In 2005, I had no semblance of “game” and had only been with a handful of girls. This included the one I had just broken up with, a terrible choice of a girlfriend who was an ex-stripper and ended up cheating on me. As an already avid drinker, I escalated things and would charge out at nights, drink very hard, and try to basically bang anything. And anything I did.
Living with my buddy who had game was helpful, as we’d go out and he would make me approach girls. Also living in one of the sluttiest cities in America did not hurt either. Anyway, usually after my second Long Island iced tea I’d start approaching on my own. I would keep drinking all night, penning my then nickname of the “suicide bomber” as in the process of taking myself out I’d take down any girl around me. To say my quality varied wildly is an understatement. I banged average girls, I banged chubsters, I banged a legit 8, and even a girl with a great body but askew face.
One quick side note: despite the fact that I’ve always had a distaste for fat girls, back then I was more concerned with just quantity of notches than anything else. The idea that I could go out and come home with a girl was so new to me, that it trumped any quality control I would try to implement. So while I hate to admit it, at times I delved into the underbelly of society while under the influence of an abundance of alcohol.
Eventually my buddy started hooking up with a cute girl who had a big social circle of slutty friends, of which I dabbled into two and one…well…led to this story.
The first one I ended up banging was actually pretty cute. She was 6’1 and had monstrous fake breasts that were buoyant enough to float a sinking elephant, but cute nonetheless. Unfortunately, every time we’d have sex she would just stare at me and smile nonstop. I’m talking the biggest shit eating grin you’ve ever seen, and for no reason whatsoever. Eventually I couldn’t take it anymore and stopped seeing her, solely because she reminded me of the Joker and it freaked me out. But she wasn’t the worst bang of my life. Actually, this really has nothing to do with the main point of this story. I’m just trying to soften the blow I’m about to share with all of you by citing to at least one decent pull that year. It was actually her friend. The one that my buddy to this day — 8 years later — still reminds me of. I am referring to…
The Seven Layer Burrito
I remember it was cold that night. Because of the cold, I had made some chili in the crockpot for dinner and there were a lot of leftovers. I also remember my buddy and I taking several shots of vodka before heading to our favorite bar to pick up girls. I remember ordering our standard Long Island iced teas, and then ordering another one after finishing the initial one. Then it gets foggy.
At some point, after likely striking out with the clientele of the bar, my buddy’s girl came over with this other friend. To paint a good picture, imagine a indisputably fat girl with curly hair, tall, pale and annoying as hell. Now add another 30 pounds to that and give her red hair, and you have this girl. We all started drinking together, and eventually after a few minutes of massaging her backfat rolls we started making out. We left hand in hand from the bar, in plain view of all the patrons. I do not remember this, but of course my buddy was more than willing to share these details with me the next day. However, this was not the worst part of the story.
We all took a cab back to our apartment, where my lover for the night decided to first attack the crockpot of chili. She ate the ENTIRE thing before waddling her way into my room. Sadly this part I remember because of how traumatic/surprising it was. Even more sad is that I followed her into that room. However, this was not the worst part of the story.
Once inside we started to go at it. Thankfully, I was so drunk that I only remember snippets of the fornication, saving my mind from irrevocable damage. Her breath smelled like chili. Like Magellan, I had to navigate the waves of her body to find the orifice by which to copulate. And for some reason, she demanded I punch her in the face during the act. She also demanded that she be choked. So there she was, this rotund mass of a girl resembling the worst version of Pippi Longstocking you can imagine — if you can imagine her with elephantitis of the body — with a belly full of chili asking for violent acts to be performed against her for purposes of reaching orgasm. However, this was not the worst part of the story.
We fell asleep and the next morning I snuck out early to walk my dog. When I got back she finally came out of my room. My buddy was already on the couch with his girl, watching the debacle come to a conclusion. She slowly and steadily lowered her massive self to the floor, and started rolling around the carpeted flooring with my dog. As I stared at this sight, now sober, I felt great shame for the first time in a long while. I looked over at my buddy, and he was now mimicking the Joker of the story above, smiling incessantly. I knew I would never live this down, and so did he.
And then it happened. Growing tired of the three minutes of physical activity with my dog, she grabbed onto the dining table to help elevate her gravity-challenged self to a standing position. Upon accomplishing this feat, she…with all sincerity…presented the following question:
I could really use a seven layer burrito right now. Mmmmmm…does anyone else want to come with me to Taco Bell? Who wants to go to Taco Bell?!?
This was the worst part of the story. Perhaps she lost the genetic lottery and was ugly. Perhaps she was wasted and that led to her desire to down the crockpot of chili. Perhaps she was abused and had some mental issues leading to the aggressive requests for rough sex. But that next morning, after no longer being drunk, and having just ate a quart of fucking chili the night before, she still had not only the desire but the utter lack of shame to outwardly state her ridiculous need for a fast food burrito. A part of me died that morning. I hated myself. Not only did I degrade my own self worth, but I validated hers.
That was eight years ago. Yet a few times a year, even now, my buddy reminds me of the Seven Layer Burrito girl. Partly to give me shit, but also partly to show how far I’ve come. If you have been reading ROK and/or Roosh’s blog, you know that I’ve had some crazy success this year. But as with any student of the game, it was not always like this.
In the winter of 2010 before a trip to Colombia I googled “Medellin sluts” and that let me to the forum, which changed my life drastically and for the better. I’ve never hit such a low again in my life, and every year my percentages of “unmentionables” decreased significantly to now being nonexistent.
I really wish that I could take that one back…a mulligan if you will. But I can’t. Hopefully, however, this story can at least show you how low one can start. And it was pretty damn low.
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