Monthly Archives: September 2011

One of these is true, and no matter which one it is, it’s OK not to believe in God.

  1. There is no God and it’s a waste of time to believe in him.
  2. There is a God—and he doesn’t hold it against you for not believing in him because he left  no evidence of his existence.
  3. There is a God who gave you a brain and no evidence of his existence, and he’s pissed at you for not having faith in him anyway—in which case you shouldn’t worship him because he’s a prick.


Saying that one sex is “better” than the other has always struck me as hilariously immature.

We get frustrated in our relations with the other sex and then try to make some barely-substantiated negative generalization about them, or some poorly-informed positive observations about our own, in an attempt to feel better. This is a topic on which everyone is biased.

It’s no surprise that, as a species that reproduces sexually, sex is the first thing we notice about another person—we immediately categorize them as male or female. Everything else about their character follows after that observation. But when it comes to someone’s merits and flaws as a human being their gender rarely has much to do with it. A person is either warm or cold, selfish or unselfish, honest or manipulative. Good people sometimes do bad things, and bad people sometimes do good things, so you can’t even draw the line that way.

Of course we always notice the negative traits the other sex tends to have. It’s because they matter to us. We desire a happy relationship with one of these alien creatures, and their baffling behavior which fucks things up for no reason that we can understand ruins our chances at every turn.

But how much of this really has to do with the fact that they are male or female? Some of it, maybe, but the most you can say is that men and women are more prone to certain types of riduculous behavior. But for the most part we like generalizing about the other sex’s retardedness because it makes us feel like we need them less-it numbs our burning desire to be happy with one of them by shitting on our hope. It feels good to talk shit on half the world when you’re fed up with them.

"I'm a thirty-year-old boy."

I’m aware I’m making sweeping generalizations. None of this is meant to be taken seriously. Any truth I do reveal will come out accidentally through humorous exaggeration.

The females of our generation are going further and doing more with their lives (so far) than the males. More of them graduate from college, more of them seek important jobs and pursue their dreams. They’re ambitious and optimistic.

The males of our generation suffer from a prolonged childhood. Even those of us who got degrees and jobs just want to come home at the end of the day play video games. We just don’t care as much.

And it’s the women who are more upset with the way this is working out. Like I said, the men just don’t care.

A combination of biological, social, and anthropological forces converged to create this storm. I’ve discussed this in depth elsewhere and will probably write a comprehensive article on this in the future. For now I want to focus on and consider two new possible contributing factors.

I think this would be funny framed and hung up in a brothel.

1. Women get more encouragement than men

Girls have a talent for absorbing manic positivity. Just look at that fucking picture. It even has a drawing of a woman on it—clearly the target audience is female. Could you imagine a man posting that?

Women dangle constantly over the edge of abysmal insecurity. Being attractive is critically important to women; it’s their primary biological weapon against all the other females in the competition to pass on their genes. Attractiveness is so important to women, in fact, that those who aren’t attractive are forced to pretend it’s not important—and most women feel unattractive to at least some degree.

And then you have other attributes like intelligence and likeability (number of friends), kindness, etc., which are also areas of competition.

The state of perennial social warfare in which girls live, constantly assessing one another and themselves, does not make this any easier.

Thus the universal appeal of cloying crap among females about how special you are, like that image above. Thus the emphasis in female interactions on compliments and compliments and compliments. Women have acquired an ability to actually believe these things because the alternative is hellish.

Browse any online dating site and look at all the positive things girls have to say about themselves. Look how high they rate their own confidence levels. Read their list of requirements for prospective dates. I’m not saying that they’re justified or unjustified; my point is that the amount of specialness exuded by these girls’ profiles is clearly fueled by the female positivity-uniqueness complex.

Men simply can’t swallow the “you’re so special” bullshit. I read stuff like that and it’s just funny to me. I can’t think of another man who would buy something like that. It’s patronizing and condescending to give female-grade encouragement to a man because it presumes that he needs it (and it’s even worse if he does need it), so whenever someone offers us this sort of crap we say thanks and forget about it.

Men can’t take this positivity away from women, either. First of all, we want to have sex with them so we can’t say anything negative. And even if we did tell them it was bullshit, they have other girls to step in and make them feel better.

The joke is on the men, though, because the specialness propaganda seems to be working for women.

2. Men are capable of a level of a greater level of laziness than women

I can’t provide much explanation about this.

I get the general sense that men are just more cynical and nihilistic, thus more hedonistic, than women. Maybe this accounts for our ability to lie motionless for an entire weekend.

In conclusion

All babies are female by default; the standard human being is a woman. Males are mutated females, our role being to support female reproduction not only by planting the seed but also by carrying out all the work, building structures for us to live in, keeping the fires going, hunting for food, and teaching the women’s sons to do the same.

That used to be our role, anyway. Things have changed over the last hundred thousand years. A lot of us are starting to wonder what the hell we’re for anymore.

Note: I’m not saying that women are suppressing men or are somehow responsible for this problem. It’s the women, in fact, who are more upset about it, who wonder “where the men have gone.”

She is an unusually accepting person. Unusually accepting of other people—unusually accepting of me.

Once in a while you meet someone you’ll let close enough to get a good look at you. They get past your defenses. Your desire to let them see you, to be close to someone, overcomes your need for distance and isolation. The combination of their personality and the timing and the circumstances creates a momentary hole in an otherwise impermeable barrier. This person floats into your inner sanctum through a crack in the wall as effortlessly as a gas particle in a vacuum.

Actually, her personality had a lot to do with it. Our meeting was random, but that our interaction carried on for so long and to such an extent can only have been because of who she is.

I didn’t share everything with her, but I knew I could tell her anything. She wouldn’t judge me. Importantly, she never made me feel like I was bothering her with my stupid problems. I’ve had a fair number of confidants, but everyone I know is so goddamn busy living life that every time I talk to them I only feel like I’m pestering them. I always feel like I have to get it out quickly, and if the listener is short with me then my problems are fucking stupid and I should shut the fuck up.

That my problems don’t matter is the truth, ultimately. My problems are boring. They are relevant only to me, and there’s only one of me. The conclusion to all my agonizing thoughts over whatever is worrying me is always: Fuck it, it doesn’t matter. And it doesn’t.

Most people I talk to make me feel like an emotional parasite. She manages not to, somehow.

The most important thing she ever did was to make me feel accepted by a female—to demonstrate that I am not as low as I tell myself I am. This uprooted all the dark beliefs I held about myself. It cracked open the black dome of isolation and let the sun shine in. It was painful and blinding and ecstatic.

I never felt so satisfied in my life.

Her drifting away afterward was also necessary, otherwise I’d just find another safe zone in her and hide there. To create a real effect, a true anagnorisis, she had to hit me and then pull back so I couldn’t latch on to her. It’s the only way I’d learn to do any of this on my own.

It wouldn’t have been enough to grab hold of the cancer I was killing myself with—she had to rip it out as well.

Mythologically, one of the functions of the feminine is to tell the masculine to get off its ass and do something.

I went through phases of believing she did it for herself, or she did it out of pity, or that it never really happened and I dreamt the whole thing. Things that give you hope and reveal to you just how great it could all be if you tried—these things are so painful that sometimes you have to bury your head in the sand. Otherwise you have to accept that you’ve always been able to reach out and touch all those impossible things and you have been wasting your life all this time.

And you look ahead and you see that you have so much left to do, so much more to endure. You wish you could just go to sleep and never wake up.

That will happen someday. But for now you don’t have an excuse. She showed you that it’s not quitting time yet.

If you wanted me to write on the second-most embarrassing subject I could think of, I’d write about the fact that I like chubby girls.

To be more accurate, I find a range of female body types attractive: from fit to chubby. I do not like skinny girls—and by “skinny” I do not mean normal, which is what most girls refer to as “skinny.” I mean girls who are actually underweight. Most runway models are too thin to interest me sexually.

Something that girls don’t understand: to the same extent there is pressure on women to look a certain way, there is pressure on men to only like girls who look a certain way. There’s a special shame reserved for those of us who find something attractive that we’re not supposed to. It’s humiliating. It makes you feel flawed as a man.

I’d like to think that if I were gay I’d have no problem coming out of the closet, but considering how hard it is for me to even admit that I like thick women it seems more likely I’d be barricaded. Or maybe not. It’s more acceptable to judge a man for liking fat girls than it is to judge him for liking men.

There's actually not that much difference between these girls, but it was the best comparison I could find. And the girl on the right is smoking hot.

Consider the women above. The two on the left are thin, fit. I am attracted to them, but if they were skinner they’d be too thin.

But now consider the girl on the right. Look at those contours! Look where her estrogen is telling her body to store fat! Look how much more shapely her legs are, how irresistibly cute the curve of her belly, how much more pronounced her hips and female form! Her body stands out and draws attention in a way the other two don’t. It’s bold. It says, I am FEMALE. I’m a WOMAN.

And the girl on the right is really just healthy and normal. She’s not even chubby.

Imagine we had three girls: one who was model-skinny, one who was average, and one in the average-to-chubby area. If forced to choose the most attractive woman in private, there’s no doubt in my mind most men would select the average or heavier girl. But if they had to choose in front of a group of other men, they’d feel the artificial social pressure kick in and they’d choose the average or skinny girl.

More than once I have liked a chubby girl—and done nothing about it because of the judgment I’d incur if I actually did something. “Disgusting, he likes fat chicks.” Or, “She’s lucky he has low self-esteem, or he wouldn’t be with a fat chick like her.” I wouldn’t even have to hear it; I’d just know this talk was going on behind my back. What makes this worse is that I know these girls could at least have gotten an ego boost from turning me down. And maybe they even would have liked me.

More than once, girls I’ve known who weren’t overweight have taken extensive measures to get skinny. It was too difficult for me to tell them that I thought they were much more beautiful before they lost the weight. What is really tragic is that they’d probably think I was making the token “You didn’t have to lose any weight” compliment; they wouldn’t realize it was really true.

The only conclusion I can come to is: I care too much what other people think.

The pictures below illustrate more of what I’m talking about. These are women I’d consider attractive, the last one being on the heavy end of the spectrum.

What post about beautiful full-figured women is complete without a picture of Nigella?

This is a great illustration of how much difference it makes how a girl's body distributes fat.

Chivalry is about sex. It will never die because it is about getting laid.

A man who pays for dinner or opens a door for a lady is demonstrating his ability to provide and showing that he values her. But at the bottom of it, he’s doing it because it will get him laid. He knows this, and she probably knows it too.

This goes back to when caveman would share meat from an animal he’s hunted with a female in order to gain favor with her. (We’ve observed the same behavior in chimpanzees.) Clearly, a male who is skilled enough to hunt—and tough enough to keep his catch from other males who would steal it—is one to consider as a mate.

Interesting: a male who is skilled enough to hunt but lacks the social courage to stand up for himself and stop a more aggressive (though less skilled) male from stealing his quarry will not have any meat to share with the female, and thus be of no use to her. The asshole male, however, has the meat to share because he is an asshole. This may be an illustration of why females respond more positively to a male’s self-confidence and assertiveness than his skill set.

Sex is a reward that females give to males who turn them on, who perform well for her in some way or another. Withholding sex because of her mate’s inability to perform well is a practice unique to females. (What’s remarkable is that she does this even though the female enjoys sex herself.) Females recognize instinctually that sex is their strongest leverage over males—they have us by the balls at all times. A suburban wife won’t have sex with her husband until he gets off his ass and paints the house; a cavewoman wouldn’t mate with a male who used to be a good hunter but now comes home empty-handed. Women are still at work selectively breeding out the lazy and incompetent males from our species.

A male withholding sex from a female just doesn’t have the same motivational effect.

Thus the man is expected to drive, to hold the door open, to pick up the bill—if he wants to get laid. Nature demands chivalry, and that will never change so long as there are humans.

Last night, my brothers were heading out to a party that was guaranteed to consist mostly of females. They introduced me to this shockingly hot girl who was getting a ride with them. My brother’s girlfriend invited me to go with.

“Sorry,” I replied. “I’m afraid of the outside world.”

They laughed politely. I laughed too, but I wasn’t joking.

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