Woods is now my second favorite celebrity, second only to a certain real estate developer and reality TV star who got himself elected President through the outrageously unorthodox method of telling the truth about important things.
ABSTRACT: We examine the predictive validity of survey-measured left-right political ideology by testing whether this measure is able to explain observed choices regarding equality versus efficiency. We study this in a real-effort distribution experiment, in which decision-makers allocate money equally or efficiently… We find that, conditional on entitlement concerns, self-reported right-wing ideology significantly predicts preferences for efficiency. Reported left-wing ideology does not have predictive value in explaining preferences for equality.
Leftists don’t have beliefs. They have things which they are currently shouting about.
As just one example, before the election of 2016 it was, “Oh my god! Trump refuses to acknowledge that it’s totally impossible to interfere with US elections! That proves he’s a fascist!”
Immediately after it was, “Russia interfered with US elections! Anyone who doesn’t acknowledge that is a fascist!”
Normal people have beliefs, meaning things they believe. Leftists have slogans that they shout for political reasons. The semantic content of these slogans is not much more important than the semantic content of loud music played to keep people awake during sleep deprivation torture.
It’s the volume that matters, not the words.
As the “no election meddling!”/“election meddling!” thing shows, Orwell in 1984 did not exaggerate about the whip-fast reversal of leftists’ slogans.
People on the right need to stop giving credence to this distraction. Anonymous Conservative, e.g., has gone down the rabbit hole with this lately.
5) Note on the current holiness spiral: Aside from the main driving dynamic, which is essentially a Prisoner’s Dilemma with a large number of players, I suspect it’s exacerbated by the left’s obsession with Saul Alinsky. One of Alinsky’s “rules for radicals” is:
The major premise for tactics is the development of operations that will maintain a constant pressure upon the opposition.
This strikes me as good advice as long as you haven’t achieved your goals. But when you’ve achieved your goals, or all your reasonable ones anyway, and you keep up the pressure, that just means you’re pushing for things that are unreasonable, and then, in short order, downright insane. Trannies in your daughter’s school bathroom, abolishing all immigration enforcement, etc. At that point you’ve started destroying your own broad-based support. Then you start experiencing things like losing elections you thought you had a 98.5% (LOL) chance of winning.
So here is an aspect for which Alinsky’s advice helped the left at first, but eventually ended up hurting them.
By the way, we on the right are nowhere near having achieved all our reasonable goals, obviously, so every person on the right should read Alinsky’s Rules for Radicals. It’s cynical as hell – he was a leftist, after all – but also practical.
6) A lot of people a month or so ago were worried that Trump was going to cuck on the border wall and the shut-down brinksmanship. I admit, I was one of them. But he’s holding firm so far, and if anything, dialing up the pressure on Congressional Democrats. See the post and comments here, for example: https://blog.jim.com/party-politics/white-pill-on-the-shutdown-and-wall/
I had forgotten that when we’re told that President Trump is caving, there are two things to keep in mind:
(1) Don’t heed the media, DUH! They love to say that he’s caving, partly because they know it can de-moralize some of his supporters and partly because they’re prone to wishful thinking.
(2) Vox Day’s two-day rule: Whenever it looks like the T-Dawg is caving, wait AT LEAST two days before you react.
There’s also a possible third force in play: That people like Ann Coulter, and many others expressing their anger at the apparent cuck-out, influenced Trump for the better. Given that, I am not at all inclined to tell everyone to remain calm all the time, because it may be that a little UN-calm is helpful. Coulter has one point of view, and though maybe she goes a leeettle too far sometimes, I think voices like hers help to remind El Maximo Presidente that we are paying attention and that the immigration issue is still crucial. It wasn’t a brief fad of public opinion that happened to matter around Election Day 2016.
7) Here’s a project for somebody with too much time on his hands:
Do bands fronted by a chick have lower life expectancy than all-dude bands?
I expect so, because a woman fronting a band will often cause unnecessary drama, strife, and conflict.
Going after this question empirically would be an enormous undertaking and I am not going to do it. If anyone wants to do it they should, I think, limit it to bands with a song in the Top 20 in a given year. Then go to Infogalactic or wherever and find the date the band formed and the date of the breakup (or the first breakup if the band gets back together later). Grabbing data from one year, say 1990, might be enough of a data set; I imagine there are a lot of bands in the Top 20 (or Top X, you choose X).
8) Red Pill in Reality: A female lion forced to live with a beta male kills him:
From: Mrs. Stanton, Middle School Music Director
To: Michael Porkwit, 8th grade
CC: Steven Brenner
Re: The Winter Holiday Concert
A memorandum about last night’s Winter Holiday Concert. As was necessary last year, I must ask you to moderate your behavior to respect those in the audience and members of the school community who have more delicate sensibilities.
1) Regarding the carol “Angels We Have Heard On High”: You started in unison with the other students, singing the opening lines
Angels we have heard on high,
sweetly singing o’er the plains.
But the next the lines are, emphatically, NOT
Why do angels eat hair pie?
It’s something no one can explain.
I Googled that expression after the concert, Mr. Porkwit, and I am appalled.
In the Introduction to “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” Santa’s last two reindeer are not The Donald and Blitzkrieg. (And Rudolph’s nose is not red because “He hits the hooch too much.”)
2) On your behavior backstage:
Kissing under the mistletoe is a charming and romantic holiday tradition. One does not hold it over one’s crotch and say to girls, “How about a little Christmas sugar, Sugar?”
If you look at the CC line on this email you will note that I am copying Mr. Brenner, the Choral Director for the High School, which you’ll be attending next year if you graduate eighth grade. He’ll be keeping an eye on you.
Thanking you for keeping these requests in mind,
and with Best Wishes for a Happy and Well Mannered Holiday Season,
The Gentleman Bastard novels are a series of three (so far) fantasy novels by Scott Lynch. The setting is fantasy, but magic plays only a small role until the last quarter or so of the first novel.
First, the Good: They’re generally quite good, entertaining novels. The first, The Lies of Locke Lamora, is an excellent novel about a crew of con men. The pacing is zippy, the characterization is good, the worldbuilding is comprehensive without being in-your-face about it, and the dialogue is much more amusing than average. (The language is quite earthy, so readers of a fragile turn of mind should ask a friend to cross out the swears first; this will also halve the book’s length.)
The setting is a fantasy world at around an 18th century level of technology. The first novel is set in Camorr, a typical fantasy city with both gorgeous palaces and feces-clogged gutters, etc. The central character, Locke Lamora, is the best con man in the world. The narrative structure is back-and-forth through time, so we see “the education of the supreme con man” in the flashbacks and another story in the “present day” sections. It’s a romp. The next two novels are also good, though not as good as the first one.
The Bad: The author has unfortunate male feminist notions about chicks. (His Twitter account and web site confirm that his politics swing left.) This didn’t matter in the first novel because Lamora’s love interest is on another continent and we only get like two sentences of backstory about his pathetic obsessive crush the woman. But the third novel, The Republic of Thieves, makes it apparent that the author is a horribly blue-pilled dude who has the most outrageously wussy notions about how to deal with women. This emerges in Republic because Miss Love Interest has a major role, in both current action and flashbacks. A dozen times Locke puts up with crap from this chick, one Sabetha, which would make me put a bullet through her eye. (Note: Not optimal Game either, but at least you wouldn’t have to listen to her bitching.)
As always, I’m going to edit quoted passages for length, cutting dialogue and eliminating most description of scenery. Any page numbers are from the hardcover edition.
Page 10 et seq. Their first meeting is when Locke is like six years old (no one knows his age), living in a school that turns orphans into thieves. Sabetha, an older student there, is assigned to be his minder on a training task and he thinks, basically, “I’m in luuuuuuurv!” But her first words to him are:
“You’re the Lamora boy, right?”
He nodded eagerly.
“Well, look here, you little shit. I’ve heard all about you, so just shut up and keep those reckless hands in your pockets.” (Locke has acquired a reputation for stealing too much, even though it’s a thief school.) “I swear to all the gods, if you give me one hint of trouble, I will heave you off a bridge and it will look like an accident.”
Makes you want to kick her in the pussy. We don’t know Locke’s response, because that’s the end of that scene.
Pages 133-4: At a young age – Locke’s maybe 11, Sabetha 13 – the thief school has sold them both to the same con man. They’re two of five kids this master con man is training. One day he pits Locke and Sabetha against each other in a con artist contest. The loser has to do the winner’s dishes for three days. It ends in a draw. Sabetha, being a howling cunt, is pissed about this:
“You were just sloppy. And I was sloppy to fall for it!”
“No, Sabetha, look,” said Locke. “You weren’t sloppy, you were brilliant, you deserved to win—”
“That’s right,” she said. “But you didn’t lose, so I didn’t win.”
“Look, I concede. I give it to you. I’ll do all your kitchen chores for three days, just like—”
“I don’t want your damned concession! I won’t take your pity as a coin.”
“It’s not pity, honest! I want your chores, it would be a pleasure. It would be my, my privelege.”
GAH! Get some self-respect, you fucking pussy! God, I want to punch him so badly. And don’t tell me his youth is an excuse because I’ve never known any boy who treated a girl like that at any age. WTF?
You might think, from an evo psych perspective, that if another male, a potential competitor for da wymens, is an outrageous wussy, that should make you happy, because it makes you look that much better by comparison. Yet it just fills you with anger. Probably because fighting off rival tribes in the ancestral environment required that the other men in your tribe not be a bunch of fucking pathetic wussies. There are serious negative consequences to other men from those little ratfucks being such invertebrate pussbags.
221: A couple of years later, Locke has just let Sabetha beat him up in a baton training exercise. Later his friend Jean tries to set him straight:
“You’re a real idiot from time to time.”
“What did I do, besides fail to be a master baton duelist?”
“You’d have stood there and let her slap you into paste just for the sake of being in the same room as her. I know it. You know it. She knows it.”
“It’s not endearing, Locke. You don’t court a girl by inviting her to abuse you from sunrise to sunset.”
This is good advice, of course. Unfortunately, Locke’s response to it is to make a wise-ass remark: “Really? Because that sounds an awful lot like courtship in every story I’ve ever read—”
“It’s not charming or impressive. It just makes you look silly.”
Locke makes three mistakes here. One is having One-itis in the first place. This is the most forgivable mistake, since it’s natural for a such a young man. But it’s still a mistake. Two is being a wuss to the girl. Three is trying to learn about how to charm women from fiction. No! You learn about women from interacting with women. There is no other way. The counterintuitive nature of female sexuality is God’s way of telling us, “Be empiricist, bitches!”
If Lynch had made Locke shape up, this could have been a “red pill in fiction” post. Guy does wrong thing, gets bad result; does right thing, gets good result. But Locke continues to be a wuss with this chick but eventually gets between her legs. In isolation, the foregoing excerpt suggests that Lynch has a clue, but it’s undercut by the rest of the novel.
Pages 231-4: The gang now consists of one leader and five teenagers; Locke, Jean, Sabetha and a pair of identical twins, the Sanza brothers. Their mentor is sending all five of them out of town for a while; to improve their con artistry they’re going to be actors for a summer. This scene takes place the evening before they start their ten-day voyage to the theater. Locke is still smitten with this obnoxious twat. He is going to buy dinner for the gang. He says to Sabetha,
“You want to come with?”
“You need me to?”
“Well…I’d like you to.”
She stared at him for a few seconds, during which Locke experienced the curious sensation of his heart apparently sinking several inches deeper into his chest. [Wussy. But okay, that’s adult me talking. This kid is like 16 so we’ll cut him some slack. He hasn’t been hardened by experience with women the way older males have been.] Then she shrugged.
(They start walking.)
“I was, ah, hoping I could talk to you,” he said.
“Easily done,” said Sabetha. “Open your mouth and let words come out.”
“I– Look, can you not…can you please not be glib with me?”
“Requesting miracles now, are we?” Sabetha kicked a stone. “Look, I’m sorry. Contemplating ten days stuck together on the road. The whole thing has me feeling like a hedgehog, rolled up with my spikes out.”
“Oh, a hedgehog is the last thing I would ever compare you to,” Locke said with a laugh.
“Interesting,” said Sabetha, “that I mention my own feelings, and you seem to think that what I’m after is reassurance concerning your perceptions.”
What a cunt. The gentlest response this merits is “What the fuck are you talking about?” Or if you’re just sick of this crap, which I would be, “Look, just don’t talk to me any more except as necessary for our business.” If you want to game her (why would you? There are plenty of other vaginas in the world), then “Are you always such a drama queen?” would do it. (Or whatever is this fictional universe’s equivalent of “drama queen.”) That would prompt a shit test, of course, which you’d pass, because you’re Game enough to be expecting it, right?
“You know,” said Locke, feeling his hands shake nervously with what he was about to put into the open, “you know that when I’m around you I find it very easy to shove my foot into my mouth.”
“Mmmmm,” she said.
“More than that. You make use of the advantage.”
“I do.” She looked at him strangely. “You fancy me.”
“When you aren’t acting like a wanker,” he should say, but doesn’t. Or: “Actually, I haven’t made up my mind about you yet.” He actually says, “That… that is… really… not how I would have…”
“Not as grand in plain speech as it is up here?” She tapped her forehead.
“Sabetha, I… I value your good opinion more than anything else in the world.” GAAAAAHH!!! NO! Never mind effective charming of women, get some fucking balls! He continues, “There’s this fog between us. I don’t know what I did to put it there, but I would throw myself under a cart to lift it.”
You damned pussy! Just throw yourself under a cart already!
Isn’t this painful to read?
Sabetha: “Why do you assume it’s something you’ve done?” This is the first non-annoying thing she’s said. Don’t worry, though; she quickly adds more obnoxiousness: “I’m not some arithmetic problem just waiting for you to show your work properly. Did you ever think that I might have warm-blooded motives of my own, being as I’m not an oil painting, or some other decorative object of desire— ”
Ugh. Standard female bullshit. “Don’t put me on a pedestal! You’re putting me on a pedestal because I’m so attractive! You desire me!” She’s trying to define herself as the prize, the person to be pursued, though I suppose that’s water over the dam, since Locke already tipped his hand on that. It’s also like those ugly fatties in “slut walks” who hold up signs saying, “Don’t treat me as a sex object,” LOL, you wish.
Plus the feminist “Don’t pedestalize me” is a way of saying, “If you say nice stuff about me you’re oppressing me!” Of course, they also say, “If you say non-nice stuff about me you’re oppressing me!” Partly this is a shit test, obviously. Partly it’s a woman’s natural reaction of panic to a desperate beta drooling over her. Women’s gut-level reaction to that is “Ick! Beta pregnancy risk! Get away! Get away!” But they feel they can’t say that explicitly, so it comes out in elliptical ways like “Don’t pedastalize me!”
Locke’s response is amusing:
“Do you like me?” Locke blurted. This is bad, of course, since it shows concern for her opinion. But it actually has a couple of redeeming features: At last he’s cutting through the bullshit and getting to the point. He’s also ignoring her frame, just crashing through it and putting the convo into his frame. If he had blurted almost anything else, it would have been half decent. He continues: “At all? Am I at least preferable to an empty room?”
“I do sometimes admire you, if it helps to hear it.”
“It means everything to hear it,” he said. Dork.
Painful though this is, I’ve cut more than half of it. Man! This is like a textbook lesson in what not to do.
Aside from the male feminist wuss notions, there’s also the other problem: The weird notion that relationships should involve a lot of talk about the relationship. Ugh. Only a woman could have thought up such a stupid notion. (Even though women don’t actually like this one tenth as much as they think they will when they’re theorizing about it.) And blue-pilled men like Scott Lynch often fall for it.
In fact, the “meta” stuff in relationships should be rare. Usually conversation in a relationship should involve topics other than the relationship. Indeed, if the conversation doesn’t involve other subjects, then the meta stuff necessarily exhausts itself quickly, because there’s nothing else to talk about. How would a relationship based on meta conversations go, anyway? Typical conversation:
“I love you!”
“Yay, I love you, too! And the fact that you love me makes me feel great!”
“I feel the same way! The fact that you love me makes me feel great!”
“I’m glad that my love for you makes you feel great!”
“And I have the same feeling, but with the roles reversed!”
Okaaaaay… And then?
“I’m really glad that the fact that your love for me makes me feel great, pleases you!”
“Oh, same here! I think. This is getting kinda complicated…”
“Yes, I too feel the challenge of trying to keep track of all the levels! So we have that in common as well!”
If your date conversation goes this self-referential, you are not getting laid, unless you’re dating Kurt Godel or Jacques Derrida.
You know how some people bite off more than they can chew? Well, conversations of this type chew more than they’ve bitten off, if you see what I mean. You have to have some actual substance to feed into the machine so it has something to work with.
Inevitably, the conversations between Locke and Sabetha are horrible, but Lynch actually does pretty well given that he’s writing dialogue subject to this constraint. This whole thing about relationships based on talking about the relationship is a weird piece of idiocy whipped up by old maids who had never had a relationship and were theorizing a priori about such. (That opinion of mine is based on the comprehensive research of vaguely recalling old Ann Landers columns from the 1980s, and suchlike.) The whole thing reeks of forming your opinions about relationships by reading “relationship books.” Gah! No! DON’T do that! If you’re empiricist about only one thing in your entire life, make it male-female interactions.
277-84, Locke puts up with Sabetha’s unprovoked cuntiness on the road to Espara, the place where the theater is. During their voyage they stop for the night at a village on the road. Everyone else has gone off to explore the town so Locke and Sabetha are alone in their camp.
“I, ah, regret not having a chance to speak to you last night,” he said. [They’d had a little mini date of sorts, which she skipped out on. Flaking: Even blue-pilled writers know about it.] “Oh? Was it any real loss to either of us?”
“Well…damn. You’re obviously in a mood.”
“Am I?” There was danger in her tone. “Am I really? Why should that be exceptional? A boy may be as disagreeable as he pleases, but when a girl refuses to crap sunshine on command the world mutters darkly about her moods.”
BULLSHIT, you fucking cunt! Aargh, I know she’s fictional and this STILL pisses me off! The truth is, women can get away with acting like outrageous bitches, and nothing will happen to them. If a man acts like a tough guy when he’s not, or offends the wrong man, he risks being physically attacked. The crap that women get away with BECAUSE they’re women is unbelievable. And here she is asserting that she’s put upon because she’s a girl. Aargh! Fucking twat! Example: Call a girl a cunt, and it’s “ZOMG! Gendered insults!” But call a man a dick, and no one says anything. Same for bitch/bastard. In other words, people make up reasons to defend you if you’re female, solely because you’re female. That’s privilege, by feminists’ own definition of privilege.
(I don’t care much one way or the other, but let’s be consistent, assholes.)
“If I’m in a mood,” Sabetha said after a moment, “it’s because this journey is unfolding as I had foreseen. Tedium, bumpy roads, and biting insects.”
“Do I count as part of the tedium or one of the biting insects?” [WEAK; shows he cares what she thinks of him.] “If I didn’t know any better,” she said softly, “I’d swear the sweeper was attempting to be charming.”
Why would that be charming? Whatever. Notice we’ve gone meta again. For her it’s normal, since going meta is one way that chicks have of shit-testing you, trying to disrupt your game to see how solid your frame is, and trying to throw themselves out of state so they don’t have sex with every guy who has memorized a couple of good lines. But for a man it’s a dangerous trap, and Locke makes the mistake of jumping right into it: “You might as well assume,” said Locke, “that I’m always attempting to be charming where you’re concerned.” [Weak.] “Now, that’s risky.” Sabetha rolled sideways and jumped down beside him. “That sort of directness compels a response, but what’s it to be? Do I encourage you in this sort of talk or do I stop you cold?”
More fucking meta stuff! BTW, ladies, don’t do this unless you’re really trying to throw a man’s conversation with you off track. If you’re actually interested in keeping his interest alive, don’t bore him to death like this. At least, I’d be bored. Often, in fiction, TV, and movies, when the chick and a dude are dragging out the run-up to finally hooking up, you’re like, “For fuck’s sake, just hook up already!” It’s bad when you’re like, “For fuck’s sake, just give her a wedgie and move on already!”
A few lines of dialogue later she says,
“Tell me, how do you even know for sure that I don’t fancy girls?”
“I—” Locke was lucky to spit the one syllable out before the power of coherent speech ran up a white flag and deserted him.
“You never even thought about that, did you?” she said, her voice a sly whisper.
Lame. The whole girl-on-girl thing was hot back in the 1990s, when it was new. (New to pop culture, of course; not new in porn.) Now it’s played out. I don’t know the deal in this fictional universe, but plainly we’re supposed to be hot and bothered imagining ULTRA-HOT GIRL-ON-GIRL ACTION!!! Yawn.
After she admits that she is in fact straight, he confesses that he has been in luuuuuurv with her ever since he was like five: “Sabetha, I don’t remember my own father, and my mother is as much a mystery. But the moments I’ve spent with you, they’re still with me, smoldering like coals. I can touch them and feel the heat.”
Gah, I’m feeling the pain from this cheesiness.
She, reasonably enough, is like, whoa, slow down there, Trigger! She then points out that the situation they’re in, what with all the con artist training, etc., adds too many complications for a relationship to be convenient.
At this point two other gang members, the Sanza twins, return, there’s a little discussion, and then the Sanzas decide to go back into the village and take it for everything it has at cards.
“Hold on,” said Locke. “Since when are you two criminals?”
“Since…” Calo pretended to calculate. “Sometime between first leaving mother and hitting the ground between her legs.”
“I know the Sanzas are as crooked as a snake in a clockwork snake-bending machine,” said Locke, “but the Asino brothers [their fake identity] are actors, not cardsharps.”
He convinces the Sanzas that it’s better to stay honest, and to just go back to the village and rustle up some food. When the Sanzas are gone it’s just Locke and Sabetha again, and…
Locke detected a sudden coolness in her demeanor.
“That right there,” she said, “would be one of the obstacles I mentioned.”
“You really didn’t notice?”
“Notice what? What am I meant to realize?”
“Years ago,” said Sabetha, “I was the oldest child in a small gang. I was sent away by my master to train in dancing and manners. When I returned, I found that a younger child had taken my place.”
“Calo and Galdo, who once treated me as a goddess on earth, had transferred their allegiance to the newcomer. In time, he got himself a third ally [Jean].”
And now we see what has been bothering her. This entitlement-mentality little twat thinks she has some sort of right to have everyone else worship her. She actually presumes to be angry and resentful that they don’t! Not only that, but the guy to whom their attentions shifted didn’t even cause this on purpose. He just happens to be the best of them, and in any case, she wasn’t even around for a year. God, this chick! She really does believe that she has the right to be the center of the universe. Ugh.
She says, functioning as a mouthpiece for every annoying feminist ever, “Haven’t you ever noticed that suggestions from me are treated as suggestions, while suggestions from you are taken as sacred warrant? Even if those suggestions are identical?”
First of all, no. This line would at least make sense within-universe if Lynch had actually shown an example of it happening, but he never does. Secondly, even if it is true, Sabetha should take it up with the Sanzas and Jean. Their behavior is not Locke’s responsibility.
In other words, she not only thinks she is divinely appointed to be the Queen of the Galaxy, but she actually expects Locke to enforce her status as Galaxy Queen, because she can’t even be arsed to do it herself! This is entitlement of a mind-bending level that I’ve never encountered before. At least dictators from Napoleon to Lenin to Mao realized they had to fight and win a civil war themselves! They didn’t say to someone else, “Hey, you go fight a civil war and then install me as Dictator.” God! The sheer arrogance of this fucking cunt is unbelievable! She not only thinks she should be Empress of the Universe, she expects other people to appoint her Empress, and she whines that she’s put upon because they don’t!
Hey, you! Neurotoxin here. You’re oppressing me by not ordering everyone to obey me and treat me as God of the Universe! Stop oppressing me right now, and go and tell everyone to worship me and obey my every word!
Alright, this is as much as I can stand for now, and probably as much as you can stand too. To be continued.
One day Polly Proposition went out without her context. Suddenly a grammarian leapt out from an alley! “Hey, baby,” he leered, “I’d like to split your infinitive.”
Polly feared he was a serial comma. Feeling tense, she tried to dash away, but the brute caught her.
He removed her parentheses and every article she wore, and told her, “At first I wasn’t sure what gerund you are; I thought you might have been a transitive. But now I see you have a nice figure of speech.” She hoped he was neuter, until she saw his participle dangling right in front of her. But it wasn’t dangling for long; it quickly became like irony at the cite of her.
“Please, sir, I’ve never been inflected, and–”
“Don’t be so demonstrative!” he said. He bent her over a table of contents and made her give him headings. Polly couldn’t believe he made her do verbal! Then he explored her cleft sentence until he exclaimed a large amount of pleonasm.
When he was done he said he was passive voice and he wanted Polly to dominate him, to treat him like her subordinate clause, but she told him she was a nonrestrictive modifier.
Angered, he put her in an inverted position until she was totally redundant, and she felt him in her semicolon. She protested, but he ignored her and plunged into her Deep Grammar. He diagrammed her until he achieved conjunction. After he interjected Polly ran home.
“He totally treated me like a direct object!” she said to her friend Penny Preposition. “I didn’t mean to be naughty… it’s just that my boyfriend, Oxford, is so pronominally possessive. Oh, I’m such an idiolect for going out singular!”
“Poor thing,” Penny sympathized. “Had you ever done that before?”
“No,” said Polly. “He’s the first person! And not only that… He back-channeled me!”
“Oh! You mean he used your assonance?”
“Yes! But that’s not the worst,” Polly sobbed. “He didn’t just take me. In fact, he took me… out of context!” And she broke down in tears.
“You can have him arrested,” Penny said. “Do you know where he lives?”
“It’s indefinite,” Polly wept. “If only he’d been a homophone,” she added.
A few days later Polly missed her period. “Something’s implicit within me!” she bemoaned to Penny.
“Are you sure?”
Nine months later Polly started experiencing contractions, and she soon gave rise to a large set of unintended implications.
The moral of the story:
Don’t be an oxymoron: Never leave your context without your brackets, or your future could be imperfect and for your wayward ways, you’ll pay a syntax.
We really do visualize an end-state in which public discourse is taken up with things other than frivolous accusations of bigotry.
Contemplate how radical that goal is, in the context of our current political culture, and you will understand how radical we are. We aim at a world in which you hear accusations of “racism” or “sexism” only once or twice a decade, at most, and that from marginalized losers who are far outside the Overton Window, and do not dare say such things aloud in public or under their own names.
The world we will create is this:
A world in which someone who wants to make an accusation of “racism” has to first furtively look over his shoulder before speaking, just as people saying politically incorrect things do now.
We are going to put an end to your Holiness Spiral, lefties. The only question is how harsh you’re going to force us to be in doing it.
Every now and then some fuck-witted liberal, or occasionally a libertarian, will say that the human species really is not that violent, and that we’d all just get along if only (etc.).
This is dangerously naive. Anthropologists, before modern political correctness became a big problem, documented how very murderous our species is. There are cases in which a village in Africa will do a night raid on another village and kill every man, woman, and child in it. Also, western intellectuals sometimes say (either with self-flagellating guilt or chest-puffing pride) that Western culture’s militaries are the world’s deadliest. Well, in terms of raw numbers I’m inclined to believe that (if we ignore Mao, anyway), but it seems to be just a fact about military technology. In proportional terms were are not especially lethal.
(The content of this paragraph is drawn from Steven Pinker’s wonderfully heterodox The Blank Slate.)
This also explains why people who aren’t completely insane have a gut-level instinct against admitting people from other cultures into their societies, at least in large numbers. That’s an instinct, plainly; it’s not learned, no matter many idiots insist it is leaned. Consider those African night raids again.
In this regard, the difference between male and female instincts is, once again, clear and relevant. Men vote against invaders and political groups that want to admit invaders. Women are more complicated. I have noted before that many women will work to admit invaders into their home societies so they can play a game of Let’s You and Him Fight. For real-world examples see the USA and Western Europe lately. For a fictional example see my review of Justina Robson’s Keeping It Real.
Note, though, that while men clearly want to exclude invaders, women are split. In the 2016 election, “only” 43% of white women voted for the pro-invasion candidate. 53% of white women voted for the anti-invader candidate. The rest threw their vote away on third party candidates rather than vote for the pro-invader candidate the media was telling them to vote for. This has to do with the African slaughter I mentioned above: Women are sometimes prizes in war, but sometimes victims of war. Being invaded is a gamble from a woman’s point of view. From a man’s point of view it’s always bad.
Thus we have some women in some contexts supporting invasion of their own societies; other women in other contexts oppose it.
It is also a fact that women try to gain sexual access to alpha men and prevent contact with beta men. This affects sexual harassment procedure, mostly designed by women, as it applies to the workplace, e.g. They try to exclude sub-alpha males from social-sexual contact with them. The point is, women don’t always want an influx of any men into their sanctuaries. Reproductive optimization from a female’s point of view is more complicated than that.
In Nash Equilibrium, we would not expect all women to be genetically programmed to issue society-threatening shit tests. The reason is that, if say half the women start such, the other half will also gain the knowledge or benefit from the results (whatever those benefits are). Furthermore, a woman who doesn’t shit test is more attractive to men than one who does. She free rides on the shit-testers, at their expense. Free riding generally plays the villain in discussions of human interactions, and often rightly so, but this is a case in which free riding has good consequences.
(A reminder to any chicks reading this: The fact that you find shit tests and the associated drama and strife to be fun and exciting, doesn’t mean that men do. Any more than the fact that dung beetles like eating poop means that you also like eating poop. Men and women are really different, biologically different.)
It might be objected that maybe there is just one kind of psychology of shit testing, so any woman who has the “shit testing genes,” i.e. all women, will potentially throw out a society-threatening shit test. But still: some women are more shit-testy, some less so.
● We’ve won all three races in Florida and Georgia. (Absent some 2000-style false concessions by the Dems. On election night 2000, Gore called Bush to congratulate him on his victory… but it turned out to be a ruse to put the Bush campaign off its guard while the Gore campaign prepared to contest the election. The Gore fraud effort focused on Florida, by the way. In Georgia, the Dem is saying she acknowledges that the Republican won, but that she is not conceding. (WTF?) God, I hate Democrats.)
● We lost Arizona, where the Republican wuss conceded 4/9 of a second after the Dem claimed victory. The Republican candidate is a chick who’s an ex-fighter pilot, allegedly. Really? Because I thought the military trained people to keep fighting when things aren’t going your way, not to surrender the moment your enemy says “boo!”
● Anonymous Conservative over the last week or two has some nice-sounding theories about how “We nailed the fraudsters with a planned sting operation!” but that’s all bullshit. If that were true, we wouldn’t have given up AZ without a fight. And in light of the Sessions firing, it’s plain that such theories are just whistling past the graveyard. Occam’s Razor, people. It probably is what it seems to be on the surface, absent some solid reason to think otherwise.
● Whatever. In the last analysis, we have a stronger majority in the Senate, by at least one Senator and maybe two, depending how Mississippi’s special election on November 27 shakes out. The Republican is favored in that race.