Sausagefests Are Good For You

Several years ago I co-hosted a dozen DC blogger happy hours. Most of the attendees were blogger women who lived in the city, and Virgle Kent and I had slept with just about all of the pretty ones (no exaggeration). But after overweight women infiltrated the circle, we had to stop going because happy hours deteriorated into something resembling this:

After being away for so long, it was time to throw another happy hour—not to get laid but to exchange notes with other men. On October 13 we met on the rooftop of Brixton bar in the U Street area of DC. My favorite recap comes from Mentu, who got experience the horror of DC women firsthand:

Manosphere writers are complete dicks.Never in my life have I shoulder-checked a bitch, but after watching one of our esteemed writers knock a princess into the railing on the sidewalk after she refused to move out of his way, I decided to give it a try. DC women can be rude as hell, so after the third or fourth time of literally being physically pushed out of the way, I shoulder-checked the fuck out of some little tart, and she spilled her drink on her sleeve. I did that twice last night, and it felt great. I don’t know who in the hell these women think they are, but throughout the night, I refused to move out of a woman’s way unless she met me halfway and showed a moderate amount of decorum. It was a new experience for me, since I never have to do that in Texas. The women folk down here have their share of problems, but at least they act like human beings and carry on as part of a society.

Bronan turned the meetup into a weekend adventure. Part one focuses on his night with Virgle while part two concerns the meetup.

I hung back with the blogger guys, approached by the occasional forum member. I spent most of the night pretending to be Private Man. Several fans told me that they read “my” (PM’s) blog all the time which was bullshit since PM is older than Methuselah, the Crypt Keeper and God combined and I’m clearly a total stud in his prime. Lots of beginners came out and it was cool to talk to dudes who were just getting into game and give them some encouragement. One basement dweller kept claiming to be the author of G Manifesto and I overheard some dude claiming to be Roissy, so there were a few fakes on the prowl. I hadn’t bothered much with approaching since we had created DC’s Ultimate Sausagefest of Dick Doom, but VK had gone all in with a short latina chick.

The best recap from a non-blogger came from Samseau, one of more popular posters on RVF.

“Let me guess…. You’re Matt!” This must have been Roosh’s canned opener for the evening, but it was true that there were 6 or 7 Matt’s there. I corrected him and introduced myself, and when he asked if I was from the blog or the forum I indicated myself as Samseau. Immediately he became quite animated and excited to meet me.

Over our many conversations we had that evening, Roosh touted the advantages of growing older in the game, and the things myself and other guys could look forward to as we approached 30. We talked about how foreign women were superior in every way in comparison to domestic. Roosh told me of his next moves throughout the world, and the gave me words of encouragement towards building a more international lifestyle.

Bill Powell gave his thoughts on attending and how DC now has a special place in his heart…

I’ve got to admit, DC is a nice place. I’d never had the opportunity to wander the streets like I got to this past weekend and my impression is that it’s clean, relatively crime free at least in the areas I was hanging out in but there is an underlying current of classism. Let me explain.

Another reader almost got laid, but got cockblocked in the end..

It was a good 10-minute walk down U Street to get to The Brixton. I walk in and make my way up to the rooftop. The first thing I notice when I get there is that it’s a sausage fest. This is no surprise as I assume that its men who predominantly read Roosh’s blog.

When I first meet Roosh, he’s taller and more in shape then I thought he would be. Virgil Kent was suited up and as expected, a chill, cool black dude.

After all was said and down, how many guys got laid? I know of five. If you saw how many guys were at the Brixton, that number is nothing short of miraculous.

The meetup was such a success that I’m already thinking of where to hold the next one. How does Poland sound?