The Story of Elliot Rodger. By Elliot Rodger. Adnotated. Part Seven.
Don't you find it incredible that this kid, a bejeweled wonder to behold, capable of effortlessly succeeding at all the things his compatriots are entirely incapable of - such as killing peoplei ; or such as keeping his nose cleanii - nevertheless is all butthurt over his "failure" (in proper terms, deliberate and intentional avoidance) of "sexual intimacy".iii Meanwhile copulation is the absolute lowest bar in all sexuate species. There's literally no easier test that can be conceivediv, numeration (which, in fairness, we have no palpable proof he ever achieved) being a significantly - a significantly - higher bar of achievement.
It's crazy, I tell you!
Part 6 Santa Barbara: Endgame Age 19-22
On Saturday, June 4th, 2011, I packed up all of my most important belongings into my car,
Obviously, he called them My Belongings.
said farewell to my mother, and drove off to face my destiny in the beautiful ocean-side town of Santa Barbara. It was raining as I arrived in the vicinity, and I felt a sense of ominous foreboding as I entered Isla Vista, my new home. My father met me outside my apartment; he came to help me move in.
Man... would you do that ? Seriously now, retarded kid you kicked out of your house, and you're going to personally assist in the move ? It's inconceivable. Unless, of course, the guy was so fucking happy to see the tard move out that he couldn't resist going over to gloat (have you seen Freddy Got Fingered btw ?) ; or else if the situation in the US has so far degraded down the Soviet chute that Malibu resident can not actually afford to hire helpv, much in the way you'd see State Subsecretary For Obscure Bureaucracy out in the field helping his fortunate rural cousin to plow by hand for a sackful of potatoes or somesuch.vi
The two of us walked up to the leasing office where they gave me my new set of keys, and then one of the receptionists walked me to the apartment unit that I will be staying in for a month. I was introduced to two new housemates who would only be there for one week. One of them was named Artem, a quiet Russian student who went to UCSB; and the other, whose name I don’t remember, was a tall blonde surfer-type boy who went to SBCC. I was annoyed at how tall and attractive he was, though I didn’t show it.
After I unpacked all of my belongings, father and I went out for a quick lunch before I said goodbye to him. And that was it. For the first time in my life, I was living independently, miles away from my parents, in a new town. I felt a sudden sense of anxiety, fear, and trepidation; but I also felt a sense of hope that my life could possibly change for the better.
I feel a sense of bewilderment at who the fuck is going to be buying him tampons. He doesn't seem aware they come from a store, or you have to buy them, or anything of the sort.
I exchanged small talk with my new housemates, and they seemed nice enough. It was hard to believe that I was actually living in an apartment with two other college students who I didn’t know until that day, especially for someone like me who has had very minimal social interaction with other young people. It felt so odd and peculiar. I was uncertain of what to expect, and the anxiety I felt from that uncertainty was overwhelming, but I knew I had to push through this. I knew this was the major turning point of my life. My life was finally changing, and I had to do my best to make that change a positive one.
The very first night was traumatic and gave me a very bad taste about everything. Through my window I heard a lot of students partying outside, and I wondered, with a great amount of fear, how I would ever be able to join in on their fun. That was the reason I was there, after all. I didn’t think I was capable of it. Later in the night, I heard a boy and a girl having sex in the apartment above me. Just knowing that other young men get to enjoy the pleasures of sex while I get none of it has always filled me with envious rage, as well as bitter hatred towards the world; but to actually hear them doing it? That was even more traumatizing. I was prepared for this, however. I had done a lot of research about college life in the town of Isla Vista, and I knew that students had a lot of sex there.
He calls it the Sex Having.
I had an inkling of a suspicion that I would eventually hear or even see people doing such things if I lived in that environment.
Hell, the reason I moved there was because it was a sexually active place. I myself wanted to be sexually active. But when I heard that couple above me having sex, I couldn’t help feeling vile and miserable about it. I tried to calm myself down and convince myself that soon I will be doing the exact same thing. How wrong I was.
My first week turned out to be very unpleasant, leaving a horrific first impression of my new life in Santa Barbara. My two housemates were nice, but they kept inviting over this friend of theirs named Chance. He was black boy who came over all the time, and I hated his cocksure attitude. Inevitably, a vile incident occurred between me and him. I was eating a meal in the kitchen when he came over and started bragging to my housemates about his success with girls. I couldn’t stand it, so I proceeded to ask them all if they were virgins. They all looked at me weirdly and said that they had lost their virginity long ago. I felt so inferior, as it reminded me of how much I have missed out in life. And then this black boy named Chance said that he lost his virginity when he was only thirteen! In addition, he said that the girl he lost his virginity to was a blonde white girl! I was so enraged that I almost splashed him with my orange juice. I indignantly told him that I did not believe him, and then I went to my room to cry. I cried and cried and cried, and then I called my mother and cried to her on the phone.
Little did Chance know that the weird cracker boy wasn't angry at the girl being white, per se, but merely at her being a girl altogether. Because Chance is racist and so automatically assumes white people give a shit about him.
Little did I know then...
How could an inferior, ugly black boy be able to get a white girl and not me? I am beautiful, and I am half white myself.
... that the next sentence was soon going to always be part of the rest of the text forever!
I must confess Elliot'd have been so much fun to torment... This goes above and beyond any conceivable pig party, you could take him to the Armory, or the Bangbros sets and make him work as a fluffer, you could tell him about how only white people of a higher composition than his are any good, you could MITM his WoW client to make the trainers go "Sorry Elliot, you're not good enough to train past level 62. Only other people that are better than you may do that."... It's really a pity USians don't put a whole lot more effort into the rather masculine art of pointlessly torturing helpless animals. There's all this primo material going to waste...
I am descended from British aristocracy. He is descended from slaves. I deserve it more.
Speaking of which, the one notable event in Romania's previous dictator's life (Nicolae Ceausescu) was that during the war, while he was about the same age as Elliot, being a low ranking gofer in the loose gang of criminals that'd later pretend to be called a "communist party", he was given the task of taking some food to a sick comrade. Which food he ate, and then later admitted to having eaten "because he was hungry and figured he deserved it more than the sick, older guy". He had moar right to life, you see, in his own estimation. This is actually recorded as such, in writing, not a matter of oral history.
I tried not to believe his foul words, but they were already said, and it was hard to erase from my mind. If this is actually true, if this ugly black filth was able to have sex with a blonde white girl at the age of thirteen while I’ve had to suffer virginity all my life, then this just proves how ridiculous the female gender is. They would give themselves to this filthy scum, but they reject ME? The injustice!
Somehow I suspect the supreme gentleman's personal hygiene was not actually up to snuff. That somehow being that grooming behaviour in apes is, of course, a social matter.
Females truly have something mentally wrong with them. Their minds are flawed, and at this point in my life I was beginning to see it.
Laugh all you want, but his view has ample historical support - he's by no means the first Athenian to walk among the she-herd and decide they're broken in the head. By all appearances he's liable to also not be the last.
The more I explored my college town of Isla Vista, the more ridiculousness I witnessed. All of the hot, beautiful girls walked around with obnoxious, tough jock-type men who partied all the time and acted crazy. They should be going for intelligent gentlemen such as myself.
Should they ?
But you're paying for "abstinence only sex ed", and for other things. Little girls are protected from seeing large male genitals on the pure sanctity of the TV screen for a reason, yes ? What reason is that ?
The principal social utility of genius is precisely this : that it forces you to look at "obviously the emperor's clothed" in stark light. Do tell, should girls do what Elliot says ? Then why aren't they ? Or if they shouldn't, why are you doing most of the things you're doing ?
"It's a matter of degree" ; "false dichotomy" etc etc. Sure, sure. The contondent truth of the matter is that once one introduces sexuality in the field of ethics (ie, by pretending it can for instance be legislated about), he's stuck spending most of his time building dykes and dams to keep the Elliot from flooding in ; whereas if one removes sexuality from the field of ethics (ie, by declaring it a private matter) then neither "rape" nor sex with children nor films of children fucking nor all the rest of the boogaboos work anymore. The dilemma is unresolvable ; and with the advent of postmodernity (which is to say - since nobody has anything useful or important to do with his time anymore anyway), the "nobody cares - people have better things to do" historical solution isn't doing much for anyone anymore.
Women are sexually attracted to the wrong type of man. This is a major flaw in the very foundation of humanity. It is completely and utterly wrong, in every sense of the word. As these truths fully dawned on me, I became deeply disturbed by them. Deeply disturbed, offended, and traumatized.
If you think the French revolution was anything other, or anything more than simply "we hereby declare that women heretofore have been attracted by the wrong type of man ; and shall be henceforth attracted to a different type of man" you're about as deluded as Elliot, though not necessarily for that reason equally dysfunctional.
For all his broken, the kid correctly understands the deep core of social reform, its one and only prime mover. Men have been forever attracted to the wrong kind of woman, which is why all the luscious tits and incredible asses everywhere, about 9000 times or more above anything a chimp could ever hope for ; and women have been forever attracted to the wrong kind of man, which is how some dude ended up walking on the fucking Moon.
The problems only begin when anyone's attracted to the right kind of the other.
Those two housemates moved out within a week. I was glad to see them go, after that horrible incident. I was then presented with
You'd think it's just awkward style, but no, little Harun al-Rashid, the supreme gentleman of Isla Vista likely means this literally : he was presented, in the manner of a father giving a piece of fruit to his child, with two new pieces of furniture. Which, obviously, as all the previous ones, kept going on about how they fucked girls, those damnable, rambunctious fuckbots that keep malfunctioning in his presence.
two new housemates, who would be staying in the apartment for the rest of the month that I was there. Their names were Daniel Faynshell and Reed Mankins. Reed was a quiet Asian-American student who was studying biology at UCSB, and Daniel was a heavy-set Russian student who had a witty personality. Both of them were older than me by a couple of years. Daniel was very social and talkative. He often tried to start conversations with me, which I actually liked. Social interaction was always welcome in my lonely life, and I found him to be a very interesting person. It was nice to have someone reach out to me.
Soon enough, my summer session at Santa Barbara City College began. I had enrolled for two classes, a history class and a geography class. The history class started at 8:00 in the morning. When my alarm rang, I enthusiastically put on one my new shirts as I got ready to start my first day of my new college. The weather was sunny and bright as I made the drive down the 101 Freeway. This was it. This was the moment of truth. My whole life has led to this.
This is the comment to which all the other comments have led!
I was starting a new college, in a beautiful new town. This was my fresh start to attain the life I’ve been craving for so long. If I am unable to make it in this opportunistic environment, then I am doomed forever.
Opportunistic, that which has to do with opportunity, n'est pas ?
I felt a surge of confidence as I ascended the flight of stairs that led up to the main campus. For my first class, which was history, I had to cross the iconic bridge to the west campus. I tried to feel as confident and sure of myself as possible, thinking that all of the girls I passed were attracted to my appearance. They should be. I spent a lot of time choosing out that shirt and doing my hair.
You have any idea how many useless idiots expect reward to be a function of their (self-evaluated, and self-reported) effort, rather than some sort of objective measure ? You have any idea how many Rakims think they should be paid twice as much for taking twice as long to change a tyre because it's that much harder for them ?
If you truly don't, I do hope you never actually find out.
When I reached the classroom, I saw some pretty girls waiting outside. My new classmates, I thought with excitement. I was a bit dismayed that they didn’t pay any attention to me. They didn’t even look at me. I was sure I had an attractive appearance that day, but those girls didn’t seem to notice it. Perhaps I was deluding myself.
As all of the students started pouring in, a group of typical popular-type boys sat near me. Their overly social and obnoxious personalities offended me, and I felt like getting up and leaving. They somehow knew all of the pretty girls in the class, and it broke my heart to watch them chat up the girls. How could I compete with those popular kids? I hated them so much. I’ve wanted to be like them all my life, ever since elementary school, but they never accepted me. They have caused my life to be a living hell for so long. Right then, on the very first day of SBCC, I was going through the exact thing as I did at every other school I’ve been to; the feeling of being a lonely, unwanted outcast.
That class was horrible, but I didn’t want to give up so soon. I couldn’t! My whole life depended on my success in Santa Barbara. I attended my geography class next. This class was much more interesting, and more relaxed, but it didn’t have any pretty girls in it. After lunch I walked over to the cafeteria area, and I saw so many pretty blonde girls sitting around. I wished I had the courage to go up to them and ask one on a date, but they would have seen me as a creep. Girls are so cruel.
After I left the campus I drove around downtown Santa Barbara to explore new areas. I went up and down State Street, the main common area of the city where everyone frequents.
Countless restaurants and shops lined a magnificently designed street with wide walkways.
I had to ask, because I've never been there, and it's not directly obvious to me what a "magnificently designed street" would be. It's... you know, just a street, goes down to the ocean, has trees and sidewalks on either side. For a kid that's been to so many countries so early-achieverly like, he's a tad behind.
It was absolutely beautiful... a true paradise, for those who were thriving there. I can only imagine how heavenly it would be to walk with a beautiful girlfriend down that street. My life would be complete if I get to do that. It would be the epitome of gratifying perfection.
To walk. Down some street. With a girl. Would be the epitome of gratifying perfection.
Have you ever known anyone more modest ?
To have a beautiful blonde girl by my side, to feel her hand clasping my own as we walk everywhere together, to feel her love! That is what I want in life. Instead, I had to watch other men experience my idea of heaven while I rot in bitter loneliness.
And there were a lot of young couples on State Street. The whole area was full of young people enjoying their pleasurable little lives. I saw groups of good looking popular boys and girls gleefully walking together. It reminded me of that fateful night, years ago, when I walked through the Calabasas Commons and saw the same thing.
Little did he know then...
And there I was, over two years later, still in the exact same position. It was very hard to deal with. I quickly drove back to my apartment and cried to myself, soaking my pillow in the tears of my agony.
So far, Santa Barbara was not working. I dreaded how horrible it would be to continue suffering my miserable, lonely, celibate life in such a beautiful city where everyone else experienced the pleasures of sex and love. That would be the darkest hell. And that was exactly what was in store for me.
After a couple of days I decided to drop my history class. I couldn’t stand watching those obnoxious popular boys talk to all of the pretty girls in the class. The girls actually liked them! I should be the one they pay attention to,
Do you suppose any of the various mental health "professionals" involved throughout the decades ever asked him a simple fucking "why" ? If you have, please let me know, thanks.
but they treated me like I was invisible. I didn’t want to torture myself any longer. I felt a sense of guilt as I did it, because I made a bid to make the best of my time in Santa Barbara. Once the class was dropped, I felt a sense of relief. I was still enrolled in the geography class, and it was only the summer session. I had plenty of time to make up for it.
I spent the rest of my first month trying as hard as I could to put myself out in the social environment of Isla Vista. Daniel was twenty three years old, so I asked him to purchase some alcohol for me, a bottle of vodka in particular. In that college town, everyone went out with at least a little alcohol in their system. I wasn’t an alcoholic, but drinking alcohol always helped me with being more confident and sociable.
Yeah, we call them beer goggles.
On weekend nights, I took a few shots from my vodka bottle and set out on walks around the town, desperately hoping that I would stumble across some opportunity to make friends. I often ended up sitting alone at some café, hoping girls would talk to me before I sobered up. No girl ever did. I then went back home to lie in my bed alone.
Check out the Santa Barbara advances, telepathic waitresses. O wait, I'm sorry, those aren't girls, they were probably inferior latina filth or somesuch. In any case, this may be the first case of a teenager that uses vodka as medicine, in the most literal sense possible. He has a bottle in the house, and takes a coupla supositories from it whenever his bones itch.
On one such night I got drunk enough to introduce myself to some other students who lived in the same apartment complex. They were sitting in the common area of the apartment, and I went up to their group and sat down with them. They weren’t hostile towards me, and I was able to exchange some form of small talk with them. After a while though, I ended up just sitting there awkwardly, and they eventually questioned why I was so quiet. I hated when people did that... no one ever understands the troubles of someone who suffers from social anxiety.
For the record, "social anxiety" is not a thing.
They offered me a few beers, which I gladly accepted. I ended up getting so drunk that I completely blacked out. I stumbled back to my apartment and vomited on the floor, just like I did on that embarrassing night at Addison Altendorf’s birthday party. The next morning, I didn’t even remember that I vomited. Daniel informed me of what happened, with an amused grin on his face. I felt so ashamed, but at least I did something more social than anything else I’ve done in the last few years. That was some progress, I supposed.
Blackout drunk from a coupla shots of vodka and a coupla beers ? God it must suck to have Azn blood.
Due to living in an entirely new environment, with lots of new experiences to come with it, the first month in Santa Barbara went by very slowly. I was relieved when July arrived, and I was able to visit home for a weekend. When I arrived back in Woodland Hills, I felt like I hadn’t been there for ages. It was a pleasant feeling, as it gave me the subconscious impression that my life was finally moving forward instead of staying stagnant.
When I arrived back at my mother’s apartment, she was away at work, and Georgia was at school. I took a moment to relax after going through so much trauma and unrest, catching up on all of the Game of Thrones episodes that I missed, including the Season 1 finale. Later that night, I met my mother and father at an upscale restaurant near Warner Center, and they both seemed very proud of me. I wasn’t proud of myself, as I barely met my expectations in my first month in Santa Barbara. I had an exquisite meal at the restaurant, and while there I saw a pretty girl walk in with her family. I glanced at her and she glanced at me. I desperately wondered if she thought I was attractive, and I tried to convince myself that she was attracted to me, in an effort to feel better about myself. Whether she was attracted to me or not is a question I will never know the answer to.
There was no school on the following Monday, due to the 4th of July Holiday. I went with my mother to the annual 4th of July party at the Lemelson’s. There, I saw James for the first time in a while. It felt good to see him again. He had been ignoring me in the last couple of months, but the two of us reignited our good friendship at the party. I told him that I was now going to college in Santa Barbara, and he seemed happy for me. As I ate dinner with him, Noah, and a few of Noah’s friends at a table outside, I filmed a funny video that I still have on my phone to this day.
On the next morning, I made my drive back to Santa Barbara to finish the second half of my summer session. I prayed that I would have a better experience from then on.
When I got back to Capri Apartments it was time for me to transfer to my permanent apartment unit, the apartment unit that I was set to stay in for the whole year. I loaded all of my belongings into my car and said goodbye to Daniel and Reed. I enjoyed my stay with them. They made for excellent college housemates. Before I left, Daniel told me that I should come to visit in the future.
My new apartment was in another Capri Apartments building. The main building was on Seville Road, in the center of Isla Vista. The other building that I was meant to stay at was on Abrego Road, a few blocks away, towards the edge of the town. At first I was unsure of the location, though it was still walking distance from all of the action. It was definitely quieter in that area, so that was a positive.
One of the receptionists showed me to my new bedroom. The apartment unit was empty. My new housemates wouldn’t be moving in until August, so I would have the whole apartment to myself for the month of July. I quite liked that. It would provide me with the comfort to settle into the place. I had no idea who my new housemates were going to be, and I was hoping they would be people I could be friends with to help improve my social life. All of the rooms were randomly assignedvii at Capri Apartments, so I had no control over who I would end up with. I could only hope that they would be at least tolerable, because they were to be my housemates for the whole year.
My father drove up to Santa Barbara to meet me a few days later. The two of us went to have lunch at a restaurant in the Camino Real Marketplace, an area that I often frequented. When we sat down at our table, I saw a young couple sitting a few tables down the row. The sight of them enraged me to no end, especially because it was a dark-skinned Mexican guy dating a hot blonde white girl. I regarded it as a great insult to my dignity. How could an inferior Mexican guy be able to date a white blonde girl, while I was still suffering as a lonely virgin?
I have no ideeea, sii-iiiir.
I was ashamed to be in such an inferior position in front my father. When I saw the two of them kissing, I could barely contain my rage. I stood up in anger, and I was about to walk up to them and pour my glass of soda all over their heads. I probably would have, if father wasn’t there. I was seething with envious rage, and my father was there to watch it all. It was so humiliating. I wasn’t the son I wanted to present to my father. I should be the one with the hot blonde girl, making my father proud.
From what can be discerned, the father has a thing for skinny brunettes, but anyway.
Instead, my father had to watch me suffer in a pathetic position. Life is so cruel to me. When I said my farewell to father before he drove home, I felt absolutely miserable. I then went back to my room and sulked for hours.
Another incident happened on the following day, near the same location. I went to the Starbucks at the Camino Real Marketplace by myself, like I usually did every morning. I ordered my coffee and sat down on one of their chairs to relax. A few moments later, when I looked up from my drink, I saw a young couple standing in line. The two of them were kissing passionately. The boy looked like an obnoxious punk; he was tall and wore baggy pants. The girl was a pretty blonde! They looked like they were in the throes of passionate sexual attraction to each other, rubbing their bodies together and tongue kissing in front of everyone. I was absolutely livid with envious hatred. When they left the store I followed them to their car and splashed my coffee all over them. The boy yelled at me and I quickly ran away in fear.
Ahahahaha check out the distinguished descendent of British aristocracy. Really brings the other one to mind, doesn't he ? I can scarcely imagine what'd be more insulting than being related to those schmucks.
I was panicking as I got into my car and drove off, shaking with rage-fueled excitement. I drove all the way to the Vons at the Fairview Plaza and spent three hours in my car trying to contain my tumultuous emotions. I had never struck back at my enemies before, and I felt a small sense of spiteful gratification for doing so. I hated them so much. Even though I splashed them with my coffee, he was still the winner. He was going home to have passionate heavenly sex with his beautiful girlfriend, and I was going home to my lonely room to sleep alone in my lonely bed. I had never felt so miserable and mistreated in my life.
Yeah, cuz traditionally the Queen'd give you an earldom with lands and serfs and whatnot for ineffectually wetting your pants in "battle". Review the rolls.
I cursed the world for condemning me to such suffering.
I wanted to do horrible things to that couple. I wanted to inflict pain on all young couples.
Amusingly enough, someone evidently beat him to it.
It was around this point in my life that I realized I was capable of doing such things. I would happily do such things. I was capable of killing them, and I wanted to. I wanted to kill them slowly, to strip the skins off their flesh. They deserve it. The males deserve it for taking the females away from me, and the females deserve it for choosing those males instead of me.
Which is the problem with "deserving" : depending on the color of your bits, anyone can deserve anything for whatever random reason. Doesn't he deserve better than what he's getting ? So then! Why wouldn't they deserve worse!
Ever since I was seventeen, I often fantasized about becoming powerful and inflicting suffering upon everyone who has wronged me in the past, but I never thought I would actually do it. At this point, after going through so much suffering and injustice, all of my innocence had been swept away. The world had been cruel to me, and it molded me to become strong enough to actually have the capability of returning that cruelness to the world. I had never been a violent person in nature, but after building up so much hatred over the years, I realized that I wouldn’t hesitate to kill or even torture my hated enemies if I was given the opportunity.
I spent the next five days in my room, trying to forget about the horrific experiences I had to go through. But even in my room, I couldn’t escape from being reminded of my worthlessness. Every time I looked out my window to the courtyard, I saw young people socializing. Obnoxious drunk boys were chatting up pretty girls, and I wondered with great panic if they would be having sex together in the night. I often fantasized about barging into their rooms while they had sex and slashing them to death with my knife.
Before I knew it, it was July 12th and the countdown on my internet homepage was up. The new Song of Ice and Fire book, A Dance with Dragons, was released. I emailed my mother to order me the book from Amazon. The countdown was ultimately over, and I had nothing to show for it. I was still a virgin, even after a month of living in a town full of college kids who had sex all the time. I realized that I had only twelve more days as a teenager! I was going to turn twenty very soon. One of my hopes was to at least lose my virginity before my time as a teenager was over. Being a virgin at the age of twenty would make me feel very defeated.
What was it to qualify as a PhD, thirty ?
I made a bid to do everything I could to lose my virginity in those few remaining days I had. With a tremendous amount of panic, I wondered what I could possible do. The only thing I could think of was to go out to the common areas of Isla Vista as much as possible. I had to put myself out there, even if it only increased my chances of having sex by one percent. One percent was still better than zero.
For those crucial twelve days I had left as a teenager, I walked over to the center of Isla Vista every day and sat at one of the tables outside Domino’s Pizza, hoping against hope that a girl would come up and talk to me. Why wouldn’t they? I looked good enough, didn’t I? Or did I not look good enough? Such thoughts flew through my head in frantic waves. For dinner, I always walked over to the healthy restaurant called Silvergreen’s. There were always hot girls there, but none of them deigned to even look at me. On every one of those nights, I walked home alone, with my head down in defeat.
Talking about institutionalized sexism and the inherent difficulties women face in the "modern democracy" : you do realise that if Elliot were born Jennifer he'd have been very popular and entirely happy her entire life, yes ? No, don't talk of tits to me : the same parents that spent 50k to get him a BMW he couldn't drive would have spent 30k to get her boobs so fixed she couldn't touch the nipples.
Gals have it harder than guys ? Seriously, irl ?
I made no progress in school either. My geography class had no pretty girls in it, so I had no hope there.
Progress in school. Really, he should have gone to the Face Down Ass Up University. (Yes, unlike "social anxiety", Face Down Ass Up University is a thing. Google it.)
I spent a lot of time sitting in the cafeteria area, but all of the beautiful girls I saw intimidated me too much. One time, as I was walking across the huge bridge that connected the two campuses, I passed by a girl I thought was pretty and said ”Hi” as we neared each other. She kept on walking and didn’t even have the grace to respond to me. How dare she! That foul bitch. I felt so humiliated that I went to one of the school bathrooms, locked myself in a toilet stall, and cried for an hour.
On one of my very last days as a teenager, as I was sitting at my usual place at the food court outside Domino’s, I saw a sight that shattered my heart to pieces. A tall, blonde, jock-type guy walked into one of the restaurants, and at his side was one of the sexiest girls I had ever seen. She too was tall and blonde. They were both taller than me, and they kissed each other passionately. They made me feel so inferior and worthless and small. I glared at them with intense hatred as I sat by myself in my lonely misery. I could never have a girl like that. The sight was burned into my memory, and it caused a scar that will haunt me forever. When they walked away, I followed them in my car for a few minutes, and when they entered a less inhabited area I opened my window and splashed my iced tea all over them. It was all I could do at the time, but at least it was something. At least I made some effort to fight back against the injustice. I felt sick with hatred that night. The hatred boiled inside me with burning vitriol.
Incidentally, this is why, if you ever encounter a frail punk acting overaggressive for his circumstance, you don't simply bitchslap that bitch. You curb stomp that bitch.viii
Then if they try to "prosecute", make sure you say the magic words, "little bitch was overaggressive for his circumstance". I'll know what's meant, and if I'm on the jury you're not geting convicted no matter what they try.
My summer session ended with no positive effect on my life. After I completed my final exam, on which I received the grade of a B, I drove back to my hometown feeling defeated.
Did this guy ever get something other than a B ?
Shortly after, my 20th birthday finally came. Soumaya and Jazz were away in Morocco for the summer, so father met up with me, my mother, and my sister at an upscale restaurant in Encino. My parents didn’t show any concern for how miserable I felt about being a twenty-year-old virgin. They treated it as if it was any normal birthday. They didn’t seem to understand the gravity of the situation, which annoyed me immensely. The restaurant had an ”all-you-can eat” buffet system, and I greatly stuffed myself that night. Delicious food was the only vice I was able to enjoy, since I was deprived of sex. I had a very fast metabolism, so I could eat as much as I wanted without getting fat. I suppose that was one advantage in my rather disadvantageous life.
Hey, I was exactly the same way up into my mid thirties or somesuch.
When I got back to my mother’s apartment, she let me have a bottle of wine, and I truly drank my fill. ”Everything’s better with some wine in the belly.” I spent the rest of the night pondering over what was in store for me at that point in life. I was no longer a teenager, and I’ll never be able to experience having sex as a teenager. My teenage years were completely denied to me by the cruelness of women.
You know this is pretty fucking unfair to the hussies, they're out there day in and day out, getting drunk every weekend, wearing nothing with straps, churning more cocklength every month than an entire generation of last century dizzy cows, and he's still blaming them ? I am persuaded the majority of female orgasms occured in the past half century, and this little punk thinks HIS life is unfair ? How about all the men whose teenage daughters I taught to suck cock, men who never in their born days enjoyed a blowjob ? How about the utter losers, utterly incomprehensible for my pack ? They needn't complain ?
Forsooth, such cruel world.
The only way I could make up for it was if I could have an extraordinary sex life in my twenties. I would have to have a profoundly amazing decade in my twenties to compensate for all the misery I experienced in my teens. If I fail to do that, then I have nothing to live for. Sadly, I will only experience the opposite in my early twenties, and it will destroy me.
20 Years Old
I stayed in my hometown for a week. One of my birthday presents was a gift card to Nordstrom. I spent it on a couple of new polo shirts that made me feel a little more confident. Buying new clothes would always give me a temporary boost of confidence, and I practiced it as if it was a drug.
Speaking about how women have it harder and all that. Right ?
Before I left for Santa Barbara, I reunited with Philip and Addison after a very long period of not seeing them. The three of us met up at the Calabasas Commons, and then we went in Philip’s car to Malibu for a few adventures.
I can scarcely guess...
We ended up settling down at Starbucks and had a few insightful conversations.
Hm, I guess I was in the ballpark. I was thinking they rented a car and clothes, and went around the restaurants pretending to be city inspectors and demanding to see all the kitchens, then giving gravely absurd instructions to the mexicans trapped there. Close enough, neh ?
Addison had changed and matured tremendously, and he was no longer associating with the popular Malibu high school kids. This didn’t change my resentment towards him, and I kept confronting him the whole time about the insulting way he treated me over a year ago. After a lot of debating, we agreed to resolve our conflict with each other. This didn’t mean I forgot all of the slights he dealt to me in the past, however. I never forget. I never forgive. One day I’ll show him how superior I am.
~signed : Anonymous.
On the day after I saw Philip and Addison, I went over to James’s house. I hadn’t been there for ages, and the two of us relived our traditional walks around the Palisades town center, just like old times. It felt strange and nostalgic to experience it after so long, especially after going through so many changes in Santa Barbara. I told James about my turmoil of being a twenty-year-old virgin, and my desperate hope that things will get better once I start my Autumn semester at my new college. I talked about all the beautiful blonde girls I saw walking around my college, and my deep wish that I will have one day have one as a girlfriend. James sympathized with me greatly, for he was also going through similar troubles in life. He seemed glad that I was finally taking some steps to bring changes to my life.
I drove back to Santa Barbara in a slightly better mood than I was in when I left it. I had a month until the new semester started, and I could use that time to prepare and recuperate. My new housemates were meant to move into the second bedroom of my apartment on August 5th. I had an anxious feeling of anticipation for what they will be like.
Incidentally, he did a pretty stupid thing, which is to say whined to his parents to get him the prestigious item (the single bedroom), when he doesn't actually warrant having it on the basis of his own position in the hierarchy of the threesome. This is a recipe for tears, and yet strangely enough the one thing always sought by the inferior. It's almost as if he's asking to get killed.
Which, of course, he is and has been ever since the age of about 3, except to his great misfortune the world has turned a very deliberate, studied deaf ear. If this does not constitute a tragedy, if Elliot is not a tragic character, then I have no fucking idea what Greeks you read.
Which takes us all the way back to the beginning of this exercise, where I said
Consequently, I give you what is without a doubt the best piece of literature the English language has produced since the second world war.
But little did you know then to what degree this correct observation you chose to ignore will affect the entire rest of your life!
August 5th came quickly, and I prepared myself to be in a pleasant mood to meet them. Their names were Ryan and Angel, and to my dismay they were of Hispanic race. In addition, the two of them were already friends with each other, which meant that they could possibly gang up against me if any conflicts were to arise.
Yeah. And otherwise this wasn't going to have been possible.
They also seemed like rowdy, low-class types. My first impression of them soured me, but I tried to be pleasant and not show it. The two of them acted cordial to me on the first day, but after observing them for a bit, I had a bad feeling that they would be trouble to live with... And they were to be my housemates for a whole year! When I was alone in my room, I panicked to myself at how dire a situation this was. This was extremely disappointing. I was hoping I would get decent, mature, clean-cut housemates. Instead I got low-class scum.
And probably first class fornicators, to boot!
On the second day, they started inviting their equally rowdy friends into my apartment, and we exchanged more small talk. To my indignant surprise, they asked me the question I always dreaded answering: "Are you a virgin?” I admitted that I was a virgin. I always admitted the truth about this. It was my life struggle, and I couldn’t lie about such a thing.
Would you ? Did you ?
Does Elliot the coward, Elliot the idiot, Elliot the weirdo have you beat ?
Elliot is a paragon of will, of course he has you beat. He can't think worth a shit, but the odds of you being able to stand up to him will-wise are dismal.
They then had the audacity to tell me that they lost their virginity long ago, bragging about all the girls they had slept with. I particularly hated Angel because of his ugly pig-face. How could such an ugly animal have had sexual experiences with girls, and yet I haven’t?
Chicks dig pigs. They keep egging each other with it all the time, too, "men are such pigs" they go in between forays in the sty.
Pig is good, what.
What was wrong with this world? I got so angry that I went to my room and punched the wall. They heard me and started laughing. It was almost a repeat of what I experienced with that black boy named Chance in the old apartment, except this time it was worse because these were my housemates for the year!
On the day after, I almost got into a physical fight with Angel. The ugly pig kept acting as if girls thought he was more attractive than me. Hah! I am a beautiful, magnificent gentleman and he is a low- class, pig-faced thug. I had enough of his cocksure attitude, and I started to call him exactly what he was. I tried to insult him as much as I could, telling him how superior I am to him, and saying that he was low- class. He tried to attack me, but Ryan, being the more mellow of the two, held him back. A pity, I was itching for a chance to hurt that obnoxious little animal. Though I suppose it was for the best... My life was too important to risk doing anything rash.
I had no idea before (little did I know then!), but now it's starting to dawn on me that I've missed out on a lot of life's experiences. Never for my entire life for instance have I had a roommate this hysterical. All the fun I could have had, denied to me forever, and what's worse - retrospectively!
The world is SO cruel! Let's hold hands.
In a panic, I immediately called my mother as soon as I could
and told her of the dire situation. There was no way I could live with those two imbeciles for the whole college year. They already ruined my weekend.
I suppose it's a good thing he doesn't do his nails.
My mother agreed that I needed to get out of there, so I went to the leasing office and explained to the manager everything that happened. He told me that there was another room available for me to transfer to, but it would cost one hundred more dollars a month, because it was a larger two bedroom unit and I would only be sharing it with one housemate, who would occupy the other room. I called my mother and she gave me permission to go through with it. I signed the new lease, arranging to transfer when the room became available in September. I would have to bear living with them for the rest of the month until then.
To help get through the month, my mother let me come home every weekend until I was able to transfer to the new apartment.
You have got to be kidding me.
I would only stay in Santa Barbara during the weekdays, but on those weekdays Angel and Ryan went out of their way to make my life a living hell. Every time they went out they kept yelling to me how they’re going to sleep with hot girls that night. I knew they were just lying to make me jealous. They always made fun of me for being a virgin. At night, they frequently made noise to wake me up. I was literally being bullied, and it was truly horrific. I wanted to kill them both, but of course I was smart enough not to go through with that desire. All I could do was remember every single insult, so I can get revenge in a more efficient way in the future. That is who I am. I don’t act stupidly or rashly. I remember every insult, and I wait until the time is right to strike. When that time comes, I will crush all of my enemies in the most devastating and catastrophic way possible, and the results will be beautiful.
Is this from Game of thrones ?
On one of the weekends in which I went home during August, my mother moved out of the Versailles apartment complex, and moved into the Summit Townhomes, near Warner Center. It was an abrupt decision to move there. I helped her pack everything and watched as the movers transported all of our belongings to the new place. The Summit was much nicer looking than her old apartment; I’ll say that for it. It was a townhome with an upstairs room that I would occupy whenever I visit home.
I was glad that she moved to a better place, but I would have much rather she got married to a wealthy man and moved into his mansion. Even though she was no longer seeing Jack, she dated other men of high class. She had a special way of charming them. I continued to pester her to get married so that I can be part of an upper class family and enjoy all the benefits that would come with that, but she always refused, claiming that she never wants to get married due to her unpleasant experiences with my father. I told her that she should suffer through any negative aspects of marriage just for my sake, because it would completely save my life, but she still refused.
Life is so unfair.
I went over to James’s house during my visit home. The two of us chatted online a lot, and when I told him that I was in town, he seemed eager to see me. I was eager to see him too, as he was my closest friend and I had a lot to talk to him about. I drove up Topanga Canyon to his house, not knowing that it will be the last time I ever visit him.
The two of us did what we usually did. We walked out to the Palisade’s Bluff’s where we discussed our hopes and dreams. We then went to the Palisades town center to have dinner. This time we chose to eat at Panda Express. While we were eating, some high school kids walked in. James saw them first, and right when he saw them he said the words ”We’re fucked”. James knew I would have trouble with them. They were popular boys who had a flock of pretty girls with them. One of them sat down with two of the girls, putting his leg up on another chair with a cocky smirk on his face. I was livid with rage, and I wanted to pour my drink all over his head. James knew exactly what I was planning to do; we had been through similar incidents before. He made a lot of effort to try to dissuade me from acting on my anger, pointing out that there was a security guard nearby. I did the only other thing I could do; I packed up my dinner and left the restaurant, fleeing in defeat and shame. James soon followed, and we decided to finish our meal at his house.
A dark and ominous aura clouded over our friendship that day. When the two of us got back to James’s house, I was still seething with rage. I didn’t understand why James wasn’t angry like me. The sight that we just witnessed was horrible to watch. To see another male be successful with females is torture for males like us who have no success with females. I was so angry that I told James of all of the acts of revenge I wanted to exact on those popular boys. I told him my desire to flay them alive, to strip the skins off their flesh and make them scream in agony as punishment for living a better life than me. James became deeply disturbed by my anger. I wished that he wasn’t disturbed. I wished he could be a friend that felt the same way about the world that I did. But he wasn’t that kind of person. He was a weakling.
Ah, the poor misunderstood genius.
Once I had calmed down, the two of us had a long conversation in his room, and I ended up crying in front of him as I explained how hopeless I felt about life. Soon after that, I left his house, never to return there again. He will never invite me over after that incident, and ourfriend ship will slowly fade to dust.
During the last few days that I had to endure living with those barbaric housemates, I often walked out to Isla Vista hoping that I could meet a girl and take her home with me. I wanted to prove to them all that girls liked me, to see the look on their faces when they see a girl by my side. But of course, I had nothing to prove because girls didn’t like me. Every time I tried to go out and meet a girl, I ended up walking home alone in anger. On one of these nights, I crossed paths with a boy who was walking with two pretty girls. I got so envious that I cursed at them, and then I followed them for a few minutes. They just laughed at me, and one of the girls kissed the boy on the lips. I’m assuming she was his girlfriend. That was one of the worst experiences of torture from girls that I’ve had to endure, and it will be a scar in my memory forever, to remind me that girls think I’m unworthy compared to other boys. I ran home with tears pouring down my cheeks, hoping that my horrible housemates wouldn’t be there to witness my shame.
Two! Two pretty girls! Such an insult to everything that is right, proper and socialist about the world!
I tried to spark a positive attitude on the first day of my Autumn semester at Santa Barbara City College. I was registered for three classes; history, astronomy, and math. My history and astronomy classes were in the morning, and my math class was late in the afternoon, so on school days I had to spend the entire day at the college. I figured this would be beneficial, because it would keep me out of my room and in a place where possible opportunities might come my way. I had to wait a couple of hours before my math class started, and I spent those hours roaming around the college or sitting in the library, looking at all of the hot girls and wishing I could have one as a girlfriend. I was like a starving man surrounded by a feast that I was prohibited to eat.
All of my classes left me feeling hopeless and depressed. Not only was I unable to meet any girls
Do you suppose he could tell the difference between history and astronomy ? I've never even conceived of such a wonder, he goes to school to socialize, it's like going shopping not to buy anything, but to look into everyone else's carts.
Who the fuck goes to school to socialize ? I cut most of the uninteresting classes starting in highschool to do better things - such as socialize with the better cut of kids, who did the same. Who the fuck goes to school, where all the losers are trapped, to socialize. Bejesus.
and there were a lot of pretty ones, but I also had a hard time making any friends. I’ve always had a hard time making friends... I’m not the type of person that can fit in with a group of outgoing people; the last time I did such a thing was when I was twelve. I had to make friends. Having a social circle will provide me with more opportunities to meet girls, and it was the only way to get invited to all of those exciting college parties. But no one even wanted to be my friend. I actually tried to initiate small talk with guys who sat next to me, but it never went far. I had a horrible feeling that I was in for a very miserable time in Santa Barbara.
I did make one friend through spending time in my apartment’s courtyard. This friend’s name was Andy Chan; he was a foreign student from China. Andy shared the same eagerness as I did to experience college life in Isla Vista to the fullest; and unlike most people my age, I found him to have some intelligence and substance. The two of us walked out to Del Playa Street in Isla Vista a few times, the place where all the parties happen, but nothing ever came of it. I still felt like an outcast, even though I had a friend with me; and I still felt inferior compared to all of those guys who walked around with beautiful girls.
On September 5th, I was finally able to move into my new permanent apartment unit. I felt relieved that I would never have to deal with the likes of Ryan and Angel ever again, though I did worry that I will eventually run into them again because my new unit was still in the same apartment complex. Once I was given the keys, I quickly transported all of my belongings to the new place. I was supposed to have only one housemate who would live in the other room of the unit, but he hadn’t moved in yet. I had no idea who my new housemate would be, but I was told that he was an older student who attended the University. That knowledge made me feel assured that he would be tolerable to live with. He was set to arrive in two weeks, so I had the place to myself until then.
I unpacked all of my things and set up my new room. Once I was done, I looked at it and thought to myself that this was it; this was my new living place in the college town of Isla Vista, and if I could finally have the life I wanted, then this may well be the room where I lose my virginity! How wrong I was. It would only be another room where I suffer miserable loneliness. No girl will ever step foot in it.
In itself quite the achievement. Imagine, to have a girl-free room on a college campus. Some people'd pay money for this.
Santa Barbara was not going well for me. I was already months into my twentieth year and I had nothing to show for it. As I spent the first weeks of September in my new room, all alone, I fully realized how much I was failing at life. Santa Barbara was supposed to be a place of hope, a place where I could start a new, happy life. I couldn’t believe how wrong everything was turning out. Instead of finally getting a chance to live a life of sex and love like other young people did, I only experienced worse rejection and humiliation than I had ever experienced before. This was unbelievable and unforgivable. If humanity continued to insult me with such cruelty, then there really was no hope for happiness in my life.
At Santa Barbara City College, I had exactly the same experience that I had at Moorpark. I had to watch beautiful young people enjoying their lives together as I languished in loneliness and despair, because no one accepted me. I dropped my math class — I just couldn’t bear having to be at the college all day long, sitting in the library watching couples kiss each other. I retained my two morning classes only because there was still some small inkling of desperate homeix inside me.
My usual day went as follows: I woke up alone in my bed, with no girl beside me,
Yeah, that's exactly how MY day goes also, and always has. I can't sleep with people in my bed (or for that matter room) : if they're girls we end up fucking, or else chatting and laughing like complete idiots / little girls at camp ; if they're boys... well actually this has never happened to date, so I have no idea. I'd have to be pass-out drunk or something, which I also never did.
Who the fuck sleeps with girls in their bed.
and did a few minutes of exercise before I showered and got ready for college; I then drove to Starbucks to have my morning latte and felt envious whenever I saw a young couple there; I would then attend my two classes where no one said a word to me, having to endure the torment of watching other guys talking to the girls I liked; And then I would go home alone, open the door to my lonely room, and feel absolutely miserable. The loneliness was suffocating. I could barely breathe. If only one pretty girl had at least given me a chance and tried to get to know me, everything would have turned out differently, but girls continued to treat me with disdain.
The loneliness was torturing me so intensely that I even started up my WoW account and played the game constantly for the month of September. James still played WoW, and the two of us played together online for a few days, but he treated me very coldly the whole time. I could tell that the kind of friendship we had for so many years no longer existed. That last incident in the Palisades stabbed our friendship deeply, and it was in the process of bleeding away. At the time, I felt offended by his attitude towards me, so I called him out on it. This sparked a long argument between us that resulted in James refusing to talk to me online anymore. A few days after that, I deactivated my account again.
My new housemate arrived in the middle of September. His name was Spencer Horowitz; a short, chubby UCSB student who was about a year older than me. He seemed like a friendly, mature sort of person; definitely a pleasant contrast from the housemates I had to suffer through in the previous month. I didn’t expect to have any problems with him. However, I was a disappointed due to the fact that I was hoping my new housemate would be someone I could relate to... someone who could be my friend and help me integrate with the social life in Santa Barbara. I didn’t see Spencer as the type of person I would become friends with. We could get along, but we had nothing in common.
In addition, I was a bit shocked when Spencer told me that he used to have a girlfriend. It was a casual comment that came out of a conversation we had. I didn’t understand how a chubby and unattractive guy like Spencer would have been able to get a girlfriend, while I’ve never had the chance to. The guy was three inches shorter than me, and even I am considered short for my age. I could not fathom how such a thing was possible, and I concluded to myself that this former ”girlfriend” of his that he mentioned must have been just as unattractive as he was. There was no need for me to be jealous.
After a few weeks of living with him, I realized that I had a psychological problem with his presence in my apartment. Even though there was no trouble between us, I hated having someone constantly in my vicinity to judge how pathetic my life was. I could hide the details of my lonely, celibate life from the rest of the world, but I could not hide it from Spencer. The fact that I never had any girls over to my room was clear enough that I was an undesirable outcast, and I hated it when people knew this about me and judged me for it. Spencer was there to witness it all, and I would eventually come to hate him just because of that.
During the months of October and November, I made another desperate bid to improve my social life as best as I could. I failed in making any friends in my two college classes, and I didn’t have any interactions with girls at my school. I was an invisible ghost, just like I had always been.
I continued to see Andy, the one friend that I made. We often met up to have dinner at a restaurant somewhere. He soon introduced me to a few friends of his. One of them was named Stan, a European from Holland whom I particularly got along with. I enjoyed having conversations with Stan about a wide variety of subjects, including politics, history, business, and architecture. I wisely refrained from revealing any of my political views, of which disturbed most people.
During the month of October I went out with Andy, Stan, and some of their friends quite often. We did things like walk around State Street or Isla Vista, or went to the movie theatres together. I soon found that even having these few acquaintances to hang out with didn’t make me feel any better. I still felt inferior whenever I saw other guys walking with beautiful girls. At the movie theatres, I felt just as pathetic about walking in there with a group of friends as I did years ago when I went to the movies with my parents... It was that pathetic feeling of not having a hot girlfriend on my arm while some other boys in the theatre did. What I truly wanted... what I truly NEEDED, was a girlfriend. I needed a girl’s love. I needed to feel worthy as a male. For so long I have felt worthless, and it’s all girls’ fault. No girl wanted to be my girlfriend.
Halloween weekend in the college town of Isla Vista is a renowned event. Young people pour in from all over the county to attend the raucous parties there. My experience during this weekend is just what one would have expected it to be, a miserable disaster.
When I was a child, I used to love Halloween. It was a holiday of fun and excitement where I went trick-or-treating, going from house to house collecting candy with my friends and family. For young adults, Halloween is a very different sort of holiday, of which one is supposed to dress up in sexually explicit costumes, attend wild drinking parties, and have sexual experiences with girls. For other young people, who are able to do such things, Halloween must be a blast. But I am unable to do such things. I wasn’t invited to ANY party, and girls don’t want to have sex with me. As a teenager and a young adult, Halloween has been a holiday of torment and depression because of this. In Isla Vista, this was greatly intensified.
O hey, that's an idea, Halloween in Isla Vista.
I tried my best to put myself out there on the Halloween weekend. I made many laps around Isla Vista, trying to bolster up the courage to talk to a girl or walk into a party, but I just couldn’t. I knew they would all reject me. What I saw during those walks shook me to the very core. Girls dressed up in extremely revealing outfits, and the sight of them filled my sex-starved self with hunger and desire that I knew I could never quench.
On the last night of the Halloween weekend, I went out there with Andy and Stan and a few others. It made absolutely no difference. We didn’t get into any parties, and just walked around the streets like losers. Being friends with them wasn’t benefitting me at all.
If only I had a beautiful girlfriend to experience such an event with! I would have even dressed up in a costume with her. It would have been so blissful and euphoric, to walk around in all of that excitement with a beautiful girl on my arm, to attend every single party because anyone would admit a beautiful girl into it, to make passionate love to her in my room at the end of the night, to snuggle next to her sexy warm body as we drift off to sleep together. THAT is the life I should have lived. So many other guys are able to experience that, and just thinking about if filled me with extreme agony. Life is not fair.
Yeah, speaking of which... I'll be back a little later.———
- Note how many of the "I shot a buncha losers" types are actually first generation or further, as opposed to Malibu-beachouse-timesharing-lizzardkin. [↩]
- Apparently there did exist a teenager in California that didn't do pot, not because he was already doing dusts but because he wasn't doing anything. He died a coupla years ago. [↩]
- And, of course, no "expert" psychiatrist with a "phd" no less, charging an arm and a leg because within driving distance of Malibu beach house ever fucking mentioned any of this. Because why would they, right, the idea isn't to see the kid for two hours and cure him, the idea is to see the kid for two hours and use those two hours to make sure you get at the very least another two hours. Dat Malibu beach house "you need" because otherwise tail won't wag for you (won't it ? have you tried ?) ain't gonna pay itself.
And so the spiral goes, and so - much like in the case of the room where everyone shits on the floor - the stench becomes more and more unbearable, disease breaks out, then progresses to previously unknown horrors, like explosive airbone leprosy and plague of the cornea. And then finally the fungi fucking take over.
- With the exception, of course, of the pass-or-abort tests going on in the uterus every week of gestation - tests of which this is actually merely the outside continuation. Yeah, we are actually talking of something on the level of "don't spontaneously stop breathing" for a "test".
PS. Yes, I pun with impunity. [↩]
- If this is the case the father's utterly fucking nuts. The correct response is "no bitch, you can't go to college for as long as I don't have more spare hands on the farm than I can use, now shut up and pull this plow uphill!". Who the fuck heard of paying out 500 a month for some derp's rent when if push comes to shove you can't afford the cost of unskilled labour ? Elliot can fucking camp (under a lean-to! made of his own underwear! tents are too expensive) wherever he goes, what "rent"! [↩]
- Yes this did exist, and yes this was the norm, leaving aside meta-Soviet-Bureaucracy fueled primary by the alt-reality secretions of frustrated rage. [↩]
- They have to be, because a collection of spoiled brats / supreme gentlemen as'd go to school in Santa Barbara can scarcely stand comparison to a troop of street urchins in terms of civility. [↩]
- See American History X for the instructional video (the full version - they cut it out of the dork release version). [↩]
- Sic. Prolly intends to say hope.
This incidentally resolves the wonder of "how come he can spell". He can't fucking spell, he uses a spellchecker, which can't figure out that home is not the right word there. [↩]