Avoiding weaponization

We know, unless you’re some deviant with a fetish, that men and women fuck for different reasons. Men, being relatively straightforward creatures, fuck because they want to fuck. For women, sex is a gambit of sorts. She fucks you because she believes you possess some value that she can benefit from in future time.

Most people, if given the chance, will try to exploit you if they think they can get away with it. Guys will take advantage of a girl’s naivety and lie to her to get laid. Girls will string a sexually-deprived guy along with the promise of sex, only to drink his liquor and use his bed to fuck his roommates for a few months until he catches on. I hate to sound like I’ve written off humanity, but it’s hard to be optimistic in the face of the social subversion, betrayal, and needless aggression I see on a day-to-day basis around here.

We exist in an era of assumed hostility between strangers. Among the millennial generation it’s gotten so intense that I don’t hesitate to say that we form a nihilistic subgroup within society. Community has been sacrificed to give way to a superfluously competitive arena of competing bands of modern-day primate tribes. Don’t believe me? Just walk into any establishment serving alcohol to a group of more than 50 people.

I mean, look–Kalamazoo is a hostile place. When you walk around areas populated by students, do you really feel safe? I don’t. I’ve seen way too much out on Lafayette Street and West Michigan Ave to be fooled into believing that the student population of Kalamazoo is a particularly friendly bunch. You need not walk too long a distance on a Friday or Saturday night to see people kicking down mailboxes, throwing objects at passerby from the safety of their porch, or encountering some shirtless asshole trying to fight you because he was abused as a child and can’t get laid.

And, I hate to say it, but I think the root problem of the student population’s proclivity for violence is the fact that the people here are really stupid. You get a lot of the “white trash” from the isolated, historically poor towns and suburbs around Kalamazoo flooding into student neighborhoods to take advantage of subsidized schooling at community college, and they bring with them heavy emotional baggage that they unload onto the world after a few shots of their fifteen-dollar-a-handle vodka. These are not the people with the presence of mind, emotional health, or intelligence to settle differences or solve problems with compromise and reason. Their deference to violence or, as is usually the case, the threat of violence is how they cope with their limited capacity for clearing life’s hurdles.

You also get these delusional wrecks of human beings who, while unimposing and demure when alone, suddenly materialize a propensity for combat the moment the number of dudebros in their coterie exceeds three or four. Ironically, it’s never the big, strong dudes you need to worry about when you’re walking around outside, minding your own business. The big dude doesn’t need to waste energy (and incur the penalties) of fighting random people because he’s already validated constantly by the limp-wristed, sniveling manboys who cling to him like dingleberries. It’s the skinny dudes, short dudes, and weak dudes who are the troublemakers and who use combat as a means to vindicate the prevailing insecurities surrounding their masculinity that weigh down on them heavier than their 135 lb bench press max.

I mean, how many times have you seen the weak dude in a group instigate a fight simply because he knows all of his friends will save his sorry hide should somebody step up to him when he hurls insults off of his porch? I’ve ended friendships for this very reason. When I go out on the town, I’m not looking to do battle–I’m trying to have a pleasant time in the company of my peers and get laid.

However, when I do go out these days, I see a significant number of weirdos who stand around with furrowed brows, fishing for eye contact as a pretext for starting fights or to cockblock. If you’re going to be a sad cunt when you go out, why even venture forth into the night? If there exists within you all of these underlying emotional issues, do you really think the remedy is alcohol and loud music? You’re only exacerbating your problem and making things worse for everybody around you.

The hair trigger for violence that hangs in the air around Kalamazoo has reflected its nastiness on its dating market as well. A significant number of women (maybe over half at this point) pick the guys they fuck based on his utility as a weapon.

Note, a weapon’s use isn’t restricted to mere self-defense. It’s also a tool that the psychologically warped and sociopathically ambitious use to inflict harm and extract power. How many times have you seen the scenario where a woman will act like a total cunt in public and provoke fights simply because she knows her meathead boyfriend will rush to her “rescue” in the scenario she says the wrong thing to the wrong person? I’ve seen it countless times around Kalamazoo. I see it so often that I expect it.

So, what makes a good weapon, exactly?

A male with high potential for weaponization is physically powerful (since she’s not looking to win arguments) and obedient. Obedience necessitates the surrender of independence of mind and spirit and it entails enslavement to the feminine allure (her pussy). Basically, you’ve got this lumbering idiot playing bodyguard to an equally stupid cakeface cunt with extra waistline chub and daddy issues. That’s what’s passing as a “relationship” in Kalamazoo now.

I can guarantee that if you’re a guy living in this city (and probably a lot of other places in America), and you’re not physically imposing, you’re not getting laid on any sort of consistent basis. Money, personality, and style don’t matter here–if you’re not her faithful attack dog, you’re not getting her sex.

And I’m not merely rephrasing the typical “girls like badboys” trope that seems to have engrained itself into the collective psyche of young men these days. Girls don’t really want rebellious badboys because they’re beyond her control. He’s probably going to cheat on her (since she’s a shallow cunt with little to offer other than a vagina), defy, and humiliate her.

And I want to stress another fact here: this type of behavior isn’t something I’d typify of all women. It’s just something I observe amongst most girls. The girls who I’d typify as “average-looking.” You know, the ones with a fake tan, titcurtain to hide the extra fluff on her belly, and whose worldly knowledge doesn’t tread far ahead of what color Kim Kardashian’s turds are or page 134 of Twilight. Prettier girls generally have a more refined taste in men, and they’re not really prone to being fucked with since they’re of high value.

To appreciate the ugliness and pathetic nature of the weaponization phenomenon, you need to see it in action. I had the dubious honor of witnessing it in all its hideous glory outside of Grotto last month where a woman instigated violence against a couple of guys because one of them said her shoes were funny. She punched the guy in the head, as in actually put her hands on the poor guy, then waited for her boyfriend to jump in. Ironically, the boyfriend was beaten up badly, and the girlfriend was laid out on the concrete with a retaliatory punch to the jaw.

So, to men: avoid weaponization. You’re buying into a dysfunctional relationship with an antisocial slut. You’re better than that (I hope).

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Titcurtains and Social Disorder: if you don’t look good naked, you don’t look good

I’ve picked up on the latest in female fashion while perusing the streets of Chicago and, to a lesser extent, Kalamazoo this summer, so I’ve noticed that the infamous “titcurtain” is not only back in full force, but it’s become the default form of fucking dress for most girls on campus and in the cities. Not that I give a shit about fashion, but I’m feeling far less rustling in my jimmies this summer, and I’m witnessing a whole lot more bitchy attitude from girls who haven’t earned the right to be bitches.

One maxim I live by is: if she’s covering something up, there’s something there. And so, I assume any girl donning a billowy poof over her torso is doing so, not out of a naively misplaced sense of modesty, but as a calculated component of her attire with the intention to shroud the extra gut fat limping off her waistline. After all, the healthy female figure is what gets blood boiling and boners popping, not a pair of legs jutting out of a nondescript ball of boring, so I see no reason why a girl would intentionally handicap herself by looking as bland as she can.

But you know what? That’s okay. I’m not here to tell anybody how to dress or how to live. You know, I’d actually think of it as her doing us all a favor by not subjecting the world to the the sight of her bad habits manifest as a grotesque sack of cheesy blubber jiggling off her midsection, but, look, if you’re going to dress humbly then…

be humble.


Another maxim I live by is: if you don’t look good naked, then you don’t look good. So, when I see a girl with rows of cellulite hanging off the backs of her thighs, and she’s wearing a loose sleeve as a shirt because she subsists on cheetos and bacon grease, I don’t think she’s earned the right to be acting like she’s got the status of a runway model.

Most titcurtainers (for lack of a better term) I meet have convinced themselves that if the world can’t see it, it’s not there, and so they abuse the privilege conferred to them by clever clothing designs to act like that hot bitch they’ve always dreamed of being. Step back a second there, sweet cheeks–I’m not fooled and, believe me, people aren’t as stupid as you think they are. If I were duped into buying your implication that there’s a glorious, secret treasure underneath that polyester parachute, I wouldn’t be writing this and I wouldn’t hearing guys (and some girls) complain about how awful they’re making girls act.

I mean, I know America has a weight problem, but is it really this bad? Have things gotten so out of hand in the US of A that even young girls in their prime years of physical attractiveness are squandering them with bad diet and poor fashion sense? And lest I make this sound like a polemic against women rather than an illumination of a social problem, I will say that guys are also to blame for amplifying the crescendo of this summertime Bitch Wave. I feel like a lot of them are fooled by the titcurtain shroud and they’re feeding the egos of girls they usually wouldn’t bother with if they were keen on the deception at play.

So stay cool this summer. If you’re going to wear a titcurtain, then by all means, wear the fuck out of it. Just realize that it doesn’t give you the right to act like a bourgeois cunt whose shit smells like daffodils and honey. You’re human like the rest of us, don’t forget it.

Tools

Have you been called a tool before, but were unsure whether your detractor was just jealous of your sikk style or highlighting traits about you that you failed to pick up because of your feeble introspective ability? Well, it’s your lucky fucking day, for I’ve arrived to tell you, the reader, whether or not you’re an unsociably aggressive buffoon that people regularly mock.

You might be wondering: “B-b-but Aleph, what qualifies you to judge who’s a tool and who’s not”? Well, there’s no way for you to evaluate my legitimacy to judge you, so just shut your mouth and have a little faith. Just be content to know that a sizable fraction of my my outside-time is spent in one of two places:

1. The gym
2. Y-Bar

Both locales are tool colonies, so they’re a subspecies of human that I’ve grown quite familiar with. I’m also of Mediterranean background, which is where the Art of Toolery was first invented back in 1543 by Toolicus Curliceps.

Toolicus Curliceps: progenitor of modern toolery

Anyway, enough about me. This post is about you after all, so let’s begin:

THE TOOL TEST

This is the definitive criteria that will determine whether or not you’re a total assclown:

1. Your biceps are bigger than your head: roughly 80% of the time you spend in the gym is dedicated to building your biceps. You do this “for the bitches, bro” and your arms look like birthday balloons while the remainder of your vestige resembles one of Joseph Kony’s child soldiers. Congratulations, you’ve reached the genetic potential of one of the most functionally useless muscle groups in your body.

2. You think your minimum-wage job is cool: this mostly applies to bouncers, interns, and other manner of wage-slaves. Somebody’s made you dress in a costume and is paying you scraps to do mundane tasks for hours on end. You think being associated with a place other people like means that you’re liked by extension, but you’re nothing more than a minor cog in a massive moneymaking machine. If your workplace were N’Sync, you wouldn’t even be Lance Bass. You’re not a special butterfly, you’re the dictionary definition of an expendable, organic…well, tool.

3. You believe your mediocre sexual exploits are “epic”: you got lucky one night and actually made out with a girl who didn’t resemble a burnt wildebeest. Your accomplishment is the stuff of legends and you drone on for days about how you’d have fucked her if only she wasn’t on her period, or some other bullshit excuse girls give that you still bought wholesale.

“Sup baby gurl”

4. You look like shit: you wear plaid, have stupid tattoos, and your jeans don’t fit. You leave the house on Thursdays with a wrinkled V-neck shirt and offensively stupid hat and tell people not to confuse you with The Situation from Jersey Shore. Yes, I’ve actually seen somebody do that.

5. It takes you more than 4 years to finish undergrad: your transcript has so many F’s on it that it looks like it’s about to scream “fuck.”

6. You think your unproductive lifestyle is “hardcore”: you’re 22 years old, still smoke weed on a daily basis, and watch Netflix all day. In your mind, this carefree, spontaneous existence that you buoy with your parents’ hard-earned money is the pinnacle of machismo when, in reality, you’re nothing more than a manchild.

The Tool Intensity Scale:

After reading the tool test, count how many of the numbered points describe you and apply them to the scale below to figure out your Tool Score:
1-2: Tool
2-4: Big fucking tool
4-5: People audibly laugh when they see you
6: Autistic

Getting a one-night-stand in Kalamazoo

Every 4-6 weeks, a random encounter with a female I don’t know escalates into sex. It’s important to note that what I mean by “one-night-stand” isn’t the hit’n’quit you do on your ex-girlfriend’s best friend, your buddy’s sister, or anybody else you know on a meaningfully personal level prior to insertion of boner into fishpocket–it’s a total stranger, and you will probably spend the next three weeks worrying about whether or not you contracted herpes.

There’s been a lot of variance in the scenarios that led me to instafucks. One was Asian, one took about 20 minutes between the time words were exchanged and sex was had, and another told me she never wanted to see me again in her life. However, they all had a few things in common so I’ll list them for your convenience:

“Never wanna see me again? A’ight.” 


1. Drunk: in all instances, I was teetering between consciousness and blackout drunk. Thanks to some kink in my genetics, however, I don’t get whiskeydick. While a lot of people at this point are drowsy from alcohol’s depressive effects and physically uncoordinated, I am one of those people who responds to excessive alcohol consumption with unbridled aggression in conjunction with the malfunction of all my social filters.

2. Cockblockers diffused early: potential cockblockers were eliminated from the interaction between an ephemeral fuckbuddy and myself fairly quickly. Cockblockers were too drunk, horny, or stupid to realize what was going on and failed to fulfill their natural imperative to make other people miserable.

3. She was really horny: obviously.

4. She didn’t care if a condom was used: girls these days seem to think that birth control doubles as an STD blocker.

5. Thursday: all of my random fucks were had on Thursday. Don’t underestimate the first night of the weekend. Every girl who wants to get fucked gets picked off early and doesn’t go out Friday and Saturday because she’s already maxed out her SlutCard.

Wrong day of the week, sweety

I’m not going to say that it’s in your best interest to get blackout drunk all the time because the odds are against you in the pursuit for anonymous pussy. You might end up emptying your bank account, provoking physical altercations with other sexually frustrated dudes, or destroying property. There is a certain amount of luck involved. Kalamazoo isn’t a very big town so the chances you’ll find somebody ready to slut it out with a stranger is low.

Also, expect to fuck girls in the 6-7 range in terms of attractiveness. 8-9’s are surrounded by legions of dudes trying to fuck them. You need to swoop in on a girl who’s under the radar early on in the night while the more aggressive dudes are trying their hand at fucking the five or six hottest girls at Y-bar (and undermining one another completely in the process). If you’re wondering about the rest of the attractiveness spectrum, 10’s don’t exist and 1-5’s don’t deserve mention.

Steves

Expect to be interrupted by a couple Scavenger Steves while in the process of transitioning the party to a more private location. The moment these types of guys see a girl exhibiting sexual interest in anything or anybody, they instinctively swoop in like starved hyenas. As I laid out before, the key to diffusing this type of cockblocker is to ignore their advance and allow them to crash and burn under the weight of their own desperation. Fortunately, guys who don’t get laid have a hard time hiding it in their body language, and 99% of Scavenger Steves don’t get laid.

I hope this helps. I know this has essentially been a primer for guys so, to my female audience, I apologize. If you’re looking for a one night stand, just make sure you have a pulse and no obvious physical deformities.

Sincerely,

Aleph

Kalamazoo Sausagefests: Causes and Consequences Part I

Kalamazoo bars are notorious for being epic cockfests. If I had to pick out the #1 problem with the nightlife here (and many other places in the US), it’d be the gender ratio, so I’ve decided to dedicate a couple posts to delving deep into what has caused the cockfest problem, what it means for most guys, and how the issue can be resolved. Before I start, chew on these stats for a moment:

WMU undergraduate student population as of 2011: 20,054
Undergraduate males attending WMU: 10,154
Undergraduate females attending WMU: 9,900
Ratio of males to females: 1.03
Source: http://www.wmich.edu/ir/factbook/2011/enrollment/demoug.pdf

So statistics show us that the ratio of males to females at WMU is fairly even, although they are still a little odd considering that most schools in the US have more female students than males. Regardless, the WMU admissions office isn’t to blame for the fact that you walk into a penis party almost every time you visit a campus bar.

Kalamazoo Cockfests: an Overview
Take any specific girl at WMU who goes out 2-3 nights a week and observe her behavior in both daytime and nighttime settings. You’ll notice a difference that is practically schizophrenic. During the day, she’s timid, pleasant in conversation, and high on Adderal. At night she’s bitchy, arrogant, and drunk off a fifth of Burnett’s Whipped. Someone observing this social binary on the surface might call it an epidemic case of borderline personality disorder.

You’ve probably already concluded that the transformation of WMU girls from Dr. Jekyll into Mr. Hyde is due to the fact that, at night, she’s slapped on globs of make-up, fitted herself into high heels, and has drank herself into a self-deluded haze. Wrong. Those factors have certainly contribute to the problem, but the primary cause of this mass-metamorphosis is the the skewed gender ratio at night venues gives girls an unusual level of male attention

                                           Your typical WMU girl during the day…

                                             …and the transformation at night


So what, exactly, constitutes a cockfest? Technically, it’s any social gathering where there are more guys than girls. It is an environment where the girls are the de facto prized commodity and guys must actively compete against one another to bone them. Cockfests make an unattractive girl bangable, an average girl “hot,” and turn the attractive girls into bitches. Here’s my Sausagefest Intensity Scale (SIS):

1:1 = Normal. There is, hypothetically, one girl for every guy and there’s little or no social friction
1.1-1.3:1 = Manageable. Girls get gradually bitchier as it’s not apparent that they’re being fought over until later in the night
1.3-1.5:1 = Almost hopeless. You need luck or you must be a boss to get a girl to fuck you
1.5+:1 = Why are you wasting your time? Now even the ugly girls are acting like bitches

The following stats are not scientific. I’m not going to sit around and conduct demographic studies of bars for the next six months to appease the disagreeable nerds of the world:

Male:Female ratios of WMU bars on their “big” nights


Wayside Wednesday: 2:1
Y-Bar Thursday: 1.3:1
Grotto Friday: 1.6:1
Library Saturday: 1.4:1

                                           Eerily similar to Wayside Wednesday (click to zoom)


So why aren’t girls total bitches during the daytime at WMU? Check the first stats I posted above. The gender ratio on campus is practically 1:1. Girls’ egos are not inflated and you can socialize with them like they’re (somewhat) normal people. In Part II, I’ll give my solution for fixing the gender ratio gap once and for all.

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Kalamazoo Nightlife Review: DayGlow

I don’t dance unless I’ve had three too many to drink on a particular night, but I went to Dayglow anyway because it seemed like it would offer a welcome respite from the Kalamazoo bar/club scene. I wasn’t sure of what to expect from “The World’s Largest Paint Party,” and all I had was YouTube videos of past events to use as a reference, so I did a little quick math in my head. I deduced that:

Electronic music+lights+large space+degenerate youth+(alcohol)^2+drugs+gimmick = unusually large shitshow
I tore the sleeves off of an old t-shirt, threw on a pair of basketball shorts, slipped on old shoes, then drove with a companion to Wings Stadium. I got there an hour early, which I think was 8PM, as I’d assumed that there would be a line stretching around the block to get in given the level of hype surrounding the event. I was one of the first people there. It then dawned on me that I was in Kalamazoo, where most kids don’t venture out at night lest they’ve each ingested a fifth or more of Smirnoff, Burnett’s, or Rich & Rare.
That said, I like getting to places a little earlier than the crowd because it affords me enough time to get a clear picture of a setting’s physical layout, which facilitates navigation in large crowds. Anyway, let’s move on…
D A Y G L O W

It was easily the horniest party I’ve been to in a while. At least as horny as the time I walked in on a Korean orgy while on vacation in Rio. There was about an equal gender ratio and, unless you were really ugly, the majority of girls were willing to grind on just about any guy’s semi-erection the entire night. A few of them were also willing to exchange saliva and grab your genitals. There was a gradation of attractiveness and behavioral freakiness as you got closer to the stage, with the ugly, sedentary people in the back, and humans of normal appearance in the front. The exceptions were exhibitionist whores who danced in the back to make sure that somebody paid attention to them.
Every fifteen minutes or so, a machine would jizz paint on the dry-humping hordes below. I actually liked the paint because it had a cooling effect on your body. As you might imagine, even with little clothing on, dancing around hundreds of people indoors is like sitting around inside your car with the windows up in summertime.
There were drugs abound. More than a few joints were passed among Dayglowers, lots of crazed kids were clearly off MDMA, and I observed my fair share of coke-sniffing in the bathrooms. This was all in conjunction with the rest of the crowd who, needless to say, were drunk.
I remember sobering up about a half hour before the party ended, looking in 360 degrees at the manic mob before me, laughing, then walking out. That said, I enjoyed the parts of Dayglow I remembered.

Why Kalamazoo bars fail

The reason behind the quick failure of most of campus’s commercial establishments, particularly those in West Pointe Mall, can be summed up simply: high maintenance costs driving owners into closure. Even the bars seem to die and spring up like dandelions. Out of the five bars on campus, only Y-Bar and Waldo’s have been around for any meaningful length of time. Grotto and Library are relatively new, with the latter being only a year or so old, and I think Grotto was only opened as early as 2006.

Sadly, the telltale signs of commercial failure are already looming above Grotto and Library. Grotto has glaring maintenance problems, evidenced in the poor plumbing that plagues it week after week, while Library’s gotten so desperate that they’ve started a “teen night,” with all the MIP and serving-to-minors risks that brings with it. To make matters worse, Grotto’s been dropping its prices while Y-Bar has raised theirs.

                                          What Library looks like Friday nights. Owner is on the right.

So what’s the problem?

*Deep breath*…

It’s that campus bars are trying to do too many things at once. In a place like Kalamazoo, where citizens aren’t exactly bursting at the pockets with dead presidents, you need to limit your establishment’s mission to serving one type of client. When you build a swanky, aesthetically pleasing (and costly) place like Grotto, that’s intended to function as a restaurant and a “nightlife” bar at the same time, you’re not going to bind a single demographic to your establishment. That’s a losing formula.

When a chain competitor, like Buffalo Wild Wings, is showing UFC fights and making a killing off its $59.99 pay per view purchase in the form of food and beer sales, Grotto and Library are serving drinks for stingy college students at $2.50. When Y-Bar is inspiring a shitshow with their DJ, Grotto’s whimpering by with weak, family-friendly garbage playing off their jukebox. As an anecdotal example, I recently picked the brain of Wayside’s manager (the balding Asian dude) and the subject of the profitability of the Wednesday college night came up. He said, and I’m paraphrasing here:

“What do you think? We’re serving drinks for one, maybe two dollars at a time. Do you think that’s making us money? No, we just about break even, and we scrape even closer in winter when we pay for heating.”

                                          Wayside manager pictured here (w/ bouncers)

Mind you, Wayside is one of the oldest, biggest bars in Kalamazoo. So old that my 60-70 year old relatives used to party there in the 1970s, so they know a thing or two about staying afloat in this town.

Even Y-bar is relatively old, having opened up in ’98. Wondering why Y-Bar does so well it can raise drink prices while other establishments flounder? Because it only has one identity: shitshow. They don’t serve food, don’t televise bloodsports, and aren’t schizophrenic with their mission. They focus on doing the dance club thing the best they can and they have a  loyal social bloc that goes in a few nights a week because of it. Grotto and Library don’t have loyalty because they’ve done the opposite. They want to be pizzerias and night spots and social hubs all at once. There’s nothing special about them, and that’s why the only way they lure people in is with cheap drinks. Lower your prices and those clients are yours.

So if you’re going to open a bar on campus, what should your strategy be to ensure long-term profitability? I’ll sum it up in a few steps:

1. Know your role: Have a vision. Who will go there? College students. What do they want out of your establishment? To get fucked on the cheap with their friends. Don’t try to serve students, professors, and their parents all at once. Pick a target demographic and stick to it.

2. Don’t spend money on expensive property or aesthetics: I’ve never gone to a bar on student night thinking “Wow, what an awesome wallpaper design! I can’t wait to come back here to drink shitty beer and smack the asses of passerby females”! I’m certain that you could purchase a 30x50x15ft dungeon, get a DJ, serve $2 drinks and people would line up around the block to get in. Not only that, but kids would assign it qualities like “charming,” and “hardcore.”

3. Be creative: Creativity does not mean spending money. It means using what is available to you in novel, unexpected ways. If there was one aspect of the nightlife market to exploit in Kalamazoo, it’s this. Managers are unimaginative and do the same things week after week. Have something as simple as a themed night once in a while and you can easily gain notoriety on campus.