The feminists insist that women never lie about rape.
The feminists insist that women never lie about rape.
While most confirmed bachelors get their needs met, the typical single guy allows for the spontaneous initiation of the medium-term fling out of the occasional short-term bang. This can be interpreted as a subconscious collective strategy by women to curb the collective masculine in the sexual marketplace. It generally works, because the man gets distracted by all the good sex he’s getting from medium-term fling girl, and starts forgetting the alphabet.
A.B.C. is an acronym which stands for “always be closing.”
Johnny gets on Plenty of Fish, OK Cupid, Snatch Dot Com, and similar sites, right outta high school. He starts collecting phone numbers. He can’t believe it’s so easy. Around about girl number 25, he meets Sarah. Sarah has nice dark eyes, a great ass, and she’s always doing little thoughtful things for him. Johnny makes the mistake of announcing to the world (and to all the other ho’s he’s banging) that he’s met someone amazing. He starts concentrating on Sarah. He goes all in. If she makes him dinner, he buys her flowers. He starts pondering vacations together, and wonders how well it’d go over if he took her home for Christmas dinner to meet his parents.
Suddenly, and seemingly without warning, Sarah starts declining Johnny’s advances. She “needs her space.” She thinks Johnny is “moving too fast.”
What actually happened was this: That night, last week, when Sarah told Johnny she had to study/work late/visit her mom, she went out clubbing with her skank-ho girlfriends. While she was having anonymous sex with various guys in the public toilet, she met Mark. Mark makes a lot more money than Johnny, so she wants to see where he can take her.
Johnny suddenly has lots of free time, and a surfeit of sadness and depression.
Had Johnny taken Brother Boxer’s advice, he would still have a chance to keep Sarah on the leash. When she texted him to express these weird sentiments, he would have sent a one-word reply:
and then he’d have deleted her number, her photos, etc.
He would have been able to do this without too much hesitation, because he had Amber, Bethany, Carol and Darla in his iCloud contacts list, and they would take up the sexual slack that Sarah’s sudden departure had caused. He has other options because, as Boxer reminds him, he is to Always Be Closing. Keep getting phone numbers. Keep chatting up cute baristas. Keep running game in the laundromat (a strangely productive place for me in my youth). Keep your profiles up on PoF, OKC, etc…
Of course, when Mark tires of Sarah (and it’ll be weeks, not months) she will suddenly start sending ‘wat up’ type texts to Johnny. If he is anything like Brother Boxer, he will respond with:
sorry, who is this?
letting the bitch know that he deleted her number. This will cause her to start mildly groveling, at which point Johnny will have the option to either reject Sarah, or to allow her to re-enter his orbit at a wildly reduced level of commitment.
Of course, Johnny is new to this game, and he hasn’t remembered his ABC’s, so when Sarah hits him with the “I love you, but I’m not in love with you” text, and demands “just a little bit of space” to “find myself,” he panics. He has no other options left, and a sort of existential dread kicks in. Johnny starts sending Sarah long messages, which alternate between wordy demands for an explanation, rambling declarations of eternal devotion (how cute!) and ambiguous apologies for real or perceived slights that directly led to this tragedy.
Naturally, this only serves to convince Sarah that Johnny is unhinged or possibly retarded, and she quietly becomes sure in the knowledge that she made the right choice. She then gets back to picking out the best lingerie to wear for Mark that evening. Johnny will never hear from Sarah again.
Needy, whiny and desperate are not good qualities in a young man.
Always Be Closing.
It is hard to properly estimate the intelligence of the typical hack journalist. Evidence of the stupidity and humorlessness of these bozos becomes more evident with each passing day.
Today’s Random Example: My nigga Dr. Steven J Krune (fuck’n lol) has a candid metajournalistic conversation with Zachary Goldfarb, an editor for the Washington Post.
The original thread is here. The whole thing is worth perusing.
A British Columbia man has been driven to kill himself by the crown, which represents the women of the province. This is his suicide note.
This double whammy — a spouse making criminal allegations while custody and access applications are underway in family court — is known, Angie said, as “the silver bullet.”
B.C.’s Family Maintenance and Enforcement Program was chasing him, because while he always paid something in support, it wasn’t what the court had ordered, and FMEP was moving to take away his driver’s licence and passport for failing to meet his financial obligations, Angela said. His ex was going to get his pension, if and when he retired.
Much more here
From Plutarch’s Life of Alexander the Great (21)
7 But Alexander, as it would seem, considering the mastery of himself a more kingly thing than the conquest of his enemies, neither laid hands upon these women, nor did he know any other before marriage, except Barsiné.
8 This woman, Memnon’s widow, was taken prisoner at Damascus.
9 And since she had received a Greek education, and was of an agreeable disposition, and since her father, Artabazus, was son of a king’s daughter, Alexander determined (at Parmenio’s instigation, as Aristobulus says) to attach himself to a woman of such high birth and beauty.
10 But as for the other captive women, seeing that they were surpassingly stately and beautiful, he merely said jestingly that Persian women were torments to the eyes.
11 And displaying in rivalry with their fair looks the beauty of his own sobriety and self-control, he passed them by as though they were lifeless images for display.
Alexander, the greatest conqueror in human history, student of Aristotle: He only married after finding someone worthwhile, and he laughed at all the rest of the ho’s.
Be like Alexander.
I started banging skanky princess about six weeks ago. Almost immediately, after we coupled up for intimate fun, the fronting began. (Note, see No. 3 here for more on what fronting means). She had to point out that, at least by the standards of the world, she drives a better car than I do (true), has a better job than I do (true).
Of course, I bought my car with cash, when I moved here, and if I wrecked it this evening, I could buy a comparable one with cash tomorrow. She makes a lot more money than I do, but like all corporate shrews, she can be found endlessly bee-yatching about work’s stresses and unreasonable demands, whereas ya boy Boxer has zero stress at his job. Moreover, skanky princess had already alluded to the fact that she had high-five-figures in student loan debt, whereas I actually have more than that in a money market, that I could withdraw tomorrow if I wanted to blow it on whores and whiskey.
So, who’s the real asshole here?
In any event, the fronting was a strong tell that revealed the character of a jaded skank. It also betrayed a flaw in her thinking. This flaw is common among many childless women on the professional track, and usually increases proportionally with age. By fronting, skanky princess imagines that you will see her as a more desirable catch. This misconception is constellated in the complex that arises in response to ambiguous gender roles.
She thinks that she can take on the male role, and appeal to me as a provider. Never mind the fact that I’m a few years older than she is… and, of course, setting aside the fact that I’m a man.
The modern, empowered wimminz have apparently forgotten that men don’t really get impressed by how much money they make. I suppose many have bought into the nonsensical feminist delusion that femininity is some sort of “social construct.”
For any of you feminist wimminz who read my stuff, here’s the news: We don’t care whether you’re on a partnership track at a big law firm or whether you’re a waitress. We want you because you’re sexy. If we’re traditional or family minded, a career is actually a hindrance. Those men want to know you can cook and wash and be a competent mother.
Your yearly salary+bonus package is irrelevant. We can make our own dough.
Around a month in, princess decided to tell me that she wanted to get married. I laughed at her.
Since I was clearly “not man enough” to take the next step in “our relationship,” skanky princess announced that she wouldn’t be having sex any longer. It was the standard I’m not getting any younger speech, and she wanted me to know that if I didn’t man up then she would have to find someone who was a bit more manly.
It’s the same speech I’ve heard at least 100 times prior, and it had precisely the same effect on me as all the other ones did. I immediately lost all interest in her, and begin the cycle anew with a replacement.
The new chick doesn’t front like she’s some sort of great provider, but she does post high angle selfies to instagram every twenty minutes, usually showing everything but the nips. (Again, go here to get the lowdown).
Instagram Ho’ had been on the back burner for a couple of weeks at that point, and she was a convenient stand-in for that evening’s festivities. Skanky princess was immediately deprecated, and Instagram Ho’ took her place within hours.
While Skanky Princess continued to temper-tantrum, with the sex-strike, I politely pretended to be disappointed, and told her that I would accept the LJBF status. I couldn’t be friends any time soon, though, because I was busy
fucking her replacement working on a huge professional project that was taking all of my time.
You know how it is, doll. You’ve got a much better job than I do. Work comes first. blah blah.
This morning, bright and early, skank-ho princess No. 1 sent me a what-up, after several days of radio silence. She made it clear that she was ready to get down. Here’s my reply.
What is interesting about this message is, nothing. There is nothing interesting about this message. I’m not going to say that all women are like this, but all the women I have slept with, in the last five years, have used this same general push-pull script.
Note that skanky princess has done a couple of things here. The most obvious is re-writing her earlier demand for marriage with the meaningless catch-all word “relationship.”
I mean, technically I have a relationship with her right now. All that word really means is that we’re in each others’ icloud contact lists.
She’s also re-written something more significant. She’s reframed the whole thing as me LJBF’ing her. This is particularly amusing.
I wasn’t the one to demand all manner of favors in return for my company; nor was I the party who took-his-genitals-and-went-home when he didn’t get what he wanted. I was perfectly happy to enjoy the status quo. She was cute and not rude. I still have no real complaints with her. She just pushed too hard, too fast. I wish her well, and hope she finds a dude who is more
stupid manly than I am, who will be masculine enough to wife her up, and who can whisk her away to happiness on wings of unicorns.
And back we come to the real point of all this. Not only is this script second nature to me, but I am a prophet (like Brigham Young, himself). I have an almost perfect prediction of what skanky princess will be doing next…
This is the end result of female escalation, as demonstrated by someone who cycled through my life long before skanky princess. Let’s call her sex-machine.
I’m confident that sex-machine went on to complain about “that asshole [she] dated” to the next guy, before acting out precisely similar theater on him.
Skanky princess will give a similar performance within the next few hours, the same way they all do when we ignore them, and the light bulb goes on, and they realize that their bluffs aren’t working.
In the interim, Instagram ho’ is due to suggest we move in together within the next week or two.
The pattern will hold. It always does.
Oh, the injustice that these wimminz face, when they wake up to the “equal rights and equal opportunities” that their feminist sisters agitated for.
Men have had to deal with this crap for three generations, now. Where has the outrage been all this time?