Anonymous Identity vs. Known

Brevity is the soul of wit, so my goal for the first few weeks of posting regularly with this blog is to keep my posts under 500 words, following the advice of the Mano gurus.

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Ah yes, Christmas time, and with it comes the family party.  My Irish-Catholic family get-togethers continue to get more and more fun as more of my cousins come of drinking age and a proportionate amount of liquor is consumed.

However, the family party is a perfect example of keeping conversation light and rarely delving too deep underneath the surface of matters.  For example, ideas that I explore in this blog I would not dare bring up with anyone in my family.  I occasionally allude to red pill logic (“cuz you need to work on your game”) and it tends to freak people out when I do it.

This brings me to the point of this post: secrecy vs. embracement, or even celebration, of identity.  Roosh talkes about when he was ‘outed’ and had to just embrace his pua identity.  Krauser is super upfront. I have a ton of respect for guys like those two who put themselves out there publicly and are completely open about what they are and what drives them.  It takes a lot of balls to be as honest as they are.  Or maybe that’s just the way of life they’ve chosen.

But, myself being honest, I am not able to be as frank with the world as Roosh and K, at least not yet.  I like to think it is more of a job/realist thing than a fear thing.  If people at my place of work found out that I had a red pill-gamish blog, my colleagues would be freaked out.  It’s possible (probable?) that I would lose my job.

I think we all have a natural curiosity for our own ‘Tyler Durden’ or Mr. Hyde side, the one that most people keep hidden.  I’m fine with developing a hidden blogger personality–I need to see how far down the rabbit hole goes…

And it seems like it goes pretty fucking far down.

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In timely fashion, after my post about Dan losing his V-chip, I just ran into the first girl with whom I remember having sex with (whole nother story) last night.  An interesting conversation ensued and that is definitely a topic for a post soon. Until then, Merry Christmas motherfuckers.  I hope Santa brings you exactly the fake boobies for your girlfriend that you needed.

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