There seem to be an ebook
http://www.amazon.com/Giving-Women-Opti ... 261&sr=1-1
Giving Women Options
Patrice O’Neal’s Misogynistic
Philosophy of A Righteous Dude
by E. Fredrick Watson
Copyright © 2013 by E.Fredrick Watson
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner
whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief
quotations in a book review.
Table of Contents
Introduction: The Vagina Bubble
A Righteous Dude
Women Don’t Chose Men, We Chose Them
Can You Open This Pickle Jar For Me?
We Are Not Together
Hunting Bears, Dear, And Bunnies
Liking You Is Better Than Loving You
Just Be Honest
A Man’s Logic
Karate Class - The One That Stuck Around
Sharks And Tuna
Bears And Fish
A Girl’s Guy Friend Time Hoe
A Women’s Happiness
Women Feed Off Emotions
Looser Women Only Have Pussy
All Men Are Like Me
Marriage For Women
The Secret Weapon Against Women
Introduction: The Vagina Bubble
I’m the open micer, so I’ll only take up a few pages to warm you up before I introduce the
headlining act. So let me start.
I remember being a very curious nine-year-old country boy wondering about the purpose of
my ‘thang’. Why did I have this sensitive appendage that swelled up and felt real good when I rubbed
on it. I wasn’t completely ignorant of its use. I saw plenty of stray dogs humping and getting stuck
together all the time, and from that figured it was for making babies. But I couldn’t figure out what I
would ultimately be doing with mine and when I would be doing it. I was ambiguous about my
‘thang’, as I called it, and I knew girls didn’t have one.
Then one day, when I was around eleven years old, after my family had moved into the low-
income apartments that would be our home for fifteen years, a much older bully started fucking with
me. Apparently fucking with me was his job, ‘cause that’s what he did every time he saw me for
almost the entire first year I lived there. He said, “Nigga, you ain't never had no pussy."
“Yes I have," I said in my pre-pubescent voice that hadn’t started to change yet. Of course I
was lying my ass off.
“What it look like then?” the asshole shouted down at me.
“It looks like a V with some hair on it.” I even held up the two-finger victory sign.
I’d only seen a few pictures of naked women in a Playboy magazine back when it showed
their airbrushed bodies posed with only a suggestion of lude sexuality. Though surrounded by
sexually advanced peers, to a naive kid like me a pussy simply meant not having a ‘thang’. I went on
to describe a camel-toe and shit with vivid detail before my bully snarled and said words that
changed my life forever.
“You a damn lie. A pussy is a hole!"
I remember standing there blank-faced for what felt like a long time. My bully and the other
boys with him were walking away, but all I could do was stand there, whispering over and over, "A
pussy is a hole."
All the way home I’d freeze in my step and say aloud while looking into empty space, then at
the OK sign I made with my right hand, "A pussy is a hole." And then, as I clearly recall even now,
my eyes opened wide and I almost shouted the revelation that struck my young mind like a bolt of
“A pussy is a hole!”
And with the ridged index finger of my other hand pointing straight, I pushed it through the
hole my left hand had made. That was the very instant I truly understood the purpose of my ‘thang’.
From that day forward my ‘thang’ had a real purpose that would define a large part of my self-
identity, and I've tried to get into as many pussy-holes as women would offer.
But keeping it real, I didn’t get any actually pussy until I was seventeen. Between fifteen and
seventeen I’d only finger-fucked a few girls here and there. Even the most well known young hoes
around the block froze up when I went to close the deal. Then at seventeen something clicked in me. I
had grown tired of walking away from a girl’s house or apartment with a massive boner hard enough
to cut a diamond, and jacking off afterward on made me a little angry.
After testing a few theories and gauging many girl’s reaction to my different approaches, I
realized that being a nice and friendly guy turned girls off, and that chasing after them that way
somehow made their pussies cold and dry up, if it had ever gotten wet to begin with. My chasing them
turned something off in their impression of me and made me look, well, boyish. I learned that I should
never chase after a woman, but allow her to pursue after me, which is what all females naturally do
when they want anything.
I learned to use a natural female trait for my benefit and it worked like a charm. All I had to
do was set out the proper bait of attitude, confidence, and sexuality and be available when she was
sufficiently feminized by my cool display of manliness. And because I was living a somewhat violent
lifestyle in the hood at the time, attitude, confidence, and aggression was absolutely necessary to keep
on display if I wanted respect from the rough ass dudes living around me. I learned that a woman can
smell the animal in a man a mile away, and at nineteen I was batting a thousand and hitting homeruns
like I was juiced up on steroids.
But at around twenty-two, while I was doing a lot of hoe-hopping, I discovered I didn’t like
something about the social nature of many of the women around me, especially the ones I was fucking
with. I realized that none of them could give two shits to know me as a person as well as my male
friend did. They never tried to even ask any relevant questions pertaining to who I was or what I
thought about anything. It just didn’t fucking matter at all. There was no deep human connection to
build a solid relationship foundation, which is what I wanted to do with a two or three of the women I
I have concluded that to them I was a mere idea, a human resource to extract some form of
benefit. Whether it was some good dick, my time and attention, some asked-for advice, or a little
adventure to distract them from their persistent boredom, women seemed to always want something
from me that they couldn’t create or generate for themselves and were unwilling or unable to give
back to me. All they had was a pussy-hole.
Have you ever noticed that very few women have hobbies? They are not creators, they are
copiers, and mostly have no grounds for the simple idea of being a unique person. Not one woman
I’ve ever dated was unique. They were just bits and pieces of other women they’ve met or seen on
TV, recycling the same old shit, saying the same old rehashed things. The odd part is they always had
the need to change me without ever giving clear reasons or even knowing the personal origins of what
it was they were trying to change in me. It was change for the fucking sake of change, as if I was
supposed to be like so many of them were, without principles. In essence, I had to be less than a man
to remain in those relationships; I had to be feminized.
I clearly understood that some of what women always want to change in me was the very
reason they were attracted to me in the first place. Maybe, I wondered, it was some weird
emotionalism driven by female hormones, or maybe the collective pussy matrix in America that
causes women to conform to group-thinking that prohibited too many of them from ever knowing the
subtle or even unobvious benefits of being with a solid man. Even now I can say no woman I’ve ever
dated or loved, even my former wife, has - on her best day - ever really known me half as much as
any of my close friends do on a bad day.
And this is the horrible understanding about modern life that I recognize most men don’t even
grasp about the women in their lives. They leave it to clichés like, ‘Who can understand women?’
Too many modern men are miserable in their relationships with women because they buy into the
artificial and weaker version of masculinity that the controlling forces in society have created for
them, and too many men live without ever engaging women through a more natural mode of maleness.
Whenever I see a punk ass motherfucker acting jealous, controlling, over protective, too nice,
or constantly showcasing like a peacock for female attention, it’s impossible for me to respect him
because he has not evolved into a mature man of principle. He is a foolish caricature of the idea of a
man that any woman can manipulate easily while silently hating him for not presenting to her his
greatest gift, his masculinity and leadership.
In reality the average woman could care less what the fuck a man thinks if he doesn’t benefit
her with his natural masculinity for her spirit or his material gifts for her delights. As the comedian
Chris Rock said, ‘Dick is free.’ But ask any guy and they will mumble how women have their own
agendas that they try to obtain through the hyper-value men have given to pussy. For the average guy,
his girl doling out a little ass is the blessed and sanctioned reward for him being a ‘good boy’, a real
gentleman. But in a woman’s deepest spirit, her innermost sexual energy will remain reserved for the
unflinching man of principle who says ‘NO’ with good reasons and doesn’t give an inch to her
emotionalism or bitching. That man, if he also possesses any level of status that even remotely fits her
agenda and taste, can fuck the rim out of the gentleman’s girl’s ass the day after her good man had
begged to do it the night before.
Against her will and socialization that bitch will understand that she has to earn a non-
gentleman’s approval with more than a smile and the wink of an eye. She has to somehow please him
with more than pussy if she wants to keep his masculine presence around. As for sex, she’ll ride the
hell out of him and swallow his sperm on her own accord. If being pretty turns him on, she’ll look her
best every moment she’s around him.
To remain content, even if only temporarily, which is all that most women can afford, she must
keep his ridged, unshakable spirit near or within reach to balance her see-sawing emotions, and this
forces her to learn him at least in some small personal ways, like what’s his favorite football team,
for example. But if confronted, she will swear she knows everything about him and is shocked,
shattered, when she discovered she did know a goddamn thing about the fucker.
Then her illusion is popped, and even the strongest, most stabilizing masculinity can’t compete
with a woman’s shattered fantasy of love. So even as she cries heart-broken she will conclude that his
ass has got to go and run from the devastation she caused herself by not learning who that
motherfucker was in the first place. Now the next dude that follows will have to deal with the residue
of her shattered delusion by playing the nice-guy savior and she’ll instinctively hate him and fuck him
over just to regain her strength, just like a fucking dude would do.
Why do we see this shit over and over? Because in our highest aim - driven by biology if you
wish - maleness is based primarily in principles of reasoning. We strive to base our reality on shit
that makes sense within the rules of engagement with the physical world. We create coded languages
to form a man-world-view and teach our sons not to break it unnecessarily. Even in the hood
motherfuckers get shot every day for breaking some code or another. People get fired and friendships
end because a dude forgot or ignored some unspoken rule. Without principles, mankind would suffer a
chaotic existence and be ruled by the whims of our animalistic nature.
On the other hand, morality driven by emotions is the highest aspiration of female nature. If it
feels wrong, that fucking shit is wrong no matter what the rules are. This mentality is formless and has
no structured and logical flooring, but without it mankind would be no more that a thinking robot
without intuition or any notion of love and beauty.
Sense the beginning of time these two natural states worked well together because they were
kept separate to serve the higher purpose of illustrating the duality of nature as expressed through the
various societies humans created and built on. Even animals keep the sexes separate and come
together only to make babies. But in the modern age where there are fewer division of male/female
rolls that mark a clear boundary of what it means to be a dude and chick, the male now find himself
the at a great and unnatural disadvantage.
By nature of all of us being female at the start of life, the default mentality of every male is
feminine. A male is the result of nature, in the form of gestational and post-birth increases of
testosterone, and of nurture, by way of male bonding. But today, with a growing number of boys
growing up fatherless and their bodies flowing with feminizing environmental toxins, the female
mentality of raw and extravagant sentimentality has overrun the underdeveloped masculine reasoning
of many of America’s men.
Some unnatural rubicon has been passed well beyond anything that has happened before in
America, if not in all of human history. Modern women, who have themselves become more
masculine as if to fill in the gap left by retreating manliness, suffer in spirit from the lack of a counter
weight to balance there abandoned feminine nature. So they date and marry, then manipulate like a
child the feminized and irrational modern male, and they are deeply miserable for this trade-off. So
many married women will open their legs to the first man displaying traditional manliness that comes
her way. This is also the role of the pimp and player, and like a snake charmer with a flute, a player
can put a woman I a seemingly hypnotic state without her knowledge and revert her back to a more
nature state of balance with his logical process of thinking.
It’s the reason why a dude can be fat or look like a fried monkey, but if he is level-headed and
resourceful, gives good reasons why he is uncompromising in his actions, and acts out on the internal
principles he has determined are right for him regardless of what bitch he pisses off, women will find
attractiveness in him. He is the modern day ‘Bad Boy’, and at the right moment, if he is even a little
smooth and confident in his approach, he can smash his fill of sexy women the majority of sentimental
gentlemen could only fuck in their pornographic fueled fantasies.
But now let me cover briefly the current state of my disillusionment with the majority of
women I meet, and then introduce the real subject of this book. I still care for the well being of
women, but they’ve changed dramatically over the years and I don't like them that much, and here's
why. I've raised myself out of poverty, escaped gang violence and avoided the allure of hard drugs,
read hundreds of books, went on to finish college and then acquire a master's degree. I’ve even saved
people’s lives on a number of occasions. I've done all that and a hell of a lot more too. But a woman
can be as stupid as outside is big and have nothing to bring to the relationship table but a set of perky
tities or a nice fat ass (for ass-men like myself) and in her goddamn mind those things should and do
trump everything I've done in my entire fucking life.
To a woman nothing I’ve done or can do will match the social and redeeming value of her
pussy. I have no value unless I offer something that she can exploit for herself. And when my value
does warrant sex from her it’s not for the principled deeds I’ve done or high-level thoughts I might
create in my thinking, but because I’m seen as manly and masculine, which pleases her female nature
and her emotions. Even that is only temporary if her personal agenda is not getting fulfill, or she
grows board, or you give her an inch too much. OK, I can deal with all that. I can adjust to the new
situation of things while women can do what they’ve been doing. That’s fine and dandy to a point. But
it seems the rules of the game have change too much and have become so untenable that the social
fabric human relationship are bases on is being torn to shreds.
I accept that in nature sexual selection, specifically in mammals and birds, is a female affair.
She does the picking, and generally selects the males deemed to have the better genes. Elks in the
wild bulk up and grow large antlers only to stop eating and almost everything else to keep his
sexually receptive females around during the mating season. He works his ass off fighting to keep
other males away from his herd of bitches while mating with them as much as possible. By the end of
it all he is damn near dead from exhaustion. What it boils down to is males have to work for sex and
females pick the most able male, the one that balances her feminism with strength of spirit or of body.
Human sexually was that for countless eons.
But in human current societies, other factors throw a monkey wrench against the natural order
of mating success. Shit like artificial enhanced notoriety and government assistance make natural
selection very unnatural at times. This might even seem a good thing to some that a short or less than
impressive specimens of manliness can pull women with their nonphysical assets. But the aggravating
and completely unnatural problem accruing now in modern dating is when stressed-out and
emasculated males meet hyper-masculine females. Very little complex and normal human bonding is
shared between the two camps. And people still wonder why the divorce rate is over 50%.
With government quotas, assistance programs, neo-feminist, the anti-male stance taken by the
media, and the false fantasy of sisterhood growing stronger in the western world (I say fantasy
because everybody knows women generally hate each other), women on the whole have been given
the upper hand in their relationships with men, and they know this well enough to keep men on the
defensive on every level.
Nowadays a fat bitch with no education and nine fucking kids by different motherfuckers she
randomly fucked can still, in her modern day female delusion, somehow believe she is a great catch
and talk shit to anybody who says otherwise. Generally, not only do guys have to overly impress the
woman he wants with the traditional trappings of courtship - material gifts, his style, his social status,
his ‘game’- he also has to stay alpha and show hyper-masculinity to the extreme to even be
considered a man when dating the overly aggressive modern woman. That’s why ever Tom, Dick, and
Harry is trying to get swoll and unnaturally buff, so he’ll at least look the part even if the modern
woman can out-man his ass. We have to do all this while trying to survive in these stress-filled and
ever changing times. Typically, we will be dead of a heart attack or some other breakdown by age
sixty, or fucked up from stress and angry at the very least. But who the fuck said being a man was
I know women are the only game in town for a straight man, but I say fuck that crazy and
artificial bullshit shit we call relationships today. I’m tired of the endless struggle. I can’t be hardcore
masculine all the fucking time, like a shallow cartoon character. I feel shit too, and always holding my
feelings inside will kill me sho’nuff.
Yes I'm bitter, and it’s not about getting pussy. Hell, a half retarded fucker can get some half
retarded pussy with a little effort. It’s about the respect and natural connection every person wants in
life, which I don’t get in the relationship I’ve had with women I’ve dated. And I doubt any other guy
does for long these days. I don’t mean I want to love like a woman loves, I simply mean I want the
love of a woman. But the problem remains the same as it has been; the love, respect and
acknowledgment, and the female affection I want as a heterosexual man is completely tied to the
current hyper inflated value of pussy, and most women in America are unable or unwilling to restore
the natural balance.
It’s all one giant simmering bubble and this immense vagina bubble is about to pop any day
now. I'll be glad when it does. Maybe then the average guy can get the respect and affection he wants
and have a farer exchange for the pussy he needs. I hope that one day soon I’ll to be able to say some
shit like, ‘How about you share your pussy for this delicious two-piece chicken dinner and a medium
drink from KFC?’ not to a hungry crack-head, but to a regular woman. I’m joking with that, but if the
value of vagina does get reset to its appropriate price, maybe then women will again respect a wider
definition of masculinity and not its narrow and hyped up versions as seen on TV and in music, which,
by the way, has promoted the idea of thug simply for contrast so the aggressive modern women can
feel a little lady-like and believe they have contenders that match to their narcissistic and self-
That damn bubble keeps growing bigger and is costing guys more time and money and much of
their spirit just to get what should be natural for them to have. But until then there are a few voices
being heard from the oppressive shadow caused by the oppressive vagina-collective. Some of those
voices are louder and funnier than others. One of the more insightful of those voices is quite now after
his sudden passing, leaving only recording and Youtube videos of his words and a legacy of great
comedy to advance his reputation of profound wisdom. I’m referring to Patrice O’Neal, whose
personal philosophy on women and relationships is the reason I wrote this book.
I’ve loved stand up comedy since I was a boy back in the 70’s after a friend stole his older
brother’s Richard Pryor cassette tape and played it while we stood around under a tree on a hot
summer day. It was new to me to hear someone cussing from a speaker and saying things about sex
and being a black man in America. Soon afterwards I started following my favorite comedian’s
careers with the passion others give their favorite singer or band.
When I separated from my wife of twenty years and moved into an apartment, I would get
depressed sometimes at not living with my children and the break up of my family put me in a dark
mood. To lift my spirits I’d search Youtube for videos of my favorite comics and I sought out new
talents to keep an eye on. One night found Patrice O’Neal’s Comedy Central special Elephant in the
Room and I was an instant fan. Funny, philosophical, and even provocative, I listened to the show two
or three times that same night.
But it was the viewer’s comments below the video that sparked in me another question about
the comic. I gathered that he was dead, but along with the R.I.P.s there was a kind of mythical
reverence his fans had for him. I started wondering why were they calling him one of the greatest, a
genius, and a great thinker who was wiser than most, and on and on? So like I always do when I find a
talent I want to follow, I dug in and searched the Internet for all I could fine on him, and what I found
totally consumed me for a three or four week stretch. Every night after work I would watch his
performances or listen to some of his many appearances on the Opie and Anthony Show someone had
uploaded to Youtube. And boy, he was all they said he was and more. To me his words were
downright transformational, especially his insights on the cost of fame, on race, and the nature of
But it was Patrice’s own show, The Black Phillip Show, that really got my attention and
introduced me to another degree of understanding a true player can have of women. His visually
descriptive wit and perfect comedic timing during the live show was better than anything I’d heard
from a radio show. His ability to break up and simplify his more abstracted concepts of deeper
complexity allowed even the dimmest of intellects, usually the dumb bitches he had on the show,
some ability to keep up as he shared with his listeners his worldview of modern relationships.
Although I don’t agree with everything he says about love, females and sex, I do agree with most of it
because it was something I’d already sensed for myself over the years. He was stating aloud exactly
what my relationships with women had been like, as if we’d both attended the same school of
brotherhood and had read the same bible on what men and women are and what we should be.
End of this sample Kindle book.
If someone has a amazon premium account with kindle, please take it for free.
Otherwise, next week I'll buy it and put it here in all formats (only three euros, but as it's not from 'his'family, I don't like it that much, I don't even know how he got the copyright ...)