BE A WANKER, NOT A FUCKER

The following passage is taken from Andy's new intellectual autobiography/philosophical treatise, Confessions of a Would-Be Wanker, now available for purchase.

by Andy Nowicki

But what does the pitifully slobbering soul do when deprived of God’s much-wanted and much-needed blessing, for reasons which remain forever unclear? How, under such tragic and abysmal circumstances, can a man really be expected to refrain from indulging in a pastime which brings a kind of peace to his weary soul? Masturbation is a sad and pitiful act, but then God-forsaken man is a sad and pitiful creature, and indulgence in such an act can in some way be seen as entirely worthy of just such a being.

Jerking off, however, is one thing. Taking part in actual coitus with another person is something else entirely. Both activities indicate a sexualized state, but differ widely in what they suggest about the man engaging in the activity. Yet the worthiness of each activity is inversely proportional to how it would appear. Taking part in the former signifies you as a loser, in the world’s eyes, while engaging in the latter somehow for some reason makes you an estimable person, a success, one who has officially “made it.” Yet coitus is in truth a far greater signifier of corruption, as one who angles for coitus has to behave in a manner that shreds his natural innocence to a far greater degree than merely letting one’s mind run towards mere fantasies of coitus.

The wanker is indeed more righteous than the fucker. For one thing, the wanker doesn’t set out to impress other people. He declines to pursue a quest of social climbing, in order to shore up his image, the better eventually to “score.” He doesn’t scheme to enhance his attractiveness, or aim to “trade up” to a higher stratum of human company, with an eye towards enticing a more alluring species of potential sexual conquests. The wanker doesn’t furtively treasure the number of “likes” he received for his last Facebook post, or bask in the compliment that a superior gave him in a glowing work report, nor does he revel in the knowledge that such-and-such-with-a-pretty-face or so-and-so-with-an-ample-chest appeared to be flirting with him when he stopped by the corner bar last Friday night.

The wanker is instead a stoic, one who realizes that his nature has been compromised, but who nevertheless doesn’t intend to sell himself out for the mess of pottage that is social success. He realizes that his soul has been warped by that aspect of his nature which kicked in at the inception of his sexualization, when he first consumed the forbidden fruit, and afterwards when, under the effect of the poison, he stumbled and fell heavily, just as we all do. Still, he won’t be mastered by the imprint of vice that has been stamped into his being, though the absence of dignity it represents greatly upsets him – grieves him, in fact, even to the point of pushing him into a regime of self-mutilation, much like a medieval monk fanatically seeking to purify his “too too sullied flesh.”

A noble wanker.

Just what torments him so, inspiring him to such flagrant extremes? The answer to this question is twofold.

Firstly, the wanker knows that sexualization has rendered him morally debauched. He mourns the muddying of his purity, the erasure of his innocence. He looks back, with wistful longing, to the time prior to his Fall, before lust took root in his consciousness — along with the attendant scheming for status generated by lust, as well as the cruelties and degradations unavoidably attendant upon such low scheming. He feels the festering corruption within begin to take intangible but no less actual form within him, clustering along the crust of his soul like vicious boils.

In addition, the wanker is acutely aware that being sexual makes him vulnerable, even weak. It renders him easily exploitable. If a girl says she wants him, he feels elated, and the putty aching to escape his testes through his urethra reduces him to putty in her hands.  A man who succumbs to flattery in this manner is a man enslaved; he is — properly speaking — no man at all, having lost his capacity to behave in a manner which denotes a free will. He has ceased to be a dignified creature, “noble in reason, infinite in faculty… in apprehension, like a god,” having instead been transformed into a slobbering, clownish freak. He is so excited about the notion of being wanted, and so fired up at the prospect of getting to have sex, that he will forfeit that which exalts him, and allow himself to be led around by the “nose” (the nose in this case obviously signifying an entirely different organ).

What draws him is in part a desire for the physical sensation of sex, but he is also—to perhaps an even greater degree — motivated by a need to obtain the status conferred upon the fuckers of the world, as opposed to the wankers, who are viewed as undesirable rejects. A man who has sex often, and with attractive women, is looked upon with envy, not just due to the presumed pleasurability of the sex he enjoys, but for the fact that he’s “cool” enough to get pretty women to want to fuck him. Frequency of sex thus communicates a high social ranking. But again, one’s ardent drive to be bestowed with the mantle of coolness can’t help but lead to his spiritual degeneracy, since he openly opts for the degradation of his integrity and the mutilation of the authenticity of his essence, all because he aims to further his social ambitions — that is, to become “cool.” 

Such a one strives to cease to be the envious and to become the enviable. Rather than chucking the very notion of envy, and flinging his defiance into the teeth of the principalities, powers, thrones, and dominions who would lure him with the pretty, petty baubles of popularity and hedonistic fulfillment — that which is full of temporal sensation and temporary delight but which ultimately signifies less than nothing — he instead hurls himself pell-mell into the maelstrom of wild and ruthless striving, all in a desperate effort to firm up his frail and flaccid ego; out of some crazed, pathetic gambit to claim a forlorn sense of worldly pride, he loses the pride of his exalted origin as a creature created in God’s own image; thereafter, he tumbles into a state which is more degraded than that of a mere animal, because a man who apes the behavior of apes reverts to a state even lower than what could properly be called bestial, so thoroughgoing is his defilement.

Again, contrary to what we are indoctrinated to think about men, it is NOT the prospect of sex alone or even sex primarily which exerts such a potent appeal upon those of the male persuasion. Rather, it is what sex — especially the notion of lots of sex with lots of attractive women — signifies for a man. It is the lust for notoriety, glamour, implicit power and sheer clout that provides the draw at least as much as the prospect of ejaculatory satiation in a tight, wet pussy. It is the desire to be perceived as a “winner,” rather than a “loser,” the thirst for acclaim, the prospect of status.

An ignoble fucker.

Such, again, is the behavior of the fucker. He just altogether tries too hard. And even when he succeeds, he fails. For entering a vagina with your penis — or many vaginas, for that matter — doesn’t in truth confer clout upon you, except in the eyes of the foolish and facile. The wanker knows this, he whose penis never penetrates anything other than his fingertips. The wanker is a “loser” by the world’s rules, but then the world is just made up of fuckers, so who cares? They have their reward. The wanker is accused of being bitter, but he’s actually quite content. Status is truly superficial; it means nothing. Sex, while pleasurable, isn’t worth the trouble it involves. So he chooses to remain aloof.

I am not a wanker, myself.  Not yet, anyway. I still actually care what other people think of me. I still want to be thought well of. I still want to be popular. I still desire status — I still crave success. I am not a wanker, but rather a self-hating fucker.

But I’m working on it. And God is still working on me.


Andy Nowicki's Confessions of a Would-Be Wanker is now available in paperback and on Kindle. Visit the book's promotional Facebook page here. (Andy craves your "likes," fucker that he is.)