When Elliot Rodger went all stabby-stab and shooty-shoot due to an acute pussy deficiency, the giant red pill in the Kings’ Cave began flashing in alarm. A Spotify playlist started blasting dubstep remixes of Nickelback hits. Axe body spray began pumping through the air vents.
The sound of a wave of popping collars echoed throughout the cave.
The Kings’ Cave’s security system, an A.I. called “BRO,” ran through the normal checks, assessing the collective game of all active agents.
Negging skills… 89%
Passive game… 77%
Active game… 95%
Overall game… 1,000,000%
Testosterone level… -17%
BRO was still working on that bug in the testosterone-level check, so the system bypassed its normal threshold limits and provided the agents with a sitrep.
A boy had been lost. Many lay dead. The cause: an acute lack of game. Limitations in BRO’s early detection systems precluded preventive measures. The only solution going forward would have to be a massive awareness-raising campaign.
BRO’s suggestion: A crack team of elite agents would take the lead in spreading the gospel of game. They would ensure that all males would be alphas in training. The team was christened the “Humongous Overall Manliness Overload Strike Force.” Their work would start immediately.
Their first task: All 100 or so active agents would put their heads together to write a blog post letting everyone know the REAL cause of the tragedy. Elliot Rodger’s killing spree was the natural outcome of a man his age not reading Return of Kings on a regular basis.
Once this had been accomplished, the agents would begin Phase II of their plan to save the world: the construction of a giant robot. The robot would help educate the men of the world in the only values that could have prevented tragedy for Elliot Rodger and his victims: self-improvement, game, and masculinity. The robot would also fight Godzilla should he escape Japan and traverse the ocean to America.
[TRANSMISSION INTERRUPTED]
I would say that I’m writing these words to you while under great danger of being discovered, but I’m not. I’m not in any danger at all. They don’t have the brainpower to figure out that I’m not one of them. Even if they did find out that I’m a spy, they’d probably only attack me with made-up stories of pussy they’ve gotten.
I’ve been undercover here for a few days, reading their blog posts and rubbing elbows with these sex-obsessed man-hatchlings. It seems that what comes naturally to most men: talking to girls, connecting with them, hooking up with them, dating them, and marrying them—they actually need a manual for all of it.
The most obvious cause of their severe social ineptitude would be some kind of mold problem in the Kings’ Cave. My next guess is that it has something to do with their twisted, self-defeating outlook on life.
These are guys who realize they wouldn’t get any pussy if it wasn’t for their learned pick-up artist skills, their “game” as they call it. Next, consider how angry they seem to get when they think of settling down with a woman who’s had more sexual partners than they have. Almost ANY woman is a slut compared to them. It’s no wonder they hate so many women. They’re jealous of all the cock these girls get.
And when they finally do score, how do they repay these poor souls, these saintly sweethearts who are nice enough to suck the weak, dribbling semen out of their depressing micro-dicks? They call them sluts.
They think they’re being masculine, but they’re just little kids trying on Daddy’s clothes. John Wayne, James Dean, Steve McQueen—none of them would be caught dead reading Return of Kings.
The uptight and offended brigade made me their enemy when they went after stand-up comedy with their language-police batons. Return of Kings, thank you for reminding me of a basic truth: My enemy’s enemy is not my friend. 
