Every nice guy has to go through an X day in his life: every nice guy thinks he would end up feeling really bad if he succeeded in making a girl have to approach him for sex, until one day he happens to inadvertently witness at some club how pathetically
The MRA had defined his life by struggle against militant Feminism. Now he'd achieved total victory, former Radical activists served obediently as foot-rests. Still he couldn't shake a sense of bored existential ennui. Life was too easy and empty, fueling
Let it be known that I formally support the new Queen. And after I'm through 'talking' with them, every pig in the mines would gladly give his life to see Her on the throne.
