A Simple Cigars and Legs Recipe

Butter, in a pan.

A pound of ground meat (tried three types so far with great success: turkey, chicken, beef, all depending on how it looks/price).

Bell pepper. Chopped to your own preferred size.

Half a red onion. Chopped to your own preferred size.

A bit of minced garlic.

Spices: Paprika, garlic salt if you need more garlic, cayenne pepper, black pepper, salt, chili powder. Throw on some Worcestershire.

There are no measurements; this is all about customization.

Cook it.

You’re an adult, you figure out the amounts.

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The Hockey

Hey, NHL.

The season is way too long.


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I’ve seen a few people talking about this term lately; apparently when I wasn’t looking it was co-opted.

Here’s my brief take: Most people throwing this label around right now are bullshitters and assholes looking for a club to belong to.

You’ll note that guys like Cernovich, Forney, and Clarey don’t put a label on themselves like this. Because they did go their own way — they forged their own path. But a bunch of dudes now are just angry because they suck at female interaction (it isn’t hard, girls are people too most of the time) or don’t have a job (get a skill), and they just whine.

A few weeks ago I pointed out that sometimes you have to close your mouth when you’re being fed bullshit — sometimes you need to close it when you’re spouting it, too. You aren’t a “man going your own way”, you’re a loser trying to make yourself feel better.

You will note that a lot of the most successful blogs out there offer positivity: Pride and Cernovich pretty much lay out, “here’s how you CAN do this”, while Roosh offers tips on how to follow in his footsteps. They don’t bitch about how hard it is, or snark about successful people.

Story time, kids: When I was younger and it was still new, I watched the Sopranos all the time. In one episode, an actual Italian-from-Italy gangster is in New Jersey doing a pick up for the boss. The person is complaining about the amount he has to pay, or perhaps the Italian’s methods. The mobster says, “No bitch to me!”

No bitch to me.

(As an aside, I’m tempted to rename “Men’s Issues” as a category to neomasculinity because I love that term. I only use “Men’s Issues” because I hate “manosphere” the way I now hate “MGTOW”…)

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Some Linking

The Shorty Awards are a scam.

Two of Matt Forney’s podcasts: Episode 74 and Episode 75.

Konrath is on Kindle Words now.

STDs — Student Loan Debt.

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Sometimes you are fed a bunch of bullshit.

The best solution to this? Close your mouth.

When someone tells you, for example, that X doesn’t matter — whatever it is, be it looks or money — look at their actions, not their words. If it’s coming from someone in the top ten percent of rich or attractive people: Stop eating their bullshit. If they’re also in the bottom percent, but they’re constantly miserable due to their lack of X — stop eating their bullshit. People will tell you more by their behavior and mood than their words.

There’s been an upswing in mood disorders and depression in the last few decades. A lot of that can probably be attributed to people who are sold a bill of goods that is mostly bullshit. They’re promised things that aren’t going to happen. “You’re an individual snow flake. Be yourself and you will have success and (whichever gender you want)!” No, that’s not true. But guess what? Sitting around lamenting the fact you were lied to does you the same amount of good as persisting in the false belief will. Stop.

Stop whining about how the bullshit tastes. You were fooled. Bitching about it will not serve you at all.

One of my goals is to not whine about anything. I might complain or call people out on their bullshit. If I pay a place for a service or item and it is defective in some way, I will make myself known because there is a difference between having a backbone to use when standing up for yourself, and just being a whiny bitch about it. If I order a steak and someone brings me soup from a can, I’m not just going to take it — and if they give me crap about it, I’m going to warn others. Not out of a sense of whining entitlement, but to let them know: That restaurant sucks, man. But I won’t be going on social media to complain and look for sympathy. That sympathy means exactly nothing in the real world.

Sending someone a sympathetic message costs nothing but some time. There aren’t even many words to express how you feel sorry for someone.

Forget that.

I was writing for years before I self-published. I tried the waiting game with a traditional publishing house exactly once before I saw the success people were having with the Kindle sales. Now, I could have kept playing the waiting game and maybe, maybe gotten a contract for some books and waited even longer for them to get out there. Maybe gotten some more sales than I have so far (but less of the money), and had a lot less control to boot. Maybe. But that’s a lot of waiting. I don’t like waiting. Waiting is the opposite of acting. Instead, I acted.

Act. Don’t sit there and eat bullshit. Don’t keep listening to people who are lying to you, either to suit an agenda or because they want you to feel better. Get up and do something.

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Halestorm’s Apocalyptic is… Red Pill, to say the least.

I’m just going to quote the lyrics and offer a few short thoughts:

I wear my nine-inch heels when we go to bed
I paint the color of my lips blood red
I get so animal like never before

Presenting, making herself up the way he wants her to (personally, nine-inch heels sound stupid, but whatever), implied roughness (“so animal”).

So you press play and I hit record

She’s going to remember this.

Most of the chorus is just rhyming about how the relationship has failed, but:

We’re not us anymore
But there’s still one thing we’re good for

Alpha Widow.

I’ll give you one last night
So make it twisted
Give you one last shot, go on and hit it
Give you one last time to make me miss it

Alpha Widow. Again.

Give me a red hand print right across my ass
I’m leaving scratches up and down your back
Throw me against the wall, bite me on my neck
Like end of the world, break-up sex

Rough sex, which is argued as the hidden preference by Red Pill types. I mean, clearly — this is about rough sex. Biting, scratching, “A red hand print right across my ass.” Also, the most common refrain is “love me apocalyptic” which sounds like serious rough stuff.

‘Cause no one does it better
No one knows me better

The first half of Alpha Fucks, Beta Bucks. No one does it like the Alpha, for this soon to be Alpha Widow.

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Crime, then and now, as a part of the villain.

One of the requirements, as far as there are such a thing, is that the villain be in the process of doing something wrong. Otherwise they aren’t much of a villain. Lately the trend has been to try and explain why and how the villain justifies this wrong-headed behavior. But there isn’t always a justification sufficient for a normal, sane person: Hitler and his did some awful things and I can’t see anything making that seem like a reasonable action. Rape is never a reasonable thing to do — but it still happens. For the purposes here, we’ll leave off justifications. Somehow, someway, the villain is getting something out of it.

The crime also has to in some way impact our hero. Preferably, the crime has to be something the authorities can’t stop (lack of evidence, etc, which implies a lucky or intelligent criminal), or won’t stop (corruption, implying a powerful, and thus really interesting criminal). In different settings — the 1950s for example — evidence is a much higher bar. DNA wasn’t an issue for criminals back then. To paraphrase John Mulaney, “You pretty much just had to not be there when the cops showed up.”

Thus, I find myself with a current dilemma in setting something in the present day… because there are cameras everywhere, DNA everywhere, fibers… everywhere. Ballistics are taken of many guns off the assembly line. Even without registration, tracking a gun… blah. Without some sort of authority to help a perpetrator, there are any number of Dues ex Machina ways the person could get caught.

And you really want the hero to do the getting, not a hairball…

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A juicing progress note.

I still haven’t fully committed to the juicing; I’ve been doing it many days and using the juice (a big 20-24oz of it) as a meal replacement on the days I do. I haven’t fixed the rest of my diet. But already, one pair of my jeans will not stay up without a belt.

It’s only been a month. I’m not weighing myself, I haven’t fixed my routine. By swapping a meal a day 3-4 days a week with juice alone, I’m seeing a real result. Jeans that I could wear without a belt fall down like clown pants. Literally — like clown pants, one smooth motion.

I’m about to go make “lunch” for the next three days in my juicer.

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Firing on All Cylinders

A lot of the times when setting a goal, I’ll decide, “Okay, I’ll focus on this one area. If I lapse somewhere else, that’s okay, as long as I improve here. Once this becomes habit, I’ll work on the next area…”

The problem with this method so far has been that I stall or fall back on everything else and it’s also pretty stressful when the dam is leaking so much in other areas.

So in 2015 I want to fire on all cylinders as much as possible. There is no more “well, this goal…” No. Every day I need to hold myself to a high standard in everything I do. In the coming weeks I’m going to hit harder on the writing, hit harder on the knee rehab, hit harder on losing the extra weight, and hit harder on the blog and the brand. I’m going to be obsessed and I’m going to use my successes to motivate me to succeed in the future — the way that a well timed engine uses multiple pistons to keep in sync and to propel the vehicle forward.

Forward. On all cylinders.

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Hollywood: Crapping on Everything.


This is going to suck.

I can’t comment on the two younger (I guess?) comics, but neither Wiig nor McCarthy are funny. Wiig continues the stupid/annoying act that Will Ferrell is famous for. Being loud and stupid isn’t talent. I don’t even know what is wrong with McCarthy. Both of them are obnoxious — and the original movies were much more subtle than their style. Not subtle overall, just compared to the two screeching banshees they hired for this.

They let Michael “Explosions on Planet Sunset” Bay have the Ninja Turtles, and he cast his Thai boy-hooker muse as April O’Neil. Who can we blame for this casting?

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