With huge size comes huge responsibility.

“Daddy, why is my dick so big?” These are the words I remember so vividly, that one terrible day when I came home from school in tears; I was only 10 years old. My new step-dad was hanging out on the front porch, smoking a joint in his rocking chair when I asked him. I told him I couldn’t handle all the teasing and insults from all the other kids at school about my penis being too big. At first he just laughed at me and didn’t understand, then he told me “shut the hell up you idiot” and ripped off a huge ass branch from the tree in the front yard — the kind that black parents typically use to discipline their children — and beat my ass with it. My grandmother showed up and stopped my step dad, grabbing the branch out of his hand. I thought I had been rescued, but it turned out she just wanted a piece of the action. She beat me even harder while the whole neighborhood cheered her on. Growing up black in the south is not easy.

From then on I kept my emotions to myself; and eventually the teasing also stopped, but things didn’t necessarily get better. While other boys openly fantasized about becoming professional football players or baseball players, my ever growing dick brought me nightmares of being confined to a wheelchair. I couldn’t dream like they could, I couldn’t feel comfortable in my own foreskin. Because of this, it became harder and harder for me to socialize with other boys. Instead of playing basketball, football or baseball with other boys, I was wrestling with wild hogs in the mud, all by myself.

Drawing I made while I was in elementary school. My worst nightmare was that I’d end up in a wheelchair.

As I got older, it became a sexual insecurity. And It didn’t help that every pair of pants I bought, within a couple months, started to get holes in the front where my tip hung out. I never could maintain a nice pair of pants. Some of the girls made fun of me and called me patches, because I had patched up my pants to cover up all the holes and stains. At one point my dick was big enough that it would sweat all on its own, leaving hot sweat spots on my pants. It looked like I peed my pants sometimes, shit. And in high-school, where having a bigger dick was all the rage and gossip, you’d think I’d be the top dog. Not at all, every bitch in town knew there was something wrong with Nigel the recluse. I felt like I was the Hunchback of Notre Dame or something.

It wasn’t until one hot Sunday at church that my perspective and self-esteem changed. After the church service and singing, the preacher pulled me aside for a little talk. He told me that he knew God had a plan for me. He told me that he had noticed that I had an extra beat in my walk, an extra skip in my step. He didn’t go into any explicit details beyond that, but he was an intuitive man of God. I knew that he knew that I possessed the staff of Moses. He told me that with a great gift comes great responsibility, and that’s why I gotta have a big heart too. After I parted with the preacher I headed outside to mingle with the crowd that had gathered for their after-church gossip. And I swear to God that sun rays were shinnin’ down on me, and also shinnin’ down on this very big lady with a small hat and a huge fan. Her ass was of biblical proportions: something you’d need to carry on Noah’s arc. And yet that mammoth momma looked sad, depressed… And she was dressed to the nines. What the hell I thought. So I walked on up to her with my 3 beat stroll and asked her if she had a man: a tear fell from her face. She told me that god made her so big that she could never find the right man. I put my arm around her and the spirit of God spit holy game from out my mouth. I lost my virginity that night! Praise the lord for showing me the path to the P. Through Jesus, I had discovered that my gift from God was perfectly suited for bigger women; my joint was perfect for flossing each slab and buttering every roll in her bakery. While other men fear Goliath pussy, I slayed it like David. I went on a path to feed the hungry and help the needy. I got the biggest, baddest, fattest ass in town when I accepted Jesus into my game. He showed me that my game is big game.

Be charitable with the dick, let God into your game. If you have a gift, you have to use it to help those in need, of all sizes. With a huge dick comes huge responsibility, so you gotta have a huge heart.

Daygame: how to sack big ladies in the daytime

The difference between meeting women in the the day vs. at night is some serious shit. First of all, at night it’s harder to comprehend the size and scope of that ass-cavity you plan on drillin’ and fillin’. Women appear more spatially-ambiguous when it’s dark and you’ve got some cognac in your system. That’s why when I go out at night, I always always always bring my night vision goggles (or at least a flash light) with me into the club; but in the daytime that’s not necessary — this is why the ancients worshiped the sun. The day time requires different game, especially when they your targets are out shopping; things move more slowly and they probably have more food in their stomach to slow ’em down.

Before you go out, you got to pick your daytime venue: Where do you find big bitches at? In America it’s good old McDonald’s, Pizza Hut, the grocery store, other fast food joints, the dollar store, etc… But we’re going to focus on the best venue for meeting behemoth pussy in the daytime: Walmart. Why Walmart you ask? Besides the fact that it’s a low-income haven for plus sized mommas, logistically the stores are huge — designed to slowdown big women by strategically fatiguing and entrapping them in between aisles so they spend more time looking at products. All these aisles are an optical illusion, appearing to be large and accommodating for fatties. Combined with Walmart’s extra large shopping carts and a little traffic, fat bitches can get caught or “funneled” in between the aisles. This makes it more convenient for us to force feed them our big day game.

It goes down like this: I walk on in and grab myself the biggest shopping cart I can find. Then I usually head right and start patrolling the pharmacy section where they sell drugs at. Surprisingly that’s where you will find the thickest concentration of fat bitches; because they’re usually over there looking to buy painkillers. Fat women always have chronic pain in their feet for some reason, and they like to swallow down those white aspirin skittles while they shop. Anyway, when I spot one browsing the aspirin skittles, I roll up on her and use my shopping cart to block off her exit. Think of it as blockading a port. Let’s say the shopping cart is blockading her on the left side, that’s when I slip through to her right side and pretend like I’m looking for the same shit she is. You following me so far homie? This ain’t a football play here, all I gotta do is pretend like I’m heading back to my cart, but bump into her repeatedly several times as if her big ass is in my way. If I blockaded her correctly with the shopping cart, this maneuver is easy to pull off. So I’ll keep bumping into her, and every time be polite and say “excuse me ma’am,” and “my bad.” I usually do this about 10 times for each big momma.

How its done

What I love about this game tactic is how advance it is: It’s plausibly-deniable indirect kino-escalation game combined with a vicious physical neg that will force her to open you up conversationally. The physical neg well cause her to feel insecure about her size, and she’ll use the indirect physical kino-escalation to blame you for running into her. In most situations like this she’d probably scream rapist and you might find yourself getting beat down by Walmart security, but because I neg that bitch at the same time, she’ll be more focused on her size-insecurity first. Before she pulls the creeper card she’s going to try to qualify her self. When she qualifies herself with something like “motherfucker I ain’t fat, you just a clumsy f***…” that is the decisive moment when the Disney magic happens. You gotta quickly comeback with big swag, I usually say, “beauty is in the eye of the beholder; we are all gods children.” At this point there’s usually a small audience watching us, so I raise my voice like a preacher. Now that bitch is on the spot and in my pocket and I’ve got the moral high ground. All I have to do is say “I’m sorry” and offer to buy her a lunch at McDonald’s. Now that’s what I call an insta-date — I’m lovin’ that pussy.

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Now I want to give a much belated shout-out to all the blogs in the manosphere that have finally come around to fat acceptance. Bronanthebarbarian, thank you for helping me out to convert men back to lovin’ real women. Flyfreshandyoung, dangerandplay, donlakapocalypsecomethaaronsleazysocietyofamateurgentlemenlittlepdogtheprivatemanmattforneyscartissue, and all the other blogs that gave me a shout out, thank all y’all! God bless you guys. Holla back sometime.

follow me on twitter for more big game advice @NigelBigGame

Fat women love stalkers and rapists.

I know what you’re thinkin’ homie, “what tha hell, you crazy Nigel?” Word, I gotcha, but hear me out son. Listen to this.

Have you ever hung out with some girls and the fattest one says, “hey, this guy keeps stalking me” or “this guy keeps grabbing my ass”? Do you ever turn on the news and the story of the night is that a woman got raped in the next county — they show her picture, and she’s a fat as fuck, 78 year old grandmother? What’s goin’ on here? Are rapist and stalkers really gettin’ together, conspiring to victimize fat bitches? Yeah right, and the tooth fairy flew into my bedroom one night and gave me a rimjob while I was asleep. Actually, the answer is a big fat fucking NO. These pussy ass wannabe rapists and stalkers couldn’t wrestle a hog in the mud, much less ride a wild buffalo. If anything, these rapists and stalkers are just jealous that they can’t handle a big woman. So why in the hell are these fatties screaming rape and accusing random men of stalking them?

Nigel has been thinking about this shit for a while.

I’ll tell you why, because big bitches want stalkers to rape them. It’s disgusting I know, but we live in a disgusting world, so you gotta man up to that challenge or fade out. Since most men out there aren’t making moves on fatties, these big women have got to invent their stalkers and degrading rape stories to tell their best friends forever. They don’t want to feel left out and less sought-after when their girlfriends get together and talk about dating and sex, so they tell tall tales — to boost their ego with lies rooted in their deepest sexual fantasies. Some of these bitches are so desperate they take their bullshit to the news stations; they need the whole world to know that they got gang raped and gagged with a twinkie. Bitch please, who you foolin’?

Yes it is! She isn’t just dreaming, she’s using a falsified signal as a means of begging for cock while simultaneously fattening her ego.

The truth: when fat women cry and complain that they got stalkers trying to rape them, it’s a signal that they aren’t getting any dick. They’re advertising their desperation by pretending and announcing that the total opposite is true. It’s that plain and simple. They want dick by any means necessary, even if it’s imaginary; but they want the real thing by force, they’re that fucking desperate. This bullshit is so bad that innocent brothers are getting locked away in the pen; so I’m doing my part to fix this problem, thank the Lord that I found a solution.

Captain save-a-hoe to the rescue. When I realized this shit, I put on a trench coat and went out telling fat bitches I was a detective. I told them I was looking for this known stalker who is also wanted for rape and on the run from the FBI. Each and every fat hoe I questioned immediately piped up said she was one of his victims, a victim of the exact same stalker/rapist I was looking for. Man, what a coincidence! I invited each one to my white van for further questioning to help with the investigation, they all agreed. Once I got them in the van, I told them to take off all their clothes so I can gather some DNA evidence. Clothes come off, I bend the bitch over, and made some new DNA evidence. Botta bing botta boom botta bang.

Now things didn’t always go down smoothly in the white van. Sometimes I’d get a hostile fattie telling me that she needs to see my badge and shit, and that she ain’t snitching unless I’m for real. This is when I ask her what the rapist looks like. As she’s giving me the description, I put on my ski mask and say, “did he look like this?” Then I whip out my cattle prod and tase the fuck out of her until her pussy glows in the dark, and proceed to harpoon her face with my chocolate yardstick. After the zap and tap session I dump her ass off in front of the homeless shelter so my buddies can finish her — I’m all about recycling — and by sharing that ass I protect myself legally. This is what I call forming an LLC (Limited Liability Cooperation) because the liability (blame) is spread out. I’m not the only rapist one involved. She won’t be able to remember and report all of us. Furthermore, the cops aren’t going to believe another epic rape story anyway.

 

follow me on twitter for more big game advice @NigelBigGame