#alpha influence

[goon-bate]

"The past few months, you've all probably noticed that her content shifted to be more......male-gazing and crap like that as you woke mob described,"

"Well, it's a hard launch as well as Takeover Night, baby. I'm running the show from now on, go tune in if you want to learn further on how you can be palatable and worthy to alphas, like her. She learns her place and duty, and you can too,"

[goonbatept2]

Some unearthed archive of a pretty "engaging" car scene

[goon-bate]

Alex Thompson was the epitome of a goody two-shoes. A star swimmer on the college team, he maintained a 4.0 GPA, volunteered at the local food bank every weekend, and always held doors open for everyone—regardless of gender. He believed in equality, climate change action, and voting blue no matter who. Politics wasn't his jam, but he leaned left because it felt "kind" and "progressive." His dorm roommate, Brock Harlan, was the polar opposite: a burly football lineman with a MAGA hat perpetually perched on his head, Fox News blaring from his laptop, and a fridge stocked with protein shakes and Bud Light.

At first, Alex tolerated Brock's rants. "Dude, the media's lying to you," Brock would say, scrolling through Twitter (or X, as he insisted on calling it) while chugging a beer. "They're turning guys like you into soy boys. Real men build walls, not bridges to nowhere." Alex would laugh it off, plug in his headphones, and study for bio chem. But Brock was persistent. He started leaving books on Alex's desk—stuff like "The Art of the Deal" and some underground redpill forums printed out. "Just read it, bro. It'll open your eyes."

One night, after a grueling swim practice, Alex came back exhausted. Brock was watching a Trump rally rerun, pumping iron in their cramped room. "Hey, pussy," Brock greeted with a grin. "Wanna watch some real alpha shit?" Alex rolled his eyes but sat down, too tired to argue. As the crowd chanted "USA! USA!", Brock explained the "deep state," how feminists were emasculating men, and why immigrants were stealing jobs. It sounded extreme, but Brock's confidence was magnetic. "You swim like a champ, but you're soft inside. Time to man up."

Over weeks, Brock's influence seeped in. He dragged Alex to the gym for "real workouts"—no more "pansy laps in the pool." Deadlifts, squats, bench presses. Alex's body bulked up, muscles swelling under his skin. Brock fed him supplements, saying they were "test-boosters for winners." Alex started feeling a surge of energy, aggression bubbling up. Conversations turned into late-night debates where Brock dismantled Alex's views. "Equality? Nah, bro. Hierarchy. Alphas on top." Alex resisted at first, but Brock's logic twisted everything: "The left wants you weak, chasing pronouns. MAGA makes you strong, gets you laid."

The turning point came during a campus protest. Alex had planned to join the eco-march, but Brock convinced him to skip it. "Those snowflakes are losers. Come party with real patriots." At the frat house, surrounded by MAGA bros chanting "Build the wall!", Alex downed shots, felt the alcohol mix with his new rage. A cute sorority girl flirted, and for the first time, Alex didn't hesitate. He grabbed her waist, pulled her close, and whispered, "You're mine tonight." She giggled, and they hooked up in a spare room—raw, dominant, no apologies. It felt fucking amazing.

Back in the dorm, Brock high-fived him. "See? That's the redpill. No more beta bullshit." Alex nodded, his mind foggy but clear on one thing: Brock was right. He started skipping classes, hitting the gym obsessively, his grades slipping as his biceps grew. Brock became his guide, his alpha. "Obey the king," Brock joked, but Alex took it seriously. He ditched his old clothes for tight tanks, American flag shorts, and a red hat. His vocabulary dumbed down: "Bro," "dude," "pussy." Politics? Simple: Trump good, libs bad.

Now, Alex was a full-on MAGA dumb jockboy. He obeyed Brock without question—fetching beers, spotting him at the gym, even sharing girls if Brock commanded. But the real change was the constant itch. Every waking moment, Alex craved pussy. Spotting a girl in yoga pants? His cock twitched, mind screaming to pin her down, pound her senseless, assert his dominance. "Gotta show 'em who's boss," he'd grunt, flexing in the mirror. At parties, he'd corner chicks, growl about "making America great" while thrusting like a machine. No romance, just raw conquest.

One evening, Brock lounged on his bed, scrolling memes. "How ya feelin', jockboy?" Alex dropped to his knees instinctively, eyes glazed. "Ready to serve, bro. Need to fuck somethin' fierce." Brock laughed. "Good boy. Go find us some tail." Alex bolted out, his transformed life a haze of lifts, rallies, and relentless pounding. The goody two-shoes was gone—replaced by an obedient beast, redpilled and roaring.

[goon-bate]

The way your cock twitches and get fully hard as you scroll through Tiktok and find your girlfriend second account reposting the video of this dude even though you two just discussed about her favorite book last week titled "We Should All Be Feminists".

[goon-bate]

Go on, sniff this. You know you want to

[goonbatept2]

More like this

Showing the woke faggot where it belongs

[goon-bate]

It's the dog tag. The dumb jock is unaware that the dog tag passed by his father actually contained mind-controlling chip that will emit command that his brain unable to resist upon wearing. Just a standard military procedure to create a bunch of obedient, well-disciplined, ruthless drone. Taking it off is the only way for the effect and control to wear off and people with them tend to be very protective and defensive about it, plus the subconscious alteration already imbedded on the tag will create irrational fear, guilt and all sorts of feeling if their mind ever think or swayed to take it off.

Yet the new gens of controller behind the tags and drones created by it are unafraid to insert their personality a bit more. Chris apparently got a gooner of a controller

[goon-bate]

He should've been panicking upon seeing you walked in on him in the middle of your very own girlfriend giving him a blowjob. But instead, he just acknowledge your presence and keep on going, pummelling his slick meaty uncut cock all the way down on her throat.

From the way she bobbed her head and the obscene noise she made, she's giving him one hell of a good head and as you stared there in silence as if you're set in stone, he smirked as he noticed the growing bulge on your pants

"Fucking cuck, I knew it," he said as his groan turned to smirk and his grip strengthened as it grabbed both of her ears and used it like it's a silicone toy or the likes of it