Dante the Panda (who is supposed to be writing on this blog and hasn’t done so yet, so I’m giving him shit for that fact) wrote a really good piece the other day. Why they’re here (If they are so awesome, why’d they stick around?)

In his article he asks some really great questions:

Why are you (Rob) here (this space, the manosphere, the Gay Monastery?)

Because he’s right, I could be doing a whole bunch of other things. I could be dating more women, spending more time riding my motorcycle, making different videos that have nothing to do with sex and women and relationship advice. I could be putting in more hours at work (kill me now), I could be practicing and playing my guitar more. Hell, at this point I could probably have put a band together, made an album, gone on some type of tour, and probably have gotten more pussy to boot from it. You guys that have women that like going to rock concerts can thank me that I haven’t done that. Yet. As I have gotten older, I’m hearing and seeing it more and more often: the “Silver Fox” is definitely a “thing,” and yes, I’m talking about the twenty-something women that you are stepping on your dicks to get to.

Part of why I’m “here” is because I do it for the memories. I just got back from a meetup with my young scrub of a brother, Jack Napier, and with Vincent from Masculine Geek. We spent almost a week in Philly, drinking, shit-talking, and even doing a little skirt chasing.

I’m “here” because this is where I have met the great majority of people that I like to call my friends. I’m “here” to make that contact and make memories with those that pass the test and are allowed into my inner circle. Those guys that pass that test? Those are the best guys.

I’m also “here” because I like women. I like talking about them. I especially like fucking them and being around them. They are my favorite subject of all. Where else can I go and “get my fill” of my favorite subject other than when I’m dealing with women personally? Yes, I get irritated and groan and do a facepalm when I see a less experienced guy fucking it up, but at least he’s trying, and for that, I give him credit and I want him to succeed. The guys that want to piss and moan and cry about it and not do shit about it can go fuck themselves, plain and simple.

Dante was right and wrong at the same time in his article with his next point:

He was right when he said:

“Well maybe they just want to help you.” And then he went on to say, “But I don’t think so.” Here’s where he’s both right and wrong:

I actually am here to help. Dante is “wrong” if he doesn’t “believe” that. I know Dante a bit more personally, so I know where he is/was going with this, and that’s why I say he’s both right and wrong. He’s wrong if he stops himself at, “but I don’t think so.” It’s good and even healthy to be sceptical, which is where he was at in this part of his article, and for good reason. I could be selling you guys a bullshit fantasy via a “war room,” or some gumroad course if I wanted to. I choose not to. I’m hoping to “be the lesson,” so that you guys reading this don’t have to make the same mistakes I did. I’m hoping you won’t waste your time and spend money you don’t need to spend, like I did. But you’re still going to have to do the work. You’re going to have to go out and talk to women and get rejected. Sorry/not sorry, there’s no escaping it.

Dante was also “right” when he said that I do it for nostalgia. I’m here for that too. I like reading the field reports of other guys and seeing that they are making the same mistakes that I made, and sometimes still make. I still remember those “rushes” that Dante touched on, so yeah I’m “here” for those reasons too.

Chest Rockwell summed it up great in my opinion:

“The young ankle biters that want to piss in the tall grass someday are why I stay. People who want it bad enough will seek it out.”

So to recap or TL;DR it for you:

So I do it for the friendships that I have forged. While there are plenty of worthless dipshits that will try and waste my time if I let them, there are a few really great guys that I have met that I’m honored to call my friends. I do it for those connections and those memories.

I do it because I remember what I was like when I didn’t have any clue whatsoever and wasted years and countless dollars going down rabbit holes that were all dead ends. I liken myself to a warning sign for those that truly want to do it the “hard way.” You really want to fuck around and not do the work? You’ll wake up in your 40’s, married, miserable, and probably considering suicide as a viable option. Do you really want to go there? But then again, maybe that’s exactly what you need to do for yourself. It’s what I had to do apparently.

I do it for the “thrill.” The nostalgia. It’s a rush for me when I see a less experienced man “nut up” and do it. I feel his “win.” So yeah, Dante was “right” when he said that you guys doing the work and giving the field reports are bringing me value. Because it is a form of value to me. It is a form of vicarious living for me, I’m not going to lie. The difference is, I’m reliving stuff through you. If you haven’t gone out and had the experience, I’ll either know you’re lying, or something that in my opinion is even worse, you are vicariously living through me. You’re either too scared or too lazy to live your life, so why not live it through Rob’s life? I mean, hey, I’m flattered if you think that highly of me that you would want my life, but wouldn’t you rather have your own instead? You want my life, the life that I created for myself? You have to do the work. No getting around it, buddy.

And the final piece, I’m “here” because where else am I going to find the guys and the stories and the experiences that revolve around my favorite subject, women?

I’m back in Salt Lake, the laundry from the weeks festivities is being done, the cats have calmed the fuck down, and now I’m sitting down to write about my experiences from this particular visit.

Leaving Salt Lake City International was pretty uneventful. Oh wait, no, it was par for the course for me. I got stopped and searched, like I always fucking do. At least this time they offered me a “privacy room” to conduct their search. I declined. No buddy, if you are going to grab my ass and balls, you can do it in front of the world. I have no shame. I always tell my girls to be prepared for this because it always happens to me. I swear to God that I’m on a “list” somewhere. My girls always laugh and brush me off until we get to the airport and it happens. Seeing the look on their faces makes the search worthwhile for me. That look of, “Holy shit, Rob’s not kidding.” Funny thing is, it only happens at Salt Lake International when I’m trying to go somewhere else. Philly when I was coming back? Nope, get the fuck outta here. San Diego in the past? Nope. Get the fuck outta here. Fucking Oakland, when I had a declared firearm in my luggage? Nope, fuck outta here. And the list goes on. Apparently Salt Lake doesn’t like me leaving or something. “That Rob motherfucker is trying to leave again? Even though we hate him and everything he stands for, we gotta delay that motherfucker.”

So after the cavity search and the ball-groping I was able to get on my flight and a few hours later I’m in Philly. Problem is, Jack Napier isn’t here yet. Not like for another two hours. We’re Ubering in together to meet up with Vince later, so what do?

This:

I sat at an airport bar and ended up meeting a guy from Minnesota. First thing I thought was, “Oh so you know Aaron Clarey.” Yeah he had no clue who he was. Apparently Minnesota is bigger than I thought. When he told me he had no idea who I was talking about, all I could say was, “Better you don’t know him, it’s for the best.” We ended up sitting there, drinking, talking shit, talking about jobs, women and lays, drugs and booze. You know, the stuff that normal guys typically talk about when they meet each other in a bar, especially when they are strangers.

What? You’ve never had that experience? I thought that was the norm. Sucks to be you, I guess.

Jack finally showed up and there was two things I told him right off the bat:

1. “You’re not that tall.”
2. “I saw you coming out the door and recognized you immediately. You better hope no one ever targets you for assassination, because the hitman will recognize you immediately.”

From the airport we caught an Uber and headed into Philly itself to meet up with Vincent.

I want to preface what I’m going to say next with this:

Vincent is one of the most generous, kind, and thoughtful souls I have ever met. The guy has a talent for logistics that would make a club promoter weep in shame. He was the one who arranged for the AirBnb, had all of the places lined up that we were going to visit during the week, and he literally never asked for a dime from either of us. He even bought all of our meals on a couple of occasions. So if you ever hear that Vincent is “selfish,” whoever is telling you that has an axe to grind and is straight up lying to you. Don’t buy it for a moment.

Now that being said:

Stairs.

There were a lot of stairs.

My feet are still crying.

I went up and down flights of stairs more times in this last week than I have in a year. I’m going to have to replace my Chuck Taylor’s because the tread is pretty much gone from all the stairs and all of the walking that we did over the course of the week. Honestly, I’m not bitching though. It was good cardio and it was a great way to keep things affordable, and it was also a way to interact with the natives and admire the women that were out and about.

Speaking of the wahmen, Jack is a total “people person.” He’s definitely an extrovert and when we would go out, the man got this kick of energy that was unreal. Watching him do his thing, he was like a puppy off the leash, but it was awesome. Watching Jack on Red Evening, you have to understand that he’s just waking up and hasn’t gotten his caffeine fix or his sun fix. He seems pretty mellow on the show and that’s because he’s still half asleep. Once the sun comes up and he drinks a cup or two and hits the road, he comes alive.

*Girl across the street from us, looks over.*

Jack: “Hi!” Waves and gives her a big ass smile.

Girl: *Smirks and scoffs and goes about her business.*

Girl 1, Jack 0.

Yep, Jack got blown the fuck out. But do you know what? Honestly it was the only “blow out” that I saw. He approached a couple of others in one of the outside bars that we went to and they responded to him. One wasn’t “really my type” (Jack’s words, not mine) but he opened her and she responded positively enough from my observation point. The other girl was sitting by herself and responded very positively to Jack, until the gorilla that was the guy, came back with their drinks.

Jack also knows how to be a wingman too.

He opens a third woman as we are leaving the outdoor bar and she responds, but she was far more interested in Vincent and Jack knew when to gracefully bow out. You can’t buy that guys, you just can’t. Jack may be almost 20 years younger than me, but he can wing for me any time.

We ended up going to bar one day after breakfast and we all ended up chatting the Puerto Rican bartender, Jazzy, up. We would dunk on each other, shit talk like guys do and banter/flirt with her. She was genuinely enjoying herself, and here it wasn’t even noon. I think she was a little sad when we decided to leave and go on our way.

She even said, “You guys should do a podcast or something.” Honey, if you only knew.

One of the days we did a thing:

This was Jack’s first visit to the United States. We had to do the “tourist thing.” Honestly it was a blast. You guys should get out, meet people, and do stuff more often. No really, you should. Don’t be a sperg and maybe I’ll meet up with you one day and I’ll be writing about our adventures. But if you start in with jargon, statistics, and “Rollo-ism’s,” dude, it’s been real, it’s been fun, but it hasn’t been real fun.

I’ve waxed poetic enough, and I’ve got laundry to do, cats to calm the fuck down, and there are certain memories and conversations that I’m going to keep for myself. “What happens in Philly, stays in Philly.” But I’m going to wrap it up with some more pictures and this:

I’ve enjoyed every meetup I have had so far, especially the Masculine Geek meetups. This one by far has been my favorite. To quote Vincent, “Your friends are bullshit. Get some good friends.”

I’m going to do a “Quentin Tarantino” on this one and start at the middle-end and then go back to the beginning.

“Velvet” and I had just got done having sex, when she looked up at me and said, “Do you remember when you told me that you were ‘Legion?‘”

“Yes.”

“I understand what it is that you do now.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“You ruin women.”

I arched an eyebrow in mock surprise and said, “Ruin women? Whatever do you mean?” Of course I knew what she meant. The only real shock that I felt is that she was using a line from the Gay Monastery as if she was an actual member and was holding her card for inspection. Did she know what I do for shits and giggles? Did she know that this was something that I have dealt with on a regular basis when I hear guys whine that those “evil PUA’s are rooning the whamen!”

“You fuck so good that you’ll be remembered for a long time to come. I’m pretty sure that there are women from your past that to this day may be with another man, but they are thinking and fantasizing about you.”

Part of me was a little flattered, I’m not going to lie. Part of me was like, “Yeah, look at you stroking my ego. I’m memorable. For now. But then down the road you’ll most likely be with another dude, and I’ll be with another woman.” It was fascinating to me that she was describing things that I’m all-too familiar with because of the space that I occupy on the internet. The only difference was that she was describing things as normal people would without all the jargon and none of the sperg. That’s how I know she’s not running around, snooping on what I’m doing on the internet. Otherwise she would be throwing jargon around or asking me something like, “What’s ‘Redpilled?'”

Yep, I “ruin” women. LOL. I “Alfa Widow” them. Guilty as charged. Ya got me.

Will I be memorable to some women as time goes on and we have gone our separate ways? Probably. There’s a handful of women that “left a mark on me,” as the saying goes. I remember them. They show up in my vision from time to time. Maybe it was their laugh. Maybe it was the way they would toss their hair and play with it. Maybe they had strong head game. There’s a billion things that could make me think about a particular woman for no particular reason at all. Sometimes it’s a song that I hear. Sometimes it’s a certain smell.

But “I’m ruining women.” Hell of a flex. I’m not nearly so egotistical to think that I leave that much of an impact on any one particular woman, or a guy for that matter. I do my thing, you listen, watch, engage, or you don’t. I move on. I figure that you do too. I’m just a man, nothing more. While entertaining a woman with a story of “I am Legion, I am Many,” is dramatic and fun, it’s a story and nothing more. Do I buy my own bullshit on it? No, it’s just something melodramatic and fun and women like melodramatic and fun.

At the end of the day, she said it, it was nice, and I’m sure at that moment that she said it, she meant it. She’ll be saying it to another man down the road and she has probably said something similar to guys that were before me. So I noted it, took the ego boost for the moment, but then took it with a grain of salt.

So there’s the middle to the end of the story. Let’s go back to the beginning now….

“Velvet” and I were sitting on the balcony drinking a couple of beers and I was smoking a cigar. There’s a guy walking his little poodle down on the street below. He’s a “bikerish” looking dude. I’ve seen him around over the last few years, but I’m somewhat of a curmudgeon and I like to keep to myself and so the only thing I have done when he and I have crossed paths is either nod to him or wave at him. I didn’t even know his name. Until this night.

“Hey! Come on over here and have a beer with me!” He slurred/yelled at us.

I looked at “Velvet.” “Well? Want to?”

“Sure!”

And so we did. We got our asses off the bench on my balcony and went down and met “Mike” and Woody.

“Mike” is a character. I’m not sure how old he is. I’ve never been a great guesser when it comes to age, and I know that living certain lifestyles can either make you look younger or older. If I had to guess I would say that “Mike” is pushing 60. Thinning hair, lots of lines and wrinkles, but he’s also lived a hard life and he’s made a lot of bad choices throughout it. He’s definitely an alcoholic. I wouldn’t doubt that he’s addicted to other substances as well.

“I was born into the Hell’s Angels. My name is ‘Mike.'” That was how he introduced himself to Velvet and me when we walked across the street and shook his hand.

From there I got to see his tattoos because he took off his shirt and showed them to me. He mentioned that he had done time in prison when he was younger. Some of his tats were of the jailhouse variety and so at least that part of his story was true. I have seen enough jailhouse tats to know the difference.

He told us about Woody, the little Poodle That Could. Woody is 15. He’s an old man and if “Mike” wasn’t bullshitting me, Woody has seen some shit over the years.

“Mike” regaled us with tales about the time he was a bull rider in the rodeo and how he broke almost every bone in his body when he was 40. He talked about the times he got arrested for doing over 120 miles per hour on his Harley. He told us about the death of his mother. And Woody had seen all of this. And this was on a first meeting over a can of Budweiser. Wives and fiancée’s who overdosed. Fights he had been in at bars when he was white-knighting for the wahmen and he got his ass kicked or he ended up in jail for his troubles, or both, I heard it all in the course of about an hour or so.

“Mike” had diarrhea of the mouth and didn’t know when to shut up. It was sweet, it was sad, it was interesting.

Almost the entire time he was looking at “Velvet.” He was entertaining her. I was irrelevant. I just smirked the whole time and nodded and “mmmhmmmed” where it was appropriate. He was definitely attracted to her, and why not? She’s a good looking woman. It was also a little transparent and a little sad. Ultimately I had to tell “Mike” goodnight. It was getting late and I had to get up and go to work in the morning. That’s when “Velvet” and I said our goodbyes to him.

As we were walking back to my place, I said to her: “That’s the first time in all the years he and I have lived across the street from each other that he’s asked me to come over and have a beer with him. He did it because he saw you and he likes you. Tonight was the first night in all of that time that I learned his name and the name of his little dog. He wanted to meet you.”

What’s the point of that dialogue? Nothing really. Just what I observed.

The funny thing is, “Mike” saw me with my belly dancer get into my car the very next day as we were getting ready to go to dinner. The look on his face, the confusion, was priceless. I waved and pointed a finger at him as we drove by. I wonder if he saw my wink or not.