Wednesday, August 5, 2015

Dear Abby needs to hire someone with game

The quote:

My husband of two years is every girl's dream man - the kindest, gentlest, most patient guy. He loves me for everything, including my flaws. I honestly believe he is the only one who could ever handle me.

So why am I cheating on him?

And the answer:

You're playing at matrimony as if it were a game instead of a deep, enduring partnership.  

Hahahahahaha!! It is a game. LOLz were had. This bitch is never gonna get her gina tingles going from this poor sad sack of a guy.

Thursday, July 9, 2015

How I see the world as a deeply uninvested male

Something that's been floating around my mind lately is the idea of how women objectify men like me, but they wish -- magically / somehow -- that a guy like me is going to come around and be nice. The entire romance novel industry is based on this premise, and like all forms of pornography, that's a clue as to how realistic it is.

A big chunk of what makes women so fucking dangerously nuts is that they think they're going to somehow magically split the difference on this one, gaining the interest of a male they see as an ideal alpha / dominant / billionaire with an 8-inch dick who can fly and then stuffing him into a container where he'll be awesome and fun and domesticated and loyal to her. Minding you, the minute he concedes to any of this, her attraction begins to drop like a rock.

With a guy like me, it's worse because I make it very clear upfront that zero concessions are going to be made. I'm not even gonna be bothered to lie to you even once in order to sleep with you. I am direct and honest about how I do things, and this leads to lots of pouting from women.

The logic on the female side is that she gains validation from every concession that an alpha male makes in order to sleep with her. That is what makes me a deeply infuriating guy: you're not getting a single concession from me. You can take that snatch of yours anywhere you damned well please, because I am not making any concessions. Pussy just ain't that important to me.

The cosmic joke of this is that women are wired to freak the fuck out when a guy does that. The lack of a single concession by a prospective mate makes him more attractive. And there are women who get completely jacked on that feedback loop. No concessions raises attraction, and then the higher attraction level makes her want to push harder.

The problem is that there's no exit from that loop. That's where I end up dealing with women who end up screaming at me, shoving me and having to be escorted away by security. They don't know how to jump out of the loop, so they basically escalate until they're left with no remaining option except violence and threats.

Something that's hard for me to get across to women is this: if you like me, hooray, but forget trying to make me do or be anything you want me to be. Just skip it, because it's not happening.

As I said, what's hilarious is that women lose there shit when a guy treats them this way. I was messaged a couple weeks ago on a kink website by a chick. I looked at her profile, saw she wasn't into anything I was really into and I told her that there's nothing there and she needed to move on. Also, if I'm being 100-percent honest, she could have used to lose 30 pounds and 5 years.

Did she move on?

Oh, hell no! Instead, she responds by telling me how much that raises her interest. I tell her several times, not gonna happen. That leads to attempts at initiating a longer conversation. I'll humor that as long as its not completely retarded. Then eventually she drops "aren't you gonna try me before you deny me?"

OMFG. I can't imagine being so hard-up that I'd ever say anything like that to anyone.

I will say that it never helps that I tend to go soft on women who aren't at the top of the heap in looks. I'll never drop a pure "fuck off" on them. I do this for the same reason you wouldn't punch a retarded kid: it's not cool to be mean to those who can't really defend themselves.

My point, ultimately, is that women go ga-ga over uninvested men, and then they get pissed when it turns out that univested men tend not to get very invested.

I think it's great that you want to feel good about yourself. Have at. I just think it might be a little wiser to find someone other than me to scratch that itch.

Sunday, May 24, 2015

Quelle surprise! PUA marketing assholes complain about holes in their walled garden!

For reasons that fall readily under the headings of "unhealthy interests" and "trying to stay hip," I manage to poke my head into some of the bigger blogs in the right-wing cryosphere manosphere, PUA, men's rights, whatever other flavor of the week / rebaranding bullshit that's going on.

One complaint that I've always had with these fucks is their perverse commitment to monetization. For people involved in a jihad to save humanity from feminists and libruls, they sure do spend a lot of time selling you books and other bullshit. You'd think these sort of ideologues would be funneling that money back into saving civilization, but . . .

Let's just be honest. The whiny manosphere stuff is a sales pitch modeled on the early days of right-wing talk radio. That's why they're complicit in selling self-contradicting bullshit. "Women are sloots!" "Sloots are bad!" "Women only want relationships!" "Men should be plowing sloots!" "The loss of patriarchical households is ruining cibble-luh-say-shun!"

You'll note that consistency of message means nothing to these guys. Thematic and even ideological purity can get tossed right over the side of the HMS Manosphere if it means ginning up the outrage monkeys and getting more people clicking. They are, at the end of the day, crass marketers.

And now they're pissed that a lot of people are seeing the cracks in their walled garden business model and escaping. To wit, this "neomasculinity" bullshit from RooshV:

The red pill is a non-commercial version of PUA with cultural observations thrown in. They hold firmly and obsessively onto rigid dogmas such as the alpha/beta male dichotomy to explain all male behavior while basing their “truths” upon a shaky foundation of pop evolution. Because it has no council of elders to guide the ideology, it is now being steered by the mob and watered down—or outright trolled—by entryists who are blue pill.

The bolding is mine.

Here's the thing with these dweebs . . . their formulate is astonishingly easy to replicate. In fact, you can readily start a subreddit and start pimping it, which is exactly what happened. And, of course, people figure out that they don't need the books and they don't need all of the right-wing political bullshit. Pretty soon, the audience has escaped the walled garden.

Like all marketing assholes, their solution is . . . fucking rebranding.

If you don't like the conversation, change it. And that's what they're aiming to do.

Isn't it funny how quickly they get pissed when all their little jihadis run off without any guidance from their central revolutionary council? It's almost like keeping everyone in the walled garden and hooked up to the marketing machine is more important than the message itself. Gee. What are the chances that a right-wing leaning group of marketers might just be exploitative assholes soft peddling angry ideology in order to extract money from gullible and angry guys?

So, rebranding it is. Of course, it is. What else would it be? Allow the young guys to go around without their paid gurus? BAH! That's very unlikely.

Let's be realistic. Most guys who amble into PUA / Red Pill / men's rights /  manosphere stuff do so to get laid. The whole ball of wax is just cognitive behavioral therapy for people who are too proud to go to a therapist.

Girls are scary? Approach. See? It's not so bad.

That's not a massive revelation. It's Cognitive Behavioral Therapy 101. Identify a fear, then minimize the patient's anxiety by allowing them to learn that the experience is not going to be the end of the world.

In that regard, by bringing basic cognitive behavioral approaches to a mass of young men who are never going to visit a therapist without being ordered to do so by a judge, they're doing a massive service. Who gives a fuck how these guys take that first step as long as they take it, right?

The problem is that the marketers know most of the guys bail out from the rest of the program once the basic approach anxiety problem is resolved. That hurts the bottom line.

One of the creepiest things they do, in fact, is pimping the rape accusation fears of their audience. Think how perversely, fucked-uppedly cool that is?

You're selling a program for guys who are afraid of girls, right? What sells the success of the program better than, "Dude, you might be accused of rape once bag one of these sloots!"

How clever is that? And there's a wonderful push-pull. The reader in anxious and angry about the lack of available poosy, but on the other side of the equation you're also making him anxious and fearful about his possible success.

You're already selling to cognitively challenged and vulnerable audiences with this shit. These are the same guys who used to buy products to improve sexual prowess advertised in the back of titty mags back in the 1970s. Their judgment is, shall we say, often questionable.

The best part, though, is that basic cognitive behavioral therapy works. So the scam starts with something that's very scientifically valid. And that leads to the inference by the exploited party that, gosh, maybe this other stuff they say is legit, too!

It's a fascinating racket, but . . . people figure this shit out.

There's a reason a lot of people turn to the unguided forums for advice. The fact is that basic cognitive behavioral practices can be taught to anyone by anyone. Think about it. These fuckin far-right morons figured it out and passed it along, ferfucksake!

Most guys who get into this stuff want to get laid. I've seen the data on the subject. The retention rate for readership in the TRP world is fucking miserable, and a lot of the dropout rate is caused by success. Guys don't need to read all of the whiny rape accusations bullshit and the racist, anti-immigrant bullshit. They don't need the deeply anti-feminist screeds.

All they need is a soft nudge -- the cognitive behavioral nudge -- toward confronting their sexual anxieties.

That's not to say that the entire conversation is invalid. Quite the opposite. The battle of the sexes is a totally evergreen topic, and that's of course why marketers of all stripes constantly find a way back to it.

The problem, however, is that a number of the vulnerable and gullible are escaping the walled garden. They're finding free sources of information. They're learning that basic cognitive behavioral approaches to their sexual anxiety concerns are far more useful than three hundred blog posts about false rape accusations and how Hillary Clinton's cunt has an agenda set on strangling Western civilization.

My advice? Take the good, throw out the bad.

And for the love of gawd, always be aware that these motherfuckers are crass marketers.

Friday, May 1, 2015

Possibly the worst sentence I have ever read

This review gives rise to this . . .

But "What About This" is an authentic outpouring like a warm river in full flood; you get swept off the bank and its languid physicality destroys you.

We all struggle to maintain a certain level of economy in our use of language, but there's a difference between having a bit of diarrhea of the mouth and just flat-out needlessly jamming adjectives in there sideways to lard up a fucking sentence.

First, if you've never been in a river that's in full flood, let me assure that they are not fucking warm. Why does a flooding river need to be warm? Fucked if I know. This dude just wanted to make his labored metaphor about poetry sound more poetical.

Second . . . yeah, reviewers are typically terrible fucking writers. They're often writers who write about writers because they wish they could be writers, so they find jobs writing about writers in order to be writers.

Third: "languid physicality"? Huh? Unless you're describing what happens to an NFL nose tackle's gut while he's being blocked by two other guys, I struggle to see how anything that's at once capable of physicality can also be languid. #EnglishFail

Added bonus . . . this fucking sentence . . .

Editor Michael Wiegers carefully selected this work from 10 collections, including parts of "The Battlefield Where the Moon Says I Love You," Stanford's best-known work — a swollen, ambitious 542-page epic poem in which even Jesus and Sonny Liston speak — as well as reams of unpublished work.

If you ever write a 542-page epic poem, you're an asshole. If you ever encourage people to fucking read a 542-page epic poem, you're a retard. Seriously, who the fuck writes a 542-page epic poem "in which even Jesus and Sonny Liston speak"?

Is that a fucking joke? I swear to gawd this guy was just stapling words the fuck together without any forethought. I assume that the only reason anyone would ever write a 542-page poem of any type is to troll the shit out of wannabe intellectuals.

SMFH. Just because you can use the English language to form sentences doesn't mean you should.

Monday, April 27, 2015

Some answers are too easy

I was reading this artricle, The mystery of billionaires’ long marriages, and all I could think was . . . how the fuck do we not discuss the obvious answer?

Women objectify male status and success. Yes, that status and success can be contextual, as anyone familiar with the idea of a chick being into a drug dealer will tell you, but the important thing is that women will stick through almost anything to be with a successful guy.

Even the article's discussion of the divorces among billionaires, such as Elon Musk leaving his wife for an actress, fit nicely into the Red Pill view of relationships.

A billionaire man who isn't inclined to cheat is unlikely to have a cheating wife, because he fulfills all the criteria that women seek in men. He'd have to be an astonishingly unaggressive, ugly and unfuckable pussy of a man, and even then I'm not sold there'd be a lot of fears of infidelity. Women lerv success, and if you have piles of success just sittin around, your wife is not going to leave you, especially if it's clear that your success is permanent, and not some weird one-off thing (for example, athletes' wives will cheat on them).

I don't feel inclined to condemn the female attraction to success. In part, that's because I think people tend to tag the "gold digger" thing as the source of trouble when in fact it's a more basic attraction to success. In the absence of a monetary economy, women would find another measuring stick for success, I promise.

I do, however, shake my head at the failure of people to comprehend the idea of success objectification.

Sunday, April 26, 2015

Game has penetrated too far into the public conscience

I never offer much in the way of field reports anymore, but this Friday had a sequence of interesting events that are worthy of discussion in the world of aloofness and social-sexual game.

I had been out much of the day because I was helping a friend with some wacky fun drilling holes into the floors of his place and running cabling. (I got skillz . . . and 18-inch-long drill bits . . . but mostly skillz.) It was a full day of guy time, including partaking of the local sports team losing. He had to boot me out early due to work / sleep commitments, so I took myself to a bar in the next town over (college town, BTW).

It's important to remember that I went there to watch sports. (Yes, I paid a cover charge to watch sports.) FTR, if you can quantify anything in this world, it's a fair bet that I'm trying to angle my way into making a buck from it. Imaginably, that means that gamble on anything and everything that hasn't been nailed down. And when I'm trying out something new, I do not distract easily. The new gambling enterprise, BTW, is baseball, and the math is working out to be very consistently profitable.

That informs this next part . . . the bar I went to keeps it's sports-watching section right next to the dance floor, allowing people to go to the sports bar section for drinks and permitting the bar to not have to operate a third bar area (the first is for a larger social area at the front that resembles a large college rec room) in order to service the dancers and the sports watchers. This is actually one of the least scummy bars I know (if you follow the blog much, you know I prefer bars where the drugs and violence flow), and the crowd here is a little different than my usual suspects -- this is not a place I go to run game.

So, that's the setup. Clean bar, watching sports, tracking in my head how successful my math work is.

If you ever want proof that disinterest is the flame that lights the pussy fire, this is the story for you. I'm standing way off to the side, near the bathrooms in fact, watching my sports and minding my own business. A group of college chicks who were in full dance mode kept creeping closer. I didn't make much of them because drunk dancing college chicks are just par for the course in this place -- it's the definitive place for white girls to get white girl wasted and dance like monkeys being electrocuted (again, not my kinda bar at all). Eventually the monkey herd starts getting too close, but I stick to the same game plan that I always use in every situation: ignore everyone in the whole fucking world.

Again . . . disinterest is the pussy ignition button. (It dovetails nicely with the concept of devalidation. Apologies for the link to Chateau Heartiste, but even right-wing racists fucks can be correct about some facts, and this is one of those times.)

The shortest girl in the group takes the first shot, dancing epileptically in front of me. Dancing doesn't draw me out, so she tries dancing and asking my why I'm not dancing. I blow her off with some variant of "I'm not required to." She tries the usual pull on the arm thing, but I resisted. Eventually she just resorts to leaving her drink at my table as a pretense for coming back. Whatever.

By this point, other guys are gathering around, and they slowly start slicing off portions of the herd. I'm thinking I have a fighting chance of getting on with my greater concerns for gambling money.


Instead, the short girl and her taller, skinnier friend circle around and run the "come dance" routine again. I'm still not buying it.

And then the proof that game is too fucking ingrained in our culture hits: the tall girl snatches the knit cap off of my head (it's been a cold spring in the Northeast, and I was rocking the knit cap plus car coat look). Yes . . . this chick actually did the steal the hat game technique. She walked off with it and hid behind the DJ booth with her friend, so I had to walk across the dance floor to recover it. The DJ saw the look on my face, grabbed the cap from her, giving it to me, and told her, "This guy wants hit hat back."

I went back to my spot for a few minutes, but eventually decided to relocate away from the dancing herd. This bought me about two innings of baseball watching before the tall girl decided to really properly crawl up my ass this time. To say that I was getting everything including the kitchen sink thrown at me would be an understatement.

Of course, she starts with the arm pull and "come dance" sales pitch. No sale, so she tries chatting my up. I'm largely ignoring everything she says, but the bitch is physically blocking my view of the TV screens. She starts asking what I'm doing there. "Watching baseball." Are you from around here. "No." Then where are you from. "Not here, that's where."

What's funny is that the whole time I can see that none of this is registering with her. Young women who see themselves as desirable have no context for rejection. She's working under the assumption that I'm just gaming her because game has reached a level of social penetration such that it has become the default explanation in young women's heads for why a man would act the way I do. Ugh.

It is interesting, however, to watch how quickly women degenerate into beta male game. Her next sales pitch was, "You seem like a really sarcastic and cool guy." I respond, "The sarcastic part is right."

She goes through the guessing my age game through so many iterations that out of pity I just eventually tell her that she got it right like two tries back. That elicits something in the form of "That's really cool."

Then she takes the next step down the ladder to creepy guy game, telling me that I "smell too good." I made a statement to the effect of, "No old man smell. That's what I was shooting for."

She then decides to indict my rudeness. She overtly states that my behavior is rude. I blow this off and don't even respond.

She actually fucks up and goes for alpha male game next, and I probably should have given her the points for this one, but she was already pissing me off, so I didn't. She tells me that my beard makes me look like "an Amish businessman." That is a good one.

Unfortunately, she undoes that small success in the next try by asking, "Why do you keep making me yell?" (Implication being that by this point in the conversation I should have closed the gap between us. At this stage, she's overtly complaining about the fact that the social-sexual script is not being followed.) I respond, "I ain't making you do shit."

Next tack: explosive behavior game. She yells loudly directly into my ear. I don't even recall what she yelled.

Understand something about my upbringing. I come from the type of background that fosters difficulty in joining the middle class white world. This is a pretty good description of the default set of skills you learn coming from my type of background:

If you live in a place that’s unsafe, where the schools and community have broken down and families are under strain, then you might lose some of your chances to learn self control. Actually, being impatient and impulsive and being quick to anger might even be skills that keep you alive.

This is one of the reasons I stick to the scummier bars, night clubs and places full of rude boys. If I'm in a club full of armed black guys, half of whom are dealing drugs, I can function in that environment. I know the rules and customs, and I get along nicely in those environments because people from bad backgrounds recognize each other. You carry it a certain way, and people who've had to carry it the same way understand you on first sight.

To be clear, this is where I know this whole situation is just exceeding the parameters of my upbringing. The truth is that the middle class white world and my assbackwards, ain't learned nothin' redneck ass get along mostly because I follow a policy of detente. I keep the fuck out of the way -- aloof -- and the world leaves me the fuck alone. In return for this courtesy toward me, I focus my considerable intelligence on beating the system for profit instead of engineering a virus to wipe you fuckers out. Or just grabbing the next middle class drunk white college girl who pisses me off and duct taping her up and throwing out to die in the woods.

That's the deal. That's how the world and I plan to get along well enough for me to die a natural death in my 70s rather than a death by lethal injection in my 50s. (The appeals process takes forever. And fuck The Man, I'm using every appeal and exhausting the system's resources.)

I tell the chick, "I'm working very hard here to avoid just overtly telling you to fuck off, but you're really not getting the point here." I then do my best to look past her rather than at her.

In any other social context, surely she would have gotten the point. But she's a drunk white college girl who has never been rejected. The funny thing is that she's not expressing anger. She's not upset by my behavior. She's just blank because she's failing to process what's going on.

The only explanation I have for her behavior is that so many guys are now running PUA game on chicks that she's just operating under the assumption that I'm negging her or devalidating her or whatever. I get that chicks who see themselves as the cream of the crop don't understand rejection, but this chick is crossing over to a seriously Rain Man / autistic / Mr. Spock from Star Trek level of social retardation at this point. Women who see themselves as hot chicks simply don't exist in a world where rejection happens, and they sometimes behave worse than the worst aspie on the planet simply because they've never needed to learn the basic social skills needed to not be killed for saying or doing the wrong thing.

Her response to all of this was to playfully try to tap my beer bottle out of my hand when I went to take a drink. That was psychological trigger time for me. I looked at her and said, "Touch my beer again and I'll break your fuckin wrist."

If you ever want proof of how sheltered middle class, young white women are, this is it. She pulls up her shirt sleeve, exposing her little bird-boned wrist and holds in front of me.

For a moment, I thought perhaps this was finally going in a direction that I could understand. My brain was primed for the white trash outburst that fits contextually from my upbringing. I was expecting something in the form of a loud, "Go ahead motherfucker! Be a big man and break my wrist!" sort of display.

Instead, she just stood there holding her skinny wrist in front of me. No affectation. No emotional response. Just presenting it. This is just pure escalate and antagonize game, with maybe some fucking turn-on element from reading 50 Shades of Grey or some horseshit (besides The Game, 50 Shades is probably the next worst book in terms of drilling into the cultural supercontext and making life annoying for all single people).

Realizing that the context is not going to be white trash outburst -- unfortunate, because that would have brought the bouncers and solved the problem -- I realize that the overt physical threat is only rewarding her behavior. She wants attention, and the threat is attention.

So, I tell her, "Either you fuck off, or I'm going to have someone from security make you fuck off." (Whoo-hoo! I win points for de-escalating and using the wealthy white man's approach to the problem rather than going all white trash . . . which is my default mode.)

She rolls her sleeve up, steps back about a foot, but just keeps looking at me. This is like the human equivalent of the Blue Screen of Death. She doesn't do or say anything. Her expression doesn't change. This chick just stands there for at least a full minute. Not mad, not happy, not laughing, not nervous, not pissed. She's literally not processing anything, not doing anything. I guess she was trying to see how long of a stare down she could give me before I'd say something. That or I completely broke her software.

Out the corner of my eye, I see a security guy doing a walkaround of the place, and I give him a small hand gesture to come over. He comes over, I look at him and tell him, "I told this chick to fuck off, and she isn't fucking off."

The guy steps between me and her. As best I can tell, she doesn't say anything to him, but he does have to lean into her a bit to get her to move. He eventually gets her herded together with her herd on the opposite side of the dance floor. There's no gesturing or anything, so I eventually lose interest and resume watching my baseball game. By the way . . . my team won, I made money, and I made money on my full slate of bets for the day. Eventually the chick and her friends disappear entirely, although I didn't notice when it happened.

I'd like to say that's the end of the story, but if you read this blog for long, you know that I have an emotionally abusive streak and never leave well enough alone. Being an instinctive predator, I decided to scoot along about an hour later to the next white girl bar in town, knowing full well that this chick was going to be there. I just wanted to see how she'd respond, because I like to poke at things and see if they're still alive.

When I see her in the crowd -- and it was disgustingly crowded -- I decide to walk past her group, ignore her and keep going. Again . . . for science.

I eventually took up a spot on the opposite side of the dance floor from her group. It takes her about half an hour, but she eventually works her way over to my end of the dance floor. She doesn't say anything. Instead, she moves directly to my left and stands there dancing by herself for about ten minutes. Never says anything. Doesn't touch me. Just stand there dancing . . . right to my left. After ten minutes, she gives up and starts working her way through the crowd back to her friends.

The place was disgustingly crowded, as in smell of human sweat and swimming in humidity from body heat, so I decided to move along to a more dive bar type of club so I could properly be myself and enjoy myself. She never showed up there, and I managed to spend my night being chatted up by a shot girl who was trying to get my name and life story.

Weird experience. I have to say that I've never had to have a bouncer actually make a chick go away before. That's a new one.

I think part of the problem is that this chick didn't have any context besides game for processing my behavior. The idea that I was genuinely ignoring her and wanted her to fuck off did not compute. The only thing that made sense, in her mind, was that I was freezing her out.

Practitioners of game will tell you to not push a woman to a point where she thinks you're uninterested. What gets lost is that some women have themselves rated so far up the hot chick scale that they can't imagine male disinterest toward them. They don't know what to do when confronted by it. The truth is, they don't even register that it's a form of confrontation. All they see is guys gaming them, and they're just trying to process what your game is and bridge you toward participating in their game. The idea that you'd not want to play just isn't anywhere in the script.

That said, I've never seen a woman fail like that before. Women get pissy. They get whiny. Violent? Sure. I've never seen one just go into stand-by mode and stop functioning.

That was different.

Friday, April 10, 2015

The difference between outcasts and willful outsiders

I was making the mistake of reading around some of the PUA, men's right and other right-wingish, pro-manish stuff that's out there to survey the current landscape, and I happened upon this bit about being a high school outsider. I found the blod post interesting in large part because 1) it stands in stark contrast to my own experience and 2) it reminds me a great deal of a friend's experience.

The crux of what this guy, Chris, who runs the blog Good Looking Loser, had to say was encapsulate in three paragraphs.

Para 1, describing his hometown:

The premise for the wildly popular 90's show "Beverly Hills 90210" was based on Winston Churchill High School and the town of Potomac (and Bethesda, MD.).

Para 2, his thesis:

My advice is to become OBSESSED with your appearance.

Para 3, the true "holy shit" moment for me:

I know what it's like to be teased when my brother died from cancer. (4th grade)

So, let me address the holy shit factor first. Where I grew up, the ass beatin' you would've gotten for pulling bullying shit like that, even in 4th Grade, would have been unreal. If your parents didn't do it, someone would have done. If all else failed, one of the male teachers would have found a way to make it happen (likely by recruiting a few of the boys who had been raised right).

This might as well have grown up on the fucking moon when I compare my experiences to his. If you read the blog much, you may recall that I grew up dirt poor and rural. While high school shit happened, it happened within a specific context, and most of it was standard jousting for position. There weren't even that many kids who engaged in bullying in my high school, at least relative to what I hear people describe happening elsewhere.

It's funny to me reading that post because it reminds me that there are three types of outsides in this world:

  • Outsiders who are looking in through the window and wishing to join the cool kids.
  • Outsiders who are pissing in through skylight and laughing their asses off.
  • Outsiders who are just passing through and don't care whether the natives kill each other.
I happened to be the third type of outsider, except on days when people insisted upon pressuring me to be included, and then I became the type that pissed on everything in sight. Most of my friends were the type to piss in everyone's Cheerios, and the remainder were almost always the the outcasts who wanted to be cool. I'm a lifelong friend of the fuck-ups and the losers of the world, despite not being someone who is seen as a fuck-up or a loser.

To some extent, a lot of the tension that I experience in life arises from pressure that others wish to apply to people who they see as potential social assets to join their group. The problem in my case is that I have such a well-developed image of myself as a casually aloof outsider just passing through Western civilization like an anthropologist handing out machetes and shotguns to the locals (this isn't a joke; Napoleon Chagnon actually did this!!) that it's very hard for me to make the necessary mental and emotional leaps to ever be included in any group. I enjoy being an outsider, largely because it allows me to appropriate for myself the right of relentlessly pointing and laughing at the stupidity of others.

If you go and read the post by Chris and then compare it to some of the stuff that I post, you'll notice a lot of differences. For shit and grins, let's actually compare and contrast . . .

The Life of Chris

  • Wealthy school district
  • Obsessed with body image
  • Wanted to be cool
  • Mostly harmless poppped collar type
  • Struggled to get the attention of the opposite sex
  • Emotionally abused girls through systematic rejection

The Life of the Aloof Guy

  • Dirt poor school district
  • Barely aware of the concept of body image
  • Willfully firebombing what little passed for cool
  • White trash raised around people who committed several homicides and numerous suicides
  • Confused by the attention of the opposite sex
  • Emotionally abused girls through systematic rejection 
You'll note that the last item is the same. There's a reason I included that. I think its interesting that two very different sets of life experiences can bring two very different people to the same conclusion.

First off, trust me when I tell you that shutting of the attention spigot is likely the worst form of abuse that you can inflict upon a woman. That's the money shot if your goal is to really grind a woman down and question her self-worth. You can beat a bitch senseless, and she'll love it because physical abuse is attention and attention means emotional investment. If you wanna really fuck a woman up, you have to feed her about three breadcrumbs of attention and then cut the supply off entirely the moment she thinks she just might have a fighting chance.

What interests me, however, is that we arrived at the same point from very different starting lines. Chris wanted to be one of the cool kids and wanted the girls' attentions. I aimed to always be an outsider and a fuck-up, and I only wanted the girls' attention if they could be crammed within the very limited space allowed by definition of myself and my limited set of social skills.

At the end of the equation, however, we both wanted to get revenge on the girls. He wanted revenge because they hadn't paid attention to him. I wanted revenge because I didn't understand what the fuck they were trying to get me to do and felt confused and hurt by the entire experience.

How socially retarded was I in school?

It's worth re-reading one of the earliest posts on this blog if you wonder just what a socially retarded mess I was.

Here's the truth of it. I was so socially retarded that I actually thought:

  • Girls who liked me in high school did so purely because we had been around each other.
  • Overt sexual or physical advances weren't any sort of proof of any actual interest.
  • Some girls just liked to talk about stuff that interested them with me.
  • If a girl liked me, she would let me know, especially if I had already said something.
  • Girls simply jerked guys around because they were batshit crazy. (This, however, was based upon my sister, who was crazy enough that a fake pregnancy scare was her go-to move to get a guy to be more serious in a relationship.)
I had zero clue that there was any type of game being played, let alone what anything like game might have been. My basic assumption was that game playing was purely pathological.

I was dumb as a motherfucker when it came to girls.

For example, my first kiss came during a summer party that a friend of friend's family was throwing (they were very devout and decent people from a good background -- just because I was white trash didn't mean I didn't know decent and well-off folk, which is typical of small town rural life in America). I was going into 7th grade the next year, and one of the 8th grade girls who was there (I didn't know who she was) took a shine to me and spent the whole day trying to make her intentions known to me, asking about, trying to corner me and chat me up, etc. None of this registered with me, and in fact I thought she was bullying me.

Toward the evening, the adults had asked the older kids (ya know, 7th and 8th graders) to organize a game of hide and go seek for the younger kids. Eventually the 8th grade girl (usually I change names to protect the innocent on this blog, but in this case I really can't recall what her name was!) got her turn to be it. She made a point of seeking me out, and found me behind a bush at the very edge of the property. She then went straight in for the kill, grabbing me and planting a kiss right on my mouth.

Being the socially retarded mess that I was, I quit the game and spent the trip home bitching to my friend about the girl. His parents never invited me to anything after that tirade, BTW.

At my old age, I of course understand what happened. What happened was I had won the fuckin lottery in terms of middle school accomplishments and then proceeded to light my ticket on fire and run away. Worse, I was pleased with my choice!

I can remember years later discussing this story with a woman on a first date, and she just smiled and laughed, telling me that it was the cutest first kiss story that she had ever heard. In retrospect, I know that most people would think it was a really cute story, but for me it was awful and left me feeling a tad violated. (There is an argument to be had here that if a boy did this to an awkward girl that it would be viewed as closer to a sexual assault than a cute story of young love.)

The difference

For me, the frustration of dealing with other human beings has always been the unwanted pull from them. For a guy like Chris, the frustration arose from wishing that they were pulling him toward the social center.

I think that difference is relevant. Why?

The big advantage I had over a guy like Chris is that I was practically a perfect natural to some of the real nuts and bolts elements of sociosexual game. Having an aloof personality and a strong personal need to push others away allowed me to easily avoid the neediness trap that usually catches guys well before they discover the basic social dynamics of game. I also displayed signs of authority problems at that age, and that of course always sells well in the sexual marketplace. You also create an obvious abundance mentality when all of the girls around you see how retarded one of the hot ones is willing to go. In short, I was packin' aloof bad boy game from the day that I hit puberty, and I couldn't even be bothered to care that I was.

My biggest regret about high school isn't that I could have been cooler than I was. My biggest regret was that I didn't understand just how much pussy I was swimming in.

I've said before on the blog that it would be pointless to go back in time and tell my younger self the deal simply because my younger self would not have cared.

I was so angry about the way girls played the game that it wouldn't have mattered to me. In more than one case, I got the picture well enough to understand that a particular girl liked me. Trust me, when you're sitting in 9th grade Spanish class with a girl leaning back on your desk and tossing her hair around trying to provoke a response, you do get the rough outline of her intentions. For me, at that age, it was pure anger at the idea that this whole dumb process was somehow required.

In that particular case in 9th grade, I just wanted that girl to stew in her own insecurities and self-hatred for not responding to my direct indication of interest in her. I got the idea, vaguely and roughly within my limited scope of social skills, that she wanted me to do something, but I was so pissed that she hadn't provided any response to my direct request, in writing, for a relationship that I simply figured she could go fuck herself. If she cared, she'd do what I did. That's simply how I saw the issue.

I somehow doubt that the younger me, even with the whole concept stretched out in a straight line and explained in detailed, would have changed his disposition in the slightest. If anything, I suspect that I would have been even more angry. Even now, the whole concept of how women half-assedly flirt with guys and then expect guys to carry the entire burden of a potential rejection leaves me feeling a little chaffed. I may understand the concepts, but I still don't find the whole enterprise amusing in the slightest. It's still chickenshit.

It's also important to realize that I never processed the idea that puberty had actually happened to me. I had a self-image going back into elementary and middle that was based in being fat and smart and poor. The fact that puberty had rectified my basic shortcomings didn't get processed until I was in my late 20s.

Making the leap of logic doesn't help

In fact, in retrospect, I think that's where the real evidence of my social cluelessness sits. Even through college, the idea just never sunk into my brain that attractive women found me to be attractive. The biggest problem that I had was making the logical leap to the idea that I was expected to form up as part of the in-crowd, be successful and just act like an attractive and successful person is supposed to act. The concept just never struck me.

Even now as I progress well into my 30s, I may understand the concept, but I also take a perverse pride in laying waste to it. I still quite enjoy watching women go stupid over me and then treating them like shit. I've never ceased to get a kick out it.

Somewhere along the way, I simply developed too ingrained of an image of myself as an outsider, a poor kid, a fuck-up, a fat kid, etc, that it became very easy and very normal to me to sit on the periphery of humanity. I'm proud of it. The idea of seizing my right to be a handsome and successful man has zero appeal to me.

As a willful outsider, it doesn't feel right to me to be cool and to be lavished with attention. What feels right to me is to treat those people like shit and then sit there smirking at them when it sinks in that I'm not playing with them: I really am just mistreating them for my own amusement.

It is funny. I never get tired of watching some cute young thing's face change when she realizes that at least one man in this world just isn't buying into her bullshit, no matter how desperately she tries to explain herself.

I also can't lie: watching almost every single girl who comes into my orbit and shoots out the other side then proceed lose 10 to 20 pounds within six months is the greatest form of ego massage a man can experience. It happens like clockwork, and it is frankly fascinating to watch, especially if you have a sadistic streak and like to watch women hate themselves. I don't even have a strong preference for thing girls! I just like watching the consequences of their internal turmoil and self-hatred boil up into real world results.

I should also point out that frickin lerv feeding a woman just enough line to make her think she has a chance. The longer they stay on the line struggling and fighting, the more I like it. It's hard to find the ones that will stay there for months or even years, but damn is it satisfying when ya do.


It's intriguing to see the difference between someone who's trying to pull people in versus someone who is trying to push them away. It's also interesting to examine how we each get our kicks from getting revenge on the opposite sex. Life experiences take us all to strange places, and a few of us end up being really fucked up messes.

I don't think I can ever understand, on a gut level, why anyone would fight to be one of the cool kids. It's just more fun to make everyone feel like shit because you won't join them. And it's even more fun to string them along and watch their puzzled expressions.

Tuesday, April 7, 2015

Perhaps my primary complaint about women

I was dwelling on the past the other day, and a particular pattern over my lifetime struck me. To be clear, this isn't a relationship pattern. This a pattern that pertains more to how I respond to the initial flirtation and attempts at feeling me out that women try.

Particularly what I don't like is the assumption that I as a particular type of man who they might happen to like am somehow wasting a perfectly good life by not being what they what me to be. I've been subjected to multiple variants of comments (including in the comments section of this blog) to the effect that it's terrible to see such a good alpha male waste his life by being me.

If you know much about me from reading the blog, then you'll know that I'm not a fan of the alpha male label. One, because it's dumb to assign dog pack concepts to human. Two, because most guys I know who seek out the alpha male label do so for really dumb reasons. There are fake alphas doing it for pussy. There are guys who really want to be large and in charge. There are dude with unresolved shower rape issues from their time in on the varsity football team.

I don't see myself as an alpha male, and I object to the idea that I'm obliged to see being an alpha male as a worthy goal. I understand that most guys given the chance to have women call them alpha males would leap at the opportunity. Therein, for me, is half of the problem. What's the big deal about being a big deal if you sit around like a fourteen-year old girl really want to be a big deal? It's kind girlie and not very becoming of an actual man.

It's easy to tell that women are so used to men defining themselves as the pursuers of women that women struggle to process any other dynamic. The idea that a man wouldn't want to be an alpha male is deeply foreign to the average woman.

To be honest, you, as a woman, are well within your rights to want to have an alpha male in your life. I think it's lame, but I also think religion and politics are lame, and somehow society keeps chugging along despite my objections to those too.

Where it starts to piss me off is that I end up being the object of a lot of anger from women for not wanting to participate in the great alpha male game. There has been a clear consensus among the women I've known in my lifetime that there's something deeply wrong with how I play the game. To make the problem worse, they get very pissed that I refuse to play the game. It seems to be a high crime for a man to opt out of this bullshit, and most women are heavily insulted when they try to flirt with a guy and simply has no part of playing the alpha role that she wishes to cast him in.

Understand, I have had my fair share of women lash out physically at me for not playing along. We're not talking about women just being pissy about it. There are sore losers all over the world, so that's not my problem.

What bothers me most is the implication that I, as a man who has all the potential to fit within this obnoxious and highly objectified role of the alpha male, have not right to want to be anything else.

Women expect men who can reel women in to be out doing as much of it as they possibly can. And that in its own right is fine. The problem arises when they simply refuse to leave it at that.

Hey, if some other guy wants to be your dancing monkey alpha male, hooray for him. But don't make it my problem just because you think I would make a superb alpha male. So fucking what if I would? It's not my goddamned job to be whatever you feel I should be.

I get that the supply of men who can fit the objectified dominant role in a relationship is very low. I do not, however, consider it my fucking civic duty to make up for that by pretending to be what you want me to be just so you get a little tingle down in your girl parts.

I'm not required to be anything, and it amazes me how lacking in self-awareness women are when they start dropping shit like that on me. So what if I'd make a great alpha male? It might be a fuckin' tragedy for you, but it's just not something I want in my own life. Fuck that. That whole dynamic is obnoxious, and I have every right to chart my own path outside of the norms that women want me to conform to.

I just don't care enough about the well-being of your pussy to be bothered with being the man you think I should be.

Monday, February 2, 2015

What I know at this stage in my life

These are in no particular order. This is rather stream of conscience.

1. The amount of information I know is huge. The amount of actionable information I know is small.

At my old age (soon to be 37), I've realized just how much information there is in this world and how very little of it ever helps you make a real decision.

2. I'm going to die childless and alone.

The math simply supports it. If I were inclined to show a shred of humility in how I respond to women by now, it would have popped up in my behavior enough to make a difference.

3. If you really want to control a woman, forget violence of any kind.

I never was one to be physical toward women, but as I've dealt with more and more of them over the years, the utter lack of utility of being physical toward a woman has become even clearer.

Go start a Fetlife profile and see how many women right now are trolling the internet hoping for just one brutal guy to be emotionally invested enough in her that he wants to beat the fuck out of her and put her in her place. For far more woman than will ever admit it, a good beating is practically a fuckin Christmas present. Rihanna's made the last half of her recording career into nothing but an ode to domestic violence and the desire to fuck brutal men.

But, as a guy, you can't win playing that game. If you want a woman to really be under your thumb, you have to just let her go entirely off your radar. It's like dealing with a child who constantly threatens to run away -- the only solution is to completely ignore the threats and special pleadings and just get on with your day.

4. If a woman wants your attention, there's no limit to what she will try.

5. Failing to pay attention to a woman rarely dissuades her.

Women, unless they've been treated as reprehensible for clearly obvious reasons (extreme obesity, serious signs of genetic defects, extreme small chestedness -- pretty much only really extreme failings), don't register the concept of a soft rejection.

It's one of the things that bothers me most about women. On balance, I prefer to be nicer about rejections where possible. It sucks to be rejected, and I try to soften the blow as much as possible.

6. Softening the emotional blow is pointless.

There's no version of a soft, safe, controlled landing with women in any sort of emotional business. The best you can ever manage is to just thoroughly discourage a woman to the point that her attention-seeking ego can't take it anymore and she eventually gives up. But as long as you remain softly engaged, she'll be willing to keep hoping and hoping and hoping.

When it comes to getting women to go away, "cut deep and cut once" is the preferred approach. If that fails, cut deep and cut a second time. And keep cutting until she gets the goddamned point or she's emptied her entire soul out on the floor in front of you.

7. Women are, on balance, good decision makers. Until they want a particular man.

In most day-to-day decisions, I recommend discussing them with a woman. I don't always advocate following a woman's advice, but you should definitely hear at least one woman's perspective regarding almost ever serious decision you ever make.

The absolute exception to this is is anything romantic. Never, ever listen to a woman when it comes to matters of the heart.

A woman's view of love is as sensible as a dog's view of eating roadkill: they'll swallow the most poisonous shit on the planet just to feel a little fuller.

Beyond that, be aware that the allure of "the right man" makes every woman you meet dangerous. For the right man, a woman will kill her own kids. For the right man, a woman will abandon here entire family. For the right man, all fucking bets are off.

Women think it's hilarious that men can be honeypotted, but the truth is men get over it and often correct their mistakes moving forward. Women will do the same dumb, dangerous shit over and over and over again hoping that the next guy who's "right man" material will somehow see her virtues.

8. Don't be too invested in attracting women.

I think it's a huge mistake to start fashioning yourself into what women like. Lots of guys on the internet right now are discussing what a great idea it is to be fit, successful and dominant in order to attract women. I deeply disagree with this point.

Be fit. It's a good choice. Don't sweat any more success than you really need to do your thing the right way every time. Fuck dominance. Just be as commanding as you need to be to negotiate life's turns, and beyond that let the rest of the world burn.

Being the image of perfection and desperately wanting it is lame and contrary to what it means to be a man. Own your shit, but be aware that there of lots of assholes trying to convince you there's other shit you should own that doesn't matter. Big, studly PUA moves are shit that you don't need to own. They're not your shit. They're someone else's crazy, and you should keep other people's crazy out of your life whenever possible.

9. Women flock to the idea of a particular man.

I can remember a couple years ago reading a few pages on the web of women talking about Viggo Mortensen. The prevailing view was nearly universal: he's ugly as sin, but women want to fuck him hard.

The idea of who you are as a man means waaaaaaay more than anything else with women. The simple way you go about your business is what will get you laid.

The gut-level feeling that a guy is simply "right" in some way is what gets women going. And nothing makes you feel more right to a woman than simply being present in the world without letting it all get to you. Be in command of your existence, and waste little time expecting to command the world around you. Women eat that shit up.

Women know that hard ass boss men are always the fuckers trolling Fetlife looking for a domme to shove a dildo in their asses and then pull it out and make them clean it off with their mouths. Don't be the hard ass boss. Women frown on that. Be the guy who just is present and capable without being a mouthy and in-charge fuck.

10. Lots of women are doing it wrong. Who cares?

There are lots of women who get their social signals mixed up and pick the wrong guy. There are lots of women who overemphasize the most wrong and brutal sexual signals too. There are lots of women who get wet for hot cars and nice suits.

Those things are their problems, not yours.

The fact that a certain class of woman might have ignored you or misjudge you means nothing. They're working through their own crazy shit just as much as you're trying to work through your own crazy shit. The fact that their crazy might not fit together like Lego blocks with your crazy doesn't mean much. Stop letting it bother you.

11. Stop relaxing and instead just focus on your own ideas.

To really be a man, you need to define your own world and your own sphere of influence. That means cutting the bullshit and building your own fully formed ideas about the world. It means exploring your interests without any regard to what the human race things of them.

12. Embrace the hopelessness of all existence.

Life is meaningless. There is no God and there is no salvation. You will die and be forgotten. Within a few million years at the very, very most, the universe will show no evidence that humanity was ever here. Forget trying to be meaningful or successful in the big and broad sense. Focus on your existence and abandon any delusions of grandeur. It's pointless.

You're not even the tiniest speck on the surface of the tiniest speck. And that's OK.

Someday, this bubble in space-time that we think of us the big and important and totally awesome and relevant universe will collapse. There will be no evidence that any of this horseshit ever happened. So none of it matters.

If you always wanted to know what human flesh tasted like, there's no compelling reason not to give it a try. If you always wondered what it would feel like to jump to your death, have at.  Always wanted to be the pivot man in an MMF threeesome? Go for it. Wondering whether a diet of nothing but ketchup is the big breakthrough you need for improved fitness? Bottoms up. Wanna speed? Do it. Think unprotected sex sounds like a swell idea? Do it. Just wanna play video games and eat Doritos until your heart prematurely resigns from play? Enjoy.

That's all a list of shit I don't care to do, but it is all irrelevant and will soon be gone. Don't sweat any of it.

13. I don't particularly want to change.

At my old age, I've realized that however much change I might have in me has already been spent. I don't have it in me to become anything else at this stage in my life. There's not much use in feeling bad about that fact.

One of the biggest realizations of my life was coming to the conclusion that I've managed to completely blow off at least three perfectly marriageable women in my time. Bigger realization: I don't even care.

Does it hurt a bit to think about it? Yeah.

Would I do anything differently if presented a new chance? Nope.

On some level, I simply prefer to be me, even if it means dying alone and childless. It's not some noble battle, either. It's just me being me.

14. No matter how hard you try, you won't achieve all of your goals.

And that's not a bad thing.

If I had the resources to do everything that I wanted and I started going through the list in the most efficient manner possible, I couldn't possibly do it all before I died. There's no reason to feel bad about that fact.

If you leave behind a couple stories for other people to tell about your exploits, then you did well.

Tuesday, January 27, 2015

Humans are manipulative -- get over it

I've long had a theory that the whole internet-based men's movement that loosely ties together pick-up arts, men's rights advocates, angry neckbeards, and right-wing "Red Pill" politicos in disguise is ultimately unified by a single thread: autism.

More than anything, I think this entire zeitgeist is driven by autistic individuals coming to the realization that human existence is inherently manipulative. Anyone who works with autistic people in therapeutic situation will tell you that arriving at some understanding that human beings are manipulative is one of the big steps forward that an autistic individual can take.

Where I think thinks turn poisonous in the discussion among these guys is that it tends to be a bit of a half-realization that ends up being exceedingly self-soothing and self-serving. Rather than making the full leap to the concept that, "OK, they're manipulative, I'm manipulative, everyone's manipulative," they tend to lean on the crutch of "women are manipulative because they think its fun, and men are manipulative because women's behavior forces us to be that way."

That's an incredibly childish take on the problem. Even allowing for the idea that women might be more manipulative, there are strong evolutionary reasons why that might be the case. For example, if half of the members of your species are going to have a size and strength advantage against you, it's probably worth your time to develop an asymmetric advantage in order to fucking survive.

Beyond that, it's an astonishingly victim-centered view of oneself to feel that only one of other group of human beings are evil monsters who make you do something that you'd otherwise not do. Exceedingly immature, and worse the political right-wing element that's fostering the men's movement on the internet is leveraging this on a daily basis.

Worse, let's just be honest about autism and manipulation. Autistic people are manipulative. They just really, really suck at it. It's not unusual for males of prime reproductive age to get angry about their own inability to acquire a mate, but this particular subset (autistic, male, internet-heavy, prone to blaming others) is so far the fuck out in left field it's unreal.

The fact that you suck at something and therefore don't do it should not be confused with the idea that you wouldn't do it if you could. I may not be the world's greatest jumper, but that doesn't logically lead to the idea that all people who are good at jumping are engaged in an extant conspiracy to prevent me from dunking a basketball. It's just too much of a logical leap.

Making the whole problem worse is that there's a readership-writer feedback loop of validation. The more times a Red Pill blogger uses the term "hypergamy" (which is just the natural tendency of all human beings to seek the best available mate pairing) the more times he's applauded by commenters and readers for pointing how terrible the women folk are. The readers feel validated, and then the writer feels validated, and that all leads to a feedback loop of circlejerk "hooray for us" crap that doesn't help anyone become a better human being.

At some stage you have to make a bigger leap forward. It's not enough to notice the role that the manipulative behavior of others plays in your life. You have to, in order to be healthy human being, understand that all social existence is inherently manipulative. Anyone who's ever watched a baby cry and then check for its mother to respond knows how much of a bedrock principle this is.

The problem is that ultimately, autistic children with underdeveloped manipulation skills tend to develop strong victim mentalities. There's a feeling of being constantly bullied -- even in situations where it's actually just more normal social interaction. The feeling of bullying is validated by the fact that bullies tend to pick up on autistic kids' lack of social skills and target them. That's all understandable, but if you aim to lead a healthy adult life you're going to have to move beyond that.

It's not enough to glare at the rest of the world saying, "I recognize what all you fuckers are doing." Recognition isn't much. I can recognize that I have cancer, but that recognition hardly is going to save my life all by itself. It takes other steps.

The human ego is incredibly defensive and good at insulating itself from attack. A lot of pathologies ultimately start when an individual lays down that first defensive barrier that's so think that reason will not penetrate it.

There has to come a point where a healthy adult makes the effort look out from their defensive position and see a world that might be worth visiting on occasion. Autistic kids are great at building their own little worlds, and they become adults who do a terrible job of leaving their defensive fortifications for very long -- if at all.

The problem is that if you ever aim to have a healthy interaction with a member of the opposite sex, you're going to have to suck it up and move away from the fortifications. There's more to life than simply defending your ego from harm.

Feeding into an internet monoculture where damaged autistic males sit around discussing how evil women are and how we'll all totally show them is pretty much the worst thing you can do. Yes, there are basic realizations that come with the PUA/Red Pill/MRA ideology that are worth discussing and even incorporating into your worldview.

A lot of it is quite useful on a daily basis. You shouldn't go through life being the bottom bitch to everyone you meet. You shouldn't be cloying in your eagerness to please the opposite sex. You should be aware that other people are trying to manipulate you.

There's nothing wrong with any of that, but it's merely a tool kit. You can't allow yourself to become fixated on the minute details of those working to such an extent that you forget to live an actual life. You have to be bothered to do more than just succeed at approaching a couple girls and maybe get a piece of ass.

The horror of it, at least as far as I can see, is that young men are making a monstrosity out of the very thing that they want.

One of the things the Freud got right -- and despite all the point and laugh factor people have with Freud, he got a lot of shit right despite working at the very dawn of time within his profession -- is that objectifying the opposite sex is an act of aggression toward them. To look at women as monsters because they don't offer you the ready supply of happiness and pussy that you expect is an act of aggression. Like most acts of aggression, it arises from a feeling that active defense is better than taking an ass-kickin'.

If all you feel toward the opposite sex is a need to engage in acts of aggression in order to not be caught defending yourself, you need to get your head straight. No one owes you sex. No one owes you happiness. No one owes you the best mate available. You have to make yourself a person worthy of the things that you want.

Villifying the opposite sex as a bunch of mean and manipulative brutes is dumb. Actively seeking to fuck them as a form of revenge for making you feel that way is creepily Freudian.

You really want to live your life being "creepily Freudian"?

Friday, January 16, 2015

How quickly a woman can switch tempo when she wants a guy

I was doing a bit of reading -- yes, I've slowed down enough to read this week! -- and came across something discussing the idea that if a woman wants a guy, she won't make him wait. In fact, she'll move mountains to make a piece of ass happen.

This got me to thinking about a specific story.

I have a friend who I like to call the Internet Pimp. For whatever reasons, he's good at online dating. I tried to figure it out once, but I realized that online dating chicks are just the same annoying shit only with more work, lies and distance involved.

Whatever the case, he can pull it off. To a point. Probably his biggest weakness is an unwillingness to commit to a brutally pervish alpha male approach to things, despite the fact that he sure seems to be turning these chicks around on about a two week timeline once he has them properly engaged and pushing toward meeting and sex. He grew up in a very social conservative environment (practicing Catholic, lifelong Republican), so all I can ever guess is that some of his more beta behavior is a self-defense mechanism where he's protecting himself from the truth of his own rather ruthless sexual intentions.

Every so often he manages to get an attractive chick talking. I've seen no evidence that he can close these chicks, but just hooking a non land whale into a convo through an online dating site is in point of fact an accomplishment.

I hang around his place enough that I get mentioned pretty often in these convos in the form of "I have a friend here". Every now and then a rather frisky chick will ask for a pic (yes, single women know no bounds of rudeness). I'm not a fan of this stuff, but that doesn't mean I'm not willing to have a few predictable laughs at a chick's expense. This, however, gives rise to one of the more, "Wow, I did not realize how stupid women can be in the pursuit of dick," moments.

He was talking with this chick who works at a federal law enforcement agency in an in-the-field capacity. The friend thing came up, and the pic thing came up, and suffice it to say she went full retard.

She wanted to chat me up a bit, but I took a pass, so he just opted to annoy me on here behalf (did I mention he can do some obnoxiously beta things?). Being who I am, I just blew it off and responded to the questions in pretty much my standard form: treating her like a non-entity, an idiot and a total piece of shit.

Within two hours this evolved into her offering to travel more than two hours at that exact moment. Beyond that, she indicated that she'd use government resources to do it! Apparently she was in a position within law enforcement where she could insinuate herself into local happenings and use that as an excuse to travel on the government's dime whenever she wanted. (Yes, these are the people protecting you.)

Aside from the fact that fucking a federal agent seems like a pretty obvious "no" to me, I thought the whole eagerness to meet factor was creepy as fuck. I'm all for telling women that their behavior is creepy. They don't get told it enough.

She kept pushing the issue, so I finally told him to tell her that if she's that hard up for a piece of ass, I'm sure we could just order her a male prostitute in her area and save her some travel. She tried to laugh it off as impractical and haha, but I noted that wherever there's a federal presence of any size there's definitely going to be prostitutes of all genders and orientations available for ready exploitation.

She took umbrage to this, and he brushed it off as me having a strange sense of humor. (I do, but that's not what this was about. I just don't like encouraging women's creepier tendencies.)

The conversation subsided. Several days later, he saw me and said, "You know that chick asked about you again. She wanted to know how you're doing."

I asked, "What did you tell her?"

He replied, "I told you're my friend, not my kid. I don't keep track of how you're doing."

I'm pretty sure sometimes he engages in these exchanges just for the benefit of taking notes on how I respond to women, because that response seemed like a significant and sudden upgrade for a guy who had recently humored her attempt to bypass him and seek his friend's attentions.

What's funny is that he told me he had been trying to work her over for two months. Further proof that a woman isn't willing to advance toward the finish line, cut her loose.

I, of course being an arrogant bastard, thought the whole thing was funny. He couldn't get her to agree to anything in two months, but all I had to do was treat her like dirt for a little while and she was offering to use government resources to come meet me right away.

That's your ladyfolk for ya. Thoughtful, kind, well-adjusted, decent and capable . . . right up until a mean boy who they want to fuck refuses to give them the attention that they seek. Then they turn into corrupt, dangerous idiots who are willing to commit a federal offense and lose their jobs.

It doesn't paint a reassuring portrait of the fairer sex, but it certainly explains a lot of bullshit.

Dropping by to say hello

My apologies to folks who were regular readers. I managed to dig myself pretty deeply into a major math project that's had my attention since the middle of the fall.