Somewhere in this great city that several million people call home to lives a man who writes the blog LaidNYC. I've never read this blog, until today, but based on this one and only entry, I assume this man fancies himself as some kind of lothario. A pick-up artist. A romancer of women. He is not short on hubris; he thinks his jizz belongs on the top shelf with the premium stuff, and that women should savor every last drop of it. I'd also venture to guess he's certain that his "fuck me" gaze is nature's answer to Astroglide and the only real aphrodisiac on this planet is blown of out his asshole.
This all may or may not be true, of course, and his essay on how fantastic his dick spit is could merely be satire, but I get the feeling he really believes that what he's housing is something spesh. The piece is entitled Your Seed is Gold and parts of it (completely unedited) are in the quote blocks below.
Sex is too easy.
Work out, put on nice clothes, talk to girl, tease her, tell her cool things about me, pretend to be interested in her, fuck her.
Oh, I see.
Too fucking easy.
Stupid as fuck.
I don’t give a shit about sex. Any broad can spread her legs.
Tell that to my amputee neighbor, Joan.
You know what I do care about? Holding girls to a higher standard.
Why? Because my seed is liquid fucking gold and I don’t give it out like its god damn tap water.
I like writing goddamn as one word, but I feel ya.
See girls, your pussy is powerless to me. What else you got?
You slip on a tight skirt and throw on some makeup and flaunt those nice tits and think your job is done. You shit-test me all the way into the bedroom expecting me to give you amused mastery and show you my status and give you attention and ignore you just right all at the same time, and then you’ll give me sex.
But why should I give you my valuable time and let you revel in my charisma?
Because maybe your time isn't actually that valuable? Unless you're monetizing your wordpress blog, because then I can see your point. Stack that cash, goldie jizz.
Sex, is that the big deal? I’m supposed to feel so grateful that you blessed me with that magical unicorn pussy of yours?
I got news for you girls. For a guy with any clue, finding sex is as easy as finding a pizzeria in New York, and like pizza in New York, its all pretty fucking good.
You're a 350 lb bald man, aren't you?
Your brand ‘aint that special.
Sex is everywhere and anywhere I want it, I don’t give a shit about yours.
It takes more than a nice curve of the ass or a bat of the eyelashes to earn my seed.
My salty essence and genetic code is a gift from my father, and his father, and his father, and on it goes. Its the sticky genetic code of self-sufficient men who have protected and provided for family, women and children. Its the haplogroup of men who built civilization. I have the genetic lineage of warriors, business owners, firefighters, blacksmiths, farmers, herders, poets, politicians, soldiers, artists and even chefs. Hard jobs that help build the world, thinking jobs that help build a culture, they’ve all been done by men in my bloodline. My ceiling for accomplishment is limitless.
I’m not some average guy begging to give my seed away. My seed is valuable and I know it.
Tim Tebow, is that you?
Men of lesser genetics may be able to afford spraying their seed anywhere; I allow myself no such atrocities.
That's the foundation on which wet dreams are built, my friend.
After that, he goes on to talk about a bunch of qualities he demands from women, like impeccable hygiene, classy style, no tattoos and, of course, an unflappable penchant for dating a douchetube.
Then he concludes as only he can.
Finally, there is nothing I despise more than a woman who shows any disgust for my jizz.
It is the Royal Essence and you better enjoy every last drop.
If it lands on your face, chest or back, consider it raindrops from heaven, a rope of Holy Yogurt.
If you are lucky enough to get it in your mouth, savor it like the nourishing nectar of the Gods.
If I shoot it inside you consider it the greatest compliment of all. You will feel an immediate buzz.
My jizz is to women what Walter White’s pure blue meth is to junkies.
You’ll take my seed, sweetly tell me “thank you sir” and buzz with happy feminine energy for the next day while you iron my fine shirts and indulge in memories of me.
I’ll settle for nothing less.
Some girls don’t want to respect a man that much. They have been poisoned by feminism or never had a strong male figure to look up to growing up or they have already taken far too high a volume of cock to revere their next one. I have no use for those girls. Even a one-night stand with them is worthless beyond the ten-second orgasm, itself not worth the time spent to get it. Leave them for the men who have a low enough opinion of themselves to not demand such respect.
For guys, I don’t give a shit how many girls you’ve fucked just like I don’t give a shit how many pizzerias you’ve eaten at. A man is measured more by the pizzeria’s he refuses to eat at, the prices he refuses to pay for average pizza, if you know what I mean.
Remember, you set the price of your seed.
Mine is fucking gold.
Diamonds. I jizz flawless, 3-carat diamonds. Your move, chief.