You're focused on the wrong shit
How to pull your head out of your butt
What’s up man.
Welcome to another exciting episode of The Dream Lounge. Did you miss me bucko?
Don’t worry, I missed you too.
Today I’m going to yell at most of you for focusing your time and energy on dumb shit, during your one precious life on this earth.
First a quick story.
My father was a piece of shit on his best day as I’ve written about before. Normally he was just a violent drug addict (alcoholic). The idea that he was simply a crazy monster 24 hours a day his entire life is a bit cartoonish though, not real life.
He was a real person, built a family, made millions, and was married for 40 years. I paid close attention to him growing up, learning a lot from him. Mostly how not to live.
For example while everyone was getting shit faced in high school and college, I didn’t drink alcohol until I was 27 and had just divorced my hooker ex-wife. That was also in spite of being around tons of alcohol in my youth, approaching thousands of women as an aspiring PUA, stone sober.
I avoided alcohol because I saw how devastating the abuse of it was, up close and personal in a domestic environment. Year after year, decade after decade.
My father didn’t cry a lot. He was the embodiment of toxic masculinity, in an authentically toxic sense. Crying was for fags. One of the few times I saw him cry however was just before giving my older sister her first car - a hot red turbo charged Mitsubishi Eclipse.
He had bought it new about 2 years prior when she was still too young drive, using it himself for work. He drove the piss out of it, but it was otherwise in good condition.
We had come home from the gas station with more alcohol per usual. Big pack of Icehouse and one for the road.
In the driveway he broke down crying suddenly, before turning the car off. He was ranting about how much he regretted missing so much of my older sister’s life. The preceding 3-4 years he had been working crazy hours on a new business, with an hour commute each way, 5 days a week or more. This was a 6am-9pm kind of thing, for years.
He would leave in the dark, and come home in the dark.
Out of my entire family, I was the only one to spend time with him during this period of his life, as he would still fish (and drink extra hard) every weekend out on the boat. He wasn’t really around during the week.
Unlike his previous construction business based in our hometown (that ended in an epic disaster), the distance and work load of this new construction business made him invisible in my sister’s life, and he knew it.
Incidentally this business was called Housing and Urban Design, similar to the federal HUD (Housing and Urban Development), something the government was not happy about.
This was in contrast to her younger years when he would on occasion show up to a school function or sports event for her. That all disappeared with this new business.
As much of a violent lunatic as he was, to this day I believe the regret he felt and tears were real. Giving her a nice fast red car was a hollow shell in place of a father, missing in action for years by that point.
He did make a lot of money during this time period, the most of his life year after year at HUD. In his final year he pulled in $696k in personal, taxable income. That was 2001 when he exited the business, like $1.2M in today’s money.
We had a huge house built from scratch, paid in cash, that he oversaw every detail of. $150k yacht in the backyard, 4 cars, a second boat. He was proud to be debt free on everything.
And yet in the end he lost everything. The housing collapse destroyed him and all of his dip shit buddies, pulling them in like a black hole. My hometown of Cape Coral was the national epicenter of the housing crash.
On the construction side my dad fueled the housing boom of the 90s/2000s building about 2,000 homes in south west Florida. I heard boomer nonsense like “real estate never goes down” a lot growing up.
My dad died literally homeless and penniless in 2023. All the money he had made, pissed away many years ago. On what?
In the end nothing. Ashes and dust.
He made enough money to establish serious intergenerational wealth. Instead he ended literally homeless, dying the miserable, painful, slow death he deserved.
You’ll notice in our family photos growing up that I’m the only one to ever hold an honest emotional expression of what it was like living in this nightmare. My mother and sisters are just fake, nasty cunts who spread lies and run cover for this scumbag, even in death.
My wife ripped my mom a new asshole recently which was nice.
Chef's kiss.
I tell you this story today of a wicked life that was also filled with some degree of genuine regret. Real monsters are not cartoons. There’s layers to most people.
While most young men are not violent drug addicted lunatics like my father was, many today are spending their life on stupid bullshit.
You’re collecting stupid fucking watches, doom scrolling social media, sucked into the hell scape of fake fucking influencers living their miserable fake and gay lives.
Sucked into “success porn” you care about buying more shit you don’t need. More fucking cars (more fucking debt) and whatever else you can show off to people on the internet that you don’t know and don’t care about you.
A lot of you need to pull your head out of your ass, get off the internet, and go build something. Start by locking down a hot young thin white woman with big milk jugs. Knock her up, keep her on a tight leash (so she doesn’t go feral). Wash/rinse/repeat.
That’s a good start anyway.
The scamosphere has taught men that building a family is some optional random thing that you have unlimited time to do. That’s eerily similar to feminist teachings for women.
While you do have more time than a woman - a lot more - it’s far from unlimited, and most of you need to get started breeding like yesterday.
Then actually focus on your family. As I have for 2 years now, aggressively and relentlessly. Family first.
You’ll be dead before you know it. Don’t make the mistake my father did, and the similar mistake of internet sheep today.
Get the fuck off the internet.
/s/ Anthony Dream Johnson
Glad to hear from you again Anthony. Are you still going to write that article on women’s body count? How’s writing those books going for you?