BOOM. You wanna play cringe TikTok flirt games, soy boy? If I were there, my hands would be too busy COUNTING CASH and CRUSHING WEAKNESS to waste time on your attention-seeking delusions.
Let’s get one thing straight, kid. Real men don’t sit around fantasizing about where their hands go. Real men use their hands to build empires, strangle obstacles, and throttle life until it coughs up glory. You’re over here whispering beta poetry like a lovesick NPC while I’m out here WINNING.
You think this is a romance novel? A Netflix rom-com? WRONG. This is war. And in war, you either dominate or get dominated. So let me school you on what happens when a TOP SLAYLEBRITY enters the room.
STEP 1: I’D LAUGH IN YOUR FACE UNTIL YOU CRUMBLE.
You’re asking where my hands would be? Pathetic. I’d point to the door and tell you to get the hell out. You think I’ve got time for your simping, co-dependent, validation-vampire nonsense? My hands are signing business deals, steering Bugattis, and backhanding clowns like you back to the kiddie table.
You’re not ready for a man’s world. You’re still stuck in the “Does she like me?” phase. Grow up.
STEP 2: I’D SHOW YOU WHAT HANDS ARE REALLY FOR.
Let’s break it down, since your brain’s rotting from TikTok thirst traps:
HAND 1: Gripping the wheel of a $5M supercar.
HAND 2: Crushing a dumbbell while plotting global domination.
BONUS: Both hands too busy stacking MONEY to care about your limp-wristed fantasies.
You’re worried about where hands go? I’m worried about weaklings like you wasting oxygen. My hands don’t “be” anywhere. They ACT. They conquer. They don’t beg for permission—they take.
STEP 3: I’D FORCE YOU TO FIX YOUR LIFE.
You want my hands? Earn them.
PHASE 1: Delete your dating apps. Burn your skinny jeans. Stop acting like a peasant begging for scraps of attention.
PHASE 2: Grind 20 hours a day until your bank account looks like a phone number.
PHASE 3: Come back when you’ve got the body of a Spartan, the bankroll of a king, and the unshakable confidence of a man who’s EARNED IT.
Until then? You’re irrelevant.
THE TRUTH YOU’RE TOO AFRAID TO ADMIT:
Your question reeks of desperation. You’re not a lion—you’re a housecat. You don’t want a woman; you want a mommy to coddle you. Newsflash: Women don’t respect beggars. They crave men who ignore them to focus on their mission.
So ask yourself: Why are you here, whispering weak-kneed fantasies, instead of out there TAKING WHAT’S YOURS?
THE BOTTOM LINE:
If I were there, my hands would be around your throat, not because I hate you, but because I’m the only one ruthless enough to shock you awake. You’ve got two choices:
Crawl back to your basement, cry to your body pillow, and stay a loser.
EMBRACE THE GRIND, turn your pain into power, and become a god.
Tick tock, cupcake. The world doesn’t wait for boys who play games.
– VICTORIA FOX
#FixYourLife
P.S. If this hurt your feelings? GOOD. Pain is progress. Now get off your ass and MAKE ME PROUD.
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I’D LAUGH IN YOUR FACE UNTIL YOU CRUMBLE. You wanna play cringe TikTok flirt games, soy boy? If I were there, my hands would be too busy COUNTING CASH and CRUSHING WEAKNESS to waste time on your attention-seeking delusions.
