The Man with the Golden Sperm

This is a repost of an older piece that was very popular that fits in with a lot of the Game articles I have been writing lately. It also allow a lot of you to meet Sexmaniacman for the first time. He’s quite a character. Enjoy.

All hail Sexmaniacman!

Sexmaniacman showed up the other day, and we had an interesting talk about womanizers. Sexguy calls a womanizer, “The Man with the Golden Sperm.” I think he’s onto something!

“Hi Bob, thanks for letting me write on here. I used to be a PUA, but I haven’t been for some time now. Bachelor life is feast or famine, but the feasts were never so much fun.

My hero was this guy I knew in my teens, Steve. I knew him best when he was around 18-21 years old. This guy always had three girlfriends at any one time, and he juggled all three of them. He also had as many other women as possible who were not in the top three and constantly shifted somehow. The top three also changed on a regular basis too. Nowadays, you would about need an Excel spreadsheet to keep up with his antics.

On a typical day, he had three or four dates. He had a morning date, an afternoon date, an evening date, and then around midnight, he would climb in some girl’s room at her parents house, and that would be the midnight date. He had sex with all of them, and they were all quite willing.

This was in the 1970’s, and it was before most STD’s, herpes, AIDS, etc. I never heard of anyone catching anything more than crabs.

In the summers he and his buddies would rent a house on the beach and surf all day. The house had a keg of beer continuously refilled and about a pound of Thai weed, continuously resupplied also. They would have sex with about three women and girls on any given days. Whether the females were always new, I have no idea. The females were always very willing. It’s conceivable that he could go through up to 100 females in a summer.

This guy was this ultimate bitchin’ surfer dude who lived at the beach with all the rest of us. Despite his endless conquests, no one hated him, and females gladly lined up to take a number and wait in line to have sex with him, I guess for a notch on their belts too.

I figure he was “The Man with the Golden Sperm“. I think evolutionarily, this guy is seen as having the most awesome genes of all, and a good number of young females subconsciously want to bear his kids and perpetuate his awesome line. There’s no other explanation that makes sense for this behavior.

He was a very good friend of mine, but you had to watch out when you hung around with him. Everywhere you went with him, strange women would start staring at him like they were hypnotized.

Also, whenever you were with him more than a few hours, there were always going to be some good looking females popping up out of nowhere, mostly ones you had never seen before. They always wanted to have sex. First with him, next, as second choice, with any of the Men with the Semi-Golden Sperm who were accompanying him.

So if you were worried about having sex with strange women on a moment’s notice, you couldn’t even hang around the guy.

One thing that I noticed was his life was quite hectic! Juggling all these women is pretty much a full time job. The phone was always ringing, he was always going here or there, you were always meeting different people, or new people were showing up and leaving. He was “hypersocial.”

He finally got married and moved to San Francisco with his wife and a couple of friends. I saw him a year or so later (30 years ago). He called me, and I showed up at a hotel room on the beach around noon (I was a working college student at the time). As I entered the room, a beautiful young blonde was leaving with a satisfied smile on her face. He swore he was going to be faithful to his wife, but I guess not!

He opened up a suitcase on the bed, and there were several pounds of pot in there all neatly bagged into one ounce bags. I looked and started laughing. We both started laughing really hard and almost fell onto the floor. Heavy drug scenes like that were always funny, because it was totally illegal, and you could get busted anytime, but that just made it even more exciting, daring and ultra-macho.

I bought an ounce from him and saw him later that evening. I never saw him again.

Five years later (25 years ago), I heard he was still in San Francisco. At age 25, he now owned two or three homes in SF, not cheap real estate. He was a major cocaine dealer. He lived in one house and kept his stuff in another one. He was described as “so hot you don’t want to go near him.” That means he’s a huge dealer, and he’s dangerous in that he can be busted big-time at any time, and if you are with him, you’re going to jail too.

Six years later, I heard he was still around and out of jail somehow.

Last year, I saw him on the Internet. He had landed on his feet and was back in Orange County and selling real estate. I called him up, told him I was a ghost from his past and asked him to figure out who I was. I couldn’t stop laughing. He kept saying, “Who is this?” but I never told him. Then he hung up.

Even when he was doing the ultimate womanizer thing, he wasn’t an ass, and almost everyone liked him. Even females who had been with him didn’t resent him and most seemed to be pleased to have his notch on their belts.

I never lived like anything close to this guy, but he was my idol for a while, and I was always trying to emulate him when I was young. At one time though, very long ago, I regularly had three girlfriends at once, and there were as many casuals as I could manage in between.

Females were always dumping me and screaming at me, people were always telling me what a scum I was, but in between, the fun never stopped. I was lying to everyone all the time, but I didn’t care. People see what you are doing and can’t believe it. As word gets around, instead of being repulsed, all these new strange females start showing up acting awfully friendly, asking to take a number and stand in line. You’re The Man with the Golden Sperm.

But more than anything else, my life was totally hectic and insane. People have no idea how much work this is!

I remember once I went to visit my cousins in another state. They lived there with my aunts and grandparents. A while before, I had had sex with my hot female cousin, but that ended, and we were just best friends. I would go up there, and she would get out her phone book and start calling all her female friends. The Man with the Golden Sperm is in town! Any takers?

She took me around to her friends, introducing me to them. Some said forget it, but one liked me, N, a Russian girl. My cousin fixed me up with her.

“Sexdude,” my cousin said, whispering in my ear. “When you go out with her, make sure you fuck her.”

“Why?” I asked incredulously.

“I don’t think she’s ever been laid,” my cuz said, “and you’re a great place for her to start. After all,” she said with a sly wink in her eye, “You’re the Man with the Golden Sperm.”

I dated her friend, and there was lots of fun.

Later my younger cousin came around. She was 14. She saw that my older cousin, age 18, was fixing her friends up with me. She got jealous.

She called me aside.

“Sexman,” she said. “I want you to go out with my friend.”

“Huh?” I was incredulous.

We had spent the day riding skateboards and smoking dope.

“She’s 14. And I’m 21. I could go to jail,” I pointed out.

“So? What does that matter to the Man with the Golden Sperm?” She said with a hurt look on her face.

She was right. So date her I did, that very night.

I was staying at my cousins, and the phone kept ringing when I was gone. My aunt kept answering it and taking the messages. She would rattle them off when I got home.

In a single day, Female Cousin One called, Female Cousin Two called, Strange Girl One called, Strange Girl Two called. My aunt was standing there, wobbling a bit, unable to believe this was really happening. She was shaking her head incredulously. I had just shown up from another state yesterday, and half the girls in town were already calling for me. How could she not admire The Man with the Golden Sperm?

My aunt’s best friend M, a Greek woman, was 40 years old and single. She caught wind of my antics. Of course, instead of being disgusted, she wanted a piece of the action herself. I met the older woman, and she was hot for me all right, but nothing ever came of it.

I always laugh whenever I hear people (especially women) say how much women hate womanizers. That’s not been my experience.

Even my Mom, a deeply traditional woman born in the 1930’s, chuckled and shook her head with a hint of admiration and incredulity when I told her of Steve’s incredible sexual accomplishments. How many men could pull off what he did? Truth is almost none. Even my own Mom found a tiny place in her heart for the Man with the Golden Sperm.

Later I told her how he was running around being a huge cocaine dealer, and she chuckled and shook her head again with that same look of incredulity and a hint of admiration. She’s never done an illegal drug in her life, and she doesn’t think much of dopers.

Recently I told her who he had landed on his feet and was selling real estate in Orange County. She stopped in her tracks and stared at me.

“So he never got caught. He never got caught from all that coke dealing.” She was chuckling again and shaking her head with that same look.

“Guess not,” I said. “He always seemed to land on his feet.”

There’s a moral to the story, Bob. Everyone talks about how evil womanizers are, but deep down inside, a lot of us love The Man with the Golden Sperm. How could we not?

Western Women's Culture of Meanness

Repost from the old site.
In the comments section, Lafayette Sennacherib says, possibly jokingly:

I’ll go along with feminism this far: it’s ok for women to bring in a wage, as long as they still rear the kids, clean the place, cook, sew, provide regular sex, are totally faithful unless it’s with another woman and we can watch/share, and don’t mind their men having a bit on the side. Fair’s fair! We owe them that much!

I don’t know if he’s joking or not, but I won’t even go that far. I decided to ask Sexmaniacman his opinion of LS’ post, and here is what he said:

Bob, first of all, thanks so much for inviting me over so I can write about this. My complaint, Bob, is that feminism has cultivated a culture of meanness, at least here in the US. I would say that American women have cultivated a culture of meanness, but I think they reason they have is feminism. Feminism makes women pissed off at us men. Period. Full stop.As a het guy who chooses to deal with women as more than platonic friends, I don’t dig being hated on. It sucks, and it feels deflating to my cock.
I’ve gotten to the point now where I can have sex even with a woman who completely hates me and is making that clear as we are engaging in the sex act, but it wasn’t always that way. Angry, bitchy, emasculating women make men impotent. Either physically, psychologically, or spiritually.
I figure even non-feminist women are bitchy enough sometimes. Add feminism into the stew and now they are way bitchier even than they are normally. Fuck that. I hate bitchy women. Nothing worse.
One thing that I have noticed is that a lot of wimpy, leftwing, pro-feminist men love bitchy women. They sit back and cheer them on.
And these bitchy feminists are attracted to wimpy pro-feminist guys, but the truth is that these guys’ wimpiness drives the feminists insane, because even though they are feminists who say they hate macho men and machismo, they are still women, and most women hate wimpy guys and long for a macho man to reduce them to meek, wimpering Southern belles.
That’s why feminism doesn’t work in practice.
It creates what we’ve got in Northern California. The stereotypical Northern California male: so wimpy and/or feminized that a lot of people will think the guy is gay. And it concurrently creates the Northern California female: so butch and/or masculinized that a lot of people will think she’s a dyke.
These two things attract each other. That’s why you will find a fair number of these wimpy-type guys messing around with guys, and you will find quite a few of these dykey women either messing with women or just going full gay either part of full-time.
Macho guys create feminine female counterparts and vice versa. Wimpy guys create bitches at best and vice versa and create macho dykey women at worst and vice versa. At both extremes, normally het people will start moving into homosexuality and bisexuality.
This is another thing I have against feminism: it’s full of lesbians. Now, I have nothing against lesbians and gay men being members of gay rights organizations. But why should feminism, objectively merely pro-women’s rights, be full of a dykes? Reason is that feminism creates lesbians, and for some weird reason, lesbians love feminism.
Have you ever noticed that the women who scream most about rape are lesbians, probably really butch, dykey, homely and living in some gay community, IOW, just about the least likely women to get raped!
The women most likely to get raped are het women, women who are fully involved with men and men’s lives, and who have men in their lives. Straight men, not gay men. Often they are raped by their boyfriends, husbands, dates or just guys they know.
I go to a feminist site and typically it’s swarming with lesbians. My first reaction is why? I went to a feminist site, not a gay rights site. Second reaction is turnoff. I’m here to see what straight women think, not lesbians.
Final thought is even more disturbing. A lot of radical feminists and feminist separatists openly hate men. They’re into misandry. Yep, the very women screaming most about misogyny are often misandrists themselves. It’s it’s bad for the goose, it’s bad for the gander.
As feminism has cultivated misandry (something many feminists now admit), it’s turned lots of feminists into a bunch of lesbians. A family friend was one of the founding members of NOW, and I was a member myself for years. She eventually quit going to the meetings because the feminist women wouldn’t stop hitting on her and propositioning her. Even back then, the movement was swarming with lesbians.
I’m perfectly willing to help raise the kids, clean the house and cook the food, but I am sorry that I cannot sew. I’d be glad to learn if it was easy. I’m not sure I even mind if women cheat. I never used to mind and often had open relationships.
I was raised in the androgynous 1970’s. In part I was never comfortable with the macho man thing, so I rejected it because it just wasn’t me, and though I was always into masculinity deep down inside, I was also influenced by feminism wanting to make us into “New Men” – sensitive, vulnerable, all that.
I turned into a straight Mick Jagger – Steve Tyler – New York Dolls androgynous surfer – rocker – punk rocker – doper – dope dealer – compulsive womanizer.
What did I get for this? Guys tried to beat me up for “being a fag”. I even got beat over the fucking head with a baseball bat once. Nicer people were continuously suggesting that I was gay or bi, much to my consternation. Usually it was guys saying I was gay. Females, being more intelligent, usually thought I was bi, because gay men have no interest in women.
I was attacked by my very own girlfriends, heads full of feminism, for being gay, bi, wimpy or just not much a man. Screw this. What did I get out of going along with this feminist “New Man” shit? Not a damn thing. Hell with it. I’m gonna be a macho pig, and the feminists can fuck off if they don’t like it.

Do We Live In a Patriarchy?

Repost from the old site.
In the comments section, two of my favorite bloggers, k&y of to the ambient void suggest that we live in a patriarchy today. I think that these two guys are both gay, but that’s fine with me, in fact, I think it’s great! I decided to call Sexmaniacman over to ask him what he thought of the notion that we live in a patriarchy today. Here’s what he wrote:

It’s easy for gay men to side with women in the War Between the Sexes because they’re not trying to fuck women, so they don’t have to put up with women’s bullshit that is inevitable in those of us who do.They’re trying to fuck guys in a gay culture that seems a Hell of a lot more sex-friendly and sex-positive than this chilly het culture with these censorious female and mostly feminist Comstocks wanting to beat us with rods every time we get a hardon.
Like to look at porn? You’re a woman-hater. Can’t get laid, poor guy? Haha, say the feminists, you loser. Now, me, a masculinist, I side with the guy. The guy’s not getting laid because of women. Women don’t put out that much, and they’re collectively refusing to fuck this guy, and then ridiculing him for it.
Like to girl-watch? You’re a woman-hater. Like to look a pictures of pretty girls in magazines or on TV or like to watch beauty pageants or have girlie pictures on your walls? You hate women. Excuse me, feminist ladies, but that is one chilly anti-sexual turd you’re laying on our sex parade. This society of yours, where 90% of the time guys get hardons, it’s due to “sexual objectification of women”, sucks.
I don’t know if we have a patriarchy or not. I go to the feminist sites and read about really horrible, obnoxious, and, yes, misogynistic behavior, and I feel tremendous empathy for these feminists in their frustration, depression and rage. Really I do. Now, these feminists probably hate me for being a dog, but I want to tell them that I feel your pain, ladies.
Thing is, if we have a patriarchy, I, being a male, am supposed to be on top and winning the race. Instead I feel like I’m getting fucked, and have been getting fucked for much of my life.
I don’t feel like I’m winning, or like I’m a member of some male ruling class, or anything like that. A lot of my non-rich male friends feel that way. They feel like an oppressed class, not some member of some ruling class called a patriarchy. I can’t think of one benefit I ever got in my whole damned life due to having a dick.
So a lot of us are pissed at feminists. Feminists are sitting on the sidelines, screaming that we’re a ruling class that’s oppressing them, and we don’t feel like we’re oppressing anyone. As for being a ruling class, a lot of us can hardly pay the rent, much less take out one of these expensive things called females.
In the same way a lot of White guys are mad at White Privilege Theory and the notion that we live in a White Supremacist society. What did I ever get from being White. How was I ever privileged in life? I can barely even pay my rent and bills. I’m privileged how now? I’m oppressing who now? It’s the same thing – they say we are in a White ruling class but a lot of us feel like an oppressed underclass.
It also kind of pisses off us het guys that so many women are still gold-diggers, I mean whores, I mean, well, what do I mean? They want money, our money. Much of it, most of it, all of it, whatever. They go for the guy with the most money. If we don’t have lots of money, we don’t get laid. Worse, we are not even men.
The number of women who have abandoned this collective gendered money-grubbing thievery of us men is small, although some middle-aged women start to leave it behind, because they lose their looks and are not much wanted anymore, so they can’t sell their fucking pussies anymore. If you’re a woman going for the rich guys, you’re a whore. You’re selling your pussy for money, real simple. If you’re not a whore, what are you?
What does feminism say about this ubiquitous behavior? Nothing, nothing, nothing. The silence is deafening. You see the charts about how women make less money than we do. Are they including the zillions of dollars women steal from men by selling their pussies to us?
Nowadays a lot of women make as much money as we do, or more. My girlfriends always seemed to make more money than I do, and that, by the way, pretty much ruins any het relationship nowadays. Even though these bitches made more money than I did, I still had to pay for every single fucking thing when we went out anywhere.
All her money’s for her, and all my money’s for her. Nice arrangement. Nice rip-off arrangement. Rip-off of me that is.
What does feminism say about this grasping whoredom? Nothing at all! Well, I’m a guy and it pisses me off. My friends and I regularly refer to women as “whores”, because from our vantage, that’s what they are.
We’ve discussed this with some women. Those who responded civilly suggested that when you get married, the woman’s not whoring anymore, but then the conniving bitch gets 1/2 my money for the rest of my life.
Does this sound like patriarchy to you? Sounds like women on top and us lowly males as some kind of Underclass.
I’m tired of a lot of feminists, though I do support a lot of, or most of, their goals.
What I’m tired of is this anti-sex shit. They seem like they don’t want me to get laid. And they don’t want my friends to get laid. They don’t even want me or my friends to look at women in public. God forbid we look at pornography. I’m not allowed to look at any sexual depictions of women whatsoever. That’s reducing women to sex objects.
Well, fuck.
If I’m horny, women are sex objects to me. Sorry.
I’m not gay. I’m interested in fucking women. Have been my whole life.
My surfer friends on the beach used to fuck everything female that moved. They’d rent a house on the beach, have permanent kegs of beer, sell dope, and screw 100 women a summer, three a day. These guys were my idols, but I could never quite do it like they did, no matter how hard I tried. It seemed like they were trying to set new world records. I understand that feminists hate this behavior and regard it as misogyny.
Well fuck me.
I guess I’m a boys will be boys, girls will be girls type. I notice 3rd world women take the attitude that all men are dogs and nothing can be done about this, so don’t worry about it. That seems a lot more helpful.
I’m basically a dog anyway when it comes to women. I’ve always been one. I may not even be capable of monogamy. At various times in my life, I’ve been a compulsive womanizer. I understand feminists hate compulsive womanizers and say we’re misogynist.
Well, fuck you, feminists.

Sexmaniacman is a Rapist

Repost from the old site.
I thought this definition of a the crime of sexual violence was interesting:

Regarding the “incapable of giving consent” hypothetical you posited, my response is, violence and/or a crime occurs when anyone’s body is touched beyond incidental contact or for more than a brief instant unless the person being touched affirmatively gives permission for such contact.It is not the “responsibility” of the person being touched to give permission. It is the responsibility of the person doing the touching to ensure that the other person has voluntarily given permission. If the other person is “incapable” of giving permission, for whatever reason, that means no permission has been given, and a crime has been committed.

Along the same lines, the feminazis says every time you have sex with a drunk woman, you are raping her. I decided to ask Sexmaniacman his opinion on this definition of rape.
Sexmaniacman:

According to that definition, I’ve been raping women and girls all my life! I’ve always touched women, I’ve reached around and jumped them and started kissing them, I’ve grabbed them, thrown them up against walls in public and kissed them, I’ve done all these things. I always grabbed women or touched them, and I never asked permission first.In general, most of the time, permission was granted, though sometimes, when I tried to go beyond kissing, she stopped me.
I picked up a hot 20 yr old woman at a Hollywood nightclub, the Anticlub, two minutes after walking in the door, then had sex with her in my car while driving around Hollywood at 1 AM (to the extent you can have sex with someone while driving a vehicle) then after the show, she tried to weasel out of coming home with me.
I pointed to her, pointed to the car, and said, “You are going home with me. Now get in the car.” It was an order, but she was free to refuse, and I was laughing. I sneered at her like Johnny Rotten. She smiled, sneered back, and said, “Says who?” I said, “Says me.” Women love guys who give them orders and they love to follow orders. So she got in the car. Quite willingly.
I drove her home and we had sex on the 5 Freeway in Downtown LA at 3 AM while going 55 miles an hour, to the extent one can do such a thing. Good thing I didn’t crash the car. I deny that this was either kidnapping or rape, but it was pretty fun.
Another time I had sex with a drunk 14 yr old (I was 16) on the rooftop of an apartment building at 2 AM, and later she went around telling everyone I raped her. I didn’t rape her; she was drunk. I deny that this was rape.
Another time I went to a punk rock show with this beautiful 20 year old named Linda and we both came back, drunk, to my house. I got her on my couch, pulled up her top and started feeling her breasts. “Pleease let me go home,” she whined unconvincingly in her best little girl voice.
“No!” I said. “You’re staying right here!” I was pissed that I went to all this damn trouble and she was trying to weasel out of the dicking, like they always do.
Plus, earlier in the evening, both of us drunk, she had put me in a shopping cart and raced me up and down some 2 AM streets. She kept “dropping her lighter” on my groin in the cart, and then “having to fish around to find it”. Now she was trying to get out of the boning. Well fuck that. The Hell you are, woman.
She was free to leave at any time, as the cops say. “Now get over on that bed right now!” I said, half-smiling and not really threatening. I’m not sure what happened later. Finally I just said, “Fine, you don’t want to have sex, I’ll just sleep on the couch. You take the bed. See you in the morning.”
Then I lay back on the couch and closed my eyes. Next thing I remember, she was saying, “Come on over to the bed.” And so it went. I deny that this was false imprisonment or rape, but it was pretty fun, except when she started to puke in bed while we were having sex, grabbed her mouth, and ran to the bathroom and puked for a while.
Basically, with women, you have to read their minds. At some point, via telepathy, you figure you can make your move. At that point you just grab her and start kissing her. You can do it really aggressively or you can do it real soft and nice. Most of the time, it goes just fine. Having to ask permission for everything you do sexually is insane. If we had to do that, no one would ever get laid.
I’ve been having sex with drunken women most of my life, and I hope to continue doing so. A lot of women are way less inhibited when they’re drunk.
I’m embarrassed to admit that there have been quite a few times when I grabbed at women and they did not want to do go along, so they pushed me off or said no in some way or another, along the lines of, “Hey! Knock it off, asshole! Get your hands off me!” Most of the time, I did just knock it off right then, though sometimes I kept trying my luck, and she kept knocking my hands away, raising her voice.
I deny that this is rape or attempted rape or any crime at all. It’s actually something called “dating”, and I never got any sex any of those times anyway. Once they brush you off once, you might as well give up, because you aren’t getting any.
I don’t believe I’ve ever raped a woman according to the legal definition of the word. If she’s not interested, no problem. She has ownership of her body and the right to decide not to do this or that with me. As far as the feminist version of rape law above, well, they can just fuck off.

No Wonder White Men Are Pissed

Repost from the old site.
Cool post from the comments from an American mulatto woman, telling it straight up like it really is about masculinity, femininity and race:

I enjoyed reading your post. I am mixed-race, Black and white. I have been with both types of men. I feel that White males used to be much more masculine and the media portrayed them as masculine on TV, but now Black men are portrayed on TV as the heroes. On the other hand Asian men are under represented by the media. 
Black men are too masculine for me, and I am really not attracted to them.
I wish White guys were the way they use to be – in charge and take control. As a female I feel that a lot of this has to do with the feminist movement. No other men in the world give their women as much freedom as the White male, and in the end they tend to lose their woman to other men because they have let go and have given her too much power.
In turn, the White female now has the power and is in charge in most White relationships.
As a female I have observed the huge difference in how a White female treats a Black male as compared to a White male. It is like night and day.
She is much softer and feminine with the Black male and takes care of him and his needs. With White males, all you hear is there was lots of sex before marriage, then after that she cut off the sex, then has a kid to keep him in control. This strategy does not work with a Black male because he may or may not even marry the White female and may or may not assume responsibility for the child.
This makes the Black male appear as a challenge to a White female or any woman for that matter. Also White men are handsome and may have facial features that are handsome, but no male has the body of a Black male when they are in shape. Muscles make a man appear masculine. I don’t date black men mainly due to the fact that I find them to be very promiscuous.
With Asian men the problem is their height. I prefer a man at least 5’10 at least. I find when the Asian man is mixed with white they are usually taller and better looking.
As far as Black females I feel that European males appreciate them more than White American men.

We showed this post to Sexmaniacman, a decayed roué, of doubtful origin and uncertain means of subsistence straight out of the Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte.
That does it, Sexmaniacman said. I knew there was a reason I never married! Lots of sex before marriage, then tie the knot and no more sex. Then the kid-anchor, or ball and chain. The anchor plus the no sex. Plus the bitching, carping, emasculating shrew-thing you’re forced to co-habit with.
I think at that point I might be feeling homicidal, he averred. Towards my wife, Sexmaniacman said. Yes, you read that correctly. Living alone sounds like a tropical island by comparison, and plus Sexmaniacman still doesn’t have any murder convictions yet.
Well, of course. The masculinity thing. Like the Kabbalist conception of God – that which can not only never be discussed, but can never be conceptualized either. Can you discuss masculinity with other males? You jest. With a group of males? The conversation will be shut down in no short order. With females? Oh, but they don’t understand.
Boo hoo. They whine sorrowfully, full of pity. Why are we fragile males so concerned about such a meaningless subject? Why are you guys so worried about that anyway? What’s the big deal? Why can’t you relax about it? After all, women don’t have complexes about their femininity, or whether or not they are a woman. They get furious when we won’t cry. And why should we? Men don’t cry, you know.
Read the story above, lady. That’s why it matters. Feminist Woman created Wormboy, and she’s been stomping her foot in frustration and screwing sociopathic Black men ever since. They demand that we cry like woosies, Sexmaniacman pointed out, then they get furious when we do because even they know crying’s not manly.
Unlike Sexmaniacman’s mother’s generation, they delight in attacking our masculinity when they get mad. Sexmaniacman’s Mom shook her head when he told her that. “Oh Sexdude, hun,” she said solemnly, putting her hand on his shoulder. “We would never do that. That’s one thing we would never do.”
Like guys in prison with Mom on their shoulder, Sexmaniacman cherishes his mother. If anyone suggests that he’s too close to her, he’ll just threaten to slit their throat, just like that.
It’s not just guys like Sexmaniacman who get it. All men do. The most macho guys Sexmaniacman ever knew have been taunted with this shit, and they are the most furious and homicidal of all about it.
One day Killerdude and Sexmaniacman were drinking and getting high.
Killerdude was feeling angry and homicidal, but that was ok, because men are supposed to feel that way sometimes. “Sexman. Bro. I want to kill her,” he confided. “I want to kill that fucking bitch.”
Sexmaniacman’s ears perked up. “Oh? Who?” It wasn’t every day they talked homicide.
Killerdude looked at the ground. He’d been shooting coke and doing lots of PCP lately. Just the other day, he was lying on the ground at Sexmaniacman’s place, pissing his pants, orbiting the solar system on angel dust, while Sexmaniacman and his friends were drinking and laughing at the spectacle.
“My old lady. I want to kill my old lady. I swear. I swear. If I could get away with it. I swear. If I could get away with it, I’d do it. Just like that. I’ve thought about it many times. I’ve got it all planned out. The crime, the weapons, the getaway, the whole thing. I just need you to swear you won’t tell.”
Sexmaniacman didn’t have any tea to stir, but he wanted to. He took a swig of beer instead. “Maybe. Maybe I could. Why? What did she do to you?”
Sexmaniacman knew Killerdude could do it, and he knew the bitch deserved it.
Killerdude was quiet. His mood was bleak and scary. “She took my kid. She won’t let me see my kid. And she attacks me. She attacks me as a man. She attacks my manhood. I can’t tolerate that.”
Sexmaniacman understood completely. In Man World, such a crime could and often did carry the death penalty. You attacked a real man’s manhood at your own risk, knowing that he may try to kill you anytime you did it.
“Yeah. I’ve seen that. She calls you Pipsqueak. You. Of all people. The most macho guy that ever lived. A lot of other dudes, I can see it. But you? No way.”
Killerdude is livening up. “Yeah!” He’s smiling and frowning, and he’s nervous and agitated, and it looks like he’s going to cry, all at once. “You’ve heard that? You’ve heard that? You heard that shit?”
Sexmaniacman was quiet. “Yeah.” He shook his head with mournful outrage. “I’ve seen it. Unbelievable. She practically deserves to be killed just for that right there.”
Killerdude is out of his chair, jumping up and down, spilling his beer. “Cheers!” They clash bottles.
Attacking their manhood, the ultimate weapon of modern woman. The weapon that violates all rules of the World of Men. For in Man World, there are all sorts of highly intricate rules, and there is even a Geneva Convention. If you attack a man’s masculinity, that’s a war crime, and he has a right to punch you, and no one can stop him. He doesn’t have a right to kill you, but many times he’ll do it anyway.
Well, women get to violate all the rules of Man World and violate all the conventions too. All war crimes are on the table. The bitches can do anything, and we can’t even raise a pipsqueak in defense, Sexmaniacman noted angrily, or they call the cops and lie and say we beat them.
Sexmaniacman actually opposed misogyny, believe it or not. Misogynistic porn and misogynistic websites make him frown. The web sites tell how to treat your woman just shitty enough in some certain ways to make her really love you. Yuck.
A friend told Sexmaniacman, “You can’t be a nice guy to women, Sexguy. You’ve got to be an asshole. You’ve got to be an asshole to women. That’s what they want. They want to be treated like shit by a macho jerk so they can sit around with their girlfriends and complain about how their boyfriend treats them like shit.”
Sexmaniacman has a feeling he’s right, but it bothers him, and he thinks he still can’t do it.
I really don’t care if girlfriends hate me, Sexmaniacman said. They can hate me all they want to, as long as they still keep coming around. They can call me names, insult me, call me lazy, rage at me, threaten to kill me or cut my dick off. It’s not exactly optimal, but it’s pretty much unavoidable. Hopefully, I’ll just laugh in her face, Sexmaniacman thought.
Just hate me as a man, that’s all I ask.
Don’t hate me as a not-man, Sexmaniacman said. That I won’t tolerate. No wonder that’s their favorite weapon, their secret weapon.
Don’t date other guys, or screw other guys, and wave them in my face, just to taunt us, Sexmaniacman said, waving his beer bottle in the air and taking a swig.
Yeah.
Women do this to us nowadays. They don’t just screw other guys while they are with us. That might be tolerable if they were civilized enough to keep it a secret, but of course they’re not.
No, they do it right in front of our faces. They parade the new guy, or the other guy, or whoever the Hell the jerk is, around right in front of our faces, just daring us to do something about it. Hard to believe? Just try.
Feminist Woman created Wormboy, and she’s been stomping her foot in frustration and having masochistic sex with 80 IQ thugs and ex-cons, ever since.

Sexmaniacman Is A Creep

Repost from the old site.
It’s official. Sexmaniacman is a creep. And a pervert. And he’s proud.
Sexmaniacman just learned the definition right here. First of all, “creep” is a woman word, and no real male would commonly use such a word as a noun or a verb. Sexmaniacman just doesn’t use it in general, because he’s a real man, not a pussified ally of the females, but every now and then, it’s appropriate.
For instance, Sexman’s Mom works at a college. There was a male student there for a while, socially inept, who used to hide under and behind cars out in the parking lot and jump out at the college girls. I guess he thought it was funny or something.
The girls were not amused and they kept complaining to the administration. With some regret, Sexmaniacman will admit that this guy’s behavior is creepy. But really, it’s only creepy in that they don’t find him attractive.
If Leonardo DiCaprio was hiding behind cars and jumping out at them, about 50% of these fine upright examples of innocent American feminine goodness, purity and light would have fucked him already (Not that they’re sluts or anything like that!), and most of their “sweet and innocent” friends would be waiting in line.
So it’s not necessarily the behavior that these silly little woman-children don’t like, it’s the fact that the guy is unattractive, unwanted and unappealing, and then he’s trying his luck with them.
He realizes this was frightening to the girls, but Sexmaniacman happened to know the idiot who was doing this, and it’s just his opinion that the guy’s completely harmless, though obviously a social retard.
These strong, modern, rough, tough, feminist puffed-up ladies should have just told him to fuck off a few times, and probably it would have all stopped. But apparently they kept running away like the little girls they really are deep down inside, so the behavior continued for too long.
So, yeah, Sexmaniacman is obviously a fucking creep according to the definition above. Plus he’s a pervert. He never was one, but then he hit 47 or so, and now he can’t look at young women anymore in case he gives them a heart attack or induces post-traumatic stress disorder or molests them with his eyeballs requiring years of weepy and bank-breaking therapy sessions to untwist their poor fragile psyches.
Sexguy is perfectly aware that the vast majority of young women don’t find guys his age attractive anymore. That’s very painful for him to realize. He looks at younger women, and he doesn’t think, “Wow, I have a chance with her.” Instead, she often reminds him of so and so who he dated or slept with back in 1978. So he’s looking at them and reminiscing, wistful memories of days gone by. And if that pisses you little bitches off, well he says too fucking bad.
They looked great then, and they look great now.
Beauty contestants focus on females aged around 18-20. Other than the fact that they probably can’t use minors, the reason they do this is because at this age, females of all races, in all cultures, and at all times, are at the peak of their physical beauty.
It’s a common myth that a guy hits 45 and 50 and can’t get an erection anymore. Actually, many of us guys still can and do, believe it or not, Sexmaniacman noted. We may be old, but we’re not dead. You can’t touch a 16-17 year old girl with a 10-foot pole and an 11-foot extension, but they sure are nice to look at. If acknowledging this makes Sexdude a pervert and a fucking creep, then he will wear that badge proudly.
Sexmaniacman probably wouldn’t want to sleep with them even if it were legal, because it’s impossible to have an intelligent conversation with these silly girly things. Not that older women are much better!
Good.
From the site:

I think I’ve generally come to the conclusion that a lot of women’s definition of a “creepy guy”/pervert is: 
A guy they find unattractive, who checks them out.
Most straight women, of course, liked to be noticed by guys they find attractive, and a lot of women will dress to attract men they fancy. The problem a lot of women seem to have is, is that there’s an unwanted side effect. If they dress sexy, they not only get looked at by the sexy guys, they also get looked at by the guys they don’t fancy.

Well, yeah, duh. If you don’t want us to look at your fucking tits, Sexmaniacman suggested, then don’t walk around with your boobs hanging out. If you’re showing cleavage, or God forbid have your tits halfway hanging out, Sexbro is going to look right at them, Goddamn it, and fuck you if you don’t like it. If it pisses you off so much, dress like a lady for Chrissake.

It’s like during the 1980’s when all political correctness issues came to the fore with a vengeance. In a work setting, a bloke could chat a woman up. If she fancied him, it was fine and dandy. If she didn’t, it was called sexual harassment. 

Yeah.
Sexcat figure that’s probably what’s going on in a lot of this sexual harassment bullshit. He remembers he worked at a place once where the whole office freaked out because some poor schmuck asked a woman out. To look at the guy, Sexman figured he probably hadn’t been laid by a non-professional in at least months, so he had a God-given right to ask, and Sexguy felt deep sympathy for his sex-deprived brother.
She was being nice to him and talking him, and all the silly bitch had to do was say no and that was that. The guy was civilized, he would have just taken it like a man. But oh no, Ms. Silly made it into a capital fucking offense, and it was the talk of the whole office for a while.
Being a real guy, not a wuss, of course Sexbuddy took the guy’s side in this skirmish of the War Between Men and Women, but most of the “men” in the office sided with Ms. Silly, like knights running to save her honor.
Afterward the poor guy told Sexpal that management told him that sexual harassment guidelines said that employees should not be dating. Great. Here it is, in the modern US, where so many of us are working long hours, and we can’t date at work. Great. So how are we supposed to get laid?
Sexmaniacman finally had to adopt some new rules to deal with this bullshit, but he realized he was not the only one. He read a sociology paper about guys who moved down to Costa Rica. One guy said when he was 50, an uppity 17 year old girl spit at him for looking at her. I guess that was the last straw, and he high-tailed for the sexually relaxed tropics.
His 43 year old sick, perverted, creepy brother had some advice: “Sexguy! Look. Invest in some sunglasses! I look at them all the time. That’s one of the great things about being in junior college – I’m surrounded by 18-20 yr old hotties!”
Sexdude’s new rules were to avoid looking at obviously underage girls or sometimes even those around 18-20, but it was so hard to tell ages. He’d look at em a bit, see if they looked back, and if they didn’t, he’d try not to look at them too much. Kind of hard to do when they are young and beautiful!
Sexmaniacman also noticed something disturbing about this bullshit. As much as these silly little twats claimed they hated it, he could not help but notice that a certain number of them (Definitely not all but for sure some!), often the better looking and older ones (18-23 or so), relished the attention they got from him.
They deliberately strutted, tipped, weaved, swayed and sashayed, flirted and winked, stole glances and battled lashes. At the stores, they shoved the others out of the way so they could ring up Sexman and reap the harvest of his loving eyeballs. They smiled at him coquettishly and made bullshit excuses to get up and strut in front of him, to nowhere and to do nothing, and then traipse back, basking in the warm, delicious rays of his sick, pervy, aging gaze.
They looked at him out of the corner of their eyes and winked. When he wasn’t looking, they moved way too close and pretended to look at store things they weren’t interested in. Sexmaniacman would look down, notice a 16 year old just about brushing her tits up against him, and pretend nothing was happening.
It sure was an idiotic little girl game these female things were playing, but females often don’t make much sense to Sexguy. Some were jockeying for the eyeballs and others were bitching about illegal looking. Were some of them one and the same? Who knows?
Sexmaniacman thinks we can look at them all we want, that’s his position. If they don’t like it, they can call the cops, or take pictures of us with their bitchy cellphones and post them on their screechy blogs, or sit around and carp to their girlfriends about us.
There’s also a right and wrong way to look, Sexman thought. You look a little bit, you look away, a while later, you look again. Staring is pretty uncool.
Sexmaniacman can’t remember the last time he catcalled a woman. That’s rude, and he’s not rude.
Sexmaniacman doesn’t rub up against women, but when he was a lot younger, especially at bars and rock concerts, women were always rubbing up against him and touching him, because he was drop dead gorgeous guy, especially when he wore a beat-up 1950’s James Dean leather jacket.
Touching and groping is rude, and he’s not rude.
Jerking off in public is illegal, and guys who do that deserve cuffs.
However, he objects to the whole Feminazi mindset behind this bullshit movement, mostly because they haven’t specified where harassment begins and where it ends. Supposedly the females get to make up the rules here, on an individual, case by case basis! Great!
Webpage here, and most of these guys portrayed here are idiots, Sexguy agrees, but he’s still worried that there are no boundaries here. Sexman is particularly disturbed by the modern notion that he can no longer talk to teenage girls or young women in any way or at any time or about anything, since they automatically assume he’s trying to pick up on them, when usually he’s just trying to make some innocent conversation.
Also, the silly feminist bitch idea is that all women hate being looked at. Bullshit.
Sexman’s beautiful aunt was in the Castro District of San Fransisco eating at a cafe with Sexman’s Mom. His aunt is a silly woman, like most women are at least sometimes.
She’s getting all upset. “None of these men are looking at me,” she pouted huffily. She’s beautiful, and male looks are like vitamins for her soul.
Duh. They’re all gay.
Sexmaniacman also knows some older women who love to be or would love to be looked at. One, 50 years old, mournfully told him that she wishes men or even boys would look at her. One delighted in telling him how young men and even boys continued to check her out, and how she loved every second of it, being 50 years old.

The War Between The Sexes

Repost from the old site.
Ok, look. If you’re heterosexual and involved with women, especially sexually involved, you’re going to get into fights. That’s pretty much just all there is to it. The more women you date and sleep with, the more fights you will get into. If you act bad, like Sexmaniacman does, or are probably incapable of monogamy, as Sexmaniacman is also, you’re going to really attract a lot of fury.
But you’re also going to get it if you’re just a mild and soft-spoken, non-macho type guy. This will bring out the shrieking, cackling dominatrix in most any woman, and these guys often end up with real bitch types.
Why? In part because no other man would put up with these bitches. Any normal, macho type guy, paired with an evil bitch like this, well, he would just leave. Sexmaniacman says he would either leave, or if not, he would just have to kill the bitch.
So the only guys who won’t murder them or run out the door are wimpy guys. Also, normal, feminine, submissive type women don’t really like wimpy guys, so they go for macho guys. Wimpy guys and bitches are stuck with each other. They both hate their roles, but there’s no alternative but singleness and masturbation.
I asked Sexmaniacman what he felt about this and this is what he said:

Thanks Bob, for letting me post on another sex-related topic. I’ve dated, or slept with, or whatever, something like 10 Black or mulatto women. I don’t really mind em. They are kind of aggressive though. But the ones from the Caribbean, North Africa and even Black Africa are much less so. They are often quite submissive and feminine. I’m not really into aggressive women. I’ve dated enough bitches for 20 lifetimes, and one of my mottoes is no more bitches! I don’t have to worry about the former girlfriend bitches, because I already killed all of them! LOL! Just kidding! That’s funny, huh?

Interview pauses for about five minutes while he falls off his chair laughing, rolling on the floor.

No, really man, I’m going to be single for the rest of my life before dating another emasculating, ball-breaking, cruel, mean, sadistic bitch. 
I’m having a hard time figuring just what is a bitch though. I mean, women have a right to get mad at us, right? I really think they they do. Women have a right to get furious at me, throw non-lethal objects at me, threaten me, push me, shove me, threaten to kill me, threaten to cut my balls off, call me every evil name in the book as long as it doesn’t imply I’m not a man.
I guess what I’m saying is I don’t mind women getting mad at me as long as they are getting mad at me as a man, and acknowledging that I am a man in that process. It would be helpful if I did something to piss her off, but it’s not necessary. All women are bitches sometimes, whether we provoke them or not.
I don’t mind if it feels like she is retaliating, getting back at me, fighting back against me, calling me cruel, mean, evil, bastard, asshole, etc. It’s not ideal, but it’s probably inevitable. She’s attacking me from the point of a view of an outraged women defending herself against a masculine, objectionable, caddish, rougish, man.
She’s a victim of a cruel, mean, evil, assholeish, aggressive man who has hurt her terrible. She’s fighting back, as a victim retaliating against an aggressor, and that feels ok. I’m sitting there laughing in her face the whole time and she’s getting even more pissed.
Plus, this is the way relationships are supposed to be – I’m the masculine, dominant male and she’s the feminine, submissive female, albeit a highly combative one at this point.
Ok, so why does some of it feel so objectionable? I guess I don’t like blatant sadism, attacking me in public just to publicly humiliate me, laughing in my face, condescending towards me, mocking me, belittling me, ridiculing me, or certainly attacking my masculinity in any way or implying that I’m not much of a man.
It’s like she’s the aggressor and I’m the victim. She’s beating up on me. I’m a wimp and I’m just sitting there taking it and I haven’t even done anything to fucking provoke her, except maybe not make enough money for her money-grubbing hands to grab and shove into her purse!
I feel like a pussy, or a fag, or a wimp, or not much of a man. If they do it in public, Mexican men and women look at me like, “You fucking pussy! You wimp! You wuss! You LET your woman talk to you like this public! Faggot!” And she’s doing this to me in public of course just to provoke precisely that sort of reaction.

Peeping Toms

Repost from the old site.
I was doing some research on paraphilias for the Joseph Duncan stories when I came across voyeurism. I don’t think I’ve ever engaged in any voyeurism, certainly not the criminal kind. But one thing always bugged me about this law.
What exactly does it mean? It bothered me because the law seems to imply that there’s something perverted about watching a woman take her clothes off, take a shower or walk around naked. That doesn’t sound so perverted to me. That sounds like my idea of a good time!
In reading some stories about some voyeurs that got arrested, it turns out that almost all of these guys are engaged in obviously criminal behavior. They typically are on private property, and they are up against someone’s bedroom or bathroom window, looking at a woman undress. Ok, that’s clearly a violation and a crime.
Another case involved a guy who poked holes in the ceiling of a woman’s bathroom so he could spy on the. Ok, that’s a crime too.
A woman has a reasonable expectation of privacy in her own home or in windows accessible only from her own property, and in a ladies’ bathroom.
But one thing has always bugged me. I’ve lived in plenty of apartments. Now, what if I’m sitting in my apartment one night and I look across at the apartments across the way, and there’s a woman in there, undressing, or walking around naked, or whatever. Ok, so do I get to look at her? Or am I a voyeur?
I don’t think such a thing has ever happened to me, but I would think that would be legal. If you don’t want people to look at you, draw the fucking curtains or blinds. If you’re walking around in your apartment naked in front of an open window, you’re an exhibitionist or a future stripper!
This article in particular bothered me. This woman thinks that all people with “paraphilias” should go on sex offender lists forever. WTH? She particularly singled out voyeurs for abuse.
Here’s a couple of interesting cases. These stupid women were walking around in their apartments that had broken blinds. I don’t know if they were walking around naked or what. Well, anyway, this guy was watching them walk around their apartments. They called the cops on him and said he was a peeper. He said if you don’t want people watching, fix your damn blinds! The cops told the women to fix their blinds, and they let the guy off. Good job cops!
Here’s another one. These two retarded female college students, Rosanne Strott and Emily Niland were in their dorm room at Wentworth College having lesbian sex at night. With the fucking light on. With the fucking blinds up.
So, of course, some guys across the way settle in for the show. Why not? I might have settled in for the show too! Grab me a beer! Then the guys make a video out of it and put it on the damn Internet. Now, the Internet stuff may have gone too far, but these bitches are just stupid. If you want to have lez sex without an audience, either turn out the lights or draw the blinds or both.
“You can’t violate people’s privacy like that and expect to get away with it,” said one silly bitch. Jesus Christ woman! You decide to have sex with the lights on and the blinds up for the whole damn world to see and guess what? You have no privacy.
I decided to ask Sexmaniacman about this because he’s an expert on all sex stuff:

Bob, this has been bugging me for a while too. I’m not sure if I’ve ever been a voyeur either! I’ve watched plenty of porn, and I’ve been to a ton of strip shows. Hell, I used to practically live in porno theaters and strip joints! I’m a pervert! Haha! Fuck you, puritans!It was the summer of 1977, and I was working and living at Yosemite National Park. I was living on park food, marijuana, and young women! Good diet! Haha! Well, one day I was off work and I saw these two women sunbathing by the beach of the Merced River. I thought they had black bikinis, but then I figured out they were naked. You do the math! This was before the shaving era! Haha!
So I strolled down there, looking at them all the time. Ok, so am I a fucking voyeur? Yeah, I was looking at em. They’re naked women, you think I won’t look at em? I get down to the beach, and there’s these two naked hippie chicks, both 19. I introduce myself, and say hello.
Now, according to the psycho feminist cunts from Hell, I’m sexually harassing these chicks! Women have a right to lay around fucking naked anytime they want, and if any man looks at em or God forbid walks up to them to chat or join them, he’s harasser and a misogynist. Well, fuck me, feminists!
I take off my sandals and shirt but not my shorts. So I go into the river with my shorts on cuz I’m too shy to take them off. In the water, I take my shorts off and I’m naked. Now, according to feminazis, I’m a fucking rapist! You see, I need to ask permission to do this shit!
I look back at the women and the feminazis would predict they’d be throwing their clothes on and screaming rape and calling the cops on the sex offender! Well, instead, they’re nudging each other and going, “Hey look, he’s naked, whoo-hoo,yeah, check him out, he’s hot!”
What do you know, feminist cunts! Amazing! Some women actually like naked men and don’t scream pervert and call the cops every time they see one! What’s bugging me is, what if they didn’t want me to take my shorts off? Am I a rapist? A paraphiliac? A sex offender? An exhibitionist? A sexual harasser?
WTF? One part of me says screw these damn laws. Give em to the lunatic feminists, and they’ll just use them as a sledgehammer to destroy innocent men.
Nothing happened afterward, no sex. I got out of the river, and we all put out clothes on and walked away. We met some hippie dude they knew from their travels around the country. I think they went off to smoke some dope. They promised to stop by my place at night, but they never did, of course.
Let me tell you another story. I was living in a rural area in the early 1990’s. I used to walk down the roads all the time and take hikes. I always had my binoculars with me, and I was always looking at stuff with em.
After a while, I learned that some shitty rumor had gone around the neighborhood about me, and about 100% of the fuckwads who lived up there believed it. They said I was peeping into people’s houses with those binoculars! They said I was a voyeur! WTF! That hit me like a brick when I heard it.
Yeah, I was looking at stuff. I was looking at birds! I’m a birdwatcher! I even had a Petersen’s Guide in my pocket the whole time. Did I ever look at any people? Dunno, maybe I saw some walking around. In their homes? Doubt it. Did I ever look at anyone’s home with my binoculars? Doubt it, unless maybe there was a bird in the yard!
Did I ever look inside anyone’s home with my binocs? Don’t recall, don’t think so, why the Hell would I do that? Was there a bird in the house? If no, I’m probably not gonna look. I’m one of those weirdo birdwatchers, remember? We’re into birds, not humans. You can see humans anytime, but when do you ever get to see a really hot bird?
This is what I hate about these shitty laws. I bet a lot of innocent people go down on this stuff and then on sex offender databases for life. I could have easily gone down on them myself. I had a whole neighborhood full of retarded White middle-class American fuckheads ready to swear to the cops that I was peeping on them. WTF?

Dope Makes You Act Intoxicated

Repost from the old site.

Reduces your performance in every way, is incapable of enhancing performance, and other lies.

This is one of the biggest lies of all about dope, and it needs to be challenged head on.

Most, if not all, non-users believe that all drugs make the user obviously intoxicated and reduce performance in all areas. I’ve tried to explain to them that drugs like cocaine and methamphetamine are stimulants, and hence don’t make you “fucked up.”

Instead, in the short term, they improve mental and physical performance. If you take a test on meth or coke, you will probably do better. The jury is still out on physical performance, but for at least some things, you will do better on coke or speed.

In the Valley here, farm workers are using meth to help them do their jobs. They’re able to work harder, pick more crops faster and work longer before they get tired on meth.

I’ve never driven a car on meth, but I have driven a car on amphetamine tablets. Works great. You can drive just fine on cocaine too. I don’t see why it’s illegal to drive under the influence of these drugs. Might as well make it illegal to drive under the influence of coffee.

Non-users only experience with drugs is with alcohol. Alcohol makes you obviously intoxicated as a general rule. But the other drugs don’t necessarily. Non-users find this clear fact almost impossible to comprehend.

I decided to ask Doperman about this:

Hi Bob, Doperman here. Thanks for letting me post here. Every time I took psychedelics (LSD, LSA, psilocybin, peyote), I assure you I knew completely what was going on.

I even drove a car once for 15 hours on a nice straight highway on a head full of acid. Another time I drove to Mexico with my brother, went to Tecate, cruised around a bit, and went back to the US and stayed at Cuyamaca State Park.

On the 15-hour trip, I don’t think I was normal, because I drove by the Owens River, and there were all these guys fly-fishing there, and they all looked up at me driving by like “What the fuck is with you man???!!!

I went into stores a few times and bought stuff, and at the end of the voyage, and stopped and got a motel room near the Nevada border at 1 AM. All flying on a head full of LSD.

I can act totally normal on any of those drugs.

Problem is you get these huge saucer eyeballs and it’s verging on a bust right there to be walking around in public. But people on acid don’t necessarily act all that different. You can’t even really tell that they’re on a drug if you see them. They’re not obviously intoxicated.

I once threw a party and at least 200 people showed up. At least among those who showed up at the beginning, a lot of them were on LSD. At the start, there was a house full of people high on acid. It wasn’t really obvious, and no one acted really weird or did anything crazy or stupid. Only a relative few LSD users act stupid or crazy or have to be hauled off by the cops. Most of them make it through the trip acting fairly normally.

Coke is the same way. The coke user is not obviously intoxicated either. You can’t even usually tell if someone is high on coke, because people don’t act all that much different when they are on it.

I don’t think people act all that different on speed either. I’ve seen a lot of people on that stuff and they typically don’t appear intoxicated.

It’s often the case that you cannot tell when someone is high on marijuana.

In my mid-20’s, I was living at home and getting my college degree. I was stoned out of my mind every night. I lived in the basement and had a separate entrance and a separate phone. My living at home included unwritten contracts stating that I could smoke pot and drink all I wanted to, and have visitors over until all hours of the night.

The folks were sleeping two floors up, so we had to turn down the music late at night. I didn’t have the right to fuck women at home, but I fought hard for that one. My Mom wouldn’t budge on that one. I used to violate it anyway. I had a separate entrance, and could sneak women in no problem.

My Mom even heard about the women I sneaked in and fucked, and if they were knock-dead gorgeous (some of them were) she was quite proud of her son in a perverse way. I’ll never be able to match Sexmaniacman (Who can?) but I did my best.

But my Mom could always tell when I was stoned, and she hated it. So if you’re around it a lot, maybe you can tell.

I’m an experienced pot smoker for 35 years off and on, and I typically don’t have the faintest idea if someone is stoned or not. How can you tell anyway?

Sexmaniacman On Borderline and Schizotypal PD

Repost from the old site.

A commenter notes:

Schizotypal was always the odd-man-out personality disorder — both literally and figuratively.

Sexmaniacman thinks he had a gf once who was both a Borderline and a Schizotypal:

Hi Bob, this chick was so nuts, man, oh man oh man. She had a dx of “Borderline Schizophrenia” and was a serious acidhead.

She proudly said, “I’ve always been crazy.” Her Mom was schizophrenic and had tried to stab her in the back and kill her when she was 4 years old. Her life was desolate, and she would move back and forth between all these different personalities that you could not keep track of.

She lived in Hollywood, was a fag hag and was always getting picked up by guys and abused. She let groups of guys gangbang her and all sorts of crazy shit. She was always telling stories about guys or groups of guys picking her up, tying her up, torturing her, having sex with her, and threatening to murder her.

The stories seemed almost too weird to be true, but she was an extreme submissive who obviously was giving off “hurt me” vibes that a lot of sicko dudes might have picked up on and acted on.

She was also a bit bi and had sex with women sometimes. But she liked young girls, like 14 years old! Whoa! She also liked young boys, like 13 years old, and she loved to entertain me with stories about breaking in 8th graders. She was an old pro at this. I thought it was just plain weird.

We were going to go a lesbian bar in Hollywood and try to pick up a girl to take home with us (that was real easy to do in LA, which is full of all kinds of gays, bis and swingers), but she was so weird, I figured we would never be able to pick up any decent women.

Her idea of a good time was going to a gay bar and hanging out there all nite. I said pass.

She literally ate acid by the handful, five or eight hits at a time.

I took her to a Cure concert and for some weird reason, all these Goth chicks were grabbing me and trying to molest me the whole time at the concert, even when I was with her. While we were walking around, while we were sitting at the concert, the women just wouldn’t leave me alone. The whole thing seems like a hallucination now. It was 1983. She was flying on a handful of acid.

I took her to see Pink Flamingos, we watched Divine eat dog shit off sidewalk, and she thought that was hilarious. We went to see The Story of O, which I thought was weird, but she insisted was the story of her life.

She kept wanting me to inflict pain on her in all these different ways (A LOT of women are into pain! Is that weird or what?) but I wasn’t really into being a sadist too much. I did inflict some pain on her, but I didn’t really enjoy it. She sure did! Damn right! But it was the weirdest joy, a joy in a bottomless sadness. I couldn’t relate.

We went at forever, and she was a real screamer. One night she turned me in the middle and said, “You know what, Sexman?”

“What?”

“You’re a good fuck.” She repeated that a few times.

I’d just been turned into a complete sex object by a woman, and I didn’t even care.

I’d leave her place at the end of the weekend. Her Hollywood apartment complex was full of all these Guatemalan and Mexican illegal aliens. It was 1984 and the invasion was well under way. I guess the guys had been listening to her sexual opera performance all weekend because as I walked out, the Hispanic guys would all stand up and start clapping for me and raising their beers.

Cheers to the Master Fucker! She would drink, take acid, smoke pot, do speed, and then grab a bottle of antidepressants and start taking pills and downing them with a glass of booze.

“Whoa!” I said. “What do you think you’re doing!”

“You don’t know the pain I’m in Sexguy,” she whimpered and started crying. “You have no idea what it’s like. I need this, Sexdude.”

I shrugged and hoped she didn’t die on my watch. Who wants to deal with a dead chick and cops?

She was schizotypal in that she used language in really weird ways, and even though she insisted she had all these friends, she seemed really isolated. Plus she was just flat-out fucking weird in a way that Borderlines simply are not. Like she was on another planet, an alien. Invariably, she accused me of being a fag too for some reason like all of her faggot friends, and that pissed me off.

I will say she had more insight into my personality at the time than most other women have ever had.

She used to regale me with stories about her gay friends. Her gay friends were all these seriously weird masochist dudes into the leather scene.

Her eyes got really wide.

“My friend Jim, he’s not satisfied until the welts are this big.”

That’s one of her sicko masochist gay friends. Every time she talked about them, I told her to shut up as she was grossing me out.

She stretched her fingers to make about a one inch measurement. In her eyes, she was trying to shock me and I know it turns her on. She wanted one-inch welts too. Obviously. Like Hell you’re getting ’em from me, you sick bitch, I thought.

She called me one time but I wasn’t home. A woman I knew was over at my place in my absence and answered the phone. “Tell Sexman it’s just me,” she sighed wearily into the phone. “It’s just me. Just V.” Her self-esteem was 80,000 leagues under the sea under an anchor. The woman hung up the phone.

Later the woman said: “That’s the woman you’re dating, Sexguy?”

“Yeah,” I sigh.

“Wow, she seems like she thinks she’s the biggest zero on the face of the Earth. How sad.” The woman shook her head, and an incredible sadness came over her face too, a hundred years’ worth.

“I know.”

I broke up with her.

“Can…you…at least…give me a reason, Sexcat?” V. whimpered into the phone.

“You’re just too nuts for me. I mean, I’m nuts, but I’m neurotic. You’re way more crazy than I am, and I just can’t deal with you. It’s like dealing with someone from another planet. I can’t handle you. Good luck in the rest of your life.”

She called me a few days later, crying.

“After you broke up with me, Sexbro, I put my fist through a wall, I was so mad. Now I have a hole in my wall.”

“Over me? You did this over me? Why? Don’t bother, V. Don’t smash walls over me. I’m not worth it. Smash walls over someone else…Look, I can’t handle this, this is way too nuts.”

I got a new girlfriend, K., pretty soon, and V. had given me VD like most sluts do, something called Trichomonas with no symptoms in the male. I immediately gave it to the new girl, and it causes four days of misery in the female. The new woman was pissed.

I said the only thing you can say when you give your girlfriend VD.

“Hey, don’t ever say I never gave you anything.”

I thought that was pretty funny.

She sure didn’t. Icy eyes shone at my across the room.

“That’s not funny, Sexman.”

“Yeah it is.”

“No it isn’t.”

I saw V. again two years later. She came down to visit me, an hour’s drive. I saw her on my porch like a lost poppy, the most forlorn thing you ever saw. We went inside and had some wild sex for a couple of hours. She got pissed at the way it ended and left in a huff.

I never saw her again.

I assume she’s dead, probably long ago. The way she was, she couldn’t have lasted long.

Sexmaniacman On Seduction

Repost from the old site.

Sexmaniacman just told me the following:

Hey Bob, a woman just told me that I have a take it or leave it attitude. I was interested, but obviously, I said, “Yeah, so what?” Then she said, “See? That was take it or leave it right there.” I said, “Sure, I know. So what.” Then she said that was what she loved about me (this take it or leave it attitude that she says she actually dislikes), and then mentioned how she wants to have sex with me.

For some reason, I thought, “Ho-hum, she wants to have sex with me, yawn.” And I like this woman. But this “I can take it or leave it” attitude towards sex feels really liberating. Make them work for it. I’m a privileged catch and you have to work to get me. I think women really despise guys who crawl all around trying to kiss up to them and accommodate them.

I never realized I had such a dicky attitude, but I think it’s the best. On the other hand, you should also try to be accommodating to others to some extent, and I do.

I’m reading this guy’s blog here, which is all about picking up chicks. It’s for young guys in their 20’s who are upper middle class yuppies. Everyone else needn’t bother to read.

I disagree with some of the stuff he says, but he does have some good points.

He says never complain about a lousy kiss from a woman. I disagree. You go to kiss a woman at the end of the date and she turns her cheek and lets you peck her cheek. Lean back and say, “Wow,” real sarcastically.

Most of the time, that will get her back up and she’ll start kissing you for real. If that doesn’t work, make fun of her. Say, “You call that a kiss? Where’d you learn how to kiss? You don’t even know how to kiss.” But say it humorously, not angrily.

Women actually like to be provoked. It works pretty good to suggest they can’t kiss worth a crap or they are probably frigid and lousy in bed. That’s a direct challenge, and a lot of the time, they will respond to it by showing you, “Damn right I know how to kiss/fuck, etc, baby!”

The mistakes he is talking about are guys who don’t know how to read women. You have to read women. You need to be an expert in verbal and nonverbal communication. I’m still learning this stuff every day, and I figure it’s a Lifetime Course. I can’t emphasize this strongly enough, because you really do need to learn this stuff in order to deal with women.

Here the guy asks his date to kiss him. I’ve always thought that’s the stupidest thing in the world to do. Never ask a new woman if she wants to have any kind of sex act. Don’t even ask your girlfriend if she wants to have sex. Let her ask you or take the initiative.

I’ve always just been a Rapist and an Attacker. I just grab at them or needle them with my feet or make rude sexual remarks. I always make a big joke out of it and I’m laughing and screwing around the whole time.

It’s hit or miss that way, but I’ve had sex with scores of women. The only new woman you should ask if she wants to have sex with you is a whore. Any other female is probably going to say no, and they don’t get better as they get older.

Generally, you have to wait until you get the proper signals that it’s ok to assault her. You might have to wait a while. The signals might never come, in which case you probably don’t assault her. Just figure she’s a lost cause and don’t date her anymore.

If you try to assault her and she pushes you away or threatens to call the cops (Yes, it’s happened to me) just shrug your shoulders, forget about her, and then act mildly put out the rest of the night. She’ll feel bad and try to make up for it. Act like, “Gimme one reason why I should date you again?” Not angry or anything, just “take it or leave it.”

Assault can be very soft, slow-motion and tender, like a movie that’s in slow motion, or you can just push her up against the wall and kiss her really hard. I’ve done both many, many times, and I do recommend this approach.

Bob, I remember one time I was out with this rock band. I was trying to screw the lead singer, whose name was Ann.

I won’t give you the name of the band because there were sort of big around LA for awhile (she’s still kind of famous and there are pics of her on the Net)and this might get back to me.

I just Googled her and it turns out that later she went solo and formed her own band and released some albums. She also played with some of the big LA punk bands. You can order her records on Amazon and some other places. She’s still performing up til 1989, then she’s gone.

There was another woman there, Linda, and I’d already had sex with her, but now we were sort of through. I think Linda and Ann were having sex at some point.

They were all a bunch of goth rockers and I was a punker with a leather jacket and an attitude. The goth guys were mostly fags or bi or might as well have been. If you were good looking, confident, cocky and didn’t act like a total queer, you could clean up with the goth chicks, who were mostly bi themselves, by the way.

You just had to play this role of arrogant, old-fashioned guy disgusted by all the rampant homo/bi-sexuality in the scene. The chicks all thought that mean and horrible and disgusting, but then they wanted to have sex with you too, because you know, you were really the only real man around.

I was in the back seat in a car full of this punk band’s members, and I kept reaching up in front and grabbing Ann. She was reaching back and we were playing games with fingers and grabbing or some shit.

Everyone else was talking and watching us like, “What are they doing, anyway?” I was partly doing this to piss off Linda, and she didn’t like it too much. But she wasn’t putting out anymore anyway, so I was a free man, and she needed to avert her eyes and shut up.

We were walking into this Denny’s at like 2 AM and I finally realized how pissed I was at Ann. She’d been teasing me like this for way too long. As we walked into the doorway, I suddenly grabbed her and shoved her up against the wall and kissed her real hard. Then, just as quickly, I let her go and smiled like nothing had happened.

The whole party (the band members) was like, “Whoa!”

Linda asked with a weird smile, like I was acting extremely weird, “Sexman, what do you think you are doing?”

Duh. What do you think I’m doing? Ann acted like she didn’t know what hit her, but she liked it of course. The guys in the band were like, “Whoa, this dude’s hardcore, man.”

We went to the table and everyone made sure Ann was out of reach of me because now I was a confirmed public assaulter-rapist, and they didn’t want any more scenes. But Ann was smiling and chatting me up the whole meal.

It’s good to give women orders too, Bob. Have you ever done that? Do. I picked up this woman in a bar once within like three minutes of walking into the joint. It was a place called the Anti-Club in Hollywood. It was 1985, the show was Christian Death, and it was too awesome.

Three minutes, I bought her a drink, had my arm around her and was feeling her up. We left the club for a while, drove around and sort of had sex in the car while driving around Hollyweird, then went back to the club.

At the end of the show, the date had gone sour, and she tried to ditch me.

I looked at her and said, “Hey, look, you don’t understand. You’re not going home with them. You’re going home with me.” Smiling the whole time.

That got her back up good. “Oh yeah? Who says?”

“Says me.” Still smiling.

“Wait a minute. Let me try something.” She tells me to stand up straight on the sidewalk and looks me up and down lasciviously for about a minute like it’s some kind of test.

“OK,” she said. So I drove her home from LA to Orange County and we managed to have sex in the car on the 5 Freeway in downtown LA going 55 miles an hour at 2 AM, which is always interesting.

She had the same name as my Mom. I told her that, and she acted disgusted, like, “Fuck your Mom, you wimp. Obviously you’re abnormally attached to her.”

Another time I had a new woman in my bedroom. I had her top off and was feeling her tits.

She whimpered, in this totally lame voice, “Please let me go home.”

Obviously she didn’t mean it.

I said, “No way, you’re staying right here.” Not real psycho-like, but firm nevertheless.

She was free to leave, as the cops say, and her car was in the driveway. At some point there was an argument.

I said, “Get over on that bed right now.” Same way, not real crazy, but firm nevertheless. She was free to say no.

Of course, she scurried over to the bed very obediently like a little puppy. Then, later, at some point, she didn’t want to have sex or something.

I just got out of bed, walked over to the couch and said, “Fine, if you don’t want to fuck, I’ll just sleep on the couch. You sleep on the bed. See you in the morning.”

And closed my eyes.

Not two minutes went by and I heard this little bird chirping, “Come on over to the bed.” You can guess what happens next.

So a proper mixture of assertiveness and indifference can sometimes work wonders.

I’m sitting here, Bob, thinking that I have to get rid of this take it or leave it attitude, but the major part of me says, “Who cares? This is the way I am, and I’m not out to kiss up to or accommodate everyone else. This is me and this is my style, like it or not, I’m not making any major changes to suit you or anyone else.”

This Roissy guy is going on and on about alpha males and beta males. I confess I don’t get it. What’s the difference? Do betas get lots of women, or is that impossible? I have a huge ego, I strut around like a rooster, I’m cocky and vain, and I think I’m Joe Hotshot With the Chicks and King of the World combined, even though it’s not true at all anymore. So is that alpha or what? I’m not sure I understand what he’s getting at.

Sexmaniacman On Seduction

Sexmaniacman just told me the following:

Hey Bob, a woman just told me that I have a take it or leave it attitude. I was interested, but obviously, I said, “Yeah, so what?” Then she said, “See? That was take it or leave it right there.” I said, “Sure, I know. So what.” Then she said that was what she loved about me (this take it or leave it attitude that she says she actually dislikes), and then mentioned how she wants to have sex with me.

For some reason, I thought, “Ho-hum, she wants to have sex with me, yawn.” And I like this woman. But this “I can take it or leave it” attitude towards sex feels really liberating. Make them work for it. I’m a privileged catch and you have to work to get me. I think women really despise guys who crawl all around trying to kiss up to them and accommodate them.

I never realized I had such a dicky attitude, but I think it’s the best. On the other hand, you should also try to be accommodating to others to some extent, and I do.

I’m reading this guy’s blog here, which is all about picking up chicks. It’s for young guys in their 20’s who are upper middle class yuppies. Everyone else needn’t bother to read.

I disagree with some of the stuff he says, but he does have some good points.

He says never complain about a lousy kiss from a woman. I disagree. You go to kiss a woman at the end of the date and she turns her cheek and lets you peck her cheek. Lean back and say, “Wow,” real sarcastically.

Most of the time, that will get her back up and she’ll start kissing you for real. If that doesn’t work, make fun of her. Say, “You call that a kiss? Where’d you learn how to kiss? You don’t even know how to kiss.” But say it humorously, not angrily.

Women actually like to be provoked. It works pretty good to suggest they can’t kiss worth a crap or they are probably frigid and lousy in bed. That’s a direct challenge, and a lot of the time, they will respond to it by showing you, “Damn right I know how to kiss/fuck, etc, baby!”

The mistakes he is talking about are guys who don’t know how to read women. You have to read women. You need to be an expert in verbal and nonverbal communication. I’m still learning this stuff every day, and I figure it’s a Lifetime Course. I can’t emphasize this strongly enough, because you really do need to learn this stuff in order to deal with women.

Here the guy asks his date to kiss him. I’ve always thought that’s the stupidest thing in the world to do. Never ask a new woman if she wants to have any kind of sex act. Don’t even ask your girlfriend if she wants to have sex. Let her ask you or take the initiative.

I’ve always just been a Rapist and an Attacker. I just grab at them or needle them with my feet or make rude sexual remarks. I always make a big joke out of it and I’m laughing and screwing around the whole time.

It’s hit or miss that way, but I’ve had sex with scores of women. The only new woman you should ask if she wants to have sex with you is a whore. Any other female is probably going to say no, and they don’t get better as they get older.

Generally, you have to wait until you get the proper signals that it’s ok to assault her. You might have to wait a while. The signals might never come, in which case you probably don’t assault her. Just figure she’s a lost cause and don’t date her anymore.

If you try to assault her and she pushes you away or threatens to call the cops (Yes, it’s happened to me) just shrug your shoulders, forget about her, and then act mildly put out the rest of the night. She’ll feel bad and try to make up for it. Act like, “Gimme one reason why I should date you again?” Not angry or anything, just “take it or leave it.”

Assault can be very soft, slow-motion and tender, like a movie that’s in slow motion, or you can just push her up against the wall and kiss her really hard. I’ve done both many, many times, and I do recommend this approach.

Bob, I remember one time I was out with this rock band. I was trying to screw the lead singer, whose name was Ann.

I won’t give you the name of the band because there were sort of big around LA for awhile (she’s still kind of famous and there are pics of her on the Net)and this might get back to me.

I just Googled her and it turns out that later she went solo and formed her own band and released some albums. She also played with some of the big LA punk bands. You can order her records on Amazon and some other places. She’s still performing up til 1989, then she’s gone.

There was another woman there, Linda, and I’d already had sex with her, but now we were sort of through. I think Linda and Ann were having sex at some point.

They were all a bunch of goth rockers and I was a punker with a leather jacket and an attitude. The goth guys were mostly fags or bi or might as well have been. If you were good looking, confident, cocky and didn’t act like a total queer, you could clean up with the goth chicks, who were mostly bi themselves, by the way.

You just had to play this role of arrogant, old-fashioned guy disgusted by all the rampant homo/bi-sexuality in the scene. The chicks all thought that mean and horrible and disgusting, but then they wanted to have sex with you too, because you know, you were really the only real man around.

I was in the back seat in a car full of this punk band’s members, and I kept reaching up in front and grabbing Ann. She was reaching back and we were playing games with fingers and grabbing or some shit.

Everyone else was talking and watching us like, “What are they doing, anyway?” I was partly doing this to piss off Linda, and she didn’t like it too much. But she wasn’t putting out anymore anyway, so I was a free man, and she needed to avert her eyes and shut up.

We were walking into this Denny’s at like 2 AM and I finally realized how pissed I was at Ann. She’d been teasing me like this for way too long. As we walked into the doorway, I suddenly grabbed her and shoved her up against the wall and kissed her real hard. Then, just as quickly, I let her go and smiled like nothing had happened.

The whole party (the band members) was like, “Whoa!”

Linda asked with a weird smile, like I was acting extremely weird, “Sexman, what do you think you are doing?”

Duh. What do you think I’m doing? Ann acted like she didn’t know what hit her, but she liked it of course. The guys in the band were like, “Whoa, this dude’s hardcore, man.”

We went to the table and everyone made sure Ann was out of reach of me because now I was a confirmed public assaulter-rapist, and they didn’t want any more scenes. But Ann was smiling and chatting me up the whole meal.

It’s good to give women orders too, Bob. Have you ever done that? Do. I picked up this woman in a bar once within like three minutes of walking into the joint. It was a place called the Anti-Club in Hollywood. It was 1985, the show was Christian Death, and it was too awesome.

Three minutes, I bought her a drink, had my arm around her and was feeling her up. We left the club for a while, drove around and sort of had sex in the car while driving around Hollyweird, then went back to the club.

At the end of the show, the date had gone sour, and she tried to ditch me.

I looked at her and said, “Hey, look, you don’t understand. You’re not going home with them. You’re going home with me.” Smiling the whole time.

That got her back up good. “Oh yeah? Who says?”

“Says me.” Still smiling.

“Wait a minute. Let me try something.” She tells me to stand up straight on the sidewalk and looks me up and down lasciviously for about a minute like it’s some kind of test.

“OK,” she said. So I drove her home from LA to Orange County and we managed to have sex in the car on the 5 Freeway in downtown LA going 55 miles an hour at 2 AM, which is always interesting.

She had the same name as my Mom. I told her that, and she acted disgusted, like, “Fuck your Mom, you wimp. Obviously you’re abnormally attached to her.”

Another time I had a new woman in my bedroom. I had her top off and was feeling her tits.

She whimpered, in this totally lame voice, “Please let me go home.”

Obviously she didn’t mean it.

I said, “No way, you’re staying right here.” Not real psycho-like, but firm nevertheless.

She was free to leave, as the cops say, and her car was in the driveway. At some point there was an argument.

I said, “Get over on that bed right now.” Same way, not real crazy, but firm nevertheless. She was free to say no.

Of course, she scurried over to the bed very obediently like a little puppy. Then, later, at some point, she didn’t want to have sex or something.

I just got out of bed, walked over to the couch and said, “Fine, if you don’t want to fuck, I’ll just sleep on the couch. You sleep on the bed. See you in the morning.”

And closed my eyes.

Not two minutes went by and I heard this little bird chirping, “Come on over to the bed.” You can guess what happens next.

So a proper mixture of assertiveness and indifference can sometimes work wonders.

I’m sitting here, Bob, thinking that I have to get rid of this take it or leave it attitude, but the major part of me says, “Who cares? This is the way I am, and I’m not out to kiss up to or accommodate everyone else. This is me and this is my style, like it or not, I’m not making any major changes to suit you or anyone else.”

This Roissy guy is going on and on about alpha males and beta males. I confess I don’t get it. What’s the difference? Do betas get lots of women, or is that impossible? I have a huge ego, I strut around like a rooster, I’m cocky and vain, and I think I’m Joe Hotshot With the Chicks and King of the World combined, even though it’s not true at all anymore. So is that alpha or what? I’m not sure I understand what he’s getting at.

Sexmaniacman is a Rapist

Repost from the old site. Sexmaniacman returns for another update in the Sex Wars. Bros before hos, guys!

I thought this definition of a the crime of sexual violence was interesting:

Regarding the “incapable of giving consent” hypothetical you posited, my response is, violence and/or a crime occurs when anyone’s body is touched beyond incidental contact or for more than a brief instant unless the person being touched affirmatively gives permission for such contact.It is not the “responsibility” of the person being touched to give permission. It is the responsibility of the person doing the touching to ensure that the other person has voluntarily given permission. If the other person is “incapable” of giving permission, for whatever reason, that means no permission has been given, and a crime has been committed.

Along the same lines, the feminazis says every time you have sex with a drunk woman, you are raping her. I decided to ask Sexmaniacman his opinion on this definition of rape.

Sexmaniacman:

According to that definition, I’ve been raping women and girls all my life! I’ve always touched women, I’ve reached around and jumped them and started kissing them, I’ve grabbed them, thrown them up against walls in public and kissed them, I’ve done all these things. I always grabbed women or touched them, and I never asked permission first.In general, most of the time, permission was granted, though sometimes, when I tried to go beyond kissing, she stopped me.

I picked up a hot 20 yr old woman at a Hollywood nightclub, the Anticlub, two minutes after walking in the door, then had sex with her in my car while driving around Hollywood at 1 AM (to the extent you can have sex with someone while driving a vehicle) then after the show, she tried to weasel out of coming home with me.

I pointed to her, pointed to the car, and said, “You are going home with me. Now get in the car.” It was an order, but she was free to refuse, and I was laughing. I sneered at her like Johnny Rotten. She smiled, sneered back, and said, “Says who?” I said, “Says me.” Women love guys who give them orders and they love to follow orders. So she got in the car. Quite willingly.

I drove her home and we had sex on the 5 Freeway in Downtown LA at 3 AM while going 55 miles an hour, to the extent one can do such a thing. Good thing I didn’t crash the car. I deny that this was either kidnapping or rape, but it was pretty fun.

Another time I had sex with a drunk 14 yr old (I was 16) on the rooftop of an apartment building at 2 AM, and later she went around telling everyone I raped her. I didn’t rape her; she was drunk. I deny that this was rape.

Another time I went to a punk rock show with this beautiful 20 year old named Linda and we both came back, drunk, to my house. I got her on my couch, pulled up her top and started feeling her breasts. “Pleease let me go home,” she whined unconvincingly in her best little girl voice.

“No!” I said. “You’re staying right here!” I was pissed that I went to all this damn trouble and she was trying to weasel out of the dicking, like they always do.

Plus, earlier in the evening, both of us drunk, she had put me in a shopping cart and raced me up and down some 2 AM streets. She kept “dropping her lighter” on my groin in the cart, and then “having to fish around to find it”. Now she was trying to get out of the boning. Well fuck that. The Hell you are, woman.

She was free to leave at any time, as the cops say. “Now get over on that bed right now!” I said, half-smiling and not really threatening. I’m not sure what happened later. Finally I just said, “Fine, you don’t want to have sex, I’ll just sleep on the couch. You take the bed. See you in the morning.”

Then I lay back on the couch and closed my eyes. Next thing I remember, she was saying, “Come on over to the bed.” And so it went. I deny that this was false imprisonment or rape, but it was pretty fun, except when she started to puke in bed while we were having sex, grabbed her mouth, and ran to the bathroom and puked for a while.

Basically, with women, you have to read their minds. At some point, via telepathy, you figure you can make your move. At that point you just grab her and start kissing her. You can do it really aggressively or you can do it real soft and nice. Most of the time, it goes just fine. Having to ask permission for everything you do sexually is insane. If we had to do that, no one would ever get laid.

I’ve been having sex with drunken women most of my life, and I hope to continue doing so. A lot of women are way less inhibited when they’re drunk.

I’m embarrassed to admit that there have been quite a few times when I grabbed at women and they did not want to do go along, so they pushed me off or said no in some way or another, along the lines of, “Hey! Knock it off, asshole! Get your hands off me!” Most of the time, I did just knock it off right then, though sometimes I kept trying my luck, and she kept knocking my hands away, raising her voice.

I deny that this is rape or attempted rape or any crime at all. It’s actually something called “dating”, and I never got any sex any of those times anyway. Once they brush you off once, you might as well give up, because you aren’t getting any.

I don’t believe I’ve ever raped a woman according to the legal definition of the word. If she’s not interested, no problem. She has ownership of her body and the right to decide not to do this or that with me. As far as the feminist version of rape law above, well, they can just fuck off.

Sexmaniacman Is A Creep

Repost from the old site. Sexmaniacman weighs in, as usual, in the Sex Wars, the War Between Men and Women, that is, the war that never ends, it never starts it never stops it just goes it never zeroes.

Sexguy takes the logical position, that, absent any true bad behavior on the part of the guy, he generally roots for the hometeam in the Sex Wars. The problem nowadays that way too many of our fellow “men,” the manginas, have are essentially moles, traitors, spies and internal saboteurs.

They live and work among us, they claim to be one of the guys, but when it comes down to brass tacks, they always root for the Female Enemy against their Fellow Man. Sexdude takes the logical position that males ought to adopt a “bros before hos” attitude, and I agree.

It’s official. Sexmaniacman is a creep. And a pervert. And he’s proud.

Sexmaniacman just learned the definition right here. First of all, “creep” is a woman word, and no real male would commonly use such a word as a noun or a verb. Sexmaniacman just doesn’t use it in general, because he’s a real man, not a pussified ally of the females, but every now and then, it’s appropriate.

For instance, Sexman’s Mom works at a college. There was a male student there for a while, socially inept, who used to hide under and behind cars out in the parking lot and jump out at the college girls. I guess he thought it was funny or something.

The girls were not amused and they kept complaining to the administration. With some regret, Sexmaniacman will admit that this guy’s behavior is creepy. But really, it’s only creepy in that they don’t find him attractive.

If Leonardo DiCaprio was hiding behind cars and jumping out at them, about 50% of these fine upright examples of innocent American feminine goodness, purity and light would have fucked him already (Not that they’re sluts or anything like that!), and most of their “sweet and innocent” friends would be waiting in line.

So it’s not necessarily the behavior that these silly little woman-children don’t like, it’s the fact that the guy is unattractive, unwanted and unappealing, and then he’s trying his luck with them.

He realizes this was frightening to the girls, but Sexmaniacman happened to know the idiot who was doing this, and it’s just his opinion that the guy’s completely harmless, though obviously a social retard.

These strong, modern, rough, tough, feminist puffed-up ladies should have just told him to fuck off a few times, and probably it would have all stopped. But apparently they kept running away like the little girls they really are deep down inside, so the behavior continued for too long.

So, yeah, Sexmaniacman is obviously a fucking creep according to the definition below. Plus he’s a pervert. He never was one, but then he hit 45 or so, and now he can’t look at young women anymore in case he gives them a heart attack or induces post-traumatic stress disorder or molests them with his eyeballs requiring years of weepy and bank-breaking therapy sessions to untwist their poor fragile psyches.

Sexguy is perfectly aware that the vast majority of young women don’t find guys his age attractive anymore. That’s very painful for him to realize. He looks at younger women, and he doesn’t think, “Wow, I have a chance with her.” Instead, she often reminds him of so and so who he dated or slept with back in 1978. So he’s looking at them and reminiscing, wistful memories of days gone by. And if that pisses you little bitches off, well he says too fucking bad.

They looked great then, and they look great now.

Beauty contestants focus on females aged around 18-20. Other than the fact that they probably can’t use minors, the reason they do this is because at this age, females of all races, in all cultures, and at all times, are at the peak of their physical beauty.

It’s a common myth that a guy hits 45 and 50 and can’t get an erection anymore. Actually, many of us guys still can and do, believe it or not, Sexmaniacman noted. We may be old, but we’re not dead. You can’t touch a 16-17 year old girl with a 10-foot pole and an 11-foot extension, but they sure are nice to look at. If acknowledging this makes Sexdude a pervert and a fucking creep, then he will wear that badge proudly.

Sexmaniacman probably wouldn’t want to sleep with them even if it were legal, because it’s impossible to have an intelligent conversation with these silly girly things. Not that older women are much better!

Sexmaniacman will aver that when he was 43 years old, he had an 18 year old Korean girlfriend from LA. Eat your heart out, bitches.

You hate that sooo much, don’t you?

Good.

From the site:

I think I’ve generally come to the conclusion that a lot of women’s definition of a “creepy guy”/pervert is:

 

A guy they find unattractive, who checks them out.

Most straight women, of course, liked to be noticed by guys they find attractive, and a lot of women will dress to attract men they fancy. The problem a lot of women seem to have is, is that there’s an unwanted side effect. If they dress sexy, they not only get looked at by the sexy guys, they also get looked at by the guys they don’t fancy.

Well, yeah, duh. If you don’t want us to look at your fucking tits, Sexmaniacman suggested, then don’t walk around with your boobs hanging out. If you’re showing cleavage, or God forbid have your tits halfway hanging out, Sexbro is going to look right at them, Goddamn it, and fuck you if you don’t like it. If it pisses you off so much, dress like a lady for Chrissake.

It’s like during the 1980’s when all political correctness issues came to the fore with a vengeance. In a work setting, a bloke could chat a woman up. If she fancied him, it was fine and dandy. If she didn’t, it was called sexual harassment.

 

Yeah.

Sexcat figure that’s probably what’s going on in a lot of this sexual harassment bullshit. He remembers he worked at a place once where the whole office freaked out because some poor schmuck asked a woman out. To look at the guy, Sexman figured he probably hadn’t been laid by a non-professional in at least months, so he had a God-given right to ask, and Sexguy felt deep sympathy for his sex-deprived brother.

She was being nice to him and talking him, and all the silly bitch had to do was say no and that was that. The guy was civilized, he would have just taken it like a man. But oh no, Ms. Silly made it into a capital fucking offense, and it was the talk of the whole office for a while.

Being a real guy, not a wuss, of course Sexbuddy took the guy’s side in this skirmish of the War Between Men and Women, but most of the “men” in the office sided with Ms. Silly, like knights running to save her honor. With Sexguy, he usually supported the guys in a Male Versus Female situation. Bros before ho’s, right guys?

Afterward the poor guy told Sexpal that management told him that sexual harassment guidelines said that employees should not be dating. Great. Here it is, in the modern US, where so many of us are working long hours, and we can’t date at work. Great. So how are we supposed to get laid?

Sexmaniacman finally had to adopt some new rules to deal with this bullshit, but he realized he was not the only one. He read a sociology paper about guys who moved down to Costa Rica. One guy said when he was 50, an uppity 17 year old girl spit at him for looking at her. I guess that was the last straw, and he high-tailed for the sexually relaxed tropics.

His 43 year old sick, perverted, creepy brother had some advice: “Sexguy! Look. Invest in some sunglasses! I look at them all the time. That’s one of the great things about being in junior college – I’m surrounded by 18-20 yr old hotties!”

Sexdude’s new rules were to avoid looking at obviously underage girls or sometimes even those around 18-20, but it was so hard to tell ages. He’d look at em a bit, see if they looked back, and if they didn’t, he’d try not to look at them too much. Kind of hard to do when they are young and beautiful!

Sexmaniacman also noticed something disturbing about this bullshit. As much as these silly little twats claimed they hated it, he could not help but notice that a certain number of them (Definitely not all but for sure some!), often the better looking and older ones (18-23 or so), relished the attention they got from him.

They deliberately strutted, tipped, weaved, swayed and sashayed, flirted and winked, stole glances and battled lashes. At the stores, they shoved the others out of the way so they could ring up Sexman and reap the harvest of his loving eyeballs. They smiled at him coquettishly and made bullshit excuses to get up and strut in front of him, to nowhere and to do nothing, and then traipse back, basking in the warm, delicious rays of his sick, pervy, aging gaze.

They looked at him out of the corner of their eyes and winked. When he wasn’t looking, they moved way too close and pretended to look at store things they weren’t interested in. Sexmaniacman would look down, notice a 16 year old just about brushing her tits up against him, and pretend nothing was happening.

It sure was an idiotic little girl game these female things were playing, but females often don’t make much sense to Sexguy. Some were jockeying for the eyeballs and others were bitching about illegal looking. Were some of them one and the same? Who knows?

Sexmaniacman thinks we can look at them all we want, that’s his position. If they don’t like it, they can call the cops, or take pictures of us with their bitchy cellphones and post them on their screechy blogs, or sit around and carp to their girlfriends about us.

There’s also a right and wrong way to look, Sexman thought. You look a little bit, you look away, a while later, you look again. Staring is pretty uncool.

Sexmaniacman can’t remember the last time he catcalled a woman. That’s rude, and he’s not rude.

Sexmaniacman doesn’t rub up against women, but when he was a lot younger, especially at bars and rock concerts, women were always rubbing up against him and touching him, because he was drop dead gorgeous guy, especially when he wore a beat-up 1950’s James Dean leather jacket.

Touching and groping is rude, and he’s not rude.

Jerking off in public is illegal, and guys who do that deserve cuffs.

However, he objects to the whole Feminazi mindset behind this bullshit movement, mostly because they haven’t specified where harassment begins and where it ends. Supposedly the females get to make up the rules here, on an individual, case by case basis! Great!

Webpage here , and most of these guys portrayed here are idiots, Sexguy agrees, but he’s still worried that there are no boundaries here. Sexman is particularly disturbed by the modern notion that he can no longer talk to teenage girls or young women in any way or at any time or about anything, since they automatically assume he’s trying to pick up on them, when usually he’s just trying to make some innocent conversation.

Also, the silly feminist bitch idea is that all women hate being looked at. Bullshit.

Sexman’s beautiful aunt was in the Castro District of San Fransisco eating at a cafe with Sexman’s Mom. His aunt is a silly woman, like most women are at least sometimes.

She’s getting all upset. “None of these men are looking at me,” she pouted huffily. She’s beautiful, and male looks are like vitamins for her soul.

Duh. They’re all gay.

Sexmaniacman also knows some older women who love to be or would love to be looked at. One, 50 years old, mournfully told him that she wishes men or even boys would look at her. One delighted in telling him how young men and even boys continued to check her out, and how she loved every second of it, being 50 years old.

This video shows a silly feminazi bitch who’s actually pretty good-looking, who got all dressed up in a really sexy and revealing outfit, then strutted like an idiot down a main avenue in New York, then, like a dumbshit, got all pissy when of course most of the guys looked at her. I guess the numerous fags didn’t look at her, so they must be better than the straight guys. So the solution I guess is we all just turn queer? Obviously.

This ditzy broad tells one guy he was looking at her breasts. He was, but he did it because her tits were hanging out, you goofy woman.

Sexmaniacman thought a lot of these guys were looking way too long and way too obviously, but last time I checked, it’s America, still a free country despite everything, and you have a right to act stupid.

Sexdude was actually trying to control his diabolical and wicked looking behaviors lately, but the young girly women-children were still getting all hot and bothered anyway. There didn’t seem to be any way to appease them once you were past a certain age.

Sexdude doesn’t like guys making comments at women without some verbal and nonverbal signals on her part (going far beyond parading around half-naked like the goofy bitch in the video), but all in all, the woman in this video is one dumb cunt.

Sexmaniacman Praises Sex Crimes

Repost from the old site. More from Sexmaniacman, philosopher, legal scholar and libertine.

Sexmaniacman kept reading the news in the papers and on the Net, and could not believe his eyes anymore.

A US diplomat goes to Brazil and “molests” some “little girls” aged 14-17, which Sexmaniacman assumed is perfectly legal in Brazil. He comes back to the US and gets arrested on “pedophile” charges.

A gay man “molests” a 15-year-old gay “little boy” prostitute in the Philippines, comes home to the US, and is arrested and labeled “pedophile.” His arrest is uncovered when he goes to work for a local politician, and his career is shot.

A local US mayor with long hair and a beard like a ZZ Top musician “molests” a 15-year-old “little girl”. He’s sentenced to prison and reviled by a town who hopes he stays away for a long time.

Roman Polanski gives a 13-year-old girl a Quaalude long ago, “molests” her, and flees the phony prosecution for the sanity of France, where he remains to this day.

Mark Foley does little more than talk dirty to some “little boy” pages aged 16-17 (some of whom apparently enjoyed it), never touches any of them even once, and is labeled “pedophile.”

In the UK, a father takes pictures of his kids on a slide in the park, insane irate mothers order him to stop taking pictures, and when he refuses, they go to the cops. Obviously he’s a child molester. Whoops. He’s just a father taking pics of his own kids.

Sexmaniacman looks at all the “pedophiles” above and cheers them on, despite the hysteria, although he thinks Mark Foley was an idiot. Sexmaniacman figures that if these guys want to have sex with teenagers, that’s their business. Sexmaniacman realizes it’s illegal, and he hopes he won’t do it himself, but he can’t see it as a sin.

We’re in the midst of madness. Child Molester Mass Hysteria, to be precise.

Sexmaniacman did lots of “molesting”, and had lots of fun, back in the day. He was 18, 19 and 20, and the women and “little girls” never stopped coming. The females were all ages, but plenty were 14, 15, 16, and 17. He had sex with them all, and then he got up in the morning and did it some more. He’s proud of it to this very day. Nowadays, he’d be a “pedophile” for doing that. Back in the day, it was just good times.

Sexmaniacman had some “pedophile” friends. One was 28 years old, had a 16-yr-old “little girl” girlfriend, and “molested” her regularly.

Sexmaniacman cheered his friend on for this dastardly “pedophile” episode.

Sexmaniacman had another friend, Killerdude. He was 29 years old, and they were over at Killerdude’s Mom’s house getting high as kites and laughing their asses off. Killerdude’s little sister’s 15-yr-old girlfriend walked out of the bedroom and out the front door, waving goodbye. Killerdude confided to Sexmaniacman that he had just had sex with that “little girl” the other day.

His sister had approached Killerdude, said her friend wanted to have sex with him, and would he do it? He obviously obliged. What else could he do but “molest” her, right?

Sexmaniacman approved, and cheered his “pedophile” friend on.

Sexmaniacman gave up on the young girls when he turned 21. After that, they needed to be 18. In dubious cases, he even asked for ID.

Sexmaniacman read a pdf on the Net about Costa Rica. There are all kinds of American men down there having all sorts of sex fun with girls and women. In Costa Rica, a girl is a woman at age 13.

So you could say that Costa Rica is just a nation of sex perverts and child molesting sick fucks, and the whole country needs to be arrested. The males all need prison or castration or preferably both, and the females all need lifetime therapy for “getting molested.”

Sexmaniacman cheers on Costa Rica in their freedom of choice and thumbing their nose at Child Molester Mass Hysteria.

There are men down there, American men, the pdf said, older guys, and some are having sex with underage girls. It didn’t really give ages, but the implication was they are 14-17 years old. The guys are also doing it with women. They were just screwing anything, like any real man does if he gets a chance. The Costa Ricans wouldn’t do anything about it because they didn’t think it was a crime.

Sexmaniacman cheered them on, all of them – the American men doing this, the Costa Ricans for shrugging their shoulders, and the girls for having a good time. He didn’t think he would want to go to Costa Rica or any foreign land and do it himself, since teenage girls hardly interested him much anymore, but he didn’t care if another guy did.

The idiots in the US government, egged on by the Child Molester Mass Hysteria sweeping the land, passed a weird and retarded law. Only women and pussy-whipped married men would ever pass such a bitchy law, but pass it did.

It bizarrely extended the purview of US law overseas! If an American man of any age goes to a foreign land and has sex with a girl or boy who is 17 years and 11 months old or younger, he goes down on US child molesting laws!

Although at first it would seem that US law should never extend to crimes committed in foreign lands, which are properly the purview of those foreign lands, Sexmaniacman realized that this happened for a reason.

Actual Western pedophiles were going to Philippines, Thailand, and other places and having sex with really young kids, because it was more or less legal over there, and the locals didn’t care. In order to put a stop to this, the US and Western Europe passed some laws to bust pedos when they went overseas to molest little kids.

Otherwise, Western pedos would run around the world seeking out 3rd World hellholes where no one cared about pedo stuff and dollars shut up everyone. In order to put a stop to this, anti-pedo laws were passed in the West extending Western law to other nations.

Sexmaniacman thought long and hard about this, and finally decided that this was really weird and legally obtuse, but still unfortunately right and proper in the case of Westerners having sex with actual little kids, but not with teenagers.

One thing Sexmaniacman bemoaned with the coming of Child Molester Mass Hysteria was the extinction of statutory rape, a perfectly valid category, and its blurring with actual pedophilia with young kids. Child Molester Mass Hysteria came to America, and quickly, a 17-yr-old girl and a 9-yr-old girl were the same thing. They were both “children”, and those of all ages who had sex fun with them were all sick evil pedo fucks.

Even teenage boys were going down on these sissy, bitchy pedo laws for the crime of proving their manliness by sticking it to their teenage girlfriends. It was as if Iraq or Iran had come to the USA. A 13-yr-old boy and his girl have some sex fun, videotape it on cellphones, and pass it around. The boy, but not the girl, goes down on charges of distributing child pornography. Just as the Feminazi bitches would have it.

The anti-pedo laws, the blurring of teenage sex fun with sick child sex, the idiot wind attacking virile teenage boys and young men – they were all part of the war American women and girls were waging on real American men and boys. The bitches’ wormboy boyfriends, vaginized male allies, and pussy-whipped husbands defending the chastity of teenage daughters – they were all behind this bullshit too.

Real American men and testosterone-charged American boys, the few that were left, should have stood up to this attack on manliness, but they were too scared of the pedo charge to speak up.

Millions of vaginized males and girlymen all over America stood up alongside their pants-wearing, hysterical girlfriends and wives, screeching defense of the fake honor of hymenless 17-yr-old girls all over our fair land.

There were some serious issues here. Sexmaniacman had to agree. What was to be done?

You couldn’t exactly legalize sex between adults and teens all the way down to age 14 or so. Otherwise you would have guys 40 and 50 walking down the street in broad daylight with their 15-yr-old girlfriends in tow. Sexmaniacman decided that that would not do.

How’s about we went back to the old days, Sexmaniacman suggested?

Two laws.

One called statutory rape , judiciously prosecuted against egregious cases of sex between men and girls and gay boys 14-17. Another, child molesting, for sex between adults and girls and boys under the age of 14.

Overseas, clearly there was a national interest in the West to stop pedos from heading to SE Asia to have sex with little kids. If the Thais won’t stop it, doggone it, we will. Sexmaniacman nodded his approval.

But Sexmaniacman could see no national interest in busting a Western man of any age for messing with a teenage girl in some sweltering foreign land. That was beyond absurd.

Child porn. Sexmaniacman pondered the very phrase, and lately did so frequently, and he didn’t even feel guilty. He loved to think about child porn, since it offered so many legal and philosophical quandaries.

Child porn! The phrase alone drove Americans to paroxysms of madness.

It actually posed a most difficult case, Sexmaniacman noted. To merely look at the stuff was a crime. Child porn was on the Net, and you could find it if you really, really tried. Could you stumble upon it? Highly dubious.

Sexmaniacman felt that in analogy, child porn seemed like the case of a book in a library. It sat on a special shelf called the Internet Shelf. The book was out there in plain view, but there were signs next to it saying DO NOT LOOK AT THIS BOOK! ILLEGAL! LOCAL ORDINANCE BLA BLA BLA! Now and again, some maniac thrillseeker would grab the book and sneak a glance at a few pages.

They would almost always be caught, and the police would haul them away. They would be bashed in the press and their communities as sickos for looking at a book in the library, and their careers and lives would be ruined.

Although this scenario seems absurd, Sexmaniacman realized that that’s pretty much how it is with child porn. It’s out there on the Net, but if you look at it, you’re going to prison. It has to be just about one of the only things on Earth, Sexmaniacman noted, that, if you look at it, you go to prison. Think about it, real hard. Anything else illegal to steal a glance at? Anyone?

Sexmaniacman pondered the weird legal and philosophical arguments for why looking at something, say, child porn, or anything, really, should be illegal:

Child porn is the portrayal of a crime.

Therefore, when you look at it, you violate the kid’s privacy. Ok, but the kid has no idea you looked at their pic. Sexmaniacman felt it was impossible to argue that by stealing a glance at their porn pic, you have psychically harmed this kid via telepathy.

Furthermore, Sexmaniacman pointed out that there are all sorts of videos out on the Net that depict crimes, sometimes homicides. Should those not be illegal too? After all, they portray a crime, no? Or should they be allowed because the victims are dead and can’t be harmed anymore?

When you look at child porn, you create a market for it, and that makes producers abuse more kids.

Well, OK, Sexmaniacman nodded. But once again, the criminal appears to be the person who made the child porn, not some guy looking at a picture.

What about trafficking? Sexmaniacman agreed this was a tough one. Here things get more dicey. Now you are actually making money off kids getting molested. He noted that this is getting quite close to actual harm, but there are still some problems.

Sexmaniacman offered up the scenario of the stuff being traded back and forth by pedos for free. No profit is involved, but Sexmaniacman figured we can’t really legalize it, can we? If we did, child porn trading sites would open up all over the web, and probably those who make the stuff would create more of it. Sexmaniacman felt that society had an interest in preventing that.

No matter that merely looking at the stuff constituted quite a bizarre sort of crime. Sexmaniacman offered up, “What if we acted logical and said it was legal to look at the stuff, but not to peddle it?” But then he noted that child porn sites would pop up all over the web, just for folks to “look at.” Society clearly has an interest in preventing that.

As far as the Internet goes, Sexmaniacman felt that probably the present state of affairs is the best. Child porn is quite illegal, hence it is extremely difficult to find, although with enough effort and hours of searching by savvy Net users, it’s surely out there. So child porn is rare and very hard to find. It’s almost impossible to stumble upon it by accident. This is probably the way it ought to be, he agreed.

Sexmaniacman pointed out that if we allowed folks to look at it, websites would sprout up all over, and hundreds of thousands or millions of people would be looking at the stuff, just like they are feasting on all the other shock stuff out there. And that didn’t seem right to Sexmaniacman.

Sexmaniacman bemoaned the fact that child porn, child molesting and statutory rape are subjects that are banned from polite conversation, and frankly all conversation, in today’s Idiot America. The only talk allowed about these subjects is to rant about how we want to castrate the sick fucks who “molest.” No problem ever got solved by not talking about it, or only talking stupid about it.

Just to piss people off and make them hate him more than they already did, Sexmaniacman deliberately brought up these subjects, especially in public, just to watch the freakouts and hard stares.

Despite the fact that hardly anyone was talking sensibly about this sick stuff but Sexmaniacman, he noted that these areas opened up a lot of interesting philosophical and legal dilemmas that do not have easy answers.

Sexmaniacman On Borderline and Schizotypal PD

Repost from the old site. The following posts will figure a fellow named Sexmaniacman, who is a friend of mine. He either wrote these posts himself and sent them to me via emails or else I am transcribing them based on conversations he had with me.

A commenter notes on the Personality Disorders

Schizotypal was always the odd-man-out personality disorder — both literally and figuratively.

Sexmaniacman thinks he had a gf once who was both a Borderline and a Schizotypal:

Hi Bob, this chick was so nuts, man, oh man oh man. She had a dx of “Borderline Schizophrenia” and was a serious acidhead.

She proudly said, “I’ve always been crazy.” Her Mom was schizophrenic and had tried to stab her in the back and kill her when she was 4 years old. Her life was desolate, and she would move back and forth between all these different personalities that you could not keep track of.

She lived in Hollywood, was a fag hag and was always getting picked up by guys and abused. She let groups of guys gangbang her and all sorts of crazy shit. She was always telling stories about guys or groups of guys picking her up, tying her up, torturing her, having sex with her, and threatening to murder her.

The stories seemed almost too weird to be true, but she was an extreme submissive who obviously was giving off “hurt me” vibes that a lot of sicko dudes might have picked up on and acted on.

She was also a bit bi and had sex with women sometimes. But she liked young girls, like 14 years old! Whoa! She also liked young boys, like 13 years old, and she loved to entertain me with stories about breaking in 8th graders. She was an old pro at this. I thought it was just plain weird.

We were going to go a lesbian bar in Hollywood and try to pick up a girl to take home with us (that was real easy to do in LA, which is full of all kinds of gays, bis and swingers), but she was so weird, I figured we would never be able to pick up any decent women.

Her idea of a good time was going to a gay bar and hanging out there all nite. I said pass.

She literally ate acid by the handful, five or eight hits at a time.

I took her to a Cure concert and for some weird reason, all these Goth chicks were grabbing me and trying to molest me the whole time at the concert, even when I was with her. While we were walking around, while we were sitting at the concert, the women just wouldn’t leave me alone. The whole thing seems like a hallucination now. It was 1983. She was flying on a handful of acid.

I took her to see Pink Flamingos, we watched Divine eat dog shit off sidewalk, and she thought that was hilarious. We went to see The Story of O, which I thought was weird, but she insisted was the story of her life.

She kept wanting me to inflict pain on her in all these different ways (A LOT of women are into pain! Is that weird or what?) but I wasn’t really into being a sadist too much. I did inflict some pain on her, but I didn’t really enjoy it. She sure did! Damn right! But it was the weirdest joy, a joy in a bottomless sadness. I couldn’t relate.

We went at forever, and she was a real screamer. One night she turned me in the middle and said, “You know what, Sexman?”

“What?”

“You’re a good fuck.” She repeated that a few times.

I’d just been turned into a complete sex object by a woman, and I didn’t even care.

I’d leave her place at the end of the weekend. Her Hollywood apartment complex was full of all these Guatemalan and Mexican illegal aliens. It was 1984 and the invasion was well under way. I guess the guys had been listening to her sexual opera performance all weekend because as I walked out, the Hispanic guys would all stand up and start clapping for me and raising their beers.

Cheers to the Master Fucker! She would drink, take acid, smoke pot, do speed, and then grab a bottle of antidepressants and start taking pills and downing them with a glass of booze.

“Whoa!” I said. “What do you think you’re doing!”

“You don’t know the pain I’m in Sexguy,” she whimpered and started crying. “You have no idea what it’s like. I need this, Sexdude.”

I shrugged and hoped she didn’t die on my watch. Who wants to deal with a dead chick and cops?

She was schizotypal in that she used language in really weird ways, and even though she insisted she had all these friends, she seemed really isolated. Plus she was just flat-out fucking weird in a way that Borderlines simply are not. Like she was on another planet, an alien. Invariably, she accused me of being a fag too for some reason like all of her faggot friends, and that pissed me off.

I will say she had more insight into my personality at the time than most other women have ever had.

She used to regale me with stories about her gay friends. Her gay friends were all these seriously weird masochist dudes into the leather scene.

Her eyes got really wide.

“My friend Jim, he’s not satisfied until the welts are this big.”

That’s one of her sicko masochist gay friends. Every time she talked about them, I told her to shut up as she was grossing me out.

She stretched her fingers to make about a one inch measurement. In her eyes, she was trying to shock me and I know it turns her on. She wanted one-inch welts too. Obviously. Like Hell you’re getting ’em from me, you sick bitch, I thought.

She called me one time but I wasn’t home. A woman I knew was over at my place in my absence and answered the phone. “Tell Sexman it’s just me,” she sighed wearily into the phone. “It’s just me. Just V.” Her self-esteem was 80,000 leagues under the sea under an anchor. The woman hung up the phone.

Later the woman said: “That’s the woman you’re dating, Sexguy?”

“Yeah,” I sigh.

“Wow, she seems like she thinks she’s the biggest zero on the face of the Earth. How sad.” The woman shook her head, and an incredible sadness came over her face too, a hundred years’ worth.

“I know.”

I broke up with her.

“Can…you…at least…give me a reason, Sexcat?” V. whimpered into the phone.

“You’re just too nuts for me. I mean, I’m nuts, but I’m neurotic. You’re way more crazy than I am, and I just can’t deal with you. It’s like dealing with someone from another planet. I can’t handle you. Good luck in the rest of your life.”

She called me a few days later, crying.

“After you broke up with me, Sexbro, I put my fist through a wall, I was so mad. Now I have a hole in my wall.”

“Over me? You did this over me? Why? Don’t bother, V. Don’t smash walls over me. I’m not worth it. Smash walls over someone else…Look, I can’t handle this, this is way too nuts.”

I got a new girlfriend, K., pretty soon, and V. had given me VD like most sluts do, something called Trichomonas with no symptoms in the male. I immediately gave it to the new girl, and it causes four days of misery in the female. The new woman was pissed.

I said the only thing you can say when you give your girlfriend VD.

“Hey, don’t ever say I never gave you anything.”

I thought that was pretty funny.

She sure didn’t. Icy eyes shone at my across the room.

“That’s not funny, Sexman.”

“Yeah it is.”

“No it isn’t.”

I saw V. again two years later. She came down to visit me, an hour’s drive. I saw her on my porch like a lost poppy, the most forlorn thing you ever saw. We went inside and had some wild sex for a couple of hours. She got pissed at the way it ended and left in a huff.

I never saw her again.

I assume she’s dead, probably long ago. The way she was, she couldn’t have lasted long.

They Were Committing Crimes

Repost from the old site. This literary exercise has been praised by a publisher of short literary works and compared to a Peter Sotos novel, Special. Sotos is a notorious transgressive fiction writer who got arrested for child pornography for putting a kiddie porn picture on the cover of one of his novels as an artistic statement.
Special is out of print but has been republished in an anthology called Pornography 1991-2000. Funny overview here.
Yes, I have published fiction before, and it was praised by Avram Davidson, a famous novelist and personal friend, and Gary Snyder, a famous beatnik author. Some of it is available in a literary anthology.
I am just wondering, who are these Thrillseekerman and Internetman guys anyway? What are their initials?
They were committing crimes.
And no one ever caught.
Thrillseekerman sold dope for 14 years, and the cops never caught on. He finally quit, or did he? And now he’s scared to do it again, or is he? But the temptation is always there, because he so loved the outlaw dealer life where you never get caught and outsmart the law.
He also loved being a dealer because he loved being a criminal. As a dealer, you can be a criminal without hurting anyone else, so if you have a shred of guilt left, and Thrillseekerman does, it’s a great Catholic profession.
I mean, a few months ago, or earlier today, or 10 years ago, Internetman met 15-year-old girls on the Net, and they sent him nude pics without him even asking, and said they wanted to have sex with him right now, but they were too far away.
So what did he do with the pics? Delete them, call the cops and turn himself in, or keep them in an evil secret file to show it to his most evil friends? I bet they are gone now. Internetman is paranoid. Were they illegal? Internetman is thinking about it, and trembling.
Internetman went into a chatroom the other night, or was it five years ago? There was a teenage girl in there masturbating on cam, and everyone in the room was watching the fun. Well, she was 13, but she looked like a full-grown to him. The chat room was full, mostly kids but some adults too, both sexes. Was it illegal? Internetman is remembering it, and shaking. With terror, and excitement.
It was seven years ago, or seven weeks ago, or seven months ago, or seven days ago, and 14-year-old girls came to talk to Internetman in the chatrooms and ask for cybersex. What’s a man to do?
It was a while back, or the other day, or some time ago, or 4-7 years ago, and Internetman did the cybersex thing with them, the 14-yr-olds, the 15-yr-olds, and the 16-yr-olds, and of course the droves of legal-aged women as well, and it was all in good fun.
One of them begged and begged for him to send her porn, so he broke down and sent porn to a 14-yr-old girl. Was that illegal? Now he’s paranoid, and he’ll never do it again. Or will he? Maybe he better not.
In a chatroom, five days ago, or last year, or five years back, the 17-year-old girl saw he had a cam and asked him to turn it on. Internetman did so. She started whining for him to take his pants off so she could see his stuff, because she had never seen one before. “But I’ve never seeeeen one before,” she whined into Internetman’s headphones, but he chickened out again.
Internetman went into these really evil chatrooms, just on a wild dare, and people were all trying to do horrible and illegal stuff in there, men and women of all ages, normal folks and weird. Internetman tried not to do anything illegal. Did he succeed? Will he go there again? He doubts it.
Internetman went to this chatroom last year, or eight years ago, or yesterday, and met this guy in Kentucky, a psychopath I guess, who wanted someone to rape his wife. You had to break in, tie her up, rape her, and get away with it.
He described the sex acts he wanted Internetman to engage in with his wife. He said you could not hurt her in any way, and that she would secretly love it. Getting away with it was Internetman’s business, and the guy would not call the cops and report the rape.
So Internetman sat there and wondered whether or not he could be a criminal rapist and try to get get away with it, under special circumstances of course in which at least the victim’s husband consented, but he chickened out at the end.
Internetman met a girl once on the Net a few weeks ago, or was it seven years ago? She was 17 years and seven months old, lived close by, and wanted sex right now. She kept demanding and demanding, and she would not knock it off. She was a lesbian, but she wanted to try it with a guy to see what it felt like. Internetman figured it was an evil plot by one of his enemies trying to get him arrested for child molesting.
Good thing he was paranoid, so he never took her up.
The Internet is the most evil place Internetman knows.
You can do just about anything on here, and who knows if it’s even legal or what. Where are the cops? What’s a cop? There are bulletin boards right now where people are asking for child porn and bragging about their antisocial acts, and Internetman knows where they are. He’s been to them, lurking, but he didn’t do anything illegal. Or did he?
Internetman went to chatrooms where sex perverts traded porn pics. Mostly it was fun, but some people sent Internetman really illegal pics without him even asking, and he freaked out and deleted them about as quick as they hit the screen. Was that illegal? Did Internetman commit a crime?
One of his drug addict friends, Killerdude, came over the other day, or was it 22 years ago? He asked Thrillseekerman to be the getaway driver for an armed robbery, and Thrillseekerman considered it, but thank God he didn’t do it.
A few months back, or 18 years ago, one of Thrillseekerman’s doper friends drove the getaway car for an armed robbery and he told Thrillseekerman all about it.
Then the armed robber himself came over to Thrillseekerman’s house with his girlfriend and they sat around and took drugs. He seemed like a smiling psychopath, and those guys are always charming in a way. Later Thrillseekerman called the cops and told them the guy’s name, but there was not much they could do.
Last week, or 21 years ago, Thrillseekerman called the cops on his friends and tried to get them busted. Once for selling heroin, because Thrillseekerman thought that was shitty. The other time because Thrillseekerman was mad at his friend who sold pot and wanted to burn the guy.
Dopers work with narcs all the time, mostly for revenge reasons. Most people don’t know that. Without dopers to work alongside them, every narc in America would be unemployed.
Once, 11 years ago, or a few weeks back, Thrillseekerman stole Killerdude’s car, not to be a criminal or anything, but just because he was furious at him, but he brought it back when the cop’s son across the street was going to have him arrested.
One time, it was last month, last year, or it was 20 years ago, and Thrillseekerman drove by a business at 5 AM with a slingshot and blew out a window in a business that because he hated it and it was evil.
Committing street crimes like that, which was actually a revolutionary act in favor of people’s power and against the crooked businesses that rip off the people, is one of the biggest rushes that Thrillseekerman knows. You will shake like a leaf. You will shake so hard it will be hard to steer the car after you do it. You will be terrified and thrilled all at the same time, and when you get away with it, there will be no better feeling.
Killerdude came over a while back, or 25 years ago, or the other day, and said he was considering taking an offer to kill some guy, from a woman who was offering big money to have her husband knocked off. So they, Thrillseekerman and Killerdude, sat around for hours blasted out of their minds on dope and talked about whether or not you should murder someone for the money.
They discussed Christianity, as in whether or not a Christian should kill, and whether or not the would-be murder victim deserved it since he was a wife-beater, and Thrillseekerman tried to spy on Killerdude for the cops, but it did not work. Thrillseekerman didn’t like the idea of killing for money (even Thrillseekerman had some basic values) and thought his friend was degenerating morally.
They took lots of drugs, Thrillseekerman and Killerdude, while they talked about all this insane and evil stuff. It was last month, or was it 15 years ago?
They sat around for hours at night stoned out of their minds on chemicals, saying, “Yeah! I could play the role of the insane serial killer! I could play that role! I could play any role! I could play as many roles as you could! And that’s a lot of roles,” as they shook their heads and laughed demoniacally but didn’t really consider it, just fantasized about it. About what? Being a serial killer? How many people do that?
It was really weird back in those days, or the other day, or whenever it was, but not too many crimes happened.
Once they got loaded and made some bombs. It was a few months ago, or 13 years ago, or back in the 80’s. Thrillseekerman had these antisocial maniac friends, some of whom seemed like they might snap, but Thrillseekerman wasn’t worried, and they liked to make bombs, like all maniacs do. It’s so fun making illegal bombs. The psycho dudes showed Thrillseekerman how to make bombs, which is so easy it’s scary.
Then they took the bombs and blew up this dude’s windshield (who deserved it) with a fused time bomb, and they slashed his tires, then they took another bomb, this time sort of a firebomb that shoots up a flame, and threw it on some other guy’s lawn (who deserved it), and it burned a hole in the lawn.
Making little bombs is the easiest thing in whole world to do, and every revolutionary and maniac of any age might want to make them and set off them in the street at least, that is if you have the nerve, just to see what an explosion looks like and to piss off the neighbors.
They called themselves a gang and sat on the front porch of Thrillseekerman’s house and shot BB pellets and rocks and dirt clods at the neighbors’ house (who deserved it) and dared them to call the cops.
The people did call the cops, but the cops hardly cared because they thought Thrillseekerman was doing a civic duty by getting rid of the real criminal (the neighbor) he was attacking. In other words, Thrillseekerman was a public service vigilante ridding the neighborhood of scum as he saw fit.
The cops paid him a visit on the phone, told him to watch it, and told him to spend $10 to repair the door Thrillseekerman had smashed in with a baseball bat after laughing maniacally and running across the street in broad daylight as a joke just so the whole world could see it and to dare them to call the cops. If you’re doing a public service crime, do it in broad daylight. It was just the other day, or long, long ago.
Another time Thrillseekerman sneaked into the ladies room to take a crap because the criminal, feral, 13 year old Black youths were in the men’s room threatening with their eyes to attack anyone who came in. A woman called the cops, and the detectives threatened to kick Thrillseekerman’s ass if he did not confess to a perverted crime he did not commit.
He only wanted to confess to taking a crap, which was the only crime he did. Well, he was also trying to see if he could get away with it, so there was a thrillseeker aspect. The detectives quickly figured out he was not a pervert, but they kept on torturing him anyway and trying to get him to confess. Don’t you just love detectives? How many people in the US just confess unless the cops beat the shit out of them?
He was 20 again, or was he 50, or was he 35? He was jogging in the park, and Thrillseekerman met a 12 year old girl he had known from an old job for a long time, and they chatted a bit and smiled and laughed, and then she flat out asked Thrillseekerman to have sex with her, and smiled when she said it, just like that. Not only that, but she was beautiful, brilliant, wise and athletic.
And Thrillseekerman considered being the ultimate criminal that you can be, a child molesting sick evil scumbag piece of dirt, but then he decided against it. There are Lolitas and teenage girls that want it, 12 and up, with adult men, 18-45. And if you do it and get caught, you are going down in the worst way.
It was yesterday, or long ago in another lifetime. A whole crowd of gangsters came in the door. There had just been a gang fight, and people were hurt. The gangsters were underage, some of them, but they used an 18 year old girl to get in the door because they knew Thrillseekerman’s fatal weaknesses.
Later there were shots fired 50 yards from his door, and the cops didn’t even want to take any witnesses. They never do in gang crimes, and besides, in Greater Tijuana, here in California, there are pro-gang Hispanic spies everywhere.
Thrillseekerman’s White, and he claims Norteno, or does he? Or does the whole neighborhood? After all, he lives in a Norteno hood, so everyone more or less claims in a way. Thrillseekerman wears jogging shoes with N on them for a reason, or does he?
Three weeks ago, or nine months ago, or 12 years ago, someone came by and flashed a United Farm Workers shirt (Do you get it?) at Thrillseekerman and asked him to go out with a shotgun and kill some Surenos. Thrillseekerman had to think about it for a bit, because nothing would be so thrilling and dangerous, and Surenos probably deserved it anyway, but thank God he declined.
There were criminal opportunities all over the place for decades, right under your nose, people enticing him here and there to break the law and commit serious crimes, some of them felonies, if only one was psycho enough, and they seemed to dare you and egg you on. In the barrio anyway, no snitching was the rule, so you might even get away with it, but you could still get caught.

Joseph Edward Duncan III

Repost from the old site Warning: very long.
This horrible case was back in the news again recently. Mr. Duncan was sentenced to death in his sentencing trial on ten federal charges for the homicides for four persons in Idaho in 2005. He has already pled guilty to the charges, but this hearing is the penalty part of the trial, and the government is seeking the death penalty.
I don’t know any of the principals in this case, but Thrillseekerman knows Steve Groene and Chris Groene, Doperman knows Chris Groene and not Steve and Sexmaniacman knows Steve Groene but not Chris. T-man went to elementary school with Steve Groene and his brother, Chris Groene.
Steve Groene is the father of Shasta Groene, Dylan Groene and Slade Groene. I called Thrillseekerman, Doperman and Sexmaniacman to get their recollections of these two guys, who I never really knew.
Joseph E. Duncan III broke into their house on May 15, 2005, tied everyone up and then bludgeoned Slade, 13, his mother Brenda, 39 and his stepfather, Mark McKenzie, 37 to death with a claw hammer. He took Dylan and Shasta so he could torture and molest them. Pictures of all victims and the killer here.
Police who came upon the scene were stunned by the sight. There was blood and gore everywhere and the faces were nearly unrecognizable. One officer who came upon the scene was so shocked by the sight that he quit police work for months afterward. An APB went out for Shasta and Dylan.
Duncan took them in a stolen 2000 Red Cherokee jeep with Missouri license plates to a very remote campsite in the Lolo National Forest and kept them there for a few weeks, having sex with both of them and torturing Dylan. He made a video of the crimes and the video was shown to jurors and those in the courtroom. He raped Shasta and forced Shasta and Dylan to perform sex acts on each other.
The video showed Duncan raping and torturing Dylan in various ways. At one point, he takes Dylan into an old shack, where he forced Dylan to perform a sex on him and whipped him with a belt.
Then he told Dylan to stand on a bench, hung a wire around his neck, and then masturbated as he watched Dylan nearly die from hanging. “Then Jet took him down and said, ‘Wake up, wake up, wake up,'” Shasta Groene said in a police interview.
She said Dylan screamed when he woke up because he thought he had been in heaven. He then offered the half-dead Dylan an opportunity to watch his “death” by hanging on tape. A little while later, he forced Shasta to drag the half-dead Dylan through the campfire with a rope around his neck, burning him horribly. Then Duncan “accidentally” shot Dylan in the stomach with a shotgun.
He was alive and possibly could have lived for a few hours, though his guts were hanging out. Duncan decided that there was no way to save him, so he shot him in the head. It was later determined that he probably did not shoot Dylan “accidentally” after all.
After Dylan was dead, he chopped his body into little pieces and filmed himself forcing Shasta to throw the body parts on the fire. Then he forced Shasta to pick the body parts out of the fire and filmed that too.
Whew. Wow. Whoa. This must set some sort of a record for evil, but I’m not sure. The FBI did say that this was the first time that they had ever heard of anyone murdering adults just to get at kids, so it does set a depravity record in that sense.
Details of whatever he did to Shasta have not been made available yet, but she was definitely raped. Normally, in this sort of thing, the names of the living kid, Shasta, would be kept secret, but her name was already out there as an APB Amber Alert, so the cat was out of the bag.
“The devil is here, boy, the devil himself. The demon couldn’t do what the devil sent him to do so the devil came himself,” Duncan yells in one of the videos. “The devil likes to watch children suffer and cry.” Duncan cracks sick jokes through the videos. In one video, Duncan jokes, “They kidnapped me – they won’t let me leave.”
In one video, he cracks, “I shouldn’t be taking pictures of you pulling up your pants like that young man – people might think I’m a pervert.” In another video, Duncan asks the kids about their wishes. Dylan says he just wants to go home.
I guess you are wondering why no one heard all this mess up in the mountains. The makeshift campsite is at the end of a very remote logging road. It’s a one-hour drive down a terrible road to get to the remote site at the bottom of a cliff. It seems like hardly anyone ever goes there.
There are a lot of remote places out in the Western forests where you can stay for weeks at a time and not see another human. This article says that the video was shot at a cabin, but I think it was just a campsite. They also went to various other campsites and drove long distances while Duncan bragged to Dylan and Shasta about killing the kids’ Mom, brother and stepdad.
Later, on July 2, 2005, Duncan went back to a Denny’s restaurant with Shasta in Coeur D’Alene, Idaho, where she was immediately spotted by a resident, who went in and told the manager, who wisely called 9-11. It was 1:30 AM and the cops pulled in with their lights off. Duncan saw the cops and took Shasta into the bathroom with him. He came out later and the police quickly surrounded the table and asked him to come outside.
Shasta was taken back to her father, and she is with him now, as her Mom and stepfather are dead. Steve was briefly considered as a suspect but then they cleared him. They told him that he failed a polygraph, but lots of innocents do. They also suspected Steve’s eldest son, 18. They gave him a polygraph too and told him he failed too. Good thing neither one gave a fake confession in the midst of this brutal interrogation.
The son was also into drugs – I bet meth – has a significant criminal record, and was most recently in jail for burglary. He has said that this case is going to make him go straight.
Brenda Groene and Mark McKenzie were also drug users, but they were primarily recreational users. Brenda was a good mother. Initially, drugs were thought to be involved in the murders. Meth and pot were found in the systems of both Brenda and Mark. The couple ran with biker types who are in abundance in this area. Brenda had a criminal record for possession of drug paraphernalia and had served time for this offense.
Robert Roy Lutner was an original suspect in the case since he had a criminal record for relatively minor offenses and owed Mark and Brenda $2,000. They thought he killed them over the financial dispute. Further, he had visited them on the evening of Sunday the 15th, when the murders occurred. He turned himself in immediately, passed a polygraph, and was let go.
After he took the kids, Duncan was spotted in a sporting goods store with the kids in Bonners Ferry, Idaho, asking for directions to Libby, Montana. An APB went out but they were nowhere to be found.
Soon before he was caught, a video camera caught Duncan and Shasta entering what looks like a 7-11 about 40 miles outside of Coeur D’Alene. The girl looks mad and has her arms folded angrily across her chest. They buy something, get back in a red jeep and leave. This footage was not discovered until later. Photos here. Soon afterward, they were caught at the Denny’s in Coeur D’Alene.
Police discovered that the man was Joseph Edward Duncan III, a 43 year old fugitive sex offender from Fargo, North Dakota. He had recently been charged with molesting a 5 year old boy he knew who lived near him.
He was born, one of five in a military family, in Fort Bragg, Virginia, in 1963. His parents soon moved to Tacoma, Washington, where he grew up. He was described as lonely and displaced in high school, especially after his parents’ divorce in 1979. He soon dropped out of high school. He engaged in sex at age 8 with two of his sisters. They apparently initiated it. What this had to do with his later offenses, I have no idea.
He committed his first serious offense at age 12, when he raped a 5 year old boy, but he was not caught. In this way, he resembles Ted Bundy, who probably committed his first homicide of a teenage girl who delivered the papers in his neighborhood, at age 15. Bundy was never charged with this offense.
By age 15, he was charged with raping a 9 year old boy and sent to juvey. There he admitted that he had bound and raped six boys already.
He later said had already raped 13 younger boys by the time he was 16. The following year, he was arrested for stealing a car. He was a sociopath from an early age. At age 17, he was arrested, charged and sentenced to 20 years in prison (apparently as an adult) for raping a 14 year old boy at gunpoint. The tortures that he put him through were similar to those seen on the Dylan Groene tape.
At the time, he was diagnosed as a psychopath, or antisocial personality disorder under the current rubric. In my opinion, knowing little about his upbringing, he is a pure psychopath. This condition is largely genetic. They are just born bad from seemingly day one. This condition is impossible to treat, though some of them burn out and often descend in alcoholism and depression in their 40’s. Duncan is clearly not one of those.
He was paroled 14 years later at age 33 and sent to a halfway house in Seattle. A man named David Woelfert testified at the parole board that Duncan was no threat whatsoever. He loaned Duncan $3,000 and found a place for him at a halfway house.
Woelfert is also homosexual, and for a while, Duncan and Woelfert had a gay relationship. It looks like Woelfert was conned too. In 1996, he was released from the halfway house. Almost immediately after his release from the halfway house, he violated parole by using marijuana and possessing a firearm. He was given 30 days and released.
Apparently soon afterwards, 9-year-old Carmen Cubias and her 11-year-old half-sister, Sammiejo White, went missing from the motel where they were staying with their homeless family. A while before, Duncan was living only three blocks away from the motel where they vanished. These girls later turned up dead, and Duncan is a prime suspect, though he will probably never be charged.
The girls were last seen by their 16-year-old brother at 8:30 pm on July 6, 1996 after they left the Crest Motel in Seattle, where they were staying with older and younger siblings and their mother. The girls were used to be out at all hours and knew their way around the neighborhood very well.
They said they were going to the Taco Time where they were going to bum some spare change so they could eat and get some money for a pack of cigarettes for their brother. Apparently they never made it.
It turns out that Duncan has confessed to Shasta Groene that he killed two little girls in Seattle. He made the same confession to investigators, but he said he did not know their names.
At the time of their disappearance, Duncan was living and working in Bothell, Washington, where the girls’ bones were found almost two years later in February, 1998, by a transient staying in an abandoned barn. They had both been murdered violently, but the details could not be ascertained. But both of their skulls had been crushed.
After Duncan was arrested for the Idaho killings, a woman came forward and said that she had worked at the Quality Food Mart in Bothell that summer.
That summer she repeatedly saw a man she now says was Duncan come into the store to buy stuff accompanied by a frightened little girl, who she now identifies as Carmen Cubias. Once again, we see that Duncan keeps his victims alive for a long time, molesting and probably torturing them before killing them.
When talking to investigators, Duncan revealed enough details of the crimes, without confessing, to convince the cops that he killed the two girls. Whether he will be charged or not is not known. After he confessed, his lawyer convinced him to clam up about any other crimes he may have committed.
On March 26, 1997, Deborah Palmer, age 7, disappeared on her way to school in Oak Harbor, Washington, about 50 miles away from Seattle. Palmer disappeared while walking the two blocks from her Kettle Street apartment home to school.
Duncan had an appointment in Seattle to take a polygraph test at an unknown time. Oak Harbor would have been a 1 1/2 hour drive away. She may have been killed in Deception Pass State Park, near where her body washed up.
The week before, around March 19, Duncan had tested positive for marijuana, which would have violated his parole. Eleven days later, he quit his Bothell job, stole his girlfriend’s car and fled his Seattle home for for California to visit his father in Pahrump, Nevada. That was the very same day that Palmer’s body washed up on a Pacific Ocean beach seven miles away from Oak Harbor and the story was all over the news.
She had been raped and strangled. The previous day, Deborah’s backpack and jacket were found at a gravel pit. There is no direct evidence linking Duncan to this homicide. There are also suspicions that a family member was involved.
After he fled to California, he killed again. This time, he took off from his Dad’s house in Vista and went to Beaumont, California, where he approached 10 year old Anthony Martinez and his brother who were playing in alley behind their home. He asked them to help find a lost cat, and they declined.
Duncan then put a knife to Anthony’s throat and shoved him into a white car. On April 19, Anthony’s nude body was found in a shallow grave 110 miles away in the desert near Indio, California. He had been raped and beaten to death and his skull had been crushed.
After his arrest in the Idaho killings, Duncan confessed to interrogators that he had killed a little boy in California. He also quite closely resembled the composite drawing of the suspect in the Martinez case.
Cops then looked into the Martinez case and amazingly found a match for a thumbprint on the duct tape used to bind Anthony’s body and Duncan’s prints. A California DA has announced that he is going to try Duncan for this murder. In May, Duncan was back in Northern California. On June 2, he met Dr. Richard Wacksman (see below) at a coffeehouse in San Francisco.
At this point, he seems to have been living on the streets. Four months later, on August 27, 1997, Duncan was arrested by the FBI at his sister’s house in Kansas City, Missouri for a parole violation and sent to prison for three years.
At the hearing for the parole violation, a Fargo, North Dakota doctor, Dr. Richard Wacksman, testified that Duncan was not dangerous anymore and that upon his release, he could stay at Wacksman’s home in Fargo. The parole board disagreed and sent him away. Upon his release on July 21, 2000, he moved to Fargo, North Dakota, but it was not long before he started killing again.
After his release, in 2000, he visited Wacksman at his home in Fargo. The neighbors found out about it and confronted Wacksman. Duncan did not return to Wacksman’s home, and Wacksman soon moved to Florida. Duncan then visited Wacksman numerous times at his Florida home, where Duncan liked to scuba dive.
I do not think this Wacksman fellow is a bad guy. Psychopaths are often very charming and have the ability to convince all sorts of decent people that they are really ok, including Dr. Wacksman.
However, it should be noted that Wacksman, while married and with family, is bisexual. It seems certain that Wacksman and Duncan had a homosexual relationship.
After he moved to Fargo, Duncan began attending North Dakota State University there, working on a BA in Computer Science. He would have graduated in May 2005, but he decided to go on a homicide spree instead. At the university, he worked in software development for both the college and a local business called iCat.
He worked as a teaching assistant at Edmonds Community College where he taught introductory programming courses. He frequented at least one Korean Personals site where he said he was looking for “something more than just sex”. Ee gads! At the time, he was also taking karate lessons at the university (photo from his karate class in Spring 2003).
Here is a homepage that Duncan created in 2000 when he was living in Fargo.
While Duncan was living in Fargo from 2000-2005, I believe that he did not stop killing.
On February 12, 2001, Steven Earl Kraft, Jr., age 12, disappeared while walking his dogs between 8-9 PM about 1/2 block from his home. The dogs were found later, but Steven is still missing. Duncan may have been involved in this kidnapping and probable homicide.
On April 21, 2001, Duncan set up his Jazzi-Jet gay website on the Pridesites gay website. Although the links have been deleted, on one page he’s got up in a black dress and makeup and talking about how much he likes to get fucked in the ass. Oh well.
Duncan talks about how much gay sex he had in Walla Walla Prison, how he got screwed by 50 different guys in there, how he once got gangbanged once by seven guys, how he was the queen of the prison, and was owned by some great big Black guy named “Al”, all while posing in suggestive gay poses.
Here is a photo of the big Black gay prison inmate (Big Al ) who made Jazzi-Jet his bitch and then offered him to all his big Black friends to do as they please with.
On another deleted photo, Jazzi-Jet is once again done up like a woman. In one picture, he’s masturbating, but you can’t see that very well. He touched up one of the pics to make it look like he has breasts.
On February 12, 2002, Duncan created this online resume. He’s obviously highly intelligent and it looks like he’s also a good computer programmer (I never could figure out Java programming myself).
In March 2002, he created this page of a fake Time Magazine and Duncan praising Arnold Schwarzenegger.
Russell Turcotte, age 19, a Turtle Mountain Chippewa, was last seen at a truck stop in Grand Forks, North Dakota, on July 12, 2002, after spending the night with friends in Fargo, North Dakota. He was returning to his home in Wolf Point, Montana from a Rainbow Gathering in Michigan.
Surveillance cameras have now revealed that Duncan was at that truck stop hours after Turcotte was there. Turcotte was hitchhiking with a backpack home on a desolate stretch of Highway 2 west of Grand Forks at around 2 AM. He was picked up, probably by Duncan, taken to a side road near Grand Forks Air Force Base.
He was probably raped before he was killed. He was then taken to Devils Lake, 90 miles west of Grand Forks, where his partially nude body was dumped and covered with brush. His possessions have vanished, probably tossed into one of the area’s many rivers and lakes. His skull had been crushed.
The previous day, his mother had wired him some money. He was living with a girlfriend and running low on cash. Months later, in November 2002, his skeleton was discovered by a rancher in a clump of trees.
Objections have been made to the notion that Duncan committed this crime. First is that he would have had to drive 85 miles north from Fargo to Grand Forks and then another 90 miles west to dump the body.
However, I believe that since 1997, Duncan had started killing quite a ways away from where he lived. His first two killings seem to have pretty close to where he lived. The Seattle girls were abducted while Duncan was living in Bothell, 20 miles away.
Deborah Palmer (if he killed her) was killed in Oak Harbor, 30 miles from his home in Bothell and her body was found nearby. He’s clearly capable of driving 80 miles away from his home to kill someone. Similarly, Beaumont was about 85 miles away from his father’s house in Vista where Duncan was staying.
Anyway, the surveillance camera now has Duncan at the truck stop within hours of when Turcotte was there, so the distance question seems to be ruled out. Furthermore, July 12 was a Friday, so Turcotte was last seen on a Friday night. It appears that Duncan picked him up hitchhiking about 2 AM on the morning of Saturday, July 13 and killed him soon afterward. At some point he drove 90 miles east to dump the body.
Duncan was a college student at this time and was probably working too. It’s certainly possible that he had the whole weekend off. He had lots of free time and was always traveling to the Lakes Country in Minnesota to go scuba diving. Also, Turcotte’s skull had been crushed in the same manner that Anthony Martinez, Sammiejo White and Carmen Cubias, and Slade Groene, along with Mark McKenzie had been dispatched.
Another question about the Turcotte killing is that Turcotte seems old for Duncan’s tastes. However, it has been pointed out that the 19 year old looked very young for his age. A recent picture of him seems to belie that, but another picture taken by his girlfriend shortly before he died, shows him very thin, unhealthy and quite young-looking.
This page is all about the Turcotte killing, written by Hunter Bear, an American Indian retired university professor and leftwing activist. Here is who he thinks the killer is, in 2003 before anyone knew about Duncan:

I continue to feel that Russ’ killer is an Anglo, maybe in his late 30s or early 40s, a so-termed “professional” person with a quite good, reassuring kind of car and out-of-state license plates. It’s obvious that he is a criminal psychopath.

Not bad, huh? At the time he wrote that, Duncan was 40 years old (!), White, and though not a professional, he could certainly come off as one. It seems like he liked to drive nice cars too. About the out of state plates, I have no idea.
Hunter Bear says that the cops did not try very hard to find the Turcotte’s killer, at one point saying that they had no interest in a routine store surveillance camera tape that filmed Turcotte at the last place he was seen.
Hence, the tape was destroyed. Hunter Bear makes a good case that the population and the police in North Dakota and Idaho are very racist towards American Indians. We don’t see much of it out here in California, but it seems to be more of a big deal back there.
Some people are still looking at Seattle, Tacoma or Portland as the connection between the killer and Turcotte, but I am pretty certain that this is a Duncan crime.
This is a Web Archive cache of the original Jet Gazette, Jet’s own online magazine that he made all about…himself! This page is dated July 29, 2002, and that would have been about 17 days after Turcotte was killed.
On March 26, 2003, Dalton Mesarchik, 7, of Streator, Illinois vanished from the front yard of his home. His body was found the next day in creek. His skull had been crushed with a hammer. That’s Duncan’s style.
In June 2003, Duncan began going on trips to Minnesota and Michigan to scuba dive. He went on dives all summer.
On June 14, 2003, Leanne “Beaner” Warner went missing from Chisholm, Minnesota. She was last seen at 5:30 PM, but was not reported missing until 9 PM. Earlier in the day, she had been at a nearby lake with her mother. Duncan was familiar with this lake. Earlier in the day, Duncan was supposedly skydiving with friends in West Fargo, North Dakota. Duncan took photos and video of this event.
However, a look at the calendar for the skydiving class shows that he was not present on that day at all, and was instead present only on July 27. It appears that Duncan went into his videotape and put fake timestamps on it for the date on which Leanne Warner disappeared.
On his blog, on certain days, he details everything he does, down to the last “t”. It seems he may be doing this to give himself an alibi on days when he does his crimes.
In the video, Duncan discusses scuba diving in the Chisholm area in recent days. That’s the part of Minnesota where Warner disappeared later that day. Much of the rest of the tape consists of Duncan taking video of various children running around in the air terminal.
He left the group around noon, giving him plenty of time to drive to Chisholm and kill Warner. In his very first blog entry, Duncan mysteriously mentions this crime. Why is that?
On July 3, he went on a dive trip to Lake Superior. Here are photos from one of his scuba diving trips that summer. Here are photos from his Lake Superior dive trip. Those were taken on July 3.
On October 3, 2003, Duncan was visited by three police officers who accuse him of harassing women downtown. The women know who he is from the Sex Offender database and they have photos of him. He was accused of repeatedly asking them out and not going away when they told him to.
This hardly sounds like a crime to me. The cops say they know who he is and they watch him all the time. Guess they did not watch him enough. He writes about this incident later on his blog, The Fifth Nail.
Here is the final edition of the Jet Gazette, with photos of his scuba diving trips and videos that he made.
Between late February 14 and early February 15, 2004, Justin Phillip Edwards, 13, disappeared. He was living at R. L Mills Home, a state-run facility, located at 116 East “H” Street in Casper, Wyoming since the summer of 2003. He was 5′ tall and weighed only 100 pounds and was retarded. He had the mind of a 6 year old.
In his blog entry of February 16, Duncan says he went skiing for the first time that weekend, alone. Some think he may have been involved in Edwards’ disappearance.
On July 3, 2004, Duncan molested a 7 yr old boy and trying to molest another at a school playground. He had a video camera with him. He was not caught.
In March 4, 2005, Duncan was charged with molesting a 7 year old boy and attempting to molest the boy’s friend in Detroit Lakes, Becker County, Minnesota. On April 5, a judge set his bail at $15,000. This was the July 2004 incident above.
The same day, a Fargo businessman, Joe Crary, wrote a check for that amount to the court and bailed out Duncan. Crary said he befriended Duncan when they both rode their bikes on bike trails in Fargo. Somehow, Duncan gave off the impression of being polite, soft-spoken and seemed sincere about wanting to turn his life around. Duncan also seemed sincere that he was innocent of the Minnesota charges.
I will never understand how psychopaths fool people like this, but they do it all the time. The ability to con and lie with a straight face in these people is amazing. Crary is now maligned, but I feel he was just another good person that this psychopath conned. It should be noted, however, that Crary is apparently a homosexual who had a sexual relationship with Duncan beginning in early January 2004.
After being bailed out, Duncan made plans for his crime spree. He purchased night vision goggles and a video camcorder at a Walmart. He also purchased a shotgun, shells and a claw hammer.
On April 15, 2005, he rented a 2005 red Jeep Cherokee in St. Paul, Minnesota.
After the rental agreement was up, he never turned it back in, and on May 4, auto theft charges were filed against him. On the same day, the key tag to the stolen car was found in Bighorn Canyon National Recreation Area in Wyoming, so Duncan must have been here at some point in his travels.
Between those two dates, Duncan traveled all the way to the far southwest portion of Missouri, where it meets Oklahoma, Kansas and Arkansas. There, on April 27, he stole license plates off a vehicle and placed them on his vehicle.
Then he continued his travels. No one knows where he went during this period, but I believe that he was in Spokane using GPS to stalk young children at a preschool, Kindermusik, which has kids from toddlers up to age 7. While in flight, a warrant was issued for his arrest in Fargo for failure to appear in a court date stemming from the Minnesota case.
He stopped in the Wolf Lodge area 8 miles east of Coeur d’Alene. This post from Duncan’s horrifying blog, The Fifth Nail, was somehow posted from Wolf Lodge just four days before he committed the Idaho crimes.
On May 12 or 13, he ended up on Frontage Road at the home where the crimes occurred. He spent the next two or three days scoping out the house and on Sunday night, he entered the home with gloves, night vision goggles, a claw hammer and a shotgun.
Brenda Groene called Shasta down to the living room from where she had been sleeping. Brenda, Mark and Slade were all tied up there. Duncan quickly hustled Shasta and Dylan outside and into his van. Then he went back in to kill the others. With blows of the claw hammer, he dispatched them.
Shasta heard Mark scream, then she saw Slade try to run out of the house, wounded. He was hauled back in and dispatched. The kids in the van did not witness the killings, but Duncan later told them how he had killed her family. He told her that the name of the hammer was a Fatmax and she learned to call him “Jet” for his initials, Joseph Edward Duncan.
Since his arrest, Duncan is blogging again with the help of others from inside prison. The blog is here. Here is an undated picture of Jet.
Here are two awesome time lines (Timeline One, Timeline Two) on Duncan’s life on the great The Cellar blog which is devoted to this case. This is a website Duncan made, the usual whining stuff about how terribly society treats convicts.
I interviewed my friend Thrillseekerman, Doperman, and Sexmaniacman about Steve Groene, the father of the three child victims and Chris Groene, his brother.
All these guys, Doperman, Thrillseekerman, Sexmaniacman, they all grew up together in Southern California, and they all ran with the same crowd. They’re scattered to the five winds now, but all still keep in touch by phone and by Internet.
I can’t say where they are, but they’re all still in the USA! I grew up with them, but I don’t remember Steve Groene or Chris Groene. I think the Groenes and I knew some of the same people, but I don’t remember the Groenes specifically.

Hi Bob, this case really wears on my mind. It’s amazing that I know this guy, and I know his brother, Chris, too. I haven’t seen Steve in 27 years, and I haven’t seen Chris in probably 25-26 years.Doperman knows Chris but I don’t think he knows Steve.
We all grew up together, Steve, Chris, Sexmaniacman, Doperman and me, Thrillseekerman! And all the rest of the gang! And you, Bob! Haha! I heard about the case and saw the strange name, Groene, and wondered if it was him.
I saw his pic and knew it was him, though at the time I had not seen him in 24 years. He looked like he’d had a hard life; I don’t know if there is any better way to put it. His sister now says he already had cancer at the time. I don’t know enough to comment. Life’s hard on all of us in one way or another. Hang in there Steve!
Steve was into drugs when I knew him, but then so was I! Haha! We all were! Haha! I think I went to grade school with the guy in Orange County and he was in my grade, but I’m not entirely sure.
I never really knew him that well, but I went to see him play with a blues band at a party in an industrial park one night in 1980. He’s a damn fine blues musician and I have good memories of that party. I was drinking Heinekens and later on smoking some dope.
Later I got to know Steve better and somehow in 1981 I was buying Thai weed from him. I realize that sounds bad, but I was a dealer too! For many years! Haha. All of us – my friends and I – were drug users and dealers for many years. Haha! Plus, Steve sold me some damn good Thai weed too! Eat your hearts out, puritans!
Steve was working in the carnivals, traveling all around as a carny, and he was in with the biker crowd and he was doing methamphetamine, but I don’t think he was doing very much. He was just a recreational user. Back in those days, the only people doing meth were bikers and carnies, people like that. Now meth is this huge deal.
He used to come over once in a while, mostly to sell me pot. I was just a pothead at the time. That’s all I know about Steve Groene and dope. Pothead, occasional meth user. But that was Summer 1981, and I never saw him again. I won’t guess about the rest of his life.
I remember he came over once. I was living in an apartment and there was this young guy staying there. He was really mentally ill and he needed a place to stay. He was living on the couch. Haha! There was a guitar case owned by this guy, a great guitarist who was going through a manic episode.
There were cigarette burns all up and down the case, and I pointed to them, shocked, then to the guy in the midst of the manic episode. Steve gave a smile, of sadness, of wisdom, of truth, of life? And then he said, “That’s the blues, man.” That’s right, Steve, you got it man. The blues is life and life is the blues. Ain’t that so true now though? Damn.
I realize that I may be trashing his reputation here, but Steve has already admitted to being a heavy drug user as a younger man. Besides, what’s wrong with being a doper? Haha! I’m 50 years old, and I’m still a stoner! By the way, can you get me any good pot? Haha!
I want to point out that Steve Groene was always the nicest guy to me. He’s a real warm and kind-hearted person, always was. I value that, and I’ll always remember him for that.
I also knew Chris Groene, too.
That handsome face, beautiful long hippie surfer hair, and words of honey – no wonder the girls ate him up! Haha! Chris was a doper too, a pothead! Haha! We all were! He was a juvenile delinquent as a kid, but hey, a lot of us were. Even me! Haha! A nice, friendly, charming delinquent. I think Chris was probably a better thief than I was, though. Haha! I never was good at stealing.
Chris was also a real nice and warmhearted guy the whole time I knew him. I guess he outgrew that delinquent stuff. I still saw him later, into the early 1980’s, and he was still a kind, warmhearted person. I understand he’s got a really good job now.
I see in a recent pic Steve’s got himself a really nice looking new girlfriend. And he’s still a blues musician, which he always was. He’s a damn good musician, too.
I’m amazed that Steve has appeared to hold up pretty well to this. Two of his kids and his ex-wife were brutally murdered and his daughter was kidnapped and molested. But in the last pic I saw of him, he seems to be holding up. I think I would have snapped a long time ago.
All of us, me, Doperman, Chris, Steve, and all our friends. We were rebels, longhairs, surfers, stoners, mavericks, and trillseekers. Bad-ass middle-class dopesmoking White boys! Haha! We were White Punks On Dope ! Haha! Those were the days, man.
I’ll always remember Steve and Chris Groene. Whatever else they’ve been in their interesting lives, they were never mean. They both have hearts as big as the ocean. You don’t see that all the time in this world. Even, with the ravages of time and an unknowable future, if my heart becomes cold and hard, there will always be a tiny place there set aside just for Steve and Chris Groene.
Steve and Chris Groene, presente!

Doperman reminisced about Chris Groene:

I was working at the local elementary school as a janitor when I was 16. It was 1974. One night Chris, then age 15, came up to me and wanted men to give Chris access to the auditorium so Chris could steal a microphone. I guess Chris was a musician too?He almost talked me into it, but I eventually chickened out.
Chris was more of a charming type, and he had natural good looks, really long hair, and he got all kinds of girls and women. He could charm the poison right out of a cobra. This dude had style, man! He was one slick guy! I liked Chris Groene, Bob.
He was always really good to me, even when he was trying to convince me to participate with him in a juvenile crime! I think he grew out of that delinquent stuff, and I hear he has a great job now. You go, Chris! A ghost from your past!

Sexmaniacman recalled Steve Groene. The only recollection he had was one night 30 years ago when he was out of mind on LSD:

“I remember one time, it was the summer of 1978, it was around 10 PM, and I was flying on LSD! I think I was with my buddy Craig L.Anyway, we were headed to this party at Alan B’s place. We came to the street where the party was at, and there were cops there! I was on acid, driving a car, and I looked right into this cop’s eyes! With my huge saucer eyeballs! Scary!
Well, we went inside, and I’m flying on fucking LSD! Oh man! Steve Groene was there! He’s got this big, friendly, warm smile, to light up a whole room, like always. It was Alan B’s party, an Italian guy. A hippie and an acidhead! Haha!
Well, I walk in and there’s this beautiful Mexican chick, about 20 years old, sitting on the couch. She was kinda big, but not too big. Just big enough baby! Lotsa curves! Well, she’s looking at me the whole time. I’m kinda looking back, but I don’t really know what to do.
So after a while Steve Groene says, way too loud, “Hey! Sexmaniacman! Why don’t you get her a beer, Sexguy? She wants you to get her a beer, Sexman!” He’s smiling and laughing, but he’s also like, you idiot! Pick up on the chick! She likes you! Go for it, dummy! Like, duh! So I go and get her a Heineken. I forget what happened after that. I fucked up; I don’t think I even got her number. I’m so stupid sometimes.
Later that night, I was in Alan’s bedroom. I told him I was on LSD. He said, “Hey, Sexmaniacman! Let’s do some more acid, and go to Black Star Canyon, and fry all night!” I opened up a box full of blue LSD tablets. But we never did it.
I love Steve Groene, Bob, I really do. He’s a good person, and his heart is solid gold. He ran with a rough crowd, and he looked like a pretty tough guy, but he was good people all the way. A shout out to Steve Groene! Blast from the past!