Matt Forney
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I Found My Game Mentor

This is a guest post by Kid Strangelove. Kid originally published this article at his own blog on September 17, 2013, but he deleted the site a while ago so he could focus on other projects. He asked me if I’d be willing to re-post some of his articles on my blog and I said yes.

Names in this article have been changed to protect those involved.

“I can’t fucking believe this girl!!!”

I recognized that tone of voice. My friend, a hardcore feminist—but 97 percent of the time one of the good feminists that worries about legitimate issues—was channeling that three percent. That was the ever present feminist shrie” that you would imagine a Tumblr SJW utters before telling some poor sap to check his privilege.

“I can’t believe she is letting that old man manipulate her like that. He has her wrapped around his little finger.”


I was eager to find out who had sinned in the eyes of Feminist Franny, which one of her friends caused this outrage, and boy, I was not disappointed.

She has a friend, good old Angelic Angie, who has always been the prototypical good girl. She went to church, knew how to cook, took all sorts of dance lessons, dressed in that perfect mix of sexy and modest, and protected her virginity with the grit and determination of a football team in the Super Bowl.

But don’t let her virginity fool you: Angelic Angie was a hustler. There was no shortage of men lining up to date her, and she had “boyfriends” all over the world. I remember meeting a particularly cool Italian guy she was dating at a party once. And there were stories: this guy bought her a steak dinner here, a trip there, but her virginity stayed uncompromised.

Until she met Old Oliver. When Old Oliver and Angelic Angie met, she was 23-24 and riding her hustler path strong. Old Oliver was in his 40’s. This guy was short, shorter than Angie in fact. He was also bald, committed to the “shave your head as soon as you see the signs” look. This guy was the single hairiest human being I have ever seen: yes, a treasure trove of back hair too. He did not posses the kind of abs that girls think every man outside the U.S. has.

But Old Oliver had swag.

And before you knew it, Angelic Angie was tamed. There is no other word for what happened. Tamed. Straight up.

Before Oliver, Angelic Angie dreamed of losing her virginity after marriage. Nope. Not at all. He took her virginity and somehow managed to convince her that the idea of marriage is antiquated. They are a strong, steady couple, and they tell everyone they are engaged, but the legal documents are not signed, and never will be. His money is completely protected.

This scenario pissed off Feminist Franny to no end. On one hand, she has always been sex-positive and against marriage herself, but the fact that her most “traditional” friend was “broken by a dirty old man” (her words, not mine) really made her flip her shit. Every time I see her, she always brings up how she hates that guy. In her eyes, he was the patriarchy. But that’s the thing about patriarchy: girls secretly (or not so secretly) love it.

Recently, I started hanging out with Angie and Oliver quite a bit more. Oliver is always composed, always has the “I’m chill and got no worries” smirk on his face. I have never seen him in a mood other than calm. And when I see Angie wearing the kind of pants that accentuate her ass, perfectly bubbly from years of dancing, when I see her positive demeanor and willingness to include everyone in a new social circle, to get everyone to meet, when I see the lack of the “thousand-cock stare” that so many girls possess now, when she offers food, drink, a smile and an ear to just about everyone, I can see it.

Old Oliver won.

The weird-looking guy in his forties got himself the perfect girlfriend, and they have been going strong for years now. They have each others’ commitment, and his money is safe.

Me and Oliver have had a few talks here and there, about life, philosophy, computers (we are somewhat in the same field) and girls. He gets it. He understands it. He is who I want to be when I grow up.

Old Oliver, you are my game mentor. Thank you for the inspiration.

We’re all gonna make it, brah.

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