Let Her Drown
A friend of mine told me a story of how he was stabbed in the chest and neck. He’s lucky he’s such a beefy ma’fucka otherwise he would have been dead. The reason for his near-death experience; trying to save some hoes from their own stupidity.
Women lie. Any man who interacts with women whether it is in personal, business or family relations must accept this universal fact or get shafted every single time. In the words of the Immortal Roissy from Chateau Heartiste:
“If a woman has anything to gain from telling a lie rather than the truth, then she will lie every single time.”
Honor, honesty, reliability and integrity are masculine virtues. Women have no need for this things therefore if you have a woman in your life who tells the truth and sticks to it, then she is the exception that makes the rule. Hold on to that one.
Before I get into the details of my friend’s story, I am going to share with you some of my own interactions with hoes in distress so that you can see that Captain Save-A-Hoe is not only a danger to himself, but also a danger to the men around him.
The first time was at a rave. I was minding my own business in the crowd, vybing to the music like a trans-dimensional space goat, when a girl’s hip bumped into my hand. She was quite short, and I tend to keep my head up, so please believe me when I say that I had not even consciously registered her existence up to this point.
I was not pleased at having been brought back to this reality so abruptly. On a more sober day I would have just given her a tight smile and gone back to whatever dimension I was in but on this particular day I had been having gin. There’s something about gin makes me an angry person so I gave her a death glare instead.
I think I must have scared her because that is the only way I can explain her next action. She leaned over to the guy standing next to her and said something that activated his inner Kinuthia.
This was it. This was his big chance to save her from the cruel world and possibly get a blowjob for his efforts. He looked at me and saw a short skinny guy that he thought he could roll over for some easy points. So the joker comes at me, telling me not to touch her.
I could see what was going on here. Sneaky bitch was trying to make it look like I was sneaking feels. I will not pretend to be above such shenanigans however that was not the case here. Sober me would have calmly explained that she was in fact “full of shit,” and carried on as I was but gin makes me aggressive so nilienda na kifua. He decided to throw hands and the training that I had received from Master Ndungu on the balcony at Westpointe kicked in.
I deflected his attempted shove in my chest with “wipe-the-windows” from Karate Kid and then countered with a left hook to the ribs and a straight to the face. It was a beautiful, fluid motion that sent him sprawling.
Unfortunately, the bouncer had seen everything and politely asked me to leave.
Yeah, I had “won” the fight but my rave was over and Kinuthia would have a black eye for a week. All over some bullshit.
My next interaction was less dramatic. Once again I was skipping dimensions while standing on the dancefloor and a woman walks up and stands right next to me. She was a large woman and it was a packed club so it was not that surprising that parts of her were rubbing up on my forearm. I allowed it, until I heard her telling the people in her group that I kept touching her.
Thankfully, the guys in her group chose to ignore her. Either they were either red-pill aware or she was not hot enough to activate the Kinuthias within. Eventually, I got fed up with her energy and went to stand somewhere else. Imagine how differently things could have gone if they decided to save a hoe?
My friend got stabbed thanks to a similar interaction. He was at a rave and a girl that he kinda somehow knew told him that some guy was harassing her. If she was genuinely feeling threatened by this guy, why did she not go to the bouncer? 1. Because bouncers deal with drunk chicks every week and are wise to their bullshit, and 2. Because there is a sadistic game some women like to play called “Let’s You and Him Fight” and it is much more interesting.
So my friend morphs into full Kinuthia and decides to confront the guy. The accused in this case was a Somali Guy and I hate to sound racist, but those guys are not known for keeping their cool. Things looked like they were going to escalate into a fight and the Somali guy bolted.
Basking in the glory of the service that he had just provided to womankind, my friend went about the rest of the night dreaming about the really tight hug that he would maybe get as a thank you.
When my friend left the club, he found the accused waiting for him outside. A fight started, and my friend was clobbering the asshole but Somali Guy had backup. While my boy smashed the accused’s head in, the backup stabbed my friend twice. Once below the heart, and once where neck meets shoulder.
Champ didn’t even feel it. He didn’t even know anything was wrong until someone else pointed out that he was bleeding. Like, a lot. Pieces of flesh were hanging off him. They rushed him to the nearest hospital to get stitched up, and he was stuck with six weeks of recovery on top of a hospital bill worth a quarter of a million bobs. All this bullshit over some bitches who probably did not even send him a get-well-soon card.
My learned gentlemen, the moral of this story is quite simple:
When you feel Kinuthia activating, LET HER DROWN.
*If you recognize yourself as ‘my friend’ in this tale, I am sorry for co-opting your story. Also, thank you for reading.