There was a span of time.
2004 through 2005.
I was a human train wreck and I’ve detailed here the culmination of this wild streak in July of 2005.
It was early in 2005 that I ran into an old high school friend at a local chain restaurant/bar one weekday night (named sorta after a fruit grown profusely in Eastern Washington state). We struck up a re-acquainted friendship and began doing what single 40ish divorced men do. Namely, drink, go to strip clubs and act ingloriously hip. This guy exuded stories and adventures and occassionally he threw out slang and concepts which led me to believe he had been exposed to some elements of the PUA culture. He was a shyster type prone to excessive tales of pussy conquest/adventure and he basked in the enigmatic glory of female adulation. I never met any of these chicks he supposedly knew/fucked. He was sickeningly ostentatious and prime fodder for the jaws of the Player community., We liked to hang out at the aforementioned restaurant/bar where, incidentally, he happened to know the bartenders and help very well (building his “social proof” undoubtedly). He was always hammering away on his circa 2005 Blackberry and yammering about all the hot chicks that dug him and did him.
He never used the phrase, but he was self-avowedly, cocky and funny. He was a cheeseball. He worked the PUA affectation badly as only a 40-year-old tryhard can.
PUA should only be practiced by young guys. Once you reach 40, you have no business practicing the shallow absurdities of that bullshit. That’s not to say that at 40+ a man should not summon some PUA theory, but he should do it in a mature and graceful manner. With an ounce of humility, perhaps. When you’re a 40-year-old man, you must accept the fact that you are simply priced out of many female markets by virtue of your advanced age. Simple as that. You cannot have every little 23-year-old bimbo who happens along. Some chicks that age simply do not dig older guys. Many draw the line at 40. Yet many 40+ PUA’s persist in acting as if they have any business gaming girls half their age.
Confidence is great.
Self-delusion is ugly.
So this dude…he fell into that embarrassing try-hard mentality.
He loved pedestaling his charms and masculine feats (though I saw no evidence of either).
I was freshly divorced, back on my own for the first time in 7 or 8 years. I had no standards and no self-control. I had the mind of a married man but I was trapped in the body of single swinging guy. And I derived much of my “swingertude” from this fella who claimed to promise an awesome lifestyle which included young babes and lots of adventure. I needed it and I made this dude part of my life as I descended further into the downward spiral of depravity that was my life. Somehow, probably through common email or drunkenly-volunteered info, he began emailing a group of women I knew at the time, including one who I was dating. Many times, needing solitary drinking time, I would hang out at the bar alone. I wanted to wallow in my own drunken ineptitude and I didn’t give a fuck about anything else.
My sense of Self disassembled and my girlfriend saw it and tried to confront me, but it didn’t matter. I was single and I did as I pleased. Frequently, I would find myself at the bar, incomprehensibly trashed. Later it became apparent that the bartender and my “buddy” squealed to each other like little piglets. My friend, knowing my girl’s number, called her occasionally to scoop some drinking dirt about me. Next fucking thing you know, I had no private drinking time anymore if I wanted to drink at that corporate shithole. You must realize that I did not face this until many years later. At the time, I was happily wallowing in my own vomit. All this shit happened behind my dissolute ass. My buddy was talking to the bartender and then talking to my girlfriend, enervating the concept to strangers that his friend was drinking his life away.
Years later, when I was somewhat sober, I was aghast to learn that I was a dupe.
My friend was spinning tales behind my back, disguising them behind the pretense that he was concerned about my welfare. In reality, the fucker was merely gossiping like a little bitch. For what reason? I would be happy to rationalize his behavior as that of a caring and generous friend, but I can’t do this because the guy never confronted me. He never pulled me aside and said, “David, you’re drinking too much. The bartender mentioned that you’re here all the time. Do you think your drinking is out of control?”
Nope, never. The dude simply reveled in spinning tales with his little bitch bartender and my girlfriend. There was no sincerity to his motives. Other than obfuscation. By the way, this bartender was a mustachioed wonder who manned the bartender station and garnered local fame and respect by shaking hands and smiling at all his gullible lush’s (while speaking behind their backs). See, it’s not the gossip that bothered me (and still does). It’s the duplicitous one-upsmanship and elevation of one’s ego by patronizing another’s shortcomings. My buddy was busy telling tales in order to capitalize on my spiraling life. He was a bitch. There are lots of he-bitches walking the streets.
The mansphere is redolent with men harping about the state of the modern male and his weakened, estrogenized nature.
The mansphere tells us, feminists tell us, run-of-the-mill women tell us.
Television, film, it all tells us. Men are pitiful.
The sad truth is, they are. We have become so.
I agree. Men have become subhuman.
Men have a lot of shaping up to do.
If only the USMC could kick us all in the fucking ass before re-releasing us back into society.
Men have learned to stop being Man.
We are symbollic penis-ridden gestures of maledom. We do not know where we are going. We have lost touch with Nature’s script and we have meandered too deeply into the cult of female in this modern world. We have lost the gritty nature of man, we have become spoiled and enslaved to the modern girlish culture of luxury and softness. For what other reason is this called the Age of
Why, it’s because culture has structured itself around the Pussy Paradigm.
Mannerisms, affectations, behavior, it has all been rerouted around and through Paris Hilton’s mentality.
Men have been lead astray by the female usuprers of Pop culture.
It is not longer fashionable to be a brutal man.
A ruthless, disgusting, and self-involved man.
Man is now a discard.
He is the lowest layer of the trash can.
Man and his burden is passe.
I see men darting about like fucking fairies, clapping around in flip flops and tight t-shirts and hiding their primal optical fierceness behind wall-length lenses and I wonder.
What happened to man?
Why do I ask?
The answer is before me.
Man is the new woman.
Man worries like a simpering pet about what is on his plate. He sniffs before he eats.
Man stands in front of the mirror and sniffs before he combs.
Man stands in front of the mirror and sniffs before he dons a shirt.
Man stands before a house and sniffs before he can buy or alter it.
Man stands before everything in this life and sniffs before he can commit.
He stands before the coffee bar and sniffs before he decides how much sugar (and which type) before he commits.
Man stands before a fork in the road and sniffs the air and calls a committee or conference call before commits.
Man plays on the machine which tethers him to the earth and sniffs before he commits to a schedule.
Man has become woman’s dog.
Each generation refines him further, like the whitest and sparsest of sugars.
Man is fleshless. Robbed of a soul by the ravages of social evolution.
My friend was a scurrilous man bitch. He was a 21st Century man.
Because Man also stands before false idols and sniffs before he decides to worship.
Man’s rough edge is smoothed and polished and can no longer slice.
Man of stone is now man of dust.