Off To The Races
a friendship in the fast lane
I’m an incredibly extraverted person, but as a general rule I don’t really do IRL friends.
One reason for this is that I experience a rather severe disgust response when forced to interface with people who aren’t 115+ IQ and at least 80th percentile in trait openness. Thankfully on platforms like Substack folx like that are a dime a dozen; pretty much every single person reading this will fit that description, and I’d likely be overjoyed to grab a beer with you, the reader. And if we did that you’d likely clock me as a little strange but probs not even actually autistic, because my social skills around other eccentric intellectuals are genuinely superb (at least when I’m rested).
But that’s just because I’m like 150+ verbal and that makes it trivial to mask around other bigbrains and get them to enjoy my company just by talking about shit they care about while occasionally throwing out wacky and novel takes. I also spent the better part of my twenties accumulating an intricate studied knowledge of things like social debt and leverage and status hierarchies and power dynamics, which allows me to defend myself against other sleazy narcs and cut them down to size when necessary.
But around unwashed normgroids I actually do feel like Chris Chan on occasion, as on a purely visceral level I genuinely do sort of want them all to be tortured to death. Please understand this response is entirely involuntary and also physiological—when annoyed in this very particular way I experience an intense itching sensation on my scalp, alongside a storm of sadistic and violent thoughts. But I don’t especially like that about myself, hence my decision to optimize my life around not having to associate with the sort of people who induce such feelings.
Another reason I don’t do IRL friends is that while I very much enjoy social interaction with capable interlocutors it feels like IRL massively raises the salience of competitive power dynamics in a way that frequently eviscerates hard-won rapport—most of the time IRL male friends will either become my LeFou or my rival.
And in fairness it is quite fun to accumulate a couple LeFou’s in your early twenties. But such niggas literally always overstay their welcome, because they never contribute anything to the friendship other than cheap junk food validation. They’ll also betray you the moment they can no longer coast off your superior social capital, as well as for even the faintest whiff of female validation (originally I said pussy, but let’s be real). Nobody with actual shit to do has time for sycophants. Meanwhile hanging out with your rivals actually can be quite fun, but this also induces a surge of cortisol best experienced on a rather calculated basis—nature’s Addy.
Female friends are obviously an entirely different landscape. Generally with girls I’ll either need to fuck them or put myself in a position to fuck them eventually maybe or position myself as their next rebound. But whatever the case they do have to be hot—most girls aren’t interesting enough to befriend on their own merits, and I usually find it rather annoying when life forces me to talk with a girl I don’t want to have sex with.
I don’t really care if she wants to have sex with me back, but she does need to at least flirt with me a bit to make me think I have a chance. That gives me a foot in the door whether she realizes it or not, because in my experience the line between friendzone and talking stage is blurry if you’re emotionally volatile and have a high verbal IQ. That’s the way you benefit from the paleolithic war bride rewriting history thing.
Can platonic male-female friendship exist without a cringe asymmetry in enthusiasm? Clearly—if only because it codes as high status to say so and there must be a reason.
I suspect it’s all gravy provided both parties are high SMV, emotionally stable, and in committed monogamous relationships. Those dynamics can actually be really fun because they allow you to microdose cheating in a plausibly deniable way by flirting a bit knowing it will never lead to anything. For more normie types this arrangement is truly splendid. But I myself am almost certainly too Faustian by temperament to keep something like this up with anyone close to my own age—or even someone younger than me, unless she’s much younger. Perhaps in my forties.
At least I’m mature enough to be friends with an older married woman. She still needs to be good-looking or I’ll just get bored talking to her, but these days I have enough self-control to respect a woman’s marriage. I don’t really respect boyfriends though. And if you think about it that actually makes me the ultimate Friend To Women, as these days rascals like Walt are the only thing compelling niggas to buy the cow.
Anyway back on topic—IRL friends.
For a long time I was besties with another Alt Right eceleb who even became my roommate for a bit and for a few solid years was very genuinely like a brother to me. I’ll write about him at some point, but am holding off for now because if he doesn’t like it he’s probably one of the only people on the planet capable of embarrassing me in a battle of words. And obviously I’d give as good as I get, but it’s not worth starting since both of us are kind of insane narcs entirely willing to press the Big Red Button.
Anyway long story short he was another 150+ verbal with an insane natural talent for propaganda. And we had a really great dynamic going for a while, but eventually our differences in values and life trajectories came to a head and it started feeling like the plagues song in Prince of Egypt. Oftentimes the two of us would spend like six hours straight locking horns in intricate Talmudic debate taking account of our friendship. He actually was a Mischling, but significantly more goyish than me by temperament.
Other than him, I was good friends with a dude in Nebraska I still talk to on occasion. There was also that narcissistic Jew in my Goy story; the two of us had an incredibly fun bro dynamic for a while. He even paid me to find him girls on SA, but I stopped doing that after he pumped and dumped a girl I myself had seen a few times and she started trying to sow discord between us—I really should have seen that one coming. Thankfully he didn’t give a fuck and we were fine until the Canadian bitch proved far better at the same game. Oh and there was also this kid Kenny in middle school with whom I got into a fistfight Freshman year. I got suspended after that and it was this whole thing that eventually led to me doing the internet school so I could LARP as Doogie Hauser for a bit. But besides these guys I haven’t really had any intimate IRL friendships with other fellers—except with
who potentially counts since he stayed the night at my condo a few months ago (nothing gay happened).Actually maybe I can also count Mike—that’s the Puerto Rican I paid to watch me carry out Starting Strength during the Lockdown Era and yell at me if I didn’t go below parallel on my squats. Mike was half-Italian and around 107 IQ, so hanging out with him was tolerable. We got drinks a few times and it felt like an obligation but I was willing to extend that gesture of courtesy because I wanted him to like me. And for the most part he did, though our dynamic was still more transactional than it was with at least 70% of the women I was paying for sex and / or therapy at the time.
It also provoked an intense disgust response in me when Mike kept insisting he was natty, because I personally feel it’s DEEPLY unethical to tell young men you can look like that without any extracurriculars. But Mike was in his forties and I think this is just one of those generational things, because my Zoomer frens will talk about their tren cycles like it’s fucking nothing. If Mike heard them doing so he’d probably react in the same way Boomers do when I casually mention sugaring in mixed company.
Anyway I guess on Mike’s part he was somewhat annoyed that I only wanted to do compound lifts and wouldn’t waste time on timewasting shit like “calf raises.”
But that’s why I was paying Mike and not the other way around.
And much like my sugar babies, he couldn’t exactly argue with that.
A lot of the girls I met on Seeking in 2020-2023 became genuine friends for a time.
Not the ones with a sub-110 IQ, of course—in practice my dynamic with such women usually approached the classier type of escorting. But I was also a lot more gentle with the bimbo types than I was with the more sophisticated girls I met on the site, because in my experience intellectual girls tend to be considerably more masochistic than normgroid women, both physically and emotionally.
See, stupid people just want to eat candy all the time. More functional normies will want to mix in some salad and steak. But intellectuals go back to preferring candy; they just need it laced with razor wire or occasionally poop.
But the girls who need steak and the girls who crave poopcandy aren’t really different in terms of median IQ, at least not in my experience. It’s more a question of novelty seeking / emotional volatility. I’m not talking about pantsuit women here.
A lot of female readers get cross with me when I say Women Don’t Have Agency whilst also pursuing nothing but molesteds with BPD or substance abuse issues, but those are literally the only women I can relate to. Most of you are so fucking boring and only want to talk about the absolute gayest shit. But I don’t care one iota about what your fat friend Megyn said, and shall never again pretend to. Fuck Megyn.
And anyway it’s a moot point because you’d probably just get turned off by my hands being soft or freak out at all the disgusting shit I expect in bed. I very genuinely want nothing to do with you broads.
In practice you probably actually do Have Agency, but what do you even use it for, getting the best deal at Kohl’s? When I talk about women I’m obviously talking about the ones I personally want to have sex with. Also it goes without saying that women who aren’t desirable Have Agency—they need to just to force us to pay attention.
Whereas the sort of women who Don’t Have Agency will think of male attention in basically the same way a fish thinks about water.
Amanda was the only actual “sugar baby” I’ve had in the strictest sense of the term.
The higher IQ girls would in most cases become my girlfriend almost immediately—we’d love bomb each other during the first hookup and then have a beautiful honeymoon stage only for me to ruin everything by cheating on her or yelling at her for not knowing what ceteris paribus means or turning into a werewolf after staying up for three days straight. This happened nine times.
Now some of those bitches were too crazy even for me, but in my current estimation at least four of them would have been fairly superb wife material and I kind of just fucked up tbh. But thankfully I’ve reason to suspect that two of them will let me try again at some point. Honestly normalfag women will shit on SA for gay intrasexual competition reasons but if you’ve got the dosh I really can’t recommend it enough.
That said I won’t pretend that the dumber women I met on there were anything but soft escorts. Initially we’d try to make it not that, but it always faded into it eventually because PPM is just 100x more convenient / logistically sound if you aren’t sufficiently in love to feel a need to mediate things in some way. Though one reason autistic women are lovely to date is that they sometimes aren’t like this and will react to a $100 venmo in the same way a normie girl reacts to flowers. But then other female autists will have an even more violently oppositional response.
Anyway a lot of people think of me as the Sugar Baby Guy now but that actually isn’t a natural dynamic for me at all. See, what the Sugaring Community typically calls a “Traditional Arrangement” is basically a FWB dynamic where you pay her rent. To me that’s honestly kind of weird because with most women I see as viable sex partners I’ll either immediately fall in love with her or simply think of her as a sexual object, and on the face of it the notion of anything in between strikes me as rather groace.
But with Amanda it came super easily.
I met her in late 2021, when I was 27 and she was I think 24?
She had that classic alt girl look: hair dyed in a charming Xbox color scheme, sleeve tats, Kunta Kinte face piercings, garments a bit too revealing for her age she still pulled off, those awful combat boots they all started wearing a few years ago…
I hate those fucking boots. They make the girl’s feet stink and I always have to make her wash her feet before fucking her because I have a very pronounced foot fetish but definitely not in that gross way where you actually want them to smell bad. And that’s actually why I have to date on Seeking—I have way too much of this type of shit in my personal hedonic calculus to have any interest in dating a girl who won’t play ball. Though Amanda herself never needed to do this because for some genetic reason her feet don’t stink even when she’s running around in tight shoes. In high school one of her classmates would buy her used socks and I guess that really annoyed him.
One man’s trash…
Anyway it took us like four months to meet up, because like all art hoes Amanda is cartoonishly flaky and probably around 10th percentile in trait conscientiousness. Thankfully her openness was easily 95+ (her main Thing in life is her insta where she creates these artistic videos of herself that are actually amazingly well done—she has really excellent taste) and that made it worth it to keep pursuing her even though her IQ was probably only around 115.
Though I suspect it started higher than that. She had a bach degree in some dumb woman shit like Social Work, but she apparently had a perfect GPA in high school. She also played soccer competitively then and like all Italians seems naturally blessed with prodigious visual-spatial intelligence—I think her dad is a mechanic? Whenever she drove me to Walgreens to pick up my Adderall she got me there way faster than any other woman could because she’s an absurdly aggressive driver, just more in that calculated Roman way instead of a disorganized nigger way. I also paid her to put together furniture for me a couple times, but stopped doing this because she kept flaking when I grabbed her halfway through to start fucking her again.
Anyway the point is she did a lot of drugs in college and that clearly melted her brain because in three years of knowing her I never once observed her NOT acting erratic and volatile. But this is also what made her the type of person who electrifies your amygdala in every conversation and do I need to explain how volcanically hot that is?
Girls who don’t do that seem like livestock to me—it’s my blessing and my curse.
Like Rajeev / Worst Boyfriend Ever, I took Amanda to World of Beer for our first date.
And initially she was a pretty fucking horrible dining companion—for at least the first ten minutes of the date she was on her phone the entire time and barely seemed to register my presence. But I guess at the time she was being strung along by this other fuckboy who actually broke up with her while we were eating, which of course induced the silly bitch to break down crying in the middle of the restaurant’s tastefully furnished patio dining area.
It goes without saying that this aroused me massively, while at the same time greatly endearing me to Little Amanda. It also made her conquest more or less inevitable, and to this day I continue to thank that other fuckboy for handing me such an “open goal” (to borrow the parlance of Amanda’s childhood sport).
Anyway at this point Amanda was feeling vulnerable and rejected so I knew I needed to groom her into having higher self esteem and a stronger internal locus of control or else she might get scared and “want to be alone” or something gay like that.
Thankfully she was Italian and had the temper to match, so I just said nigger a few times and in a few minutes she’d basically forgotten about the other fuckboy and the two of us were romantically ensconced in a lively debate about human biodiversity and various other issues of the day. The only specific thing I remember about this discussion is that at one point she alleged that a third of all women die in childbirth—a moment that sort of crystalizes the nature of Amanda Thought.
Anyway as we walked back to my apartment I tried to put an arm around her and she launched into some gay screed about not objectifying / owning her and all that noise. But then we got back to my place and got a little sauced and soon Amanda was giggling and talking like the squeaky blonde greaser chick from CatDog. She then opined that I was “cute” (at the time I was a hard 7 to her ~8.5) and indicated that she would absolutely let me objectify / own her for $500.
At the time the going rate for a hookup on SA was $300, but I wasn’t about to fucking haggle with a girl like this on the first date. I constantly haggled with her afterwards and the two of us even made a fun game out of it, but it was important to make her feel sexy and powerful before tying her up and degrading the shit out of her for the first time. And so I accepted without hesitation.
I was Amanda’s twenty-second sexual partner and she my forty-third. I also claimed two of her virginities that night because despite making loads of feet content on OF Amanda had never given a footjob before. Most girls are quite bad at it until they’re exceptionally practiced, but she was a natural thanks to that wop visual-spatial. Also I guess she’d never done anal before, but I told her the same thing I said to Mike.
All in all it was one of my better nights of lechery, and I continue to review the pics and videos I took quite frequently. Never to masturbate tho; more out of nostalgia.
Anyway a few hours later a moderately sloshed Amanda indicated that she needed to leave and meet up with some ugly Bulgarian guitarist she’d been speaking with on Facebook. And I was peeved at first, because I’d assumed she’d be staying the night, but still I magnanimously allowed her to use my shower to remove all seminal residue from her holes / extremities so Boris needn’t encounter any whilst coupling with her.
But before she left Amanda insisted we visit the roof of my high rise and take some pics for her insta. Without the slightest hesitation she perched herself on the ledge and started posing for shots like a glamor model.
A few months later Boris was her boyfriend and Walter her sugar daddy—a proper sugar daddy in the classical mold; not a john and certainly not a boyfriend.
It worked for like a year because despite being quite traditional Boris probably knew he’d alienate Amanda if he tried to “control” her. And so the dude played the enlightened polyamorist and tried to assert his influence by putting all these gay little rules on our dates—no cuddling, no overnights, no holding hands etc.
I broke these rules happily and it turned me on to do so.
But that stuff isn’t what I remember about our dates.
I remember the 2 AM convos on my balcony talking candidly about suicide and serial killers and being bullied and bullying others and all the various people over the years who’ve cheated on us or we’ve cheated on or both of those things.
I remember the time she broke down into a mess of tears while I was facefucking her. When that instantly turned me rock hard (having been ~75% even after three chewies) she burst out laughing and couldn’t stop for almost a minute. Never in my life have I made a girl laugh with my brain like I made Amanda laugh with my dick that night—even with my 150+ verbal.
Yeah the bitch was crazy and did all kinds of dysfunctional shit, but Amanda lives her life as performance art, and when I was in the right mood nothing could compare. And naturally I played the disapproving elder brother amidst her worst shenanigans, but boys, it fucking electrified me whenever she insisted on driving us shitfaced through the city while masterfully weaving through traffic and belting along to Off to the Races. It was predominantly during these types of batshit Four Loko dalliances with Amanda that I really started to grow into the rakishness that defined my late twenties.
But nothing good can last when you’re leveraging asymmetries as aggressively as Cap’n Walter. Whenever things got too wild Amanda would end up squealing to Boris, and in time that brought our firecracker arrangement to a rather ignominious end.
I had a lot of natural chemistry with Amanda—we were roughly the same level of sleazy / transactional / evil, and it was a lot of fun getting lunch with her and talking shit about people. She was who I took to the movies with me when I didn’t have a girlfriend to go with (it was annoying though that she’d literally always need to pee halfway through, and somehow always during the most important scene of the movie), and also was the girl I had sex with after breakups so as to not feel sad. Amanda really was splendid rebound pussy, simply because she was so much more volatile in the short term than literally any other girl I’ve fucked. She could make you forget literally anything—perhaps because she herself had forgotten most things.
A few times I got wasted and told her to leave Boris for me. On each occasion she said I was being retarded and would end up getting bored of her like everybody else, plus why would I even want that when we clearly work great already.
The deceptive brilliance of Amanda Thought.
I don’t really know where this is going—I’ve just been typing away sort of aimlessly this whole time and need to think of a point to end on.
Here’s one: the IRL friendship worked with Amanda because she was very adversarial in our normal day-to-day conversations, which kept things stimulating and fresh but never really threatened my masculinity because I always had the option on hand of productively releasing any pent-up annoyance through some cheeky irrumatio.
It was a lovely friendship. I miss her. That’s all I have to say.
Anyway don’t forget to like, comment, and subscribe!
Well, we know what's happened to the millennial Henry Miller or Philip Roth. (That is a compliment, BTW.) You and Delicious Tacos, and Dan Baltic if he ever writes us a new book.
OK, as one aging bachelor to a less aged bachelor: the girls are going to get older, and you are going to have to make a decision as to the kids thing. As they get older they tend to have kids, too; it's just the human life cycle. I won't try to sway you one way or the other; you obviously have a love for variety. You don't have to post about it in your blog, and you don't have to do what your audience wants you to do; you're the one who has to live your life, and it's better to piss off everyone and disappear if you get to do what you actually want with it. And if you decide not to spawn, have an old-age plan; you want to have friends who are going to look out for you.
"One reason for this is that I experience a rather severe disgust response when forced to interface with people who aren’t 115+ IQ and at least 80th percentile in trait openness."
This is probably why you keep dating Jewish women, I think. That particular combination is a lot more common in Jewish people.
It's so hilarious to me, the ways in which I remember once being you. :D
Though you do at least seem to have figured a few things out a lot sooner than I did.