Breaking up is easy to do


Photo credit: Wikimedia Commons

Messages verbatim:

9:06pm  Me:  Can you come over tomorrow

9:26pm  Her:  I wanna take a break

9:26pm  Her:  A long break

10:07pm  Me:  Ok

And we’re done.

What was the stoush that led up to this?  Nothing.  Our last communication was about the passionfruit she gave me.  I had failed to invite her over all weekend, though.  Before that she asked if I wanted to travel with her to Thailand and I said I was too busy.  The last time I saw her we got along fine and she came once or twice, not that it’s important.  Then this.

Yet it was not entirely a bolt from the blue.  I suspect it was a Read More

My Red Pill Moment


Back when the ‘sphere was young, writers would publish a post explaining their ‘red pill moment’ – the instant they realized that everything they’d been told about women was wrong.  It’s fallen into disuse but I’m bringing it back.

In 2011 I was a blue pill beta who still believed 90% of the things that I was supposed to believe, and I dismissed hate facts with all the fervor of a furiously bespectacled lesbian social worker.

After yet another hair-raising breakup – I feared the crazy bitch might stab me – I decided to avoid dumping girls for while by avoiding real relationships.  I would just play the field as I had heard other men managed to do.

I met a new girl and we shagged within hours.  She later pressed for relationship clarification and told her openly that I didn’t want anything serious and that I would not be exclusive.  I expected her to slap me on the spot, or at least to storm out at such a degrading suggestion.

She Read More



Dear reader, have you played a game called love?

I’ve met a girl.  Twenty-five.  Gorgeous.  Within a few dates we were sleeping together.  Are there any red flags, Nikolai, that a mature and romantically experienced fellow (oh, thank you!) might have noticed?  Yes, yes.  A shirtload.  A blerrie mayday parade full, mate.  Here are some: Read More

Schrödinger’s Pussy


As in the quantum thought experiment Scrödinger’s Cat, a woman’s sexual decision exists in a state of uncertainty which can only be described according to statistical probability.  Before being observed, she both does and does not want to sleep with you simultaneously.  The blur of statistical probability only collapses into one or the other definite state once observed; that is, when you bust a move.

Let’s demonstrate with an example back here on planet Earth.  Shortly after formulating this theory I went on a date with a nice looking lady.  We met in a cafe and she told me that in ten days she would be heading off to spend a year in New Zealand.  Oh, I thought.  She just wants to practice some English conversation before she leaves.  What a waste of my time.  I considered making an excuse for an immediate getaway.

Then I remembered my theory.  She does not yet know whether Read More

The Mask Slips


They say if you give a man enough rope, he’ll hang himself.  Let a man speak freely and he will confess all his crimes.

The internet is one, giant coil of rope and anyone who uses it long enough eventually gets tangled up, revealing more than he ought to.  This is certainly true of myself.  It is also true of others.  Read for long enough and the world will unwittingly reveal all its secrets and lies to you, one by one.

First, everyone’s favourite billionaire tyrant George Soros gives the game away on his site Project Syndicate, like a Bond villain outlining his evil plan before leaving the room and allowing our hero to get chopped up by a laser.  His henchman, the presumably steel-toothed Ian Buruma, lets slip that democracy is a bad idea when it allows the election of people his host doesn’t approve of, or the implementation of policies contrary to his goals.

. . . the message of populism is similar everywhere in the democratic world: Liberal elites are to be blamed for all our ills and anxieties, from Europe’s refugee crisis to the inequities of the global economy, from “multiculturalism” to the rise of radical Islam.

I’m no idealist about democracy, even in its liberal form.  I will suggest moderate reforms in a future post.  Those reforms will not, however, include allowing traumatised tycoons to run the show as they see fit.

We all pretend to believe in liberal democracy, but Read More

I Stared Into the Abyss

Another time, another place.

I’m staring around my blue painted room in panicked desperation.  The computer, tabs flicking between Word and AltaVista’s ‘asian blowjob’ search results.  A gothic poster that I hoped would look cool if a girl ever came here.  Books from my recent childhood.  My family unheard, in bed, perhaps asleep.  It’s late.  I’ve been drinking coffee.  My heart races unevenly.

Do they know?

I can’t focus because of the gloomy pit of despair that twists like a cruel, bloated worm from my throat to my bowels.  It’s there most of the time.  Been there for years, growing and squirming inside me.  I wake up to it and fall asleep with it.  I’m sometimes amazed that I’m still alive.  How can I feel like this, for so long, and yet move and breathe like a normal person?  The feeling is so physically and emotionally painful that I’m sure it must eventually give me cancer or a heart attack.  Sometimes I hope that it does.  I am twenty but I feel like an old man looking back at my insubstantial life with regret.

I have few friends.  The ones I have are getting sick of me and are trying to fade away but I persist, turning up at parties to which I have not been invited, ignoring their embarrassed confusion, talking hopelessly to girls even I find unattractive.  I have no girlfriend.  I have no achievements to my name.  I stare at the ceiling, thinking again of my parents who have their own problems.

Do they know?

I roll over, flick again to the back pages of the local paper.  Advertisements for brothels.  There’s one not so far away, in an industrial area.  But, do I dare? Read More

Everyone’s Buffing

I recently attended a convention dominated (rather meekly) by SWPL professionals of various nationalities.  I gazed around, as one does, to check out the talent and the competition.

The white women were a bit fat.  The Asian women were petite unless they’d been living too long in a Western country.  Others: varied.  Few looked particularly fit or sporty.

The fellows, on the other hand.  Almost to a man, they Read More



Another girl, in another city.  I’d met her three hours ago.  As we strolled near my hotel I pondered which line I would use – come in for a cup of coffee?  Before I could say a word she pushed the elevator button and marched straight on in.  She reclined on my bed and watched a Korean drama while I had a shower.  I lay beside her and wrapped an arm affectionately around her shoulders.

She gaped at me, shocked.  “What are you doing?” Read More

Dried Blood in My Sink


Part I.


Chloe had told me she couldn’t come around because she ‘had a little crush on me.’  I decided to play the game.  Now knowing she loved the troubled bad boy (her ex was a violent alcoholic) I told her she was speaking shit.  I claimed to be suffering a mental illness and to have gone off my meds.  I said, come around or I will block you forever.  Could such an approach possibly work?

Read More

A Tale of Two Girls


Not these two. Image repossessed from

I am dating two women.

One of them really likes me.  She can’t resist me.  She would accept either a friends-with-benefits arrangement or a long term relationship.

The other is less keen.  She constantly weaves mind games and throws up every obstacle between here and my bed.

One of these girls I’m quite besotted with.  She’s such a cutie; I’ve an eclectic taste and she fits it.  The other is not my type.  I find her irritating to be around and not particularly arousing.  Also, her room is messy.

Can you guess which is which? Read More