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I’m on a date with a girl from a small, poor Eastern European country. She used to live there as a little girl when it was still behind the Iron Curtain. After the Soviet Death Machine fell to pieces in 1989, she moved to the US and has been here ever since. I broke one of my cardinal rules and allowed her to get political on me.
ME: So you must have been pretty happy when the Soviet Union fell.
HER: Well, I wouldn’t say I was *happy*. More like, there were pros and cons. Universal health care was nice to have.
ME: [thinking to myself Oh christ, a commie sympathizer] Universal health care means a poor quality health system and long lines.
HER: Hey, you’re not one of those libertarians, are you?
Precious. Girls have balls these days to just blurt out whatever obnoxious thing enters their heads. They fear absolutely zero retaliation or consequence for their actions from men they date. Are men this desperate that we have bred an entire generation of ill-mannered bitches? I wondered what would have happened if we were talking about our careers and I had said something like “Hey, you’re not one of those lame nonprofit do-gooders, are you?” She would have huffed and cut the date short, going home to call all her friends to tell them what a jerk I was.
I decided the hell with it, and switched to Nuke the Pussy from Orbit game.
ME: Whatever I am, it’s probably 180 degrees the opposite of what you are.
HER: Well, who did you vote for?
ME: I didn’t vote.
HER: Whaat?! [looking shocked as if I had admitted to serial necrophilia] How could you not vote?
ME: Easy. I stayed home. Are you a Commie? What would you call yourself politically?
HER: I’m not Communist, but I would say I understand a lot of what they believe in. I’m more of a socialist. I like the free education and healthcare.
ME: You do realize that it’s not free? Everyone pays for it in burdensome tax rates.
HER: Well, Ok, it’s not technically free. But I think we should care for the people. It’s our responsibility to make sure no one suffers without health care.
ME: So why don’t you just pay for it with your own money instead of forcing people like me to subsidize your morality? [I was really beginning to enjoy myself. I noticed her body had stiffened]
HER: [getting torqued] Yes, I believe we all should contribute. It’s what’s best for society. You wouldn’t just let people die without help!
ME: It’s immoral to take my money away from me when I don’t want to give it. That makes you a dictator. Are you a totalitarian dictator?
HER: It’s not being a dictator to want to stop suffering. It’s basic decency.
ME: [sending a multi-warhead payload] I think it’s bad long term policy to prop up the poor and weak. The herd must be culled. Otherwise, they reproduce on my dime and drag everyone else down.
HER: People wouldn’t just die like that. They’d live in suffering, so you have to help them while they’re alive.
ME: [total war] Oh, they’d die. If all aid were stopped, the babies of poor and useless people would die before reaching their first birthdays.
This date ended without the close, but I have to report that despite my Nuke the Pussy game, there was a spark of electricity in her eyes. I bet not a single herb or SWPL had ever spoken to her like that before.
I approached four sets. The first two sets I went in with casual game. This is where I make some innocuous but humorous comment about something situational, and let the chit chat move the interaction along into more fertile fields. For example:
ME: [after seeing a girl pick a piece of lint out of her girlfriend’s hair] You have excellent grooming skills. Guys would never do that for each other. We’d leave it in there and laugh at our friend all night.
HER: [smiling] Thanks, she would do the same for me.
Our conversation went back and forth like this for a minute, then died out. Friendly asexual vibe: 100%. Sexual tension: 0%. This was the kind of game that would have been more than adequate for my father’s generation, but today it means nothing. I did another set the same way with the same results. Then I switched gears to Asshole Game for the next set.
ME: [noticing her mode of dress and curling my mouth downward in reproval] I can’t believe you’re in here.
HER: What? What’s that supposed to mean?
ME: You should really be in Georgetown. This bar is a little too edgy for your type. Not that that’s a bad thing, but you know, I’m trying to save you any uncomfortable feelings being outside your element.
HER: That’s an asshole thing to say.
ME: Yup, I guess.
HER: And what exactly is my type?
ME: Prim and proper. Boring but dependable.
The conversation continued in this way for a while. She reacted with obviously faux indignation. But the results were much improved. Number close. Friendly asexual vibe: 0%. Sexual tension: 100%.
There is change in the air. The culture is shifting right under our feet. What I have noticed lately with more frequency is that I have to act like a dick to get anywhere with a girl, even the good girls. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, as my dick game is pretty good and I enjoy doing it. But it seems that only dick game can break through a girl’s perimeter defense to the pulpy, juicy center of animal desire.
It wasn’t always this way. Sure, there were sluts who were so inured to getting played by cads and assholes that they could only respond to asshole game. These girls used to be around 20% of the population back when I was in high school. Today, that number has risen. It’s closer to 60%, and in bars and clubs in the city it may as well be 100%. The sweetest girls who grew up in happy families with mom and dad still together are turning into little playettes with adamantium bitch shields. This change has picked up the pace in just the last year. It’s finally happening. The game is causing girls to adjust, and screen for the biggest most congruent assholes, in spite of their intentions to the contrary. It’s evolution, baby.
I cannot respect a girl who dances like a puppet to asshole game. She will get the worst of me.