Libtarded Millenial GirlBoss DESTROYED By Chady Zoomer Podcast Bro

Are you ready for age-gap winter?

This is the 3rd instalment of the ChadPup series:

Part 1 (Sunday section) Part 2

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When Chad read Part 2, he asked me which muscle I was referring to here:

Later that night, I want to text him, to demonstrate, to flex the one muscle I possess that could overpower his. But the thought that he is with the most beautiful girl he’s ever met, the one he didn’t fuck so as not to cheapen it, stops me- the other girl, the one he did.

The muscle I was referring to is my superior command of his native language. In Part 1, I told him that younger men are easy to manipulate. “You think you can manipulate me?” he said, then went quiet. I mumbled something. He stayed silent, and I loved it. I love his discipline not to fill those gaps, not to soothe me when I’m being lame. Handing an iPad to a crying toddler is easy.

So we agree, I am too readable to manipulate boys with game in person. But in writing? What is the Human Carbohydrate if not manipulation? Thousands of words of propaganda - an initiation into the cult of Stella.

My poor civilian subs are roped into my mental foreplay, thinking they're signing up for a bestselling World Politics newsletter. I need you, the reader, to imagine us, for we don’t really exist if you don’t. The men are analysed, immortalised, and flattered, but in return, they get trapped in my narrative. You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style.

“There’s nothing safer than wanting nothing. But being safe in that way, I’ve come to know, does not inure you to illness, pain, and death. Sometimes the only thing it saves is face.”
― Lisa Taddeo, Three Women

It’s 2:00 am and I’m half asleep in a pitch-dark Uber driving down A23 towards the coast. My phone lights up.

His name appears on the screen.

‘u r retarded’, says the text.

I ignore the brat and stare out the window at the empty streets.

I hate being an independent 31-year-old woman who makes her own schedule and answers to no one. Tonight, I could really use an anal boss who needs me at 8:00 am sharp, or a despotic male relative to shame me.

Instead, I caved in to the 20-year-old’s call for a final goodbye before he flies out tomorrow, and got in an Uber to go to his mom’s apartment (or just ‘home’ as he calls it), to roll around in the bed he and presumably a bunch of underage girls lost their virginity.

The mask has dropped.

I have officially turned into the creepy 30-something-year-old men who blighted my adolescence. The ones I side-eyed across the bar when they sent shots over to me and my ethereal baby girls. I always thought older men who prefer young women were immature. Yet here I am, pleading my case to my girlfriends, lifting excuses straight from the creepy old male playbook:

I know it looks bad, but he’s very mature for his age!!!1!!

We have this incredible MENTAL connection! We can TALK for hours! Last time we met, we TALKED ALL NIGHT LONG ! ! !

He has all these questions about economics and energy policy that I have been teaching him. He is just so THIRSTY for KNOWLEDGE.