the day humans will stop existing is just around a hundred years after the first realistic sex robot hits the market.
Unless reproduction is industrialized and severed from the mating market after the appearance of that first lifelike sexbot, this commenter is likely correct. Here is an older post about the probable ramifications of sexbots on human society and dating.
When sexbots become realistic enough to compete with attractive human women in the bedroom, then what you will essentially see is a sex ratio that is numerically skewed in favor of men. Basically, the world will become one giant liberal arts college campus. Men will stop running traditional game and instead run “present and accounted for” game.
Some chick named Maura Kelly who writes for Marie Claire had a truth serum moment and admitted what we all feel — fatties included — when we have to see fat people existing in our field of view.
So anyway, yes, I think I’d be grossed out if I had to watch two characters with rolls and rolls of fat kissing each other … because I’d be grossed out if I had to watch them doing anything. To be brutally honest, even in real life, I find it aesthetically displeasing to watch a very, very fat person simply walk across a room — just like I’d find it distressing if I saw a very drunk person stumbling across a bar or a heroine addict slumping in a chair.
What person, besides a freak outlier fat fetishist, enjoys the sight of a fat load waddling down the street or face-smashed with another fatty in corpulent PDA? Two zeppelins careening into each other for an intimate embrace as their rolls undulate outward like a flesh tsunami is repulsive. Or something to laugh at to take our minds off our revulsion. The morbidly obese are the modern monster, a hideous deviation from the evolved human norm; they are loathsome creatures who inspire our hate and jeering. Fat people cause environmental degradation by despoiling pristine views of healthy, sexy people, and by eating more than they need to survive. Telling them to push away from the table is the green thing to do.
Naturally, the utterance of such an ugly truth caused a stampede by fatsos and fembots.
“Do you think all of the people who read your magazine are a size 6?” wrote one reader. [Ed: No but they should be.]
“People like you ‘contribute to the obesity problem’ with being so shallow,” fired another commenter. [Actually, I think the donuts do that.]
“I have an overweight little girl who does not sit in front of the TV for hours, or constantly eat. She is adorable, smart, funny and will be a wonderfully productive member of society,” added one angry mom on Shine. [And ignored by men.]
Another reader dripped with sarcasm: “Dear Maura Kelly, I sincerely apologize for my disgusting body and all the various rolls of fat on my person.” [Not good enough. Less talking, more exercising.]
James Zervios, director of communications for the Obesity Action Coalition, an advocacy group for obesity education, said, “You’d never see an article like that about a cancer patient. It saddens me that those who suffer from obesity aren’t treated with the same respect.” [One guess how cancer is different than obesity.]
Zervios worries Kelly’s message that over-weight people are “gross” sends a damaging message to the 93 million Americans affected by the epidemic, many of them children. [Because a mean word is much more damaging to one’s health than an extra 100 pounds.]
“It’s bad enough that magazines Photoshop people’s bodies to look more unattainable, now you have a writer at one of them saying they can’t stand to look at an obese person. A young over-weight girl should never have to read that kind of article.” [On the contrary, the best thing for her is a helpful reminder of her ugliness. Don’t want the chubby younguns growing up with unwarranted high self-esteem.]
But Zervios blames the media at large for the growing intolerance of the over-weight. “I think the word ‘fatty’ should be stricken from magazines and TV in general,” he says. “Anytime obesity is brought up in pop culture people think it’s okay to go for the jugular.” [It is a natural inclination to ostracize the weak and the monstrous.]
This “blame the media” refrain is the reflexive blurt of the human nature denialists. It comes in many flavors: blame society, blame cultural conditioning, blame stereotyping, blame heteronormativity, blame subtextual bias… anything to avoid confronting the reality of evolved immutable human preferences for some traits over others. People are intolerant of obesity because it innately disgusts them, not because “the media” tells them to be disgusted. Media propaganda can make it more or less acceptable to publicly express that disgust, but it can’t create the disgust out of thin air.
How could [Maura Kelly] think this was acceptable? It’s that, as much as anything else, that’s worrisome: that at a mainstream magazine with a wide reach and an ostensibly progressive outlook could think, in 2010, this was okay to write and implicitly endorse.
American feminism — supporting the right to freely speak one’s mind since… well, never. Parrot zee PC party line or vee vill suffocate you mit our precision-engineered pendulous ta tas!
After 30,000 comments of roly-poly righteous indignation, Maura Kelly meekly capitulated on her blog and apologized. But she apologized in that peculiar female way which attempts to reframe the apology as a self-pity party to warm the crowd to her side.
To that point (and on a more personal level), a few commenters and one of my friends mentioned that my extreme reaction might have grown out of my own body issues, my history as an anorexic, and my life-long obsession with being thin. As I mentioned in the ongoing dialogue we’ve been carrying on in the comments section, I think that’s an accurate insight.
Translated from womanese: “I’m hurting too! Redraw alliances.”
Sometimes I feel a bit lonely out here in this borderland outpost of the internet. My wrecking balls — enormous though they are — can only demolish so much shit in a lifetime. Luckily, I’m getting help from the far reaches of the world. In Brazil, college guys are jumping on fat chicks and riding them like rodeo bulls until they are bucked off. Points are scored for how long they can stay on. (Translation algorithm needs work.)
A group of students from Universidade Estadual Paulista, one of the most important of the country, organized a “competition”, called “Fat” of Rodeo, whose goal was to grab their colleagues, the obese, preferences and try to simulate a Rodeo–getting as long as possible on the prey.
Be careful. You do not want to get kicked in the nads by a diabetic cankle or glassed by a flying fupa.
The phone rang. It was Zeets the Throwback Barbarian, Disdainer of Text, Facebook and Email.
“Went to watch a Little League game my woman’s nephew was playing in. Really disturbing.”
“How so?”
“Well, the game was in a hoity-toity neighborhood. Lots of yuppies live there. Mercedes and BMWs parked everywhere. One of the fathers was a lawyer… except not the assertive type. White and pasty, with a general softness.”
“A herb.”
“Yes, Baron Pighausen! Anyhow, I’m watching this game, and something’s off about the whole thing. The field and the dugouts were chaos. Kids running around, no order, no managing. There are a bunch of players in the on-deck circle swinging their bats at the same time, which is against baseball rules. You’d think the manager or the fathers would know that, but they were just letting the kids do whatever they wanted. One of the bats almost hit another kid.”
“Sounds like a Romper Room.”
“It gets worse. The runner on first base got hit by a batted ball and no one called him out. Baseball rules are that runners interfering with fair balls are out. None of the fathers knew that or didn’t care. One of the kids was screaming at the top of his lungs that the runner was out. Screaming! ‘He was out!! He was out!!’“
“What a sorry spectacle.”
“But that’s not all. Here’s the best part. They weren’t keeping score! No scoring allowed.”
“This was a rule? No scorekeeping? Holy crap, it’s like something out of a feminist wet dream.”
“Yep! A no-scoring game would have been laughed right off the field when I played Little League. And fathers back then knew the goddamned rules of the game. They wouldn’t have tolerated a chaotic playground like this.”
“Wow, they’re removing any competitiveness from the game. It’s like they don’t want boys to be boys. What kind of parents are these?”
“Well, there were a couple of unaccompanied mothers there, and some fathers, too. A few fathers showed up later in the game. Oh, and a lesbian couple. Well, that last one’s easy to explain.”
“No doubt. But the rest have no excuse. What kind of Little League is this?”
“I don’t know, but it’s nothing like the Little League I remember. There is some good news, though. A faint glimmer of hope. The kid screaming that the runner was out rattled all the parents. He was completely frustrated that the parents or umps were not following the rules. Other kids started joining in the mayhem. The boys understood something was wrong, and they were acting out.”
“What a glimpse into a degenerate culture. These Swipple adults are trying to shove emasculation down the throats of our nation’s boys, and the boys aren’t having any of it. They’re fighting back, without really understanding why, against crap that feels wrong to them.”
“The boys were out of control with rage and frustration, totally disobedient, doing whatever they felt like doing. Maybe that’s a good thing. I left feeling a little more positive for this country’s future.”
***
Yes. It might be our only chance for salvation. Our country is being assaulted by a new elite of SWPLs who disrespect, even loathe, American tradition and historical precedence, and deny differences between boys and girls. If they are to be defeated, (and total crushing defeat is the only answer), then taking up bats and swinging them with abandon might be the only avenue good people have left to victory.
My girl had challenged me to a pushup hold contest. This is where you assume the pushup position and hold it there for as long as you can. I had said she stood no chance with me, and she eagerly set out to prove me wrong. But instead of following the script she was expecting, I reached out and swatted her inner elbow while she was in her pushup, and she crumpled to the ground, whining about my unfairness as I declared “victory” over her puny femaleness. She then chased me around the house until I tossed her onto the bed where intimacy commenced.
When a girl asks you to do something for or with her, instead of following her request to the tee you should be thinking how you can screw around with her expectation. Your brain needs to be trained to think like this if you are a natural born beta who did not instill in himself the proper mindset when it is best instilled — elementary school. Years of pulling ponytails on playgrounds prepares a boy for dealing with adult women who want to be dominated and teased into arousal by a carefree man who doesn’t take them seriously. Call it “depedestalization”; the act of teasing is akin to pushing a girl right off her pedestal, whether erected by herself or by orbiting obsequious men, and is craved by every woman with a working vagina.
Remember, because the average woman is biologically more valuable than the average man, every girl is born perched atop a pedestal. The doctor holds it upside down, gives it a few slaps to firm the supports, and then inserts it under the infant girl’s bottom, where it remains propping her up until she is knocked off it by either circumstance, aging, or deliberate effort. If the infant girl grows up ugly, her pedestal will shrink of its own accord, until it is not more than a speck on her ass. If she grows up pretty, her pedestal will get bigger in accordance with the slavish attention she receives from men. By age 18, a hot chick may as well be surveying her queefdom from the apex of a pyramid. It would take a truly impressive asshole to knock such a girl off her throne, which may explain why the hottest girls fall for the biggest jerks.
Therefore, teasing a girl should be like breathing to you. It should come naturally, with little forethought. For instance, if she asks you to pick up a bag of kitty litter for her furry child substitute, rather than dutifully fulfilling her request you could pretend to forget to buy it and inform her that you bought an electric zapper instead to train the cat to go in the toilet. Then pull out a black wand or something similar and chase after the cat to “demonstrate” the efficacy of electroshock kitty training. If you can do this with a straight face, she will freak out. Once informed of the prank, she will smile, hit you hard, and then jump your bones.
Or maybe she gets excited to tell you about something that happened to her at work. If you’re a beta, you would ask her to proceed and listen intently as she unloads her emotions. She will be grateful for your listening ability, but not too turned on. However, if you’re an alpha, you would prop your hands under your chin, curl your fingers, purse your lips into a pinched smile, widen your eyes while blinking exaggeratedly for effect and arch your eyebrows like you’re about to burst from the anticipation. Clap your hands like a little boy catching his first glimpse of a birthday present, and say “Do go on! Yes? Yes!?! Oh, the suspense is killing me! I hope it lasts!” If her eyes aren’t shimmering with joy and lust by this point, you are dating a golem. Naturally, she will give you shit. This just means you’re doing it right.
I know this blog has an inordinate number of aspie readers who can’t divine subtleties of argument, so before the usual complaints are heard it pays to remind yourself that while women love to get teased, their appreciation doesn’t mean you should tease them ALL THE FUCKING TIME, regardless of circumstance. If she wants you to pick up flowers for her mom’s funeral, it’s probably not a good idea to tease her about her allergies to roses. You can occasionally pick up a gallon of milk for her without making a production out of it. I really hate having to include these obvious caveats, but man oh man alive there are some numbskulls on this
Regular readers know how I occasionally write about what I see is the decline, and soon to be fall, of the once-glorious American Empire. I consider it an honor and a duty — well, really, an amusing hobby — to chronicle the trendlines, the cultural and economic indicators, and the elite and underclass degeneracy and subversion that portend a relatively rapid diminishment of American power in the world. It’s breathtaking! I suggest you try it.
The facts point to an America in her death rattle, (or more accurately, her comatose wastage), but it’s not just the cold facts; the finger in the wind test reveals the coming storm as well. Step back for a moment to see the big picture and muse how amazing it is that you happen to be living through the final days of your nation’s greatness, and how rare that is in the sweep of history. You are the perceptive Roman plebe watching with a mix of disgust, confusion, sorrow and awe as what your forefathers built around you crumbles to dust in your lifetime, except instead of dragging along at a leisurely 320 years for the rot to fully metastasize, you get to experience it at the historically breakneck pace of 50 to 60 years. Yay, instant communications and advanced propaganda techniques!
In that spirit, here is an email from a reader stationed at the first input of America’s defensive capability. Reading this, I’m getting that scene from Wall-E in my head, where the grotesquely fat humans are wheeled around and serviced by robots.
Reader “LT” emails:
I am an officer in the US Army. I commissioned as a Military Police Officer in June 2009, and am attending Officer Basic Course at Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri.
As any prior service person knows, whenever you report for training the first week is all in processing paper work and briefings: health screenings, ethics classes, class overview, etc. Lots of high ranking individuals will come into class and talk to you about all sorts of the usual.
During our first week, we had a “full-bird” Colonel (our Brigade Commander) come into our class to talk about junior officer professional development. He began to talk about why physical fitness is so important as an officer and as a Soldier in the Army.
Now, OBVIOUSLY physical fitness is important, and as any West Point, OCS, Direct Commission, or ROTC officer can tell you, it is expected of an officer to be one of the top (if not THE top) physical fitness test scorers in their unit. Suffice to say, most officers are in excellent physical shape, far above the normal American. (The Army physical fitness test standards can be found through a simple google search.)
This is where it gets interesting: Fort Leonard Wood is one of the largest basic training facilities in the US. Every year, thousands of enlisted trainees fresh out of high school come to Fort Leonard Wood for “boot camp.” Here, their individuality is abolished and they are taught to work as a team and a unit.
This Colonel was telling us that these trainees (who are not officers) were suffering CATASTROPHIC physical injuries while at basic training. We are talking serious injuries: stress fractures of the feet, shins, and knees; as well as hip fractures, hip dislocations, and minor heart attacks.
THESE ARE 18 YEAR OLD KIDS!
The Colonel went on to explain the theory behind this spike in injuries in recent years has to do with the current generation’s sedentary lifestyle. The injuries that these trainees were sustaining were injuries that a normal, active adult would not be at risk for until the mid 40’s and 50’s, if not beyond. But here, 18 year old kids were being sent-home and out processed from serving their country for dislocating hips while running around a track.
It’s easy to point the finger at really fat people and say, “Goddamn, that is disgusting.” But when it comes to an “average” looking high school kid not even look twice. But to those readers who have children, take a good look at their diet and how much activity they are getting outside. Just because they aren’t “fat” and LOOK fine doesn’t mean they aren’t at risk for injury. Several hundred thousand years ago, they wouldn’t survive a day.
Good news: the Army here at Fort Leonard Wood as all but eliminated these injuries by re-thinking how we get new Soldiers into shape. Our new physical fitness regime includes elements of yoga (for stretching), football (for grass drills), and track and field (for short bursts of speed). Readers who are interested should look it up on the Army Physical Fitness School’s website.
Yes, fat people are easy to spot and ostracize. But those of us who can still fit into size 32 jeans aren’t off the hook. When even the Army wakes up and pays attention to health and fitness beyond the usual lip service; I think the rest of the nation should follow suit.
~LT
The US Army’s Physical Fitness Standards are here. The Army considers a score of 60 in each event the minimum required to become a soldier. If you are a 30 year old man, can you do:
39 pushups?
45 situps?
a 17 minute 2-mile run?
Guess what. Most of the 18 year old enlisted men can’t do anything close to that. They are breaking their hips like old grandmas.
Every time I post one of these telling indicators of American decline, some leftie or libertard pipes up about iPods. “Oh, but look at the cheap LCD TVs and iPods we have now!” Yes, I’m sure the Roman populace was pleased with its bread and circuses before the barbarians trampled the gates. While we’re at it, here’s another example of vibrant and diverse bread and circuses for the entertainment of the masses: Beheaded animals littering Miami streets.
There is not likely a single politician alive today who understands the full scope and nature of America’s unraveling, or is willing to tackle it head on. Good people sense it, but cannot adequately articulate their concerns. Others know the reasons, but for cowardice or denial won’t speak their minds. Still others are out-and-out traitors to the historical American enterprise.
Since I am a giving man of bounteous heart, here is my fourteen point plan for saving America:
A wall at the southern border. If Israel and China can do it, so can we.
An immigration moratorium for 20 years. Immigration halts coincide with a resurgence of American economic vitality.
An end to birthright citizenship for children of non-citizens. If this means rescinding the 14th Amendment, so be it.
A flat tax, or a VAT coupled with the abolishment of the income tax. The tax is too damn high! And too subversively complex.
A repeal of Obamacare. It’s hurting, not helping.
An end to all affirmative action and quotas.
An end to all foreign military engagements that are not directly tied to the defense of American interests. There will be no more neocon wars for the spread of democracy, which democracy most of the world’s ingrates don’t want or can’t handle, anyhow.
An end to Social Security and Medicare in their current incarnations. If we were a homogeneous Northern Euro country, these programs might stand a chance of succeeding over the long term. But entitlement programs do not work in a radically diverse society filled with population groups of differing health, economic, and conscientiousness profiles. SS alone creates a huge disincentive to save.
An end to all government pension plans. Your tax dollars are going to support the lavish retirement plans of government workers.
A restriction on public employees of their voting rights. Conflict of interest, ftw. Allow them to vote only every other election cycle.
An end to no-fault divorce and welfare in any form, including food stamps, for single mothers. You want to kill a successful modern society? Kill the nuclear family. The rest will follow.
An end to credentialism. The scourge of suckup credentialist glorification is producing a new elite of cognitive and cultural übermen at philosophical odds with the mass of Americans not invited to their coke and prep course parties. They will soon be a new subrace of humans if present trends continue (I’m not kidding). They do not have the majority Americans’ interests at heart. The New Eloi are testament to the resiliency of the eugenic drive in each and every human, regardless of social sanctions or legal prohibitions against active pursuit of such. While I am not anti-eugenic, (I’m closer to anti-dysgenic than pro-eugenic), the rapid formulation of a supersmart and supercapable minority elite perfectly tailored to exploit a modern information economy to their advantage while the masses fall further behind, is a recipe for oligarchy, a disappearing middle class, and revolution. Ending abject credentialism (or at least mitigating it) will be tough, but it can be done. Start by allowing companies to directly test prospective employees on their abilities to do the job they are applying for. This will take the pressure off employers to weight college degrees so heavily. Next step is to gut the enormous endowments of our elite universities. Ending federal student loan programs and government funding is a start. Ending tenure would go a way toward excavating these wretched leftwing gargoyles from humanities departments. I’d also pass a law requiring strip clubs and Hooters on every Ivy League campus so that the future hedge funders and doctors can see what they would be missing if they settled for marrying the closest proximity fellow Ivy chick they could find.
End all federal agriculture subsidies. A big (heh) reason for the obesity plague is the confluence of government largesse (double heh) with industrial farming shoving sugars, HFCS, and cheap refined grains front and center on our nation’s supermarket shelves. Simply removing these market interferences would help propel a Paleo-style diet onto more people’s dinner plates.
An end to all government-mandated sexual harassment and diversity programs. Really, they’re mobile reeducation camps designed to sap the fighting spirit of America’s white men. They are insidious.
I wonder if there is one point in the above fourteen that Obama would find agreeable? Sez it all. Does anyone seriously doubt that this plan would restore America to greatness? And if you don’t doubt it…
My girlfriend of two years sent me this text last evening: “My ma says that we aren’t going to last forever bc you’re just settling with me.”
My response this morning: “Ridiculous. You’ll always have a prominent place in my harem, babe.”
It goes without saying that in the past I would have responded with something along the lines of: “No, babe, we’ll be together forever” or some such lackadaisical retort. After being initiated beyond the level of neophyte in the crimson arts, however, I pass shit tests like an East Asian passes advanced Calc.
Strong, the alpha is in this one. His response was a combination of agree and amplify game and sarcastic disqualification.
Commenter dilla writes:
Couldn’t figure out how to send an e-mail, so I thought I’d post this prime example of a shit test.
Texting:
me: hey lets go for that drink tomorrow
her: hi!! I actually already have plans, sorry
(note no attempt to reschedule)
me: gay.
her: my brother is gay but I suppose this is gay too.
(shittest. chances were good she was bs’ing, but you have to assume shes not)
me: oh ya? so is my cousin we should hook them up
(lie)
her: haha! I was just kidding, i just wanted to see how you would react
(skank. but she might as well be telling me shes down for the cause)
me: my cousin will be disappointed. when are you free this week
A beta would have backpedaled and reflexively apologized. Dilla knew better.
Reader Sonso emails:
The pain of a girl getting flaked on.
So I had plans to meet a girl between 10 and 11AM. She lives about an hour and a half outside my city, but had to come in early to take care of some things and would be free at that time.
At 10:30 I get a text saying ”I’m just leaving my place now,” so I go and meet up with some friends instead. At around 1:30 I get a call asking if I was still around, and said I was. She said she was coming, but my phone died before she arrived.
The next day I get a message saying ”I hate you!”.
If a man ever sent a message to a girl saying ”I hate you!” after a flake, how quickly that snatch would snap closed…
This is more accurately described as an example of not taking blatant shit from a girl, rather than passing a flirtatious shit test. The two are related, as your response to either will determine how she perceives your attractiveness. “I hate you!” is girlcode for “I hate you for making my gina buzz like a hornets’ nest!”. Sonso should try again with this girl in about a week, but even if it leads nowhere he will have the satisfaction of knowing he retained his dignity and got under her skin.
According to this study, your chance to get a bang with a speed-dating partner is 6%. Your chance to have a relationship with a speed-dating partners is 4%. (Unclear from the study abstract whether that means you have a 6% chance at the start of a speed-dating event, or whether that 6% refers to the subset of speed-dating partners who have agreed to go out with you.)
We studied initial and long-term outcomes of speed-dating over a period of 1 year in a community sample involving 382 participants aged 18–54 years. They were followed from their initial choices of dating partners up to later mating (sexual intercourse) and relating (romantic relationship). Using Social Relations Model analyses, we examined evolutionarily informed hypotheses on both individual and dyadic effects of participants’ physical characteristics, personality, education and income on their dating, mating and relating. Both men and women based their choices mainly on the dating partners’ physical attractiveness, and women additionally on men’s sociosexuality, openness to experience, shyness, education and income. Choosiness increased with age in men, decreased with age in women and was positively related to popularity among the other sex, but mainly for men. Partner similarity had only weak effects on dating success. The chance for mating with a speed-dating partner was 6%, and was increased by men’s short-term mating interest; the chance for relating was 4%, and was increased by women’s long-term mating interest.
This is from an interesting blog called Barking Up The Wrong Tree, a sort of warehouse of various studies examining human behavior. “Choosiness increased with age in men, decreased with age in women” made me LOL. Yep, when looks is all you can bring to the dating market, it’s no surprise you become more desperate the older you get. Also no surprise that older men with higher social status than when they were younger, become choosier. Proof that it’s better to be a man than a woman as you get older.
It strikes me that this study would be a good way to scientifically test the merits of game. You could arrange a speed dating event with AFCs (average frustrated chumps), tally their success rate at getting dates and bangs, and then have the same group of men spend three months learning game and then repeating the speed-dating experiment with them to see if their date and bang rate improve. It’s not a perfect experiment, (obviously, the group of women at the follow-up speed-dating event would be different), but it could give a glimpse into how much improvement one could expect from game. I think most men currently on the fence about the efficacy of systematic pickup would happily learn game if it meant a doubling from 6% to 12% in their lay rate.
The 6% number suggests that speed-dating as a form of meeting women kind of sucks, but it may compare favorably to meeting women in bars if the bar lay rate is less than 6%. That would be another hypothesis to test; I suspect speed-dating, because it attracts the desperate dregs of womanhood, has a higher lay rate, but that is small comfort to the man who prefers fucking girls who still have the glow of youth. A 6% lay rate with cougars, or a 3% lay rate with kittens? I think I know which success rate most men would prefer.
How very true and timely in my case. I recently returned from a trip in the North Western States (not the Pacific NW) to see some of our countries natural treasures. Besides seeing tons of fat asses who all seemed to be rocking the Kate Gosselin haircut (No shit, from ages 20-60. Very scary.) I had an experience in a small room in a museum at Mount Rushmore. While reading about and pondering the balls of the man who created the Mt. Rushmore sculpture I couldnt help but hear the heavy breathing, grunts and cries of “Jesus Christ” coming from behind me.
I turned around to find five other people in the room with me of whom were ALL morbidly obese. Not just fat, but freakshow fat! we are talking 500lbs and up. All sweating and leaning against the walls except for one couple who managed find a bench made for four that could only hold the two of them. They were an interracial couple. He was black she was white. On her lap was a newborn baby who looked in scale like a normal sized turd for her. Thank God the child will have no memory of its descent from her Big Mac encrusted crotch into the folds of her elephantine thighs. The same cannot be said for the OBGYN who had to witness this horror show. Unless of course the child wound up in a toilet bowl because its mother thought it was merely a sack of White Castles that just went bad?
I realized then in that room that at 5 11 and 165lbs I was an evolutionary throwback for that moment. A neanderthal in a brave new world of sweat, sloth, grunting and type 2 diabetes. God help us.
The hallowed rock began to creak and groan. The family of five needed to be airlifted out in bedsheets before ol’ George broke his back.
Sarcasm is unfeminine. Girls who lean on the use of sarcastic humor are a turn-off to men. Hot girls are especially prone to sarcasm, and they wield it profligately. However, there is a flip side to this fact that is good news for men. Girls *love* sarcastic men. They love being assailed by a man adept at the coarse art of sarcasm. You see, when girls are sarcastic, they are projecting their desire to be verbally molested by a sarcastic man. Psychological projection explains so much of human behavior.
Sarcasm is a powerful tool in a man’s seduction arsenal; it is particularly useful for men who shoot for girls that would conventionally be considered out of their league. Qualification (qualifying her for your continued interest) and disqualification (disqualifying her or yourself as a potential love interest) are methods by which men can make women chase them, and thus become more attracted to them. Sarcasm combined with disqualification is an especially potent combination, that when unleashed on hot women will bridge the attraction gap and spark her curiosity. If you only need to know three things to build attraction with a girl who is otherwise indfferent to you, it is these:
Alpha body language
Negs
Disqualification
Sarcastic disqualification is not just a powerful game technique, it is fun to do. (Hot) girls lap it up. (Lesser girls could become bitchy if they think you are making fun of them for being unworthy of your time.) SDs should be dropped early in the pickup, when she is learning about you and gauging your level of alphaness. SDs are perfect answers to shit tests. You should normally say SDs with a smile, as a sarcastic line tossed off with a straight face can be misconstrued as an insult. You also need to be careful not to overuse SDs. Once attraction is there, additional SDs risk portraying you as a class clown at best, a glib asshole at worst.
Here are some examples of sarcastic disqualifications:
“Oh yeah, with that charming attitude, how could I not instantly fall in love with you?”
“Sorry, I have a rule against dating princesses.”
“I’ve been searching my whole life for a woman like you… to set up with my friend. He plays the flute!”
“I bet a sweet girl like you has a full dating life with all those Craigslist guys.”
“Wow, I can’t even talk to you… you’re too perfect in every way. I mean, just look at those flip-flops.”
“It’s a good thing you’re SOO far out of my league. Like, WAAAY up there [reach for the ceiling on your tip-toes]… otherwise I’d have to think about hitting on you.”
“Don’t worry, I only date girls who aren’t queen bees.”
“Yes, after you’re done dating George Clooney, maybe then I’ll have a shot?”
“This is amazing… to be in the presence of such beauty. You like my new watch?”
“No, I just don’t see you that way. You’re too perfect. You shouldn’t be ruined by a low-down jerk like me.”
“You are the most awesome girl ever! Wow, why aren’t I proposing right this second?!”
That is the nerdiest smackdown ever. If this wasn’t C-span I could swear it was Comic Con. Probably the most eloquent way of saying “That bitch is a ho”. Although, I wouldn’t mind tapping her Yale degree because she is probably a superfreak closeted S&M mistress and that’s my kind of political maneuvering.
I’m telling ya, YouTube commenters are the new American comedy art form. More:
typical fat guy’s laugh in the background.
Funny, fat guys DO have a distinctive laugh!
What was your reaction when you watched the video? If you’re like me and most people, you felt a mix of contempt, cringing revulsion and pity. You probably thought “wow, what a loser.” You vowed never to let a chick get under your skin that badly. A fleeting moment of sympathy made you wish this spazzy nerd would learn some game and start dating girls who didn’t look like Philip Seymour Hoffman.
There’s no doubt this dude is a lesser beta, perhaps even a greater omega. And this judgment is not solely a reflection of his unfortunate looks; his attitude, mannerisms, and, of course, total lack of amused mastery peg him as the needy, desperate, no-game-having betaboy he is deep in his soul. He has failed spectacularly the live TV version of the Jumbotron test (the worst way to fail). If he fumbles with nerdo Randian women, it is because of these latter characteristics, and not because of his looks.
His exceptional intelligence cannot compensate for all his negative traits. If anything, his smarts may be working against him. It’s easy to imagine his big brain spending week after week excessively analyzing his breakup and thinking up ways to rectify his pain. In a moment of pique — her body which he once penetrated (assuming he did) now mere inches from him on a televised panel — his unruly emotions took control of his mind and steered all that IQ in an embarrassingly unproductive direction.
This is what happens when you don’t have a clue how women operate. He exhibited the opposite of amused mastery — distressed incompetence. Vaginas all over the land snapped shut on cue.
Now that her label is finally starting to play the album for select critics, it’s easy to fathom why its contents have been closely guarded, all fears of leakage aside. Some of the lyrics are startlingly candid, even by the standards of Taylor “Naming Names, Taking No Prisoners” Swift.
And listening to “Dear John,” the scorching song that is-from all appearances-aimed at Mayer, all we can say is: Joe Jonas, you got off easy. […]
And it might seem sensationalistic to focus on “Dear John” at the expense of the rest of the album if it didn’t feel like it might be her masterpiece to date, or at least the most bracingly, joltingly honest song you’ve heard any major performer have the nerve to put on record in years. Maybe not since John Lennon took on estranged partner Paul McCartney in “How Do You Sleep” has a major pop singer-songwriter so publicly and unguardedly taken on another in song. But while Lennon’s song came off as mean-spirited, Swift was motivated by vulnerability and woundedness, which makes her song far braver… and more cutting. […]
There may be those who’ll accuse Swift of exploiting her own romantic travails in this and other songs. But the extended bridge section of “Dear John” (and, at six and a half minutes, the entire song is fairly extended) packs such a cathartic punch, it really does transcend any tabloid associations. When Swift sings “I’m shining like fireworks over your sad, empty town,” anyone who ever felt manipulated or used and found the strength to move on may be cheering like it’s the 4th of July.
Taylor Swift is doing no different than Todd Seavey did to his ex-girlfriend on that C-Span panel: she is lashing out bitterly at an ex-lover who she feels wronged her. Substantively, her actions are the female version of Todd Seavey; the only distinction is the style in which each exposes their hurt and feeble stabs at revenge. (I say feeble, because I doubt very much John Mayer is going to lose sleep at being called out as a callous womanizer. The horde of groupies queueing up to sample his callous cock after hearing how he treated Taylor Swift is surely growing by the mile.) In fact, it could be said that Seavey is more admirable than Swift, for he at least lashed out at his ex while she was there to defend herself.
Here is an excerpt of Swift’s revenge lyrics:
Dear John/I see it all now that you’re gone/Don’t you think I was too young/To be messed with/The girl in the dress/Cried the whole way home/I should’ve known. […] It was wrong/Don’t you think nineteen’s too young/To be played/By your dark, twisted games/When I loved you so. […] You’ll add my name to your long list of traitors who don’t understand/And I’ll look back in regret I ignored what they said/’Run as fast as you can’
Notice how all the blame is shifted to Mayer. Swift removes any responsibility and accountability for her decision to fuck the alpha male. She is a mere womanchild, a vassal into which evil men have their way with her. (If true, can we revoke the right to vote from these womenchildren?) Todd Seavey’s bitterness flows from the same place — an inability to recognize that he bears responsibility for the impression he leaves with women.
Todd Seavey and Taylor Swift’s behavior toward exes IS ONE AND THE SAME. Their bitterness is a shared bond that crosses class, looks and celebrity.
And yet, what did you feel reading about Taylor Swift’s lash-out at John Mayer? The same contempt, revulsion and cold pity you felt for Todd Seavey? Likely not, if you’re honest with yourself. Certainly the women reading these two stories did not feel the same toward each antagonist protagonist. I bet the same women (and some manginas) who subconsciously lambasted Seavey for his bitterness were quick to offer sympathy and understanding to Taylor Swift. Just look at the way the story is told by the reporter, Chris Willman (presumably a man): “vulnerability and woundedness”, “startlingly candid”, “such a cathartic punch”. This is the reaction of someone who wants to offer Taylor Swift a shoulder to cry on. Todd Seavey will see no such shoulders offered; he will instead be cast to the icy wastelands where the tribe will mercilessly mock him from afar.
Your conflicting emotional responses to Seavey and Swift are no fluke. They are evolutionarily imprinted in your brain. All flows from the basic premise that eggs are expensive and sperm is cheap. From this premise, we subconsciously affirm that men are expendable, and women irreplaceable. One man can impregnate an entire tribe and keep the population growing. One woman is a population bottleneck that will mean the extinction of the tribe. And further on from that premise, we find ourselves offering comfort and uuuuunderstaaaaanding to Taylor Swift, while we offer nothing but sharp barbs and ridicule to the expendable Todd Seavey.
This is our reality, our world, our universe. Some human beings are worth more than others, and despite our grandiloquent litanies to the contrary, our actions tell us all we need to know, if we are willing to look with open eyes. Remember that the next time a palace guard of the old order tries to tell you what’s in your best interest.
