Sixteen Fun Facts About Me

some of these are more fun than others

Recently the good doctors Hanania and Kaplan published articles listing sixteen fun facts about them presumably designed to build their personal eceleb myth and signal status subtextually to women / normalfags who take such maneuvers at face value.

Always appreciating an opportunity to artfully humblebrag, I’ve done much the same in the article before you.

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1. I was reading chapter books before I could walk in a way that didn’t look sort of retarded, and for many years thereafter my aunt called me her “little savant,” later reporting that initially she was worried something might be wrong with me and that I’d turn out like Forrest Gump—which to be fair I apparently do still walk in a pretty weird way, as on my podcast for instance my exgf Rose likened my gait to that of a penguin, while WBE later observed that it resembled King K. Rool’s. As for the reading: it got my parents to skip me ahead through kindergarten which I ofc loved at the time but looking back was kind of just the opposite of redshirting and lowkey caused most of the social problems that ultimately made me need to drop out of high school after freshman year and cheat my way through the rest in a few weeks at one of those retarded online cheater schools for teen moms so I could start college at 14 and enjoy that even more only for it to deepen all the same problems until I was functionally kind of a different species.

2. I was also making a six figure sal and moderately internet famous before I got my driver’s license, ultimately doing so in Nebraska just before my 25th birfday—and even then only because the homeschooled virgin I was Courting at the time had an exceedingly grugchud notion of masculinity and would regularly post on her twatter about wanting to be driven around and such, which my first girlfren before her being kind of a snooty art hoe by disposition generally did me the courtesy of pretending not to care about… although one time when we were both drunk said art hoe said she wanted to be the passenger princess and made me drive her back to Walt Disney World Residential Housing from some overpriced resort eatery I’d taken her to hoping I could wife her up before her Disney College Program ended, which sadly I failed at… although it turns out I was actually a pretty good drunk driver all things considered despite not having been behind the wheel since my parents kind of gave up trying to make me learn in my later teen years. Thus when I finally got my license in Nebrasky I started acting a bit like a 16-year-old boy about it e.g. revving the engine of my dashing crimson Subaru at traffic lights like a character in The Outsiders and trying to fuck every girl I dated in its back seat despite it being freezing outside and me having a perfectly serviceable apartment close by. Thing is I was living with my mischling buddy from the Alt Right at the time and fuckin a girl with a roommate in the same dwelling felt ontologically corrupted to me whereas Omaha is full of all these empty industrial parking lots ideal for getting your weasel greased behind windows shrouded in the obfuscatory fogfrost of the 100th Meridian; looking back those are some of my only good memories of the midwest.

3. I’m kind of identitarian about not tying my shoes because when I was a kid the aunt I mentioned earlier made fun of me for taking a long time to learn and also employing the Bunny Ear Method well into grade school, such that it became a running gag in my extended family that Walt Can’t Tie His Shoes even though I pretty clearly could and by sixteen often did so with military precision—just one reason among many that when I moved away at 23 I for the most part stopped talking to them and also stopped tying my shoes outside a work context. It’s also why when ppl like Danny Li tell me my shoe is untied I make it a very deliberate point NOT to tie my shoe, as I view telling someone their shoe is untied as a plausibly deniable power move masquerading bisexually as polite normalcy in a way women call you schizo for diagnosing as such, and am altogether overjoyed to eat the social repercussions of standing athwart this tactic out of principle. Now obviously this irks the chickies in my life—for instance one time at Ikea with the aforementioned Rose the little maid made me eat my Swedish meatballs with lingenberry sauce on the move because when some chode in the cafeteria told me my shoes were untied I simply nodded and stared him down—but I’ve thankfully learned to aestheticize this and turn it mostly into fodder for flirtation. And I also don’t trip nearly as often as you’d expect given how clumsy I am otherwise.

4. I was born in Mesa, Arizona and for most of my childhood lived in a cozy house in the burbs. My mom often arranged playdates with this little blonde mischling girl my age named Brianna, but they ended after one Halloween when I told Brianna’s elephantine grocery clerk mom that I was dressed up as Don Quixote and she responded with WHO THE FUCK IS THAT?! Later I befriended this bih named Jenny whose mom was named Maureen and apparently at some point fucked our next door neighbor “Jim,” who I loathed intensely because one time at a party he offered me shrimp which I continue to have a powerful sensory aversion to that as a young child was so potent that I’d always sneak out of the lunch room to walk around the halls aimlessly whenever they were serving shrimp. But eventually I got caught doing this by my fourth grade teacher Mrs. Guannell who of course as a tall Gen X blonde thought I should be Normal and on another occasion refused to believe me when I told her that October originally was the eighth month in the Roman calendar hence it being OCTober you retarded whore cumcunt and then some faggot Grant in the class was like “yeah I know it wasn’t the eighth month because I was born in October!🤓” Except guess what Grant, you worthless little faggot: I WAS BORN IN OCTOBER TOO, and despite you ostensibly being my gifted classmate you work in a bookstore these days, so I think the universe has since borne out which one of us is to be afforded epistemic standing purely on ethos grounds. But anyway my dad started taking time off work to take me out to lunch whenever shrimp was served.

5. Other than Jenny (who was fat and used to kiss my neck in the lunch line which looking back made me pretty uncomfortable, tho I never said anything because it seemed a pretty silly thing to get her in trouble for) there was this other neighbor kid named Erick who lived with his grandparents for some probably sad reason and I used to call Ewick because that’s how he said it. Ewick was one of those guys who wants to spend time with you and acts like an incel entitled to sex about it but instead it’s e.g. pretending to be Pokémon on the lawn when you would much rather play Xbox by yourself (he always wanted to be Sonic but I’d never heard of that and so told him No we’re doing Pokémon). Later some fat kid who used to say Koo Koo Kachoo ad nauseum on the school bus insisted that I ought not be friends with Ewick because he’s “gay,” which he probably meant in the figurative sense at the time but might honestly have been onto something given the moody exuberance of Ewick’s affect. Anyway my rents tended to force me to hang out with Ewick at first, but stopped after he asked me to give him one of my toys and after I said no tried to overrule me by going to my parents, presumably not understanding this was really weird on account of his own set having long since departed this mortal plane.

6. My parents were both just over 30 when they had me, which presumably is the main reason I’m so autistic. Both of them had been white trash who’d gotten into Georgetown thanks mostly to SAT scores and then moved back west a few years before I was born to help my aunt raise my girl cousins after they dad walked out. My mom did an MBA whilst preggers with me and my dad went back for an MA in Spanish around the same time, and for most of this era we were lower middle class, with my mom doing various consulting gigs part time and my dad working as a grant writer for Arizona State’s bilingual education push that nowadays is mostly seen as a terrible failure. The two of them separated amicably when I was 10, and for the next few years I was basically upper middle class as she became a marketing executive in the hospitality industry and he rose the ranks of academic admin. Then around the time I started ASU she had a nervous breakdown and he went back to get his PhD, so for the next few years we were kind of poor again, which at the time I narrated to my Dutch pen pal from 4chan who I was in love with in LARPy Dickensian terms bc not getting guac at chipotle unironically registered as wretched poverty to me and not a little unjust.

7. There’s a bunch of other stuff about my parents I won’t share here because it would make them look bad, but would also help explain to anyone who cares why I instinctively don’t trust womanly post-hoc renarration of romantic and sexual situations, as well as my intense and visceral contempt for male credulity in the face of such renarration. That said I also think Marilyn Monroe was spot-on about taking people at their worst, and so give my mom a lot of credit for endowing me with a deep intellectual appreciation for nuance / subtext that most spergs lack hence them constantly getting shredded by normies and women. I also benefited quite a lot just from being the child of a linguistics professor and marketing executive, which is precisely the combination you’d look for trying to build a top-shelf semiotic terrorist.

8. Most of my classmates in Mesa were Mormons and so occupied the rare position of being both unusually polite and unusually high openness / tolerant of weirdos. Thus I was on the whole pretty popular in Mesa and seen more as a Kramer / Fonz type figure than as That Guy, which is how most normalfags in Glendale would ultimately see me. The only time I remember being chastised by the Mormons was in fifth grade when we were playing this Revolutionary War game as a class and could choose to be Loyalist or Patriot and I stayed loyal to the king the entire time and just ate the increasing Taxes they imposed on our “classroom dollars” which due to my good behavior and disinterest in stickers and stale Smarties I’d banked so much of anyway that I was able to keep paying King George’s taxes until the end of the class. But I was doing this less to be an edgelord understand than to test if anything cool would happen if I broke the game since the rules had it so we’d only move on to the next stage when all kids were Patriots which wasn’t even fucking accurate but anyway the teacher just ignored it and everyone was like “Oh that Jeremy!” which is probably when I started to really despise normies. That said while my loyalty to the king was never appreciated at the time I also might fuck a Canadian chick soon, so I guess the world works in mysterious ways?

9. One of my finest memories in Mesa was chartering the Falcon Hill Spy Club, which originated in me ordering a bunch of spy gear in a scholastic book order and finding it highly wanting. This was a few years after the movie Spy Kids came out which I was still obsessed with on account of wanting to fuck Alexa Vega (don’t call me a pedophile she’s five years older than me), and so after getting disappointed by the spy gear I opted to show some Agency and began organizing the other smart weird kids into doing Spy things. Like once there was a guy taking pictures of kids from atop the eponymous hill (which upon returning to as an adult proved far less impressive than I remembered), and we reported him to a recess aide. Then another time some kid named Ryan joined the class and near the end of the day crumpled something up and threw it in the trash in a pretty sus way, so I made eye contact with him and walked over to the trash to inspect it, but it turned out to just be the beginning of a short story that was actually kind of neat and after that Ryan became the guy I talked about Morrowind with during recess and believed all the lies I said about cool secret things you can do. Anyway the Spy Club got in trouble at some point because this fag named Casey with a voice even then I felt was waaaay too squeaky for a fourth grader started calling it a “killing club” because I’d made the initiation ritual killing a bee or something which made this girl named Melissa I sort of had a crush on get us all in trouble.

10. I was a very sexual child. Never got molested or anything… but my dad read me a book about gladiators when I was like 7-8 and I remember there was a passage he refused to read to me so after he went to bed I snuck it out of his room and read the whole thing in the bathroom, and it turned out the omitted passage was about how the Romans would have girl prisoners raped by donkeys in the colosseum or w/e, which sounds bad but honestly I don’t think the book ruined me so much as that I was obsessed with rape long before that and could sniff out instinctively even then when something noncon was about to happen. Also in first grade there was this big blonde Mormon boy Marty who would like pin girls to the wall during recess and look intensely into their eyes which looking back is probably less evidence of him being a Natural Chad than him having gotten molested but either way I noticed the girls responding positively to that and it definitely planted something.

11. For most of my childhood I was super fucking paranoid about shit getting in my eyes, which according to my mom started as a baby because I’m genetically cursed with disproportionately long and fast-growing eyelashes that apparently would break off en masse all the time and scrape the shit out of my peepers. But that stopped happening by the time I was sentient, and so my first conscious trauma instead occurred when I was like 4-5 and my mom made me Cream of Wheat covered in cinnamon, which on account of the porridge being exceptionally hot I blew on a bit too vigorously resulting somehow in a massive heap of cinnamon getting under my eyelids and shredding my cornea. After that I would constantly tell barbers etc. to gtf away from my eyes and not Scratch My Cornea… only to then inflict the same on myself during a childhood trip to Lake Powell, which my mom got to visit for free as a perk of working for Aramark. While visiting a locale the Mormons call Ice Cream Canyon, I attempted a “super-run” (my boyhood term for running downhill) down a mammoth slope of soft and tractable white sand, and for my effort ended up eating about thirty feet worth of said sand and once more shredding my eyes. But that was the last time.

12. I also have a lazy eye—which I was under the impression was mostly unnoticeable until the inimitable Mr. Li wrote about it this past January in a way that kind of offended me at first but by the end of the piece I appreciated because it made me seem vaguely Alastor Moody-coded. But anyway whenever the eye starts slacking off I see double, and on the main this is something I can control in a manner phenomenologically proximal to wagging one’s penis by squeezing one’s asshole, but occasionally it also happens involuntarily when I’m e.g. tired or high or excited or not wearing my glasses (at the time they kept slipping down my face because I’ve worn the same pair for ~5 years and should probably get a new set, esp given they’re now fairly crooked due to me having rolled over on them a few days ago which you can see in my latest Katie podcast).

13. I lost my virginity when I was 24 in Jan of 2018. I then slept with two other goils that year, and then according to my “Partners” Google Sheet acquired four more notches on my bedpoast in 2019, followed by twelve in 2020, twenty-one in 2021 (what are the odds?), twenty-six in 2022, forty-one in 2023, and then seven in 2024. Since then tho I’ve mostly only fucked ex-gfs and also a couple fangirls I haven’t added to my sheet and tbh feel weird about even adding to my formal number—tho less bc of any gay ethical shit understand than because I retain a deep and embodied aesthetic contempt for the actuarial world and now find spreadsheets far and away too actuarial-coded for me to track women there versus in a more narrative and exclusively wordcel literary sense. But having said that the average metrics of my Fuckboy Era conquests are enumerated below for anyone curious:

    

    Of those women, I’d hazard I loved (or had a sufficiently literary attachment to I don’t feel silly narrating our dyad as love’s ontological neighbor) exactly seven of them, and feel the same about four others I never ended up inside of but frankly might as well have. I pay tribute to all but one of these eleven in the song Lake-ish, which is a remake of my song Rake-ish, which is itself a remake of my song Rakish.

14. When I was an actuary I never cared about my work in any substantive non cargo culty sense or paid attention except during the first half of 2022, when I became obsessed with Walt (hey!) Mason’s poem about The Man Who Delivers The Goods and tried to LARP as a Dave Ramsey enjoyer. Needless to say it didn’t take; if you want the deets read Leaving The City Beautiful, but long story short: money for me has always been more a way to e.g. get Uber Eats every day + tell my family to fuck off when they’re annoying + date women better-looking than me than something emerging from me genuinely being capable of giving a shit about anything that produces hard economic value. The thing is I also spent too much of my life in that modality resenting cool artist types for having exactly that perspective while deluding themselves into thinking they’re “natural aristocrats” or w/e that I can’t inhabit either mindset cleanly and kind of think both bugmen and artists are insecure cringey faggots who need to narrate peepo different from themselves as defective because mankind is a faggot cuck Explainer species that comes up with all these fake and gay “moral” or “aesthetic” reasons its gauche and hungry status jockeying is ackshully about something higher order and then acts like anyone who’s honest about shit and genuinely pluralist is a sleazy degenerate.

15. For about a year from mid-2020 to mid-2021 I was sufficiently committed to powerlifting that by the end of that period I could have put up a decent showing in local meets. Other than that my main period of serious exercise was in late 2016 when I still lived in Scottsdale and during a quasi-monastic Jordan Peterson epoch precipitated both by losing my first girlfriend + the chief actuary at my first fulltime job being the most wretched Dolores Umbridge cunt in creation I would walk tens of thousands of steps each day in part to show my ex my step count could exceed that of her own ex I’d stolen her from earlier that year but had just recently stolen her back from me. This culminated in me randomly climbing Camelback Mountain one day, which she found impressive enough that I was able to once more steal her back from him, hence me moving to Tampa in mid-2017. In Chinese astrological tradition this was the Year Of The Cock, which she and I having both been sired in 1993 treated as a private meme that year since the restaurant placemat description fit both of us so eerily well.

    

    Sadly I never paid attention to it saying Roosters aren’t compatible with other Roosters, which would have been remarkably useful knowledge not just with Natalie but also Selene (another 1993) and Layla (2005). But: you live you learn.

16. Anyway speaking of China: my most favorite historical figure is Chairman Mao—obviously not because of his “politics” or “beliefs” or w/e, but rather because he was able to drag his testicles over the world’s largest civilization and eradicate millennia of tradition presumably because he never got over thinking Confucius was kind of a faggot when he was fourteen and subsequently getting punished for speaking his mind. Because what Mao understood, see, is that the entire world is inexorably and intractably one giant ongoing Cultural Revolution—and that if you’re never going to escape the struggle sesh you might as well make sure it’s the guy genetically predisposed by dint of neurotype to finding you annoying that ends up in the labor camp.

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