There is No Box to Think Outside Of


Following your virginity, it should be the second thing to go. There’s no room for ego in the world of the male swinger. Save the narcissism for singles bars. If you’re goin’ solo in this lifestyle, more often than not, ego will be your downfall.

It’s been my personal experience that a humble attitude, regarding all endeavors, results in success.

Here’s an example:

I knew a guy who talked a huge game. I made his acquaintance at a swing club that was pretty much a giant bed flanked by Big Screen TVs showcasing porn. As a result, one may correctly conclude 99% of the visitors to this venue attended sans garments.

This big talker — who I’ll refer to as Hombre Grande (HG) — never disrobed. A Jacuzzi filled with bare tit, and this guy’s clad in gabardine, unable to partake in the adventure happening beneath the water mere feet away.

Hombre Grande’s reply to those who questioned his attire was always the same. He’d make a hand gesture — indicating something the size of a Genoa salami — and motion to his crotch, implying he housed an elephant’s trunk beneath his Sansabelts. Women asking to gaze upon his marvel of manhood were met with denial, as he claimed he didn’t want other men in attendance to feel inadequate.

Hence, for the first year I knew this dude, he looked like he was attending a board meeting. When folks would retire to an adjoining room of the swing club for adult fun, he’d grab an occasional breast, but always remain fully clothed.

I was forever cordial with Hombre Grande. After all, the more comfortable the atmosphere, the more sex will occur. In fact, this self-professed Juan Holmes and I worked on a number of “projects” together, attempting to lure women back to rooms in which parties were occurring.

It wasn’t until one particular event in a room of the aforementioned sex shack, that I realized ol’ Hombre Grande was a walking, talking false advertisement. Enjoying myself on the bed with a lady, I turned to see HG in all his glory, futilely advancing on a woman who was uninterested in his diminutive cocktail weenie.

Ego is like a 10 foot long penis. Sure it appears impressive, but it won’t get you laid; and in the end, you’ll trip over it every time.

What follows are tips I employed, in order to eradicate any sense of ego I ever had. Keep in mind, I stand as tall as a fourth grader. At best, I’m almost average looking, and have never accumulated more than $18,000 a year. As a result, ego was never an attribute of mine.

Confidence, on the other hand, was and shall always be.

Also bear in brain, I’ve played with nearly 5,000 women, to date. Hence, I may have a sound word or two regarding how to get laid.


Every morning, burn your toast to a fucking crisp and continue to eat it.

“What the hell does this have to do with fucking?!” you holler.

If you’re comfortable with what this system brainwashes us to believe are the best-tasting, best-feeling, best-looking aspects of existence, how can you appreciate all life has to offer?

If you don’t enjoy everything out there, won’t you be missing entire worlds of experience?

In conclusion, doesn’t this type of obstinate attitude race you headlong down a path of regret?

“I wish I had done this, but now I’m too old.”

“Why didn’t I travel before getting locked into this high-paying ‘job?’ “

“I married my high school sweetheart, and on my 70th birthday realized I’d only slept with one woman my entire life.”

Burn your toast. Eat it. Enjoy the thorns as much as the rose. Understand there are adventures out there you’d revel in if:

A) you only knew they existed, and

B) you gave them a chance.


Spent $10,000 on a feather bed with gel pillows? Would you rather sleep, as opposed to getting laid?

If all you’re going to use it for is napping, a bed is more worthless than sending Donald Trump spending cash for the holidays. Reach the point at which you slumber just as well on the floor, as you do atop your over-priced mattress.

Some claim this training forces a person to lower one’s standards. I find the term “standards” demeaning.

Here’s the deal. You’re not special. Neither am I. Nobody is. No one person is better than another.

In the end, we’re all trapped on this tiny, blue speck in a massive cosmic sea. To view one person on this microscopic dot as more important than the rest is insane. Show everybody respect. The more types of women you’re attracted to, the more sex you’ll obtain. Period.

Not into larger ladies? Try one, or 100. You’ll be amazed at the opportunities it opens up. Older women a problem? You’re missing out on thousands of experiences you’ll only be able to dream about by the time you’re 93.

I had a friend who refused to have sex with non-Caucasian women weighing more than 130 pounds. As a result, he’d slept with three senoritas, prior to getting married. Talk about settin’ yourself up for a world of lamentation.

This is the kind of person who solely eats white bread, sleeps during his free time, and never experiences anything. With this type of outlook, what sort of life stories will you be able to impart?

“When I was your age, I stayed up close to 11 once, watching reruns of Everybody Loves Raymond. As a result, I realized not everybody loves that fucker. In fact, most people don’t even like him…Those were the days!”


I’m constantly engulfing bacon, peanut butter and pickle sandwiches. So many people find such variations on “normal” culinary fare repulsive. Yet, these are the folks who devour bacon for breakfast, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch, and pickles with their burger for dinner.

Same stomach; same ingredients. What’s the problem?

Often, those who refuse to expand their horizons never travel anywhere, never question anything and never, ever explore life. I suggest you don’t become one of these people. You strive to be different, don’t you? If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be reading this article.

Have sex with women who are older, younger — as long as they’re of legal age — Asian, Caucasoid, Latina, Negroid, etc. There are an infinite amount of adventures for someone in your position to engage in. Get out there and see what you can discover. Who knows? You may experience so much, you’ll publish your own stories about it.

You’ve heard it countless times before: “Think outside the box.” Disguised as sage advice, it’s a sick mantra with which to get the slaves to perform; an invisible whip being lashed against your back.

It’s cude, and cuddly, and something we should all giggle about, while gulping gallons of corporate cum — coffee drowning in caffeine — to keep us revved and ready to “work.”

Those who employ this rhetorical rote want you actually believing there is a box. There isn’t! Our incarceration is self-imposed. Once we — en masse — decide to be free, and act upon this urge, we’re liberated. It’s as simple as that.

Fuck the fuckin’ box, and any ass clown demanding you think outside of it.

There is No Box to Think Outside Of

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