| Sunday, April 27, 2014
Gaww, I jerked awake. My heart was racing. I was sweating. A girl beside me. Where the fuck am I?! What happened last night? What am I? WHAT AM I?! I dripped sweat all over mami posted next to me snoring as I strained what the fuck went down. My god!
Do I have game? I think down, real deep, drawing from the basic life functions of my brainstem and ask myself--do I live, breathe, palpitate in game? Or is it all a facade? Have I grown so jaded and fucked up-twisted that the only person I'm gaming is myself now? Has my game and existence gotten so out of control? Have I taken things to their most extreme end and replaced every real, loving connection I've ever had in life with some flaky slut whose only true quality is that she's only a fraction of the slut I've grown to be? I think back to my life one year ago. I was healthier then, in the gym, in good shape, eating clean, sleeping well, living at my parents', had a good outlook on life. I was a toddler in game. I had K-closed four girls one night. I couldn't let up on my brother about that. Now I exist with the best outlook--the BEST--but it comes with a mandatory three scoops of peanut butter every day and empty gallons of milk souring in my closet. Let's not forget the beer cans littering my floor, a few used condoms beginning to turn dark red, and a cashed out glass some very sweet girl in my class had given me for white elephant, which is almost to the brim with cigarette butts. I fuck Splits, Fat Ass, Dental Student, The Girl I Used to Be In a Club With. I have two other old regulars in rotation who are just a text and 20-minute drive away. My neighbor lives above me. The other two chicks I fucked and ditched (one blatantly, the other inconspicuously) would come get it. I've madeout with 106 girls in less than five months. I don't know about Julien, Tyler, Jeffy, Brad, Alex, Todd, Chase, Roosh, Capital, the Simple Pickup guys, Good-Looking Loser, Mystery, Matador, Style, Jeffries, Grimble, Manson, Tomassi, Shogo, T.J. Mackey, Hitch, Alfie, Jacob Palmer, Shame-o, Spread, Bill Bellamy, Howard Hughes, Lord Byron, Henry Miller, Enso, Consistency, Guru, Smith, LP, Raymond, Chris, Adonis, Shelley, Steven, JJ, Solo, AC, AC's homie, my classmates, Guru's homie, the dude who punched me, the bouncers at my go-to bars, my homie who hooks it up with free drinks on Thirsty Thursdays, my grandpa, all of my readers, all of my readers' wings, all of my readers' idols, every member of PuaHate.com--but I highly doubt any of them have come close to that number in any given five months of their lives. Hell, you take any two of those dudes this year, and it still won't come close to my number. What do I have in excess to game? Herpes, mono, strep? Do I step back and analyze g? See where it's getting me? What it's accomplishing? No pregnancy scares from my regulars or randoms yet. No Dallas Buyers Club AIDS, or other STDs, weird bumps, or dysuria. No barrel chest, cirrhotic liver, tip drips. What is this game? Am I compelled to do it out of sadness? Loneliness? Anger? Some void that Enso swears exists in my heart? Am I gaming because N-Pooh left almost three years ago and because I questioned marrying her at the time? Ahhhhhh, I'm so sad! I'm so alone in the world! The only person who loves me is Fat Ass chick. Ahhhhh, I'm so lost!
Uh-hum.
Yes.
GET THE motherFUCK OUT OF MY FACE!!!
Hahahahahaha. You guys wanna know game? You really wanna know game? Okay, peep this. I ain't one o' them goddamn depressed dudes pouring out his fucking daily agenda and progress in just speaking to some desperate adolescent fuckboy employee, asking for a cup of water at McDick's and shit. I'm not Enso. I'm not Capital circa 2008. I'm not Julien afraid to ask the time or any other fucking dude who got into game because he was severely clinically depressed before PU literally saved his life. You guys know why I game? You know why I don't give a fuck? Because NOTHING. FUCKING. MATTERS! You know what you are, more than a bunch of atoms combined in the right combination? You're a meaningless, clueless, transiently existing human being confined by his own biology. You don't have the answers. You can't anticipate everything, or even a measurable fraction of everything, completely accurately. Every instant in a chaotic universe in which there exists a single point of dynamic matter and an infinite span of time spawns a limitless number of possibilities. You don't exist in a void. You don't solely exist. You're a byproduct of the environment, and the environment is a minor byproduct of you. Those girls you see are part of that environment as are you to them. And those girls are as clueless and meaningless as you.
Fuck no. You wanna know what really happened when I woke this morning? Of course I didn't wake up nervous or no shit. None of that--nightmares and cold sweats. I woke up, comfy as fuck in a comfy bed when my alarm went off at 11, still cuddling my chick, nude ass up and everything S. Rogen-style in Knocked up. I kissed her, all with the morning breath, and rubbed her va-jay-jay for an instant before she cooked up two egg sammiches. I scarfed that fluffy motherfucker down, went back to sleep for 25 minutes as she showered and got ready, then put on my skinny jeans and walked outside with chick to a beautiful sunny day. The birds chirped and grad students rode their bikes, Sabra in the basket.
Mami dropped me off at home, and I went to my school and slaughtered my exam. I drove back home, went inside my apt., and chilled. I texted Fat Ass chick, saying, "Tonight?" She replied with, "What time?" "8" o'clock, beeyatch. She showed up at 8 on the dot, and I brought her up, and we listened to music. She said my taste in music is pimp. I discovered she likes Korn and D-tones. I have to marry her now.
After a while, I got down to business and banged her with the lights on. My balcony door was open, and I kept telling her I wanted her to moan as loud as possible because I think it's sexy. She amped it up, and I'm certain everybody at my complex was thinking, oh, god, there goes that motherfucking pimp in 359 again. Ah, to fuck girls with whom you have no emotional connection. I cuddled chica afterward and ordered pizza. I don't usually eat shit like that, but I was hungry as fuck and I've been bulking up lately so I could spare the calories and carbs. I walked her out after eating, went back upstairs, and texted a few freaks to see who was game for tomorrow. Stutter Chick (see the April 26th post) said she wanted to grab coffee at a shop pretty far from my pad at 8:30. We'll see how it goes. Another texted and said she's visiting town from the L.A. area for the week. I've had a crush on her since the goddamn 11th grade, and I'm finally gonna do my damnedest to bust that shit this week.
Around midnight, I cuddled myself, missing Swags, missing FAc, missing N-Pooh.
Yeah, sure I did.
In truth, I cuddled myself, my dick on hard, as the drowsy appropriately-so thoughts of real grandeur settled in. You don't get it? You don't get it? There is no shortage of phenomena or ideas I have developed, come up with, or pondered that have not been so by the greats of history. This fact is one of many that makes me as genius as them. It's deeper than game, guys, if you haven't been able to tell. This is life. This is life. Of course, there has to be more to life than pickup. Fools don't get it? Fuck it. There is no morality in game. Everybody knows that if you fuck with a player you get treated like a player's bitch. Anything short of that is not game. And it's boring. You should have discerned by now. Life is the most beautiful thing I know of, but it's also the most boring.
Overall day: K-closed The Girl I Used to Be In a Club With, F-closed Fat Ass chick. Got two day twos lined up tomorrow. What do I have to say? That my game is quote-worthy? Legendary? That one out of every 4,000 lines in my FRs is quote worthy? My goddamn life is quote worthy. I am a fucking quote, you bastards. Can't everybody see that classical works of literature are written by guys like me and about guys living like me? I'm strung up in the fact of my undeniable game and genius fucking mentality and existence. This is the REAL VP. THIS is the animal.
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