Hot Manopausal Summer
Where my Guapichulos at?
“Women are looking for something in men these days. I try to provide that.” ~Master Mischief
Middle-aged men are on fire this summer, and I don’t mean protesting Israel on the steps of the Rayburn Building. Seemingly everywhere, these hairy-backed smell factories are proudly and publicly engineering the cheeky “back nine” of their lives, unabashedly pursuing their needs and, yes, even having private conversations with internet fashion models. From GQ’s new ouvert editorial “Low Hangerz,” to movies like Yorgos Lanthimos’ summer smash Prostate about finding fulfillment without any reason to continue living—to recent bestselling books that give men permission to blame 100% of their divorce on their wives.
My own Manopausal Summer started with an invitation to come to Boca Raton to moderate a a pre-custody mock trial for one of my Little Problemz Ancient Pickup Friends™ ($9,000 USD per month). Being the CEO that I know I am, I asked this client if I couldn’t use his apartment to host 30-50 other struggling men and rent the venue to a protégé of mine for a party.
This particular night was meant to celebrate Master Mischief’s new book, “American AlphaChad: How I learned to throw away my marriage and navigate Cartagena on only $40 a day.” After enjoying multiple types of chicken wing (garlic soy, ginger, extra spicy), we sat on an empty chest freezer during intermission, taking the opportunity to compare naked pictures of women we slept with. Even though some of his pictures were taken way too close, stubble enveloping every pixel (iPhone 9 to be fair), while others still had the Getty watermark slanting across them, I played along and asked if he had remembered to get consent for each one.
As the night continued, Mischief told the crowd he knew he needed to leave his marriage when his now ex-wife got some kind of lady problem and gained like 10 pounds over the course of the year, forcing him to choose between being married to her or not-married to her. As Mischief writes, “It wasn’t violent abuse what she did to me. It wasn’t another man. I felt horny but cornered.”
Lit by the screens of their phones, several men could be seen nodding in silence. Others mentioned their own experiences messaging women, finding tasteful penis lighting, or dating other guy’s ex-wives. Some of the men said they were married and wanted out. Others wished they were gay. Interestingly, none of the men said they were happily married. But maybe it’s because I spend my entire existence telling them how terrible their wives are.
As a panelist, I told my own story about getting married at age 19, inseminating my wife twice before she turned 21, and then deciding to divorce her when we both turned 22. Not because my she was a monster—I just thought she was no longer physically attractive and was embarrassed by her stretchmarks at the gym. So often, men are told they have to have a reason to split: their partner was unfaithful or abusive or an addict. But as I matured and familiarized myself with the wisdom of self-published relationship gurus, I realized I had married the wrong Stacey, and I didn’t want to spend the other ~67% of my life settling for a partnership I started when I was horny for a woman who no longer made me horny. After the panel, a man in the audience came to me and said, “I wish I had joined your seminar years ago. Would it be possible to pay you back-dues plus interest for approximately 3 years’ worth of missed content?”
What became clear to me during that conversation was that—unlike any generation before us—Millennial men have the opportunity and ability to lead multiple lives. During the first we are surrounded by women during their most attractive years, giving us an unrealistic expectation of femininity and pleasantness that will soon depart. During this period, men are maximally chivalrous, with the incentive of sex lining up with the male appetite for risk and desire to protect. In the second half of our lives, men’s bodies stay almost perfect, save for an errant crow’s foot or occasional smile line. At this point, we start to notice other women, unweathered by time, who despair when greeted with the hollow husks of men their generation supplies. Thanks to no-fault divorce, and 60 years of sexual liberation, we now have the substantive progress needed to make sure none of the current college students or recent Ukranian emigres are forced to live alone without the pleasure of weekly stipends from a Norwood IV.
This idea is amplified by the summer’s hit collection, Thundercock: Rise of the Vasodilators, by Passage Press, which is being hailed as the first manopausal nonfiction anthology. One piece’s 45-year-old author is reevaluating his music taste, his supplement stack, and his wife, and eventually turning to thrash, grindcore, and a different lifting partner who is able to plug him with the same stuff but in different carrier oils. The book covers the difference between cruising and blasting, along with ways to manipulate your mechanical advantage but, ultimately, it’s about how women can be less lonely if they just date middle-aged men—something so many cannot bring themselves to admit. In one piece, Liver King and a friend attempt to decipher a chart depicting the dramatic drop in women’s estrogen levels that starts at around age 45. “That’s crazy,” the Liver King says at one point.
A spokesperson for Passage says he hopes the book will encourage women to pretend their life expectancy is roughly 29 years, adding for all intents and purposes, “that’s when they basically stop existing for me.” In the end, realizing that men are sexually viable and appealing for so much longer than women can be liberating.
Fellow traveler, Porkchop Skillingswork’s new memoir, “In Kurtz’s Steps,” is further evidence that age gaps and interracial dating don’t have to be weird. Skillingswork writes about his decision to spend a year in the Amazon rainforest at age 61, embarking on a litany of sexual encounters negotiated without the benefit of shared language or legal system, with the sole purpose of evading Western tax liabilities and living ones’ best life. As time passes, he’s not just there to have a good time. He eventually realizes the locals perceive him to be an ancient demigod derived from the courtship of a feathered serpent and a six-legged Indio woman, ultimately accepting the burden of leading them and becoming their imperator.
Skillingswork’s exploration is both material and spiritual. Along the way, he asks a witchdoctor why Westerners stigmatize deception and promiscuity. “I’m just worried that women will be deprived of ChadPenis if I don’t trudge ahead against groupthink. We’re told manopause has to be lonely and uneventful but the proliferation of dick pills makes it a nonissue. “
It’s true: You barely live once. The most common regret people face on their deathbed? Not cumming enough. While it’s up to Elon Musk to change how long women can have orgasms for, you can definitely help cram a bunch in before they get all gross.
This is a parody of
’ Hot Menopausal Woman Summer.
Omfg... That was absolutely hilarious!
I think you should just delete the reference at the end to what you're parodying and let people marvel in the sheer insanity. This was an incredible read, and I kept wondering how sober or not you were, to get so beautifully creative. You act like you're not fancy, but this is next level.