Category Archives: Alpha Male

28 Things I’ve Learned By Age 28

Posted on by Standard 3

It’s my 28th birthday today and as a writer, I’m obligated to pass on the insightful and not-so-insightful lessons I’ve learned during my short stint on this Earth. While I’m not the epitome of enlightenment whatsoever, I’ve made a lot of stupid mistakes, so a few life lessons have made their way through my thick skull. So take heed, young reader, as this late-20-something who knows nothing about life tells you something about life.

1.

Women are not special from men in any way. Some are sweet; some are sour. Some are warm and some are cold. Some are intelligent and some are complete idiots. They can be as kind as saints or as cruel as devils. The right one can bring out the best in you, and the wrong one can destroy you. Figuring out the ones who are genuine and the ones who are completely full of shit is the tricky part.

2.

It’s way better to look broke and have good amount of money in your bank account than to look like a baller and have a negative net worth.

3.

Being all muscle with no mind makes you a slightly smarter and much weaker gorilla. Being all brain and no muscle makes you a weak sack of shit who can’t protect himself from the physical world.

4.

Waking up next to a woman you love deeply is way more fulfilling than fucking a different chick every night of the week.

5.

Sometimes you will give something every last bit of effort and will power you have but will still face a crushing defeat. It’ll hurt you deeply, but you can take pride in the fact you tried when others would have been too afraid.

6.

You don’t have to be your father if he’s a piece of shit. The best thing about him being a piece of shit is that you don’t have to respect him. You don’t have to live up to his expectations or seek his approval. You can be a force of change and end the cycle of shitty fatherhood.

7.

Don’t read books because they’ll make you look like some sort of intellectual. Read them because it’s on a subject matter that interests you and will add to your life in whatever small way.

8.

If you don’t trust your girlfriend to have a girls’ night out and not suck another dude’s cock, then why the fuck are you with her? If she doesn’t respect you, fuck that bitch and move on.

9.

If you live in a First World country, you can truly make something out of yourself if you put in the honest effort. If you look for external forces to blame such as “the man,” your parents, or your surroundings, it’s a sign of your weakness. You can always find a way out. It may not be quick, easy, or pleasant, but there is always a way to put yourself in a better position.

10.

Your coworkers aren’t always your friends. In the Army, you could hang out, talk shit, and be yourself around your coworkers. It’s not like that in the real world.

11.

If you have to get drunk, just drinking beer will keep you out of more trouble than taking shot after shot of hard alcohol.

12.

Your emotions don’t matter. What matters is whether you do your job regardless.

13.

If a chick doesn’t text you back after two attempts, delete her number and move on.

14.

If you’re traveling across the US, pizza with all the toppings on it is the most bang-for-your-buck food you can eat. It’ll keep you full and energized all day long.

15.

Want motivation to be a writer? Look at the first blog post of your current favorite writer. Chances are, they were fucking terrible when they started. The only difference is that they started, put in the effort, and gave themselves time to evolve.

16.

It’s easy to get caught up in the extremes of liberalism and conservatism. It’s easy to think the world is black and white, that things are strictly right or wrong. That’s why it’s simple for the media to manipulate the masses with hysterical headlines and emotionally triggered stories. It takes a lot more to learn the grey side, the enemy’s side, and to realize not everything is so straightforward.

17.

I’ve never smoked cigarettes, but I know two things about them: Everyone who smokes them wants to quit, and a lot of hot chicks smoke them. So hanging out at the smoking section even though you’re not smoking isn’t too bad of an idea.

18.

If you have a fragile ego and can’t take criticism, you’re going to get crushed by real world when you’re starting out as an artist. The world is full of self-important critics and cowards who never had the balls to go after what they want. These types love to dig their teeth and nails into you and tear you apart. They see your failure as their success. Fuck them. Keep your head up, your scrappy attitude on point, and keep moving.

19.

There is more pride working a job that pays you minimum wage than staying at home and being a burden on your family.

20.

It’s better to keep your mouth shut than tell a lie.

21.

Take pictures. You don’t have to post them all up on Instagram or Facebook, but take a picture or two of special events in your life. Chances are they’ll remind you of things you’ve long forgotten about five or ten years down the line.

22.

If you do have to lie, keep your lie as close to the truth as possible. It’s easier to remember that way.

23.

You don’t have to like everyone and everyone doesn’t have to like you. You have to respect their right to exist, but that’s pretty much it.

24.

No woman is worth sacrificing a male best friend over. Chicks come and go; your best friends will be there for you as long as you remain loyal to them.

25.

Not everyone is so quick-witted that they learn on their first fuck-up. I’ve made the same mistakes two, three, twelve times before I actually learned the lesson I needed to learn.

26.

When you say most people do X, most people will think you’re not talking about them.

27.

There is a lot of power in positive male role models. I was lucky that I had this throughout my life, from my stepfather to my football coaches to the noncommissioned officers and officers who mentored me in the Army. They each had their flaws, but I took from each something that I could apply to myself.

28.

Sometimes the person with the biggest balls in the room is a woman.

~Raul Felix
Read more of my writings a Thought Catalog.

6 Ways Women Have Rejected Me

Posted on by Standard 1

Like all you readers who click through articles that speak to the current trend in millennial dating—or sorta-dating—I, too, am on a constant and maybe hopeless quest for love and/or pussy to feed my insatiable lust. In addition to jacking off every night while crying, I go out and attempt to catch the attention of a pretty lady or two.

Most guys go to the bar and content themselves with boozing, and maybe if things go right and she gives him enough signals, they’ll go out and talk to a chick. I go in, scan the scene, designate possible targets, and decide how I am going to go about hitting on them. Contrary to my excellent writing skills, I’m not a smooth talker whatsoever. To compensate for this and my many other shortcomings as a human being, I’ve developed a dead-reckoning philosophy for hitting on chicks.

It’s a simple two-step process:

1.

See cute chick and check for possible indicators that’s she single.

2.

Go talk to her and hope I say the right thing that leads to me ripping off her panties with my teeth in the near future.

What happens next is what separates the men from the boys. You get rejected a whole fucking lot—so much that you start to notice patterns in the ways you get rejected.

1. The One-Word Answer

This is a staple among girls who are too shy or nice to tell you they’re not interested directly. You’re trying to strike up a conversation about something—anything—in order to get the natural flow of human interaction going, but you keep hitting dead ends.

“So, what do you do for a living?”

“Secretary.”

“Uh…that’s cool. That’s a very dashing red dress you have on.”

“Thanks.”

“Have any idea of what you want to do in the future?”

“School.”

“What’s your opinion on the ISIS taking over Iraq?”

“Sad.”

“I’ve traveled quite a bit; what’s your favorite place to travel to?”

“Paris.”

You then stand there, hoping she will elaborate or maybe ask you a question, but she just sits there, looking in any direction but yours.

“OK, I can see I have failed here…I’m out.”

“Bye.”

2. The Overly Aggressive Bitch Block

The shock and awe of this tactic surprises even the most experienced of men. The usual condition: A highly attractive woman, rating an 8-plus on a scale of 10, is standing around with one or two of her chick friends. Her friends may even be attractive in their own right. You go to the group with hopeful vigor and enthusiasm at maybe hitting it off with such a beauty. You attempt to make your presence known:

“Hey ladies…how are….”

“She’s not interested!” One of the wenches interrupts you mid-sentence as she puts her arms in front of you.

You pause, not sure whether you should be a dick because fuck that rude bitch or attempt to reason with the callous creature. Whatever path you choose, it’s going to lead you through Strike-Out Junction en route to Rejectionville.

3. The New Age Hippie Rejection

You’ve been talking to this girl for a while. She’s pretty, cool, laid back, and seems to have a decent sense of humor. It’s not the deepest immediate connection you’ve had, but there may be something there. When it’s time to part ways, you ask for her number.

“Not this time. If fate has us crossing paths again, I’ll give it you.”

“How about we don’t count on fate and you give me your number now?”

“If it’s meant to be, we’ll cross paths again. You should trust in that.”

“I don’t believe in that hippie shit.”

The New Age Hippie Rejection is passive-aggressive rejection disguised as mystical false hope in order to make the girl who just shot you down seem like a compassionate human being who believes in karma, destiny, and goodwill. The truth is that if she was truly interested in your cock, she’d give you her number instead of making you seem like a gullible idiot who hopefully awaits the day when true love and fate will align and bring you two back into each other’s lives.

4. The Bait and Switch

You’re talking to a table of girls and are being quite charming for once in your life. The booze is flowing through your veins at the perfect ratio that enables you to be witty, sarcastic, and a bit debonair. They’re really receptive to you, and the one you have your eyes on is giggling to her friends. You take a seat next to her and attempt to begin a one-on-one conversation, which she humors for a little bit.

“Have you met Becky?” She then proceeds to point out her homely friend that you barely noticed before. You attempt to be as cordial as possible and ask Becky canned questions.

“You two should talk. She’s single!” The two switch places, and the glorious example of womanhood is replaced by the dud. You grudgingly talk to Becky a bit more and realize you’re not going to get anywhere with the woman you actually want. You pleasantly bid them adieu and go on your way. Your days of jumping on grenades are over, dammit!

5. The Best Friend Forever Barrier

I’ve written about the Best Friend Forever (BFF) Barrier before. It’s a simple yet highly effective method of rejecting would-be ass-grinders while dancing. Chicks have employed this technique since their first middle-school dance, so by the time they’re old enough to hit the bars, they have internalized it to the point that they might not even realize they’re doing it.

Should you be so bold as to attempt to infiltrate a group of chicks during their body-spasm ritual and go for the prettiest of them all, you may meet with the treacherous BFF Barrier. The BFF will take a disliking to you because either you’re not a dreamy heartthrob or because you dare impose on their “girls’ night out.” For committing such heinous sins, it’s of the utmost importance that they exile you swiftly.

Like clockwork, one of the BFFs will strut up to the woman of your dreams and provocatively dance with her. This is but a ruse to enable her to shrewdly snatch her friend away. While this occurs, the rest of the BFFs form a perimeter of jealousy; it’s creeper-protection to box you out. You have two choices: either stand there looking like a fool or abort.

6. The Disappearing Act

You’re in a good mood today. The previous night, you met an awesome chick and really clicked with her. Your conversation flowed effortlessly. She was educated, quick-witted, and uniquely beautiful. She gave you every signal in the book to indicate that she was as into you as you were into her. While you only got a simple kiss out of her, it was enough. Hell, she even had you call her cell number so she could have your number. And she told you to text her the next day. You know better than to get excited about getting just a number, but fuck it; you’re going to let yourself get excited.

It’s late afternoon and you decided it’s an appropriate time to text.

“Hey, it’s Raul.”

You don’t hear back from her within the hour…or day…or the next couple of days. You know that girls always have their phones glued to their hands, but you also know better than to pester them with texts. Hoping that she was just absentminded, you text her again a few days later. You hear nothing. You look at your two unacknowledged texts and shake your head. “Oh well,” you think to yourself as you delete her number, “that’s what you get for letting yourself get excited.”

~Raul Felix

You can read more of my writing at Thought Catalog.

2 Stupid Pieces of Dating Advice That Women Always Give Me

Posted on by Standard 4

I’m no dating expert, despite the fact that I’ve been on tons of dates and have hooked up with a lot of women who won’t return my texts. I have a competitive edge over most guys in the dating scene because I have cojones grandes. I’m not scared to talk to any girl in any situation, and I probably hit on and get rejected by more chicks in a week than the average American male will in his lifetime.

My balls-to-the-wall attitude regarding women and sex, coupled with the extensive human sexual evolution and psychology literature I’ve read over the years, have led me to the conclusion a lot of the advice you chicks give us men regarding women is bullshit. A lot of their advice operates on the premise on “how it ought to be” rather than “how it is.”

Well, I don’t live the utopian future where all of society’s ills regarding gender inequality and communication issues between the sexes don’t exist anymore. I live in the present, where chicks are flaky and have contradictory notions of what they want. Most girls these days are doing the whole “Eat, Pray, Love” shit while they bitch about not having Dreamy McDreamerson galloping in on a white horse to save them from themselves. They also demand that he respect the fact that she is an independent woman with a past, a heart that loved too much, and herpes she contracted from that one guy she fucked in the bathroom of Baja Sharkeez.

As if my bitter words weren’t enough of an indicator, I often get frustrated dealing with the opposite sex—sometimes enough to want to throw in the towel and swear off the she-devils for a while. During those turbulent times, I reach out to the few female friends I have and ask for their advice, only to be given this sort of useless claptrap:

1. “Just wait: Someone special will come along.”

This sets up the advisor to be right, no matter what. You can “just be waiting” for a week or ten years, but regardless, they’ll be right. When a lovely lady finally comes into your life, your advisor will smugly say, “Told you I was right” as if it was her advice that brought this person into your life in the first place.

It makes sense from the female perspective, because dating for a chick comes down to chance encounter with a charming, dashing gentleman. If he doesn’t meet the aesthetic requirements on her checklist, not to worry—another dashing gentleman will come around in a few minutes.

If you’re an assertive male who grabs life by the balls, this type of advice makes zero sense. Why, if you truly want something, would you sit around with your thumb up your ass waiting for some mystical force in the universe to deliver it to you? Wouldn’t you want to figure out how to meet pretty girls and where they congregate? Wouldn’t you want to figure out how to best increase your chances of meeting one who fits you and your personality? Wouldn’t you want to learn what you can and can’t accept in a partner? Merely waiting won’t accomplish any of that.

It may come as a shocker to you girls, but most of you are cowards. Chicks rarely, if ever, hit on us directly. The closest that most of us guys get to being directly hit on is when a chick looks at us while we’re looking away and then looks away when we look at her. We’re left having to read the fact that she is twirling her hair or playing with the straw in her cup as a subtle clue that she into us. Then, hoping we read the hints correctly, we go up to her and try to avoid saying anything too stupid. We’re the man; we make the first move. It’s part of the game. But that can’t happen if we are “just waiting.”

2. “You’re not going to meet a good girl at a bar.”

This advice is spewed out with zero irony by chicks that just posted Instagram pictures of themselves hosting drinks at the bar. Yeah, every girl at the bar is a fucking wretched whore—except you and your friends, right? While I agree that the women who frequent bars are trashier per capita, there are also a lot of girls who go to bars that aren’t.

Let’s say I was to follow this advice and not try to meet chicks at bars. Where should I meet them, then? What other places have a consistently fresh supply of females that a man can approach?

Coffee shops? It sounds good in theory. Sophisticated chicks love coffee, especially if it’s expensive. You order something at random because you don’t know shit about coffee and sit down at a chair that gives you a good vantage point of the room. After waiting for an hour for a chick to appear who is clearly alone, you sit next to her and strike up a conversation. It all goes well until you ask her what university she goes to, and then she tells you she is 17 and wants to go to UCLA. You realize that it’s best to leave the conversation there, wish her well, and be on your way. I’ve found that females at coffee shops are typically 70% high-schoolers, 20% old bags, 15% chicks who already have boyfriends, and 5% chicks who are talking on their phone the whole fucking time so you can’t even make a move.

Meeting girls at church? I’m a godless, heathen bastard.

Gym? Of course! That has the built-in benefit that the chick is far less likely to be a useless fat sack of shit. You go to the gym and are getting your swole on, trying to scout for potential targets. You notice that those chicks who wear those revealing, skimpy outfits for you to ogle all seem have a big rock on their finger that is worth more than your annual salary, or she’s with her man working out because that’s what healthy couples do. The one chick that is truly alone is wearing a baseball cap, has her headphones in, and is wearing a loose T-shirt. She’s basically stating, “I’m here to work out. Leave me the fuck alone.” If you foolishly attempt to hit on her, you’ll get shut down quickly—not only that, you’ll have to avoid her piercing, judgmental stares every time you go to the gym afterward.

Fuck. I wish there was a place where men and women could casually gather to meet other men and women in an atmosphere that encourages you to meet new people. If only such a place existed.

You ought to be able to be yourself and have a wonderful woman come into your life, but that shit doesn’t happen. You have to be proactive and take the hits of rejection and failure until you meet one that makes all the bullshit you dealt with worth it. You ought to be able to meet girls casually in a non-alcohol-induced daze, but the reality is that if you’re no longer in college or don’t have a work environment that allows fraternization, an alcohol-induced daze is probably how you’re going to meet your next lover. It’s the dirty, filthy reality.

~Raul Felix

You can read more of my work at Thought Catalog.

Why Men Look Up To Tony Montana

Posted on by Standard 3

Scarface

Tony Montana is one of those rare figures in popular culture who crosses racial boundaries. He’s played by Al Pacino, who is an Italian acting as a Cuban who would later inspire a generation of black and Hispanic guys to create hip-hop tributes that will be listened to by white suburban kids.

He is the kind of world-class criminal a lot of men would aspire to be if they were ambitious enough. They envision living the fast life of cocaine, killing cockroaches that cross them, and having scantily dressed women fucking them because they have tons of cocaine. Most give up those high ambitions and settle for mind-numbing office jobs with free snacks and synergy.

Yet Tony’s inspiration lives on. Single males across the country have a Scarface poster hanging on their bedroom walls this moment. So why does this ruthless criminal inspire so many of even the most upright of young men?

 

1. He’s Self-Made

scarface_41

Take one look at a guy like Tony Montana and you know he didn’t grow up in the suburbs. His default facial expression consists of a scowl, and his trademark scar is an indicator of his street-thug roots. Like many people seeking to escape Castro’s grips, he headed to America to start a new life via banana boat to engage in free black-market capitalism.

“Me, I want what’s coming to me,” says Tony as he drives his Cadillac.

“Oh, well, what’s coming to you?” asks his right-hand man Manny.

“The world, chico, and everything in it.”

Tony is a man who is going places and is nearly delusional about his potential. He doesn’t let the fact that he is without education, power, money, or influence become roadblocks. Tony uses the tools he has—balls, decisiveness, and street smarts—to help him overcome every obstacle.

He’s shrewd and cunning, quickly moving up from a small-time crime syndicate’s foot soldier to running Miami’s most powerful criminal empire. He epitomizes a version of the American dream to which many downtrodden youths can relate: coming from absolutely nothing and transforming yourself into a total boss.

 

2. He’s A True Family Man

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Tony shows up at his mother and sister’s house one quiet night. It had been years since he had seen them. He had purposefully held off on seeing them until he was a success. He wants them to be proud of him and know that he has made it.

He proudly gives his mother $1,000. “Who did you kill for this, Antonio?” she inquires. She knows well what kind of man her son is. She rejects his blood money and ends up kicking Tony out of the house. Even after that, Tony has tremendous love toward his mother and tells his sister Gina to slip her some money a little at a time so she won’t notice.

He’s highly protective of his little sister, Gina. He constantly keeps his eye on her and attempts to prevent other men from getting close to her. This speaks volumes to men who feel extremely protective toward their little sisters or cousins. He may be overbearing in his protection of her, but it shows that his love for his blood is true and strong.

3. He Sets His Own Values

tumblr_m5qsmpFKP71rsbtfso1_1280

“All I have in this world is my balls and my word and I don’t break them for nobody, you understand?” It is an outlaw ethos that has been echoed for the last 30 years by many an inspired male. Tony lets you know that even though he is a criminal, he is the type of criminal who does crime the right way. He only fucks over those who deserve it. If you weren’t Tony, you know you’d want to be in his crew because you’d have one of the best bosses around.

“In this country, you gotta make the money first. Then when you get the money, you get the power. Then when you get the power, then you get the women.” Tony knows business comes before bitches, that a man must focus on what is good for himself and his future. Figure out how to get yourself ahead of the game and not worry too much about random pussy. This is tougher to do for some men than others, as his his sidekick Manny is constantly giving in to la mamacitas.

Nowhere else does Tony exemplify his rock-solid values more than when he refuses to allow the killing of the wife and kids of a man he was supposed to assassinate. He feels that’s the coward’s way of conducting business and refuses to let the assassin detonate the bomb by placing a bullet through his skull. It was a fine case of hip-pocket executive decision-making.

 

4. He Got To Fuck The 1983 Version Of Michelle Pfeiffer

showcase_scarface

While any version of Michelle Pfeiffer is sexy, feminine, and alluring, the 1983 model of her was a pristine example of female beauty.

“I say she’s a tiger. She belong to me,” Tony states to her. While Tony knew to put money before bitches, he also knew that if had the right one by his side, he could go to the top. When he saw the one he wanted, he went after her. He was not too shy or nervous. He didn’t wait for her to give him hints. He didn’t care that she wasn’t interested in him. He went for her for like the boss player he is.

No one intimidated Tony. He had a high sense of confidence in himself and displayed it again and again and thus winning over such a fine woman. He had mountains of coke and she was addicted to coke, so he kept her rolling in it. It was a coke dealer’s style of bringing your girlfriend flowers every day.

Maybe he wasn’t the good guy in the legal sense, but he was the best at what he did. He told off the true bad guys, the corporate thieves and corrupt politicians: “You need people like me so you can point your fuckin’ fingers and say, ‘That’s the bad guy.’ So what that make you? Good? You’re not good. You just know how to hide, how to lie. Me, I don’t have that problem. Me, I always tell the truth. Even when I lie.”

He died in a hail of bullets, taking out as many motherfuckers as possible, his body center stage for all the carnage surrounding him. Most men would dream to go out with such style.

~Raul Felix

You can read more of my work at Thought Catalog

Images – Scarface

The Jack Off Line: How To Decide Whether It’s Better To Hook Up Or Jack Off

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In a man’s ignorant youth, when he is a horny boy who will fuck a pile of rags, he tends to be indiscriminate regarding pussy. All he knows is that hooking up with a subpar chick is better than jacking off.

It’s a fair system: Mediocre girls get to fuck around with guys who won’t settle for their likes once they grow and become more accomplished, while guys get some practical, hands-on experience with real chicks. These are glorious times for subpar chicks, because they get to ride a cock carousel of overeager young men who have yet to establish a set of standards. Even if he isn’t really into her, he’ll find a few features to focus on: big ass, big boobs, cute face, or a cool personality coupled with the ability to suck a mean cock. It’s a golden era of sexual exploration that is filled with grand victories and embarrassing hookups for the budding male.

Then there are the dredges of the female gene pool, the ghastly hags who scour the Earth in search of weak males. Their mere presence is enough to cause any self-respecting man’s dick to crawl up inside his body in self-defense lest he accidentally trip and fall into the fatal abyss that is her vagina…they lack any type of redeemable feature that could possibly give a man a chub…they are somehow able to weigh 300 pounds without having tits or ass…they are ugly as fuck, have a terrible personality, and no enthusiasm for sucking cock. These females fall below the Jack Off Line.

The Jack Off Line is a litmus test where a male has to ask himself one simple question: “Would I rather jack off than hook up with this girl?” It’s the bare minimum acceptable level of attractiveness a female must possess to make her worth a one-night stand.

Most of the time, the answer is obvious. Of course we would rather fuck a girl who looks like Halle Berry and has hint of wonderful Chanel perfume than jack off. Of course we would rather jack off than fuck a girl who is morbidly obese and whose breath reeks of McDonald’s, boxed wine, and Cheetos from two days ago.

Where a man’s Jack Off Line begins is subject to variables such as age, experience, personal tastes, degree of desperation, and the quality and quantity of his sexual prospects. While there is a small percentage of guys who are studs from the get-go and can secure some pretty hot chicks at an early age, most guys are not like that. In fact, when they’re first starting in the hook-up scene, most guys’ Jack Off Line lies somewhere between girls who are a 3 to 4, as I’ve illustrated in this handy chart:

JOLChart1

The Jack Off Line’s threshold is tricky and treacherous terrain for a young man to navigate. Alcohol and desperation play a critical role in transforming a chick that is horribly unfuckable into a valid candidate for a hogging mission. Alcohol lowers his initial inhibitions and standards enough to give this female monstrosity a fairer shot than she deserves. In long dry spells, desperation for a female’s warmth and contact override his common sense and sense of sight, smell, and taste.

The Jack Off Line is never 100% static. Only through many years of trial and error is a male able to finely calibrate where on the 1-10 rating spectrum his own personal Jack Off Line lies. He learns to not only focus on the orgasmic payoff of getting laid, but to also consider the cost—time, resources, reputation, or the chance to hook up with a more attractive female if he had only been more patient.

Those of us who are able to survive the early trials and tribulations of fucking fat chicks, butterfaces, and shady bitches without knocking them up or becoming trapped in their webs of deception become hardened and salty. We slowly develop a newer, higher set of standards for ourselves. As we grow and more women begin seeking our attention, our Jack Off Line likewise rises. Where before we would have fucked a 5 without giving it a second thought, she now is no longer even worth investing the amount of time needed to get her into bed for even the few minutes it takes to fuck her.

JOLChart2

Fucking a girl who is on the cusp of The Jack Off Line is not the goal of any man who actually gives a fuck about the quality of his life. When he’s out to get laid, of course he’s going to go for the big prizes, but there will be times where he fails to catch such chicks’ attention. Then he’ll look at that homely—but for some strange reason, slightly sexy—5.5 across the bar. He’ll know that he can snag her with minimal effort. Then he’ll ask himself: “Would I rather jack off than hook up with this girl?”

~Raul Felix

Keep reading my stuff on Thought Catalog

It’s So Hard To Say “No” To An Easy Lay

Posted on by Standard 1

Holy shit, you’ve managed to pull it off again. You’re not sure how or why, but this bitch is all about your nuts. You’re making out sloppily and have your hands inside her jeans playing with her thong. Your friends watch you from afar, cheering you via thumbs-ups and tilted beer bottles. From the brief but magical thirty minutes of conversation you’ve had with this fair maiden, it’s apparent that her morals dissolve with every gin and tonic she drinks.

As you press her on the corner of the bar devouring her face, you realize this really isn’t about you. You did nothing to earn this. You only happened to be at the right place at the right time. She is not into you, but in her state of mind, sleeping with you (or any guy) will make up for the fact that her stepfather didn’t love her enough, or whatever other slut-justification mental gymnastics she’s going through in her head. She’s just needs dick—any dick.

Oh, well…fuck it.

You don’t care. She has a warm, wet hole that wraps itself around your dick. She isn’t girlfriend or even fuck-buddy material; she’s one of those chicks whose sole purpose is to keep you from slapping your dick tonight.

You gave a subpar performance. She wasn’t worthy of the intense fuck sessions you give to the girls that actually matter. She wasn’t even worthy of a hate-fuck. It was she’s-a-random-slut-and-I-don’t-give-two-shits-about-her-having-an-orgasm-god-I-hope-I-don’t-catch-herpes sex, and you nutted in a minute. You don’t even ask her how it was. She’s left unsatisfied and you don’t give a shit.

A couple of hours ago, her push-up bra exaggerated her boobs’ size and perkiness. Now, an uninspiring sight of flab and droop remains. What should have been a luscious booty was nothing more than a ruse set up by her ability to dress well. While she was utterly mediocre-looking amid the bar’s darkness, your excitement to fuck made you overlook many more of her flaws. Now you’re stuck with this creature for the night.

You lie in bed next to her, and she tries to cuddle up. You don’t want her close to you, but you know the courteous thing to do is to allow her to rest her head on your chest. You’re a gentleman and a scholar, after all.

She asks you questions about yourself. You give one-word answers. She says you’re very handsome. You don’t compliment her back. She begins to tell you about her life and problems; you pretend to listen while thinking about the millions of other places you’d rather be. You toss in the occasional “uh-huh,” or “oh, really?” or “cool” merely to keep up the masquerade.

You kind of hate her.

She gives subtle hints that she would like her pussy eaten. You love eating pussy, but you’re not eating hers.

She talks about how she needs a good man in her life. You’re a good man, but you’re not wasting your goodness on her.

She talks about how she doesn’t normally fuck guys that quickly and you’re a very special exception; you pretend to believe her.

She caresses your chest, arms, and stomach; you wish she would just shut the fuck up and go to sleep.

You feel your dick getting hard again; damn motherfucker has a life of its own. You excuse yourself to the bathroom. You decide to take a piss, and your erect dick makes it a challenge to get all your piss into the toilet. You’re buying time so you can lose your erection.

“You disgust me,” you say to your naked reflection. “You never learn your lesson,” you shake your head. You can’t say no to easy pussy, even from such a trashy girl.

Weak man.

A weak man who lets his dick lead him to fuck women below his own standards.

A weak man who lets his dick’s need to find a warm and wet spot for the night override all his logical thought.

A weak man who lets his dick dictate all aspects of his life.

You walk out of the bathroom with your dick at half-mast. She looks at it, comes over, gets on her knees, and starts sucking.

Oh, well…fuck it.

~Raul Felix

Read more of my work at Thought Catalog

Skill Vs. Serendipity: Why Men Are Studs And Women Are Sluts

Posted on by Standard Reply

(c) cso237(taeb)

Like oh my god, I can’t believe our societal double standard. Why is it that men can fuck around and be studs, while if I fuck too many dudes, I’m a slut?” That’s a question many a young lady has asked herself as she fandangos her iPhone filled with text messages from the two guys she is currently banging at random intervals and a few others who she may bang in the future.

Why is there a double standard? Is it because the evil patriarchy has put into place the systematic oppression of women and uses sex as one of its many tools? Is it because biologically speaking, men subconsciously correlate a woman’s previous promiscuity as an indicator of future behavior and the likelihood she will cheat or worse, trap him into raising a child that isn’t his? Or maybe, just maybe, in order to get laid, a woman doesn’t have to do Jack shit and a man has to tromp through a bunch of bullshit?

Most guys don’t give a shit about girls style, race, where she went to school, or what she does for living when their sole objective is to fornicate with them. Whether she’s an indie-punk chick, a hipster, a quirky nerdy girl, a beauty queen, a preppy, a sexy tomboy, or even one of the few genuinely attractive hardcore feminazis, their pussies are all warm, pink, and moist on the inside.

As Chris Rock said, “It’s easy for ya’ll [to turn down sex], every woman in here since you were 13, every guy you’ve met has been trying to fuck ya.” The truth is that it requires absolutely no skill whatsoever on a chicks part to get a dick to fill her up. Unless she’s an absolute behemoth of a woman with a fucked up face, most of you ladies, if you truly wanted to, can look through your current contacts and find a dozen guys willing to fuck you tonight. Or you can just go to the bar, wear a cute little outfit, and make seductive little faces that convey how much you want a cock up in your guts.

Casual and random sex for you girls is a pure act of serendipity. Other than looking cute and being pleasant, it requires no investment on your part at all. You have a girls’ night out where you “just wanna dance” and enjoy yourself in your circle as you get hit on by guys you consider creepy because they don’t have the style you’re into. Then finally, one who has the look and attitude you’re into finally hits on you. All you have to do is enjoy the attention he gives you; let him do the talking, giggle, agree with him. Play with your hair; drink a few to loosen you up, and next thing you know, you have a mouth full of cum as you finish blowing him in the front seat of his Camaro.

Casual and random sex for a man is an act of skill, perseverance, and a little bit of luck. There are certain standards we as men must meet and conditions we must operate under in order to get into your panties. First, we have to have confidence to approach you and face the stacked odds that you’ll ignore us, nicely say no, or tell us to fuck off because we’re not your type. Some chicks like pretty, blue eyed white guys, others like tatted up bad boys, while others hate their fathers enough to date a man of a different race. If we’re not the right type for you, we’re shit out of luck.

Secondly, you ladies have to be in the right mood to be even hit on. If the chicks period is extra heavy, if she’s undergoing some stressful time where she just wants the whole world to leave her alone, or she feels like being a cunt because she’s too cool to talk to anyone; then most men, no matter how charming or good looking, have no chance.

Let’s say that a man is able to jump those first two hurdles, he has the look a girl is attracted to or at least interested in and she is not in some rabid bitch mood. He still has to say things to keep a girls little feminine minds interested. This is where he has to use his experiences from failures and successes of yore. He has to assess the situation, pick a subject matter to talk about that is sure to make her feel intellectually stimulated, emotionally connected, and make her laugh. Depending on how good-looking of a dude he is, the degree of how funny he has to be varies.

Then there is the unforgiving Best Friend Forever (BFF) Barrier. Ladies, many of you have perfected this to an art form by the age of 21. You clumsily flop from one bar to another in your high heels. Upon reaching a new destination, through slut-mosis, you form a sphere shaped BFF Barrier effectively blocking out the rest of the world. Usually, the hottest chick will be in the middle, underneath the watchful of eyes of her less attractive friends. If a man should be so lucky to be able to attract the attention of the girl he’s after, he still must win approval from iron fisted BFF Barrier. He must outwit, charm, befriend, and persuade them to rally for his cause. If he is unable to do so, then they will veto him by passive aggression: they will start looking the other way, check their phones, and physically boxing him out with their flailing, I mean, dancing.

Upon completing that objective, it’s still not all smooth sailing from there. If a man is unable to seal the deal on the first night, there is less than 25% chance that’ll he’ll ever see or hear from this chick again to get another try since western women these days are notoriously fickle. They’ll lie about not seeing a text (bitch please, you’re on your phone 24/7, we’re not stupid, we don’t believe your poorly thought out lies), will wait forever to respond, will make plans but never confirm, or flake on dates without giving it a second thought because they just didn’t feel like it or found a better option.

Its rough, but these are the facts of the dating world that we as men operate in. We understand the supply and demand system. We have a demand for your little pink lady parts and chicks, as the supplier, have autonomy over the distribution of the goods. We want those goods, and are thus are willing to trudge through market driven price of chick-bullshit that comes with it. A man has to be able to brush off rejection with a simple, “Oh well, fuck it, her loss,” and move on, never thinking of her again. While most chicks, if they ever even have the balls to hit on guy and get rejected, will make it an emotionally significant event in their lives that will inspire many a shitty poem and emotioncon laden text messages to their BFF’s.

Adjusting for those extremely rare times when he got retardedly lucky, he had to earn every notch he gets. He had to have the confidence to approach, the right look, catch her at the right time, say the right things, make her laugh and smile, charm her and her friends. If he didn’t pee in her butt the night they met, he had to take her for drinks, charm her some more, impress her with his life story and interests, not say anything too stupid, make the right moves, in order to just lay the pipe. For ever pipe he laid, he has had to deal with half a dozen or more other chicks shitty attitudes, lies, flakiness, bullshit, fickleness, shit tests, stupid friends, irrational behaviors, and a host of other unique problems. This is why a man who is able to secure sex from various women is considered a stud. All a woman has to do is: look relatively decent, show up to a place where men gather, not be a bitch, and open her legs. She doesn’t have to approach, she doesn’t have to particular look, she doesn’t have to catch him at the right time, say the right things, or even win his friends over. She just needs to show up, be serendipitous, and it’s cocks galore. This is why a chick who has sex easily with various men is a considered a slut. In a capitalistic society, we value skill over mediocrity. The skills of being a stud are so hard to acquire that only a small percentage of men are able to accomplish it, in turn, society holds it in prestige. While the low level skill of being a slut can easily be mastered by any chick with a shitty enough upbringing.

So, ladies, as you text the couple of guys you’re banging, just think about how much bullshit you put him through to get into those panties or better yet, think of all the men you’ve rejected and how many rejections they have to go through just to eventually get a piece of ass. Surely, you didn’t have to put as much effort to get the current cocks you’re sucking.

~Raul Felix

Appeared On Thought Catalog: Skill Vs. Serendipity: Why Men Are Studs And Women Are Sluts.

The Pick-Up Follies: The Dance Fiasco

Posted on by Standard 3

Dancing is one of the most common and more effective ways to pick up a chick, slightly behind dragging her into a van. Unfortunately for me, I’m pretty shitty at it. The level of shittiness is equal to that of drunk white people at a wedding. The only thing I know how to do with some level of competence is twirling and a two-step. Nevertheless, it doesn’t stop me from incorporating it as one of the weapons in my arsenal in the grand crusade to get into a chicks’ panties.

I met up with my Ranger buddy, “Dirty Dick,” for the Old World Oktoberfest in Huntington Beach, CA. The original plan involved about six of us meeting up there and getting wrecked, but everyone flaked except for us two. He had with him his latest piece of fine ass who’s name doesn’t really matter. All that matters was his end-goal to fuck her and hoping a healthy dosage of alcohol into her system would expedite the process. We were drinking our overpriced beer, socializing, and scouting out a potential target for my irresistible charm. The pickings were slim since most of the women seemed to be with men already. I walked around and began to hit on a voluptuous Asian chick. I was quickly rejected and moved on. I hit on a thin white girl, and it was going well until she dropped the boyfriend bomb, after which I ejected myself from the conversation. I was three beers deep when I headed back to chill with Dirty Dick and his chick.

We were standing on the edge of the dance floor when we saw a decent looking chick with hipster glasses and middle aged woman dancing together. Dirty Dick pushed me to go dance with them, but I resisted because the timing didn’t feel right. Eventually, they stopped dancing and happened to stand next to me. Like a tiger on the hunt, I saw my prey, opportunity, and I pounced.

Raul: “I like your moves.” I lay out a smirk.

HipsterGlasses: “Yeah? You want to dance?”

Raul: “Let’s go.” I grab her by the hand and lead her to the dance floor.

She was a wild one. She eagerly spun underneath my hand as I twirled her again and again. She moved back and forth on the dance floor like a she-devil in heat, at times grinding up with me and them scurrying away suddenly, as if to tease me. Her plump breasts bounced, and her ass swayed lusciously. With each move, my eagerness to shove my dick so deep inside of her pussy that my semen would squirt out her mouth grew. She would aggressively dash toward me so I could twirl her. It required my full concentration and sense of balance to keep her from falling. I twirled her like a tornado.

Then she slipped from my hand, and I heard a big crash. She was on the floor screaming in pain. “Oh fuck,” I said and rushed to help her. I tried to lift her up and get her back on her feet. “Ahhh… put me down! Put me down!” she said. I complied with her request. She began to grab her ankle. Suddenly her family came over, helped her up and she hobbled away to sit down on the table. Her mother comes up to me and told me that it wasn’t my fault.

I stood there shocked for a moment, not really sure what to do. Dirty Dick and his current fling were looking at me, attempting to contain their laughter. I walked over to them.

Dirty Dick: “Did you break her?”

Raul: “I don’t fucking know. I hope not.”

Dirty Dick: “Dude, she flew across the dance floor.”

Raul: “Fuck.”

I walked over to her.

Raul: “Are you okay?”

HipsterGlasses: “No. I broke my ankle.” Someone hands her some ice and she it places on her ankle.

Raul: “Oh fuck. I’m sorry…”

HipsterGlasses: “It’s not your fault. I broke it playing soccer eight months back. Tonight was the first night I’ve been out without my cast.”

Raul: “Shit…” I’m not sure what to say or do in this situation. I still wanted to talk to her because I still had the goal of banging her, despite the current change of events.

HipsterGlasses: “You don’t have to stick around. You can go back to having fun with your friends. I’ll be okay.” Tear start forming in her eyes from the physical pain.

Raul: “Let me get you a drink. What do you want?”

HipsterGlasses: “Vodka Redbull.”

I went to buy her the Vodka Redbull and left it with her and rejoined Dirty Dick. I felt that the best play was to give her a drink and check up on her on occasion since I had no fucking idea what to talk to her about in her hindered state. About 15 minutes passed and I decided to check up on her.

Raul: “How’s the foot?”

HipsterGlasses: “Still fucked up.”

I attempted to make small talk in effort to distract her from her ankle pain and dared to dream that I still had the chance to get into her panties by playing the caring, empathetic guy. Though there was plenty of evidence toward the contrary, I gave it one last shot.

Raul: “How about you give me your number, and I take you out to make up for this?”

HipsterGlasses: “I don’t really trust you yet. Maybe if you get me another drink.”

Raul: “Sure.”

I walked away with the full intent of boozing her into forgiving me when I ran into two other girls hanging out. I completely forgot about HipsterGlasses and began to hit on them. I must have talked to them for 15 minutes when I learned the one I was targeting had a boyfriend and the other one I wasn’t really into. I went to the bar and ordered a Vodka Redbull.

Which do you think was the cute one?

Which do you think was the cute one?

By the time I got back to the dancehall, HipsterGlasses and her family were gone. I sighed and headed back to hang with Dirty Dick, who at this point was devouring the face of his female companion. There were no other single chicks to hit on, and I resigned myself to getting drunk. I was 0 for 4 for the night. Not every night can be a winner, but every night can be a learning experience. This taught me that if you break a girls ankle and are still trying to get into her panties and are going to buy her a drink to do so, don’t get distracted by other girls. Keep your eyes on the prize. Or maybe there isn’t any lesson and random shit just happens, and there is no way you could have succeeded any way.

~Raul Felix

“Do you have any other wacky adventures with the fairer sex?” Yes, of course: The Pick-Up Follies: The Gimp

The Pick-Up Follies: The Halloween Abandonment

Posted on by Standard 15

It was Halloween 2009, I got invited to a Halloween Party held at a bar in San Juan Capristano for a network marketing (pyramid scheme) company that I was a part of. Always being one to sport funny Halloween costumes, I dressed up as Frylock from Aqua Teen Hunger Force. I arrived alone and met up with some of the people I sort of knew. I began doing what Raul Felix does best, I started drinking irresponsibly and socializing.

I made my rounds, fully confident that I had the best costume there because who the fuck is going to top dressing up as a box of french fries? I’m about three or four drinks in and I start talking to girls and flirting, but nothing is connecting. I start getting a little frustrated and drink some more in an effort to amp up my charm, which history has dictated is always a great idea.

That’s when I saw her. She was dressed up as a vampire witch thing or something. Actually, I don’t even remember what the fuck she was dressed up as but I can tell you it was seductive enough to attract my attention. Or I may have just been drunk and desperate. She was tall, blonde, had a voluptuous body, big breasts, and my ultimate weakness, a full ass. She was a cougar in her mid-forties. I positioned myself next to her, and noticed she was drinking a beer.

Raul: “Wow, a woman who knows how to drink beer, that’s rare.”

VampireWitch: “Yeah, I don’t do any of those girlie drinks… like you.” She points to the white russian I’m drinking.

Raul: “Hey, the white russian is the manliest of all drinks. The Dude from The Big Lebowski drinks them.”

VampireWitch: “I like that movie. Still though, that’s still borderline fruity. Are those cherry’s in there?”

Raul: “Yes, cherries are bad ass. They add a sweet little flavor to it. Try it.” I give her the drink and she takes a sip from it. Here is a pro tip for you: if a woman takes a drink from your drink or allows you to take a drink from hers, it means she is somewhat interested in you or at the very least not completely repulsed by you.

VampireWitch: “Not bad. You’re too handsome to be wearing that silly costume.”

Raul: “Its funny though! I’m Frylock from Aqua Teen Hunger Force.” She gave me a blank look which truly indicted how far apart our generations were.

Neither one of these girl is VampireWitch.

Neither one of these girls is VampireWitch.

Our conversation then transformed into the mindless basics and we started dancing. That’s when I felt a vibration and looked down at my cell phone. A buddy of mine just texted me to remind me to pick him up at his work so we could go to some house party he invited me to. I told VampireWitch that I needed to go, got her number, and gave her a kiss.

I picked up “LittleBean” at his work and quickly informed him that he needs to take over driving responsibilities for I planned to get shit housed. We stopped by the store, bought beer, and headed to the house party. By the time we arrived, I was a few beers away from peaking and spiraling down into the abyss.

The house party was all of his co-workers and their friends. LittleBean was the only person I knew. Since I tend to be somewhat outgoing when I drink, I started talking to people and mingling. I don’t recall the exact order of these events, but the following ensued throughout my stay there:

1. I flirted with some chick in a Little Red Riding Hood outfit and she was digging me and rubbing on me, but I ended up fucking it up somehow.

2. I smoked some pot and started becoming extremely paranoid.

3. Some dude was overprotective of his female cousin and I had a man to man talk with him about how he should let her be her own woman.

4. I took a couple of shots of whiskey.

5. I vomited in the bushes.

6. The rest of the chicks rejected my ambitious, but sloppy and misguided attempts to hit on them.

7. I got into an argument with the owner of the house and got LittleBean and myself kicked out.

I'm STILL pissed off at myself for fucking it up this cute chick.

I’m STILL pissed off at myself for fucking it up with this cute chick.

Raul: “Fuck those mother fuckers, I’m going to call VampireWitch.” I call her up and she informs me that she is staying in Newport Beach at a friends house. She invites me over for us to have some fun. LittleBean drives my truck there and I stumbled out of the truck and VampireWitch grabs me.

VampireWitch: “You need to take that ugly costume off.” I take it off and throw it in my truck. Since VampireWitch agreed to give me a ride to pick up my truck the next day, LittleBean drives away and goes home.

I aggressively begin kissing her and grabbing her big ass. She then stops me, grabs my hand, and leads me into her friends multi-million dollar home. We sneak in, careful not to make too much noise because she didn’t want her friend to know, and go into the guest bedroom. I shove her onto the bed and get on top of her kissing her passionately. With each messy drunk movement, taking off an article of clothing. I take off her bra, releasing her big breast, and begin sucking on her nipples. I get completely naked. Then I work my way down to taking off her panties, she stops me.

VampireWitch: “Do you have a condom?”

Raul: “Yeah of course… wait… fuck! They’re in my truck!”

VampireWitch: “Are you kidding me?”

Raul: “You could suck my dick.”

VampireWitch: “Well you do have a nice cock.” She starts sucking and slobbering all over my cock. After a while I’m ready to cum and since I’m a man brought up by internet porn, I opt to cum on her face.

She cleans herself off and we are laying in bed talking and waiting for me to recharge when her phones rings.

VampireWitch: “Oh shit, it’s my husband.”

Raul: “Your husband? I didn’t know you were married.”

VampireWitch: “Yeah, it’s a weird situation. We’re about to get separated, but he still acts like we’re together.” She then begins talking to her husband on the phone, argues with him, and then…

VampireWitch: “What? You’re here? All right, I’ll come outside.” She then just leaves and to goes talk to her husband who is outside.

I lay there. I’m not really sure what I’m suppose to do in this situation. Do I wait? Do I go out there to see what’s going on? Do I just leave? I decide to just sit tight and wait.

Ten minutes. Fuck. She is not back yet. Maybe I should call her cell? No, if she is with him that would be suspicious. Fuck.

Twenty minutes. Fuck. I don’t know where the fuck I am. I should leave and call LittleBean to pick me up. I dial LittleBean and the phone goes straight to voicemail. Fuck.

Thirty minutes. Fuck. I have to piss. All the drinking has caught up to me. I have to find the bathroom in this house. My bladder is going to explode. Fuck.

I tip toe out the guest bedroom into the living room of the house. After much quiet stumbling around, I am able to find the bathroom and take a bladder emptying piss. I walk out of the bathroom and I realize, I have no idea where the guest bedroom is at. God fucking damn it. I begin walking around this huge house, trying not to make any noise. Seriously, picture this in your mind. I’m a 23 year old Mexican male, not wearing a t-shirt, reeking of booze and marijuana walking and stumbling around the house of some rich person in Newport Beach who has no idea I am there on Halloween. Yeah, how does that look like to you?

I see a swimming pool. I somehow convince myself that I must have passed a swimming pool on my way to the bathroom. I open the glass door and shut it behind me. I then realize that there was no way I passed a swimming pool. I attempt to go back in and the door won’t open. Fuck. I locked myself out. Southern California may not be Chicago or New York City, but it does get pretty cold at night in October.

I’m outside next to the swimming pool freezing my balls off for a good ten minutes. I walk around the backyard trying to figure out if I can just climb over the fence and break myself out of this house. I quickly realize there was no way to do it without making a shit ton of noise. I begin to pace back and forward trying to think of a plan and then as I looked into the house through the glass door I see a middle aged man. Oh well, here goes nothing. I tap on the glass.

He hears my tapping and looks me and is startled. Again, picture it in your mind, a 23 year old Mexican male with no t-shirt is tapping on the glass door of a mansion in Newport Beach on Halloween night at three in the morning. I’m lucky Californians are such pussies about guns. I wave at him and he walks away for a few minutes and comes back with his wife. She is holding on to a phone, probably ready to speed dial 911 and he has a baseball bat in his hand. He cracks open the glass door.

Man: “Can I help you?”

Raul: “Hey sir, I’m sorry, I was here with VampireWitch and she sort of just left me in the bedroom. I went out to take a piss and somehow ended up out here.” I said while shivering.

Man: “You were here with VampireWitch?”

Raul: “Yeah…”

Man: “Hold on a moment.”

I then hear him echo what I said to his wife. Then I hear the wife call up VampireWitch and asking her if she had some strange boy over the house. She then yells at VampireWitch for leaving me behind and bringing strangers into HER house. The Man comes back.

Man: “Your story checks out. But I don’t know who you are and you can’t stay here. You have to leave.”

Raul: “I don’t have a car right now. My friend dropped me off.”

Man: “God damn it.”

He shuts the door and comes back a few moments later with some blankets.

Man: “You can sleep here in the backyard. We’ll give you a ride home in the morning.” He hands me the blankets.

Raul: “Thank you.”

I then lay down on a lounge chair and wrap myself up in the blankets. I doze off into a very uncomfortable, shivering sleep. The bull shit a man goes through to get his dick wet.

~Raul Felix

I like reading about you failing with women. I want more: The Pick-Up Follies: Taqueria Hottie

For The Women

Posted on by Standard 9

“If there hadn’t been women we’d still be squatting in a cave eating raw meat, because we made civilization in order to impress our girlfriends.”
-Orson Welles

Behind every form of art composed by a man there is an ulterior motive. Artistic expression is important and good for the soul, but what a man is truly trying to do is attract the attention of higher quality woman than he would have other wise. I trudge forward each day, not only because I know this what I want to do with my life on a professional level, but because as an added benefit, my little artsy fartsyness attracts the attention and forms a connection with women I wouldn’t have otherwise.

Successful and ambitious men are valued higher to women than not-so-successful and slothful ones. The more success a man gains throughout his lifetime, the more value he has to prospective women. The quantity and quality of his options increases dramatically. The driving force behind everything we do as men is to get more and better pussy, plain and simple. John Mayer can fuck at least 80% of the women who go to his concerts. Same holds true of Tucker Max with women who go to his book signings and Ray Lewis with women who are Baltimore Raven fans.

I’m not a fully successful man yet. I have to work my ass off for every piece of pussy I get. I get rejected by 90-95% of the women I approach. Women don’t just offer themselves up to me. I have to play the game like everyone else. A game where women have the distinct advantage because all they have to do is dress up slutty, show some cleavage, not be total repulsive freaks, keep their cuntish attitudes to a minimum, and they’ll have men hitting on them and offering to buy them drinks.

I play it hard. I have to say the right thing to peak her interest, I have to have the look she is attracted to, she has to be in the right mood to be hit on, and her friends have to not be cock blockers who will box me out. Yes, you girls know exactly what the fuck I am talking about. That little box out move you pull where you grab your friend, have her dance or talk close to you, put your backs towards the guy, then ignore him completely and act aloof while averting eye contact. You’re not sly, but whatever you got to do to keep creepers away right?

How important is success value? I’ll share with you a short tale. I was home on leave just freshly back from a deployment and went to a bar on Main Street, Huntington Beach. I started talking to this cute blonde girl and totally dropped the I’m an Army Ranger and freshly back from combat bomb in an effort to get her panties wet. It worked. She was digging me, rubbing up on me, and laughing at my shitty jokes. Things were going well. Then, her cunt of a friend strolls up to her and says something about how she met some guys who were defensive linemen for the University of Southern California. The chick grabs the blonde’s hand and took her away easily. Guess who banged the blonde and who went home to jerk off using his own tears as lubrication?

I can’t hate on those guys. They worked hard to become defensive players who were good enough to play at the college level. She obviously thought it was more impressive that they were college football players than the fact that I was a veteran. She was most likely just pumped and dumped by them any ways. The lesson is learned: Excelling at a form of entertainment makes women go after you and puts you in a better position to have your pick to use and discard them as you wish, and have your choice of the highest quality ones to make your significant other.

Why does a man play music? Yes, to express himself, but also because it makes the groupies in the front row privates tingle. Why does he paint a painting? Cause those artsy chicks dig it and will suck his cock. Why does he write? Because women who love his writing will write to him and offer their bodies. Even a man as ugly as Charles Bukowski had lovely women half his age clamoring to be pounded by him.

I don’t have athletic, musical, or painting talent. I’m not the smoothest talker and while I’m nice looking, I’m not great looking. However, I have writing talent. This is the place where I turn the tables in my favor. Day by day I hone myself. I’m obscure, I’m a nobody, and it’s going to be that way for a while. As I build myself, I’ll start getting messages from female fans who want to be more than just fans. It will be a random one here and there at first. Then a few more and a couple of chicks offering to do a threesome. Until, one day, I hit the big time and I’ll have more sexual offers thrown at me than I can handle. Then I’ll start to wonder if these women actually like me for the real me or my image, money, and fame. I’ll then write a post about how women are gold digging bitches and how I wish I could find a good girl to be with like the type who liked me when I was a nobody.

Those days are far ahead. Meanwhile, I’ll keep my scrappy and hungry attitude. Roll your eyes now, but one day, the words I write, will win over the hearts of the best of you.

P.S. As for why women and homosexual men create art, I don’t fucking know. I’m neither one of those.

~Raul Felix

If you’re not the best, you may be the rest: I’d Pee in Her Butt