Archive for September, 2012
[Note: This post has been a fair amount of attention just today - 09/28/2012 - so let's make it really prominent.]
The Manosphere contains many, many words regarding a woman’s rationalization hamster because it’s such an effective and amusing way to describe how a woman thinks. Occasionally it’s necessary to re-educate Manosphere readers to the nuances and details of how the rationalization hamster operates.
The rationalization hamster is an analogy for the thought processes used by women to turn bad behavior and bad decisions into acceptable ones to herself and her friends. When a woman makes a bad decision, the hamster spins in its wheel (the woman’s thinking) and creates some type of acceptable reasons for that bad decision. The crazier the decision, the faster the hamster must spin in order to successfully rationalize away the insanity.
When the hamster rationalizes successfully, a woman can divorce [yeah, I meant to use that verb] herself from the consequences of her bad decision or behavior. Here are some examples:
“I’m going out and getting drunk with my friends.”
Drunken and unsatisfactory hookup sex with a stranger.
Hamster Processing Result:
“I was drunk and he took advantage of me or maybe even raped me! Maybe it was a date rape drug!”
“It’s not my fault.”
“I deserve only the most attractive and successful man despite the fact that I don’t have much to offer in the context of dating and relationships.”
Can’t find any man for dating or a relationship or only has one-night stands.
Hamster Processing Result:
“There are no good men” or “Men suck”
“It’s not my fault.”
“I have such chemistry [vagina tingles!] with this guy so I’ll ignore the obvious red flags regarding his character.”
The sex is great for a short time and then the guy dumps her.
Hamster Processing Result:
“All men are players”
“It’s not my fault.”
I want to have a baby but I don’t have a man.
8lb bundle of “joy” through dubious means and resultant loss of career opportunities because of time management issues.
Hamster Processing Result:
“I’m a strong and empowered woman fulfilling her own needs but who has an employer who doesn’t support my lifestyle decision.”
“It’s not my fault.”
Note how the final result is always the same.
The vast majority of women simply won’t understand the concept of the rationalization hamster. This makes the hamster immortal. Sure, it can be slowed down, but it always lives on. Hamster wisdom is now passed on to the younger generations of women with messages of “you deserve anything you want” or “you’re a special snowflake”. The hamster has become an integral part of our social fabric.
There is a social expectation that women cannot be faulted for their decisions and behaviors. Mark Rudov calls it the 11th commandment – Thou shalt not criticize women. This means that our collective folklore has “liberated” women to act on their worst motivations and behaviors without consequence. This will be for generations to come.
Red Pill men face an enormous dilemma. There are many things that have a negative impact on guys, personally, socially, and politically. However, men are expected to shut up about such things and take it “like a man”. Opponents to Red Pill thinking and general men’s activism will frequently rebutt with “stop whining”. Given the expectation of being stoic – and the very real biological phenomenon that men are less emotional – this can be a very effective rebuttal indeed.
It takes a thick skin and a passionate purpose to shrug of the accusations of whining. It’s difficult because when a man feels so intensely about an injustice or issue that affects him personally and he’s will to talk about it, it must be something that he is truly passionate about. With such passion, it’s not easy to read news articles and blogs that dismiss him, and all other men passionate about an issue, as a whiner.
The best approach to accusations of whining is to take action and not address it with words. Ignoring something is an action. Deleting blog comments is an action. Banning commenters is an action. Simply do not engage such accusations with words. It’s a pointless exercise and only raises frustration and anger levels. Here’s some additional advice, don’t argue with feminists or people who are passionate blue pillers.
It all comes down to this double standard:
When women express themselves about social injustices that affect women, it’s an empowering experience and they must be encouraged with support.
When men express themselves about social injustices that affect men, it’s whining and they must be shouted down with insults.
My incoming mail yields greatness. This one arrived just today and I’ve posted unedited and uncorrected. So, what’s he doing wrong? This is a test. Consider his age and the nature of his out-going messages. Your comments are expected. If you don’t comment, my dog will bite you. Ta.
We all know women on dating sites get a ton of messages. However, they almost unanimously say that it’s still very difficult to find someone decent, because those messages aren’t from the “right type of guy.” Well, I’ve come to a realization: They are completely, 100% full of it, and I’ve got proof based upon my own experience.
I’m going to describe myself a little; but first, let me add in a little disclaimer to avoid any misunderstanding. I am in no way trying to imply that I’m an amazing guy every woman should be swooning over. I can’t be the judge of that; and even so, I really don’t see myself that way at all. What I’m going to tell you are just characteristics that can be picked up from my dating site profile, and elements of my conduct on these sites. I will try to keep it as objective as I can. So here we go:
-I’m six feet tall.
-I work out regularly and am in excellent physical shape.
-In my early 20′s, I have a well-paying full-time job in a highly respected field. (Income is listed at $50,000-60,000)
-On OKCupid’s MyBestFace, an app which pits your photos up against others and has people judge which are more attractive, mine are chosen the vast majority of the time. In other words, strangers have rated my photos as significantly more attractive than most.
-I don’t have any cell phone mirror pics or other forms of douchebaggery.
-I don’t have a sketchy or threatening look about me. I’m clean-cut… no facial hair, no tattoos, no piercings, etc.
-I always write with proper grammar in mind.
-When I message someone initially, I always try to start a conversation based on something in her profile. I end every message with some kind of open-ended question. I do the same throughout the convo if she responds and we start going back and forth. I never give physical compliments, make mention of anything sexual, or say anything even remotely impolite.
-I don’t message the hottest girls I can find; I message girls who are realistically cute, and who I think I’d get along with based on their profiles. I don’t believe that my standards for “cute” are all that high, as I tend to find more women attractive than my friends do.
-I only message girls within a few years of my own age.
-My profile doesn’t brag in any way, or contain any hint of negativity/bitterness. It has a playful tone throughout. It’s about medium as far as length (yea yea that’s what she said).
Jaded older men probably believe that I’m the kind of guy these women devote all their attention to. Well, want to know what kind of results I’ve gotten after messaging over 100 women? Not one date. Not even a phone number. Nothing. About 70% of women ignored the initial message I sent. Of the 30% who responded, every single one either put in zero effort and basically forced me to drag her through the conversation (in which cases I gave up), or randomly bailed out of the conversation at some point (always within several messages each back and forth, because at that point I suggest exchanging phone #s/adding each other on facebook). I’ve taken a bunch of messages that resulted in seemingly interested girls ceasing to respond, and run them by a female friend, asking her “how I’m managing to scare off every girl I talk to.” She said she could find absolutely no fault with any of my messages; that I sounded fun, interesting, intelligent, and normal.
Let’s go back to the original point of contention… that girls claim to only get interest from the “wrong type of guy.” Now go back and reread the facts I listed about myself, this time with this horrible little tidbit in your mind: That person whom those facts describe… is STILL the “wrong type of guy” according to these women. Wrap your head around that one.
As I alluded to before, I am very far from a perfect person, and I make no claim of being an Adonis that every girl should want. I have no problem acknowledging that. But while I have my share of faults, none of them are really things that come through in a dating site environment. From what little info about me these women possess, I have no apparent flaws. Yet not a single one ultimately deems me worth getting to know.
I write this not to whine about my situation. In fact, I feel very lucky to have some superficial things going for me in the first place. God help the poor bastards who are 5’7”, or unemployed; I’m sure they’re discarded even more readily. I write this to give other struggling guys some perspective on the type of women they’re dealing with on dating sites. These are people who are completely and hopelessly self-deluded. They have convinced themselves that anyone who doesn’t meet their pathetically specific, unrealistic vision of Prince Charming is “the wrong type of guy.” You should not feel inadequate for being unable to gain their approval, because no one can.
Living in South Florida (Fort Lauderdale area) has given me the opportunity to indulge in a special kind of weirdness that is simply unavailable in the rest of the country. For example, four small bales of soggy marijuana recently washed up on the shore of my local beach. A good citizen actually turned in those four bales over to the local authorities. Or, six bales washed ashore and the clever citizen kept two.
This is not about the South Florida drug trade. This is about commuting to work and dealing with the large population of retirees down here. I ride a motorcycle. It’s my only vehicle. So, I ride to work and back. Contrary to what you might believe, the retirees stay off the roads during rush hour. They’re not stupid, they know their driving skills decrease with age. They also tend to avoid the highways and stick to surface roads.
Commuting on a motorcycle in South Florida is fairly straightforward. I use I-95 and I am legally allowed to ride my motorcycle in the carpool (HOV) lane. My fellow commuters are mostly consistent and predictable. It’s been extremely rare for me to witness stupid driving when commuting. These folks know where they’re going and are mostly focused on getting there. Sadly, using cell phones while driving is allowed in Florida and that includes texting. The worst part about commuting on a motorcycle down here is the weather. We have intense tropical downpours and so I must religiously check the doppler radar to see if I have to put on the rain gear before leaving.
Sometimes I run quite late. This is the running of the Buicks. I am convinced that the large retirement communities release the Buicks at about 10AM, well past rush hour. If I’m on surface streets prior to getting on the interstate highway and it’s after 10AM, I feel like a runner in Pamplona, dodging death from large moving things. I can never be sure when a retiree in a Buick might drift into my lane or turn directly in front of me. My level of focus is intense, my head swivelling back and forth to look for an errant and unpredictable Buick. There’s one! It’s at complete stop during a 90 degree turn, the driver likely confused. It’s ironic that I feel safer when I reach I-95 and get to cruise happily at 75 miles per hour amongst 18-wheelers when I felt in mortal danger when on the surface roads at 30 miles per hour.
I-95 has large, illuminated, and changeable digital signs at regular intervals. These signs inform drivers about traffic conditions, accidents, and other relevant information for interstate travel. My favorite is the “Watch for motorcycles” admonition to those behind the wheel. My second favorite is the “Silver Alert”. This is a notification that an elderly driver is out and about and unaccounted for. It shows the year and brand of car (Yes, often Buick) and the license plate number. I see this one daily and I always wonder about the circumstances behind it. Perhaps grandfather swiped the keys and went for quick drive. Or maybe grandmother hasn’t returned from her doctor’s appointment.
I rather enjoy it here, despite the road risks. And as a bonus, there’s a lot to ponder about South Florida and a curious of ages and nationalities. It keeps my mind quite busy as I take my usual walk up and down the beach, looking for bales of marijuana.
Is there any such thing as online dating profiles and honesty? I wonder. This is the primary photo for a local woman who claims to be 47. So she serves up her primary photo:
This is an attractive woman. Yet, the photo looks older. A printed version of City Link? (background). No comment.
Hmmmm…. Here is another profile photo that somewhat matches the first online dating profile photo:
Oh, the joys of online dating.
Down the rabbit hole I go. Deti, being brilliant and savagely honest, has been commenting prolifically at The Woman and the Dragon (link below). This comment stands out. It’s a searing observation of the infamous cock carousel.
As always, his comments are brilliant.
In light of the incalculable damage feminism has done, in light of our society being on the brink of irretrievable and total collapse, I think women need to ask themselves, individually and collectively:
Was it worth it?
Was the cock carousel worth it?
The sex, the occasional orgasms, the attention and validation, the rush, the feelings?
The drunk dancing on tables, the hangovers, the feelings of immediate regret, the knowledge that you’ve just been used as a semen receptacle (for the 14th time)?
Was it worth it?
The ridiculous thoughts to yourself that, no, THIS TIME it will be different. This time I won’t get f**ked over. This time I will get what I want. This time I will save it for a good man, a kind man, the right man — who never shows up.
Did you get what you wanted?
Did the hot man, the rich man, the sexy man, the alpha, marry you? Did he give you the brass ring of commitment? Did he pledge his life to you? DId he promise to stay around for longer than just until he’s tired of f**king you and putting up with your bulls**t?
Or did you fall (again) for the player’s smooth line that “hey, I think it’s great that a woman like you can have sex with who she wants. That’s only fair. It’s a man’s world, and you should get to partake in it just like we do.”
You get out of his bed. You’ve got to get to work this morning. You try to find your panties and put your miniskirt and 4 inch heels on to walk to your car and get an Egg McMuffin and some coffee. You add another notch to your lipstick case (one you’ll have to come clean about someday to your therapist or drug counselor or ER doctor, if not your husband). He says “I had a great time. Let’s do it again. There’s some coffee downstairs. Help yourself. I’ve got a lot of things to do today so I need to get going. Sorry I can’t have you stay longer.” You reply weakly: “It’s OK. Call me, OK?” “Sure. You bet I will.”
Little do you know that he just infected you with genital herpes. You’ll find out in a week or so after the incubation period is up and you have festering blisters all over your pubic area. The pain is so excruciating you have to take the day off work, get some treatment at the ER, and stay in bed. You can’t wear panties because the weight of the fabric on the sores is too painful. You can’t walk because the skin on skin friction hurts. Oh well. I’m sure your future husband will understand.
Tell me: does it occur to you that you did it again? Does it occur to you that you’ve f**ked up yet again? Are you getting it yet that the guy who blasted another load on your chest or in your hair last night has no intention of returning the texts you send him, unless it involves an encore performance? Does it dawn on you that maybe what you’re doing isn’t working and maybe you need to try something else? Does it dawn on you that the only things you really got out of last night were a couple of bottles of beer and bragging rights?
It’s 6:45 am on a Sunday morning. You stumble through yet another Walk of Shame across the quad back to your apartment, with your hair and clothes reeking of Aqua Net and stale cigarettes and Old Style and semen. You pray to God above that you don’t see any of your friends. He smiles on you and today, you are spared the agony of your good friends observing you in all your disheveled, deflowered ignominy. But you see mirror images. You pass by other girls in miniskirts and heels, some of whom lost their bras last night and couldn’t find them. You see other men on their way home, some of whom are hungover, some of whom have little smiles on their faces. You exchange knowing glances with both the men and the women, some of whom you kind of know, others you don’t — but the looks are the same.
“I know what you did last night”.
“I know WHO you did last night.”
“That sex sucked. But he was hot.”
“I’m never doing this again.”
So as you get home, exhale a breath, disrobe and try to wash the stench from the oddly arousing yet horribly convicting things you did and you allowed another human being to do to you, on you and in you, do you ask:
Is this worth it?
Do you have anything more to show for your life than N>10, an STD, recurrent UTIs and probably an abortion in there somewhere?
Your friends can help you with women even when you aren’t around. If a friend or group of friends and is out and about and meets up with girls and there’s an extra for you, it’s their obligation to somehow get you involved whether you’re present or not. The first priority would be to contact you and invite you to an arranged location, preferably not where they first met up with the girls and not in a loud nightclub. This is a venue change opportunity.
The girls in question must know that you are being contacted to be invited into the group. This is not a simple matter of stating “I’m calling Bob to see what he wants to hang out with us.” This is a huge opportunity to pre-sell Bob. Frankly, it’s your friends’ sworn duty to pre-sell you. Especially if they are single. Yes, this also applies to friends who are out with wives and committed girlfriends, provided you get along with wives and committed girlfriends. The sales pitch could be something along these lines:
“Oh we have to meet up with Bob later, he’s a great guy.”
“Bob needs to hang out with us, he’s really cool.”
“If we don’t get to party with Bob, I’ll be really disappointed.”
You get the idea. The girls will get a very positive vibe about you and should be anticipating your arrival. This is pre-selection while absent. Should you do arrive later, it’s important that you make a strong entrance, if possible. Don’t shuffle in quietly. Yell out to them as you walk in. Slap backs with smiles all around. This is your crew, dammit, and you’re really pleased to see them. Your friends should then commence with the introductions to the girls and your Charisma should kick in. But your frame should be that out came to see your friends, not the girls.
If logistics prevent you from meeting, then the girls know of your existence, they know you’re a cool guy, and you might run into them. Hopefully, they will still remember the pre-sell pitch and you can use that to your advantage.
In order for all this to work, you must have charismatic and outgoing friends who are usually out and about. Housebound friends won’t work. Shy friends won’t work. Friends without social skills won’t work. This may require you shift your social circle or perhaps even make new friends.