NOTE: This article was originally published on April 7, 2017, after Ann Sterzinger began publicly accusing me of blackmail. She retracted those claims mere hours after I published this post, then begged me via email to delete the post nearly two weeks later, which I did:
Because of Sterzinger’s and Jim Goad’s attempted character assassination against me last night (and because they both referred to this post multiple times in their attacks), I’m putting this article back up to correct the record. It will stay online this time no matter how much Sterzinger begs and pleads for me to delete it. While I realize that this story does not make me look good at all, I will not stand by and allow myself to be defamed by a pair of serial liars.
You can learn more about Sterzinger’s attempted character assassination (which involved her lying about having been violently raped two days prior to their attack) here.
Ann Sterzinger is an American novelist based in Chicago and the author of NVSQVAM (nowhere), The Talkative Corpse, and Girl Detectives. She alternately describes herself as libertarian, alt-right, or a “radical moderate” depending on the man she’s trying to manipulate. She’s originally from Port Edwards, Wisconsin and was born on January 7, 1975, making her 42 years old at the time of this writing. She’s also an ex of mine, and her actions nearly led to me almost being charged with rape as well as being doxed by antifas.
Right now, she’s publicly accusing me of blackmail—a serious crime—because I had the temerity to ask her to pay money towards the hosting costs of her website, which I both built for her for free and allowed her to host on my servers for nearly two years. In the same period that Ann was leeching off of me, she was trying to damage my online business and my relationships with my colleagues, claiming that I’m a “narcissist” who abused her, refusing to take responsibility for her poor life choices. This is despite the fact that I’m quite literally the only reason she’s still alive. I’m writing this in the hopes that other men who might encounter her don’t make the same mistakes I did.
Ann Sterzinger is the most psychotic, damaged woman I’ve met in my life, no small feat considering some of the people I’ve known. When I first met her, she freely told me about she had been repeatedly molested and beaten by her mother when she was a child, with her father turning a blind eye to her abuse. As an adult, she’s made multiple suicide attempts and been committed to mental institutions more than once (her novel NVSQVAM is based in part off her experience in a mental hospital), and she habitually abuses alcohol, cocaine and other drugs, to the point where her ex-boyfriend’s parents forced her to join Alcoholics Anonymous after detoxing her cold turkey. She’s also bisexual and has repeatedly cheated on her boyfriends and lovers, despite her claims to be “anti-feminist” and desire to be a housewife.
I realize that all of these should have sent me running in the opposite direction, but I was blinded by hero worship—at the time, she was one of the writers I admired the most—and I was under the delusion that I could help her exorcise her personal demons.
Ann Sterzinger Cheats on Her Boyfriend with Me
Ann approached me in late 2013 after I published a review of her novel NVSQVAM (nowhere) on my blog. We struck up an online friendship, with her reviewing one of my books and appearing on my podcast, and when she became the editor of Taki’s Magazine some months later, she recruited me as a contributor, fulfilling a long-held dream of mine. In July 2014, right before I left for the Philippines, I spent a few days in Chicago attending the Pitchfork music festival; while I was there, she invited me to meet her, her boyfriend Eric, and author Andy Nowicki, who was in town as well.
After the four of us came back from dinner, Eric went to bed early because he had to get up for work in the morning, and Nowicki left to return to his family. Ann subsequently invited me out to a bar to chat one-on-one. Within ten minutes of us sitting down, she was spilling deeply personal details about herself—including her aforementioned tales of sexual abuse—while buying me drinks, patting me on the hand and shoulder and calling me “sweet.” Because she religiously read my blog, listened to my podcasts and owned all of my books, she knew everything about me there was to know.
After I took her back to her apartment—at the time, she lived in the Chicago suburb of Oak Park—she subsequently forced herself on me, oblivious to the fact that her boyfriend was sleeping ten feet away. Instead of just walking away, I idiotically tried to have sex with her in her living room. Eric caught us in the act; expecting him to kill me, he simply told me to “get the fuck out,” so I ran.
The next morning, Ann texted me claiming she didn’t remember anything that happened the night before.
For obvious reasons, I didn’t believe her, but by that point I had already flown to L.A. and was waiting on a flight to Tokyo, so I brushed it off.
Three months later, I returned to Chicago for a business trip and confronted Ann while I was town. She claimed to have blacked out most of our first meeting and that Eric had banned her from hanging out with me because according to him, I had jacked off in their sink (meaning he didn’t confront her about her cheating). She also admitted that while she did have a “crush” on me, she was insecure over the fact that she was over a decade older than me, lamenting that she “was old enough to be [my] fuckin’ mother.”
We ended up having sex again, and I made her stay the night at my place because the train back to Oak Park had shut down for the night, she had no money (she had lost her wallet the day before), and she was so drunk she kept stumbling and tripping. Ann was so drunk that during the middle of the night, she urinated on the bedroom floor because she confused it with the bathroom (fortunately, most of it landed on her sweater, minimizing the amount of cleaning up I had to do).
The morning after, Ann was a trainwreck, tearfully apologizing to me, moaning about how she’d “betrayed” her boyfriend, repeating that she wished she’d never been born, and claiming that it’d be less painful for me to choke her to death then it would be for her to face him. I took her back home and didn’t speak to her for a few days.
The False Rape Accusation
This was the same week I published an article at Return of Kings on why girls with tattoos and piercings are broken, which went viral and resulted in me receiving countless death threats. A few days later, I started getting bizarre comments on my blog from someone claiming that I had “raped” his friend and threatening to kill me if I returned to Chicago. I looked up the IP address; it was from Oak Park, Illinois.
I immediately texted Ann demanding an explanation and also contacted a lawyer friend of mine for advice. She denied everything and hypothesized that the comment was from Eric. Ann also claimed that she didn’t tell him that she’d slept with me a second time (she had initially lied to him that she was going out to look for her missing wallet).
I’d cobbled together a list of suspects by cross-referencing the commenter’s email address (which had the name “Steven” in it) with Ann’s and her boyfriend’s Facebook friends lists, but after consulting with my lawyer, I decided to let the issue go for the time being.
A couple of months later, I got an email from a reader claiming that some guy was accusing me of “raping” his “friend” on a number of public Facebook pages. I took a look and saw that the guy’s name was Steve Gassen, matching the email address he used when he commented on my blog. He was also friends with Ann and her boyfriend (click pic for full size):
I texted Ann and told her what was going on; she claimed he was a heroin addict on disability and a friend of her boyfriend’s, and that the two of them must have hatched the plot together without her knowledge. She also claimed that Gassen hated her and he was doing this to hurt her somehow. I spoke to my lawyer and he suggested that she and I work it out privately if necessary.
I was prepared to let it go, but over the next few weeks, I kept getting emails and messages from readers who’d stumbled across Gassen’s postings. I did some research and realized that eventually, one of my enemies would stumble across his false accusations and publicize them, leading to a category five shitstorm of drama and potentially landing me in prison.
I didn’t trust Ann to stick up for me and refute the false rape allegations, since she’d already lied to me about her motivations for befriending me and dragged me into an affair against my will. At the same time, I was kind enough to not want to ruin her career or relationship, so I told her that I wanted to meet with her in person (to avoid anyone finding out) to discuss my plan to discredit Gassen without revealing the details of our tryst. She agreed.
I visited Chicago the following month (January 2015) to take care of some errands and hoped to deal with the issue then. However, Ann cancelled on me twice, first due to a bout of pneumonia, and second due to a massive snowstorm that trapped her in her apartment (and also delayed my flight back home). She wasn’t available to deal with it in the next couple of months either; her friend Lisa had died recently and she was traveling to France to deal with the aftermath. I was already on edge due to some other issues in my life, and the false rape accusation—and Ann’s seeming unwillingness to take it seriously or help me fix it—pushed me over the cliff. After returning home to New York, I withdrew from social media for a month and started drinking heavily to cope with the stress.
Ann and I barely communicated for the next two months, aside from me offering to get her a new writing job after she was fired from Takimag. After another few weeks of radio silence, she suddenly excitedly messaged me in the middle of the night, telling me she was back in the U.S., “ready to fuck up that hippie [Gassen]” and that “something ha[d] changed that [gave] us more leeway” to do so. She also said she was collaborating on a new website called Trigger Warning with transhumanist writer and serial scammer Rachel Haywire.
I was immediately suspicious given Ann’s history of mendacity and the fact that she never took the initiative on anything in our relationship, but nonetheless made plans to meet up with her when I relocated to Chicago. I tried to press her for details on what had what she meant by “more leeway,” but she said that I’d have to wait until we saw each other in person.
I finally pulled the trigger and left for Chicago at the end of April 2015, a few days after the American Renaissance conference. Strangely enough, at AmRen, a number of people asked me about how Ann was doing following her dismissal from Takimag, even though I had only met her twice up to that point and I’d only told my two closest friends about what I had gone through with her. When I met Ann, she said that after she returned from France, her boyfriend had dumped her in favor of a woman in her twenties, defusing much of the danger from Gassen’s false rape accusations against me.
Three months later, Ann started claiming out of the blue that shortly after our second tryst in October, Eric told her that I had raped her and kept badgering her to go to the police to formally charge me. His impetus for doing this was seeing my Return of Kings article and realizing I’d accomplished more with my life than him at a much younger age and he couldn’t compete with me for Ann’s affections. She claims she refused, knowing full well that I was innocent, and that he tried to have our mutual friends pressure her into going. When Ann refused to give in, Eric dumped her, claiming she was damaged goods.
Given the fact that she didn’t bother telling me about this until almost a year after our first meeting—and never provided any evidence of her claims—I have every reason to doubt her story. It’s entirely possible that she lied and told Eric that I had raped her, and when he justifiably told her to go to the police, she got cold feet and retracted her story. Indeed, a comment Steve Gassen left on a picture of Ann and me together suggests this possibility:
I have only the tiniest shred of evidence to suggest her version of events is true, and I had to search it out on my own.
Ann Sterzinger and Rachel Haywire
That same night, Ann and I went back to my apartment to have sex, and when I took her home to her apartment in Oak Park later, she insisted on having me stay the night, hoping that her ex would come home and we’d get into a fight. (She would later forget about this, setting up a recurring pattern of her mysteriously “forgetting” real events when they clashed with the narrative in her head.)
Not long after that, we were hanging out at my place again after recording a podcast when Ann suddenly confessed, “I want to give myself to you” (in other words, she wanted a relationship with me). I naively thought that she’d been working up the courage to admit that to me and took her at her word. That same night, she also wandered around naked in front of my roommate because she wanted a beer and was too lazy to put her clothes back on.
The day after that admission, Ann vanished for several weeks, refusing to answer her phone or reply to text/Facebook messages from me or anyone else. When Rachel Haywire visited Chicago in May, I was forced to meet up with her for an explanation as to what happened to Ann; Haywire claimed that she had been “in and out of the hospital” and was in the middle of a nervous breakdown.
I was so incensed at Ann’s behavior that after going home that night, I left her an angry voicemail; she didn’t respond for a week, claiming that she was suffering from “relationship withdrawal” and that she’d moved in with her ex’s parents in an attempt to force him to take her back. They’d detoxed her from an alcohol binge and forced her to join AA. She also reneged on her admission that she wanted a relationship with me, claiming that her ex had “ruined” her. I was initially devastated, though my friends helped me realize that getting involved with her was a bad idea due to her age and baggage.
After not talking to her for a month, I invited Ann to my 27th birthday party, discovering in the process that she’d moved into a new apartment in Rogers Park on the same block as me; the back door to my building was visible from her living room. I suspect she was trying to stalk me (she moved into her apartment two weeks after I moved into mine), though I have no proof. Interestingly, according to Davis Aurini, when he met her last Christmas, she lied and told him that I moved in after her and she thought I was stalking her, a claim easily refuted by our text conversations:
We didn’t resume our relationship at the time because she claimed she couldn’t even think about sex without throwing up or dry heaving; I was somewhat grateful. Due in part to the drama with her and other issues in my life, I began a period of sobriety the day after where I would not drink for three months.
For most of the next month, I kept trying to get Ann to come out and have fun with me and my friends, both because it seemed like the polite thing to do (since we were neighbors) and because she was a shut-in; by her own admission, I was one of the few people she was talking to. She was also being overworked and abused by Rachel Haywire, to the point where she fell behind at her actual job and was fired. One night in July, she started frantically messaging me in the middle of the night, so tweaked out on Klonopin that she was barely coherent, crying about how she hated herself and hated being alive.
The last time I saw Ann in person that month was when I invited her to the GamerGate in Chicago meetup. Afterwards, she went completely silent for two weeks, before reemerging in August and telling me that she was in the “blackest depression of [her] life” and had attempted suicide. After talking her down, we kept chatting over the next few days when the subject turned to our relationship. She told me that she was going to be marrying Lisa’s widower, keeping a promise she’d made before her death. A few minutes later, Ann begged me to come over with “a 24-pack of beer” and “some thick fuckin’ condoms,” claiming she needed to “horribly fuck up some young guy’s life” before she settled down and threatening to kill me if I didn’t comply.
I got the beer and went over to her place (breaking my phone in the process; fortunately, I had a new one coming in the mail). She answered the door naked, asking me why I hadn’t brought another girl so we could have a threesome. Both she and her apartment were total wrecks. Beer bottles and rotting platters of food were scattered around her living room and kitchen, her cats’ litter box was full of turds, and her mail was piling up outside her mailbox. Ann herself was severely drunk (and had been for several days at least), hadn’t been showering or eating, and smelled like ketosis. After we had sex (and I broke my sobriety), she effectively locked me in the apartment that night by refusing to give me her house keys (I’d wanted to get us something to eat).
I was forced to spend most of the next week living at Ann’s house tapering her off. She had been so drunk for so long that she was having DTs and hallucinations, often imagining that I was her mother and running away to cower in the corner, fearful that I would beat her. Her kitchen had no food and she had no money, claiming that she’d been roofied at a restaurant and her wallet stolen while she was in the hospital (she received a bill several days later, confirming that part at least). Ann also confessed—to no one’s surprise—that she had slept with Rachel Haywire and Haywire had been using this to manipulate her.
During this week, I was unable to get any other work done because taking care of Ann took up all of my time. Her suicidal bender coincided with the “Battle of Montreal,” in which my friend and colleague Roosh V was stalked and assailed by the Canadian media, government and feminists for holding a speech in Montreal. Because of Ann, I was unable to contribute articles to Return of Kings to assist with Roosh’s efforts to protect the speech and its attendees. She would later acknowledge repeatedly that she would have died had I not stepped in.
After Ann was detoxed, I moved back into my own apartment and we hatched a plan to get revenge on Haywire. Ann demanded that Haywire pay $3,000 in compensation for the work she did on Trigger Warning and the fact that Haywire got Ann fired from her job. Ann was also worried that the $20,000 worth of Indiegogo funds that had been collected for Trigger Warning—many donors had only contributed because of her involvement—had been embezzled by Haywire and Ann would be blamed for it.
Our plan consisted of getting Haywire to pay up; if she didn’t, Ann would publish an article revealing what she had done. Haywire ultimately only coughed up $1,500, meaning it was time to put our plan into motion. However, Ann suddenly got cold feet, claiming that her friend, Canadian sci-fi author Jamie Mason, was advising her not to do it because it might damage her future employment prospects. Both Davis Aurini (who’d we’d consulted due to his travails with his ex-business partner, Jordan Owen) and I had to talk her back into it.
The next morning, we published the article on my blog: “How Rachel Haywire Scammed Trigger Warning’s Donors and Nearly Killed Me.” We also did a live stream with Aurini discussing the issue. Haywire effectively waved the white flag and ran away, and we assumed the issue was done.
Ann Sterzinger Cheats on Her Fiancé
To help Ann rejuvenate her writing career, as well as to kickstart my consulting business, I offered to create a new website for her to replace her ugly, unprofessional-looking, and barely-read Blogger blog. We initially agreed to host it on my servers, both so I’d have an easier time building it and because she was broke and jobless, with the understanding that she’d purchase her own hosting when she was back on her feet financially. I also invited her to become a sidekick on my podcast (along with the Bechtloff and William Rome; Ann ultimately won the vote I held to determine who’d get the job).
Not long after, Ann told me that Lisa’s widower would be visiting her in Chicago and they were still planning to marry, even though she was still hooking up with me. Around that time, I published an ill-thought out (and now-deleted) article on my blog called “Why Women Don’t Always Mean No When They Say No,” describing a sexual encounter I’d had with Ann in order to make a greater point about consent. I rewrote many ancillary details about the encounter to obscure her identity. I wrote the post in part because I’d stopped caring for Ann and I assumed she would keep sleeping with me no matter what I did. I realized later that what I did was an insult to her, but she didn’t think so herself, not initially.
Next month (September), we were working on her blog at my apartment when she off-handedly mentioned the article to me. She wasn’t upset or expressed any concern about the article beyond the fact that someone might ID her. I tried to have sex with her afterwards, but she demurred, claiming she was on the rag and was nauseous. I let it go and she left.
A few days later, Ann told me that she was buying cocaine from a drug dealer friend of hers, inviting me to join her, which I did. About an hour in, she suddenly remarked that I had to “have better things to do than hang out with an old lady,” even though she had invited me. I then noticed a mysterious blue square on the brown carpet next to her pull-out bed. I picked it up; it was a torn condom wrapper.
I demanded to know what was going on. Ann admitted that she’d slept with her coke dealer for a “discount” (because he didn’t think she was attractive enough for a freebie), mewling about how she was a “giant whore.” (She later lied about her relationship with the dealer on the Savage Hippie Podcast, claiming that she only slept with him once when they were roommates and didn’t like it because his penis was too big. She also claimed on the same podcast that he kept pursuing her afterwards despite her lack of interest.)
Ann then suddenly told me she was in love with me and that she’d been avoiding me in part because of her feelings for me. She said that she was more attracted to me than Lisa’s widower, who she described as a nerdy middle-aged guy with no friends, but was marrying him purely because she felt sorry for him and because I “could do so much better than [her].” Ann also said that she hadn’t told him about her relationship with me and claimed that he thought she was “saving” herself for him.
Ann then told me she wanted a beer. I discovered that she’d been drinking again and had hid the beer bottles on her back porch before I came over so I wouldn’t find out. Her excuse was that she felt nauseous after her ex Eric had visited her in order to bring back her social security card, which she’d left in his apartment when she moved out. She then asked me if I had a condom.
Yes, I realize I should have immediately left and booted her off my podcast. Yes, I was an idiot for tolerating her. I ignored common sense and bought more beer so I could detox her and have sex. Fortunately, it only took a weekend to get her back to normal.
After we were done having sex, Ann brought up the article again, laughing about it and teasing me for thinking she was important or pretty enough to write about. She had admitted the month prior that she assumed that all I wanted out of her was a “literary conquest/story.”
Ann then told me that she had become infatuated with me the year before because of Virginia’s Secret Garden, a joke erotic fiction blog I wrote under the pseudonym “Virginia Robinson” solely in order to troll people, claiming it “turned [her] on.”
After leaving her apartment at the end of the weekend, things went back to normal again, with Ann becoming my podcast sidekick. At the beginning of October, I had to take a brief trip to Madison, Wisconsin, and after doing a podcast, I gave her my spare keys so she could get my mail (I was expecting a new credit card and didn’t want any of my scumbag neighbors to steal it). The same night, she messaged me telling me that Lisa’s widower (and her fiancé) had arrived from Paris and was staying at her apartment; I panicked, fearing that he would discover she’d been sleeping with me.
In the same conversation, Ann mentioned that she had gone to a bar to get food after we did the podcast and a “half-black” lesbian followed her home, hoping to have sex with her. While she didn’t outright admit to sleeping with the girl, she didn’t deny it either, and her comments to me suggested that she did. (She told me, back when she confessed to sleeping with Rachel Haywire, that she was incapable of turning down sex with women because she couldn’t meet girls at gay bars anymore; she had become the bisexual equivalent of the creepy old guy at the club.)
At one point in the conversation, Ann flipped out and told me to stay away from her for my own safety, claiming that she didn’t want to “fuck [my] life up” (a ship that had sailed long ago), and threatened to “[sic] this biracial girl” on me. Given that she had my spare keys, I interpreted this as a direct threat, barricaded my door, and went to sleep that night with a steak knife under my pillow.
Ann then suddenly started claiming that the article I wrote about sleeping with her was a “breach of trust.” I told her that if she was truly upset about the article, she would have asked me to pull it down and not write about our private lives. She subsequently asked me to do so, claiming that she hadn’t asked before because she didn’t want to “harm” me.
Given that she openly joked about the article when it was new and admitted she’d become infatuated with me because of an erotic blog I wrote for the purpose of trolling people, her sudden reversal didn’t make any sense to me. Nonetheless, I apologized and deleted the piece from my site, assuming the issue was dead.
I didn’t see much of Ann that month, as one of the podcasts I recorded that month was solo and I spent the last week in Washington, D.C. at the NPI conference. However, she later told me that her fiancé backed out of marrying her because he preferred being single. The realization that a man with literally no other options chose to be alone rather than with Ann was a massive blow to her ego and sent her into another tailspin.
The Final Bender
A few days after I returned from NPI, I recorded another podcast with Ann. Off-air, she admitted that she’d been spending a lot of time in the past month having random crying fits and was depressed. I tried to get her to talk about it and renew our sexual relationship, mostly because I sensed she was headed for another meltdown where I’d end up being nagged into sleeping with her anyway, so I wanted to head the problem off at the source. She declined, saying she was incapable of having sex with me sober… even though we’d been hooking up sober in the weeks prior to Lisa’s widower’s visit. I didn’t feel like pressing the issue (a massive mistake), so I went home.
In the days afterward, Ann stopped responding to Facebook messages, forcing me to recruit the Bechtloff as a substitute sidekick for the next show. When she finally resurfaced, I told her that I’d replaced her with the Bechtloff, and she responded by claiming that I couldn’t “handle the fact that [I] fucked a vietnamese joo [sic].”
As it turns out, she’d gotten a 23andme test that showed that she was genetically 13 percent Vietnamese as well as Jewish, and the revelation sent her into another bender. She was also talking about committing suicide and the usual nonsense she did when she was drunk.
I was pissed off and told Ann that I was coming over to set her straight, because I’d had enough of her antics. When I arrived at her apartment, she refused to unlock the door. I friended her sister on Facebook (who I’d never met before, and who had Ann’s spare keys), telling her that Ann was on a bender and threatening suicide. Ann’s sister freaked out and told me that she was coming over as fast as she could (she was on the South Side at the time). I also told her sister that Ann had already gone on benders and attempted suicide twice in the past four months, which she was completely unaware of.
Ann eventually let me into her apartment because she was horny and wanted to sleep with me. Her apartment was—once again—full of discarded beer bottles and half-eaten food. I spent ten minutes yelling at her for drinking again, but she was hovering in and out of consciousness and kept forgetting why I was there. Ann’s sister then showed up, and we spent two hours talking her down to sanity while she alternately tried to make out with me, claim that she was “afraid” of me, and started mewling about how her mother molested her as a kid. Ann’s sister and I agreed that I’d watch over her that night, and she left me alone with her. I passed out on her bed.
Several hours later, Ann shook me awake, demanding we have sex. I reluctantly agreed. Without getting graphic, she kept interrupting me to go to the bathroom, and each time she came out, she had forgotten what she was doing before. The first time she returned, she accused me of planting a video camera in the room, screaming “I would be having sex with you right now if you weren’t filming this!” The second time, she saw me staring in disbelief and forced herself on me. We eventually finished and I fell asleep again.
The next day, I was trying to get work done while tapering Ann off when she suddenly demanded to have sex again. I told her to buzz off and she kept whining and interrupting me, so I reluctantly pulled out my wallet to look for a condom. I couldn’t find one and gleefully told her that I couldn’t sleep with her (since she was adamant about using condoms and didn’t use birth control). She claimed she had condoms, leaping off the bed and going to search through her dresser. After “searching” for five seconds, Ann gave up and blurted out, “Oh well, an abortion is only $600 and my period ended two days ago!” (The latter was confirmed by the dried menstrual blood stains on her mattress; she’d been too drunk to get a pad.)
I’ll admit that a tiny part of me wanted to get her pregnant out of pure spite, before I realized that conceiving a baby just to mess with someone would be a heinously stupid and immoral move.
Ann admitted the same day that she had been drinking since the previous month, when her then-fiancé was visiting, blaming the stress of his visit for her relapse. Because he was a teetotaler (his now-dead wife was also an alcoholic), Ann had to sneak around and hide her drinking from him.
Later in the day, when I was trying to get Ann to eat (she would always starve herself during her benders), she tried to grab a swig of vodka from her freezer instead. I snapped, grabbed the bottle out of her hand, poured the vodka down the drain, then removed all the beer bottles from her apartment so she couldn’t drink the warm scum out of them (which she had done during her last bender). She called me “incredibly cruel,” claimed that I had “condemned [her] to a slow death,” and tried to steal my mouthwash to drink it, forcing me to hide it.
Ann’s sister visited frequently, bringing us food, so being stuck with her wasn’t as stressful as the last time. Her sister admitted to me privately that Ann had a habit of going on benders when she was single, and profusely apologized to me for having to put up with Ann’s nonsense. I told Ann when she was fully detoxed that I wasn’t going to put up with her idiocy anymore; she promised to see a therapist.
Things went back to normal very briefly, with Ann returning to my podcast, the two of us teaming up to report on the #BlackLivesMatter protests on Black Friday, and her sister even inviting me over for Thanksgiving. However, in the first week of December, she told me that Rachel Haywire had reemerged and was frantically telling people that I had raped Ann, because Haywire was upset that Ann’s article about the Trigger Warning scam was on page one of her Google results (thus preventing her from scamming anyone else).
However, a few days later, Ann suddenly claimed that Haywire had dug up a copy of the then-deleted article I wrote about Ann, claiming that everyone who read it knew that it was her I was talking about. I’m not entirely sure Ann was telling the truth about this, because there’s only one person I can confirm that Haywire contacted with the article, and he didn’t know it was about Ann or care. Like everything that comes out of Ann’s mouth, I have no clue how much is truth or a fabrication of her warped mind.
Nonetheless, she was irritated about it, but in her typical fashion, she waited until the worst possible moment to unload on me: when we were recording a podcast. She accused me of spreading rumors about her to make myself look cool and claimed that she “didn’t like [me] as a human being.” Given that I’d already deleted the article at her request two months prior—and the fact that she thought it was funny when it was new—I had no clue what she was upset about, since it wasn’t me spreading the piece around, but Haywire.
I didn’t want the police to get called due to our yelling, so I told Ann to get out of my apartment if she didn’t want to be there; she left in a huff. I was forced to postpone the interview for a day while I recruited William Rome as a substitute co-host. I didn’t speak to her for a month, as she took to Facebook and Twitter leaving passive-aggressive remarks about me.
How Ann Sterzinger Helped Antifa Dox Me
At the time of our breakup (if you can call it that), I was being targeted by Chicago antifa for the crime of “infiltrating” (i.e. attending and writing about) #BlackLivesMatter protests. They successfully got me banned from Twitter and announced a stalking campaign against me. Ann was the only friend of mine who refused to back me, throwing me under the bus at a critical time to focus on her own manufactured drama.
Despite this, a month later, I extended Ann an olive branch by wishing her a happy birthday; she thanked me. A few days later, I got a text from my mother claiming that a Chicago-area number had called her home phone; she assumed it was for me. I didn’t recognize the number and was in the process of Googling it when the exact same number called my cell phone… which was unlisted, with only my friends and family knowing what it was.
I messaged my friends in the area asking if they recognized the number. Ann responded, claiming that they called her saying they had a job offer for me, so she gave them my number. When I called her out for being so stupid (in the age of social media and email, who cold calls random people with job offers?), she claimed that she answered because she thought I sent someone to try to “catch [her] blocking [me] out of a job” so I could write another article about her.
That’s right: Ann is so paranoid, petty and small-minded that she assumed that I was spending my time devising elaborate ways to prank her.
Several days later, the antifas began sending Ann texts threatening her into giving them my home address. To her credit, she didn’t give in. That same week, a local antifa group doxed me. While they didn’t get my home address, they published my phone number as well as the addresses and numbers of my parents and sisters, and they couldn’t have done it without Ann Sterzinger giving them a helping hand.
Ann and I were forced to file reports with both the Chicago Police Department and the local FBI office. We also had to flee our apartments in the event that we were swatted or attacked. This was around the time that I was planning to go to Iowa to report on the presidential election, and due to the threat from the antifa, I was forced to leave Chicago several days early.
The Last Meltdown
Ann and I maintained mostly friendly contact over the next few months. We teamed up to cover the anti-Donald Trump riot in Chicago in March, and when I was reporting on the Iowa caucuses for the now-defunct Right On, I recommended to publisher Daniel Friberg that he have her edit and publish my articles so they could get online faster (since the site’s other editors were based in Europe).
However, beginning in April, she resumed making passive-aggressive insults against me on social media after she flipped out again and accused me of “gaslighting” her when I corrected her on a comment she made about my writing career. In June of that year, Aaron Clarey held a meetup in Chicago which we were both separately invited to; she was civil and polite to me in person (the last time we ever met in person), but continued lying about me online with posts like this:
Two months later, Ann had a final meltdown to several of our mutual friends, claiming that we had never had a relationship and she’d only slept with me a few times out of pity. This claim is contradicted not only by the fact that she pursued me for over a year and cheated on both her boyfriend Eric and her fiancé with me multiple times, but by the fact that she’s thirteen years older than me. In fact, when Ann and I were actually together, she repeatedly said that she was too old and ugly for me, and when I tried to get her to send me nude selfies, she accused me of trying to ensnare her in a legal plot since she was “revolting naked”:
Ann blocked me on Twitter and Facebook last October after falsely claiming that I was spreading rumors about her being a “coke whore.” Another ridiculous lie from her, and a projection, since she was busy telling lies to my friends about me. I didn’t care and I was glad that she was leaving me alone for once… until now.
Ann Sterzinger Libels Matt Forney
Recently, I moved my websites to a new hosting provider, one that’s faster, cheaper and has better technical support. Ann’s website was still on my server, because she’d never bothered to transfer it to her own in the nearly two years since I created it for her and put it online. While I backed up the site itself, since she owns the AnnSterzinger.com domain, I couldn’t change the DNS settings to point to the new host without her consent. As a result, her site went offline when my old hosting plan expired.
She frantically messaged a mutual friend of ours (because she’s not enough of an adult to talk to me directly), demanding that I put the site back online. I politely asked her to compensate me for her portion of my web hosting bills through next year, which I think is a fair request seeing as she’s been getting a free ride from me for nearly two years (while at the same time spreading malicious rumors about me) and I also spent hundreds, possibly thousands of dollars of my own money keeping her alive during her numerous benders and suicidal episodes in 2015. I also could have replaced her blog at any time with whatever I wanted, yet chose not to do even after she spent months gossiping about me to anyone who would listen.
This was her response:
I don’t know how to parse a comment this lunatic. Ann’s claim that she tried to get an “IT friend” to move the blog is a total fabrication. You cannot migrate a website off a server without the admin’s permission. Yes, the content on my server is “locked,” for the same reason that the front door of my apartment is locked when I’m not home. At any point, she could have contacted me asking me to help her move her site to her own server, and I would have gladly done so. She never did.
Ann is also lying when she claims that I said that hosting her site cost me nothing. I told her that setting it up cost nothing, and I was willing to host it in the interim while she got on better financial footing because I wanted to help her out after a dark period in her life. Considering that she told me she got a good-paying job in January of last year (assuming she hasn’t been fired by now for going on benders and not showing up to work), she could have transferred the site at any point after that. She didn’t, because she’s a deadbeat and a leech. (Ann is actually banned from entering Schengen Area countries in Europe—including her beloved France—because she ran up a €14,000 medical bill in a French hospital and refuses to pay it off. Notice a pattern here?)
I did agree with her on one thing: I wanted her site off my server. I made a counter-offer, asking her to just pay off her portion of the hosting bills up to this point (actually less, since I didn’t feel like calculating it down to the dollar). Her response:
This is how crazy people win negotiations: by wearing sane people down to the point where they can’t take it anymore. Note how Ann fervently clings to the myth that I wrote that article about her as revenge for her unwillingness to date me, even though I’d abandoned the idea of a relationship with her months before (and told her as much). Perhaps admitting that she detonated a three-year relationship with Eric so she could sleep with a fat guy who’s young enough to be her son is too much crazy for even her to fess up to.
And yeah, I paid Ann $2.50 per episode when she co-hosted The Matt Forney Show. I was also making only $2.50 an episode at the time, because the show made no profit. I had only a couple of consistent advertisers during that period, one of which was a kratom vender that paid me in kratom. She was enthusiastic when I asked her to be my co-host because she claimed that being a radio sidekick was one of her childhood dreams, and I paid her what I could because I knew she was struggling financially at the time and I didn’t expect her to devote two hours of her week to my show for free. I planned to raise her pay as the show picked up listeners and advertisers.
Moreover, I did all of the actual work in producing the show: booking guests, researching show topics, editing and publishing. All she had to do was show up at my apartment and talk.
I had a date that night, and I didn’t want to deal with Ann having another tantrum about me online, so I gave our mutual friend her website backups (one of the files was so large I had to use Google Drive to send it, and I didn’t want to give her access to my account in any way) and told him to give them to her.
Problem solved, she’s gone. Right?
Wrong. Another mutual friend showed me this post she made today:
Blackmail? Holy hyperbole, Batman! By her logic, if I lend money to a friend and ask him to pay it back, I’m “blackmailing” him. Moreover, her comment about the Wayback Machine is total calumny, since I gave her her website backup files anyway. And while she’s too cowardly to use my name (per usual), given the rumors she’s been spreading and the fact that our relationship was an open secret both in our social circles in Chicago and online, everyone knows she’s talking about me.
Ann K. Sterzinger, Will You Please Go Now!
I didn’t want to write this article. I didn’t write any of this because I want sympathy, pity or a pat on the head. I know that I put myself in this situation in part by tolerating and enabling Ann’s behavior over the years. After our breakup, I did some research and began trying to figure out why I end up with codependent women like her (though she’s by far the worst one I’ve ever had to put up with). For that matter, the degenerate lifestyle she lured me into with her bisexuality and drug/alcohol addiction so broke me that I was forced to reconsider my views on Christianity and traditional morality.
My personality attracts waif-like girls who are crying out for a savior, and too often, I’m dumb enough to indulge them.
I wrote this article because I want Ann Sterzinger out of my life, forever. Her childish attempts to spin our relationship as something other than what it was—a sad, self-destructive cat lady desperately chasing after a man who was out of her league—don’t bother me. What does is her accusations of blackmail, which directly hurt my credibility and possibly constitute libel. I’m fortunate in that many of our mutual associates recognize that she’s mentally ill and untrustworthy, but there’s plenty of beta orbiters in the alt-right who are willing to indulge her fabricated sob stories. For example, Dave Yorkshire, who called me a “pervert” for daring to argue that interracial marriage isn’t a major threat to the white race, spent months leaving thirsty comments on Ann’s Facebook pictures before publishing her in the “marriage and procreation” issue of his magazine.
Nothing says “marriage and procreation” like a bisexual coke whoring spinster, amirite?
Ann Sterzinger stole nearly two years of my life with her drama-seeking antics, nearly got me charged for a crime I didn’t commit, and helped antifa track me down. She preyed on my admiration for her as a writer while feigning innocence all the while and blaming me for her problems. When I tried to help her with her career and her personal problems—because I cared for her and wanted her to succeed—she did everything possible to sabotage any chance she had at happiness and drag me down with her. And now that I’m building a new life in Europe, a whole ocean away from her, she still won’t leave me alone.
She does this to every man she claims to fall in love with. She can never let the past die and take responsibility for her actions. When we were together, she never stopped whining about her ex-boyfriends, how they were narcissists who used her, cheated on her, sucked in bed, and abused her cats. She repeatedly smeared Eric as a “pedophile” online because she can’t stand the fact that the only attractive men her age are dating younger, better-looking women instead of her. She even attempted to dox another ex on a podcast hosted by a mutual friend (he fortunately stopped her). Ann’s behavior and psychology is an exact fit for borderline personality disorder, one of the most common—and dangerous (for men)—personality disorders that women suffer from.
So no, I’m not the first man to fall victim to Ann Sterzinger’s machinations. But unlike her other exes, I have a platform to defend myself, so I intend to be the last.
Ann, if you’re reading this—and I know you are, because you read everything I write, probably masturbating to it half the time—I am tired of you. And as much as this article will ruin the rest of your miserable life, I can make your existence even worse than it is already. You have one chance. Either you delete your posts accusing me of blackmail with 48 hours and never discuss me in public again, or I wipe out any chance you have at salvaging the flaming wreck that is your literary career.
Go away, Ann. Go back to your rat hole of an apartment full of cheap Goodwill clothes and empty beer bottles. Go back to your depraved, disgusting life of coercing teenage girls into licking you out and bragging about it on your podcast. Go back to manipulating men with sob stories about how your mother punched you in the face whenever Joni Mitchell or the Beach Boys came on the radio. Feel free to keep lying to yourself about me—knowing full well that no sane man with options looks at you as anything more than a slump-busting one-night stand—if it keeps you from throwing yourself into the Chicago River.
Get the fuck away from me, you revolting slut.
And if you’re considering a business or romantic relationship with Ann Sterzinger, I shouldn’t have to convince you to stay away from her. All the evidence in this article should convince you. Avoid my mistakes: avoid her.