Don’t read this.

Up at the crack of doom because I went to bed at 8:58. This is why I don’t have a girlfriend. This and my face, voice, personality. My insistence on never spending money. Insistence on hoarding cash so I can quit my job. Or in case I get fired for this blog. Hoarding cash but never investing. Just keeping it while inflation at 7% per year eats away its value. Not spending money on nice clothes, flashy car, any other old man who needs pussy shit. This plus writing stuff that’s only read by angry men who want to murder me. Plus my face my body my small hands, my interest in birdwatching instead of let’s say trying new restaurants, comparing and contrasting high end consumer packaged goods or whatever women think about. Interest in birdwatching instead of saying “Latinx” or “LGBTQ.” The fact that I’m not LGBTQ and can’t just date a fucking man or a transsexual or anyone else I match with on Tinder blindly swiping right 50 times at stoplights. Prostitutes, Venezualans spoofing their location hoping I’ll airlift them out of sucking dick for canned goods. Just full on men named “George” putting their gender as “woman.” George and transsexuals, the only people as undesirable as me, and advertisements.

This and my face and being too good a person. Too bad a person. Not doing enough lying evil things aka making money. Not saying enough good virtuous things like I care about the Mexicans and transsexual teens. Even though I do care about the Mexicans, the transsexuals, the shelter pets and so on. My face and being at once too much of a limp wristed f*ggot ass pussy playing classical guitar and crying about my cat and yet too much of a brute with frat boy pictures riding elephants in Thailand. A sign to about 40% of Hinge women that I’m a monster who sets foot in the non-vegan elephant camp. The one where they hit the elephant with a hammer so it doesn’t toss you off. Rather than the heavily advertised granola ethical elephant camp which is owned by the same people and uses the same elephants. They just shuffle them back and forth. Monday some rich broad with dreads is splashing them with vegan spring water from a locally crafted bucket. Tuesday some meathead fresh from the whorehouse poses like a bro on their back while a mahout menaces them with hardware. Fuck it. I’m riding the god damn elephant. I’m a slave too. My abs look cut in those pictures, even sitting down.

This, my face, my skinny dick, my weird ankles. Nutcrushing unglamorous non famous job, my online fame exclusively among men in STEM fields, my general hatred of women, the fact that I don’t drink, the fact that I have exactly 20 minutes of my voice sounding cool before I run out of gas and start saying uhh, ummm.. you know. My whistling sibilants. The fact that women who use hormonal birth control smell like old water and chicken bones in the bottom of a garbage can to me. The fact that to even want to be in the same room with them I have to not masturbate all day– are you fucking kidding me. The fact that every one of these women somehow makes 350 grand a year and is a staunch Elizabeth Warren supporter. Really cares that there should be a woman president. This means she’ll want to be president of our putative household. She’ll run our house like a professional cunt and browbeat me about scrubbing pots. Her a cunt and me a mule with two humiliating jobs. Putting up only 30% of our income which she lords over me. Scolds me to solicit letters of recommendation for our kids to get into $40,000 a year urban white people kindergartens. Jesus Christ can you imagine. This if she’ll even take the scratchy wire IUD out of her chicken bone pussy to begin with. This and I used to think of myself as smart but I’m a total ignoramus. Only smart enough to make women feel bad in arguments. Not just I don’t have marketable skills or money or whatever intelligence is supposed to bring you but I’m also too stupid and lazy to read great Russian novels. I find them boring. Rather watch Youtube Videos. Doug Demuro. Even my dumb consumption is incredibly male, no woman could relate to this.

Face body and the fact that women of the age to even look at me are all Executive Creative Directors at Ogilvy. Two things going on with this: 1) she thinks she’s above me and 2) the idea that someone could go in an office and brand elevate fucking Haagen Dasz all day makes me sick. Those people should be beaten. Everyone in her industry forced to dig their own mass grave. I come up in my Khmer Rouge uniform and rifle butt them to the back of the skull. But then I do it too. I have a job. I work and support society. Every job with no exception has no value outside money. The most do gooder “meaningful” jobs the most corrupted. I’m not a “reptilians” person but don’t wonder why people are. This and I’m liberal yet somehow tied in with Roosh Hitler Trump and every other pussy repellent. What now. A red patch on my face. I don’t have the pussy points for to have another thing wrong with me. People on Twitter ask then why would I take advice from you. As if I said you should. You couldn’t be like me if you tried. Listen asshole– I’m a genius.