Why do girls like this blog?
Why do they want to fuck me? Why does the show go on?
Worst Boyfriend Ever is a blog that started as a confessional where I posted journal entries about cheating on my girlfriend & having an Asian Fetish. It was racist it was sexist it was cruel but it was real… and to me it was all very very funny.
Last August I started to share these stories anonymously and quickly gained a following online. This work does not fit into any existing genre, niche, or subculture. It is too whiny and Sensitive to be Red Pill, it is too misogynistic hateful & mean to be “I’m-Just-a-Girl”-type-feelings-posting, it’s not Delicious Tacos it’s not Tucker Max it’s not trying to be anything other than a repository of my most traumatic unfiltered personal thoughts on display, for the amusement of freaks like me.
Everyone has their own personal relationship with the Worst Boyfriend Ever. For some I am their punching bag, for some I am a horny clown, for some I am their mentor…
For some girls I am an early stock, they can tell I have some talent for writing and I am clearly having a lot of sex so is it really that crazy that they keep messaging me with their name age race and location?
One of the first messages I ever got on here was from an Asian girl named Kendall. She wrote me a long message about how she was at once terrified and absorbed by my posts, and how she read them all non-stop in one go—she said she would never tell anybody this in real life but she has a lot of those same thoughts about white men as I did towards Asian girls.
That was one of the most exciting messages I ever received. I have received many many more since then, from similarly repressed & tortured souls.
Of course, not all women love the Worst Boyfriend Ever.. I’m sure the vast majority of women who come into contact with my blog are disgusted and repulsed as soon as they read the word “retard,” or “female,” or some other more creative string of hateful slurs…
But those girls don’t message me, and I don’t read comments, ever, at all, so I never hear from them. So in my head, subconsciously, all girls love the worst boyfriend ever.
This gives me a certain air of confidence, which allows me to keep my head on straight and keep telling these stories, keep telling the truth, with no fear of reproach.
Most men live in fear of female rejection. Their cave man brain thinks that if they say the wrong thing they will be exiled, they will be alone, they will never reproduce.
But, one man, one exceptionally horny and Sensitive Young Man, has built a kind of mental fortress for himself that allows him to be relatively unaffected by constant rejection and humiliation:
I just post the truth. I don’t read the comments. I do read every DM. I only end up interacting with people who like me. If you’ve ever dunked on me in a comment or a re-stack or whatever I didn’t read it. My notification bell has been at 99+ for 6 months.
I tell people of this and they say: “wow! you must have such great willpower!”
NO, I DON’T. IT TAKES NO WILL-POWER AT ALL NOT TO READ COMMENTS
I have no desire to click the notification bell and read what people say about me, or my post, or anything, any time I accidentally come into contact with feedback I put my hand over the screen— I don’t want to see it. It’s all just numbers to me.
It’s like putting my hand on a hot stove. I did it once and it didn’t feel good so I never do it again. It takes zero willpower at all not to put my hand back on that stove.
Okay, but why do girls like this?
Because the effect of all this, I think, is that I appear as a headstrong monolith whose feelings cannot be hurt. I am doing my thing regardless of what you think. You can not change me. And this invites a challenge in a young foid’s heart: maybe I can be the one to change him. Fix him.
So they message me. Often it’s skeptical combative cautious tense, but then I reply and I’m actually a pretty nice guy, usually, over text, they are disarmed by this and open up to me very quickly.
If they’re hot we have a good conversation which ends with me asking them what they look like and where they’re from.
If they’re from the place where I currently am in my van (yeah I’m traveling in a van with a bed in it) then I push to meet them. Lately I’ve been doing this a little too often because I’m in New York City and everybody’s in New York City.
But most girls who read this don’t message me. They just lurk. They actually make new accounts to lurk. Sometimes I go through my subscribers list and I see you, Katy929, throwawayemail86@protonmail.com, they lurk and they don’t Like they don’t interact but they put their eyes on the screen and they read.
I know this because my views-to-likes ratio is abysmal, I may have the steepest anonymous lurkers to interact-ers ratio on this entire platform.
If you’re reading this anonymously and you can’t tell anybody you’re doing it because you know they would judge you and question you and perhaps even disavow you, congratulations: you’re just like me. You can block me, and repress it, and perhaps have this wound fester for a long time and come out exposed in another way, or you can start to be more honest with your “friends.”
I’ve been told this blog has sparked some interesting conversations among friends. This blog has sparked new relationships and destroyed fragile ones. I think that means it’s good and I should keep doing it.
Okay but why do girls REALLY like it? Like, enough to let me come take their virginity in my van? Despite the ridiculous consequences?
First, a generalization: girls read porn like guys watch it. Girls read other girls write about sex and they close their bedroom doors and they get under the covers and they touch themselves as they read and imagine the stories. You as a man probably have never done this. It feels unfathomable—stupid, even.
Girls’ brains are different. Their imaginations are more vivid. Their brains more pliable, they are silly little animals. There’s a reason they couldn’t vote until 100 years ago. There’s a reason they love group fitness classes—why they’re so much better at following along with the shouted commands. Why they’re so much better at School. So much more susceptible to hypnosis. (source: i just know).
SO, all this to say, when girls encounter some smut online written not by a woman but by a young man, an ostensibly 6ft tall 26 year old white man, who keeps writing about… himself having sex… in the first person… as he travels the country like some 16th century Voyager… and he also makes it funny… and it’s real— it’s too specific to be faked and it’s unfolding in real time, or so you strongly suspect, if you’re wise enough to believe in miracles… is it really that surprising they want to be a part of the show?
Sometimes they just want me to write about them. They love to be seen. Sometimes they want to experiment sexually. With a person who is not from their world, who will surely disappear after he’s done, who will not linger and spread rumors about you to your friend group, who will not run into you on campus and make awkward small talk, in a sense I’m not real to these girls and so they probably don’t even count me as a body.
Sometimes they just want a person with whom they can tell the truth. When I was writing all the cheating stuff last year, I had zero people on Earth I could confess to, and that’s why I got so intimate with the Notes app. I think reading that stuff, and this stuff, makes people feel like there is at least one person on Earth who they could confess their worst sins to and he would not judge them, he may even understand. He may even laugh, because dark stuff like that is the only kind of stuff that makes me laugh now.
Here’s something all the women who reach out to me have in common: they are all risk-takers. It is objectively a very stupid thing to do, if you read the blog and pay attention to what’s happening here, most (female) people get hurt as a result of knowing me. I don’t feel bad about this: I do not act with the intent to hurt anyone so their sore feelings are not my burden. If you get hurt by someone who was not trying to hurt you, that’s on you. This belief allows me to sleep at night. (street parked, surrounded by NYC blacks, safe in my van.)
Are the girls actually hot?
Yes, usually. The ones I actually end up meeting, at least. They are fit, they are young, they have good faces. They make me cum.
They could have almost any guy they choose, in real life, but the guys at their University are too concerned with maintaining their Reputation to be as publicly horny as this:
I think a lot of seemingly-normal zoomer girls are interested in my blog because they can feel that most people are lying to them. Habitually repressing.
They’re not hearing this kind of stuff from any other guy… Guys don’t tell them how badly they want to grab these girls’ breasts and suck their lips and just take out this painful sexual anxiety on them face-to-face sweating on a springy dorm bed, so the message is never received.
So they hear it from me, for the first time, and they imagine it, because girls are super-naturally verbal, and voila, that’s another story for the blog.
And they read these stories, about me and other girls, and they also Love when a guy is wanted by other women, they love to compete, so the bravest horniest most repressed and yearning little souls reach out to set up a date. Or at least to “pick my brain,” in hopes I will set up a date with them. And the show goes on.
But they don’t even know what you look like…
Yes and this makes me even hotter. Because then they can imagine me to look however they want. I may as well be a fictional character here on the screen who their brains only associate with sex. I have found an incredible formula for indulging my addiction. It won’t last—nothing good ever does.
In one of Mr. Walt Bismarck’s long autistic hate blogs about me he said that I had “unconsciously shaped myself to be maximally attractive to women” and maybe he’s right. You can shame me for that or you can use me for research.
Finally some recognition for Vril Martin
Vril Martin jumpscare