ALPHA CREED, ALPHA CRED – Confessions Of An All American Badass

WARNING: You WILL Be Offended

Remember when Charlie Sheen’s interview came out in 2011, the “Winning” interview, and most of the country thought he was nuts, or coked out of his mind, or the most morally reprehensible man to ever walk the face of the earth?

About that… I was one of the few who did not think that. I laughed at, and applauded, almost every single line that came out of his mouth.

Why?

Because I’m a real-life alpha male. And not the type of skinny-fat douchebag with gelled hair you see in your gym wearing a shirt that says “Alpha”. Fuck that guy, and fuck his shirt. A real-life alpha doesn’t have to wear clothing proclaiming his status.

He wears it on his shoulder—I wear it on my shoulder—as a giant chip telling everybody within my vicinity, sincerely, to get the fuck out of my way. Yes, MY way—because no other way exists.

How do I know I’m a real-life alpha? Well, I can feel it in my blood. As Mr. Sheen may have said, it’s all about that tiger blood, and it’s in my DNA.

Yes, the alpha soul arrived the moment I kicked my way out of my mother’s vagina. But some of the other elements had to be acquired and built over time.

During my youth, I was a fat kid, but always had the alpha energy. Fuck sleep. Fuck sitting around and being bored. Get up, make your own excitement. And watch as every follower in your neighborhood follows. The standard fare was me walking down the street, age five, holding a beige Fischer Price boom box to my ear, pretending it was one of the awesome ghetto blasters I had seen in Breakin’, whilst rocking out to Michael Jackson’s Thriller—as a line of five other children followed behind me.

The alpha energy followed shortly after the alpha soul arrived.

A little older, age eight—I got my first earning, and began growing my hair long. The “fuck the rules and societal norms” aspect of my alphahood appeared. It had always been there, of course, but now it made manifest in my physical appearance. All clothing turned to black, the more Guns ‘N Roses the better. And at twelve, my first lip ring—self-drilled with an earning stud. Followed shortly thereafter by piecing absolutely everything on my entire body. Myself. (Excluding my nostril—that made me sneeze too much.)

The alpha soul, alpha energy, then alpha appearance. I will not follow and fit in. I will pave my own way. So fucking move.

At the same time, I started playing the drums, maniacally, a man obsessed with perfecting his craft. The alpha focus and obsession, applying that soul and energy to become the greatest in the world. Anything less was unacceptable. And frankly, fucking boring.

Alpha soul, alpha energy, alpha appearance, alpha passion.

But still, I was a little fat kid. Pulling tail wasn’t exactly my strong suit. While others could rely on these little things like “flirting” and “hygiene”, I wasn’t going to get any ass playing those cards. And on some level, I knew it.

So I applied my intelligence—alpha brains—as well as my sense of humor—alpha personality. And discovered I could get more booty than my slender-but-ordinary compatriots. And, if I set my mind to it, I could get just about any booty that had caught my eye.

Alpha soul, energy, appearance, passion, brains, and manipulation to boot. He is growing. He is becoming complete.

And I started driving—my god, how I love to drive! Like a giant chess game where I can look ahead and predict the moves of my opponents, overcome them, and put them in check every single time. Not difficult, when they are but simpletons who pay zero attention to the details of this world.

Get out of my way—yes, it is mine. Don’t ever forget it.

Alpha soul, energy, appearance, passion, brains, manipulation, speed. Speed, power, strength.

Winning. As Chuck Sheen has been known to say.

So I used that speed, I used that manipulation, and I ventured out into the world. I went to college, and destroyed the curriculum. And what did I study? Why, philosophy of course. No practical application you say? Sure—other than teaching you how everything in the fucking universe works, all of the time, every time, for all of eternity—how our minds work, how physical matter works, how cause and effect works, how morality and politics work. No, no practical application whatsoever. Idiots.

And I finished absolute top of my class.

Alpha soul, energy, appearance, passion, brains, manipulation, speed, and education.

But then, I looked at the flesh. And the flesh, as they say, was weak. Not up to alpha standards. So I changed it.

Upon this frame, I slapped on slab after slab of thick, dense muscle, sculpting my body into that of a Greek god, a statute for all to see—but more importantly, a statue for me to see, when I look in the mirror at myself. Because after all, who’s opinion actually matters in the mind of an alpha, other than his own?

Alpha soul, energy, appearance, passion, brains, manipulation, speed, education, body.

And I took that body, and searched the land far and wide for an appropriate queen.   An African goddess—what else could possibly fit the bill? With golden skin and piercing eyes, and a similar love and passion for this world. A smile that fills the room, and flesh that tastes like melted caramel…

Alpha soul, energy, appearance, passion, brains, manipulation, speed, education, body, and trophy wife.

But it wasn’t complete. We decided to build our tribe, and bring the amazing Raven Storm into this world. A hybrid—mother’s beauty and joy for life, daddy’s intensity spilling out at times, threatening to go untamed. The most perfect, beautiful, precocious little child the world has seen.

Alpha soul, energy, appearance, passion, brains, manipulation, speed, education, body, trophy wife and daughter.

Being a legit alpha isn’t as simple as acquisition. It takes constant energy and effort to feed the machine and maintain that status. SO, I had to set out to build an empire, something that would fund the needs of the alphas for all time to come. And so I did just that, building the most successful training company in the state. With the pocketbook to match.

Alpha soul, energy, appearance, passion, brains, manipulation, speed, education, body, trophy wife and daughter, business empire and bank account.

I’m sorry I forgot my alpha shirt. Joking—I’m not sorry in the least. Some proclaim their status on a shirt. I proclaim it with every action, every thought, every step and every breath I take every day. And I’m sure on some level, I’m supposed to apologize for this. But looking at my trajectory, I just find it very difficult to accept that I should feel sorry.

Because this is the creed of a true alpha—and the cred that comes with it.

-David A. Johnston