Only fags cheat on their girlfriends. And many of us have been those fags.

So a year-and-a-half ago I got caught cheating. My girlfriend at the time was probably the most wonderful girl I’d ever met. Smart, witty, funny. She was the most interesting partner I’d ever been with. Most amazing, though, was her capacity for my bullshit. Somehow she was able to understand my self-destructive patterns, and hedonistic tendencies. Yet! still love me, and sleep next to me every night. I won’t bore you with the details of our life together—but it was good.

And I was a piece of shit.

Now, she knew about some of the shady shit I’d done early on in our relationship. But, come on, when I first met her I was juggling around six or seven different girls. Tinder had been around for a year, and it had upped the ante for me. Her and I met at some dive on $25 open bar night. I was outside for a cigarette, spouting my two cents about Obama being a douche to a friend of mine. I turn to look at this girl just staring at me with this smile that said, “Fuck my brains out.” I’d like to think it was my politics or my obscene Slayer shirt that got that smile, but I doubt it. Wonderfully enough I didn’t even get her number. I just remember thinking I’d never get to see her ass crack rising over the precipice of those tight jeans as they slid down from her perfect child-bearing hips. Sorry, I’m just reliving some shit here.

Then, the following night, my buddy hits me up with a proposition. He’s with a couple of girls—three to be exact—and they want to hang out. He calls “dibs” on one, then tells me this friend of his is basically in love, that he’s really trying to get with this other girl. And asks for me not be an asshole. “Fuck that guy, I don’t know him,” I thought to myself.

An hour or so after I hang up with him, he arrives accompanied by this cuck Asian dude with girls jeans—and most likely, because of the girl jeans, a shitty taste in music. He was followed through the door by my friend’s date. Her hideous friend, and to my surprise, and to the dismay of Tackie Chan, the girl from the bar. I looked over at soyboy, and told him with my eyes that I’m going to break his fucking heart tonight, and make this gorgeous creature my woman.

I got her number. The rest is history, my dudes. And I fucked it up by not being a good Western chauvinist. Though, the me now doesn’t dwell in the past. I can’t help but want to help you. Not saying you need my help. I just know I can’t be the only sex addict around here.

Almost four years after meeting this girl, and more than a year after me destroying it, she’s more than happy without me. Even with everything I’ve learned from Gavin and being a Proud Boy, nothing can repair the scars inflicted upon her by my constant lack of respect, cause for distrust.

So here I lie. I’ve made my bed. As a man, I lay in it. I should have a child and another on the way by now. I could be married and contributing to our Western values, but I was selfish. I’m begging you not to be selfish! Especially you fathers out there! Nothing gets your daughter turned out by a bunch of mumble rap wannabes than cheating on her mother and breaking your family apart. I’ve had plenty of girls with daddy issues, and it’s only just occurred to my naive millennial brain that I’m on my way to being one of those scumbag dads. Over my dead body, though!

Now I know these broads can be hell sometimes. Believe me, as amazing as she was, there were flaws. Minor flaws. But once you blow your life up into bits like I did, you start to notice your own. And believe me, bro, I’m fucking flawed. What’s worse is there really aren’t that many pretty conservative gals running around New York. Let alone girls that would be remotely interested in an ugly metalhead like me. [Editor’s note: Bitches love ugly metalheads, dawg.]

Then there’s the other old divorced guys. My old boss, for instance, comes with his soon-to-be third wife to his “goodbye” party. And Jesus Chicken-Wing-Contest-Conquering Christ is she a holy wreck. Holy hell. But what’s there to choose from at that age? Now I’m not saying I know shit about marriage. Or the miles you put on each other making it work or not. But I’d imagine it’s easier when you can think back to a time when she was a fox.

Maybe I’m an arrogant kid, but I don’t even want to think about having to meet someone in my 50s. Or the prospect of having to live alone. That sounds like a nightmare. Plus I can’t even fathom having children that partially hate you for ruining their lives. As men we have to be responsible for ourselves and our kin.  

I’m not telling anyone what to do. Go fucking nuts. These things, well, they just scare me. I don’t want to be in my 30s still trying to pick up random pussy at the bar. I mean, that’s fucking awesome if that’s your life, but it’s not the life for me.

I want to be a dad, and I want to do my part to keep the West the best for generations to come. I’m not going to be any good to our movement if I consistently and selfishly indulge in making myself merely temporarily happy. I am henceforth breaking the bad habits. #Nowanks isn’t just for getting you fAgs away from the computer screen. It’s a form of discipline. A way of training your body to work in unison with your brain. As Gavin says, “you just want her, but with bigger tits.”

So just get her a boobjob and stay chivalrous. Stay proud.


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Richard Lutkevich

Written by Richard Lutkevich

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