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Last week, after I delivered that major beatdown to those Fake Playaz over at Pimpit.com, one of my readers wrote in to ask if I was familiar with another sexual advisor here on the Web who goes by the moniker of "The Kidd." I have to say that, yes, as a matter of fact, I have seen the work of The Kidd and consider him my up-and-coming competition. The Kidd's Game is almost as pimptight as Charlie's, it's true. If he ever finds a major venue like this one to popularize his stuff, then I'll really start to worry. Here's why:
- The Kidd has codified his Game for the enlightenment of you Losers in what he calls his Pimposophy (thus going head-to-head with Charlie's own Tuna Philosophy.) The boy even is getting his sign-off tight like my own; and
- He has the humility to admit his weaknesses, like staying in that desert cesspool they call Las Vegas.
There is no doubt in mind that, once he gets his ass out of 'Vegas to somewhere real, The Kidd will be able to boast as many scalps on his belt as Charlie the Tuna. And you know me, I got more ho's than a golf course.
Let me play a taste of The Kidd's music for ya:
Women, should they have their way, would like for us men to believe that they are superior to us and will always run things. To a certain extent, this is true. If you don't believe that this 'man's world' is actually a 'woman's world', you haven't swallowed the red pill yet (refer to 'The Matrix'). Sad but true, this IS their world...they just let us run it to pacify our enormous egos.It is important to remember that generally speaking, men are attracted to hot, fresh ass (the younger, the better), whereas women are attracted to clout and stability (i.e. 'what can you do for me?').
This simple fact is the basis for all of my previous articles.
Men are basically raised from birth to respect women no matter what, and that we absolutely have to have pussy. Women, on the other hand, are pulled aside by our mothers and instructed on how to get a man. What our mothers and fathers have neglected to tell us, however, is that while women have their way in the beginning, we win in the end. This surmises my 'Marquee Value Theory'. Let's begin, shall we? --- from Marquee Value Theory
How can you read that and not howl "Righteous!" like Charlie did, Losers? (Hey! Go read the full text, Losers! You might learn somethin' about what it really means to be A Man.) And The Kidd has a whole lot more Word to give you, too. My hat is off to the young blood. Still, he ain't Charlie the Tuna, yet.
You see, I got this section of Tuna Philosophy (See Chapter Nine "Master Mack") that you ain't really up to the job of jockin' these ho's until you are between the ages of 25 and 35. That's when your hormones let up a little, you got your own crib, probly a gig and you are startin' to happen. Beeyatchs can smell that on you a mile away. That's when they ripe to have their noses opened up. If you don't let the frails sweat you at this point, you be pullin' them like guano pulls flies. No lie!
That why I think even The Kidd got a lot to learn. I advise that he come over to the Tuna Realm and learn how to represent. So far he got more front than clout... meanwhile I got frails all over San Francisco callin' me "Daddy" and givin' up they digz.
A Sad and Cautionary Tale
Even Charlie the Tuna runs up on something unexpected sometimes. Readers who followed this column before the first time I was exiled from the G21 know that. You'll remember what happened to me one night when I was down (yeah, it even happens to the Tuna!) and wandered into this bar in the Tenderloin here in San Francisco. So bear with me as I share this tragic incident with some of the new Losers in the class.It happened like this: I was sitting in this bar in the Tenderloin, an area of the city by the Bay known for its wealth of ho's, makin' jokes and knockin' 'em back. Little did I know that the man I was jawin' it with knew about me. UNTIL I told him my name.
Next thing I know, the sucker coldcocks me and starts delivering a serious beatdown. Seems I had turned out his ole lady.
The bartender comes from over the bar and I'm thinkin' he's gonnah pull this asshole offah me. But the next thing I hear is, "TUNA! Charlie the Tuna?!? That's the motherfowler who did my girl!" and then I'm catchin' the toes of his brogans with my ribs.
Needless to say, I ended up laid-up in the Intensive Care Unit of the hospital for weeks.
Lying there helpless in that body cast, I was sweatin' blood thinking maybe some other suckers or haters might find out about my situation and come to do me some dirt, too. It gave me a lot of time to think.
What did I learn from this?
- Just like you don't let no frail know your real address, don't give nobody your real name unless you know you can trust them.
- A sucker whose wife you turned out never forgets it. If you ain't packin', don't hang where they can get at your ass.
- If you really messed up, the paramedics be laughing before they start takin' care of your injuries. Pricks!
Until next time, Losers:
Stay Hard.