Matt Forney
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My Day of Rolling Like Kenny

Manospherians might be aware of a certain super master rama-lama-ding-dong PUA named Social Kenny. Kenny fashions himself a pick-up coach and “seduction god,” despite the fact that he regularly gets blown out by the most hideous of fat girls. Not even Nigel himself would dare to stick it in the kinds of hochunks that Kenny fails to lay on a daily basis. He also claims to be a “grammarian” fluent in three languages, despite the fact that his English is so bad it makes E.L. James look like Shakespeare.

But the kid from Bang-ville has one redeeming characteristic: his frame is utterly unshakeable.

You see, Kenny’s biggest advantage over the hateful hordes of the manosphere is his unwavering dedication to completely refusing to understand any and every joke made at his expense.

He is simply too stupid or oblivious (or some dastardly combination thereof) to understand that people don’t like him or know when people are laughing at his expense. He just doesn’t get it. And it’s beautiful.

While reading Alpha’s post, I wondered: could I harness this man’s power? Could I go through life utterly unaware of reality and my surroundings? Could I roll like Kenny?

As it turns out, I could and I did. This is my story.

My first attempt to roll like Kenny was yesterday morning, when I realized I didn’t have enough cash to pay for the Full Throttle I so badly wanted. I tried to just walk off after only paying $2 on a $2.59 bill, informing the SuperAmerica clerk that I was “the number one MPUA in the Midwest” and I had to go mack on some HB5s. He looked confused for a second, then threatened to call the police if I didn’t ante up. I pussed out and handed over my ATM card.

Clearly, I needed help if I was gonna roll like our Caribbean friend.

I maundered over to a nearby arts & crafts store and bought a bottle of Elmer’s Glue and a tack hammer, then scored a bottle of Captain Morgan’s from the liquor store next door. If I wanted to act retarded, I had to be retarded.

My method was simple. First, I opened up the bottle of Elmer’s, shoved the nozzle up my left nostril, and inhaled like a seven-year old asthmatic. I then picked up the tack hammer and began whaling on my own skull like Steve Shelley beating on his drum set during the finale of “‘Cross the Breeze.” Having exhausted my ability to kill brain cells the old-fashioned way, I then proceeded to guzzle half of the Captain in under an hour. By the time I was done, I must have brought my IQ down at least twenty-five points.

In other words, Social Kenny territory.

Having sustained permanent brain damage, I decided to put my newfound powers to the test. Wandering out of my pad, I walked into traffic and was nearly hit by a SWPL in a Suburu. As he swerved to avoid me, I flipped him off yelling, “Yeah, that’s right, I’m the number one MPUA in the Midwest! It’s all cool bro!” It was working!

Shambling up Eat Street, I felt retard strength surging through my veins. I saw my first target, a black HB4 covered head-to-toe in a rainbow-colored burka, milling about with three kids in front of the halal grocery store. I strutted up to her and delivered my line, “Nice nails? Are they real?” She just stared at me, like she couldn’t speak English. Unfazed, I continued my routine: “I’m Matt. What’s your name?” She remained silent, then her eyes widened like she was witnessing a murder. Suddenly, I felt a finger tapping on my shoulder.

“Excuse me sir, why are you speaking to my wife?”

I turned around and was confronted by an irritated black man in a button-front and khaki slacks. Realizing I was being AMOGed, I stammered. Then I thought, “What Would Kenny Do?”

I immediately replied, “It’s all cool bro. I’m the number one MPUA in the Midwest, and I’ve still got a lot to learn before I can bang HB8s.” I then walked off, smiling like I’d just gotten a blowjob from Emily Haines. “I’ll bet those manosphere faggots can’t even approach a girl. Men of Fear, indeed.”

Making my way up the Nicollet Mall, I stumbled into my favorite haunt and was about to order a Guinness when I suddenly felt a violent tremor in my stomach. Bolting into the men’s room, a Hurricane Katrina of Erbert & Gerbert’s-cum-Captain Morgan vomit came erupting out of my mouth. After a solid thirty seconds of puking into the toilet, the bathroom stank of half-digested roast beef and alcohol. My lips and shirt were stained with stomach acid and bits of Provolone.

In a situation like this, WWKD?

Stinking of retch and liquor, I sashayed out of the bathroom like nothing had happened. Surveying the bar, I decided to make my move on a couple of chubby hipster girls near the front door.

“Hey guys, did you see the girls who were just fighting outside?”

The first one, a brunette in a Goo T-shirt, turned her head snarling, “Don’t you try that Neil Strauss shit on—oh my God, what happened to you?”

I ignored her cries of concern. “So, you two come here often?” I replied, touching her hair for kino.

The next few moments are kind of blurry. I remember a swift, sharp object hitting me square in the junk, then a hot cloud of dust being shot directly into my eyes. Blinded and in pain, I bit my lip, because Kenny would never scream like a bitch after being maced. I must’ve found my way out of the bar somehow, because my next memory was of being hustled into the back of a police cruiser.

“…What the fuck happened?”

“Sir, you’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say will be used against you in a court of law.”

“It’s cool bro. I’m the number one MPUA in the Midwest. I bang HB8s and 9s, so I don’t really care about your faggot opinion.”

I looked back at the cop cuffing me and smirked. He just glared and shoved me into the car.

Right now, I’m sitting in the Hennepin County Jail awaiting trial, writing this post on a Blackberry I smuggled in my anus. I’m currently raising money for my legal defense fund so I can get back to showing this town who the number one MPUA in the Midwest is.

Note to the slow: nothing in this post actually happened. This article is just a bad joke; kind of like Kenny’s blog.

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