Eventually those older kids who already graduated caught wind of what we were doing. They didn’t understand that the Dynasty was satire. To be fair, they probably still don’t know what satire means. They were secretly but obviously jealous. They made fun of it and tried to sabotage our events. Why they cared when they weren’t even in high school anymore was beyond me. But that was a testament to the power of our movement. Some people loved it and others hated it. We forced you to feel something. That’s always the goal, even now with these chapters. And say what you will about the Dynasty, but everyone around then still remembers it, and I bet they always will. As silly as it was, it’s immortalized.

And you know something? Those were the only friends I ever had.

One of the most memorable parties would come to be known as the Dynasty Party. This was peek Dynasty. Girls would take me in rooms and lift their shirts up to be in the Dynasty. It was everything I’d been waiting for.

It was my moment. I went from being unnoticed to making out with the hottest girls. It’s juvenile maybe, but it’s how I know I can accomplish anything. No one would’ve ever believed I could’ve pulled that off. But there I was, with their tits in my hands.

I wasn’t in complete control of this newfound power though. I was of course, still a sucker for love. I inevitably fell again, for one of the girls who showed me her tits. We’ll call her Maddie.

It’s tough being friends with a beautiful girl, then having a glimpse of what it might be like being more. I wasn’t equipped to blur those lines. I fell deep. I still wasn’t experienced enough. And although I was admired throughout the school, I still wasn’t considered a serious contender for a boyfriend.

Because Maddie was my friend, she told me who she did have a crush on. It was a friend of mine. I was devastated. I wanted to die. I felt so alone in that moment.

I wrote a suicide note and had rat poison in my back pocket. I called Craig and burst into tears.

He told me:

”Nigga stop giving a fuck about these bitches who don’t give a fuck about you. That’s why they don’t give a fuck about you, because you give a fuck about them. As soon as you stop caring, watch them come back around.”

Sound advice, I must admit. Even now.

Me liking a girl has been proven to be the biggest deterrent from finding love. Me in love is seemingly the most unattractive characteristic I possess. Women are not into the AJ who likes them.

Now the AJ that doesn’t give a fuck about them, they love that AJ. That’s their favorite AJ. As self-defeating as that may seem, I can’t argue with the results.

Since I’m a student of the game, I learned to play it. Who am I to disagree?

I wonder if it’s just me, or is the whole world is like this? Does every husband not truly like their wife because they can’t? Did those wives pass on who really loved them because his vulnerability turned them off?

I said I played the game, I never said I made the rules. I just report them.

That’s actually why I write. Because 1, I get to speak my mind and you can’t talk back. And 2, I feel there’s something coming I need to express.

It’s not that Paul Revere thought he was special. He just saw something important and wanted to let people know. His way was screaming on a horse in the middle of the night. My way is writing a book.

In Season 4, you might say, the redcoats are coming…