Psychic Karate Novels by Ryan O'Laughlin

Psychic Karate Novels by Ryan O'Laughlin
Psychic Karate Novels by Ryan O'Laughlin

Ryan's Secret for Scoring with the Ladies


Vlad keeps collecting website trending data and misinterpreting the results. Apparently, his psychic dojo cult groupies have latched onto the idea that I'm somehow successful with women. Despite repeated attempts to clarify that those women just hang out and play Dungeons & Dragons, fictional narratives persist on the subject. 

Time to set the record straight once and for all. I'm going to hand you my method for romancing the ladies. I'm just handing that shit over. Then, you can judge for yourself. Hope you're sitting down.

First thing's first. As men reach sexual maturity, they have to deal with a clean-up process associated with their sexuality. What keeps us from getting neutered is that we curb the otherwise perfectly natural behavior of jizzing all over the curtains and walking away. In adolescence, we discover sinks and washcloths, but the maturity curve is a bit more complex.

All men go through a phase in evaluating where we can put our semen. I'm talking about: faces, asses, tramp stamps, tits, ears, flower pots, toasters, eyeballs, plastic Easter eggs, teapots, Mr. Clean Magic Erasers, glory holes, jewelry boxes, hairdos, shot glasses, topiary shrubbery, oven mitts, venus flytraps, traffic cones, shot glasses, belly buttons, basketball hoops, cereal boxes, vending machine change trays, sugar bowls, oil paintings, wedding cakes, Pez dispensers, tampons, ashtrays, wine casks, oubliettes, Brillo pads, graduated cylinders, lunch boxes, cookie jars, scented candles, pizza, religious scriptures, modems, fanny packs, holy grails, law enforcement badges, water wells, hadron colliders, bullet chambers, and finally, vaginas. I guarantee you that your favorite presidential candidate has literally put their jizz in literally all of these places at some point. What about Hillary? Oh, I'd say Bill's got her covered.

But, me, I'm a gentleman. I don't skeet on the pillows, because you have to rest your face on that afterward. I'm a sensitive man, so I know you have to put your boobs back in that bra later on. Because I care about you as a human being, you won't find any surprises in your makeup case. 

See, I have a rigidly-defined, hierarchical system for spunk-management that I think you'll appreciate. Here we go, listed in reverse order of importance:

1. Vaginas: Unless you are a religious fundamentalist cult leader, all men must sooner or later accept that vaginas are literally the most unlikely and infrequent place their semen will ever end up in. Still, you need to keep this on the list for the sake of the human race, because babies occasionally claw their way out of that thing. 

2. Condoms: Condoms are a practical, literal "catch-all" that prevents the long list detailed above. Now, at some point, men realize that this water-baloon can be weaponized for throwing purposes, but an imperfect alternative is still an alternative.

3. Shower Towels.

Stay with me on this one, people. You can take a black light to my whole domicile and everything will be fine, right up to the point where you see the entire Crab Nebula sparkling through my shower towel. This is the critical factor to my success with all the women. After washing off the piss and the shit and the dead skin and the stale bacteria and the bedbugs and the bullet casings, I step gingerly out of the shower and towel myself off with entire generations of my own testosterone-infused, crusty genetic material. It gives me this moldy, sour musk that reasonable human beings find unpleasant and off-putting, but drives childbearing women insane. Sure, they hate it too, but "hate" in the sense that they hate themselves for liking it. 

So, you know, go ahead and say whatever you want about me. I don't give a fuck. But don't use my shower towel.

I nut up in that shit.