Brutal Stories Megathread

[aesthetic beauty]

 

[aesthetic beauty]

 

[aesthetic beauty]

 

[aesthetic beauty]

 

[aesthetic beauty]

 

[aesthetic beauty]

 

[aesthetic beauty]

 

[aesthetic beauty]

 

[aesthetic beauty]

 

[aesthetic beauty]

 

[aesthetic beauty]

 

[aesthetic beauty]

 

[Deleted member 31457]

u/GiveTrannysPimozide: suspended

This account has been suspended​

Interesting.

 

[aesthetic beauty]

 

[hopeless NTmaxxer]

 

[Xangsane]

Her blog should have a link to the incel.wiki

paywalled, too hard to remove it

 

[aesthetic beauty]

paywalled, too hard to remove it

She paywalled it
That dude she cheated on was a millionaire too.

 

[Xangsane]

She paywalled it
That dude she cheated on was a millionaire too.

Who did she cheat on him with and what was the story about?

 

[aesthetic beauty]

Who did she cheat on him with and what was the story about?

Some hippiemaxxed normie. He lost all of his money during the recession and became a conspiracy theorist so she cheated on him. The only reason he didn’t get completely cucked was because he was tall and cheated too.

 

[Xangsane]

She paywalled it
That dude she cheated on was a millionaire too.

GOT IT






Member-only story

What I Learned Snorting Cocaine With Models in Barcelona​

Models have problems and insecurities just like you and me.​

Photo by cottonbro from Pexels
Iwas thirty when I moved to Barcelona, Spain. Now I’m fifty. But back then I lived a glamorous life overseas.
I wrote about sex for Spanish Playboy. I embraced fashion over function, destroying one pair of stilettos after another while running around on the cobblestone streets of the Barri Gòtic, the ancient quarter in the center of the city. But I was also incredibly depressed, mostly because I was single and couldn’t seem to find a stable partner for the life of me. But I had friends. Oh, I had lots of friends.
I prided myself on being able to get along with just about anyone. Maybe I was just a people-pleaser who charmed everyone into loving me by telling them exactly what they wanted to hear. They were beautiful, enchanting, successful, amazing. It’s not that I was lying. I’m also a people-lover, and I truly believed these things about my friends and acquaintances, but they loved to hear it as well.
I lived in an apartment in the Poble Sec quarter of Barcelona with two Spanish girls in their twenties. One of them worked as a bartender at a discotheque. The owner of the disco also ran a modeling agency. Barcelona was crawling with models, and they all frequented this disco. My roommate introduced me to many of these bizarrely stunning creatures.
No matter how cosmopolitan I might have been, I felt incredibly insecure around these models. The female models were close to six feet tall and thin as rails. The men had chiseled faces and muscular bodies. Dancing at this disco was like being in a Dolce and Gabbana ad. The models came from all over the world — from Russia to Mexico to Australia to Japan.
If I got drunk enough, I could manage to talk to the female models. The men were another story. They were just too beautiful, and I’d become tongue-tied. I’d stand in front of one of the guys and just laugh in his face.
It wasn’t that I was laughing at him. I was laughing because I was so uncomfortable. My insecurity rendered me useless. As you can imagine, things didn’t work out very well for me with the male models. They thought I was laughing at them. Or they just thought I was a goofball. I was too awkward, and couldn’t charm them. They ignored me. But I did become friends with some of the women, thanks to my roommate, and especially in the bathrooms at the disco where everybody was snorting coke.

I snorted cocaine with models.​

I know — models and cocaine is a tired trope. But I can tell you that the stereotype is true. The models I met snorted a lot of coke and they often invited me to snort it with them.
I dabbled in the drug with these models, dancing all night after huffing a line or two or three. Sometimes I’d go off to parties after the discos had closed to snort more cocaine with models.
One time, some models invited me to a party in a mansion in the affluent Sant Gervasi neighborhood on the outskirts of Barcelona. One of the models lived there with her much older, very wealthy boyfriend. We were all high out of our minds on coke. A model I’d become close to, a Canadian girl named Samantha, cornered me in the living room and talked my ear off for hours.
As a people-pleaser, I wanted to make her happy. She seemed like she needed somebody to talk to. She had so many problems. She hated modeling, hated how her agent was always telling her she needed to lose weight. She was a stick as it was. The poor girl was hungry.
She wasn’t finding much work as a model. She didn’t believe she was smart enough to go to college. She had no idea what she wanted to do with her life. I really felt sorry for her. It struck me. She was drop-dead gorgeous but had the same problems I did.
As I continued to spend my weekends snorting coke with these models, I had many more such experiences. One girl was from Hungary and had escaped an abusive boyfriend who was in the Hungarian mafia. Another Brazilian girl was bulimic. I know — another tired trope for a model — but her pain was real.
The most common story was landing in Europe after getting signed by an agency but then being unable to find enough work to survive. Now stuck in a foreign country, these women became nannies or lived off sugar daddies to get by.
It was obvious that a lot of girls were in relationships of convenience. I’d see tantalizing, young beauties shacking up with much older gents. I’m not saying love can’t happen between young women and much older men. I’m not shaming anyone for dating outside of their age group. I’m just pointing out what I saw. And heard.
One woman named Tess confessed she didn’t have sex with her old, rich Spanish boyfriend but still enjoyed meals at El Bulli and lived in a palatial flat near Gaudi’s Casa Milà.

What did I learn?​

No matter how alluring a woman is, she can still have her own serious problems. A chic and elegant life doesn’t shield someone from depression or body-image issues.
Perhaps witnessing this was what pushed me to deal with my own emotional hurdles. After spending a year as a nightlight connoisseur in Barcelona, snorting cocaine with models, I finally found a good therapist.
My therapist helped me change my life. I stopped snorting coke with models. I stopped going to discotheques altogether. I started hanging out with a different type of people, people who weren’t so looks and money-oriented, and into drugs.
I buckled down, worked hard, got more writing jobs, and became happier. No, I still didn’t have a serious boyfriend, but I was dealing with my issues so I was in a better place to find one in the future.
I left Spain a few years later knowing that you can’t judge a book by its cover. When I am around amazingly attractive people today I remember this. I might think their life is perfect but that’s not necessarily the case.

 

[aesthetic beauty]

Who did she cheat on him with and what was the story about?

That article was about how she partied with models and was intimidated by how good looking they were so she couldn’t even speak to them.

 

[aesthetic beauty]

GOT IT






Member-only story

What I Learned Snorting Cocaine With Models in Barcelona​

Models have problems and insecurities just like you and me.​

Photo by cottonbro from Pexels
Iwas thirty when I moved to Barcelona, Spain. Now I’m fifty. But back then I lived a glamorous life overseas.
I wrote about sex for Spanish Playboy. I embraced fashion over function, destroying one pair of stilettos after another while running around on the cobblestone streets of the Barri Gòtic, the ancient quarter in the center of the city. But I was also incredibly depressed, mostly because I was single and couldn’t seem to find a stable partner for the life of me. But I had friends. Oh, I had lots of friends.
I prided myself on being able to get along with just about anyone. Maybe I was just a people-pleaser who charmed everyone into loving me by telling them exactly what they wanted to hear. They were beautiful, enchanting, successful, amazing. It’s not that I was lying. I’m also a people-lover, and I truly believed these things about my friends and acquaintances, but they loved to hear it as well.
I lived in an apartment in the Poble Sec quarter of Barcelona with two Spanish girls in their twenties. One of them worked as a bartender at a discotheque. The owner of the disco also ran a modeling agency. Barcelona was crawling with models, and they all frequented this disco. My roommate introduced me to many of these bizarrely stunning creatures.
No matter how cosmopolitan I might have been, I felt incredibly insecure around these models. The female models were close to six feet tall and thin as rails. The men had chiseled faces and muscular bodies. Dancing at this disco was like being in a Dolce and Gabbana ad. The models came from all over the world — from Russia to Mexico to Australia to Japan.
If I got drunk enough, I could manage to talk to the female models. The men were another story. They were just too beautiful, and I’d become tongue-tied. I’d stand in front of one of the guys and just laugh in his face.
It wasn’t that I was laughing at him. I was laughing because I was so uncomfortable. My insecurity rendered me useless. As you can imagine, things didn’t work out very well for me with the male models. They thought I was laughing at them. Or they just thought I was a goofball. I was too awkward, and couldn’t charm them. They ignored me. But I did become friends with some of the women, thanks to my roommate, and especially in the bathrooms at the disco where everybody was snorting coke.

I snorted cocaine with models.​

I know — models and cocaine is a tired trope. But I can tell you that the stereotype is true. The models I met snorted a lot of coke and they often invited me to snort it with them.
I dabbled in the drug with these models, dancing all night after huffing a line or two or three. Sometimes I’d go off to parties after the discos had closed to snort more cocaine with models.
One time, some models invited me to a party in a mansion in the affluent Sant Gervasi neighborhood on the outskirts of Barcelona. One of the models lived there with her much older, very wealthy boyfriend. We were all high out of our minds on coke. A model I’d become close to, a Canadian girl named Samantha, cornered me in the living room and talked my ear off for hours.
As a people-pleaser, I wanted to make her happy. She seemed like she needed somebody to talk to. She had so many problems. She hated modeling, hated how her agent was always telling her she needed to lose weight. She was a stick as it was. The poor girl was hungry.
She wasn’t finding much work as a model. She didn’t believe she was smart enough to go to college. She had no idea what she wanted to do with her life. I really felt sorry for her. It struck me. She was drop-dead gorgeous but had the same problems I did.
As I continued to spend my weekends snorting coke with these models, I had many more such experiences. One girl was from Hungary and had escaped an abusive boyfriend who was in the Hungarian mafia. Another Brazilian girl was bulimic. I know — another tired trope for a model — but her pain was real.
The most common story was landing in Europe after getting signed by an agency but then being unable to find enough work to survive. Now stuck in a foreign country, these women became nannies or lived off sugar daddies to get by.
It was obvious that a lot of girls were in relationships of convenience. I’d see tantalizing, young beauties shacking up with much older gents. I’m not saying love can’t happen between young women and much older men. I’m not shaming anyone for dating outside of their age group. I’m just pointing out what I saw. And heard.
One woman named Tess confessed she didn’t have sex with her old, rich Spanish boyfriend but still enjoyed meals at El Bulli and lived in a palatial flat near Gaudi’s Casa Milà.

What did I learn?​

No matter how alluring a woman is, she can still have her own serious problems. A chic and elegant life doesn’t shield someone from depression or body-image issues.
Perhaps witnessing this was what pushed me to deal with my own emotional hurdles. After spending a year as a nightlight connoisseur in Barcelona, snorting cocaine with models, I finally found a good therapist.
My therapist helped me change my life. I stopped snorting coke with models. I stopped going to discotheques altogether. I started hanging out with a different type of people, people who weren’t so looks and money-oriented, and into drugs.
I buckled down, worked hard, got more writing jobs, and became happier. No, I still didn’t have a serious boyfriend, but I was dealing with my issues so I was in a better place to find one in the future.
I left Spain a few years later knowing that you can’t judge a book by its cover. When I am around amazingly attractive people today I remember this. I might think their life is perfect but that’s not necessarily the case.

Yup exactly

 

[aesthetic beauty]

View attachment 2862524View attachment 2862526

Yeah he needs to run to another country. Evil beyond measure.

 

[Xangsane]

Yup exactly

View attachment 2863320

Why do foid stacies degenmaxx?

 

[aesthetic beauty]

Why do foid stacies degenmaxx?

Money like most people. It’s just the halo effect that causes us to put unrealistic standards on them.

 

[Xangsane]

Money like most people. It’s just the halo effect that causes us to put unrealistic standards on them.

the cocaine, the drugs, the orgies with old men

 

[hopeless NTmaxxer]

Yeah he needs to run to another country. Evil beyond measure.

he got limited options for a solution, if he divorces her the neurotic woman will take half his money, if he just run away he'll need to start all over again and leave everything behing. it's really brutal.

 

[aesthetic beauty]

 

[aesthetic beauty]

 

[aesthetic beauty]

 

[aesthetic beauty]

 

[aesthetic beauty]

 

[aesthetic beauty]