I feel sorry for Bronan and Nate, because they had to listen to me bitch and moan through what I now call “The great dry spell of 2013.” I went for over two months without a new or even a repeat notch – the longest dry spell in Thatch post-red pill history. It was brutal, and my anti-porn/anti-fapping policy went out the window in less than two weeks.
I won’t be specific for privacy reasons, but I don’t live in a city known for attractive women. It’s not in any way uncommon to go out barhopping all weekend long and only see two or maybe three bangable girls without a ring on their finger. They marry young here, divorce early, and then remarry instantaneously. The typical set in my city is one girl, her man who she started dating in high school (but still somehow managed to rack up 50 notches), and two of his beta friends trying to be cool in their ill-fitting JC Penny suits and fedoras. Bar game is a bitch-and-a-half here, so I day game almost exclusively. Even then, “What high school did you go to/are you one of Linda’s friends?” is the second sentence out of their mouths right after “I’m engaged.”
I dropped my phone.
I got a new phone.
What’s this iCloud thing?
Oh. It’s that thing that turned 197 phone contacts into 231 contacts. Numbers from girls I hadn’t seen or talked to in months or years repopulated on my phone.
About 20 texts to 20 different girls later, I had a date the following night that turned into a bang. She was a repeat so it wasn’t a +1, but at least I had ended my dry spell.
In all, I banged 3 repeats that week. Then, as if the day game prospects I had churned up could sense my success through their fem antenna, I picked up a +1 and got an unsolicited text from another. A few nights later, another +1.
So how about a little brutal honesty? Let me just dump it all into this article so the haters can rip Thatch a new asshole. I know some of you have just been waiting, so here’s your chance to armchair alpha in the comments section as I write things that go against traditional manosphere teachings.
Here’s what I learned beta beta beta betabetabetabeta beta beta beta beta betabetabeta:
I. Scarcity mentality is counterproductive, but scarcity itself is a fact that we often overlook in the Manosphere.
I just told you how it’s nearly impossible to meet single women in my city, and then I followed it up with how I banged a handful of them. But gentlemen, I’m older-but-not-old, my career choices have paid off, and I live in an uppity building in the heart of the city. Had I written this article 10 years ago in my early 20’s and lived in this poon-forsaken city, the whole article would have been about how I still haven’t broken my dry spell.
For those of you living out in a cornfield somewhere or in a rural town where the only thing on anybody’s mind under the age of 30 is literally “My god, I either have to get married or get the hell out of here,” don’t give too much credence to the AMOG keyboard jockeys who slam you the moment you talk about how rare it is to see an attractive woman – not just without a boyfriend – but without a diamond on her finger. Yeah, they’re both cheating on each other and they’ll be married and divorced in about 3 years, but the price of admission to that party is being married or engaged yourself. I call it mutually assured destruction game.
True, there’s got to be at least a handful of attractive single women around, and I insist you can find and bang them, but don’t beat yourself up for not grabbing a different +1 every other weekend. Depending on your age, location and resources, you may be in a situation where one decent-looking +1 per year followed by an LTR constitutes age and resources-appropriate game.
Just be honest with yourself when you assess your surroundings and your level of game. Don’t let the man version of the hamster convince you that your lack of poon is beyond your control. But I am painfully aware that the effort I put in here to pick up a +1 would have triple or quadruple the yield in other cities I’ve lived in – and I understand the same may go for you. Don’t beat yourself up too much over these AMOG comments if you’re living in Splitbritches Arkansas and don’t even see (much less bang) 5 hotties per month. My guess is that over 90% of those guys are full of shit anyway.
II. They’re all the same, and I’m tired of the game.
I’m going on my 5th year of writing in the manosphere. It does my heart good to see people quote my old personas in the comments section, and even more good when they quote something I said four years ago to completely trash something I said in a current article.
Some of the people who hate me the most are also my biggest fans. Heh.
A central theme in my writing over the years has been “they’re all the same.” I wrote this way because they are largely all the same in key ways, plus it really pisses women off when I say it, and it really pisses off beta fucktards when I say it bout their wives or girlfriends.
But when the day comes that you’ve banged every type of woman on the planet – rich, poor, good, bad, corporate, homebody, party, church, educated, dumb, funny, serious, political, clueless, etc. – you realize that “they’re all the same” isn’t something you just write in the manosphere to piss everybody off. It truly is like dating the same goddamn woman over and over and over and over again – just in a different body.
Bronan can back me up on this because we’ve discussed it ad nauseam: I told him I was going to double down, end my dry spell, and pick up a few +1’s so I could call it quits while I still had the mojo to go out while banging more girls in one week than most betas will in a lifetime.
I pulled it off, I have the pictures to prove it, and I’m fucking done with this mess. I’m sure I’ll change my mind in about three or four months, but for now, I’m over this shit. If you’re a betting man, you’d be wise to put money on my return looking more like a serial monogamist than a player. This is not because I’m ready to settle down, but rather because I’m just flat-out tired of chasing ass all the time.
III. I now understand why men get married.
Marriage is risky, however, I can see why men who get to my point in life say “fuck it” and take a walk down the aisle.
Even if it’s easy for you to get laid, it’s not *that* easy, and eventually you’ll tire of the whole rapid mating charade. When that happens, it’s much easier to fool yourself into thinking she’s special so that you can settle down and stop working hard to keep women interested. By the time you figure out that reasoning is severely and fundamentally flawed, you’re screwed. But if you perceive your level of screwdness to be more tolerable than the pain-in-the-ass of chasing tail forever, you really may become a “happily” married man.
I get it now. It’s like eating steak for so long that a gas station hotdog actually sounds good.
IV. I’m running out of things to say.
Like I said, I’ve been writing in the mansophere for a long time, and I’m losing my passion for writing about game because it’s not new anymore. Take this article for example; I banged 5 women, three of which I’d be proud as fuck to post their photos, and the other two were bangable by any reasonable man’s standards – yet this article offers zero game tips. But what on earth can I possibly say that hasn’t been said 500,000 times already?
It’s also becoming increasingly rare for me to bang a girl younger than 25, so I’m losing touch with what the younger guys need to hear. About 5 months ago I tagged a girl shortly before her 21st birthday, but all of my other lays in the past several years have been in the 25 to 32 year old age range. I don’t know what the next generation of guys need to hear, because the 18 – 22 year old girl crop is much harder to deal with than any of the chicks in my rotation. Just a few weeks ago I was playing tennis with my nieces and their girlfriends, and I remember thinking how much more advanced their status whoring and shit testing skills are than even the 27 – 32 year old attorney chicks I’ve dated. The oldest of that bunch was 15 if memory serves, and these are the “good ones” even by manosphere standards.
Christ almighty I pity your sons. I really, really do.
V. My writing is starting to suck.
These days I just ramble. When I look back at my old work and see the passion I once had about sharing new experiences and concepts I learned, it puts my current writing to shame. Look how long this damn article is. It’s going to be 2,000 words before I’m done with it, and I haven’t said anything new or noteworthy.
The bottom line is that what I learned from banging 5 girls in 7 days is that I don’t give a shit if I bang 5 girls in 7 days ever again. It’s too much work, there’s zero return on investment outside of an hour or two of carnal pleasure, and the moment I bust a nut, I can’t stand the sound of her voice or having her in my personal space. The sad thing is that the vast majority of them are actually pretty nice gals, but once they start in on me with the “OMG I never ever do this!” talk, a portion of what little bit of soul I have left dies.
I know too much. I’ve seen, done and heard too much. I wouldn’t trade it for the world, but it’s really starting to become a drag. I cannot stand being lied to or being snowflaked on as if I’m some retarded beta with a diamond in his pocket just waiting for the perfect finger. The fact that they actually believe their own bullshit just makes it worse.
I think I’ve finally come to the place where I prefer to be lied to by one woman at a time.
It’s been fun, gentlemen. I’ve fucked half your wives and all your daughters and don’t regret a minute of it – but I’m officially sending my player jersey to the rafters of the Manosphere Dome.
Read Next: Why You Think She’s The One