Fading PUA skeezeball Roosh V stages publicity stunt, gets no publicity, is sad online

By David Futrelle

What if you staged a publicity stunt and got no publicity? You might want to ask skeezeball “pickup artist” and rape legalization enthusiast Roosh V.

A couple of weeks ago, you see, Roosh put up a very strange video announcing a planned meetup with fans, seemingly half of which consisted of him saying how terrible it would be if protesters showed up and started a fight, simply awful, wink wink nudge nudge, oh protesters please please please don’t disrupt my little get together.

And in case his critics didn’t understand just how much he would simply hate it if something violent happened, he emailed me and a bunch of other non-fans to tell us all about it. He’s never emailed me before.

It seemed pretty clear that Roosh was hoping to recreate that brief moment in history, some three years ago, when he was briefly the most hated man in the world.

In the summer of 2015, you may recall, Roosh was on what he called his World Tour, and being protested pretty much every step of the way by people who didn’t think his proposal to legalize rape on private property was the brilliant “satire” he claimed it was, considering that the stories he told in his books of his alleged sexual conquests sounded an awful lot like rapes themselves. He was on TV. The Daily Mail sent a reporter to his mom’s house, where he was temporarily living in the basement. He famously had a drink poured on him. Good times.

Fast forward to today. No one is talking about him any more. Traffic at his Return of Kings website is plunging. No one’s putting him on TV, much less pouring drinks on his head.

You can practically hear his little brain whirring into action: hey, what if someone were to try to attack me and my friends at … uh, a Starbucks — the coffee chain that for Roosh is somehow a symbol of SJW tyranny. All he’d have to do is announce it, tell everyone how much he’d hate it if any SJWs came, and the media would respond with predictable outrage. But, as he noted in his post,

only one media article was written about it. I learned that a substantial flurry of articles needs to be published for the elite to activate their SJW foot soldiers.

And so, a little over a week ago, he and some of his fans got together at a Starbucks, then went together to a bar. And … nothing happened.

He’s now posted the thrilling tale of the non-event, and though he gave his post a cheery headline — “The June 2018 Happy Hour In Washington D.C. Was A Huge Success” — you can practically taste the disappointment.

The plan? He would meet fans at a Starbucks and give them little slips of paper telling them where the real get-together would be; these sneaky “counter-terrorist tactics” (as Roosh called them) were necessary, he thought, to prevent evil SJWs from figuring out where they were going.

There was one little flaw with the plan: he announced the Starbucks location publicly, so any SJW protesters who wanted to confront him could have done it there — or they could have simply followed Roosh and his dudebro army as they marched off together to the super-seekrit bar that was only a few blocks away.

Turns out there was an even bigger flaw with his plan: No one gave a shit, and no SJWs showed up at all.

Let’s turn to Roosh’s Field Report of how it all went down:

At 7:50pm, I stood across the street from the Starbucks. I saw a friend in front and waved him over. Then four more men recognized me. All five of us went inside at 7:55. Starting at 8, the stream of men flowing into the cafe was steady. If a man made lingering eye contact with me, I knew that he knew. I handed out fortune cookie slips of paper that had the location of the main event at a bar two blocks down 7th street.

Presumably the men knew to eat the slips of paper after reading them to prevent enemy spies from obtaining them.

But then something altogether unexpected nearly derailed the event right then and there:

A Starbucks barista came up to the group and said, “Is there anyone here named Roosh? Someone is on the phone for him.” A prank caller. I did not imagine this in my mental rehearsals. I was hesitant to admit that there was a Roosh present in case it was a trap. “There is no one here named Roosh,” I said. The barista left with a skeptical look on his face.

That crisis averted, the Roosh army proceeded to the next phase of their operation: they would use the bathroom at Starbucks without buying anything there to test the new Starbucks policy of not arresting people who hang out in their stores and maybe even use the bathroom without ordering something first, which Starbucks put into place after one of its baristas literally had two black men arrested for the crime of  being in a Starbucks and not immediately ordering anything.

We spread the bathroom code “2018” amongst ourselves to take advantage of the corporate toilet policy. At least five men used the toilet, perhaps as many as eight. … The baristas started getting visibly agitated, especially since only one or two men bought something. They started taking away the stools we were using under the guise of preparing the store for closing.

But alas, Roosh and his army of dudebros were unable to get themselves thrown out.

When the group grew to 25, employees finally asked us to stand away from the front counter. They stopped short of kicking us out. If they did, I’d seek pro bono legal counsel to sue for discrimination since I’m a person of brown color.

Dude, when you try to troll a business and fail. you’re not supposed to announce this fact to the world.

The Roosh Army then decamped to a new base of operations.

At 8:35, I led the group of 40 men down the sidewalk to the bar. It turns out that the fortune cookie slips weren’t necessary. 

No shit, Rooshlock.

After the gaggle of Roosh fans made it to the bar, Roosh finally got the confrontation he had been begging for! Well, sort of.

A woman I didn’t recognize approached me. Apparently one of the attendees told her who I was. She was lamentably overweight but had a friendly demeanor.

“So you’re a pickup artist,” she said.

“I am?”

“Well that’s what it says on your Wikipedia.”

You can almost feel the complete lack of tension in the air.

One of the guys started filming her, thinking that she was attacking me, but I told him that it was okay and he put his phone down. It was clear that she loved getting the attention of several men at once and wanted to keep the conversation going as long as possible, but she would have to increase her beauty for me to give her more than three minutes of my time. After showing her my “straight pride” salute, which is really the same as a black power salute, I introduced her to a man I named Chad because he was a tall and white with a square jaw. I told everyone that if I have a son, I’m naming him Chad.

Wow, what a story. Roosh will be telling this one to his grandchildren, I’m sure.

As the event winded down, I started to wonder where the resistance was. Two years ago, the death threats flowed in at a concerning clip, but now there was nothing.

The obvious explanation: no one gives a shit about you any more. We’ve got other infinitely more important things on our minds.

But Roosh floats a rather different explanation: It was a deliberate plot by the Deep State, or George Soros. or some nefarious puppetmaster behind the scenes, to make him feel sad, or something like that.

To go from 100 to 0 suggests that liberal protests are not organic. A switch must be flipped for them to be activated in a MK Ultra style. If you told me that someone at a high level gets to decide whether an attack takes place or not, I would believe it.

I’m sure you would. It’s more comforting to think that than to accept the fact that you’re yesterday’s news.