Category Archives: Women

The Types Of Women You Date In Your 30’s

Posted on by Standard 3
W1

(c) Jeremy Entwistle

The 30’s are a man’s glory years. The tides of the sexual market place are beginning to shift in his favor. The hard lessons earned through his 20’s are paying dividends. With his new found maturity, he is presented with opportunities that used to be merely erotic fantasies and wet dreams. If he has been able to keep himself from getting sucked into the clutches of marriage and kids, and developed his skills with women, by his 30’s he would have dated an impressive selection of ladies.

The Boss Bitch

A Type-A female working her mighty fine ass off to make it to the top of her chosen field. She’s hardworking, competitive, and well versed in using her bitch face in order to be taken seriously. For all her success, it’s tough for her to find a suitable match. Men are either intimidated that she makes more money than them, or try to take advantage of that fact. Too many men are effeminate these days and she doesn’t care for wimpy men.

Luckily for her, you’re a fellow A-type that can toss her around like a rag doll while you ravage her. You find her success and dedication to her vocation sexy. She’s very picky of the type of men she’s with and if she’s with you, you must be on top of your shit. If you show the slightest bit of weakness in the initial stages of courtship, she’ll eat you alive. 50% of women think they’re a Boss Bitch, only 5% are.

The Slacker

She hasn’t really done much other than be a manager at a retail store or a waitress. A job that pays the bills, but leaves her feeling meh. She will occasionally talk about going back to school for nursing or some shit, but will procrastinate on signing up for classes until its too late. Maybe next semester when life is less hectic.

She’s a pretty chill chick though. You genuinely enjoy the time spent together binge watching Netflix while smoking weed and whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears. It’s a pretty low key set up without much drama, though your combined monetary funds tend to be limited. You’ll probably get her pregnant. Luckily, she’s pro-choice.

The Single Mom and Proud Of It

“My kids are my life and I won’t put up with any man who thinks my kids are baggage, not a bonus!” This type of bold, but delusional, woman declares on her dating profile. Her baby daddy is usually an asshole, but she blames her lack of insight into the matter on being young, in love, and naive when they were together. Now she has two adolescent children, is back in the dating game, and thinks her sexual market value is equal to that of a woman whose body has not had some serious wear and tear.

She will at times exclaim a bitter attitude towards guys who won’t date her, because she has children, as douchebags who are unwilling to man the fuck up. “Keep hitting the bong loser because I represent reality,” she’ll affirm to herself as she rolls her eyes. She just wants to find a handsome, smart, tall, athletic, financially independent man with no kids who will put her and her two children above himself. In her heart of hearts, she believes this is a reasonable request.

The Single Mom and On The Down Low About It

Yeah, she’s a single mom, but so what? She had her kids when she was young and now they’re old enough to take care of themselves. She’s done her time in the housekeeping and after school activities trenches. She’s fucking sick of talking about her honor roll student and now wants to focus on herself. She doesn’t need a daddy for her kids, she needs a man to make her feel like a woman.

Having endured a drought of adult conversation and situations for the better part of a decade, she’s appreciative of the little things you do that you’ve done with dozens of other chicks in the past, because it makes her feel unique and special. Usually a serial monogamist, you’re the first lover she had in a few months other than that one night stand she felt really dirty about. She grows attached to you quicker than she should, but fuck it, you enjoy being with a chick who isn’t too lazy to cook and you ride it out to see where it goes.

The Young Chick

W5

(c) John Rohan

Age: 18 – 23.

She’s stupid, unappreciative, selfish, mean, a liar, flakey, and lacking the ability to NOT take a selfie every ten minutes; but makes up for these severe short comings because she’s pretty fucking hot and has a newly minted (legal) pussy ripe for the smashing.

Your conversations with her will be no deeper than the faith you still hold in humanity. She’ll throw a tantrum because you didn’t like her latest Instagram picture. Her text messages will be splattered with emojis and lols despite the fact that nothing funny has been said.

When she sucks your cock, you derive as much pleasure from the fact that she’s NOT talking as from her lips around your manhood. On occasion, she’ll have a stroke of brilliance and say something of value. Since she’s so young, she’s also malleable. If you possess the skill, you can sculpt her to your will. If you’re able to tie one of these down in her zenith, your prospects of living a happy life exponentially increase.

The Ticking Biological Clock

Age: 29 – 39

“Okay Becky,” she’ll affirm to herself as she looks into her bathroom mirror that has BAMF written on it with red lipstick, “You are done slutting around. You’ve got the hang of this adulting thing. Now its time to find Mr. Right.” As she finishes getting dressed for her date, she holds a staunch determination to not waste her time with fuck boys anymore. Her clock is ticking and she needs to find a man to breed and start a happy family with. If you ain’t about that, you best get the fuck out her face. *finger snap*

The Ticking Biological Clock can be a great bargain if you already have your life in order and are ready to begin the process of building a family. You may be able to snatch up a top-tier chick who would normally be out of your league, just because she’s highly aware that her child bearing years are numbered and her beauty is waning. If you ain’t there yet, be ready to be dumped promptly because she’s done waiting on men who are still doing their lost boy crap. Maybe if your game is on par, you can persuade her to slut it up with you few more times before finding “Mr. Right.”

The Cougar

W4

(c) Khrisna Susanto

Age: 40 – 59

Aged like a fine wine, these prowling she-beasts are sick of the boring men of their generation who are set in their ways. She’s a youthful soul who doesn’t recognize the person who is staring back at her in the mirror. Rocking a hard body supplemented by a high quality boob job, she’s genuinely hotter than 80% of young chicks. She is a bit bitter about men in general, but has also lost most of her inhibitions in the sack.

Her personality has been forged in the fires of life. Her awareness of the pretty lies and ugly truth of society make her an enlightening conversationalist. She has to remind you to not check your phone every fifteen minutes. Young bitches give her hate-filled stares when they see her with a stud like you. Your age difference will become more and more apparent as you date her, but fuck it; it’s nice to be appreciated, pampered, and feel like you’re the prize.

The Ethical Slut

Catering to the age ol’ tradition of polygamy with the modern twist of the relationship being open to both sexes. The Ethical Slut has read deeply into human sexual evolutionary theory and has come to the conclusion that humans are not made to be monogamous creatures. In fact, she argues, it’s more healthy to have a few lovers to fulfill all your needs instead of limiting yourself to one.

This works out for you because you are totally chill having someone to fuck around with to keep you from appearing too thirsty while playing the game. Plus, their insights into sex are rather intriguing. It’s a common misconception that Ethical Sluts are indiscriminate of who they fuck. In fact, they can be more tedious and demanding to get into the sack than your conventional slut.

The Conventional Slut

W3

While the Ethical Slut has a well thought out philosophy behind her promiscuous behavior, the Conventional Slut just loves cock and has very little self control. She’s a pretty fun chick to be around and the life of the party. She’s a favorite of womanizers and players because the minimal amount of fiscal and temporal investment required.

On your date, you hold open some doors, let her enjoy a drink as you tell some whimsical stories about your life, add a dash of humblebragging about your accomplishments, make a bold move at the bar, and she’ll be spread eagled on your mattress in no time.

One day, post-fucking, she’ll ask you why you don’t want to make her your girlfriend. Instead of being a man of honor and giving her the harsh truth, “I don’t take sluts seriously because I don’t want a chick who has had dozens upon dozens of other dudes dicks inside of her as a girlfriend.” You lie and say, “I’m not ready for a relationship.” She’ll feign contentment and you’ll continue to fuck her as she slowly fades away from your life.

The Prude

She doesn’t drink. She doesn’t smoke. She doesn’t curse. She doesn’t stay out late on weeknights. She works as a secretary for an insurance company and has a collection of stuffed animals littered all over her bed. She dresses like Diane from Cheers and insists on knowing all about your past relationships and if you still talk to any of your ex’s. She counts one night stands as relationships.

If you drink more than one beer on a date she’ll immediately be concerned about your ability to drive home and ask if you’re an alcoholic. She’ll insist you can have fun without drinking. She’s never tried weed and thinks those who do are low-life losers. She has a rigid idea of how dating, relationships, and her ideal man are supposed to be. You have failed to live up to her expectations. You tolerate her self-righteous criticism because you have the gut feeling that she’s into some kinky shit.

The Feminazi

“Feminist. Socialist. Vegan. Fuck Trump. Woke.” She proudly declares on her dating profile.

Sophomorically, you failed to pick up on these subtle cues that this chick is the antithesis of a good time. You’re too much of a horn dog to let political ideologies get in the way of seeing whether her carpet matches her blue drapes.

As you listen to her spew idiotic rhetoric after idiotic rhetoric, you feel yourself shaking in order to contain your anger. Only to finally explode when she says, “The world would be a better place if we were all communists.”

To which you retort, “Every single fucking communist regime in human history has murdered hundreds of thousands, if not millions of its own people.”

“Just like we murdered the Native Americans, elected Trump, and oppress women. I’m so embarrassed to be American,” she’ll smugly say.

You chug your beer, pay the tab, say, “Good night” and never talk to her again. Stupid is fuckable, treasonous beliefs are not.

The Bipolar Chick

W2

(c) Dr. Case

Practically useless in every way except for the fact that she’s pretty cute, intelligent, and understands you better than anybody ever has when she isn’t lost in a deep state of depression, which leaves her bedridden for days on end while ignoring your texts, yet being able to update her Instagram with posts about being a strong woman and appreciating the man in your life.

Her long journeys into the nether regions of the human psyche gives her the uncanny ability to manipulate you. When she’s manic, her aloofness disappears and she showers you with the attention and affection you deeply desire. Only to have her mood go haywire when you make a remark that triggers her. Over the course of this so called relationship, she’ll suck and feast on your emotional marrow until you are left a hollow shell of your former self. She was a pretty good fuck though.

The Dream Girl

W6

(c) Tomasz Pro

After all the bull shit you’ve been through, rifling through different types of chicks, you may have actually found the elusive dream girl. You have a 96% match on OK Cupid and your message exchange flowed effortlessly.

Upon meeting her for a drink, you’re pleased to discover that she looks way better in real life than in her pictures. Your browbeaten heart flutters like it hasn’t in a long time as witty banter ensues over drinks. She’s smart, sexy, sincere, ambitious, and has your same wicked sense of humor.

She may be it. The chick who finally gets you to give up the game. Who makes you want to be a good man. You can totally imagine yourself building a life with this prime example of womanhood. After a sweet good night kiss, you walk away smitten. You text her the next day in order to set something up, but don’t get a response. You try again a few days later. No response. Fucking bitch.

~Raul Felix

Read: It’s So Hard To Say “No” To An Easy Lay
Read: 4 Things Women Can Do To Be More Attractive (From A Non-Beta Bitch Male Perspective)
Read: Why Young Men Should Become Cougar Slayers

Read more of my work at Thought Catalog
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20 Random Observations On Women’s Dating Profiles (From An Asshole’s Perspective)

Posted on by Standard 5

OKC

Online dating has become an invaluable tool for both men and women to meet the love of their life (or night). It gives you the ability to come into contact with people you would have never formed a connection with otherwise. It has started many good relationships and no-strings-attached hook-ups. But patterns emerge just like with any other form of social interaction, and being the over-observant asshole that I am, I notice and call them out.

1. When chicks post pictures of their kid(s) on their profile, I just think: “Thanks for making my fantasy of me skull-fucking your mouth awkward, bitch.”

2. Despite what SJWs would like you to believe, white people aren’t the most racist people in the world. That title belongs to Asians. Asians hate and spit on other Asians for not being the right type of Asian, especially if they’re one of the lower-class dark-skinned ones. If an Asian woman were to bring home the wrong type of man, she would bring great shame upon her family. Unless you’re also Asian, 90% of them will never respond to you. Most of the remaining ones will only date you if you are white because you’re the least offensive to their kin.

3. When you find a dime piece with expertly applied makeup, huge fake breasts, an amazing ass, and whose written summary seems to have everything you want, it’s probably a transsexual. Total fucking boner-killer. The hot tranny prove that men are better than women at everything, including being women.

4. An overabundance of chicks have “taco” in their screen name, meaning they either love Mexican food or are trying to give you a not-so-subtle sexual innuendo about her vagina. If that’s the case, she wants you to send her a highly sexual message about giving her a few squirts of your man-sauce to add some flavor and texture to her taco. Or she’s bisexual (fuck yeah!) or lesbian (fuck!).

5. It’s very disheartening to start a conversation with a chick you totally click with and who has everything you want and desire in a woman, then finding out she has a two-year-old kid. Fuck that shit. No pussy is worth the monetary, emotional, and temporal cost of dealing with someone else’s brood. Peace out! Wish you the best, though =).

6. “My babies and I are a package deal.” Nope! *Tosses package off the side of the freeway*.

7. You can always tell a chick is fat and trying to hide it if all her pictures are taken from an extreme angle.

8. I never cared for Trump and didn’t vote for him. Yet whenever a chick puts on her dating profile “If you voted for Trump, don’t message me,” I want to build a time machine, go back in time, commit voter fraud, and vote for him 100 times out of spite.

9. Putting “I’m a feminist” on a dating profile is the chick equivalent of a dude posting a shirtless bathroom selfie. Thanks for the fair warning that you’re a huge fucking douchebag, though.

10. I don’t give a fuck about your Myers-Briggs personality type. No, I’m not going to look up what ENFJ means. No, I’m not going to take that stupid test. No, I’m not curious about what it says about me.

11. It sucks wasting one your free “likes” on Tinder on an ugly/fat chick.

12. If it’s a group picture, she’s probably the fat chick.

13. If all her pictures are professional pictures, she’s a bot.

14. “I have a degree in *insert minority group* studies” means “I have a shit ton of student loans and little to no means of paying them off. In addition, you will have to walk on eggshells around me about any racial subject whatsoever lest I give you a lecture about #checkingyourprivilege.”

15. Most overused phrase: “If you’ll be my Clyde, I’ll be your Bonnie.”

16. If my Bumble experience has taught me anything, it’s that most chicks suck at starting conversations. I don’t know how many times I’ve read on profiles on other sites to say something more interesting than “Hi,” or “What’s up,” yet nearly every single one of them has started a conversation with me that way.

17. “I’m not here for a hook-up” translates to “I’m totally here for a hook-up but I don’t want to look like a hoe.”

18. On OKCupid, some chicks think it’s an endearing quality to write an entire novel pertaining to their life story. They write out every single fucking detail in such a fashion that it leaves no way a reasonable stranger could ask anything without feeling redundant. Save that shit for your whack-ass Tumblr.

19. Second most overused phrase: “I probably only liked you for your dog.”

20. Even if you meet all the criteria in their little listicle of what they want in a man, there’s a 75% chance she’ll still won’t respond.

~Raul Felix

Read: I’d Pee in Her Butt
Read: Why Young Men Should Become Cougar Slayers
Read: Where Are My Whores?

Read more of my work at Thought Catalog
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3 Hard Lessons About Life I Learned While Writing Online

Posted on by Standard Reply
Thought Catalog Featured Writers Page Mid-2014.

Thought Catalog Featured Writers Page Mid-2014.

Freedom of speech is a double-edged sword. By utilizing your First Amendment rights, you may run the risk of upsetting some overly sensitive people. Such people may even seek to strike back at you, hoping to bully you into conforming. Such is the nature of writing. Ever since I’ve embarked on the writing path, I’ve experienced a few hard lessons on how my real life can be affected by the crazy shit I write.

1. Never Tell Your Coworkers That You’re A Writer

In mid-2013, I was working as a bouncer at a restaurant/bar in Huntington Beach, CA. It was a corporate establishment that made the big bucks because of its prime location overlooking the beach, decent Mexican food, and practices of hiring masses of young, hot chicks with sexy bodies. I had the goal of becoming a bartender, but since I had no experience in the restaurant industry other than working at Taco Bell in high school, I saw being a bouncer as a stepping stone.

This was quite exciting for me since this would be the first time I ever got to work with an overabundance of attractive females. My previous means of employment—the Army and security contracting—had left much to be desired on that front. I had also read Kitchen Confidential by Anthony Bourdain and Waiter Rant by Steve Dublanica which seared into my mind images of a work environment where people hustled and partied hard while having cool personalities, crazy life stories, and forging friendships.

I had also been writing my blog, RaulFelix.com, for a little over a year at that point. It included such wonderfully crass articles as “I’d Pee In Her Butt,” “Politically Incorrect and Loving It,” “The Pick-Up Follies: The Gimp,” and “Where Are My Whores?” Having been accustomed to the fucked up sense of humor my military and security contracting buddies possessed, I was naively unaware how my writing would tarnish my reputation at work as I gave my coworkers my business card to promote myself.

bc

While my male coworkers loved my writing, many of the female cohorts began to gossip among themselves. Sleazy-E, my best friend who also worked there, fed me intel that the girls were turning against me and complaining to the management about my misogynistic writing. They also thought I was creepy as fuck.

This realization came to fruition one night when I went to party there with my Ranger buddy, Dirty Dick. A lot of the waitresses were drinking and hanging amongst themselves. I tried to talk to them and introduce them to Dirty Dick, yet they were standoffish and barely acknowledged us.

“These chicks look like they fucking hate you,” Dirty Dick said.

“I think they do,” I smirked.

Over the next couple of weeks I went from having four or five shifts a week to being given just one. Knowing my days there were numbered, I got myself a new bouncer gig at a bar down the street. I was eventually laid off as part of the post-summer cutbacks, but I knew the truth. Later on, Sleazy-E (who was now training to be a manager) told me that one of the managers requested that I not return there again. It was just a bouncer job, so the loss was negligible. The lesson learned was priceless: Never tell any of my coworkers about my writing career.

2. Chicks Either Love Or Hate Me On Tinder

I was initially opposed to online dating because I felt that it favored women over men. Bitches got bombarded with messages and dick pics, while we dudes had to make ourselves interesting while resisting the urge to send a picture of our dick. Surprised by the success my knuckle-dragging buddies were having, I decided to give Tinder a shot. I soon realized how this medium favored two of my natural talents: the ability to write a short, witty, and hilarious profile and selecting pictures of myself that highlighted my best qualities and minimizing my goofier ones.

TinderRaul

I soon developed a standard operating procedure of just liking girls who weren’t ugly or fat. Rarely looking beyond their first or maybe second photo. Once they matched me back was when the real fun began. At times, after a thorough inspection of their profile I would realize that I accidentally swiped right to an ugly chick or a fatty, so I would correct the deficiency by simply unmatching them immediately. Then, using info gathered by her pictures and profile, I would initiate a conversation. About one in five girls would respond.

After some witty banter, chicks usually would ask, “Oh, you’re a writer? What do you write about?” That’s when I would copy and paste my five pre-selected pieces that show me at my best: my feelings on my military service, my ability to love tenderly, my Mexican-American family values, the lessons I’ve learned from womanizing, and my dominant, animalistic, lustful side.

Some chicks would say they’ll read it later but not really get around to it. These ones would usually fizzle out.

Some chicks would read one or two pieces, be slightly curious to know more about me, and meet for a drink because at least I wasn’t boring.

Some will really like what they read, then go to my site and randomly click around and commence to binge-read. Loving what they read, thinking it was insightful and raw, they tell me they’d love to get a drink.

Some will start impressed, then dig deeper and find some of my more risqué pieces. She would then morph into Feminazilla, laying waste to the Tokyo that is my writing. They’d spit scathing remarks about how men like me perpetuate the patriarchy and impose the Madonna/whore double standard. Then they’ll speculate on my broken relationship with my mother, insisting that I truly hate women and have enough psychological baggage to keep a seasoned psychiatrist engaged. It’s a shame that such a classically handsome man could spew such filth. Also, I must have a small dick. *Unmatch

It’s all for the best, really… let the chicks who don’t dig me filter themselves out, I don’t give a fuck. I’ve met some pretty great ones who do dig my style.

3. People May Recognize You In Real Life And Won’t Like You

“Are you Raul Felix?” a beautifully tattooed chick with purple hair asks.

“Yeah,” I say as I am cleaning glasses while working as a bar-back at a bar in Ithaca, New York.

“The writer?”

“Yeah.”

“You wrote that article about stinky pussies!”

“Yeah,” I laugh, “but did you bother to read the rest of it?”

“No, I just remember the stinky pussy part,” she replies.

I smirk and shake my head as I continue on about my duties.

“Can I take a picture with you?”

“Sure!” I give a shit-eating grin to the camera.

I receive a text message from the owner of the establishment, “DirtBagJim,” a few days later:

“Raul, I have received numerous complaints that you have written articles online that are offensive to women. Some customers and employees have shown concern. I can no longer offer you employment.”

Raul: “Huh…because I have treated every single employee I work with respectfully. Also, I’m am an experienced bouncer, bar-back, and bartender. I’m hard-working, have customer-service skills, and I have muscles—I’m a perfect bartender.”

DirtbagJim: “While I agree to that, we just have a huge LGBT community and we can’t risk someone like you working here. I’ll give you a reference if you wish.”

Raul: “I never promoted my writing nor did I hit on any of my coworkers, but I guess that’s the price you pay for being a man who tells it how it is.”

The main reason I call the owner DirtBagJim is because he was supposed to give me three bartending shifts per week. It was only to lure me away from my low-paying, yet educational, fun, and consistent bartending job at a vegan restaurant. Instead, he opted to give me two bar-back shifts in a one-month period under the guise of me learning his set-up, promising to give me bartending shifts when the students showed up. I’m a straightforward man who works for a living, so it really pisses me off when motherfuckers jerk me around.

After getting fired, I posted a status update on Facebook of what had occurred. I got a lot of encouragement from my friends, family, and fans. My boys at Article 15 Clothing were more than keen to launch a social media nuke on the establishment and tarnish their reputation for firing a combat veteran for exercising his First Amendment rights. While grateful, I decided it wasn’t worth dropping a $200,000 missile on a $100 tent. I opted to carpet-bomb my resume all over town. Two days later, I had a new bartending gig at a pizza restaurant in Collegetown with an awesome cast of coworkers.

I went back into that bar on a Saturday night a couple of weeks later since I know he is always there on busy nights overseeing things.

I walk up to DirtBagJim. “You still owe me for 10 hours’ worth of work.”

“It’s really busy, come back Tues—”

“—no, you’re unreliable. I want my money now,” I sternly say to him, crossing my arms.

He pulls out his phone and types out a text message.

I wait, staring him down. The bar staff looks at us nervously. Then a cute little thing in an elegant black dress with a sweet smile appears with a check for $50 and hands it to me.

I look at DirtBagJim and reach out for his hand and shake it.

“You have been honest for the first time in your life,” I say into his ear and walk out.

While trying to keep my business and artistic sides separate can be a hassle, it’s worth it. I’ve made connections with some great people. Have had dudes I went to combat with reach out to me and tell me they love what I write. I’ve had my real-life friends, family, and fans be my biggest supporters and help me out. I’ll keep at it cause I’m a scrappy motherfucker. Freedom of expression has a price; I’m willing to pay it.

~Raul Felix

Read: 3 Proactive Steps To Becoming A Writer
Read: A Few Maxims On Writing
Read: 3 Life Lessons An Old Man Called “Wild Bill” Taught Me

Read more of my work at Thought Catalog
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In A Park On The Shores Of Lake Michigan

Posted on by Standard 1

At 3 a.m. on a bench in a park on the shores of Lake Michigan,
I wrote a poem to my former love.
It poured out of me and had me crying for a few minutes upon completion.
The tears eventually dried up,
Acceptance of that lost love settled inside of me,
As the cold breeze of the lake hit me.

I laid out on a picnic table with my sleeping pad and sleeping bag,
Seeking to rest my exhausted heart and body.
As I was dozing off, a raindrop hit my forehead.
I awoke, looking up into the once star filled sky,
Now covered with the looming clouds of a storm.

Rain poured down from the heavens,
Drenching myself, my sleeping pad, my sleeping bag, and my motorcycle.
I packed up my things, rode my motorcycle across the street to a McDonalds,
Wet, shivering cold, and tired, I ate breakfast as I waited out the storm.
A couple of hours later,
The storm passed, the sun began to rise,
I rode back to that picnic table and slept.

I awoke to a majestic blue sky,
A gentle breeze, the chirping of birds,
The water from the storm dried up.
I knew I would be okay.

~Raul Felix

Read: The Witch In My Dream
Read: Shards Of Broken Glass Scattered On The Kitchen Floor
Read: She Dances Like A Flame

Read more of my work at Thought Catalog
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30 Things I Learned By Age 30

Posted on by Standard 1
IG: raulfelix275

IG: raulfelix275

This year I hit the big Three-O, which means I’m no longer an overeager twenty-something who is trying to figure it all out to prevent becoming a failure in life. I am now a thirty-something who realizes he doesn’t need to have it all figured out to get the most out of life. This year I followed my standard operating procedure: worked, wrote, read books, worked out, chased after women, traveled, partied hard, and attempted to become a better version of myself than I was last year. Consequently, a few life lessons worked their way into my twisted thought process.

1.

Solitude is a powerful tool for gaining control of your life. It allows you to traverse down that rabbit hole that is your mind and reflect on the events that molded you. During that long process, you will slowly and painfully begin to gain insight. What you do with that insight is what will determine the course of your life.

2.

Whenever you seek advice, be fully aware of whom you’re seeking it from. Does the person whose counsel you’re taking into account have any practical experience in the matter? Or are their opinions formed from theory and an unrealistic idea of how things should or might be, not how they are?

3.

When a woman is truly into you, she will find out everything she can about you on social media. She’ll look through your old statuses and photo albums. She’ll check out your exes if they’re still tagged in your photos. She’ll stalk every single female who comments or likes your updates. She may never let on that she does that, but she does. You do it, too; don’t lie.

4.

The world of art is quite daunting. The task of creating something out of nothing is so tough that many stop themselves before they truly begin. The thing is that you have your experiences, your skills, the events that created you, all the lessons that you learned, and the conversations you endlessly analyzed in your mind. You own everything that you have done and has happened to you; use and embrace them.

5.

Most traditional artistic education that is offered at universities is overrated. Those who attend such institutions are seeking permission to pursue their artistic endeavor from an authority figure more than anything else. One question I get asked often about my craft is if I went to school for it and I respond with a disgusted, “Fuck no.” I’m still working my way upwards in this art form, but through self-education and discipline I’ve accomplished more than most creative writing majors I’ve met.

6.

Charlatans appear in all forms in this world. Beware those with grandiose promises of riches for little hard work or those who demand an unreasonable amount of handiwork for little reward. Both are a form of exploitation—one by taking advantage of your laziness and gullibility, and the other by taking advantage of your work ethic and ideals.

7.

Staying in shape is simple. Not easy, but simple. Don’t try to overcomplicate it. Pick an exercise routine, do it right, push yourself, don’t always eat like a pig, and keep showing up for an extended period of time and it will get you somewhere.

8.

Women have it easier when it comes to getting laid, but not in terms of finding a quality mate. A lot of guys fail at the most basic fundamentals of being a man. If you’re able to achieve those fundamentals, then you’ll be the kind of man women want to fuck.

9.

If you want to do something extraordinary, don’t worry too much about the opinions of the ordinary folk.

10.

Yet remember to remain humble about your accomplishments and respectful of those who have accomplished less than you. You are, after all, just another human being among billions.

11.

Extremists of any sort have a disproportionate amount of pull. That’s because most people are moderate by nature, so they can’t be bothered to care about a certain issue until it becomes critical. There are bills to be paid and life to be lived, after all.

12.

One day you or those close to you will die. It could be after you finish reading this or sixty years from now. The best way keep honoring those who have fallen before you is to live your life to the best of your ability.

13.

Haters are gonna hate. I’ve lost friends, jobs, and potential lovers because of the words I write. I’ve been told I have no talent, that I should quit, that I should kill myself, that I should shut the fuck up, and that I need to keep my ideas to myself. These comments are usually left by emotional cowards who don’t even use their real names. It takes an uncommon amount of mental toughness to endure these slings and arrows launched by the trollish hordes. Yet I’m still here writing and most of those fuckers are forgotten. No one builds monuments for critics; only those who dare greatly earn their place in history.

14.

You can still learn from your critics. Let your ego take constructive advice and apply it where you’re able. One of the most valuable skills you can learn in life is the ability to distinguish between genuine criticism and blind hatred spilled out by malicious mouth-breathers with a skewed perspective on life.

15.

What is more gratifying than waking up next to a beautiful woman you deeply love naked in your arms each morning? Nothing.

16.

Just because someone is famous doesn’t mean they’re smarter, better, or even more interesting than you are. I’ll indulge in the reality-TV junk food on occasion. I often can’t believe how many punk-ass bitch excuses of human beings make it on these shows. They’ll make a significant emotional event out of something that most normal human beings will brush off with a laugh.

17.

Writing never gets easier. If you’re writing something worth a damn, then it requires you to constantly dig deep, trudging in order to find that moment of raw humanity. When you do, you’ll forget how hard it was until you have to search for that next moment.

18.

The person who talks the most usually has the least to say.

19.

Running up the steep hills of Ithaca, New York gave me a lot of time to think. One of my best epiphanies came to me during a particular run. As I was running through the campus of Cornell, I analyzed the faces and movements of the students as I passed them. They lacked awareness of their environment, eyes glued to their phones, bits of gossipy chitchat in that nasally tone of voice only college kids seem to have, and slumped postures as they went about their day. I thought to myself, “You motherfuckers aren’t smarter than me.” That doesn’t imply that I know everything, because I don’t. It means that you don’t need an elite education to be educated like an elite person.

20.

You know how you get people to like you at your workplace? Work hard, make their job easier, and be cool.

21.

Some friendships aren’t made to last forever. You will drift apart from some of the people who knew you best at a certain point in life. Your priorities and interests will change; so will theirs. There is no need to be resentful about it; just be grateful you had those friendships when you did.

22.

The ability to shut the fuck up is very underrated.

23.

Narrow-mindedness comes in many forms. Some of the most unaccepting and condescending people I’ve met in my life have been open-minded free-thinkers who believe you must think as they do or you’re an *insert term that discredits your opinions in an educated manner*. Some of the most accepting and welcoming people I’ve met have been those with a more traditional belief set.

24.

Not every single chick is going to be into you. I wasted so much time and energy obsessing over why X or Y girl wasn’t into me when I felt I had all the qualities she should find attractive in a man—so much that I overlooked the chicks who were into me. No matter how high a caliber of a man you become, the chick whose bikini pictures you’ve been jerking off to from Facebook may still not pay you any attention because you’re not her type. Fuck it; move on without throwing a temper tantrum. There are over 3.5 billion women in the world; I’m sure a few million will dig you.

25.

It’s easy to overestimate what you can accomplish in a day or week but underestimate what you can accomplish in a few years. At the age of 25, I decided I wanted to be a writer. I knew it was going to be tough as fuck, but I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t quit no matter what. There have been times that I have slacked, and it showed in my professional progress, but quitting never entered my mind. I have explored different styles of writing and have had successes and failures, but with each piece I struggled through I learned and gained more insight into this art form. I’m not a big name, but you can bet your ass that nearly everyone who knows me recognizes that I am a writer and a damned good one at that.

26.

We humans have a tendency to glamorize our past. Veterans often look back on our military days as our glory years. We were a part of something bigger than ourselves and took part in history. We forget how overworked our bodies were, our nearly nonexistent social life, the lack of autonomy we had over our lives, the petty feuds we had with some cocksucker from our platoon, and how we couldn’t wait to get the fuck out. The past was tough; if it wasn’t, we wouldn’t take any pride in it.

27.

They say time heals all emotional wounds, but some of them will leave scars as permanent reminders.

28.

Common sense is not common.

29.

Whether you love them or hate them, your family gave you the base foundation of who you are. I’ve been lucky to be blessed with such an amazing family that has supported me in whatever I decided to do, whether they understood my reasons or not. You may not see them for months or years, but the best gift you can give them is to make something productive out of yourself.

30.

The artistic path is not linear. It requires a lot of suffering, loneliness, hopelessness, stagnation, and frustration. It requires others and yourself questioning your progress. It requires the constant feeling of failure. It requires you constantly doing the work. It’s a path that gives you countless opportunities to quit and no one will blame you for doing so. It’s one whose rewards are few and far apart. It’s a path without a destination, where scattered throughout will be the remnants of your heart and soul.

~Raul Felix

Read: 28 Things I’ve Learned By Age 28
Read: 29 Things I Learned By Age 29
Read: To My Future Wife: I Will Make You Proud To Have Me As Your Man

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The Love Of My Life From Age 25

Posted on by Standard Reply

A week ago, at the grizzled age of 30,
I reconnected with you, my love from the age of 25.
I wish you knew me as the man I am today,
Instead of the vulgar, drunken fool who was easily pissed
The one who chased away love at the age of 26.

I blame myself each and everyday,
For letting my ego chase away such an understanding lover,
One who understood my temperament and quirks,
Like no other.

I write this to you,
The former love of my life,
The one I met at 25.
Tears flowing down my cheek,
I apologize that my ego was so weak.

Two days with you was a tease of the life I could’ve had,
One I keep dreaming and longing for really bad,
But reality has kicked my ass,
And let me know the time of our romance has passed.

The realist in me says let go of all hope,
The romantic in me is willing to look like a dope,
But neither of those matter anymore,
Because I have lost the love my life,
The one I met at 25.

~Raul Felix

Read: Watching You Get Dressed Again
Read: She Had The Body Of A Greek Goddess
Read: The Lights of Los Angeles Loom

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Two Bros Smoke Weed And Compare Notes About Women

Posted on by Standard 5

When you spent enough time working alongside someone, you tend to develop a good understanding of them. Sometimes you like them, sometimes you hate them. Usually, it’s a healthy mix of both. Yet when that former coworker who became your friend comes to visit you for a couple of weeks, you can’t help but get back to the old shit-talking routine. When my crabby and grumpy security contractor buddy, “Grumps”, came to visit, that’s exactly what ensued.

Grumps: “That chick from last night won’t text me back, fucking cunt.”

Raul: “That’s because she’s getting a train run on her by a bunch of black dudes.”

Grumps: “No, she’s my little white angel. We had such a deep connection. I’m fucking serious, Raul; I would have married that bitch.”

Raul: “You only talked to her for thirty minutes.”

Grumps: “So? I felt it, man. We were made to be together. Why is she being such a bitch and ignoring my texts?”

Raul: “Because she’s currently getting triple-rodded by Tyron and his buddies.”

Grumps: “Fuck, you’re probably right.”

Raul: “It doesn’t matter. You probably would’ve taken her out on a nice, fancy date and only gotten a peck on the lips as you dropped her off. What was her name again?”

Grumps: “Sammy.”

Raul: “Then Tyron would’ve called her up and been like, ‘Yo Sammy, I’m comin’ over. I’m bringing my boys, too. You better have some good weed this time, not that weak bullshit of full seeds and stems like last time. ’”

Grumps: “That white boy feed you good? You gonna need dat energy.”

Raul: “Speaking of weed, roll us another fucking blunt.”

Grumps: “Goddamn it, hold on.”

Grumps rolls us a nice blunt.

Raul: “These are fucking good days we’re living, Grumps.”

Grumps blows smoke into the air.

Grumps: “Mmmmmhmmmm. Dude, I’m having so much fun. Listening to music, smoking green, drinking, and hanging with my boy Raul.”

Raul: “Yep. You see how many hot bitches there are out today?”

Grumps: “Yeah, man. It’s like as soon as I stop checking out the ass of one, another fine bitch passes by. Too bad they’re all a bunch of libtards.”

Raul: “Hey, man, liberals ain’t that bad. Sure, they’re annoying as fuck, but they’re pretty cool and nice if you avoid political conversation with them.”

Grumps: “Oh man, don’t fucking get me started on these fucking liberals, you know what the fuck I saw on Fox News…”

Raul: “No, no, no. We’re not getting into your simpleminded Midwest rhetoric. All you do is fucking get on Facebook and hate-read whatever the conservative propaganda machine wants you to be pissed off about that day.”

Grumps: “All right, fine. Oh man, did I tell you about that fight I saw earlier?”

Raul: “No, what happened?”

Grumps: “Oh, fuck, man. It was hilarious. These two fat bitches start yelling at each other in the middle of the street. One of them was pushing a baby stroller, too. Then one of them starts screaming some shit about the other being a gossipy, shit-talking slut. Then they start slapping one another until a few dudes broke them up.”

Raul: “Holy fuck. I wish I would’ve seen that. Did you get it on video?”

Grumps: “No, it happened way too fast for me to record it.”

Raul: “What time did it happen?”

Grumps: “About three or so.”

Raul: “Oh yeah, that’s when all that welfare trash starts walking around town after going to their appointments or picking up their kids or whatever the fuck people on welfare do.”

Grumps: “They did look ratchet as fuck.”

Smoke fills the room as Grumps swipes through his Tinder.

Grumps: “Oh Raul, so many bitches want my cock.”

Raul: “No, they don’t.”

Grumps: “Yes, they do. I got all these hoes I’m working all over the place. I take them on a date to get some good food, then I let in my fucking rags-to-riches life story and their mouth drops.”

Raul: “Bitches only want you for your money, Grumps.”

Grumps: “They ain’t going to get shit. Making them sign a prenup.”

Raul: “That’s good that you think you got some game. Remember, I ain’t no broke piece of shit either, motherfucker. Sure, I ain’t contractor-rich like you, but I do decent.”

Grumps: “Fine, you’re a mini-baller.”

Raul: “Damn straight. Plus, you need money to get bitches. You’re not a fucking artist like me, Grumps, where you can just work a low-paying gig while waiting for genius to surface.”

Grumps: “Raul, your writing sucks. I could write better shit than that without trying.”

Raul: “Like I really respect your opinion regarding literature. What the fuck is the last book you read?”

Grumps: “Hell if I know.”

Raul: “See Grumps, I play the long game. Using my words, stories, and shit to show chicks I’m a deep, thoughtful soul and not just a Latin stud.”

Grumps: “Well, I got a Mercedes SLR and my own house paid for. Bitches’ panties get drenched for that shit. Maybe one day you’ll be rich like me. I hope that for you.”

Raul: “Awwww…you’re sweet. Whatever happened with that one college chick you took out on a date the other night?’

Grumps: “I took her to the mall and bought her some lingerie. Had her little tight twenty-one-year-old ass model it for me. Then I tore that puss up and filled it full of freedom!”

Raul: “Smash that puss! You know she is going to be wearing that lingerie for one of her college boys, right?”

Grumps: “Pfff, I don’t give a fuck. She was just a random piece of pussy to me.”

Silence fills the room for a few minutes as we relax.

Raul: “These are good days we’re living, Grumps.”

Grumps: “Mmmmmhmmmm.”

~Raul Felix

Read: Four Things Only Mexican-Americans Will Understand
Read: Guy Talk: Hot Tranny
Read: 3 Winning PR Strategies For Muslim Extremists

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4 Things That Are Awesome About Riding A Motorcycle

Posted on by Standard 2
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Despite the possibility of getting killed by an absentminded undergrad who is Snapchatting herself singing along to the latest hit pop song as she makes a left turn while you’re crossing the intersection, causing you to hit the side of her car at 45MPH, riding a motorcycle is pretty damn sweet. It doesn’t matter whether you’re a speed demon going nearly twice the speed limit on a crotch rocket with no intention of pulling over if the cops chase you because if you get one more ticket you’ll get your license suspended…or a grizzled biker covering vast distances on a tight time hack with several of your brothers on cruisers…or a cute liberal chick or skinny gay guy on a Vespa putt-putting about town…the thrill of the ride is incomparable to those who decide to forgo the cage-like safety of the car, even if just for the weekend. Why is that? Because there are many reasons why a rider’s life is way more awesome.

1. Kids Are Crazy About You

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IG: raulfelix275

Remember when you were a kid and you would see a motorcycle passing by on the freeway? Maybe your mom would comment on how dangerous they are. You didn’t care because the cool guys on TV rode the shit out of them, wearing badass leather jackets, jeans, and sticking it to the man. You’ll fantasize about being one of those dudes when you got older as you played with your Hot Wheels and always had the motorcycle do insane stunts that defied the laws of physics as it was shooting its machine gun.

Many years down the line, you are at a red light thinking about how much of a total badass you are ’cause you’re finally on a motorcycle. A car pulls up next to you and out of the corner of your eye you see a hand flailing. You look to your right and in the backseat you see a kid seven or eight years old waving at you with a missing-tooth smile. You wave back at him and he starts laughing. You rev the throttle a bit and he goes ape shit from excitement. The light turns green and you speed away.

Kids love motorcycles, plain and simple. Whenever you make appearances to any family event, all the little kids are going to see your bike and want to sit on it. You will be one of the cool grown-ups, not one of those who drives a soul-crushing minivan.

 

2. Chicks Dig You, Too

As much as it may frighten them, few things are more effective at drenching the panties of a female than a man who rides a motorcycle well. It’s not as simple as getting your ass on a bike and going to places where girls hang. First, you must prove that you aren’t some idiot who is going to try to impress her by riding dangerously. You must recognize that riding on the backseat is quite intimate. She is signaling: I trust you with my life. Sadly, a lot of men these days aren’t capable of handling that sort of responsibility.

Also, the seat positioning will have her body in constant contact with yours. Most chicks aren’t willing to do that with whatever chode on two wheels, either. Only after gaining her respect and trust will you be able to get her to take a ride with you. As the ride happens, the breeze in her face, the revving of the engine as you twist the throttle, and the utter freedom of it all will make her lady parts tingly. Don’t forget the vibrations of the engine, too. You’ve displayed your competence as a man.

Riding a motorcycle is not something that can be done by any random dude. Thousands of people—even long-time riders—kill themselves each year on bikes. But the fact that you ride one puts you in the niche class of “bad boy” that nearly every woman has a few sultry fantasies about.

 

3. You Instantly Have A Connection With Fellow Riders

 

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IG: raulfelix275

Men form bonds by sharing knowledge and conducting activities together. Riding a motorcycle is one of the manliest hobbies in modern times. A man on a motorcycle represents the images of glory reminiscent of galloping knights and cowboys on horseback—as opposed to the simplicity of driving a cage that requires no more from you other than grabbing your keys and hopping in the driver’s seat.

Mounting your iron steed has the aura of prepping for combat. You look at the weather report and adjust the amount of cold weather gear you’ll need to wear. You put on your vest, grab your helmet, gloves, and glasses. You approach your baby waiting for you in her spot.

“Hello, beautiful,” you say.

You fire her up to warm her up a bit while you don your protective gear. You give her a quick little rev to make sure she purrs all right. She does. Away you go.

If you can relate to this feeling, then you’re a fellow motorcycle rider. You get it; others don’t. That’s why you always have an immediate connection with those who also ride. You’ll make small talk with fellow bikers and make friends with fellow bikers. And at times, you party hard as fuck with fellow bikers.

 

4. There Is No Better Way To Travel

 

MC4

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The world is a gorgeous place. We become immune to the wonder of it all during the routine of our daily lives. Yet when you’re on a motorcycle, you can’t help but notice. You feel everything…the feeling of needles poking your face when you’re riding through rain at 80MPH…the blazing furnace that is Arizona…the smell of countryside…the fresh breeze. Everything, good or bad, is a part of your journey. Back to our primal roots, before the windshield and air-conditioning of the cage shielded us from it all.

I’ve traveled a vast majority the United States at some point or another on my motorcycle. I’ve also ridden it to Mexico and Canada. I rented one for three weeks and traveled the whole of Italy. I had one as my sole means of transportation for a year and half last time I lived in Cali. I ride one now when it’s not snowing or freezing over in Upstate New York.

It’s a wondrous love affair. Every journey feels like an adventure, like that rare lover you can share you life with. Whether to the neighborhood bar to have a beer or across the country, the saddle of a motorcycle puts you closer to the elements and the world.

~Raul Felix

Read:29 Things I Learned By Age 29
Read: The Gay Meth Story
Read: 6 Things I Learned About Israel While Living and Working There

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Buffalo Hill Will Make A Man Out Of You

Posted on by Standard 6

“I’m a fucking beast,” I say to myself,
I take those first steps running up Buffalo Hill.
There is always some college student slowly walking up it,
Occasionally, it’s a chick whose glorious ass I get lost in,
I’m reminded of what I want in my life.
More often, it’s a scrawny nerd unaware of the world around him,
I’m reminded of what I don’t want to become.
Buffalo Hill will make a man out of you.

When the body is in pain, it’s best to let the mind wander.
Halfway up, my mind runs rampant.
Thoughts of women past, family, friends, war, motorcycle trips,
Parking tickets, writing, money, and schemes for pussy.
Buffalo Hill will make a man out of you.

I’m approaching the final incline,
My stride becomes faster, eyes focus, bellowing grunts.
I reach the peak, smile as I stare down on conquered land.
Nice warm up. I continue my run.
Buffalo Hill will make a man out of you.

~Raul Felix

Read: She Was Traveling Through My Country
Read: Becoming A Beast May Help You Win The Beauty
Read: Keep Moving, Young Man

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I Look At Your Dead Blog

Posted on by Standard 5

I look at your dead blog,
Not a single update in over two and a half years.
You were so avid about it,
Writing those juicy sex stories,
Some fact, some fiction,
Other’s a combination of the two.
Writing was your dream.

I look at your dead blog,
As I am reading over your old entries,
I am reminded of how much more talented I thought you were than me.
The biting jokes,
The shameless sultriness of your words,
The glorification of promiscuity,
Your potential still glows.

We began exchanging e-mails,
Instant messages and video chats.
We would talk every morning.
You believed in my writing,
You would proof read my posts,
You taught me the difference between than and then.

I fell hard.
We made plans for me to fly out to Toronto to see you.
You grew angry with me when I told my ex-girlfriend I was going to see you.
Your unreasonable, female jealousy took hold.
You told me you wouldn’t see me.
I went anyway to prove how serious I was.
Your Eastern European coldness was unmoved.

I walked the streets of that fucking city a broken man,
Holding my hand out, imagining I was holding yours.
Every moment felt like a fucking waste.
I ate those lonely, silent meals.
I drank beers at bars staring into my glass,
I smoked weed at the Hot Box Cafe while writing shitty poetry.
I cried myself to sleep in my cheap hostel room.

I returned to California,
With a tattered heart,
Embarrassed that I was so naive to believe I could prove myself.
A bit of my romantic innocence forever lost.
I wrote motivational pieces to give myself hope.

I hated you for a long time.
I was quickly forgotten by you.
I couldn’t even look at your pictures without the pain returning.
Now when I open that folder,
There’s the merciful feeling of indifference.

A picture of your first baby is your default on Facebook now.
Your priorities have changed.
You have found your happiness.
I look at your dead blog.
Writing was your dream,
Yet, I’m the one who is still pounding away at the keyboard.

~Raul Felix

Read: Empty Chair
Read: She May Have Given Up On You
Read: Heartbreak

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