We are the stuffed chads
Sarging together
Peacocking with hats. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We spit pick-up game
Are quiet and meaningless
As smoke from dank grass
Or sluts' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar
Rants without form, ebooks without value,
Paralysed self-promotion, gesture without motion;
Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us—if at all—not as lost
pick-up artists, but only
As the hollow chads
The stuffed chads
Who never got laid in Ukraine
and lied about it
and got called out on TV.
https://omegavirginrevolt.wordpress.com/2015/08/30/roosh-never-got-laid-in-ukraine/
Context:
http://www.isegoria.net/2015/10/my-education-was-a-complete-waste-of-time/
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