved outside for a while and some drunk game had evolved into random people deciding to make out with one another. Actors/actresses are sluts. I ended up making out with one of my cast mates at some point and red head saw this. I was worried that this would hurt me but I should have known. She moved next to me and soon the spotlight was on us and I had my tongue down her throat. Things settled down for a bit and we moved off the porch to sit on my picnic table in the yard to talk (build comfort I guess). Despite being pretty fucked up the conversation was pretty good, we learned a few commonalities as we watched the drunk girls from the porch trying to do some dumb dance routine without falling over. Suddenly my buddy calls me over because he has to tell me something important.

Maybe it’s just me, but it seems like drunk best friends feel this need to tell you you’re getting laid when it’s already obvious. “DUDE YOU’RE IN THERE.” Yes, please understand that I’m aware this is why I’m out there talking to her. “YEAH BUT THIS WAS IMPORTANT FOR YOU TO KNOW.” Hah.

Things settled down and people had to leave. I assume all the DD’s were sober but I can’t take responsibility for everyone. Red head and I moved upstairs to my room as everyone went to other spare rooms to enjoy their drunken slumber/hookup/whatever. I had one thing on my mind. I was focused on escalating fast so I didn’t fuck up but not escalating too quick. I was also focused on staying out of my own head too much and I think the alcohol helped a lot because I didn’t overthink anything which is a huge problem for me.

Thankfully I performed well enough and we were making out on the bed in short order, and I must have done a fine job building tension because she escalated just as quickly as I did. After I got her top and bra off, she undid my pants without me having to do my ‘put her hand on my dick move’. After the foreplay, I was pounding that naturally red headed pussy and earning my +1.

Some guys have different reactions to girls after they fuck them. I know it can be different by the girl. I was just reading Krauser’s story about the Yugoslavian dancer where he just had no interest after fucking her. I’ve had a lot of different feelings and with this girl it was that “Dang, I would like to do this frequently.” We both fell asleep shortly after sex, and woke up early with hangovers. We talked a little bit and made out some more, but everyone else woke up so round two was out of the question.

As she left, I started to reflect on things. This was my first post red pill lay and I felt good about it, but I also felt my beta tendencies creeping in. I steeled myself against asking for her number, and I refused to talk to her friend about the interaction to “see if she enjoyed herself.” A high value man isn’t worried about that. He gets what he wants and doesn’t worry.

When you get initiated into this stuff you probably have a ton of thoughts rolling through your head. You probably might harbor some resentment toward women that have fucked you over, and you might also still be a little naive like I was. I had this lingering thought in my mind that red head and I could see each other again and maybe this could develop into something more. And even now it’s a little disappointing to me that we shared this great night together and months later I still don’t know her last name. But this is how the game is played. This is where we’re at now, gentlemen. You cannot allow yourself to be sucked into sentimentality about a same night lay or any woman that hasn’t displayed that level of emotion first. The fact that I told this girl I’d like to see her again was tantamount to losing. I’d have been much better served to say just about nothing to her the next morning. That would’ve kept her hamster spinning at least.

It took me a while to really think about this and I still don’t feel that great about what should be considered a fantastic night for me. I say that I’m trying to go from herb to hero and it saddens me a little bit to think that today’s hero has to be just about emotionless when it comes to women. My brief feelings for this cute red head sort of dulled the afterglow of my +1. That is really unfortunate in my opinion.



Anyways, for guys that would like a sort of cheat code for their game, I would recommend hosting parties. If they’re good, you will have an easier time pulling attractive women.

As for the answer to this problem, well I’m still looking for it. I doubt I’ll ever be able to become a completely soulless entity but day by day I’m coming more to grips with the ‘on to the next’ mentality that comes with being a player. I hope everyone reading this is also making progress in this struggle, and please know that there are plenty of us right there witchya.


Cheers, J. Worthy


Where I am Now.

Hello friends and neighbors. It’s been a while.

This past week or so I’ve had a sinus infection that has turned into an earache. I’ve felt like doing exactly nothing the entire time and as such I have done exactly nothing just about. I haven’t done anything worth writing about, so that’s why there’s a huge gap between my time of writing last and today. I’m quite determined not to fizzle out though. I reckon there’s quite a few manosphere blogs that never get off the ground and I would be stupid to waste the great initial support I’ve gotten by giving up so early. But what to talk about?

Well, the title gives it away. As I’ve said, I’m in London right now. It’s probably one of my favorite cities in the world next to Chicago and Kyoto. I’m here studying for three months and so far it’s been everything I could’ve asked for. Can’t complain at all.

I come from a small town in the States. It’s the middle-of-nowhere personified. I like it well enough, but it’s hard to not feel strangled when you’re there for too long.

The differences are apparent right off the plane when you transfer from small town to big city. It was such a system shock trying to find my way around London to where I was staying, and trying to navigate the tube system right off a flight in which I got absolutely no sleep was tough on the nerves. Tougher on the nerves was that my roommate wanted to go to Piccadilly Circus right after we got settled. I was exhausted and looked fucking horrible but why not?

It’s like a completely different world. We stepped off the tube and in five minutes I had heard French, Spanish, Dutch, German, Japanese, and of course English being spoken. We wandered around looking for a place to eat and my eyes, tired as they were, began to spin. There were so many girls I wanted to fuck.

That’s the biggest change from my home to London. There are so many hot girls from so many corners of the globe. When going out back home, it’s very rare that I see anyone that makes me turn my head. Even at my college campus it only happens so often that I’ve got a desire to approach some broad. But here? Every fuckin’ second. I cursed myself for not cleaning up and dressing up. So many wasted opportunities. But I could steel myself to that because of the realization that this was just an average day in London and in a big city anywhere, really. You cats that live in these bustling metropolises have no idea how great you have it. As disparaging as DC sounds you can take solace in the fact that you’ve got a myriad of options.

Day by day over here I’m reminded of watching some of those clips of Mystery in action where he tells girls that he’s got to find some other reason to talk to them because ‘beauty is common’. It’s so true. If I’m on Oxford Street I can spin in a circle and basically pick from about 10 girls that I could approach. There’s something for everyone.  And it’s just such a constant reminder to avoid pedestelization because there’s no reason. There are so many fuckable women out there that they need to have your attention based on other merits. Yes, we know that’s why we approach, but make them qualify themselves for you beyond that and you’ll have such an easier time.

It’s kind of hard to explain, but if you go up to some broad because you wanted to rip her clothes off the second you saw her, she might very well be an idiot with no personality. Will you still fuck her, yeah, but once you realize she’s not bringing anything valuable  to the table but her looks (which like I’ve pointed out are very replaceable) you can mentally raise your own value in comparison and it will tighten your game significantly. I haven’t been very approach heavy this week because of my illness but the week I started this blog this was the mentality I was using and it was doing wonders. I got a couple of numbers and in the back of my head I wasn’t thinking “I want to fuck her so bad” I was thinking “Is she even remotely interesting?”

I know this is information we’ve all heard already, but I got to thinking that being in London for a prolonged period of time is what really opened my eyes to this. I wondered if a lot of small town guys couldn’t benefit from a week or so in a big city to see just how common beauty is. I reckon they’d lose the pretense of their oneitis being an angel from the heavens right quick.

I figured coming here that my game would improve, but I didn’t think such a core concept would be fully identified like it was.

Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is that going to different places like Japan and London has had such a huge impact on my game. I came back from Japan completely dismissing American girls because for me they just don’t stack up. And now after London, my threshold for beauty is much higher. I will no longer be stuck to the ground, unable to bring myself to approach a 9 or 10 because quite simply I know there are millions of her out there. So for any of you small-towners reading this, do yourself a favor and take as many chances to experience different cities as you can. It will improve you as a person and will enhance your game.


If Only…

Something you hear in comments sections everywhere in the manosphere is: “Why couldn’t I have found out about this shit in high school!” It’s a well-shared sentiment and I find it amazing looking back on all my pre-red pill failures that I can nearly spot the exact instances where things went wrong. Like I said before, I discovered Roissy and co. almost immediately after one of the most crushing defeats in my romantic career. My heart was destroyed by the same one-itis broad that had burned me multiple times in high school and as I read more, I began to think if only…


I was hosting a house party. My house parties are generally pretty solid, lots of alcohol is consumed and good times are had by all. I have two pong tables set up side by side and a fire pit out back for variance. Things were going well, I was getting proper hammered and enjoying my beerpong. Above one of the tables is a chandelier and I can recall the beginning of a new house rule that night as I hit a turn around fade-away jump shot over it and into the cup. Anyway, I had a prospect already at the party. A reasonably cute blonde, I’d say she was about a 6.5. I was working on her slowly and teasing a bit while mingling with the rest of the party as the night went on. Cue my one-itis showing up.

She was about a 7.5 and I’d always overrated her. We had developed a long and sordid history together, she cheating on two previous boyfriends with me and I cheating on a girlfriend with her. We’d just never been able to “get it right” so to speak. She showed up with her best friend and another mutual friend and looked pretty good. She was of course in a multi-year relationship with some dude so I wrote her off upon arrival and focused on other people, beyond the basic “hey, what’s up long time, here’s the wine” schtick.

Drinks poured into mouths and conversation poured out of them, everyone had a great time. I can remember I’d been getting myself in shape for the previous few months and was wearing a black t-shirt and jeans. I was a regular lil Hank Moody on the night, completely overconfident because of the party-host value and feeling good about myself. Of course she was going to pursue me. Of course we were going to start talking. My previous prospect got all huffy and left because I wasn’t paying her enough attention and I hardly noticed because for some reason I just couldn’t help myself.

We were out by the fire, half the party out with us. She sat on my lap, using her drunkenness as an excuse to flirt her tits off. We could see and feel each other’s breath in the chilly pre-Autumn air. One of my best friends kept overtly trying to tell me how ‘on’ it was. I love my friends but it’s so funny that they feel the need to point it out after it’s already become obvious. Eventually I got up and went inside to check on the rest of the party and then go upstairs to check on something.

I came out of the upstairs bathroom and lo and behold, who had followed me up the stairs? Sure, we should go into the spare bedroom and look out the window at the party, and no, we probably shouldn’t turn the lights on. That way when my tongue’s down your throat and your hand’s on my dick we can maintain some pretense of subtlety because the night doesn’t tell lies, babe. No, they won’t know that we both mysteriously disappeared at the same time just because it’s dark. Really.

It didn’t take long before we were rolling on the bed together, panting and removing one another’s clothes. She gave the piteous and hysterical “wait, we can’t” once she was down to her panties and I asked her to quit when it stopped feeling good. Of course it didn’t stop feeling good, and after a cutting a timeless swath of  sweaty, dark, passionate fucking we laid together gasping. We reflected on our now threepeated transgression and returned to the evening’s festivities.

The party went along swell the rest of the night. Some of the guests left, and the ones that were too fucked up to do found a couch to crash on. I bid everyone adieu and enjoyed the lingering hug my one-itis gave me before she left. After putting out the fire and locking the house up I went upstairs to find a text on my phone. “I smell like you. :)” Smiling like a butcher’s dog, I closed my phone and went to bed, enjoying that ‘used’ feeling your dick has after you’ve just enjoyed some pussy.

The next day, she texted me while I was cleaning up asking me when we could do that again and after a few hours I texted back “tonight.” She lamented her busy schedule and said she couldn’t make it until after the weekend. I said “ok.”

She broke up with her boyfriend that weekend and came over to my house out of the blue on Sunday in a skimpy white dress. Oh did I enjoy just about tearing it off of her. We went on to have a steamy, torrid affair that summer. This made three boyfriends she had cheated on with me but this made it the first time we’d ever connected together and formed a real relationship. The highlight was when we went to her best friend’s wedding and ran off to fuck multiple times through the course of the reception. Of course it ended on mutual terms as I had to return to college in the fall and her work schedule meant she couldn’t be around to keep me satisfied with just one woman, but it was a wonderful summer that we both enjoyed…


…if only I’d taken the red pill, this is how the ordeal would have taken place.

Instead, I pulled away after we began making out in that dark room. I didn’t push for sex right then and there, and eventually her best friend came looking for her.

Instead, I texted her first that night telling her how great it was.

Instead, I texted her first the next day, asking her about how she felt about it.

I did indeed manage to get her to come over that weekend, and we did indeed have sex and I could’ve pushed that into the relationship I wanted, but…

Instead, I let her talk herself into a dramatic little situation where she couldn’t leave her boyfriend because he was one of the groomsmen in her best friend’s wedding.

Instead, I waited, like a little fucking puppy, feeding off scraps of her affection until the wedding came around only to be left empty-handed when she convinced herself she couldn’t leave her boyfriend at all.

Instead, I wasted an entire summer of self-improvement on one fucking girl that I wasn’t even fucking daily and let myself fall into damn near depression over my un-reciprocated feeeeeelings.

If only I’d taken the red pill sooner. If only.


On the bright side if I’d been red pill back then I’d have probably knocked her up, so that’s something!

I can look back on all that now and laugh at what I was vs. what I’ve become and I’m very thankful that the bitterness from that wasted summer has dried up. It’s just a learning experience and now a story of what I used to be. A stark contrast indeed.

Cheers, J. Worthy


A double edged—beverage…

When it comes to pick up and alcohol you have to walk the line. It is so goddamn vital that you understand your own limits when you’re just getting into the game. You need to realize that alcohol is your best friend. If she has a few drinks, she is going to be much more open to the varying places you’re about to put your hands. The difference a martini can make between getting slapped and getting your dick squeezed is tremendous.

However there’s another way you need to look at it. If you are knocking back shots like no tomorrow, you are going to lose your edge. And that can be the difference between a +1 and being the subject of some girl’s ego boosting facebook status. No less than three “LOL so some drunk guy used this line on me last night…” statuses have come up on my wall in the past few days and as painful as getting blown out of a set is, do you want to be the guy chicks are laughing and e-high fiving about? No, you do not.

So unless you’re advanced at this shit, do yourself a favor and don’t drink to stupidity when you’re out trying to get a notch.

Short post, but tonight was one of those drink to stupidity nights because I wasn’t out notch-chasing. Cheers, my friends.

J. Worthy

You will internalize concepts before you internalize lines.

One of the mistakes I made on my first foray into game was trying to memorize lines straight out of Mystery’s books. When you’re trying to remember an opener word for word after having far too much to drink, needless to say you’re going to fuck everything up. I can remember approaching two girls (from behind) at a bar and trying an opinion opener while wasted as all hell. Two of my best friends and I had gone out to celebrate something and it quickly became a contest to see who could black out first (I won) and while my one friend was making an ass out of himself I decided I would try to show off my new ‘skills’ to my other friend.

Slurred words and seasick eyes doomed the approach before it got started, and I made my way back to my buddy with my tail between my legs. But I clearly learned something from the approach as I told him, “I am way too fucked up for this right now.”

And that’s the thing, you can be fucked up and still run game, but you can’t be worried about lines and perfect openers. You have to internalize the concepts first. 90% of the time just saying “Hey” will be better than trying to ask some broad if women lie more than men do or some shit when your head is spinning. For reference, I woke up the next morning on my kitchen floor and had no idea where my car was.

Compare that to a party I hosted (sidenote: Host parties. It’s fucking easy mode. Host parties and get girls to come, you have so much value by being the party host that it’s completely on you if you squander it) a few months down the road from that where I had two prospects and got my +1 with one of them without saying much at all. I just ran my party, was social with everyone, and teased her about one thing or another over the course of the evening before escalating at the end of the night. End result was her in my bed.

That’s what I’ve realized recently is that the concepts of game are slowly being internalized as I digest more and more. More than once I’ve psyched myself out of an approach because I couldn’t remember the exact methodology of the pet shop opener and just felt silly about it later on. But the concept of doing an elderly approach couldn’t be easy enough. Go up and ask her about her jacket, her shades, her suitcase, whatever. Easy.

If you’re in a bar, instead of tweaking out thinking about how to perfectly pass a shit test you should be focused at first just on recognizing them and not getting flustered by them. The right words will come.

Understand that I’m telling myself this as much as I am anyone else. These are still things that I struggle with.

An example for you: I was waiting for the tube in a high traffic area of downtown London and this cute girl in a red polka dot dress sat next to me despite there being empty seats farther away. We sat in silence for a moment and she sighed, looking around. For fuck’s sake, what do I open with? What do I say? Do I remark on the dress? Is it still early enough for day game or should I make some cocky remark? Should I fish for eye contact first? No, we’re right next to each other that would be weird. Ah fuck, here comes the train.

We boarded and stood in the same car, which filled up with people quite a bit. My heart was pounding within my chest as I thought about the horror of trying to open her with all these people around. But ah, we made eye contact and she held it for a second without looking away. That’s your cue, Jack. Time to start putting everything you’ve read to practice.

And there was her stop. She turned her head and met my gaze once more before heading off, never to be seen again. Cheers to you, red polka dot dress girl. Cheers for making yourself ripe for opening by sighing and making eye contact (and not wearing fucking headphones like every other in transit girl in this city). Cheers for picking out a dress that hugged your ass just enough to get my dick up, but not too much so it’s obvious that’s what you’re going for. Mostly though, cheers for making me realize that I should’ve just said “Hey.”

Just keep it simple, folks. If you take in as much game content as I do, you’ll internalize concepts and the ‘perfect’ lines will follow.

Cheers, J. Worthy

(I just want to say thanks to Alpha Persona and Jack Frost for the gracious publicity they’ve given me. It’s created a positive loop where now that I know people are reading, I will be motivated to put out content and my motivation to put out content will create motivation to go out and live content. The best thing about the manosphere is the siege mentality we all have. Against a society that’s trying to change what we all are, we just need to remember that we’re all in it together. Remember that, folks.)


This is just the beginning…

Well not technically. Technically the beginning was two years ago where I sat being pathetic, pining over some bitch that didn’t want me. This was not the first time I’d found myself in that exact same situation with that exact same girl. I couldn’t figure it out. I bet a lot of guys have those moments where they just sit and scratch their heads, wondering why the world is so fucked up and why no desirable girl will stick with you?

Newsflash pal, it’s you, not the world. That was the wakeup call that I received as I sat there staring at my phone wondering why I was going on day nine or ten without her answering my text messages. This recurring thing only had one really common denominator. Me. And that’s one of the messages I want to get across to anyone that takes the time to read my stories here. You are the one that controls your success in life and as a man. You set your own standards and create your own goals, and indeed it is down to you to put in the work to achieve them.

When I was sat on that bed, staring beleaguered at my telephone, I was a skinny-fat useless toolbox pale from too much time spent on the internet and too little outside. My meager appearance and timid approach to just about everything was the antithesis of arousing to the opposite sex, and that’s why this girl was my kryptonite. She’d allow me to get close, thinking that maybe this time would be different, but in the end my putrid traits and behavior made her change her mind every time. Yeah it was just so unfair for her to lead me on and so downright cruel of her to take advantage of a nice guy, right? You know what I could have done to avoid this? Been a fucking man and held her up against my wall while I raw dogged her and gave her eyelashes a protein bath.

This is something that I see from a lot of guys everywhere. This sense of entitlement to a hot girl that will love them and shower them with limitless sex and endless fidelity is absurd. There needs to be some acknowledgement on our end that we need to bring something to the table. It’s simple economics. If what you’re bringing to the table is not up to snuff, you will be leaving disappointed when no one wants to trade with you. So tell me, if you’re an out of shape guy that’s too scared to do a cold approach, how are you going to go home and whine about how rotten women are on the internet? How are you going to blame women for your quickly inflating dry spell? Take a look in the fucking mirror, mate. Jesus christ.

My name is Jack Worthy, by the way. Nice to meet you.

For so long, I was that guy, sitting around and blaming everyone but myself. I was a nice guy, why couldn’t women see that?

Women see what you put out there, and finally I realized what I needed to do. At that time I had only just been introduced to Roissy and Roosh. Reading some of what they said really resonated and put the first dent in the feminist brainwashing I’d grown up with. I began to read in earnest. I powered through most of Roissy’s archives, which he makes painfully easy to do with his genius link system. I ordered The Mystery Method for starters, and then got Bang. I was like an animal. All of this stuff made so much sense. There were “AHA!” moments by the day. I got inundated with the stuff and wanted to try it out.

Minimal success followed. I certainly felt better about myself and was more in tune to the ‘social dynamics’. But there were still problems all over the place with my game. I would get too drunk and fuck up. I would freeze up at the wrong time. I would rationalize not doing approaches. It was still awful.

Over that time I’ve been improving my life bit by bit and of course inundating myself even further into the manosphere. Branching out, from Roissy and Roosh I started following guys like Fly Fresh and Young, Jack FrostThe University of Man, and Masculine Style to soak in as much knowledge about game as I could.

Long story short, my life has been a self improvement project for the past two years and it’s time to see what I’m made of. I’ve got the worst approach anxiety I can think of. My rationalization raccoon comes up with all sorts of reasons to avoid approaches and it’s got to stop. Especially with where I’m at in my life. I have so much going for me, I am getting better by the day. To be perfectly honest any woman out there would be fucking lucky to be a part of my life.

So that’s what this blog will be about. I’m trying to be a writer, so I thought why not add my hand to the manosphere and give other guys in my situation something to read about. Often we see guys like Heartiste and Roosh out there living the dream while we’re just at the beginning of the game. It’s easy to feel isolated and I want other guys in my spot to know that there are so many others in the trenches with you trying to get better. You’ll get to read about my failures and that will hopefully make you feel better about your own, and I hope you’ll be able to celebrate any success I have as well.

While I will try to keep this to my own stories, I will inevitably be delving into feminism and its complete destruction of our society. Almost daily, even in a foreign country, I have to suffer feminism’s ugly tenants. The six headed beast stretches its necks and follows me to every corner of the globe. I was in a museum the other day and I overheard a woman complaining to her friend about a poster advertisement. I don’t know what the ad was for, but her complaint was that the woman’s waist was unrealistically thin. Nevermind the fact that this advertisement was drawn in cartoon style, this is just something that’s so particularly ugly about the feminist condition. When I talked about guys feeling entitled to women earlier on up, that entitlement cannot threaten to imitate that of the feminists. So you feel so entitled to your poor life choices that no one is allowed to even portray other women as thin in an advertisement that was made well before you were born?

I don’t want to rant, we’ll save that for future posts, but that will be a major topic of discussion here.

Anyway, it’s very late where I am currently (London, England) and I have to be up early so I can get to the gym. I hope you’re doing well in your pursuit of snatch, success, and stories. Because really, that’s what a man’s life runs on. Cheers.

J. Worthy