The Story of Elliot Rodger. By Elliot Rodger. Adnotated. Part Eight.
In November, my brief friendship with Andy, Stan, and their group faded away. I often saw on Facebook that they did things together without even inviting me, which is the same thing I’ve had to experience with other groups of friends that I’ve had in the past. I was always an outcast, even among people I knew. I grew tired of their lack of consideration for me, so I stopped calling them. They weren’t even popular anyway, and I wasn’t benefitting at all from their friendship. I still continued to meet with Andy at restaurants on occasion, however.
Every day that I spent at my college, the more inferior and invisible I felt. I felt like such an inferior mouse whenever I saw guys walking with beautiful girls. I hated having to endure it, but I had already worked so hard on my two classes that I couldn’t quit just then. The only way that I could gain a boost in to my self-esteem was to buy better looking clothes.
My mother gave me a few more gift cards to Nordstrom, and I spent them on $200 dollar designer Jeans. When I wore these to school, I saw that I was wearing better Jeans than most other guys, and that made me have a slightly higher sense of self-worth. I also bought a few more shirts, and a pair of new Hugo Boss sneakers.
Doing this started a new obsession for me. I became more and more obsessed with my appearance. Because my mother, father, and grandmother constantly paid me extra money now that I was living in Santa Barbara, I had saved up enough to indulge in this obsession. Familiarizing myself with all of the top designer brands, I bought new clothes every time I visited my hometown. My favorite brands were Hugo Boss and Armani. I always stopped by at the Camarillo shopping center on my way back to Santa Barbara. I loved it there — they had a store for almost every brand.
One time, as I was shopping at the Calvin Klein store in Camarillo, I saw such a sexy-looking blonde girl with perfectly tanned skin. She looked so beautiful and sexy that I had an erection instantly. Oh, the heavenly things I wanted to do to her... And then I saw her hunk of a boyfriend. My entire being was filled with anguish and despair. I could only imagine how amazing and pleasurable that guy’s life was. They were older than me — probably mid-twenties — and I thought with desperate hope that when I’m that man’s age I would be worthy enough to have such a girlfriend by my side, to shop with her at that same shopping mall in heavenly bliss. My life was a life of starvation and yearning.
I visited home for Thanksgiving, and went with my mother to Rob Lemelson’s house for a small Thanksgiving get-together. James was there... And the last time I spoke to him since then was when we had our bitter argument online. The one person who has been my friend through all of my hardship didn’t even want to speak to me during Thanksgiving. I tried to ask him why he was overreacting about an argument we had two months previously, but he just glared at me coldly and told me to ”keep my proximity”. I was highly offended.
What the fuck does that even mean ?!
Geeks fighting, you know ? Funniest sight in nature.
After a few hours, the Thanksgiving feast was served. To my profound annoyance, Julian Ritz-Barr and his equally obnoxious older brother Leon Ritz-Barr also came for the dinner. I remembered the extreme envy I felt for Julian months ago, and I tried to ignore them as much as possible, which proved to be difficult because they talked loudly all the time.
I was seated next to James for the dinner, and after awkwardly sitting next to each other for a few moments, he decided to warm up to me again. As the two of us caught up with each other about our lives, a small inkling of our old friendship ignited like a weak flitter of flame in a candle. It was nice, for the brief moment that it lasted. The two of us talked about our usual fantasy scenarios, and joked about how stupid and obnoxious the Ritz-Barr brothers were acting.
Pick up any "edgy" / "clever" / "creative" chick flick (as for instance typified by Piglette Wiig or whatever her name is), and see if they do anything different at all. The menu is shared daydreaming and "being sarcastic" about "how stupid" more active people are being. Entirely this.
But totally better than this guy, because reasons.
On that same weekend that I went home, I got together with Philip and Addison. The three of us went out to a restaurant in LA, and then we headed to the Griffith Park Observatory, just like old times. The last time I was there with the two of them was on that horrible night when Addison told me that ”No girl will ever want to fuck me.” The words were still embedded in my mind, and going to Griffith Park reminded me of that night. The three of us took a few pictures of us posing at various spots at the Observatory, some of which were uploaded onto Facebook, and then we went to the Calabasas Commons to hang out at Barnes & Noble, where I had a few insightful conversations with Addison. Despite our past hostilities, I considered Addison to be one of the most interesting people I knew.
Pretty volatile douche, on top of everything else, isn't he.
I went back to Santa Barbara for a couple of weeks to finish off my two classes. In my history class, I kept feeling weak with inferiority as I watched this tall, handsome blonde jock constantly sit and talk with two beautiful girls. There was no way that I couldn’t watch it; they were in the middle of the class. I hated that class so much, and I decided to stop attending it until the final exam. Once I took the final exams, I felt glad to be done with those horrifically frustrating college classes.
It was just as I had feared. My first actual semester at Santa Barbara City College was an absolute, brutal failure. I didn’t even have one girl’s phone number in my cell phone. Was I going to be a virgin forever? I franticly wondered as I drove away from my school after taking my exams. I felt like my whole life was over. If I couldn’t make it in such a beautiful and opportunistic place like Santa Barbara, then I was doomed to misery and dissatisfaction. I knew that I would rather die than suffer such a fate, and I knew that if it came to that, I would do everything I can to exact revenge before I die. I didn’t want it to resort to that! Some part of me still clung to hope. I didn’t want to give up so soon.
As I made the long scenic drive back to my hometown for the Holidays, I made a vow to give it all another try when I start my new semester in the Spring, and to use the time I had during the winter break to prepare for it as much as I could.
My mother told me that she had made plans for me, my sister, and her to go to England for a week. Upon hearing this, I said I didn’t want to go. I felt so dissatisfied and defeated, and I didn’t want to appear that way to my relatives in England. There was nothing about me that they could be proud of. I felt ashamed of having to face them the way I was. After some persuasion, I agreed to go. I figured that if anything, it would give me a respite from all the pain society has dealt to me, just like our old visits to Jack’s beach house in Malibu.
"I don't want to eat peas."
"Shut the fuck up and eat these peas."
"Now eat this plate of fresh pigeon droppings."
"I don't want to eat pigeon droppings."
"Bitch, shut the fuck up before you wear them."
"Nom nom nom these delicious droppings feel me with such invidious rage."
"Now puke all that filth you ate back out in your plate so you can eat it all over again."
"Hey, *bleergh* it's just like old times! I *slurp* remember *slurp* *slurp* when I used to think this isn't such a great idea!"
"Keep your proximity."
No but I mean seriously, what in the fuck already. It's almost as if he had no shame or self-awareness. Whatsoever.
Before we left for England, we attended the annual Christmas party at the Lemelson’s. I had recently bought a flashy new shirt from Armani Exchange that made me feel particularly fabulous, so I decided to wear it for the party. I loved admiring how awesome I looked in the mirror as I wore it. Wearing flashy new clothes made me feel like a new person. I found it to be a very efficient way to boost my confidence.
Yeah, everything's very efficient when you're very not paying for it. Heck, the shitheads over at the Department of State think their idle posturing is a very efficient way to retain USG credibility and influence.
When I entered the party, I felt gratified when Sue Lemelson, Rob’s ex-wife, complimented me on how good I looked. My mother pointed out that it was unusual for Sue to compliment anyone, so I must have made a good impression.
James was at the party, of course. He didn’t act outwardly cold toward me this time, but there was still a distance between us.
Technically, we could refer to this distance as The Proximity.
During the course of the event, I had my fill of multiple glasses of wine as I casually chatted with James about my insights and life problems.
We interacted as if we were still friends, but I could tell that things were very different between us. The friendship that we have had for so long was dying. When I said goodbye to him that night, it was the last time I ever saw him.
After having a quick Christmas celebration at father’s house, I took off for England with my mother and sister. We flew Business Class on Virgin Atlantic, and since they followed the laws of the UK, I was allowed to drink alcohol on the flight. I took delight in sipping the wine that was served while I enjoyed the relaxing journey. The last time I had been on an airplane since then was the disastrous trip to Morocco when I was seventeen, and this made for a pleasant contrast.
This is the second time he misuses "since" in this manner, and the psychanalists would have a lot to say about his faulty comprehension of timeflow.
When we landed in England I felt the sense of wonder that came with being in another country. I hadn’t been to my home country of England for almost a decade, and I couldn’t believe I was there once again. The decision to go on the trip came so quickly. We stayed at a very nice hotel in the town of Colchester, near where my relatives on my mother’s side live, including my grandma Ah Mah. After we unpacked all of our belongings, we went to their house for dinner. I hadn’t seen those relatives since our trip to Malaysia. It felt peculiar to see them all again. They were exactly the same as I remembered. It was very heartwarming to see that grandma Ah Mah had baked her delicious peanut cookies that I loved so much as a child; she had them ready and waiting for me.
We visited them again on Christmas Day. They prepared an exquisite lunch, and afterward we exchanged our gifts. I got a bit drunk on that day, as it was the only thing I could do to pass the time. I tried to relax and forget about all of the pain I had experienced in Santa Barbara. I wished there was something I could talk to my relatives about that would make them proud, but there was nothing interesting or impressive about my life to talk about. I wished that I could show my grandma that I was thriving in Santa Barbara; that I had a girlfriend and I was enjoying a full and healthy life. But no, that is something I was never able to do. I felt so ashamed of myself.
My grandma, Ah Mah, gave me a gift of great value. After we exchanged all of the presents with the relatives, Ah Mah presented me with a 22 karat golden necklace. It was very extravagant, and it had been in her possession for a long time. Now it was mine. I wore it instantly and took a great liking to it. From then on, I would wear it in every waking moment. I could have sold it for well over a thousand dollars, but I never did. It was special to me.
It would also seem that the thousand dollars is his only, vague unit of money, just another way to say "a lot".
My favorite part of the trip was the breakfasts at the hotel. The hotel we stayed at was quite luxurious, even by my standards.
"I have the simplest tastes, I am always satisfied by the best."
Except, of course, the oaf has no fucking idea.
And the breakfasts... they were absolutely delicious. Every morning there was a buffet full of delectable choices, such as crispy pork sausage, croissants, bacon, ham, roast potatoes, all kinds of fruit, and much more.
This is rather pitiful, come to think about it. Crispy pork sausage, really ? Bacon and ham ? You mean... for like... breakfast ?
On every one of those mornings, I stuffed myself like there was no tomorrow. I was deprived of sex all my life, so the only vice that I could derive a sense of pleasure from was eating delicious food. I took full advantage of that on this trip. My high metabolism prevented me from getting fat from it.
One is starting to wonder whether this is a statement of fact or merely a "proclamation to the universe".
Before the trip was over, we all went on a tour through London. We were supposed to visit grandma Jinx in Smarden on that same day, but grandma Jinx was in France at the time. We rented a comfortable Mercedes van that could fit eight people and made a long drive through the English countryside to the capital city of London. I didn’t remember much of the city from my previous visits, so it was kind of like a new experience for me. I found the city to be very ugly in most areas, but in contrast there were some attractive parts that were awash with beautiful architecture and a cultural atmosphere. Once we parked our van we set out on foot, and sometimes took the Underground subway, to explore all of the main attractions of the city. It was cold, dreadfully cold, but I bore it without much concern. Walking through the streets of London at night, especially in Trafalgar Square and the area around Harrods was truly breathtaking, or it would have been if I had a beautiful girlfriend by my side to experience it with me. It was the sort of place that one would go with a girlfriend, and I had none. I saw other men being able to experience it with their girlfriends, and the sight soured my whole experience. When we had dinner at a restaurant, I scoffed a big meal and imbibed two glasses of wine to make myself feel better during the rest of our tour. My favorite part was walking through the store Harrods. Harrods is a gigantic, renowned luxury designer clothing store. Every facet of it exuded beauty and excessive opulence. It was my type of place. I wished I was rich enough to buy anything I wanted at the store —there were so many choices of fabulous clothing — but alas, I had to settle with buying only one Giorgio Armani shirt. If my mother had been wise enough to marry one of those wealthy men she dated, perhaps then I would have been rich enough. Such a pity.
Ye know ? Mothers are so cruel.
At the end of the night of our London tour, I felt cold and miserable. Walking through that exciting, cultural city made me realize that the world was full of wonders to explore, but if I had to do it alone while other men were able to do it with their girlfriends, then what was the point?
Not to mention other people's girlfriends are always more cultural than your own.
My life was so mundane and wasteful compared to the lives all those other men lived. They were in heaven and I was in hell.
Living is so cruel.
When we took off on the airplane for the journey home, I wondered how my life would have turned out if we never moved to the United States. I saw a lot of beautiful blonde girls in England, just like there were in California. Would I have lived a completely different type of life? Would I have been able to have a girlfriend in England? Would girls in England have been more accepting of a guy like me? Those are questions I will never know the answer to.
I spent a few hours recovering from jet lag after we arrived home. On the day after that, it was New Year’s Eve. I didn’t want a repeat of the previous New Year’s, when I spent them alone and miserable in my room, so I decided to go with my father and Soumaya to a party at Antje Twinn’s house. My father was still friends with them, despite not being friends with the Bubenheim’s anymore. I wanted to wear something new for the party, in order to boost my sense of self-confidence, so I went to Nordstrom and bought a new, flashy Hugo Boss shirt, decorated with different hues of blue.
I didn’t have dinner before the party, because I expected dinner to be served there. When we got there, I saw that they didn’t offer dinner, only a few party snacks; but there was lots and lots of wine. I heard from Antje that Vincent was in town, but he was attending a party at Leo Bubenheim’s house, with all of Leo’s popular teenage friends. The mere mention of Leo put me in a bad mood. I couldn’t believe that Vincent, too, was now experiencing the pleasures of partying with young people while I sat all alone at the adult’s party, sipping my wine in lonely depression. I should be partying with my own friends, and my own girlfriends, but I had NONE.
After I had already gotten quite drunk from having so much wine on an empty stomach, I overheard Antje talking to her friend about how Vincent now had a beautiful girlfriend. She was so proud of her son. That is something my mother was never able to tell her friends about me. I had never had a girlfriend in my WHOLE LIFE! I remember when Vincent used to be a little nine-year-old boy while I was thirteen. He used to look up to me, and he always watched me play my online games on father’s laptop. Now, he was sixteen and I was twenty. He had the pleasure of having a girlfriend, while I’ve never had one. I was four years older than him, but he surpassed me. The envy, rage, and feeling of inferiority I felt almost made me explode with rage right there at the party, but instead I went to the bathroom and vented to myself in the mirror of how much I hate Vincent and wanted to kill him. I drank a lot more wine that night, pouring myself glass after glass. By the time Vincent arrived after his party at Leo’s, I greeted him with drunken contempt, and drank even more wine. I drank too much. On the next morning, I thanked the heavens that at the end of the party I had the sense to go to the bathroom to vomit instead of vomiting in front of everyone. That would have been extremely embarrassing.
I spent a week at my mother’s house before I went back to Santa Barbara to give my life there another try. During this week, I once again met up with Philip and Addison. This outing was much longer than the last. I decided to wear the same Hugo Boss shirt that I wore for New Year’s. First, we went on a hike up to the Hollywood sign and watched the glorious sunset. Afterwards, we visited the Getty Museum to admire the brilliant scenery and architecture. While there, I overheard Philip telling Addison that some girls were checking him out. Feeling jealous, I asked Philip if any of those girls checked me out, and he had the audacity to say no, none of them did. I felt so heartbroken that I left the two of them and cried to myself, ruining my whole experience at the museum. How could girls check out Addison but not me? I asked myself repeatedly as I tried to hide my tears from people who walked by me. I walked out to the edge of the grand terrace of the museum, looking out at the city lights of Los Angeles as well as the stars above. In that moment, I fell into a sort of despair-ridden trance, contemplating my reason for existing in this universe and what was in store for my future. It was a very ominous and surreal experience. I calmed down when we left the museum and acted cordial to both of them. I didn’t want to spoil the night with my emotional problems. We toured around Hollywood for a bit, and while there I saw lots of young people out and about with their attractive cliques of friends. The sight enraged me for the rest of the night. We decided to have dinner at a restaurant on Sunset Boulevard. At the restaurant, there were three hot model-like girls who sat a few tables down from us. Their bodies looked so sexy and tantalizing that Philip had to go to the bathroom to masturbate. I was itching to do exactly the same thing, but I didn’t want to look like a fool in front of Addison.
These nuts... seriously, "I saw some girls at the restaurant so I had to... go jack off in the toilet" ?! Who does this ?
When I got home, I began to cry because of all the emotions I experienced that night. My mother heard me and showed some concern, as she always did. She was used to me crying a lot, but she never understood why I was so miserable. I always had to explain it to her — that I was a lonely, miserable, unwanted virgin who women treated with disdain — but she could never grasp how severe this was to me. After all, how could she? She was a woman herself.
I arrived back in Santa Barbara with a renewed, carefully constructed sense of confidence, especially because of the new collection of designer clothes I had bought over the winter break.
The lottery, the "designer clothes", is there any scam this supreme gentleman won't fall for ?
Incidentally, he's not exactly wrong on the "gentleman" score. If you wish the blueprint of the collapse of European aristocracy in the hands of the burgeoisie, 1400 - 1800, there it is, before your very eyes. This cycle of "I am a lord, I should be happy, let me buy some X" exactly as displayed here ruined more fortunes than any war.
In that sense, Elliot is just very very late to the party.
I tried to adopt a sophisticated and suave persona, and made my accent sound more eloquent.
Rico Suave & his Eloquent Accents. Admit it, you'd go see their act.
I did this out of the hope that girls would find something attractive about it. It was the only persona that truly fit me. I was incapable of being an outgoing, boisterous jock, and I didn’t want to be one. I was disgusted by such people, and I was disgusted at how girls were attracted to such filth. I wanted them to be attracted to me. That is how it should be, and I deserved it.
Nobody has ever told him he's dirt and deserves nothing. You understand this ? Nobody.
So how is it his fault he believes ? It's a very easy thing to believe.
During the few weeks I had before my first day of class, I couldn’t really do anything to improve my social situation. I had a fear of going out to Isla Vista without any friends, and I was hoping to make those friends once college started. Because of this, I became depressed again from all of the loneliness. Even though Spencer was there, I felt completely and utterly alone, as the two of us never talked that much.
So far, Spencer and I had gotten along quite well despite the fact that we never talked much. An incident happened at the end of January that changed all of this. I one day discovered that Spencer had a girl in this room. I couldn’t believe it. The short, chubby guy was able to get a girl into his room before I did! I was so shocked and outraged that I waited outside his room until the girl left, so I could get a glimpse of how she looked. To my relief, she wasn’t that attractive. What made me even more angry is that Spencer gave me a smug look when I saw the girl, even though she was ugly. He had the nerve to feel like he was better than me, just because he managed to get a girl over to the apartment before I did! I confronted him in the kitchen on that same night, telling him that he is foolish to feel proud about having an ugly whore in his room. This made him angry and offended, which is what I wanted. I wanted to offend him as punishment for his insolence.
After that incident, the two of us became more and more hostile towards each other.
In the beginning of February, my Spring semester at Santa Barbara City College began. The classes I registered for were Sociology, Math, Film Studies, and English. My English class was an online class, but the other three were normal classes that I attended at the college. Sociology and math were on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and my film class was on Friday mornings. It made for a convenient setup.
This was the last chance. I had already failed to change my life in the last semester. I must not fail again. I remembered how hard it was to keep up those two classes in the Autumn. The people in them made me feel so miserable. I knew that if the same thing happens in the coming semester, I would end up dropping all of my classes, and if that happened, all of my hope would be doomed.
On the morning of the first day, I donned my fabulous Armani Exchange shirt and put on my new Gucci sunglasses that my mother gave me. I admired myself in the mirrorfor a few moments, and began to feel a surge of enthusiasm. I wanted everyone to see me looking like that. I was hopeful that some girls would admire me. I said to myself that there was no way I could possibly have trouble with getting girls now. I stopped by at Starbucks to buy a latte and set off for my college with the confidence that I would appear as a superior gentleman to all of the students there. I was a superior gentleman. That was what I was born to be, and it was now time to show it to the world.
The European term is Persona di Stile, in case you didn't know.
It was a bright, sunny day as I as ascended the familiar steps up to the beautiful college campus of SBCC. I immediately went to the restroom to look at myself in the mirror a few times, just so that I can feel more assured of myself. Yes, I thought. I am the image of beauty and supremacy. I kept saying it over and over again, as if it was a mantra. When I crossed the renowned bridge that connected the two halves of the campus, I felt as if everyone was admiring me. As I passed by groups of girls, I pretended to imagine that they secretly adored and wanted me. After all, that was how it was meant to be. The more I walked around the campus, the more I tried to convince myself that that was the case.
My first class was sociology, and I waited until everyone was seated before I walked in. I came in through the front entrance so that everyone could look at my fabulous self. To my utter dismay, I saw that no one turned their head to look at me at all. No girl tilted a head or lifted a pretty little eyebrow at my approach. After all that effort, I was still being treated like I was invisible.
The sociology class flew by like a breeze, and my next class was math. In this class, I saw one of the prettiest girls I had ever seen in my life.
Really, taking intro Math at SBCC ?
She was the only pretty girl in the class, and she was absolutely stunning. Of course, she didn’t even notice me as I walked in. Her beauty was so intimidating that I couldn’t bring myself to sit near her, out of fear of her judgment. As the lecture proceeded, I couldn’t help myself from constantly glancing at her, admiring every inch of her enticing body, from her silky blonde hair to her smooth, skinny, lightly tanned legs. The most beautiful thing about her was her face. It was a face that broke my heart the second I laid eyes on it. I wanted her with so much intensity, and I constantly fantasized about her during my masturbation sessions. This was the kind of girl who was always meant to be my girlfriend. This was the girl that I was meant to go through college in Santa Barbara with. My life would only have meaning if I could go through college with a girlfriend like her.
A large part of his problem, of course, is that he manipulates the meta concepts directly, as if he's somehow allowed to do this, in spite of lacking any exposure to, or even any knowledge of the underlying phenomena those meta concepts stand for and are removed from. This goes much in the same way for the "coder" monkeys, sad beings without power or purpose that vomit their misapprehension in whatever abstract languages currently fashionable without the slightest hint of understanding of the underlyings, or computing altogether. Both Elliot and Paul Biggar would be much happier subjectively, not to mention less offensive and destructive, perhaps even useful objectively if they dropped the pretense and stuck their hands straight in the dirt of reality - the one thing they're utterly commited to never ever doing, no matter what.
As I made my way back from school one day during the first week, I was stopped at a stoplight in Isla Vista when I saw two hot blonde girls waiting at the bus stop. I was dressed in one of my nice shirts, so I looked at them and smiled. They looked at me, but they didn’t even deign to smile back. They just looked away as if I was a fool. As I drove away I became very infuriated. It was such an insult. This was the way all girls treated me, and I was sick and tired of it. In a rage, I made a U-turn, pulled up to their bus stop and splashed my Starbucks latte all over them. I felt a feeling a spiteful satisfaction as I saw it stain their jeans. I then quickly speeded away before they could catch my license plate number. How dare those girls snub me in such a fashion! How dare they insult me so! I raged to myself repeatedly. They deserved the punishment I gave them. It was such a pity that my latte wasn’t hot enough to burn them. Those girls deserved to be dumped in boiling water for the crime of not giving me the attention and adoration I so rightfully deserve!
Imagine living in a world where this is actually how it works : the girls do in point of fact get boiled alive on the spot, for the crime of not fawning over the deserving in quite a sufficient fashion.
It's probably coming, and in any case the utter failure of "modern democracy" to mean or to matter leaves everyone in an extremely feeble position to try and resist it ; on the other hand the people who'd have it exactly that way aren't today any less enraged, or any less determined, than they were a thousand years ago.
And don't look at me for support. I am and will be entirely neutral in this fight. Between a world where your daughter up and gets boiled alive one day for daring to not curtsy deep enough to some random crazed scion of some lord ; and the present world where they hire a hooker to pretend she's a hotel maid and that Strauss-Kahn "assaulted her" I see no serious reason to prefer either. Exactly like Elliot, I judge that you're not doing nearly enough to assure my safety in the terms and to the degree that I am due, and consequently you certainly can go straight to hell in a handbasket - if your "civilisation" as you call it will be protected by someone, that someone is not going to be me. At least crazed maniacs are amusing, which is a lot more than can be said about corporate television.
This incident soured my first week of college, but for the sake of all of my hopes and dreams, I tried to forget about it.
For the month of February, I continued with the trend of attending my college classes and trying to make the most of it. With each passing day, my confidence about how I appeared to everyone started to wane. I still didn’t make any friends, and I still didn’t talk to any girls. By the end of the month, I began to question what I was doing so wrong. I saw obnoxious slobs who dressed in basketball shorts and T-shirts walking with hot girls. And there I was, decked out in Armani, all by myself. It was preposterous! I should have been the one walking with the hot girls! I soon realized that no one cared at all about how well I dressed. No girls admired me. No girls even gave me a second look.
Strange, isn't it.
At some point an inclination to spend frivolously as displayed by the male was a major sexual signal, but that was a time before women were allowed to enter into contracts, own much of anything, and a divorce meant she gets to spend the rest of her time on the side of the road servicing travellers.
And even then it wasn't the only. Arguably it wasn't even the most important.
I soon found out the name of the beautiful girl in my math class. Her name was Brittany Story.
Blue eyes, dyed blonde, overchinned and honestly, not even that pretty. But whatevs, Elliot's a supreme gentleman of refined tastes.
Being the obsessed stalker that I was, I looked her up on Facebook, and what I found shattered my already wounded heart to pieces. She had a boyfriend.
Wouldn't you think that a twentysomething year old girl you were intertested in not having a boyfriend would be a pretty serious red flag ? I don't think any of the girls I was ever intimate with didn't have a boyfriend at the time we met. How would it even work ? Some had a husband, even. What fucking difference does it make!
Not only that, but her boyfriend was the type of boy I have always hated and despised: a tall, muscular surfer-jock with a buzz cut.
It is getting a little weird that he's never interested in any emo girls, just this whole blondy-in-yoga-pants-dating-surfer dynamic. Then again, maybe the tattooed, pierced hos from Suicide Girls were trash unworthy of a scion of British Artistocracy and also Mexicans. You never know.
As I looked at all the pictures of the two of them together, I shivered with pure hatred. I could physically feel the hatred burn through my entire body. I wanted to kill both of them, and I was capable of doing it. Brittany Story should have been mine, and if I can’t have her, no one should! I fantasized about capturing the two of them and stripping the skin off her boyfriend’s flesh while making her watch. Why must my life be so full of torment and hatred? I questioned to the universe with turmoil roiling inside me. I screamed and cried with anguish that day. My housemate Spencer heard it all, but I didn’t care.
I dropped my math class immediately after learning that Brittany had a boyfriend. I couldn’t look at her beauty anymore, knowing that some punk was able to enjoy having sex with her every day. I can only imagine how heavenly that guy’s life must be. He was in heaven and I was in hell.
For your own curiosity I just counted : the "they in heaven - I in hell" construction appears a total of twice in the whole piece, 108k words. How he manages to make such minor repetition grate quite to the degree is a point of wonderment to me.
Shortly after dropping my math class, I decided to drop all of my other classes in a rage. There was no point to it anymore. No matter how hard I tried, girls were not attracted to me. What was the point of going through college, getting a degree, and finding some mundane professional job afterwards if I could never experience the pleasure of girls along the way? I didn’t want to torture myself with going to college and looking at all of those beautiful girls I could never have. Nothing beneficial came out of it. There was no hope for me to ever have a desirable college life. My life was devoid of friends, devoid of girls, devoid of sex, and devoid of love. I realized that I will never be able to look back on my youth, the time that I should be having a blast, and feel satisfied about all of the happy memories I have. There were no happy memories; only misery, loneliness, rejection, and pain. The only thing I could do was even the score. I wanted to make everyone else suffer just as they made me suffer. I wanted revenge.
When I dropped my college classes, I crossed a threshold that I knew existed, but never actually believed I would cross. It completely ended all hope I had of living a desirable life in Santa Barbara. I realized that I would be a virgin forever, condemned to suffer rejection and humiliation at the hands of women because they don’t fancy me, because their sexual attractions are flawed. They are attracted to the wrong type of male.
Ie, rather than favouring the oafish sort of fop Oscar Wilde was in his dayi, they prefer the earthier sons of blacksmiths and greengrocers. A very... vital, shall we say, turn of events after three to four centuries of phtysic fantasies in the romantic fogs under those gray old stones. Say what you will, but do not say that his complaint lacks point. A point it has, and sharp enough to make you avert your eyes.
I always mused to myself that I would rather die than suffer such an existence, and I knew that if it came to that, I would exact my revenge upon the world in the most catastrophic way possible. At least then, I could die knowing that I fought back against the injustice that has been dealt to me.
Ever since my life took a very dark turn at the age of seventeen, I often had fantasies of how malevolently satisfying it would be to punish all of the popular kids and young couples for the crime of having a better life than me.
Oh wait, he... what, he misuses the words ? He makes a mockery of that cornerstone of civilisation the notion of "crime" ?
How did Aaron Swartz die ? How did Joe Stack die ? What exactly was the deal with Saddam Hussein, he had pictures of Hillary Clinton blowing a great dane or what was it ? I seem to recall Gaddafi's Lybia was doing a whole of a lot better than the current excuse for a disavowed US Colony.
Elliot Rodgers is way too late to make a mockery of that word, or of any other. He's too late to make a mockery of law, and process, and everything else. You already beat him to it.
You beat him to it, and you will be punished for the crime of having beaten him to it.
I dreamed of how sweet it would be to torture or kill every single young couple I saw. However, as I said previously in this story, I never thought I would actually go through with these drastic desires. I had hope inside me that I could one day have a happy life.
It was only when I first moved to Santa Barbara that I started considering the possibility of having to carry out a violent act of revenge, as the final solution to dealing with all of the injustices I’ve had to face at the hands of women and society. I came up with a name for this after I saw all of the good looking young couples walking around my college and in the town of Isla Vista. I named it the Day of Retribution.
According to google, he now owns that name. In the great scheme of things, I own a few spaces, some other people own a few strings of words, and you... hey, what do you own ?
It would be a day in which I exact my ultimate retribution and revenge on all of the hedonistic scum who enjoyed lives of pleasure that they don’t deserve. If I can’t have it, I will destroy it. I will destroy all women because I can never have them. I will make them all suffer for rejecting me. I will arm myself with deadly weapons and wage a war against all women and the men they are attracted to. And I will slaughter them like the animals they are. If they won’t accept me among them, then they are my enemies. They showed me no mercy, and in turn I will show them no mercy. The prospect will be so sweet, and justice will ultimately be served. And of course, I would have to die in the act to avoid going to prison.
One may wonder why of course. He already has an advantage over all the other dudes there - he's used to not getting laid.
That is when I realized that this threshold existed, and if I crossed it, I will have to carry out this Day of Retribution. It has remained stagnant in the back of my mind ever since, until this point. After dropping my Spring classes at Santa Barbara City College, I knew that the Day of Retribution was now very possible. I even wrote about it in my diary, but I later tore out the pages because I feared someone might find them. A shiver ran through me, realizing how twisted my world had become, that I would have to resort to doing something that I would consider unthinkable a few years ago. I didn’t want to do it. I wanted to live. Thinking about the Day of Retribution made me feel trapped. I wanted a way out.
This paragraph will be a pretty difficult caltrop to chew for anyone trying to paint the genius in monster colors. It certainly would have sunk the insanity defense were all this to ever reach trial.
After some deep contemplation, I had the revelation that the Day of Retribution wasn’t the only way I could make up for all of the suffering I’ve had to experience. If I could somehow become a multi- millionaire at a young age,
Yeah. Self-evidently, these are the only two options.
then my lifestyle would instantly become better than most people my age. I would be able to get revenge on my enemies just by living above them and lording over them. That was a form of happy, peaceful revenge, and it became my only hope. Once again, I started to desperately ponder over ways that I could become extremely wealthy at a young age. It was my only way out.
This is when I realized that wealth was the only way I could lose my virginity, the only way I could have the beautiful girlfriend I know I deserve.
And by "I realized" he means "I bought into the batshit fantasy". Just like "you need to understand" is how heii says "I want you to unquestioningly accept".
Due to all of my past experiences with girls, it is evident that girls are not attracted to me as a person. They are repulsed by me. The only way I could possible become worthy of their love and attraction is if I become wealthy.
Said no one ever. Oh, wait...
In the beginning of March, I went home in a sullen and disturbed mood. I did my best to hide it from my parents. I also had to hide the fact that I dropped all of my college classes, and I kept up the pretense that I was still attending college, talking to my father about my lectures and so forth.
The weekend that I visited home was quite an eventful one, and I had been looking forward to it for some time. On Sunday, March 11th 2012, I went with my mother and sister to a private, exclusive Katy Perry concert; and on March 12th 2012 I went with my father and Soumaya to the red carpet premiere of the Hunger Games.
The invitation to the private Katy Perry concert was actually meant for Rob Lemelson, as the concert was held for extremely wealthy people who were clients of Net Jets, a private jet company. Rob had no interest in such things, so he gave the tickets to my mother. I was eager to go, because I loved attending exclusive events; it made me feel special. For most of the time spent at the concert, I just walked around at ate food at the buffet tables while everyone waited for Katy Perry to perform. There was upbeat music playing the entire time, and a lot of wealthy families with their kids attended. Every family there must have had a net worth of at least twenty million, to be able to hire private jets. I tried to pretend as if I was part of a wealthy family.
Odds are everyone there was a long time secretary of someone on the gift list who didn't give a shit about either the gift or the company, but whatever.
I should be. That was the life I was meant to live. I WOULD BE! If only my damnable mother had married into wealth instead of being selfish. If only my failure of a father had made better decisions with his directing career instead wasting his money on that stupid documentary.
Or if they at least played the lottery more. Come to think about it, some Armany shirts couldn't have hurt them, either.
I couldn’t help but feel a bitter form of envy at all of the rich kids at the concert. They grew up in lavish mansions, indulged in excessive opulence, and will never have to worry about anything in their pleasurable, hedonistic lives. I would take great pleasure in watching all of those rich families burn alive. Looking at all of them really drilled in my mind the importance of wealth. Wealth is one of the most important defining factors of self-worth and superiority.
Maggie the Cat said it better : "you can be young without money, but you can't be old without it".
I hated and envied all of those kids for being born into wealth, while I had to struggle to find a way to claim wealth for myself. I had to be ruthless, and do whatever it takes to attain such wealth. After all, it was my only hope of ever being worthy of getting a girlfriend and living the life of gratification that I desire.
The red carpet premiere of the Hunger Games was an even more exclusive event. The reason we got in was because my father was friends with the director, Gary Ross. My father even contributed to the film as a second unit director. Gary Ross had been coming over to father’s house for dinner quite frequently in the past few months. When he told me about the Hunger Games, I had never heard about it before, so I decided to read the books that the movie would be based on. It was quite an enjoyable story and I became a fan.
At the same time, my step mother Soumaya was in the process of filming a French reality T.V. series, called Les Vraies Housewives. Her status as a reality T.V. star, coupled with my father’s important association with Gary Ross, enabled us all to attain VIP tickets to the red carpet premiere, including admittance to walk on the red carpet itself, which was actually a black carpet, in a literal sense.
Ahahaha check out the French low brow spoof. You really have to see this thing, horrible reviews, minuscule ratings, total lolcast (some chick running a pubic hair salon etc), it's a gem of true television. It even got six episodes. In France. Just the accents are worth checking it out! Oh, and the script more or less reads like Elliot Rodger wrote it.
I didn’t own any suits, but I wore my extravagant Hugo Boss shirt, which I thought looked elegant enough to walk on the black carpet. As we were lining up for our walk on the black carpet, some dumb bitch of a security guard had the audacity to question ”who the hell are these people”. This made me so enraged that I almost said ”we are people who are more important than you, you ugly cunt”, but Soumaya’s publicist calmly informed her of our invitation. We then proceeded to walk across the long black carpet as cameras flashed at us from one side, and a crowd of pathetic fans who reminded me of sheep cheered from the other side. I felt extremely gratified at walking on the black carpet with father and Soumaya, and I cockily smiled at all of the stupid fans who had to remain on the side, rubbing it right in their faces. There were some actors and celebrities on the carpet with us, and the paparazzi yelled at me a few times to get out of the way as they were taking pictures of some cunt actress. I discreetly gave those paparazzi pigs my middle finger. Elliot Rodger will not move aside for a stupid, good-for-nothing, over-glorified actress, whoever the fuck she was. I didn’t see.
Wouldn't he have made a great Pyotr Dmitrievich Sviatopolk-Mirsky ?
We walked through all the chaos until we finally reached the theatre where the movie was being screened, called the Nokia Theatre. It was one of the biggest theatres I had ever seen, able to see hundreds of people.
You mean like this ?
At the entrance, father and I greeted Jack Ross, the son of Gary Ross.
Wanna bet on what's next ?
He was a spoiled brat of a sixteen year old, and to my embarrassment he stood taller than me. I immediately hated him on sight.
Yeah, you win.
He was living the life I should be living, if only my father had become as successful a director as Gary Ross. I equally hated his repugnant friends, who ended up sitting in front of me and partially blocking my view for the entire movie. Throughout the whole film, I had to fight the urge not to splash my drink all over the little shitheads in a vehement rage. They spoiled it for me, and it was quite a good movie too.
The movie was entertaining, but my favorite part of this premiere was the after party. Yes, we were invited to the after party, where only the most important guests could attend. I felt so special as I handed my VIP tickets to the guards outside, gaining admittance. The party was extravagant, with buffet tables set up in every corner serving exquisite delicacies. I excitedly went from plate to plate, helping myself to all of the food.
"You dip the way you wanna dip, and I'll dip the way I wanna dip."
Father and Soumaya went off to socialize with Gary Ross and his entourage of producers. I didn’t know anyone there, of course, so I just spent time with my sister Georgia.
A few moments into the party, I ran into an old face. He noticed me first and called out my name, saying ”Is your name Elliot?” He was none other than Ashton Moio from Pinecrest Middle School! I hadn’t seen him since 8th grade. He was now in the process of starting a career in acting, and he had a small part in the movie. I actually read about this beforehand, but I didn’t expect I would run into him at the after party. Ashton’s sister, Monette Moio was nowhere to be seen. I suppose the bitch wasn’t invited, hah.
Yeah, I'm sure random hottie is not getting invited. For spite. Totally.
I remembered all of the pain she caused me during my 8th grade year at Pinecrest. I tried to act as cool and confident as I possibly could with Ashton, though I felt intimidated. He was one of the most popular kids at Pinecrest, and now he was becoming an actor, one of the most attractive careers a man can have.
Better than even Horse Semen Retrieval Specialist, or Car Racer. In fact, being an actor is so prestigious and opulent, the people involved are often reported to die from excessive luxury.
I call it The Career.
I assumed he had probably slept with countless beautiful girls. Damn him. I had a brief conversation with him before trying to leave his presence as fast as I could. I didn’t want him to find out how pathetic my life was.
While roaming around the after party, I bore witness to many successful young men who pranced in with their hot model girlfriends. Some of them were even actors my own age, stars of the movie. I had a particular burning hatred for the actor Alexander Ludwig, who I saw sitting arrogantly on a couch as people crowded around him in adoration. I hated everything about him; his golden blonde hair; his tall, muscular frame; his cocky, masculine face. That boy could get any girl he wanted. His life was completely opposite from my own. If only I could get a taste of how he lived for just one day... As I saw all of these successful young men with their beautiful dates, I became even more convinced about how important money and status was in attaining a desirable life of love and sex. It made me even more obsessed with my goal of becoming wealthy at a very young age. That was the only way to live life.
Entirely spurious intromission :
The whole premiere, from the red carpet to the film to the after party, was an extraordinary experience, and I will never forget it. I still felt very bitter that I wasn’t able to bring a girl with me as a date. The majority of men at the event had a date with them, and I felt so pathetic for not having a date. If only a girl at my collage had been attracted to me; I would have gladly brought her to the premiere as my date.
When I returned to Santa Barbara, I realized that I had absolutely no obligations. Since I had dropped all of my college classes, I had all the time in the world. I wanted to make use of that time as much as I could. Franticly, I tried to come up with ways to find some sort of idea to make millions of dollars. Some would say this was folly, but it has been done before!
Well, strictly speaking, sex had also been done before.
Many people have succeeded in coming up with an idea and making millions, or even billions, instantly. I was an extraordinary, magnificent person destined for great things. If other people could do it, why not me? It was my destiny, my whole purpose on this world.
In fairness (and amusingly enough), just about any adolescent worth the oats & hay goes through a phase of this. A good half decade before Elliot generally, but still.
For the next week or so, I spent time meditating in my room, trying to come up with ways to get rich. I could either invent something, start a great business idea, or go back to my original idea I had of writing an epic fantasy story that could be made into a movie. That reminded me of the reason why I gave up on that idea in the first place... the amount of time it would take to achieve success from such a prospect. I was so desperate and I needed to do something right there and then. It was a matter of life and death. If I couldn’t make it, then I had nothing to live for.
After a lot of deep thinking, I couldn’t come up with anything.
This should also be a meme. Guy's like a total meme fountain.
Was I doomed to fail at everything? I began to feel hopeless, until I saw the current jackpot for the Megamillions Lottery. It was rising very high in the month of March. I had saved up a lot of money at the time, so I had enough to spare on lottery tickets, so long as I didn’t go under $5000 dollars, which I wanted to keep as my minimum amount of savings just in case of an emergency, or in case I would have to carry out the Day of Retribution.
This schmuck has cash in excess of five grand, at the ripe old age of twenty-something. Do you ? Did you ?
So you see his point then. Life is so cruel!
As it so happened, I had well over $6000 saved up at the time, from all of the allowance, Christmas money, and birthday money that my parents and grandmothers had been sending me.
This is not counting random restaurant meals ; gas, insurance, leasing etc for his car ; renting out office space in the (not quite sufficiently) middle of Isla Vista and other expenses. If only he were richer than that he'd have an easier time with girls, seeing how virtually the entire world was conceived through poorer people fucking each other's lights out. #LiberalLogic, a trending topic these days.
For the first time since moving to Santa Barbara, I began to take a serious interest in playing the Lottery again.
I believed that it was destiny for me to win the Megamillions Lottery, particularly this very jackpot. People win the lottery every single month, so why not me?
This is exactly how destinies work. I call it The Way Destinies Work.
Do you think this joke is getting to be overplayed by now by the way ? Because you know, I do call it The Joke...
I was meant to live a life of signivagance and extraficance. I was meant to win this jackpot. It was destiny. For the first few drawings I played, I spent $50 to $100 on tickets, but to my profound frustration I still didn’t win, and the jackpot kept rising. This only increased my enthusiasm. I started to picture a whole new, perfect life for myself after I won. I imagined buying a beautiful, opulent mansion with an extravagant view, and acquiring a collection of supercars which I would use specifically to attract beautiful girls into my life.
A more correct picturing would include the IRS taking it all away and leaving you with a carpet cleaning bill ; but this aside, are you aware this is exactly what Jerry Seinfeld did with his ~billion dollar windfall ? Literally, mansion + a collection of cars which he can't park because still living in New York.
How many sub-Elliots do you suppose currently live in the US ?
I planned to go back to college once I had bolstered myself with all this wealth, and lord myself over all the other students there, finally fulfilling my dream of being the coolest and most popular kid at school.
I've been to schools with rich people in them now and again, but never in my experience was the richest kid ever the most popular. It just dun work that way.
As I sat meditating in my room, I imagined the ecstasy I would feel as scores of beautiful girls look at me with admiration as I drive up to college in a Lamborghini. Such an experience would make up for everything. I had to win this jackpot.
As the jackpot reached over $200 Million, I spent more of my saved money on lottery tickets, but I still didn’t win. I knew that the more I spent on tickets, the higher chance I had of winning. I was so desperate to live a satisfying life that I spent $400 dollars on tickets when the jackpot hit $290 Million. When I failed to win that, I spent $500 dollars on tickets when it reached $363 million, and I still didn’t win it on that one... And then the jackpot reached a number that I never imagined it would... $656 Million. I was astounded and filled with a feverish enthusiasm of hope and desire. This was the highest lottery jackpot in history. I knew I was always destined for great things. This must be it! I was destined to be the winner of the highest lottery jackpot in existence. I knew right then and there that this jackpot was meant for me. Who else deserved such a victory?
A safe question to ask, made all the safer by being the kind of dork that'd be asking it, which is to say - not knowing anyone.
I had been through so much rejection, suffering, and injustice in my life,
Ask any other wealth redistribution beneficiary, they'll tell you the same exact thing. Next time Elliot's idiotic parents want to "help the poor" out of the tax receipts, remember that a) they're doing it for their dumb son, not for "the greater good" and b) that shithead is already getting way more than warranted yet nevertheless perceives "suffering and injustice".
The poor will be "suffering" in "injustice" anyway, no matter what you do. That's why you're supposed to take from them more than their "fair share", not give them free shit. Regressive tax, where the poorer you are the more you owe is the only fair, and the only proper way to go. Fair because poor people always use more public services than rich people ; and proper because poor people always whine anyway. Don't let the squeaky wheel get the grease. Let the squeaky wheel get the buckshot.
and this was to be my salvation. With my whole body filled with feverish hope, I spent $700 dollars on lottery tickets for this drawing. As I spent this money, I imagined all the amazing sex I would have with a beautiful model girlfriend I would have once I become a man of wealth.
After the ultimate and fateful drawing, I waited three days to check the result. I was too anxious about what I will see. The result would determine the fate of my whole life. For those three days, I meditated alone in my room, trying to convince myself that I was the winner. I held all of the tickets in my hand, excitedly pondering over which one was the true winning ticket. There were many times during this period where I was about to check the result, but cancelled the webpage in the last second out of fear of what I might see.
This is a great scene. It should be in his movie.
The prospect of finding out that I lost was devastating. On the fourth day, I decided to just go through with it. The result was already decided, and the amount of time it took for me to check it wouldn’t change anything. I had to see the truth. My heart was beating rapidly as I loaded up the webpage to the Megamillions website. What I saw crushed all of my hope completely. My whole body shivered with horrific agony. I didn’t win. Three people won that jackpot, and it was split between them. But none of those three people were me. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I was certain I would be the winner. It was destiny... fate. But no, the world continued to give me no justice or salvation whatsoever.
I sank into one of the worst depressions of my life.
Apparently the Everett device didn't work out for Elliot.
It was Spring Break, and while all other young boys my age were going off to vacation with their attractive friends, I was feeling miserable and alone in my room because I failed to win the lottery jackpot that would enable me to rise above them ALL! I was so depressed that even when my mother came up to Santa Barbara with my sister and her friends for a short day trip, I refused to see them.
For the next month, I barely left my room. I was completely and utterly at the end of all hope. My life is over, I thought. Without that wealth, what was there to live for in the future? I still couldn’t believe I didn’t win. I kept thinking about the heavenly life I would be living if I had won. I was certain of my victory, right at the moment of the drawing. Instead, it turned to a crushing defeat, just like everything else in my life. Everything I had tried to do in the past, ever since childhood, had been a failure. It was very hard to feel good about myself anymore. I spent all of my time drifting aimlessly, doing nothing with my time except brooding over my fate. I didn’t want to think about anything. I could barely breathe from the stifling loneliness. All of my energy had been sapped out of me.
In the month of April, James Ellis officially ended the friendship between us. James hadn’t contacted me at all since the Lemelson’s Christmas party, and I felt extremely offended by this. For the first few months of 2012, I had been trying to contact him, demanding to know why he continued to act so cold and distant to me. I thought that after we spoke with each other at the Lemelson’s, things would get better between us. I was dead wrong.
I got hold of him on the phone in February, and he said a few words to me before quickly making an excuse to hang up. A month later I messaged him on Facebook to tell him how rude he was on the phone, and in April I received a response from him. He blatantly said he didn’t want to be friends anymore. He didn’t even deign to tell me why. After he said the fateful words, he refused to talk to me ever again. That was the last time I ever spoke to him.
Yeah well, even James Ellis can have enough friendzone eventually. Fifteen years should be enough for anybody.
It was the ultimate betrayal. I thought he was the one friend I had in the whole world who truly understood me, who truly understood my views and the reasons why I thought the way I did about the world. I confided everything to him, because I thought we were on the same page. To be betrayed in such a manner wounded me deeply, though I never admitted it to anyone.
Which wasn't altogether that hard a task.
On the day of the betrayaliii, I thought back on our entire friendship. James Ellis was my oldest friend. I remembered the first time I met him, as we kicked dust together as First Graders at Topanga Elementary school. I remembered all of the good times I spent at his various houses in the Palisades, trading Pokemon cards when we were little, our brief interest in skateboarding, playing World of Warcraft together as teenagers, all of our walks through the Palisades town center... He was a big part of my life. And now he was gone, faded away into memory.
I didn’t have any friends left anymore. No friends in the entire world. I didn’t want to see Philip and Addison after I cried in front of them at the Getty museum. I was completely and utterly alone, in the darkest pit of despair. And in that pit I withered in agony.
My deep depression lasted well into the summer. My life stayed stagnant and miserable, and my hatred towards everyone, especially women, for depriving me of a happy life only grew stronger. I questioned myself over and over about what was going to happen to me now. I didn’t want it to resort to having to exact ultimate vengeance. I didn’t want to die. I wanted something to live for.
There had to be a way for me to become wealthy. I continued to see it was the only way I would ever have a beautiful girlfriend and lose my virginity. My ultimate dream was to experience the pleasures of love and sex with girls once I become rich enough to be worthy of them, and then I would settle down with a beautiful girlfriend and have beautiful children with her, whom I would raise up to live a much better life than the one I’ve had to suffer through.
Good god no. Hasn't the Great Black Swamp seen enough of the horror of these things reproducing ?
That would be the most satisfying vengeance against all those young people who thought they were better than me. If I could show them that I lived such a life, my purpose on this world would be complete. To see the look on all of their faces once I’ve risen above them... I couldn’t imagine anything sweeter.
I so happened to come across a book called the Power of Your Subconscious Mind, by Joseph Murphy. This book would fill me with hope for the next few months. It was very similar to The Secret, the book I read over a year ago, and it had the same effect on me. It gave an even more in-depth view on the law of attraction. A year previously, I had given up on believing in such a concept, but when I read through this book thoroughly, I desperately convinced myself to give it a try. I wanted to believe the theory could work. I needed something to live for.
I began to visualize myself winning the lottery. I did this all throughout the month of June. After continuous analyzing and contemplation, I concluded that winning the lottery was the only way I could become wealthy at a young age, and thus it was the only way to enjoy the rest of my youth. If I didn’t have a satisfying youth, I would be bitter and miserable for the rest of my life, but of course that would never happen. If it came to that, then I would have to carry out the Day of Retribution.
Indeed, it was the only way I could attain any sort of wealth at my age. I had no talents, so it was impossible for me to become a professional actor, musician, or athlete; and those were usually the ways that young people acquired such money. I could invent something, or start a business just like Mark Zuckerberg did with Facebook, but the chances of me achieving such a thing were the same chances I had of winning the lottery anyway. I didn’t even have the skills of a computer programmer.
To think someone somewhere still thinks it takes skills... Sweet child.
After reading this book, I wanted to believe that there was some sort of supernatural power that I could harness to change reality as I saw fit.
And here I thought he already had that.
For the months of June and July, I took frequent walks around Girsh Park in Goleta, dreaming and visualizing about winning the lottery. I affirmed that once the jackpot rose to over $100 million, I would buy a ticket and that ticket would be the winner. For all of the months of summer, people kept winning the lottery, and the jackpot kept resetting, but I was so desperate that I still clung to my faith that I would soon win.
On one of the days in July, when I was roaming around Girsh Park, a group of popular college kids arrived to play kickball in the fields. They all looked like typical fraternity jocks, tall and muscular. The kind of guys I’ve hated and envied all my life. With them came a flock of beautiful blonde girls, and they looked like they were having so much fun playing together. One of the girls did a handstand in the grass, and her sexy bare stomach showed as her shirt hung down.iv All of the girls were scantily clad. Rage boiled inside me as I watched those people who thought they were better than me enjoying their pleasurable little lives together. The rage was so intense that I couldn’t take it. I was insulted too much. I couldn’t leave them without getting some form of revenge, so I drove to the nearby K-mart, bought a super-soaker, filled it up with orange juice that I bought at the same store, and drove back to the park. They were still there, having the time of their lives, and I wanted to ruin it for them. I wanted to ruin their fun just like they ruined mine, as they would never accept me among them. I screamed at them with rage as I sprayed them with my super soaker. When the boys started to yell and chase after me, I quickly got into my car and drove away. I was giddy with ecstatic, hate-fueled excitement. I wished I could spray boiling oil at the foul beasts. They deserved to die horrible, painful deaths just for the crime of enjoying a better life than me.
And on that high, upbeat, warm note we shall part company - albeit temporarily - with our supreme gentleman of o pula refinement. See you tomorrow!———
- By rights I should reference Rochester rather than some faint imitator centuries late, but then again I do not trust you ever read the Satyr. [↩]
- And by he we mean them. [↩]
- Which we shall call Der Schlimmste Verrat von Allen! [↩]
- The representation of the human figure may not be geometrically accurate. [↩]
Sunday, 28 August 2016
"What was the point of going through college I could never experience the pleasure of girls along the way?"
I'm guessing this can actually be called a point, because there are such people like him, people who can't bother to learn how does water boil or light bulbs turn up because they can pay someone to turn on the stove/switch. Or doing calculus and so on.
" I spent $700 dollars on lottery tickets"
He could afford wasting money on that, but so blind not buy a girl drinks or go for a whore.
He was 20 smth. I skimmed through the text(all eight articles) and I couldn't find if he was on a student loan, probably not, so even better.
That and his debit of money would have been more than enough to commiefornicate with any average student-loan commiefornia dumb blonde hair girl he ever wanted.
He had the car and the place to fuck. What was in this boy's mind...
Monday, 29 August 2016
Of course he was borrowing money : his parents borrowed it for him, it doesn't even register at his level that his father's SUV is on loan from the great Inca, just like in Cuba.
Monday, 29 August 2016
> That and his debit of money would have been more than enough to commiefornicate with any average student-loan commiefornia dumb blonde hair girl he ever wanted.
Rodger was, as I understand, a short, ugly fella, with ~0 charisma, and 20 years of mental radiation damage from an unbroken record of striking out wherever he went.
How does one fix these with money? (I know the answer re: height - there are Russian clinics that will saw your leg bones apart and grow back together, again and again, spend half a $M and a year in agony to gain 10cm. But how about the rest?)
Monday, 29 August 2016
Nobody cares about the physical attributes of males. Not even the women.
Monday, 29 August 2016
Besides, he stood at 175 cm and was sort of pretty, feminine features. To me, it looked like a malay woman. I think he called himself short cause the only apple in his clouded eyes were the giraffe plywood brit girls, Keira Knightley/Emma Watson type.
Anyway, he didn't fit in for not being able to bear himself. Girls would have told him what do with clothing, talking, all that. He just needed to ask and smile. Not sure if the mother is to blame for all that funny aristocracy and racism shit.
Tuesday, 30 August 2016
My my have we grown up a lot.
Tuesday, 13 September 2016
Seems like he forgot to
> I sank into one of the worst depressions of my life.
call this The Depression.
Wednesday, 14 September 2016
Wednesday, 15 April 2020
> I saw a lot of beautiful blonde girls in England, just like there were in California. Would I have lived a completely different type of life?
if only you knew how bad things are down here...
Thursday, 16 April 2020
Lol buncha fuglies.