She has dirty clothes in huge piles sitting on her floor.

She also has clean clothes in huge piles sitting on her floor.

She has empty water bottles, food wrappers, and Starbucks cups scattered around the interior of her car.

She has hair accumulating in her sink drains and, well, pretty much everywhere else too.

She has overflowing trash cans in every room of her house.

She has dirty dishes sitting in the sink for days or even weeks in her kitchen.

She has bathroom mirrors and windows that have no clue that Windex and paper towels exist.

She has carpets that see a vacuum cleaner maybe three times a year—at best.

She has tile or hardwood flooring so sticky that you think you’re stepping in combination of tree sap and her ex-boyfriends’ cum every time you walk on them barefoot.

She has bed sheets that rarely get changed out and have a sour smell.

She has soap scum and even mildew pockets in her bathtub or shower.

She has more dust than a 90 year old nun’s snatch accumulating on her furniture and other assorted belongings.

She has hundreds of dollars worth of makeup… all over the fucking floor, of course.

She has a refrigerator so filthy that eating anything not sealed in a container fit for Plutonium exposure puts you at serious risk for contracting dysentery.

She has blow-dryers, hair straighteners, and hair curlers—of which there must be four of each for some reason—laying on the floor for you to trip over.

You’re probably wondering who “she” is at this point. Well, you unlucky son of a bitch, “she” is very likely the next woman you sleep with or—if you’re severely lacking in self-respect—your next girlfriend. I can safely say that if the next woman you date is a product of the millennial generation, then there is roughly an 80 percent chance that she will check off a minimum of three items from the above list. And no—I’m not joking. To add insult to injury, this is just the basic stuff—it gets worse.

Welcome To The Somalian States Of America

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Several years ago, I dated a woman who lived with a few female roommates. I’d been over to her place only a couple of times before and never stayed longer than three minutes or so; I only stopped by to pick her up or drop her off. The reason I never stuck around for very long was because inside of this place was such a chaotic shithole that I nicknamed it “Little Mogadishu.” This was due to the absurd third world living conditions I was immediately exposed to whenever I went there—it was completely ridiculous.

I swear to God, the only thing missing inside this fucking dump was some AK-47 wielding malnourished black kid lighting an old station wagon on fire in the living room. And before any of you try to accuse me of being racist for saying that, I just want to make it clear that I wasn’t making fun of all black kids—I was only targeting the impoverished African ones with no food.

Now, as you can probably tell, I tried to avoid Little Mogadishu as much as I avoid the real Mogadishu—completely. As a result, this girl would always come over to my place because there was more privacy and the living conditions reflected the fact that we were living in the United States of America; she was also fully aware that I would chew her a new ass if she didn’t respect my home and—to her credit—she was always very courteous.

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One evening, though, she invited me over to Little Mogadishu to hang out with her and her roommates. I immediately countered her offer by inviting her over to my place instead, but she had been drinking and didn’t want to spend the night.

Now, the present day version of me wouldn’t even be messing around with a broad like this to begin with—never mind actually spending time at her place. But being the horny young bastard that I was at the time, I decided to bite the bullet and head over there. I wanted to get laid, but I was completely dreading the squalor and having to talk with her roommates—one of whom was a loudmouthed fat-ass with an obnoxious laugh (there always has to be at least one).

After mentally preparing myself, I threw on some of my least favorite clothes, grabbed a couple of condoms, and headed over to Little Mogadishu. Upon entering, I looked around and examined the place—I was hoping to hear a pack of hyenas laughing hysterically as they hunted down and killed off the roommates little faggot dogs, but I wasn’t so lucky.

I was quickly snapped out of my fantasy when “Patches” came up to me and started yapping. I proceeded to ignore the little fucker and immediately noticed that there was junk scattered everywhere, huge stains on the carpets, and the smell of animals who hadn’t been bathed for months in the air. I decided within 15 seconds of walking into this hovel that if I wasn’t getting laid within an hour—I was leaving.

The woman I was there to see offered me a beer, so I followed her into the kitchen and we had a brief chat…

Girl: “So, how’s it going? Glad you came over.” (kisses me and hands me a beer with a smile)

Me: “Place smells like a skunk that crawled out of a dead skunk’s ass—that’s how it’s going.”

Girl: “Haha! Oh don’t you start, I know it’s trashed out, but it’s my roommates fault—they’re lazy hehehe.”

Me: “So are we doing this or what?”

Girl: “What are you talking about?”

Me: “Well, I didn’t come over here for the scenery or to socialize with that fucking mastodon you call a roommate; who, by the way, is somehow managing to take up two-thirds of that poor couch with just her ass alone.”

*Patches enters the kitchen*

Girl: “Hahaha! God, you’re so mean—she’s actually a really sweet girl, be nice! You’re just going to have to wait a little bit for that other thing though… sometimes I feel like that’s all you ever want from me… Awwwww! There’s little Patches! AV8R, say hi to Patches!”

Me: “Hey faggot.”

Girl: “HAHA! Shhh! Not so loud! They’ll hear you! Look, just hang out with them for a little bit—they’ve been wanting to get to know you. Then we’ll go have some fun.”

Me: “Alright, fine.”

A quick side note: I absolutely hate it when sluts accuse me of just wanting them for sex. I find it quite insulting and offensive because they always seem to overlook the fact that I thoroughly enjoy getting my dick sucked too. It bothers me when I see sluts forget crucial details; not to mention, selling themselves short and underestimating their value in such a way. They should have more confidence in themselves. Anyway, back to the story…

So we headed off to the living room and one of the roommates was kind enough to clear some crap off the couch so I could have a place to sit down. I’m sitting there nursing my beer as I listen to this gaggle of drunk broads talk about stuff I don’t find interesting, ask me stupid questions I don’t want to answer, and listen to them laugh at things I don’t find funny—it was pure hell.

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Every time the loud fat one would laugh, I would zone out and fantasize about experiences that would be more pleasant than listening to her: things like getting stabbed, being thrown down a flight of stairs, or being held at gunpoint and forced to jerk off to YouTube videos of plane crash compilations all came to mind.

About 20 minutes into this suck-fest, I asked where the bathroom was located. I get pointed in the right direction by my girl and make the journey—managing to avoid “Patches” and all of the other tripping hazards in the process. Once in the bathroom, I flipped on the light switch and closed the door.

I then proceeded to dodge the ten tons of random girl paraphernalia that was strewn all over the place and finally made it to the toilet. I lifted the toilet seat up with one hand while simultaneously unzipping my pants with the other… and then it happened. What was I greeted with, you may ask? None other than the remnants of what could only be described as the “Tsar Bomba” of nuclear shits—relatively fresh and clinging to the sides of the bowl.

Now, the gentleman in me wanted to help these ladies out by trying to blast that mess clean with my piss, but I quickly nipped that idea in the bud and just went ahead and pissed in their sink instead. My initial thought was that the fat broad with the annoying laugh was the culprit. It makes sense that a big bitch would take big shits, but I couldn’t be sure if it was her or not. I pulled the shower curtain back and examined the bathtub to see if it was wet inside—it wasn’t. So whoever created that mess didn’t shower after they were done.

Concerned that I might be on the verge of having sex with some slattern with a severe case of swamp ass, I decided to hit the eject button and get the hell out of there. I had seen enough for one evening. I couldn’t just pull the girl I was seeing aside and directly ask if she was the one responsible—she would have almost certainly denied all involvement; much in the same way she absolved herself of any responsibility for the place being such a pigsty in the first place.

And let’s be brutally honest here: it wouldn’t have mattered to me even if she confessed and then took a shower—because at the end of the day, I would have still seen her fucking doo-doo, and that just ain’t going to work for this motherfucker right here.

After emerging from ground zero, I motioned to my girl to visit me in the kitchen for another talk. I quickly explained to her that I was leaving and why. She apologized profusely for the mess and denied any wrongdoing as expected. I accepted her apology with my typical charm and then fled Little Mogadishu without a word to her roommates.This woman was actually a pretty nice person, so I didn’t give her a really hard time about the situation. After all, I made the decision to go over there knowing the place was a shithole, so I have to accept some responsibility for putting myself there.

The Messy Proclivities Of The Messy Woman

When you walk into a woman’s home like the one described in the above story, or you receive a selfie showcasing a room that bears a striking resemblance to a landfill (and we’ve all received a few them)—then there are a few assumptions you can make about the woman you’re currently involved with.

1. She is under constant financial stress and routinely blows money on shit she doesn’t need with money she doesn’t have

These women usually struggle to pay their bills when they come due and regularly overdraw their checking accounts. They may also have the bad habit of getting payday loans (and the exorbitant interests rates that accompany them) to keep themselves afloat financially throughout the month. If they don’t have financial problems, then their daddy is most likely covering their expenses, or they’re sleeping with dudes who are giving them money.

2. She’s never on time for anything—including her job

You can count on this type of woman to be a minimum of 15 minutes late for any plans you make with her, and that’s assuming she doesn’t flake on you altogether.

3. She has an excuse for everything and takes responsibility for nothing.

Just like the girl in the above story: everything is always somebody else’s fault. You should also prepare yourself to hear the words “I’ve been so busy” quite frequently. This is in spite of the fact that she has no hobbies or real interests, has a normal 9-5 work schedule, or has a job working three 12-hour shifts (like a nurse, for example) and has up to four days off per week. These women will also feign helplessness quite often and attempt to make un-funny jokes about their irresponsibility.

4. She won’t ask you to use a condom when you fuck her

This one should really draw your attention, because I hate to break it to you, but you are not special, buddy. These women are not being nonchalant about condom use because they think you’re an awesome dude or because they desperately want your seed—they’re being nonchalant because they’re fucking stupid.

If a woman can’t be bothered to bend over and pick up her dirty clothes, then it’s safe to assume that she can’t be bothered to remember to take her birth control or practice good pussy hygiene either. And the fact that she has a cavalier attitude towards using condoms with you means that she extended the same courtesy to all of the other guys who have fucked her (or unbeknownst to you, are still fucking her).

Women who maintain disorderly residences generally maintain disorderly lives across the board: they’re slobs at home, they’re slobs with their finances, and they’re slobs with their vaginas. I’ve heard some people say that the more neat and fastidious women are the really slutty ones—it’s complete bullshit. I suspect this little theory was cooked up by ugly women who are too lazy to clean their fucking houses.

Looking back, I can say that almost every woman I’ve dated who has kept her place neat and tidy has had a lower notch count than the messy broads. Now, this doesn’t mean that the tidy ones weren’t sluts (we are still talking about mostly American women here), it just means that these women tended to be more respectable and less tempestuous in their slutty ways when compared to their trashy counterparts.

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A Word To The Wise

Always wrap up your dick when fucking around with these messy sluts—seriously. They’re not going to act responsibly, so it’s your job to do it for them. STDs and unwanted pregnancies are both terrifying propositions, and these are the types of women that will grant you those unwanted wishes if you let them. I’ve never had an STD, and only a couple of outlandish pregnancy scares from some crazy stalker-types that I knew couldn’t be true. I’ve never had to worry about this shit because I’ve always valued my future over how good my orgasm feels.

You must ask yourself, “If I were to have children with such a woman, how many hours would my infant son or daughter sit around wearing shit-filled diapers? How often would she let my kids go to school wearing dirty clothes? Would a loser slob of a woman make sure that my kids are brushing their teeth, taking baths, doing their homework and cleaning their rooms?” I highly doubt it.

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The mere thought of your children going to school with un-brushed teeth and wearing stained or wrinkled clothing should make your fucking blood boil. Irresponsible loser women raise irresponsible loser kids. And speaking for myself here: I would consider it the ultimate slap in the face to have a lazy piece of shit woman provide me with lazy piece of shit kids—I love my unborn children far too much to ever let their mother be some fucking flunky.

Women who can’t take care of themselves fail considerably when attempting to take care of anybody else. Whenever I see a news story about a child dying from heat exposure because their scatter brained mother accidentally left them locked inside a 110 degree car for over an hour, one of the first things that comes to my mind is usually: “I bet that bitch’s house is filthy.” And while there’s obviously no empirical data to support my hypothesis, I would bet damn good money that I’m right.

Women have a tendency to put their best foot forward in the beginning as they attempt to snag you and get you tied down, but they will eventually fall right back into their old habits—they always do. This is why it’s important to show up at a woman’s place on short notice from time to time (if you’ve been seeing her for a bit).

You can test her by deliberately leaving something there and coming back for it a few days later, or you can just say that you’re close-by and want to pay her a visit—don’t give her more than a few minutes to prepare. If she starts giving you excuses or tries feeding you bullshit as to why you can’t visit for a few minutes, then you need to view that with suspicion (for multiple reasons).

If a woman’s home is completely spotless whenever you’re there, then that’s something you need to pay attention to as well. Luckily, women who are neurotic freaks about cleanliness usually expose themselves pretty quickly—they lose their damn minds whenever something is out of place. Those fruitcakes are even more intolerable than the sloppy ones.

What I’m talking about specifically is when a woman is trying to make a “good impression” by keeping her place spotless whenever you’re around. Making a “good impression” translates into the following: “I’m a fucking bum, but I’ll put on a good show for a little while if it gets me a good man.” Seriously: to hell with those broads—they’re worthless. Test them to the max: eventually they will falter and show their true colors, and once they do—you discard their asses without a second thought.

All you’re looking for is a happy medium—a woman who has the motivation to maintain a tidy living space, but doesn’t do it because she’s trying to impress you or because she’s an obsessive compulsive weirdo. She does it simply because it’s a part of her character; she’s naturally inclined to do so—it’s just who she is as a person. If you find one like this, then you’ll notice that she most likely approaches the other areas of her life with maturity as well.

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In Closing

There are many men out there who believe you can mold a woman into what you want her to be. If the woman in question is young, untainted, and experienced a proper upbringing by two solid parents—then perhaps these men are on to something. But if the woman in question is a degenerate turd with a profusion of abysmal habits and character deficiencies, then I believe the only thing you are going to be molding is a fucking turd.

I’m a firm believer in not trying to change or rehabilitate a woman—I think that what you see is what you get. There are certain things I do as an individual that are just habits; by-products of my character and upbringing. I clean up after myself, I show up for work, I’m financially responsible, I exercise regularly—this is who I am. I do these things whether I’m dating someone or not. I like to refer to this as “being a responsible adult”—a fucking grown-up human being. This is a concept that doesn’t seem to resonate with the vast majority of American women—no matter how ‘strong and independent’ they may claim to be.

In my experience, once I’ve peeled away whatever facade a woman is putting up and allowed the smoke to clear, the only thing remaining has been a dirty mirror with a vapid American woman standing in front it; surrounded by her own detritus. The real her has been revealed in a deliciously perfect irony: the filth of the mirror and the filth of her surroundings serve to perfectly compliment the filth of her own reflection, but only her beauty and perceived excellence does she see—her cum drenched soul she does not.

She possesses a unique gift—the ability to tell herself lies with more conviction than she tells herself the truth. If it weren’t for this special talent of hers, then she would see exactly the same thing I do: that she’s nothing more than a filthy whore with a filthy floor. And at the end of the day, I won’t be there to push a fucking broom for her.

Read More: The Relationship Whore