My day as a real man

Today, I woke up and felt hungry. In the past I would have eaten breakfast. Cereal perhaps. Some toast. A boiled egg.

Not today. What am I? A pussy? My stomach rumbles and I have to feed it right away like I’m some sort of woman?

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” Oh, yeah? Says who? I’ll be the judge of that. Besides, I’m not going to make my own sandwiches.

I’ve been watching a lot of videos on YouTube. I’ve been watching a lot of videos featuring Andrew Tate. Andrew Tate is a British-American kickboxer (odd mid-Atlantic accent included) who made a lot of money managing a Romanian studio for camgirls and now teaches people how to be real men. (You might think it kind of ironic that he teaches men the art of masculinity after making a fortune off the desperate longing of lonely singletons, but that’s because you’re thinking like a woman.)

Ladies. If I may? (Or even if I may not.) We men are tired of feminists ordering us to be more polite, and more sensitive, and more in touch with our emotions. What do we need? Some random dude on the internet ordering us to be the exact opposite. Who were they to tell us how to live? We’ll let this bloke do it instead.

Tate teaches men how to be rich and free at his “Hustlers University.” Claims that students can make money by promoting Hustlers University have led to accusations of it being a “pyramid scheme.” Well, who built the pyramids? Badasses, that’s who.

If you pay a lot of money you get access to Tate’s “War Room.” The War Room! They’re preparing for war — and to trade workout tips and investment advice. It’s “a global organization with members, bases and influence in over 70 countries” apparently. It’s for men “who see that not many are taking life seriously and the few that are, have been easily exploiting the unaware.” Wow, it’s a war against the English language too. Why should we let grammar push us around?

Anyways, the alleged multi-level marketing scheme (or what I call grinding) has splashed Tate’s face all over YouTube, TikTok and Instagram. Podcasters and livestreamers can’t stop talking about the man as well. “Hey, look at this CRAZY guy (don’t forget to like, comment and subscribe), he’s so OUTRAGEOUS (have you liked, commented and subscribed yet?).” Some people have led campaigns to have him banned from the platform for “teaching young boys to be violent misogynists” but this is preposterous. Hustlers University is for men of all ages.

“Money is not the goal,” says Tate, “power is.” What is the foundation of power? Physical strength. So, after skipping breakfast I go the gym. “Yo,” one man says while I’m deadlifting, “don’t bend your back. Do you want help? I’m a personal trainer.” A personal trainer? “Thanks — but I don’t need to be trained. I’m not a dog.” My back hurts while I lift the bar, but as Tate says, “the quitter is the most useless class of man.” I finish my set and crawl out of the gym again.

Critics have argued that Tate has a problem with women but I ask you — who has the real problem with women? The man who claimed that he emotionally manipulated women into selling their bodies online and has said that rape is partly a woman’s fault or… I forget where I was going with this.

The point is that Tate is teaching men to take back control. With his winning attitude, we could all be kickboxing world champions marshaling armies of camgirls. Since I began to follow him I’ve learned to hone my discipline and focus. I waste less time and energy. Every conversation I have is an intentional conversation. Every podcast that I listen to is an intentional podcast. Every fart I fart is an intentional fart. It’s called self-mastery. You might want to try it some time.

My decisions in my professional and personal life have become more selfish, ambitious and goal-oriented. Some of them might even make me successful. I guess that takes time. Above all, I am learning to be confident. Don’t I look confident to you? Don’t I? I even had “CONFIDENT” printed on the front of my t-shirt. (I do, don’t I? Look confident I mean.)

Some people have told me that I seem unhappy. That’s called jealousy. They wish I was a slave to my emotions like them — with their “smiles” and their “laughter.” People who think life has anything to do with happiness — never mind “pursuing interests”, or “building a community”, or (*shudders*) “doing good” — are sheep.

Life is about pursuing goals — and by “goals,” I mean impressing strange men on the internet. In fact, I’d give it all up — the chance for money, the chance for power, the chance to feel the touch of a beautiful woman — just to hear a man with sunglasses, a Lamborghini and a large social media presence call me “king.” Now that would be living.

I get home after a long, hard day of watching YouTube and looking at people in the street to see if they respect me. My stomach is grumbling. I still haven’t eaten. Fuck you, stomach. You aren’t the boss of me.