Two Weeks to Toxicity: Dominating in the Manosphere

You got a problem, asshole?

I didn’t just lust after Cassandra Peterson in my heart, but also liked her hugely when when I interviewed her on behalf of Creem, America’s Only Rock and Roll Magazine That Billed Itself as Such. She was funny, self-effacing, and hip. When I read a couple of years later about her first experience of coitus was with Tom Jones, and that his roughness had traumatized her, I was filled with shame, for in my own immaturity, I’d imagined that wild-stallion rough was what a guy who wished his lover to perceive him as A Real Man needed to be.

Now, all these years later, I find out, from the online course in which I enrolled last week, that rough is exactly what A Real Man is in the bedroom, for in the bedroom, as in all other places, A Real Man must make unmistakable to bitches that he’s the boss, and that they exist for the sole purposes of pleasing him and supplying a repository for his precious ejaculate.

The course is of course Andrew Tate’s Two Weeks Toward Toxicity: Dominating in the Manosphere, in the first of whose 14 five-minute….units a dude learns all he needs to know about kicking ass and taking names in a world in which emasculating feminist harpies have had their way too long. I have so far completed two of the 14 units, for which I’d have imagined Andy and his associates might have thought of a better name, as “units” sounds a lot like “eunuchs”, and, far from a male whose testicles have been removed, Andy is known to have balls the size of pomelos, grapefruit’s more macho Malaysian cousins.)

My own balls are average-sized, but I’m taking steps to enlarge them, namely ingesting very large amounts of D-aspartic acid, zinc, magnesium, dehydroepiandrosterone, and ashwagandha (Indian ginseng) supplements, and eating a great deal of steak tartare. If that girlie-man Secretary Musk doesn’t cut off my Social Security entitlement, I intend to take Halotestin®, Proviron®, Dianabo®, Virilon®, Oxandrin®, Anadrol®, and Winstro® orally, to receive regular injections of Equipoise®, Primobolan®, Durabolin®, Depotest®, Andro-Estro®, Testex®, and Finajet®.

Yesterday, when I advised Mrs. Mendelsohn (she prefers the original, legal spelling) that she’s likely to notice some changes in me, she said she has already, as when we went to see Conclave at the Vue Cinema in Shepherd’s Bush on Monday, and I threatened the attractive young woman seated beside me on the District Line train to Hammersmith with a beating if she declined to provide the blow job I craved. The young woman laughed, “You can’t be serious,” and I bellowed, “I’m not asking you, Sugartits, but fucking telling you!” My fellow male passengers’ admiration was palpable. The one I kicked in the face to affirm my dominance was around 85, and frail-looking, but until I’ve got enough Halotestin®, Proviron®, Dianabo®, Virilon®, Oxandrin®, Anadrol®, and Winstrol® coursing through my veins, it would be fucking stupid to over-extend myself, so fuck you, OK? You got a problem, asshole?

I DIDN’T FUCKING THINK SO!!!

During one of the previews of coming attractions, for the Pamela Anderson vehicle Showgirl, I shouted, “I’d hit that! I’d hit the hell out of that!” But of course Pam was nowhere to be seen, so I grabbed the little hottie two seats to my left.

She squealed, “What do you think you’re doing?”

I replied, “Exercising my natural prerogative as a dude, bitch!”

It turned out, though, that her boyfriend, who’d been getting popcorn or peeing or something, was bigger and stronger and younger than I, and knocked me unconscious, so I’m unsure as I write this who got elected Bishop of Rome, Vicar of Jesus Christ, Successor of the Prince of the Apostles, and Supreme Pontiff of the Universal Church.

I hope it wasn’t the soft-spoken Latino. He seemed the sort who’d be all in for feminism.