Guys, hey.
The Alpha is running at full throttle.
I’m typing like a madwoman.
The workload is insane.
And on top of everything else, the Alpha has:
business,
responsibility,
his own world,
family,
responsibility,
load,
responsibility,
load,
responsibility,
load,
load, load, load.
LOOOOAD.
Here’s the thing, guys.
Girls are never taught that a man is the one who carries the load.
And an Alpha carries it like no one else.
Girls are taught:
“He’s a man. Let him handle it.”
So the girl thinks:
“Damn… I guess that’s just how men are. Who the hell knows.”
Men stay quiet.
At most they snap or crack a joke about it.
Because an Alpha knows perfectly well:
his problems are his to deal with.
He’ll solve them anyway.
And honestly, he sees no point talking to a woman about it.
She’ll start clucking around, fussing, worrying.
Nothing useful is coming out of that anyway.
And then he’ll end up having to calm her down too.
So the Alpha solves it himself.
Once.
Twice.
A hundred thousand times over.
And the Alpha is damn tired.
Sure, he’s not new to business.
He knows the game.
But that doesn’t make it any easier.
The Alpha is damn tired.
He also wants to be held sometimes.
He also wants flowers and stupid romantic comedies.
The Alpha also wants someone to surprise him with a trip to Italy.
Or France. Hell, even Uganda.
He doesn’t care.
Just take the weight off his shoulders
for a couple of days.
The Alpha gets tired too.
He’s human.
And meanwhile this woman keeps typing non-stop:
“This needs to change.”
“That needs to change.”
The Alpha is tired.
Damn it.
The director is in shock again.
So am I.
The dachshund just took a shit right on the floor.
Fuck, it stinks…
Well… too late.
She already did it.
Here’s what I think.
Sometimes the Alpha needs to be carried in someone’s arms too.
The Alpha should be able to come home
and just cry.
You dramatically collapse onto the floor,
pounding your fists on the floor, kicking your feet.
“You bastards!
I’m tired too!
Does anyone see that I’m moving mountains here?
Nobody appreciates me!”
The Alpha puts on a pink hair tie
and shorts.
That’s it.
The Alpha is tired.
Tired.
He doesn’t give a damn about figuring out where to go on vacation.
Or that the kids need something again.
Everyone always needs something from him.
To hell with all of you.
The Alpha is tired.
He’s going to rot for a while.
The phone goes straight into the freezer.
I’m sick of it already.
The wife and kids can go in there too.
Key point.
We need a reservation.
I’m serious, my dear Alpha.
You need a break.
All this “not now… later…” —
doesn’t work.
No.
We need to breathe.
Everyone except Nate.
My dear, you’re grinding hard right now — yeah, no way around that.
You stabilize the business first.
Then you rest.
Damn, don’t look at me like that.
He won’t be able to relax anyway.
How the hell is he supposed to breathe if the business isn’t stable?
First business.
Then rest.
Alright, back to the Alpha.
We look at the wife and kids very seriously.
Like really seriously, guys.
And we say:
“I’m tired.
I need a break.
No bullshit.
If I hear one word,
you’re all flying back home.”
They laugh.
The wife is straight-up cracking up.
What a bitch.
We breathe.
Alright.
That’s it. I’m done.
I’m leaving.
And we start packing our stuff.
She’s yelling that I’ve lost my mind.
We say:
“I said what I had to say.
Bye.”
To hell with her.
I’m serious, guys.
This is exhausting.
We built the business.
Self-development at full throttle.
The Alpha is a boss, a husband, a father, a son,
and God knows what else.
Tired.
Enough.
There’s plenty of money.
Thank God.
Key point.
This is the moment when the pressure finally snaps.
I don’t want to sound like that guy with the mask…
“Luke, I am your father.”
But still…
We’re going to add a little drama now.
Guys, it’s the same rule as everywhere else:
Until you respect yourself, nobody else will.
Until the Alpha opens his mouth and says:
“I’m sick of this.”
No one will even notice.
And one more thing.
The wife has it way too easy.
Damn, girls, forgive me — but that’s the fucking truth.
Yeah, in conflicts we’re not great.
Emotions hit us like a truck.
We get overloaded.
But at this point the only thing left
is to cut the Alpha’s dick off and slap it on the table.
The Alpha was born a man, damn it.
That’s his nature.
Emotions really overload him.
And if she doesn’t appreciate it —
goodbye.
Seriously.
She’ll manage for a couple of days.
She won’t die.
But she’ll very quickly understand
what it’s like without the Alpha.
Let’s see how she makes decisions.
Let’s see how she starts handling
all the stuff he deals with every single day.
Let her see how much he actually does.
To hell with it.
And the kids too.
Nothing is ever enough for them.
Doesn’t matter what you do.
Same damn faces every time.
Damn teenagers.
Alright.
We’re packing.
Actually — screw it.
Card.
Passport.
Ray-Bans.
What did we work this hard for?
We’ll buy clothes there.
Let’s go.
The Alpha walks out.
The woman goes crazy.
“Where are you going?
Have you completely lost it?!”
We slam a fist against the wall
so she has absolutely no doubt
that the Alpha is completely done.
Either she backs off,
or we walk out against her will.
Finally we’re outside.
Car.
Plane.
Hawaii.
The phone goes straight into the ocean.
To hell with everything.
We just need to breathe.
Just a little.
Just a bit.
We’re going to drink.
Throw up.
Shout something stupid.
Watch something stupid.
Yell something stupid.
Because the Alpha
is not power right now.
Not support.
The Alpha is just a human being.
He rests however he wants.
Nobody judging him.
Nobody around.
Finally he can sleep normally.
Pick his ass if he damn well wants to.
Scratch his balls
and nobody makes a face.
Thank God for fresh air.
The Alpha lies down
on the white sand.
Takes a sip of his cocktail.
To hell with everything.
He’s busy.
He’s resting.
The Alpha will send all this to the guys.
They’ll snap too.
“Finally someone said it.”
They’ll drop their guard too.
Nice.
Now the Alpha is with the guys.
With his people.
Everyone gets it here.
And yes — they’re going to laugh
when someone farts and burps at the same time.
Disgusting.
Beautiful.
But that’s male nature.
Freedom.
Dirt.
Selfishness.
Adrenaline.
Thrill.
Power and sex.
Emarosa — Stay
The Alpha and the guys will watch
some sappy chick movies
and cry.
Damn.
Everyone here is a man.
They understand.
In the hotel room some girly pop music is blasting.
All the guys are drunk,
but damn it — everyone still remembers the lyrics
to a Katy Perry song.
Cigarettes.
Cocktails.
Drinks flowing all night.
Late-night walks through the city.
Stories about who used to be the biggest asshole
back in the day,
and the crazy shit they used to do.
To hell with these women.
They don’t understand a damn thing.
The Alpha is drunk.
He’s leaning on a friend.
“Damn it… I love her.
And she…
I try.
I really try.
And that bitch…”
God.
The Alpha is crying.
He’s so sick of this damn responsibility.
He planned to protect his money
and ride a Ducati.
And what did he end up with?
The Alpha spits.
He’s disgusted with himself.
The booze whispers to him:
“Come on, man… you’ll handle it.”
The Alpha sways a little,
but he’s sure he can handle the Ducati.
Damn it.
Is he a man or what?
The guys burst out laughing.
“You idiot, you’ll kill yourself.”
“Oh yeah?”
The Alpha shoves his friend.
The friend hits back.
And suddenly there’s a fight.
They’re laughing so hard
the whole place is shaking.
The guys don’t care.
Everyone knows it’s just a scuffle.
Just guys messing around.
Everyone leaning on each other, laughing.
The guys are happy.
Free.
The Alpha will text me.
“Thank you, woman.”
I’ll wipe away a tear.
“Go on, Alpha.
I’m rooting for you.
Come on, man.
Breathe fully.
And don’t forget
to send me the pictures.”