Category Archives: Men

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

0

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

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

Screw Your Daddy Issues

Posted on by Standard 2

Those that know me in real life know that my father is a non-entity in my life. I know who he is and where he is at, but he has never been a part of who I am and who I am going to become. Instead of playing the victim like so many youngsters like to do, I’ve chosen a different path and attempted to find manhood on my own by seeking out truly masculine mentors. With that in mind, I have a new piece featured on Thought Catalog called Screw Your Daddy Issues. Check it out, mother fuckers.

~Raul Felix

The Pick-Up Follies: The Snow Fatty

Posted on by Standard 8

I was in my seat on an airplane in between two very attractive women. Yet, I was unable to talk them. My breath stank and I reeked of booze, smoke, desperation, fat girl spit, and body odor. Normally, I would have started a little coy conversation in effort to see if there was a connection, but not this time. This time, I sat there in silence brooding on the foul odor that had been cast upon my body. God was just, I was being punished for the sins I had committed the previous night.

We had spent two weeks in late October 2008 on a training trip in Fort Bragg. After doing our military training for the day, we spent nearly every night of those two weeks getting hammered beyond reason or recourse. It was our last night in North Carolina and we decided to have one final hurrah before heading back to Washington. “Jonathan” and I tried to rally up a bunch of the guys to go out, but most rejected the idea knowing that we had an early morning flight to catch. We were able to get a humble group, “Blitzy”, “Tiburón”, “Jonathan”, and I to go out.

We rode through the mean streets of Fayetteville to a bar called Doghouse Bar & Grill. The place was refreshingly different from the typical bars you see outside military bases. The amount of high and tights with off-duty soldiers wearing their dog tags outside their t-shirts as a fashion accessory was kept to a minimum. Typical of southern bars, there was a cloud of cigarette smoke that engulfed the whole place. There was a live band playing country music, cheap beers, and a decent female to male ratio.

Since I always keep my head on a swivel looking for attractive women to hit on and promptly get rejected by, I noticed there was only one really hot chick in the whole entire place. Our drinks came and we made a toast to the good times and to 2/75. I kept my eye on the hot chick and noticed that she was eye fucking the singer the whole time. After he completed one of the songs, she went up to kiss him passionately. With that kiss, went my one percent chance at success with the only hot chick. It looked like hitting on the bountiful subpar chicks of the bar were the conditions I was going to operate under.

I was drinking my alcohol at a respectable rate in order to boost my courage levels so I could actually approach women. While these days I am able to hit on a chick like nothing, back then, I still needed a good helping of alcohol to get myself to talk to one at a bar. The alcohol began to set in, ever so gently, taking over my psyche. Liquid courage had been spliced with my blood. I targeted a table made up of fuckable, but unimpressive looking women. I went in and begun speaking to one about witty and charming subject matter that surely sparked her interest. After a couple of minutes, the rest of my buddies decided to join the table. One guy in particular, Blitzy, began to hit it off with one of a generic looking chicks. Eventually, the girls tired of me and I went back to sitting at the bar alone. Blitzy was forming a true spiritual connection with the generic chick.

All the guys except for Blitzy rejoined me at the bar and we continued toasting and drinking. A couple more drinks in, I locked eyes with a woman who was in the late stages of being a cougar and in the early stages of being a sabertooth. She smiles at me, I sat there frozen not sure what to do.

Raul: “That chick is looking at me.”

Jonathan: “Go for it.”

Raul: “But she’s really old.”

Jonathan: “So? Women like that will show you some crazy ass shit that you can only dream of.”

Raul: “Really?”

Jonathan: “Yeah man.”

I walked up to her and begun flirting with her all awkwardly because I wasn’t sure how the fuck you’re supposed to hit on an older woman. She was dirty blonde, with rough skin conditioned by many a decade spent in smokey bar, and had a cigarette in her mouth. I don’t recall what we talked about or what poor excuse of seductive language I used to get her to the point of holding my hand. She pulled me close and said:

Older Woman: “You’re really cute, you should come home with me.” She squeezes my hand and places it on her thigh.

Raul: “Uh… I can’t… I have to stay here with my buddies. They’re my ride.”

Older Woman: “I’ll make sure you won’t forget it.”

Raul: “I can’t, I’m sorry.” I gave her a hug and walked back.

I’ll make no excuses about it. I pussed out because I was really intimidated by this older woman even though she wasn’t that attractive.

I rejoined my buddies and was mocked for having fucked it up with the almost-sabertooth. While my little frolic with older temptation occurred, it seemed that Blitzy had truly formed a one a kind connection with the generic chick. He went about consummating their one in a million love by fucking her doggy-style in the back seat of the van while she stuck her head out the window vomiting.

We continued to drink and were inebriated to the point where we sung along with the band. All morals and standards were being slain by the alcohol demon. Then she appeared: a paled skinned woman, with dark hair, and humongous breasts. She was like Snow White, if Snow White was about 100 pounds heavier. I didn’t care, I walked up to her.

Raul: “Let me guess, you’re drinking a Jack and Coke?”

Snow Fatty: “No, it’s a Rum and Coke, but good guess.”

Raul: “I like rum and coke, let me have a taste,” I take a sip out her drink, “Not bad.”

I introduced her to my buddies and we’re introduced to her shady looking friend “Daringer.” I got close to her and heavily flirted, touching her here and there. Fully aware that I was way above her league, I knew it was all a matter of playing the waiting game before my dick will be slaying her orifices. Eventually, the bar begins to close and Blitzy wants to go back to the motel. I asked the Snow Fatty if she could give us a ride to the airport the next morning and she agreed to do so. Snow Fatty, Tiburón, Jonathan, and I all pile into Daringer’s shitty little sedan.

We arrived at the mobile home park she calls home. She and I immediately head to the bedroom. I do my standard operating procedure of shoving her on the bed, positioning myself on top of her, and kissing her. All the while, firmly squeezing her huge breasts. I begun to undress her and that’s when the magnitude of the situation hit me. Her clothes, albeit not well, hid how fat she truly was. I had estimated a 100 pounds overweight Snow White, not a grotesque 150 pounds overweight Snow White. I made the executive decision not to fuck her, instead opting to get my dick sucked until I nutted.

I straddled on top of her, had her support her head on the pillow, and began thrusting full force into her throat. She stops me at some point and wants to fuck. I tell her that I don’t have a condom and luckily, she doesn’t have any laying around either. I continued until I busted in her hair.

I came out the bedroom and Tiburón was passed out on the couch. Jonathan and Daringer were nowhere to be found. It was nearly 4 a.m. and our flight was to leave at 7 a.m. I called Jonathan up and he told me that he went to get some cocaine with Daringer. Since they were my only ride, I began to panic a bit, but then decided that most practical solution was to sleep until they return.

At 6:15 a.m. I was awoken by the pounding of the door and my buddies voices. I scrambled to my feet and scoured the floor for my shoes. “Felix, we have to go man! Lieutenant Snuffy keeps on calling Sergeant Tiburón and he’s fucking pissed,” yells Jonathan. Fuck! I finished getting dressed and we all piled into the car. We were about 20 minutes away from the airport as Daringer drove us as quickly as his little jalopy could take us. Every five minutes en route, Lieutenant Snuffy called Tiburón to get a status report on where the fuck we were at.

At 6:35 a.m. we arrived at the airport. We stumbled out of the car and right before we were going to run off the Snow Fatty asked me, “You’re going to come back one day right? You got my number.” I smile at her and said, “Of course,” and gave her a reassuring hug and run off to the check-in. One of our buddies was on stand by with our bags and we checked in. We got through security rather quickly and ran to the gate where we met up with Lieutenant Snuffy and the rest of the men. “I don’t want to hear any of you fucking idiots speak. I’m going to take care of this shit when we get back! Got it?” He yelled.

“Roger, Sir!” we all responded. We tried our best not smile and giggle at the events that unfolded the previous night. We headed into the boarding gate and Jonathan took out his phone and showed me a picture he took of Snow Fatty. “Ugh… that’s pretty gross,” I said with disappointment. We boarded the plane and I sat in between two lovely women. That’s when I noticed how horrible I must smell.

~Raul Felix

“Tell me more about your follies of picking up women.” Here mother fucker: The Pick-Up Follies: Sleazy E’s Revenge

Who’s Fucking My Woman?

Posted on by Standard 26

“You know what is really fucked up?” says my buddy, “Your future wife is out there right now and she’s banging some other dude. There’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Yeah, your future wife could be getting gang banged right now,” I say with a smirk because I think I am clever.

A few hours pass and I’m working out at the gym, an epiphany strikes. ”Holy fuck! My future wife could be getting gang banged right now! FUCKING WHORE!” I think to myself, “No fuck that, I’ll never accept that in a woman who would be my significant other.”

Even without going to the orgy extremes, there is still a very high chance that she probably has some other dudes schlong nestled snuggly in one of her pleasure holes. More than likely, some other guy has already been her first blow job, fuck, and anal experience. As a fully grown man, there isn’t anything you can do about it. Girls are losing their virginity before they even graduate high school. Unless you want to run the risk of losing your anal virginity in federal-pound-me-in-the-ass prison because of statutory rape, it’s a fact of life you’re going to have to accept.

I try to reason with myself that maybe she won’t be a virgin by the time she gets to me, but please don’t be a used up whore. Then I churn in my head all the shit I’ve learned about women over my short lifetime. I think of the girls I’ve known who’ve gone through their slut phases in their teens and twenties. They are now settling down into a real adult relationship or having kids, kissing their little infants with lips that have sucked dozens of cocks.

This is where the modern man and traditional machismo man inside me have a moral qualm. “I’ve had my share of random pussy and sexual experiences,” says the modern man, “How can I be a hypocrite?” Then machismo man says, “You’re a man. It’s your nature to go out to fuck random women, do stupid shit, and then apply the lessons you’ve learned when you get into a relationship with a woman who is actually worth settling down with. Whores are to be used and then promptly tossed aside.”

“Women are people too. They’re free to make their own sexual choices,” says the modern man.

“Yes, they are. You don’t have to accept them though. Just as she has the right to fuck around, you have the right to not to take a woman who has fucked around too much as a candidate for a partner,” rebuttals the machismo man.

“Well, that’s true. But, you’re not going to find a virgin over the age of 18 though. Even if you did, there’s a 95.5% chance it’s either because she’s a religious prude or just an ogre of a woman,” says the modern man.

The machismo man pauses, “You make a good fucking point. There is a balance to be had, the number just can’t be too high.”

“What’s too high of a number?” Asks the modern man.

“I don’t fucking know. Uh… hopefully in the single digits or at the most, one dude per year since she’s lost her v-card,” responds the machismo man.

I can already hear the responses about how it’s hypocritical or how if she had safe sex, it really shouldn’t matter. Or more likely, it shows lack of a self confidence in a man because he can’t handle a woman who enjoyed sex or that he’s slut-shaming. There is nothing wrong with a woman loving sex. Women who love sex are fucking awesome. The issue is how easy it was for her to spread those legs to whatever cute guy she came across after having one or two cosmos.

This is the feeling a lot of us machismo men, yes, I unapologetically admit to being very machismo, possess: we want to conquer and dominate. We want to be the best lover in our woman’s life and it irks us to know someone else possessed her at some point. We don’t want to share. We don’t want to boldly go where dozens (maybe hundreds) of cocks have gone before. We want to go to pristine, fresh grounds that only a few, very select and lucky cocks got to prance around in.

Does a woman become a less valuable member of society because she’s had a train ran on her by a platoon worth of men? Of course not. It doesn’t make her a bad person or vile creature to be avoided. She can still be a great friend, co-worker, and contributing member of society. It’s her right to do whatever the fuck she wants. There are always consequences to said actions. Consequences of being a whore is that some men are going to be put off by it.

Just like many a woman may not want to be with me because I’m Hispanic, self-centered, not her type, unstable, lower class, unestablished, an alcoholic, uneducated, or many other factors. For me, being a whore is a deal breaker, plain and simple. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll still fuck her but take her as serious girlfriend material? Not going to happen.

Some may curse me for wanting that, hoping that I do end up falling in love with a whore to teach me a lesson for having the balls to state my standards. That’s on par with me wishing for a woman to end up with a cheating husband because she said she didn’t want to be with a man who cheats. Or wishing a Jewish woman ends up with non-Jew because she said she only dates Jewish men.

Part of being a free individual in our society is that we get to pick the qualities we value in our partners. No body is perfect and we’re all fucked up in our own way, but each of us have qualities that we put at a higher priority above others. A woman can be a whore and be a great person or a woman can be a virgin and be a total piece of shit.

For myself, I value looks, intelligence, good character, ambition, and non-sluttiness. Other mens lists may be different. A woman’s list may be different. Your list may be different. It’s our quest to find that person that possess the qualities we value highly and hopefully, we possess the qualities they value highly in return so they’ll actually want to be with us.

Am I such a horrible person for not wanting a whore as a significant other? Its fine, you wouldn’t want to be with such a backwards thinking, macho, misogynistic asshole who doesn’t value your right to express your sexual liberations by having cocks of all sorts destroying your orifices any ways. And future ex-wife, if you’re reading this, please try to keep it in the single digits.

~Raul Felix

“You sexist pig! Who do you think you are?” At least I didn’t make a rape reference… oh wait: Politcally Incorrect and Loving It

Guy Talk: Hot Tranny

Posted on by Standard 8

Raul: “Dude, that fucking Tranny was hotter than most chicks. I am genuinely jealous that you picked her up.”

Calvin: “I know, right? It was really sexually confusing.”

Raul: ”Well, it’s not gay because you weren’t attracted to her masculine features. You were attracted to the parts of her that looked like a hot chick.”

Calvin: “Still, she told me she had a dick.”

Raul: “Ewww… fuck that.”

Calvin: “I figure the only way I could do it is if she and I were both fucking the same chick. The chick could be sucking my dick and she could be fucking her from behind. That way I only see the her face and boobs and I can kiss her and play with her boobs.”

Raul: “So you can go to second base with her? Anything after second base would be gay?”

Calvin: “Exactly.”

Raul: “Fuck yeah. She had some really fucking nice boobs. I wish I could have seen them like you got to.”

Calvin: “They were really nice.”

Raul: “I don’t know man. I wouldn’t be able get to over the fact that she had a dick.”

Calvin: “That part is sort of gross.”

Raul: “Maybe if she was post-op it would be easier.”

Calvin: “Surgeries are pretty good these days.”

Raul: “Do they actually make it look like a legit vagina?”

Calvin: “Yeah man. They use your scrotum skin to replicate the labia.”

Raul: “What about lubrication? There is no way they can replicate that.”

Calvin: “I don’t know. Just use lube I guess.”

Raul: “Do they still feel pleasure if you fuck them in the pussy? One of the best parts of sex for me is making my woman feel good and if she doesn’t feel anything, what the hell is the point?”

Calvin: “I think they use the skin from your dick head to make a makeshift clit. That’s all a clit really is, an underdeveloped dick.”

Raul: “You think technology will get so good one day that they’ll be able to perfectly create everything about the vagina, even the whole lubrication and pleasure aspect of it?”

Calvin: ”I’m sure it will.”

Raul: “If I did fuck one, I’d prefer to stay blissfully ignorant.”

Calvin: “You can always tell by the hands. You can change everything but the hands.”

Raul: “I’ll fucking keep a look out for that. I don’t want to fuck a dude.”

~Raul Felix

“That’s fucking disgusting. You’re going to hell!” Fuck you and read: Guy Talk: Animal Love

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

Lost in Manhood

Posted on by Standard 18

I’ll admit it, sometimes I feel lost in this thing called manhood. There are times and days when I feel like I am on track toward becoming the man that I want to become. Other days, I feel derailed and demotivated. On those days I look back and wonder what the fuck I did with those 24 hours. The answer is disheartening: nothing, and a lot of it. That’s when I look deeply at the reflection in the mirror and spit at it in disgust.

There is no urgency for me to completely grow up. I don’t have crushing student loans, a mortgage, or car payments. I don’t have a serious relationship with the prospect of marriage in the foreseeable future. I’ve even managed to avoid the ultimate crux of being Mexican: getting a chick pregnant at a young age. No little Raul Jr running around draining money out of my bank account, crushing and shitting on my dreams with his mere existence. My working theory is that it’s because I specialize in fucking and dating white chicks who dislike their fathers enough to be with a dark skinned man, but not so much that they want to be with a black guy. Hispanic chicks can’t be trusted to fuck without condoms even in relationships; they’re insanely fertile and since a vast majority of them come from overbearing catholic families, abortion is not an option. Asian chicks never dig me because they know dating me will bring great shame to their family.

Raul Felix only has to only worry about Raul Felix. Since I am very self-centered and a bit aloof to what others feel, it’s a pretty easy task. I’m the only male in my family over the age of 23 who isn’t married or doesn’t have a little shit-machine ankle biter. However, that doesn’t mean I never want that. When I picture how my future will be like, I see a beautiful wife with ample breasts and an amazing ass who I will have hotter sex with than two bunnies in a wool sock. As fuck trophies, there will be a couple of Felix spawn roaming around wreaking havoc.

I’m 26, in a few days I’ll be 27, and all I can think about is: what the fuck is the rush? My generation, Generation Y, we’re expected to live well into our mid-80’s on average, even to our 90’s and 100’s. That’s a long ass time to be a responsible member of society.

Whenever I meet an older person, male or female, I always ask them what they would have done differently if they could do it all again. The most consistent responses are: get an education in a real major, one that actually gives you a real world tangible skill such as engineering. Hold off on marriage and having children until you discover who you are and what you truly want out of life. Travel when you are young and free of responsibilities.

I don’t have a college degree, so according to my boy Kendawg, I have no right to make fun of him like I constantly do because he made the ill advised decision to major in Archaeology. I just know that a vast majority of people who I know personally who have a humanities degree are not even working in the field they studied in and have no hopes to unless they get their masters and in some cases, PhD. While the people I know personally who have a STEM degree (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Math) actually are gainfully employed in those fields. With that knowledge, my other friend, Sleazy-E, and I, in our late 20’s now, have taken it upon ourselves to major in engineering. He in Civil Engineering and myself in Computer Engineering, though we’re both still a long ways off from graduating.

Just from being a writer, I’ve run across a few people who had to pretty much restart their lives after their kids left the nest and are currently struggling to discover who they are. Hell, the cougars I’ve picked up at the bars have shown me first hand how freshly divorced women who didn’t really get to enjoy their 20’s because of the responsibility of a husband and children behave when they get their hands on a half-decent looking man, such as myself. (Hint: if you’re an attractive cougar in the Southern California area, send me an e-mail.)

I feel it is a manifestation of making up for lost time. They want to live the life they never got to enjoy and in my eyes, they have the right to do so. Better late than never, tis grandeur to be a hot cougar on the prowl than a bitter old spinster. For the more ambitious types of men and women it can mean finally going after what they truly dreamed of doing, the thing that they had set aside, but always was lingering in the back of their head, because of the burden of being a grown up.

There is a world of difference between traveling with just backpack on a bums budget and staying in shady hostels and partying with people from all the different places of the world with questionable moral values than traveling with family. There is an insane amount of independence when you travel alone or with just one companion. There is minimal logistics, budgeting, and you’re able to be quite serendipitous with your time and what you do. I’ve traveled through thirty states of the United States on my motorcycle for 2 and a half months, spent three weeks traveling the entire country of Italy on a motorcycle, and backpacked randomly through Western Europe for a month. I can only imagine how lame and how expensive that shit would be with a snot monster to drag around.

Depending on your prospective, I can be seen as a failure or a young man on his way to the top. I don’t really have a hard set career path yet, I don’t make six-figures, I haven’t “manned-up” and decided to just pick a reformed slut who doesn’t meet my high standards for a woman and just get married. I have no stability in my life and I live in a hovel with four room mates who drink too much, curse too much, play too many video games, and have the most obscene sense of humor.

I’ve decided to take the advice of those older people and take my god damn time because why the fuck not? There are a lot of things I want to accomplish before I settle down and become a family man. I want to travel the world on my motorcycle, fuck more women, drink more booze, spit more blood, take big risks, exceed my comfort zone, get my education, and make sure I pick the right career for myself. My bad I’m not a prodigy who has it all figured out by 26. I’m not the most mature and responsible person, but I know enough to know that I don’t want to make huge life commitments until I truly feel I am ready emotionally, financially, and eager to give my all to them without any resentment or regrets. I’m not fully developed, yet, are any of us?

~Raul Felix

“You traveled the US on a motorcycle? Tell me a story!” Alright: The Gay Meth Story

Tough Love

Posted on by Standard 5

“Men kick friendship around like a football, but it doesn’t seem to crack. Women treat it like glass and it goes to pieces.”-Anne Morrow Lindbergh

My best friends are assholes. Whenever they see an opening to berate me and talk down to me, they not only strike viciously, but effectively. They are well versed in the guerilla warfare that is shit talk. Innovative, ruthless, and accurate in their ability to destroy my spirit and ego, they stop at nothing to beat me down and bring me back to reality. For this I am blessed.

Anyone can pretend to listen to you and tell you the things you want to hear to make you feel better about your adorable little problems. It’s a temporary patch that heals nothing and just strokes your ego. Your best friends are the ones who will rip into you and tell you the truth and what you need to hear. They won’t sugar coat it, but there will be plenty of whisky to help out.

You could be moping around, feeling sorry for yourself because Betty Sue won’t return your phone calls. You thought she was darn special didn’t you? Your friends don’t understand the heart break you’re going through. She’s a fucking unique snow flake and the prettiest of them all. She may be the love of your life. Damn, are you reading that? You see how pathetic you sound? That’s bitch talk.

If your friends are true friends, they will listen to your little bitchfest, but probably give you three, four minutes tops until they tell you stop being a pussy. That they didn’t know you were on your period and you should probably go to Walmart and get the premium brand of tampons to stop your heavy bleeding. No, in fact, your crimson tide is so heavy that you need to go to Costco and buy in bulk. They thought Betty Sue was a bitch any ways and thus, you shouldn’t be grieving for her.

You’re being a lazy, fat fuck who is apathetic about his future? You lack the self-awareness to recognize the useless piece of shit you’ve become? Don’t worry, your best friends will let you know how truly worthless you are. They’ll let you know that the path you’re on is leading you nowhere and that you’re wasting your life.

Don’t even think you gaining those ten extra pounds will go unnoticed. You think your boys are going to pass up the chance to ridicule you for being a lard ass? It will be such exquisite treat for them to mock you as your once mediocre body spirals downward into something resembling a potato sack with arms.

There are two reason they do this. One: it’s funny and fun to pick you apart and break you down. Two: they care about you. They want you to toughen up and not let a simple woman have so much control over your emotions. They want you to be successful and live up to your potential as a man. They don’t want to see you spinning your wheels forever. They want you to move forward and make something out of yourself.

They’re your best friends because you have a deep connection forged by years upon years of shared experiences and tomfoolery. You’ve grown up together and seen each other at highs and lows. They know what you are and are not capable of. It pisses them off when you’re not living up to your true potential, so they do shame you into, hopefully, doing something with your meager existence.

When you do actually start doing something to better yourself, they’ll be your biggest fans and supporters. If you start taking writing seriously, they’ll read every piece of shit article you write, hoping that you’ll eventually write something readable. If you take your musical talents seriously, they’ll be at your shows alongside your mom and no one else. When you decide to go back to school, they’ll warn you not to major in a worthless degree like they did.

There are a lot of men out there who don’t have close friends. If you’re lucky enough to have a few key men you can depend on no matter what, you’re way above the curve. The tough love they dish out comes with it. You truly need and want men who are honest with you, even brutally so. If not, you may as well be friends with gossipy chicks who will be your best friends to your face and talk shit behind your back.

~Raul Felix

You’re a dumb ass and you need to read more. Educate yourself: Politically Incorrect and Loving It

Note: This post has been featured on Return of Kings

Where Are My Whores?

Posted on by Standard 11

I feel like my generation has been gypped. I’m not speaking about the typical Generation-Y woes with the failing economy and our youthful optimism and ambitions being crushed by the real world. This feeling of unfairness is only felt by a select group of Americans; the men who served and fought in Iraq and Afghanistan. There is much talk in the news about how both the Bush and Obama administration mishandled those wars, but I’m not here to get into those politics. While these modern wars gave us luxuries unheard of in past generations, there is one thing that past generations of veterans had access to that we were completely fucked out of: liberated groupies and prostitutes.

After the long, intense, brutal fighting of the D Day invasion against the Nazis and slowly reclaiming Europe, the Allied forces were met and seen as liberators of France. With panties drenched in lust for their liberators, French women would fuck soldiers left and right to show their gratitude. Joe was a hero and his reward, if he chose to act upon it, was that wonderful European pussy. In war, no man knows which day will be his last, so it would be logical for him to act upon it. These women knew what their valiant saviors desired and wanted, and provided it with the utmost eagerness.

Such a simpler time.

Such a simpler time.

What happened in Iraq and Afghanistan? Whether we liberated them from the Taliban or Saddam, they may have been grateful, but the women of these nations were not throwing themselves at American troops. They weren’t happily repaying us for their new found freedom from tyranny by eagerly showing us their beautiful Middle Eastern bodies. We didn’t have free rein to fuck Haji bitches and get them addicted to our American dick. No Haji foxy lady ever gave us the “I want to fuck you eyes”. Most of them were quite the opposite, covered up head to toe in veils. Denying the horny and sex deprived American fighting male the eye candy he sorely needs in an effort to keep his sanity. A pure selfish act on their part.

Not sure if she wants to fuck me, or she is about to detonate her suicide vest.

Not sure if she wants to fuck me, or she is about to detonate her suicide vest.

Well, if we couldn’t win the hearts, minds, and pussies of the local women, we should have been able to use the free market and purchase it at a mutually agreed upon price dictated by the laws of supply and demand, correct? That’s what our fighting men were able to do in the Korean and Vietnam War. After killing hoards of gooks, our brave and battle hardened men were able to go back to base and take a few days of R&R. Around the bases, there would be bars and massage parlors where a GI in need of company could easily acquire it. There would be an overabundance of young, feminine, and attractive asian women with adorable accents to chose from and eager to love him long time. He’d then ravage her delicate little body to his heart’s content and consequently, she would then get paid a handsome price, it was truly a win-win situation.

The free market at work.

The free market at work.

In an effort to not piss off the delicate Muslim psyche, the US Military has made it almost impossible for a man to get a prostitute while he is in the war zone. There is no interaction with the local populace outside of missions for most troops. There are no flings with Afghan or Iraqi women or meeting a prostitute with a heart of gold. There are no love affairs that are complicated by the horrors of war and cultural differences as drama slowly unfolds, when both parties learn that love can truly conquer anything. There are no bastard children of American men left behind. The closest we came to finding love overseas is through porn and nude pictures of our and other troops whorish, cheating ex-girlfriends we uploaded to “The Drive” and shared with the rest of the base.

Sex was happening in Afghanistan and Iraq, but that occurred in support units where there were mixed genders and among government contractors. As for the combat arms units compromised of solely men(the ones that actually did the fighting), were left in a state of sexual purgatory, without any hope of female companionship. No Afghan damsel worrying whether the American man she loves will make it back. No Iraqi prostitutes eagerly awaiting for her core American cliental to come by. Nothing but masturbation for us while our girlfriends from back home cheated on us or stopped answering our phone calls. Men at war and whores go hand and hand, too bad our times did away with that beautiful tradition.

~Raul Felix

“Me so horny for more blog baby. Give me blog, me love you long time!” Alright: The Military’s Parasite Problem