I Don't Give a F*CK About You... So Who Are These Men That Do?

After 4 years of joining the forum only to leave, lurk and read, I can only presume:

98% Wage slaves and Future Wage slaves

2% Free men

So why the f*ck are they talking to you?

The future wage slaves are bored because they’re not/can’t chasing/chase p*ssy. The current wage slaves are here because at this point therapy just isn’t cutting it.

The free men, well, they have plenty of time on their hands and this is a great place to brag!

And you? You’re going to fail. You’re going to be a wage slave. That’s alright. The world needs wage slaves.

Your local government needs your meaningless purchases to fuel the taxes that will replace the courthouse fountain backdrop behind your ex-wife who is currently berating a meter-maid under a blue sky that you don’t have the time to enjoy.

And you will fail. I know this, because I did.

I created an account. I enjoyed that initial dopamine rush that comes with a new idea that‘s all about you in a world where NOTHING is about you. I told a few girls no.

My new-found confidence brought the attention of my one-it is. I f*cking did it. I figured out how the world worked and now she was going to suck my dick. But then, as we were about to f*ck (and we did f*ck) she tells me she doesn’t suck dick.

But you know what? I remembered a post or a low-quality video that explained that she sucked plenty of dick. She just wasn’t going to suck MY dick! And then the p*ssy was god awful, but man… it was p*ssy.

Then she had another man’s car in her driveway, and I had my “Returnof…” account ready to post about my GREAT RETURN TO MGTOW. Because I’m a f*cking failure. But I had a secret weapon. I had less of that cocktail in my brain than most men and could think JUUUUST enough to get me to the next easy lay. Just enough to lie to myself a bit longer.

You will fail. But keep reading these dumbass posts, and keep watching Sandman, Coach Gregg Adams, and Venture something-another… because you have NOTHING better to do with your time.

Two years ago, I was right back to obsess over my one-itis. Both of them. I was checking to see what cars were in which driveways “on my way” to an out of the way gas station. Because I’m a f*cking failure.

But you know what? Each and every time I was burned, and each and every time I crawled a step lower, I absorbed and understood more about how sad I’d become.

How said I am at 34.

Four days ago, I found out my worst one-itis would be back in town. I knew I’d have to see her and told myself I’d reach out to “bury the hatchet” to… you know “make things easier”. And who knows, maybe this time it’d be right. Because I’m a loser with abs, money and a big-ass L on my forehead, quoting smash mouth instead of smashing.

Four days ago, as she sat at my door about to come in, I jacked the music up. I played my guitar. She came in to talk and asked me to turn it down. I didn’t. F*ck that. Don’t f*ck with my vibe. My head’s not rent-free. Who the fuck was that? I don’t talk like that.

She brought up the kids, the one’s I played with. I didn’t care. F*ck them kids. What’s the difference between them and the millions being raised without dads now? The next-door neighbor kid is 16 and doesn’t mind his own business. No dad. He’ll be breaking into places soon. If he had a sister, she’d be on Onlyfans.

And the one-itis on my lazy-boy… this b*tch didn’t even pretend! They don’t even pretend anymore. They don’t have to! She was generally annoyed to be at my place telling me why we were going to get over the past and be together. I told her I’m a better fun uncle than dad. I told her that a few times over 2 days in different ways until she posted some bullshit about stalkers on her facebook to keep cred with her just-as-shitty friends.

Why? Because I didn’t remember that if you waste a woman’s time after 30, she will be vindictive and make your life harder. Sandman told me that shit for four years. But I’m an idiot and a fraud. I even tried to be her friend and invited her to hang out with the guys.

Today, she’s scrambling to move on to Plan C or D or F or Z. Who knows where my lame as was on that ladder. Who cares?

But I could see it all. No rose-colored lenses. Rather, a Picasso painting that made me wish I had cataracts. One of her eyes was slightly bigger than the other (from a seizure, or skin damage from no sleep and too much partying). Her teeth, all there but chipped to hell. Her skin that of a lizard that just hasn’t found the right warm-rock.

She smelled like smoke from taking the edge off before trying to give herself to a man she couldn’t give a f*ck about. A man that I do give a f*ck about.

I’m free, though. Maybe you will be just as lucky. Maybe you won’t knock up the next member of the herd. Maybe the chemical cocktail in your head will slow before SHE figures out that she missed her window. Probably not…

If most men are wage slaves, you will be too. You’ll fail, and 20 years down the line, you’ll join Reddit and post god-awful memes.

But I didn’t. I’m free and I can see it all because I kept reading and I kept watching until I got lucky. I don’t give a f*ck about you.

So, who are these men that do? See you on the other side. And thanks for financing a meal plan for the neighbor-kid who will probably try to steal my car radio this summer.

Good luck! GYOW