Last week I had my first live show. On Valentine’s Day. In New York City. At “PubKey,” a “Bitcoin bar.”

It was called “Worst Boyfriend Ever.” I am Worst Boyfriend Ever. It was a reading, and a somewhat-open mic. It was $0 free. I could’ve sold tickets but I didn’t cause I’m a good person.

I really just did it because my ‘agent’ (this is a thing that happens to you when you’re famous) told me I should do an event on Valentine’s Day, and I said Uhh Okay! and then like February 9th rolled around and he said: You’re still doing the show right? And I said Uh!!!! And he said “Do it nigger why not” and I was like: Uhh!! Because… Depression?! But Depression means nothing to other people so he said just do the show you’ll feel good. and so I said OKAY I’LL DO IT!!! and so I swallowed an adderall got back in the Evangelion made an event page and said HEY EVERYBODY I’M DOING A SHOW ON VALENTINE’S DAY!! and posted it on social media and people signed up really fast.

Almost 100 people RSVP’d in the first 24 hours.

First I was afraid no one would come but then I was afraid too many people would come. I was shook and spent the next several days preparing only for this. Choosing what to read, writing a setlist, finding other people to go up so it’s not just me for 3 hours, all I could see for like four days was this event. Other things happened during those days but I wasn’t really there at all — my mind was preparing to be on stage. Rejecting interviews, so many invitations to meet up, I really was, finally famous.

I went into the show totally unprepared as I always am, for everything. I didn’t even have my script printed out, to read.

I had just moved apartments again that day, from some old Russian Lady’s 10 day Sublet into the empty apartment of this girl I fucked off Substack. Yes these girls just let me stay in their places; they trust me. Against all reason.

The show was at 9 and my manager told me to be there at 8.

I was waiting for this (other) girl to come fuck me at 7, so I could go up with “maximum confidence.” Stupid bitch was late. It was 7:30. I was looking at my phone like what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck we’ve been planning this for like a month, I asked if you could come fuck me specifically on this day at this time before this event and you said yes you confirmed multiple times you confirmed earlier today what the fuck is taking you so long I’m going to be late for my own show… what the fuck what the fuck, am I really being defeated by pussy right now, staring at my phone with big huge eyes unbelieving… I knew I shouldn’t have trusted this 19 year old retard with a task so great. I know I should’ve employed the Korean Law Student instead… aaaaggghhhhhhh and 19 year old retard lets me down saying “the train was slow >.>” WAHT DO YOU MEAN THE TRAIN WAS SLOW — IT’S THE TRAIN! AGH NO MATTER! I just jerked off as fast as I could to some picture saved on my camera roll… the wifi decided not to work in that moment too, it’s like 7:45 now, the show is 30 minutes away, this is comically retarded I know, but I had to cum before I left the house or the whole show would be ruined. Jerking off is half as good as sex but it’s something. I finished in a sock compiled all my shit and ran out the door to get in a taxi, my script unprinted, because I didn’t have the time.

Late I arrived at PubKey. Thankfully everyone else was later. When you say 9PM people show up at 10. I sent out a “Text Blast” to the now 155 guests RSVP’d: “doors 8pm show 9:30” and I suppose they received it.

I arrived at the bar greeting Matt (my agent/manager/pimp) and his girlfriend in the back. There were only a few people there at the beginning, it hurt my ego. Also I was very sober. I was nervous and it made Matt nervous. You’re okay right? YEs YES YES I’M FINE!!

I was not fine. I had several drinks instantly. I went to the bar and ordered a whiskey sour and the hispanic guy served it with egg whites. Now that I recall all the drinks I think I might never have paid. Good. I brought in a shit ton of traffic… it’s the least they could do.

Instantly everyone I know is at this bar and I’m three drinks deep and my friend Joachim is following me around with a camera. There’s a microphone attached to my collar. Not for the show, but for his eventual documentary in which I am a character. Mid-three-drinks I greet a black stranger. I give him a copy of Worst Boyfriend Ever. He’s kind of a normie so it blows his mind. I forgot most people aren’t so jaded, just saying you cheated on your girlfriend and wrote a book about it is big enough. He can’t believe what he’s reading and it restores my confidence. OK I can do this... I can just read these funny stories about cheating on my girlfriend… everything’s gonna be okay, mid way through drink number 3 Joachim and I retreat down to the cellar beneath the bar.

Time has fast forwarded to 9:40 now and the Show room is packed. Fuck I’m not ready, I’ll never be ready, I don’t have a list of people going up I just have them in my head, I’m slurring my words and that’s a fucking problem because I am HOSTING this show, I’m not just going up doing my tight 5 and fucking off — I am orchestrating this entire thing.

I have never done anything like this. I am about to be in control of this packed room for the next hour and a half, or two. I know “impostor syndrome” is a gay cliche but that is exactly what I was feeling then.

Still in the cellar, it’s showtime. I crushed up half a tablet of Adderall and consumed it sublingually. I’m still with Joachim, he’s pointing a big fucking camera at my face, I’m losing it, saying “bro I fucked up I fucked up, I’m too drunk, they’re all waiting for me, fuuuuuuuuuck…”

He says bro it’s gonna be fine. He’s right. I pull the cocaine out of my felt drawstring bag, it’s in a tiny clear container with an orange cap, I pour some onto a big box freezer — no, I just shove my pinky into the case and then stick that pinky into my nose. Coke mixed with wet mucus, rub it all around, camera still rolling, oh yeah that’s the stuff, tell Joachim LETS FUCKING GO!!!

Head upstairs. Matt’s like FINALLY! It’s a full house, I can’t even look. I’ve got several copies of the book strewn about the room. I brought like 15 and I handed out 10, for free. I brought 5 on stage.

Matt said “alright everybody here’s Worst Boyfriend Ever!” and they clapped and cheered as if I wasn't a racist sexist attention-seeking psychopath.

I went up there and said hey everybody I am Worst Boyfriend Ever. This is what I sound like, this is what I look like, and this is my book.

Some people were talking and so I chucked books at them from on stage. the first one I threw like a frisbee -- a warning shot, I’m really high and so none of this feels real, I’m reading at super sonic speed like I always do, Katie from Hinge has a ton of punchlines but like 60, 70% of this room has heard it/read it already so they’re not super entranced. Someone else is talking, loudly, in the mid-front row, and I recognize him, so I throw another book, not like a frisbee but like an axe, vertically, hard, hits him right in the sternum, shut the fuck up.

I’m having a moderate amount of fun. I never know if the crowd’s getting it, enjoying it or not. I read some shorter excerpts from the book, and then I read The End of Worst Boyfriend Ever and then I called for fellow Substacker Danny Li.

Danny wasn’t ready. He did bring something to read but he wasn’t ready. I just called Danny because he was the first person I could think of. A few days ago I asked him if he wanted to read, over text, and he said Yes and sent me something, but I never followed up. I don’t know why, I’ve been spread so thin in New York that people just fall through the cracks.

So I replaced myself with Danny Li and ran into the crowd scrambling. I have no list, there are just several people who asked me if they could read and I said Yes to All, and they’re mostly randos who emailed me so I don’t know what half of them look like.

Soon Danny is done. With no exit plan. Matt detects I’m losing the plot and so he yells ‘CALL FOR AN INTERMISSION!!!’ — I awkwardly call for an intermission. 5-10 minute break, we’ll be right back, people are confused by this but I guess they really like me so everyone stays and the show goes on.

I find Coldhealing, and “Mehak,” who are sitting on the floor at my feet and have been the whole time, okay you guys are next, oh yes and Dan Baltic, okay and Luke—this guy who flew out from Italy who had never shared writing before but his email to me was so endearing I had to let him go up and read. They all had Dating or Sex stories, which is fine, because that's what I asked for.

To break the intermission and reclaim the room’s attention, I jumped back on stage and made a big loud grumbling sound into the mic like I was clearing my throat:

AAGHGHHGGGAHHHHHHHEEEHHAGGHEHHHHEEEMMMMM — AGHHAGHHEMM .. Everyone shut up and went what the fuck. Okay now that I’ve got your attention, the show will go on.

Can I get a Dan Baltic on stage? Dan’s nowhere to be found. Wow. Okay. All right Mehak, it’s you! I pull this sweet Indian girl up and she goes up instead. I barely saw her, some other bout of famousness swept me away but I’m sure she was great. Then coldhealing went up and I barely saw any of him either but I heard he was rather quiet but the crowd quieted to hear him so that was nice.

As the show went on it became quieter and quieter, the room seemed to give the speakers their full attention, which warmed my heart.

Then I went up on stage and did some coke. I bemoaned the fact that a lot of people hate on me and my book, and I said that these people could open up their minds and use the book in all sorts of ways. For example, as a good flat surface. I sat in the chair and emptied out some of the coke vial onto my book before realizing I don’t have a card to cut it so I just used my fingernails. I crafted a fat little line of blow and used a rolled up dollar bill to snort it up. Ohhh yeah. Show goes on. Read a couple more things – one about hitting a guy in my van and another about fleeing to the Philippines, and passed the baton again. Saving my new shit for the end.

I introduced Luke, who flew in from Italy, and he did very well. He acted like he was really nervous to go up but on stage he seemed like a natural. I was glad he was glad. Also I was on coke now, more coke, so I was glad regardless, to be alive.

He finished and I couldn’t think of anybody else so I just went up and did the last of my shit. “Dating Advice for Men” - Brutal… and “Why Asian Girls?” not as brutal but it’s something. It’s a question people ask a lot. Then I asked is there anyone else who wanted to go up and Matt yelled from the back: “NO! JUST END IT!” I was like ok… and I ended it. Awkwardly as I always do. Good night. Bye. Awkward scattered applause.

And then I was glazed for several hours collecting so much approval from other humans it almost hurt.

So many different people, so many that I forgot all their faces and names, came up to meet me and tell me I did a good job and tell me this is some of the best shit they’ve ever read and I just didn’t know what to say. People telling me they got laid because of this book. People telling me they came up from DC for this, from Yale, I don’t know what to say, people are asking me to sign their book and I just do it, over and over, thinking I am such a fraud and my next book is going to suck and all my subsequent books and all my subsequent posts will be garbage and suck too and you people will never get to sell these signed books for anything in the future – though I guess that’s not the point, there is more to life than money. I am always flabbergasted when someone asks me to sign a book though because I would never do that, and in my head I write for me.

This is the kind of victory you can only complain about as it’s happening. Because I know one day when I have no audience, no motion, no love nothing, when I’m broke and strung out and the drugs no longer work, when I’ve given up on being a ‘writer,’ or when one of these girls finally nuts up and sues me, I will look back on a night like this like what the fuck, how was it even real.

These new york socialites just came up to me all night long with so much love and I tried to give the love back but it was hard because there’s only so much I can give, this one strikingly gorgeous blonde said some words to me and maybe we exchanged contact info but I don’t know, I jerked off before I left the house so it wasn’t the end of the world, this guy came up to me and said do you know who that is? And I said Scarlett Johannson? No, she’s the most expensive hooker in the world. OK—sure.

All these fine people, smarter wealthier healthier less homeless than me came up to me to "pick my brain" but there’s nothing to pick, I said it all on stage. This character has consumed me now, there’s no deeper realer person lurking within for you to get to know and love, this is it.

Notably the ratio was fine. It was at least 60-40 men to women, this one guy pointed out to me. He said he actually counted. I said Lol. He said usually these events skew one way, heavily, all men or all women and it’s refreshing to see so many foids. Yes. I love foids.

Good foids everywhere. This one slightly overweight but still pretty and lovely light skin black girl wearing all pink – actually she was Caribbean, she came up to me and I signed her book and she said um do you want some adderall? I said YES!!! ACTUALLY YES!! I love my fans. I’m finally running out again, I sold 7 pills to this lawyer guy for $500 earlier that night because he asked nicely and he has way way way more money than I do. But yeah she just handed me this little baggie with four 20mg XRs which is the best, I love it, that’s what I’m on right now. Yes I took her pill the very next morning and used it to type this document. Her name was Lana. I was like um do you want to go down to the cellar and do some blow right now? And she was like fuck it sure, and so I took her down to my goon cave and Lana and I snorted some lines just for the hell of it. At some point my other friend Calvin, who I met in Tokyo, again through the blog, showed up and inserted some more coke into my hand, just for being alive. See this just happens when you’re famous. You people who read this shit are killing me. I almost came on to Lana physically to give her the real WBE experience but then I didn’t, because for once, pussy was the last thing on my mind.

There was one girl who aroused my interest. Honestly it was mostly the fact that she was Asian, complete with the nerdy Asian circle glasses, but also it was that she was wearing this really tight shirt and she had a nice body and we made intense autistic eye contact for a very long time. I was talking to her in a group of three, thinking oh fuck I want YOU, even more so when she invited me to one of her “underground brooklyn sex parties” in the name of Journalism. But she seemed nervous and taken so I did not prod too hard.

There was a different girl lurking in the room all night waiting for me to talk to her, and take her back to my place (*1), where we could enjoy some barely-consensual sex. I can’t describe her at all because she’ll lose her husband and her job. I’ve done enough, describing girls and how I fucked them. It’s time to do something else. Or at least try.

Famous. This is how it feels to be famous. Getting so much Pussy, so easily, it actually gets old. But then I know, if I reverted back to normal-person status, that lack would hurt so bad and I’d just be chasing all this again.

Okay so I wanted to be famous and now I am. Now what. Most of my conversations with readers devolve into them trying to help me, giving me ideas for what to do next.

One guy said you need to become interested in something besides yourself. I said you’re so right.

The incels tell me to go back to Asia, Shanghai.

Girls tell me to look to the past, write fiction.

The truth is I don’t know what to write because I don’t read. The last real inspiration I received was “The Pussy” by Delicious Tacos, I read that in 2023, and in 2024 it sparked this thing that took me on an adventure and brought me here.

People tell me to read Houellebecq. Kirkegaard, Schopenhauer, other names I can’t pronounce. These people don’t seem to understand that I Can’t Read. Getting through a single page of any book for me is torture. Delicious Tacos gripped me because it was about getting pussy and I could tell it was true.

You think I’ll find anything approximating that in these esoteric dead faces? I majored in Philosophy in college and I haven’t read a single Philosophy book in my entire life. Not a fucking chapter. You think I’ll read Joan Didion or Anais Nin or any word any woman has ever written? I picked up Stoner at a bookstore last week and still haven’t opened it. It's tough to get off my glowing little screen.

I know exactly what I need to do. I need to get off the internet and re-learn to read. To enjoy reading. I’ve known this for over a year now but now I’m finally feeling like I’ve hit a wall with the work (or maybe it’s just the adderall dependence catching up to me) and I can’t think of anything better to do, and I’ve got a bit of money now, at least enough to survive for a few more months until I need to pull some new scam out of my ass to buy food.

Thank you if you came last night. Yes I came inside that girl with the husband. Missionary. Korean. Wish I could describe her further but I can’t. For once I’ll hold my tongue. For now, good bye.