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Overheard in DC

While enjoying a fine late Sunday afternoon breakfast, I overheard portions of a scintillating conversation between the woman and the man sitting in the background of this picture.

To the left is the woman, in her late 30s/early 40s, recounting her lifetime sexual exploits while simultaneously lamenting her failure to “find the right man” and get married and have children. To the right is her gay boyfriend. We assumed he was gay by his mellifluous vocal cadence, and he confirmed it when he mentioned his gayness during the course of their conversation.

When you read these dialogue snippets try to imagine a plain-looking past-her-prime woman describing in a breezy, almost detached, tone of voice how she was violated sexually, and her gay boyfriend listening to her as if he’d heard it all before.

We’ll call her washed up wall victim (WUWV) and him GB (gay BF).

WUWV: Oh, I forgot to tell you, I had a one night stand last week! I didn’t expect him to sleep over and be there in the morning.
GB: I know, I know. Sometimes you just want them to get out.

Their conversation was starting to heat up.

WUWV: I’ve had a lot of flings and one night stands.
GB: [blah blah… something about Nietzsche… blah]
WUWV: I’ve done a lot of juggling.
GB: I could never do that. I’m the monogamous type. [editor’s note: if you’re a girl and you outcompete a gay guy in the whore sweepstakes you know you’re doing something wrong]

It got better.

WUWV: I did it once with a black guy and it was great.
GB: Wow, how big was he?
WUWV: He was really huge! God it just filled me up. I’d recommend a black guy at least once to all my friends.
GB: I love being a bottom to a black man. You know… just take me!

Please lord don’t let this train wreck stop.

WUWV: One time he took me in all three holes in the same night. Younger men have such stamina.
GB: Mmmhm!
WUWV: His tongue was almost as fast as my vibrator.

Suddenly, a turn to the tragic.

WUWV: …well, it didn’t work out. So now it’s back to dating. It can be such a chore. What’s out there, really?
GB: Don’t worry about it, you’ll be fine. I’ve seen men checking you out, you’ve still got it girl.
WUWV: …and, you know, eventually I want to have kids. I don’t have all the time in the world to waste.
GB: Please, that’s nothing. You can get help to have children these days. Everyone’s doing it. Don’t rush yourself, honey.

What a monument to self-deception! To any lesser betas reading this: When you consider settling for a desperate older woman on the prowl for a husband sucker, this is what you’re getting — a has-been dried-up wall-hitting cock-slurping cum dumpster pussy-stretched three input titty-sagging multiple-cat-having haagen daz-scarfing cervix-scarred barren-wombed psychologically unmoored skank whore cougar. You have been warned.

The last thing this broad needs is a sympathetic gay boyfriend feeding her delusions and greasing the skids on her downward spiral. What she needs is the unvarnished truth. From, oh, a guy like me!

Like the release of the Kraken from its undersea lair, I feel a mighty Roissy Rant coming on.


Here we have, her brave front temporarily lowered, the typical tragic wail of the childless aging modern urban woman. And her tragedy enabler, the gay boyfriend who will never inject her with the dose of reality she desperately needs. She will continue aging, refusing to settle for a grateful beta who will be happy to have her sagging carcass as his tepid seed receptacle, never letting go of the pickiness she could afford when she was 20 years younger, and missing out on her chance at motherhood as she sips mimosas every Sunday afternoon at an overpriced trendy Dupont Circle eatery. At the bottom of the glass she will see her reflection crying back at her, and later that night she will pull the bedsheets close, the other side of the bed cold, and feel the suffocating weight of reality encircling her like shards of streetlamp lights slowly marching across her sickly gray bedroom walls. All those used condoms and triple penetrations and girls nights out will have done nothing to alleviate the crushing loneliness which has stolen her sense of invulnerability like a thief in the night.

Her fate is sealed:

fuck around with alpha cads –> delay marriage –> get too much education –> throw self into career –> earn lotsa money to spend on handbags –> feel empowered –> serially date and fuck as career and educational success distort her time horizon –> start to get serious about finding husband at age 29 –> slowly discover she is not worth as much on the open market despite business school degree and 1350 SATs –> get bitter –> sabotage her dating prospects with bitter resentment –> show up to dates with cat scratches and abrasive attitude –> die childless or burdened with a downs child and a lickspittle beta life partner.


I am cruel in my tactics, but my message is unassailable. If these super self-confident tankgrrl wannabes listened to me and took my advice before it was too late, despite their revulsion for the way in which I say it, they would find happiness.

But they won’t. And so I will laugh at them, half in pity, half in amusement.

Quick, Sex And The City tickets are going fast! Those girls know how to have fun. So much fun…

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