I very rarely frequent “Manosphere” or “PUA” sites. The only typical exception being when Heartiste turns his prodigious verbal facility toward areas of my concern. Never a true Lothario, I would probably be hard-pressed at this point to pick up a woman with a fork lift. Though ultimately, obtaining sexual gratification from modestly attractive partners just never struck me as a herculean enterprise. They are as designed to mate with us as we them. This isn’t cajoling a housecat into scuba diving. Though there was an incident many years ago when the lessons of “Game” would have dearly redounded to my benefit…
As a noted philanthropist of some means, I had obtained a prototype of the most modern contrivance from Mr. Bell’s laboratories: a movable telephone. Once in hand, I instructed the device to alert me to incoming calls by rendering my favorite song—Minnie Ripperton’s classic, Loving You—in lieu of a klaxon. It was by this pleasant caterwauling that I received a message summoning me to the offices of my solicitor. There I was advised of the expiration of my widower Uncle Fillmore from spontaneous rectal exsanguination—his fourth wife Fifi having succumbed to the scurvy some years prior.
I will admit to being initially nonplussed at this news until it was revealed that I had been identified as his sole heir. This gave me quite a start as I had not seen the man since my eighth birthday party when, confused by the drink, he had bestowed a copy of Hustler magazine as a gift. Though as it happens my uncle, a lecherous besotted plutocrat, was so loathed by his own infernal and multitudinous offspring that he bequeathed the whole of his fortune to a nephew whose name he never learned just to spite them.
Shortly after coming into receipt of this unspendable wealth I was approached by a chaste young lady of heavenly features and figure. Now I am not an attractive man and so could not fathom her interest; and at the time could only attribute it to another stroke of serendipity. After a brief courtship, we were married and I happily lavished her with affection, baubles, and a platoon of domestic factotums. I thought I had it all.
At some point I began taking well-deserved sabbaticals from leisure pursuits to have my colon rinsed in the briny waters of the Dead Sea. Upon each homecoming I was heartened to note my wife’s anguish at both the length of my absence and the girth of my return. Though I also began to hear rumors suggesting certain moral infirmities on her part. I dismissed these as poppycock.
I won’t favor you with the lurid details of what followed, though you will be surprised to learn that the little bitch absconded with the very solicitor who facilitated the resolution of my dear uncle’s estate. And by some legal machinations, the two of them were able to secure half of the zeros in my bank account.
My reaction to all of this was not one of maturity and I’ll admit to, in a fit of pique, having myself sealed in an underground sarcophagus for a fortnight with only a box of Ding Dongs for sustenance. And as for my remaining fortune, well it has been largely squandered on prostitutes, ponies, and narcotics. So if someone tells you that women are conniving trollops and you better learn how to Game them…believe it!