Politics Red pill

Jimian Concepts and Quotes

This is a collection of quotes from Jim’s blog, some from the proprietor and some from commenters there. I started to assemble this list from miscellaneous notes I had when his blog went down near the end of 2020. The blog is now back up at a new base url, rather than However, pasting an old url into the url window prompts an automatic re-direct, so the links below still work if you want to follow up by visiting the indicated pages.

These are listed in no particular order.

(1) The phrase “social technology.”

Certain laws and customs regarding marriage, for example. This is one of those phrases that just clicks when you first encounter it and makes you wonder why someone else didn’t coin it a long time ago.

(2) As anyone can see, leftism is simply the craving for power, which is why leftists 100 years ago were fanatically communist, leftists 30 years ago were fanatically environmentalist, and CURRENT YEAR leftists are fanatically white-hating. Jim in his comments at

Leftism has no essence, no defining doctrine, no fixed character other than heading off to whichever apple carts look vulnerable and have nice apples on them… It is a tactic and coalition, not a doctrine. If you pay attention to doctrine, program, and platform, you are listening to the magician’s patter instead of watching the magician’s off hand. The doctrines change too fast. If you pay attention to them you are being distracted by deliberate misdirection.

A few months later at, comenter Pseudo-chrysostom had a good description of core aspects of leftism:

Leftism is not any one particular set of precepts, notions, goals, objectives … or demands. People who you could call leftist can call and have called for many different things at many different times; including things in one time that contradict things in other times. It is not a ‘checklist’, but a strategy; or more than that, an attitude. The consistency is never in the ideas, but in the targets. … Whenever that attitude pays, naturally there will be incentive to indulge in it, some kinds more prone than others… so, if you desire nice things, good things, great things… you make sure it [leftism] doesn’t pay. (And make sure such sorts of kinds don’t win the ‘continued existence’ sweepstakes.)

(3) Jim at

“Disputes over sovereign authority inherently escalate until resolved.”

Plainly, seriously disputed sovereignty is not an equilibrium situation.

(4) Jim at

“The red pill is the alt right’s killer app.”

There’s a lot to unpack there. Try this comment by Peppermint at

In order to have sex or get to the point of having sex or even get the attention of a woman with options you need to not behave in the ways that every leftist says you should… The #1 reason the left is dead is young intelligent men have to behave in non-leftist ways to hook up with the women they want.

(5) And a related point, from Jim’s comment at, 2019-01-02 at 21:44:

[Women’s] perception of alpha is more primitive, cruel, uncivilized, and antisocial than that of men. Heartiste regularly gives us examples of alpha as women perceive alpha… We need to create a society that aligns female perception of alpha with the actual male hierarchy and with civilization, and such a society will necessarily resemble a savage society in the sense that a garden resembles a wilderness. For women to want to sleep with the man they should sleep with, the man they should sleep with needs to be able to kill adulterers and bastards. We cannot impose rules for prosocial behavior on high status males that run too far contrary to the primitive desires of women.

To put it another way, to preserve civilization we have to bend— return— norms of male behavior in the direction of what makes a man desirable to women. We don’t want to go all the way to that, Lord no! But we must use it in designing society.

(Yeah, talking about “designing society” is simplification and Overlord LARPing, but that’s the idea.)

In a similar vein, Jim at

Alpha as women understand alpha is not capable of working together with other men. Women cannot do large group socialization.

So males have to present one social reality to women, and a different social reality to each other.

(6) At, Art says,

“Personal trust and caring relationships do not scale.”

He wasn’t talking about immigration, but it certainly applies to that. The politics of immigration is largely, “We must admit those poooor, suffering refugees!” This hijacks sentiments evolved for dealing with people who had some genetic relationship to you, or were at least not actively hostile to you, and uses those sentiments to induce you to admit unfriendly foreigners within your walls.

(7) Jim in the comments at

“I know that I am conscious. And when I get into a disagreement with a snake or with tree ants on my property, they compellingly persuade me that they are conscious also. In a conflict, you are forced to model your opponent, and modeling a living opponent as a video game ai opponent does not work too well.”

I don’t agree about ants in particular, but that’s not relevant for the broader point, which is about consciousness and (if you think about it) about the evolution of certain features of evolved human intelligence like the tendency to attribute intentions to things we interact with.

This insight also has SERIOUS implications for dealing with women. Once I did something that scared the crap out of a woman. She treated me much more nicely after that. Why? Two reasons, actually:

The obvious reason is that I’d scared her.

The less obvious reason is that…
(a) Because I’d scared her, she had to think about how I’d react to her behavior in the future. She didn’t want to piss me off again.
(b) But thinking about how I’d react to her behavior requires her to model my internal states (thoughts, emotions).
(c) But the very fact of modeling my internal states means treating me as a person, as an agent with thoughts, emotions, etc. Women do not think of men this way by default.

That they don’t is obvious from experience with women, as well as from e.g. Cosmopolitan that articles that reveal, in breathless tones, that your man actually has emotions. Seriously, you’ll be flipping through a Cosmo article that a college woman friend has, and there’ll be a lightning strike of a revelation like, “If you cheat on your boyfriend, he’ll feel humiliated and angry.” What a stunning insight! Yet women, or a significant chunk of them anyway, receive this kind of information as a revelation. I think that by default they basically perceive men as robots. They have to be shocked into seeing you as an actual person.

(8) Jimbo in the comments at

The only possible response to weaponized holiness is not to say “misguided and impractical virtue and goodness”, but to denounce their beliefs as evil, self serving, and demonic, and attribute to them the intention to do what most holiness spiraling movements wind up doing: Mass murder and mass destruction. Any attempt to ally with a holiness spiraled movement always winds up as a one way alliance, because they view you as evil, and a tool to be used and then destroyed. A holiness spiraling faction always assimilates or destroys its allies, and frequently both. That is inherent in the nature of weaponized moral superiority.

(9) At, Jim’s comment at 2019-03-16 at 20:15 emphasizes the point that we don’t move left forever, despite the “Cthulhu only swims left” meme. (Or to put it another way, maybe he does only swim left, but he’s not always in power.) An excerpt from his comment:

No, we have not always been moving left. It does not go all the way back.

We have been getting lefter for a very long time, but if you go back far enough, to the British civil war and the French revolution, you see today’s leftists all over again.

As Kipling’s poem “The Gods of the Copybook Headings” tells us, leftism expires over and over again in terror and slaughter, and the Gods of the Copybook headings return, over and over again.

Leftism destroys itself, there’s a counterrevolution of sanity, then leftism starts up again. The dynamics are basically long steady movement left, then when it gets ultra-extreme it’s destroyed, whether through its own unworkability or a civil war. Then, the human race refusing to learn, it starts up again. Another relevant Jim quote: “Trees don’t grow forever, but they do grow until they fall over.”

(10) Some sexual evo psych at

See Walter Brown’s comments at 2019-02-12 at 09:09 and 2019-02-12 at 09:39

From Brown’s first comment:

We would expect sexuality to be oriented around successful reproduction.

It looks like the man with the most children is Genghis Khan or Ismail Ibn Sharif, who essentially had harems. And all the super-successful men listed all seem to follow that pattern, except for a few sperm donors. Obviously sperm donors wouldn’t have existed in the ancestral environment.

And all those guys who were wealthy and powerful enough to have harems, probably also ensured their sons married well. Ismail Ibn Sharif’s sons probably often had several wives apiece, meaning that if he had 700 sons and 500ish daughters, he easily could have had 20,000 grandchildren. Same for Genghis Khan.

So we would expect men to want harems. Not that men can’t reproduce monogamously, but if you give a man sexual options (e.g. he’s rich, or famous), expect him to build a harem.

From Brown’s second comment (in WordPress’s fuckwitted interface it’s too much of a PITA to put the whole thing in bold):

Continuing this logic, the woman with the most children is Mrs. Feodor Vassilyev. She was just a peasant woman with a tendency to have twins/triplets/etc). Or, if we don’t believe her, some similar story. The women with the most children are mostly peasants, who got pregnant a lot, and had a lot of twins.

However, she had 67 children, and those children were probably not reproductively successful themselves. They likely had compromised health (67 kids is hard on the mother, and on the kids), and a peasant family with 67 kids isn’t going to be able to have money for a dowry, or to help their son build a career. She probably only had 100 grandkids.

Actually, the most reproductively successful woman was probably Hoelun, the mother of Genghis Khan. She gave Genghis half her DNA, and thus got half of his success. If he had 1,000 children, she had significantly more than 1,000 grandchildren. (Genghis Khan had three brothers, who had kids, too)

Essentially, the way for a woman to reproduce at a fantastic rate, is for her to ensure that her sons all have harems.

In other words, I would expect women to want a monogamous marriage, with a fantastically wealthy and high-status husband. The kind of man whose sons will each have a bunch of wives and concubines.

And by “monogamous”, I mean that her husband’s resources will go entirely to her children. In principle, this doesn’t necessarily imply sexual monogamy. Roman monogamy, essentially. Where you can screw as many women as you like, but you can only marry one.

This logic probably holds in Afghanistan, too. A rich man, who only has one wife, is probably going to make her fantastically reproductively successful. She’s going to have 7 kids, and all her sons are probably going to have four wives. She’ll probably have over 100 grandchildren.

…I would expect women to want a version of Genghis Khan that wants to be dedicated to her, and her children.

And Steve Johnson responded to Brown with,

[Women] would be best served by trying to birth Genghis Khan but they have bad mental algorithms for finding him – more accurately they have good mental algorithms for finding him under the historical constraints that they were under but those algorithms fail badly in the modern environment.

Related: Commenter Motet at

“All religion is a conspiracy by men and their grandmothers to impose a more civilized mating pattern onto their daughters and wives.”

(11) I don’t agree with this community’s views on everything. For example, the discussion at illustrates one of the problems with the “Jimian” worldview: Its view of status is one-dimensional, whereas in reality status is multi-dimensional. The Jimian view of status is that it’s all a question of who can commit violence against whom with impunity. In reality that’s only one dimension of a thing that has like six or seven dimensions.

The other mistake is that it’s way too dark, too black-pilled. When thugs beat up innocent people, the vast majority of people who witness this are outraged at the assailant and seethe to see him punished. They don’t suddenly want to be on the assailant’s side because he’s “the strong horse.” Indeed, the “civil rights” movement of the 1960s won largely by showing blacks being attacked by white police on TV, thus generating sympathy for the blacks. The sympathy went to the victims, not the assailants.

(12) More evo psych: At is a comment which is otherwise not very impressive, yet contains this nova of an insight:

“Osama Bin Laden’s 50 siblings, which enabled him to take such risks and yet not have his entire lineage destroyed.”

Wow. Can’t believe this isn’t a more widely-mentioned point. If I have 50 siblings and I die in a risky venture, veritably 100% of my genes are veritably guaranteed to be passed on anyway. That could be really important from an evo psych point of view.

Math: If I have one sibling the percent of my genes that aren’t instantiated in my sibling is 1/2 (statistically). If I have two siblings the percent of my genes that aren’t instantiated in my siblings is 1/4. In general, if have n siblings, the percent of my genes that aren’t instantiated in my siblings is 1/(2^n). So if I have 50 siblings, the percent of my genes that aren’t instantiated in my siblings is 1/(2^50) = 1/(1.1 quadrillion).

Given that genes are a discrete set (i.e. not continuously subdivisible), it’s really exactly zero. That is, all of my genes are copied in my siblings.

(13) Aidan MacLear notes,

As a front the Left is powerful, but it is made up of inferior specimens.

In general that’s a good comment by MacLear:

“The most effective insults against leftism aren’t pointing out the difference between their beliefs and reality. It’s direct mockery of their status, outing them as ineffectual losers. As a front the Left is powerful, but it is made up of inferior specimens.

It’s mocking Bezos for being rich and powerful but still thirsting over ugly old divorcees.

It’s mocking the catlady for dying childless…

It’s mocking the numale [from “new male,” presumably] for never getting a scrap of pussy because of his enlightened soy-based masculinity.”

(14) Peppermint in the comments at, April 2018:

“The most significant thing to have happened recently is that there are no intelligent well-intentioned leftists under 40, and no intelligent White leftists under 30. The priesthood has forsaken the intelligentsia, which is now the alt-right.”

(15) A good comment on holiness spirals by Pseudo-chrysostom (again, not bothering with bolding) at

The phrase ‘surely they’ve gone far enough’ implies a degree of conscious rectitude, which only applies to persons of honor and loyalty who are earnest in their workings towards a clearly defined objective.

It doesn’t apply to people caught in the grip of a left singularity; they can’t stop even if they wanted too…

There is no such thing, in fact, as a ‘set doctrine’ in such a body; it is ever shifting, as each individual player must keep running to stay the same place in the status hierarchy. Yesterday’s [left-wing] avant-garde is today’s [right-wing] heresy. If they are not amongst the first ones to champion the ‘next step’ down the line, they risk peril at the hands of those who do. Either you do the backstabbing, or find yourself getting backstabbed.

It is the act of defection, the change itself, that is the essential consistency of the dynamic. The spiraling process must keep finding new positions to jump too, regardless of rhyme or reason, or else the whole dynamic collapses; the same way a shark must keep swimming, or else it drowns.

Red pill

Sex and Some Game Theory


Recently at Jim’s blog there was a perceptive comment about approach anxiety and the evolutionary reasons for it. (Surprisingly, this came from the same commenter who made a bizarre comment in my last post, one “Ertz.”) The good comment and Jim’s response are worth quoting at length (some formatting added):


The potential for dating and flirting anxieties/shyness/inhibitions should be evolutionary deeply rooted in men, because it’s a life and death issue:

Successful reproduction is, of course, an existential problem, as the threat of genetic extermination looms large – but men tend to have more than half a century of time to get it done.
I see two immediate threats that must have programmed men’s instincts in the ancestral environment with great caution:

1. Trying to mate with fertile women is guaranteed to arouse the ire of other men – those at the top in hierarchy who claim a monopoly on the women,
and the lower ranked men who are driven by competition/envy.
So, just going publicly for the women and trying to mate with them (just being physically near them may cause aggression – openly or hidden – from other men) is an aggression against the interests of all other men – and met with counter-aggression.
Those guys who just tried to mate openly and publicly and not having inhibitions about it , without having the necessary social status, have probably been driven into extinction directly (killing, injury) or – through the works of envy, social sabotage etc. – indirectly.
Men who fear dating/flirting with women would then not really fear the women or the dating situation, but the revenge of other men.

2. Females’ mate choice copying makes sexually successful men significantly more attractive to women – but the opposite is also true: Sexually unsuccessful men become vastly more unattractive, even sexually disgusting, to women.
(Women’s gossip seems to be a socio-sexual “intelligence agency” that exists to identify sexually successful and loser men by gathering and sharing information about who has had sex with whom, which men failed, who has won and who has lost in competitions etc. – to enable women to mate with the sexually successful men and avoid mating with the losers – and it has to be gossip – sharing of secrets – because sharing this information openly would incite envy and aggression and mate guarding and anti-cuckolding instincts in men.)
If this were not the case, men could just go from woman to woman publicly and ask each one for sex, until one consents. This not happening, it produces a strong emotional inhibition in men – it feels terribly wrong to try it, embarrassing, painful:
Because the sexual attractiveness of a man to all women is diminished with every rejection he suffers that other women learn of (almost guaranteed by the female gossiping instinct), being rejected by just one woman has a terrible cost in fitness for a man with all other women.

All this should result in approach anxiety being programmed into men,
in taking sexual advances very, very seriously, because it is very risky, dangerous, costs-incurring for men to fail.
This might explain why so many men try to spy on their sexual target to learn more about her [Wait, what?], try to engineer an ideal first meeting situation that is somewhat under their control and provides advantage, try to meet the girl not in a public situation but in a one-on-one private one (so others cannot directly observe and spread information about his rejection [if he’s rejected]), to improve the odds for success, try to be slow and indirect about it, delaying a long time before they act.

Jim’s response is worth quoting in full:

The female instinct is to arrange to be socially isolated with her target – preferably in a situation where, in the ancestral environment, he could rape her.

Pulling works, but women want to be pursued. Hitting on a woman demonstrates confidence and high status, and hitting on a woman in public is demonstration of being top alpha. On the other hand women want to be pursued to validate their attractiveness, and being pursued gives her what she wants, and she then loses interest (because in the ancestral environment, if you did not then drag her off to your lair and ravish her, you were obviously not the top alpha.)

Observe cats in operation. The tomcat pulls, by taking a prominent position and yowling, thus demonstrating that no other tomcat can drive him off and he can drive all the other tomcats off. The female then approaches, and then gives the tomcat a hard time This hard time may, and frequently does, escalate to the tomcat violently “raping” her, except that it is not exactly rape type rape, since the female cat clawed her way through the mosquito netting to get to the tomcat, and proceeded to hang out with him.

You have to chase, but you have to get the chick to give you the opportunity to chase, so you have to pull, but you have to pull and chase in a way that does not give her the validation she is hungry for. Don’t give her validation until she does what chicks always want to do, gets on her own with you. Hence “make me a coffee”. You are likely to get more than coffee, but, like the female cat after ripping her way through the mosquito netting, she is going to give you a hard time with the coffee.

If you are worried about other men seeing you approach a chick, you are emitting beta tells. If you are worried about the chick’s rejection, you are not only emitting beta tells, but you are approaching her in a way that gives her validation for free. But, of course, you are rightly worried about these things. If you approach a whole lot of chicks, you are diminishing your status, and handing out a whole lot of free validation.

You will notice, that, as usual, for everything I advise, I also advise the direct opposite. It is complicated, subtle, and not easily expressed in words. There is a narrow path between one error and the opposite error, and it is hard to tell if you are on the path until after you have fallen off the path to one side or the other. But you also have to stroll briskly and confidently along the path.


Jim’s cat example is a good illustration of the non-conscious nature of much female sexual behavior. Cats don’t even have language, let alone Sex Ed class, so it’s not like the female cat knew what was going to happen (if she’s never been mounted) when she clawed through the mosquito netting to get to the tomcat. She doesn’t even know that there is such a thing as sex. At that point she has no idea that such a thing as a penis even exists, and a few minutes later is startled to find this strange organ the male cat has being shoved into her.

Is the female cat’s behavior intended to get her raped? Yes and no. No, if you mean consciously intended by the female cat. Yes, if you mean “intended” by evolution in an adaptive sense.

Question a la mode: When women in western nations vote for political parties that admit a flood of rapey foreigners, do those women vote that way “in order to get raped”?

On another topic, Jim wrote, “You have to chase, but you have to get the chick to give you the opportunity to chase, so you have to pull, but you have to pull and chase in a way that does not give her the validation she is hungry for. Don’t give her validation until she does what chicks always want to do, gets on her own with you.”

This is, indeed, the entire point of Game in a nutshell. Before you know Game you find – at least I did when I was younger – that the female sex largely divides into two camps, those who want you but whom you don’t want, and those whom you want but whom don’t want you. I had chicks want me and even fall in love with me (pats self on back) but somehow by some strange coincidence it was always girls I wasn’t interested in.

No, it’s not some horrific coincidence: The second group doesn’t want you precisely because you want them. Really, it’s a wonder that the human race managed to propagate itself before Game taught men techniques for pursuing without pursuing. (Partly we managed to survive because female mate choice was limited in ways that rendered this Catch-22 less important.) Mystery’s notion is that you should make her think she could have you, maybe, if she works hard enough. Robert Heinlein, in To Sail Beyond the Sunset, put optimal seduction strategy in the mouth of a female character; I’ll reverse the gender of the quote: “My strategy for seducing a woman is to let her chase me, while running away very slowly.”

Circling back to Jim: “You will notice, that, as usual, for everything I advise, I also advise the direct opposite. It is complicated, subtle, and not easily expressed in words.”

Seduction is game theory played against opponents (women) who are utterly ruthless and not entirely aware of their own motives and desires.

Seduction is both an art and a science. It is not like submitting an answer to a math problem in school. It is like stirring fluid in a pot. Boldly approaching a woman is alpha because it shows you’re not afraid of other men getting aggressive with you about it. But it’s also risky, since being blown out hurts your chances with other women. Yet the most alpha thing you can do is act like that doesn’t bother you. And to an extent you can exhort yourself into not being bothered by it, or being bothered less.

Aidan MacLear has said that if you use Game, “you are ghey.” Well… compared to memorizing a bunch of negs, etc., it would be better to get lots of pussy by being the top warlord of your tribe and letting women see you lop off the heads of several enemy men with a sword in combat. That’s what women are adapted for. But given that the modern world doesn’t work that way – and that the vast majority of men aren’t going to be the top warlord – we’re forced to do things differently.

Politics Red pill

Why is fertility lower among high-status women?

Why is fertility lower among high-status women than low-status women? It’s not just a weird unfortunate coincidence. It’s because they’re high status. Female hypergamy means that the number of men a high-status woman regards as worthy of her are smaller. It’s a terrible thing for a woman to be high status. It hurts her reproductive success. And so it hurts the reproductive success of the population of which she’s a member.

Men and women are different in terms of everything, including the effect of their social status on their reproductive success.

Look at human history with Darwinian eyes. (If you’re an evolution denier, look with Chesterton’s Fence eyes.) As far as can be told from history, women are by default lower status than men in all societies that existed up to around 1900. Why? Not because those horrid men forced them all into low-status roles. All? Seriously, all? In every society in the history of the world? Please. Nothing is “all” in the world of social phenomena. No, indubitably there were some societies just like ours in which deluded social innovators allowed and encouraged women to have high social status. Those societies are gone now.

Because those societies in which women had higher or even equal status by default were outbred. They’re not around any more. They didn’t even survive long enough to leave a noticeable presence in the historical record.

Let us pause to refute some feminist idiocy on this topic. God knows they make it easy.

The fuck-witted feminist account of all this is this: “In earlier eras, men were higher status than women because men— those brutes!— kept women down with overwhelming physical force. But now, in our modern society, this is not relevant any more.” Why not? Anyway, notice how stupid this is, if you just think about it instead of mindlessly repeating it: Men kept women down by physical force? Really? No they didn’t. What the hell? I love this notion that the average woman was thirsting to be a sailor on a whaling ship but the men used violence to prevent her from doing so. Or the average woman yearned to be a statistician in the actuarial department of an insurance company but those violent men beat her senseless until she stopped trying it. Fucking LOL. In fact, it is the opposite: In the modern world it takes a constant barrage of one-sided propaganda just to make some women think they want to do such things.

Also: Were the highest-status men in the last few millennia the ones who were biggest and toughest? Did you get to be Pope or Corporate CEO or College President by beating up other men? Or even credibly threatening to do so? Bitch, please.

Also notice that this whole moronic feminist argument contradicts the other, opposite feminist argument, that women should be in combat positions in the military because they’re just as good in a fight as a man. Well, which is it? Did men use their superiority in physical conflict to keep women down? Or are women just as good in a fight as men?

Feminists. Jesus. Stop trying to make arguments, sugar-tits. You’re just not very good at it. Now quit being such a skirt and get me a beer; I want something to drink while you’re blowing me.

So that “argument” makes no sense. No, the reason we see no historical societies in which women had higher or equal status compared to men, is that they didn’t breed enough to leave a noticeable presence in the historical record. And the reason for that, or a main reason for it, is that female hypergamy means that high female status is highly contra-reproduction. Lethally so.

The only antidote to the contra-natalist tendency of high female status, that has worked empirically, is a set of social conventions and traditions in which (1) husbands automatically have higher status than wives, and (2) fathers can marry off daughters even if the daughter thinks the prospective husband isn’t good enough for her. In that way the deadly poison of female hypergamy is rendered irrelevant. In a society with these two features, even a girl who is born a heir presumptive to the crowns of the Kingdom of England and the Kingdom of Ireland can be induced to squeeze out baby after baby, enough for seven of them to survive to adulthood.

Red pill

A Woman Fumbles with Female Sexuality

The authoress of the excerpted post wants you to believe that women would find this guy attractive because he seems like a stable Dad type.

This chick tries to figure out a certain aspect of female sexuality, the attracted-to-irresponsible-cads thing. I quote from her post (editing for brevity) and add a some comments. An interesting aspect of it is that she seems to be honestly trying to figure herself out, but she fails disastrously. It’s amazing how opaque evolution has made women to themselves.

Or maybe she’s just lying. As always on these topics, it’s hard to tell; the distinction between female deception of men, and female self-deception, is fuzzy.

Fuckers Vs. Raisers

One day in a stereotypical medieval town, a bard comes through.

This is a very sexy bard, violet-eyed, good with a lute, and experienced in the ways of women. During his short stay he sleeps with four of the village wenches, and then bounces off to a new village, to seduce more wenches. Years later, a new child with violet eyes is running around. Life goes on.

There are two sexual strategies for men – Fucking and Raising. Fuckers, like our friend the Bard, do the ol’ fuck-and-run. Move frequently, shoot seed everywhere, and hope that this results in violet-eyed toddlers getting raised by other men. Raisers, by contrast, shoot seed into comparatively few women and end up raising the children they produce.

My question then is why are women attracted to Fuckers? Is there any female advantage to this?

Your scenario itself answers this: If you have a caddish violet-eyed son by this man, that son will run around all over the world spraying his, and therefore your, genes around. It’s not a mystery.

Having a child by a Fucker is dangerous – if she doesn’t have a Raiser lined up, then she’s on her own, and historically this is Very Bad News. If she does have a Raiser and he finds out the child isn’t his, again – Very Bad News.

Sure, it has potential downsides, but it also has potential upsides.

So when the Bard fingers his lute, why do all the women around him sigh?

I think their sighs don’t have anything to do with the fact he’s a Fucker – I think it’s because his traits, if they were present in a Raiser, would be ideal. He’s presenting confidence, skill, and high social standing. If a Raiser like that moved into town, all of the women would be trying to wife themselves at him like crazy. The Bard also is a potential Raiser in the women’s eyes, and he probably has to emphasize that idea in order to get her to sleep with him.

Sorry, no. Common experience refutes this idea. Here’s a question for you ladies: What would be your reaction to each of the following statements by the bard? The context is that you’ve been talking to him one-on-one after his performance at the tavern, for about half an hour, and so far you think he’s sooooooo dreamy! Statement #1: “I’m basically looking for a wife. I’m a solid guy, and I want a family.” Statement #2: You ask him if he has a girlfriend, and he gives a knowing smirk and says, “I’m not really the boyfriend type.” The question for you ladies – no lying! – is, Which statement would get your pussy wet? WAIT, STOP! I didn’t ask, Which statement do you think SHOULD get you wet, but Which statement would actually, in reality, get you wet? Never mind; don’t bother answering; every man who studies women objectively already knows the answer.
I have more to say about this at the end of this post.

This is maybe where the trope of “guy tells girl he loves her in order to sleep with her” comes from. [That is in fact the exact opposite of what works in seducing a woman.] Women don’t want to fuck Fuckers [This statement is an outrageous falsehood], but they will fuck Fuckers disguised as Raisers.

Okay I am done writing now but I don’t know how to do a closing paragraph. I don’t really want to learn.

LOL, I like her last two sentences.

Anyway, on Fuckers vs. Raisers, where she says that what a woman really wants is a raiser, and that fuckers only get sex by presenting themselves as raisers: This is blatantly false. I was in five or six bands in high school and college. Yes, this is great for your sex life. But while it’s good for getting laid in any situation, where it works like a nuclear dynamite LSD supernova is when you’re never going to be in that town again, and the girl knows it. It’s a whole ’nother fucking dimension when you’re playing a one-night-only gig. You have to beat the pussy off with a bat in those circumstances.

No girl in those situations was ever under any delusions that I was going to stick around later than the next morning at latest. But they threw themselves at me.

If you haven’t taken the red pill yet, grok that women are sexual creatures. Whenever they act like they’re “offended” that “women are sexualized,” etc., They. Are. Lying. Their. Asses. Off. They are lying. They’re lyyyyyyyyyyyyyyying.

Women in reality are much closer to women in porn than is commonly admitted by women, or understood by men.

As is so frequently the case, this post is a fantastic lesson in female delusionality about themselves. “I don’t want a fucker,” she tells herself. “I want a raiser!” Sure, if she’s had a couple of kids by a thug who jetted and now needs a sucker to help support them. But that’s not what she wants sexually. There’s a reason she had a couple of kids by the fly-by-night thug, and NO it wasn’t that she was deceived into thinking he was a raiser. If that were true she would have had the kids by an actual raiser. Funny how most of the time in those situations, the father is a fucker. So she was deceived, was she? Fuckers are better at presenting themselves as raisers than actual raisers are? LOL, no.

Red pill

Red Pill in Fiction: Witches of East End, by Melissa de la Cruz

From the back cover: “Freya, the younger sister, is trapped between two handsome brothers in a dangerous game of desire.”

As I was looking for a cover image for this slab of cheese, I learned that it was a TV show for a couple of years. There’s no accounting for taste. Anyway, the setting is our contemporaneous world but with magic. The “witches” in the title are not metaphorical. The first couple of chapters power-wash the reader’s brain with estrogen forced through a hose at 10 gallons per second. There are three witches, a mother and her two daughters. The sisters are both friends and rivals (female authors love that story element for some reason). There’s a hapless nice guy and a rough-cut Harley-riding Bad Boy(TM).

Of course, Our Heroine has sex with the nice guy and tells the Bad Boy, “I just think of you as a friend.” Ha, no, just seeing if you’re paying attention.

As usual, I’ll edit for length. Also, “Spoiler Warning,” LOL.

The opening to Chapter 1:

Freya Beauchamp swirled the champagne in her glass… This was supposed to be the happiest day of her life—or at the very least, one of the happiest—but all she felt was agitated.

Immediately I guessed that this was her wedding day and that she has just gotten married to a boring nice guy who is going to have something bad happen to him. Well, not far off: Turns out it’s an engagement party, not a wedding, but everything else falls out how you expect… only more so.

She loved Bran. “Bran”? LOL. Poor bastard. She truly did…. There was something about him that felt exactly like home, like sinking into a down comforter into sleep: safe and secure.

Poor guy.

There’s then a little interlude about how all the other females in town are forced to come up to her and congratulate her, through gritted teeth, on the engagement. They’re jealous because “Bran” (LOL) is incredibly wealthy. He attends charity regattas on the weekends, wow!

…she accepted the insincere congratulations from another cadre of female well-wishers… All the eligible ladies of North Hampton, who not so long ago had harbored not-so-subtle dreams of becoming Mrs. Gardiner themselves… had all come to the grand, refurbished mansion to pay grudging homage to the woman who had won the prize…

For a sex that’s not supposed to be obsessed with dominance hierarchies, women sure do spend a lot of time fantasizing about having their intrasexual rivals forced to kiss their asses. Read fiction by men, the supposedly competitive sex. You won’t find a tenth as much of this sort of thing. Also, men like to fuck hot pussy; we really don’t care whether other men are envying us. The point is the pussy, not other men’s opinions about the pussy.

We then get that the main character, Freya, was possessed of an effervescent beauty… Small and petite… She’s small AND petite, mind you. This is also funny because we’ve just been treated to a little homily (which I spared you, dear reader) about how modern beauty standards are too focused on “emaciated” women. In the same paragraph, we get that Our Heroine is “small and petite.” Also, she has cheekbones that models would kill for, a tiny little nose, and as for her tits: No one would ever forget her breasts—in fact, they were all the male population looked at when they looked at Freya.

In general the writing qua writing is not great, as you’ve just seen. The author will manage a couple of paragraphs without perpetrating anything stupid or grammatically incorrect, then she’ll say something like “The tennis courts gleamed in the distance…” What? I grew up in a house that was less than 100 yards from a set of tennis courts. They don’t gleam in the distance. Or we get (in the inevitable Prologue) “Perpetually damp, even during its brilliant summers, its denizens were…” LOL, its denizens were perpetually damp? Come to think of it, maybe the female ones are, if the main character’s hormone-revved behavior is typical. But obviously that’s not what the author meant. (Don’t dangle your participle here; there are children about!)

Freya originally meets Bran – shit, I laugh every time I have to write that. BRAN?! Seriously, fucking BRAN?! She’s named after a sex goddess and he’s named after… a cereal product that’s good for your colon! Anyway, she meets Bran (snerk) by tripping into his arms, literally, because she’s so surprised when a load-bearing element of her dress snaps and her unforgettable tits spill out. It’s stated that she never wears bras or underwear (which Bran should have taken as a warning sign, as we will see).

Read this and guess whether she’s ever going to have sex with Bran:

It was Bran’s acute embarrassment that had endeared him to her… But what most people did not know was that he was kind. When Freya met him, she thought he was the kindest man she had ever met. She felt it—kindness seemed to emanate from him. The way he had been so concerned, his embarrassment, his stammer—and when he had recovered enough, he had bought her a drink and never quite left her side all evening, hovering protectively.

An absolute clinic in What Not To Do.

He radiates niceness, he buys her a drink, and he hovers around her the rest of the evening. He’s combining Too Nice and Possessive Creepy Guy. I haven’t read past the first chapter yet, but I foresee him conveniently having a lethal heart attack or something before their wedding day, before the main character has to have sex with him.

Don’t worry, it gets worse!

Bran Gardiner was not at all charming or erudite or witty or worldly. He was awkward and self-conscious. The first night they met, he hadn’t even asked her out because he was simply too modest to think she would be interested in him. Instead he showed up the next night during her shift at the Inn, and the next night, and every night after that, just staring at her with those big brown eyes of his, with a kind of wistful yearning (GOD!) until she had to ask him out.

Gah! The author is stacking the deck here; she’s not even making it plausible that any female in the multiverse could be attracted to this guy. I’m hoping she has a twist queued up, because otherwise this is about as telegraphed as a punch can get. Especially by contrast with Mr. Sexyman:

The problem was Killian Gardiner. Bran’s younger brother, twenty-four years old, and looking at her as if she were on sale to the highest bidder and he was more than willing to pay the price. When they were introduced, he had looked at her with those startling blue-green eyes of his, and she had felt her entire body tingle. The Tingle! Directly from a woman’s word processor! He was, for lack of a better word, beautiful, with long dark lashes (WTF?) framing those piercing eyes, sharp-featured with an aquiline nose and a square jaw. A clean-limbed fighting man of Barsoom, narrow of waist and broad of shoulder, he wielded his sword with—sorry, I just had an Edgar Rice Burroughs flashback from when I was thirteen. He looked like he was always ready to be photographed: Brooding, sucking on a cigarette, like a matinee idol in a French New Wave film. LOL, fucking what? French New Wave… Melissa de la Cruz, you weirdo! Anyway…

Stop looking at him, she told herself. This is insane, just another of your bad ideas. Um, what is? Not that we can’t guess…

Goddamnit, did he have to be so good-looking? She thought she was immune to that kind of thing. Such a cliché: tall, dark, and handsome. Well, at least she includes the Oxford comma, of which I’m a partisan. So this book is not ALL bad. She hated cocky, arrogant boys who thought women lived to service their voracious sexual appetites. She bangs him within a page. As per the Chateau and Rolo Tomassi (Rational Male), women both love and hate male sexual entitlement. Because they both love and hate it, be prepared for a hella shit test, more like several, if you project this attitude in real life. Note I didn’t say “Don’t do this.” I said, “Be prepared for a hella shit test.” He was the worst offender of the type—screeching up in his Harley, and that ridiculous hair of his—that messy, shaggy, bangs-in-your-eyes kind of thing, with that sexy, come-hither smolder.

Let’s get it over with:

She looked up and found him still staring directly at her. He nodded his head, motioning to a nearby door. Truly? Right here? Right now? In the powder room? Was that not just another cliché that went with the motorcycle and the bad-boy attitude? Was she really going to go into the bathroom with another man—her fiancé’s brother, for god’s sake—at her engagement party?

She was.

Now I’m thinking this is too reprehensible for the heroine of a novel. Maybe they don’t have sex; maybe she turns into a magic vampire and sucks the life force out of him or something. They don’t actually show them boinking.

LATER: OK, I’ve read, er, skimmed to the end, and here’s the deal: de la Cruz indeed has some mis-direction queued up here. It is, in fact, an estrogen-drenched mechanism for the author-insert character to have her cake and eat it too. That is, to get fucked by the bad boy in the bathroom at her engagement party and still be a demure, virtuous good girl. How? you ask. Does he cast a spell on her to force her to have sex with him against her will? Is the whole scene just an elaborate fantasy, dream, or magical illusion? Nope. Here is the key surprise of the book, revealed in the last couple of chapters:

Our Heroine, Freya, is actually Freya, the Norse goddess of sex, fertility, and all that stuff. “Bran” is actually Loki, the Norse god of mischief, who had put a spell on her to make her think she was in love with him. And Mr. SexyBadBoy is actually another god named Balder who is her One True Love and Destined Husband. So you see, all along she should have been having sex with Mr. Bad Boy – who is in a truer, deeper sense the Good Guy – and she should have been monumentally dissing “Bran,” who is actually a villain who uses the magical equivalent of a date rape drug on her.

Well, it’s interestingly inventive, the mental acrobatics a chick will go through to justify having no-strings-attached sex with a Harley-riding Bad Boy in the bathroom.

By the way, Freya does have sex with “Bran” one time, but since he actually turns out to be Loki, the god of mischief, the point that chicks don’t want nice guys stands.


Page 18: The main character’s sister is melodramatically described as the “ranking archivist” of the library where she works. LOL. I associate this phrase with rather more dramatic situations, like, “We should destroy the alien spacecraft before it comes any closer to Earth!” “No, I’m the ranking officer here and I say hold your fire!” Not so much “Let’s re-shelve these books now.” “No, I’m the ranking archivist here and I say we’ll re-shelve them after lunch break!” The drama of the language should match the drama of the situation, unless the author is deliberately going for humor.

Page 39: “Natasha Mayles was all wrong for Ross. She swanned into the North Inn with her haughty accent and her bored, quasi-European attitude.” “Quasi-European attitude”? Every now and then de la Cruz will write something that makes you go, “What was she even trying to say there?”

Pages 85-6: The librarian chick – the “ranking archivist” – is about to be asked out by this one dude. She thinks about how to let him down gently, until it turns out that he’s actually soliciting her advice about asking some other chick out. At this point she suddenly becomes jealous and interested in the dude. The power of the neg, right from the horse’s mouth.

Chunks of cheese rating: Hmm. This has a few standard female cheese elements, to wit, the “must choose between two men” cliche, the “must have sex with Bad Boy!” thing, and hypergamy, in that the viewpoint character has sex with actual gods.

Yet somehow, after the first couple of chapters, the overall effect wasn’t a mammoth blast of cheese, perhaps because after the main character cheats on her fiancé at their engagement party, everything else seems tame by comparison. Or maybe because I’ve read so much of this stuff now that I’m becoming jaded: It takes a lot to compete with a cyborg woman having sex with the man who burned off all four of her limbs and poked her eyes out, or a female author’s fantasy of being raped by an immortal alpha and having a worshipful beta help raise the resultant child. (I hope y’all appreciate the suffering I bear to bring these little reviews to you.) Or maybe the estrogen hose-down didn’t bug me as much because the mediocre-at-best writing distracted me with its irritating just-below-competence obnoxiousness.

Chunks of cheese rating:

If the main character fucking her fiancé’s brother at their engagement party actually turned out to be what it seemed at first, that would be eight or nine out of ten chunks of cheese right there. But since, thank goodness, it’s not what it seems, I award six out of ten chunks of cheese to this book.

Index page for my Red Pill in Fiction posts:

Miscellany Politics

Miscellany 13: In Soviet Union, Miscellany reads YOU!

(1) This judicial pick exemplifies my concern about some of Trump’s judicial nominees. This one, Bridget Bade, even got the approval of Dianne Feinstein, for fuck’s sake! That’s not a good sign.

(2) That said, it is still true that concern trolls are worthless cunts (see here, for example.). I know, it’s obvious, but here’s yet another point about them:

If Trump says, “I’ll build a wall” and the wall isn’t built three seconds later, the concern trolls start screaming, “He was lying! He never intended to build a wall!”
(This one is particularly stupid now that he has appropriated the funds and declared an emergency to build it.)

But if Trump says, “I’ll invade Venezuela” and Venezuela isn’t invaded three seconds later, they don’t say, “He was lying! He never intended to invade Venezuela!” They shriek “Oh my God! He’s going to invade Venezuela and get us involved in an unnecessary war!”

There are detectable differences between concerns expressed sincerely and ones that aren’t. The concern troll crowd is obviously not sincere. They say we should take him at his word only when they hope it can be used to lower morale of people on the right.

(3) Menelaos Apostolou. Sexual selection under parental choice: the evolution of human mating behaviour. 2014.

There’s nothing else about this available except a short abstract. The point is, people are starting to grok that evolved sexual preference evolved in the presence of parental constraints on behavior. In particular, female mating was a probabilistic function of both what the girl wanted and what her parents wanted. (That is still true in many Muslim societies today.) I have no specific point to assert, just that we need to allow for the possibility that this was significant as we continue to make progress in the evo psych of sexual psychology and behavior.

(4) Amusing gif with Trump as Neo:

Especially apt now that the Mueller report has ended the Deep State-media conspiracy to overthrow the President. They’re still trying, of course, but at this point it’s just because they can’t help themselves.

(5) Beautiful Women in the 1970s and Now

I recently watched Rollerball (the 1975 original, not the 2002 re-make/sequel).

Wow, the music!
Per Wikipedia:
• Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D minor,
• The Adagio in G minor by Albinoni/Giazotto,
• The Largo from Shostakovich’s Symphony No. 5.

And the girls! The brunette at the hero’s ranch… the “I’m not a librarian” girl. She’s fucking gorgeous! … and the hero’s ex-wife, who shows up in the second half. Her cheekbones are like wrecking balls!

Why don’t we see girls like this in movies or TV any more? We don’t. And that worries me. Have endocrine disruptors, the Pill, and various meds in our water actually fucked up our physiology? Seriously, watch this movie (stills on the Net are not the same; don’t bother) and check out all the women, but especially the “not a librarian” girl and the main character’s ex-wife. And tell me if you’ve seen women like this in pop culture any time in the last two decades. I haven’t.

Beautiful women, yes, of course. But beautiful women who look like those girls? No. No time this century.

This is really, I’m not kidding, weird.

(6) People figure out how to steer a “self-driving” car into oncoming traffic.

“Researchers have devised a simple attack that might cause a Tesla to automatically steer into oncoming traffic under certain conditions. The proof-of-concept exploit works not by hacking into the car’s onboard computing system, but by using small, inconspicuous stickers that trick the Enhanced Autopilot of a Model S 75 into detecting and then following a change in the current lane.”

It’s time to stop the self-driving car thing. Just give it a rest, leftists. We know you want this so you can control our movements. Better solution: Stop being a bunch of totalitarian psychopaths. Then you won’t have to worry about getting strung up on lamp posts in the first place.

Red pill

Blue Pill in Fiction: The Republic of Thieves, Part 2

We continue the dissection of a blue-pilled writer’s portrayal of male-female relationships begun in Part 1.

Light-fingered con artists barely keep themselves alive by their skill in juggling flaming chainsaws.

If you’re just joining us: Scott Lynch’s The Republic of Thieves is part of a fantasy series about a master con man. Overall, the series is better than average fantasy fiction, but lordy, the author’s blue-pill notions! Republic’s narrative alternates between two time periods: flashback chapters in which a gang of teen con-artist apprentices learn their trade, and “present day” chapters in which Our Hero has to rig an election. In Part 1, I only presented scenes from the flashback chapters. The first scene in this post is from the “present” action.

Spoiler warning, and I’m going to edit quoted passages for length. Any page numbers are from the hardcover edition.

Locke and his fellow con man Jean have been blackmailed into the following task: The city of Karthain is having an election. Locke and Jean are hired to rig this election. They’ve been engaged by a corrupt organization called the Democratic Par… uh, I mean, the kicker is that Sabetha, Locke’s old flame (and fellow gang member) from years before, has been engaged by the other side to rig the election too. Each side knows the other side has engaged a con artist to rig the election; they allow this for reasons that don’t matter here. Also, both sides know of the romantic history, and have warned Locke and Sabetha not to get into any hanky-panky with each other. They are not forbidden from communicating with each other, though.

Pages 314-27: In Karthain, after not seeing each other for years, Locke and Sabetha are Reunited, and it doesn’t feeeeeeel so gooooood!

“H-hello,” he said.
“Hello, Locke.”
“Yes. Sabetha. Hello. Uh.”
“Meant to say something grander and wittier, didn’t you?”

Aaaaaaaaaand we’re off. She basically says, “You wanted to impress me.” This is a “You’re hitting on me” shit test, like, “I have a boyfriend” or “Are you hitting on me?” or “I’m not going to have sex with you.” It’s part shit test to assess your poise, part attempt to find out by your reaction whether you actually are hitting on her, and part female status game, an attempt to define herself as the sought-after prize. All in one terse little verbal package. There are aspects of the mating game that women are impressively good at.

“Take my hands,” she said, and he does. Yawn, no. The proper response to that sort of thing was established by Roissy (Chateau v. 1.0) and others more than a decade ago: “No, you might try to take advantage of me,” you say playfully. Or just snort, ignore it, and say what you wanted to say. Women in this kind of situation always try to suck you into their frame. Don’t fall for it. An alpha male, which is what women are looking for, sucks people into his frame, or at least sticks with his own frame.

After more talk Sabetha embraces Locke:

She was so warm and strong, [“strong”? Which one of them is the chick here?] and her scent so instantly familiar… He sighed. “I’d work for free for any chance to be near you. They’re offering a fortune, and I’d throw it in the Amathel [River] for this.” No!
“Locke,” she whispered. “Indulge me. Kiss me. My preferred way. From back when we were—”
“Ahhh,” he said, laughing. “Your servant, madam.”
He gently placed his left hand beneath her chin and tilted her head back. Then planted his lips high up the side of her neck… when he felt he’d teased her enough, ran his tongue up and down those same few inches of warm skin.

It turns out that Sabetha has applied a poison to that area of her neck to knock Locke out. Locke notices a weird taste, but thinks it’s her perfume. Then he starts to lose consciousness. To add obnoxiousness to injury, Sabetha gives him a little lecture as he’s passing out:

“You’re not as good as I am, Locke, but you’re too damn good to let you run around fighting fairly. You’ll kill yourself trying to best me, and you can’t expect me to permit that.”

The lesson here should be obvious enough. Sex is the first thing a woman reaches for when she wants to manipulate a man. And a professional con woman, who’s an old flame, and with whom you’re in a competition… Come on, Locke!

He and Jean wake up on a ship far out at sea, LOL.

407-13, flashback scene. The con artist apprentices have been sent to a theater troupe to learn acting by performing in a play. Sabetha is on the roof going over her lines. Locke joins her, supplicatingly asking for the privilege of hanging out with her and paying for her attention with an offering of wine. Literally, he actually asks her, “Can I sit beside you?” The problem with this, of course, is that it should be, “May I sit beside you?” NO! That’s not the problem; the problem is that it’s wussily supplicating.

Also, she in her self-centeredness can’t resist accusing him of trying to get her drunk in order to fuck her. So annoying. He’s just offering you some wine, you silly bitch.

Whatever. She deigns to allow him to sit near her, and the “conversation,” such as it is, begins. Once again, as in the previous post, it’s all meta, conversation about their relationship. I’ll skip over that part. (Which goes on for freaking pages!) Eventually Locke makes a wince-inducing declaration. I don’t have the strength to quote the whole effin’ thing; here are the high, er low points:

“I, uh, I’m tired of talking behind my hands and dropping hints. These are my cards on the table. I think you’re beautiful.”

Sorry to interrupt just when you’re getting rolling, Locke, but: As a rule of thumb, you should not compliment a woman on her looks. The reason is this: In spite of all feminist agitprop to the contrary, females know at a gut level that their physical attractiveness is the most important part of their sexual market value. I’m not talking about a long-term relationship like marriage, where personality enters the picture in a big way. Rather, think of a young woman’s SMV. (Sabetha is 17 in this scene.) It’s more than 50% looks. Yeah, so? Won’t it make her feel good to compliment her looks, then? Yes, and that’s a mistake. You don’t want her to “feel good,” because that means she’ll think she’s too good for you. This is Female Hypergamy 101. Your job, if you want to do some co-ed spelunking, is not to make the girl feel good. It’s to make her feel that your overall SMV is about 2 points higher than hers. That’s enough to make her hypergamous cooch wet for you while you still seem within her reach.

My rule of thumb is this: A woman generally thinks she’s 1 or 2 points better-looking than she really is. And she wants to get a man who is 2 points higher than her if she can. This leads to weird things like a woman who’s objectively an overall 5 not wanting to “settle” for any man who’s less than an overall 9, which flaming lack of realism is one of the reasons the modern dating scene is so fucked up. In more realistic cases, a female 5 will seriously pursue a male 7, rejecting male 5’s and 6’s. Then she ends up as a cat lady. The point is this: As a man, your interest in a girl might spike if she squeezes your biceps and says, “Wow, you’re so muscular!” But a girl’s interest in you does NOT spike if you tell her, “Garsh, you’re so pretty!” She thinks, “Excellent, I’m attractive. And I’m obviously too good for this guy, since he’s impressed by me.”

Short version: If you’re going to compliment a girl, do it like French man: Make it so over-the-top that it seems sarcastic, like you don’t really mean it. (“You look radiant, mademoiselle; I grovel at your feet. And I’ll have an espresso and a latte, no sugar.”) The French are far ahead of us on this stuff, which is why their men are such a bunch of ravening assholes.

(When I wrote the latte thing I envisioned the dude saying it to a barista at a coffee bar. But it would be fuckin hilarious if you just said it to a random chick as if you mistook her for a waitress, LOL. That could be a good neg, though it’s kind of nuclear so you’d have to know what you’re doing to pull it off. She’s guaranteed to squawk like a wet hen. Also, you’d have to be able to say it with a straight face; I’m not sure I could.)

Locke continues: “I feel like I’m an idiot [agreed, you are] with dirt on his face sitting next to someone out of a painting. [gah!] …Frankly, I’d kiss your shadow. [GAH!] I’d kiss dirt that had your heel print in it. [GAAAAAAH!! Make it stop!] I admire everything about you [I admire her ability to not throw him off the rooftop for this ass-kissing announcement], even your temper [huh?] and your moods [what?] and the way you take gods-damned offense when I breathe wrong around you. [Oh HELL no!] I admire the way you’re good at everything you do, even when it makes me feel small enough to drown myself in this wine cup.” Well, do it then, you spineless fuckbag!

Aside from the wussiness, this is also bad seduction technique because (1) it puts way too much attention on the girl – any normal human being, male or female, would feel self-conscious having this blast of oral servicing directed at them – and (2) it doesn’t give her much by way of options. I mean, how is she supposed to respond to this? “Yes, Locke, you’re right, I am quite awesome in every way, and my beauty is matched only by my wonderful moods (LOL, WTF?) and the fact that I’m excellent at everything.”

Plainly that won’t work, which is why PUAs came up with verbal games like Marry-Fuck-Kill and other ways of getting the girl participating in the conversation.

Locke considers his past few statements and concludes that he wasn’t being wussy enough, so it gets worse. Recall from Part 1:

Sabetha to Locke: “Years ago, 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.”

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.

So Locke now says to her, “I’m sorry. If I’ve pushed you aside… if I’ve screwed up anything that you felt was rightfully yours, I apologize.”

Watching this dumpster fire of masochistic groveling makes me feel like Beavis when wuss music comes on MTV: “Butthead, change it! Change it or kill me!”

“Aiieeee, this is Boy George! Change it! Change it!”

Locke actually affirms this chick’s right to be treated “as a goddess on earth.” What the fuck!? And he apologizes for – unintentionally – supplanting her. And it makes even less sense than that, because if Sabetha has some right to be treated like a god, then why doesn’t Locke also have a right to be treated like a god? But it gets even stupider, because these kids do not treat each other as gods. They are constantly saying things to each other like, “Suck vinegar out of my ass,” etc. (Actual quote. Scott Lynch is pretty good at thinking up memorable insults, one of the notable stylistic features of this series.)

Page 412-3, the drama rises. Locke recalls out loud the first time he saw her free her gawageous red hair in the sunlight and it glinted with heavenly glittering, or whatever. It makes you flash on those scenes they have in cheesy movies in which the babe whips off her hat and swings her hair around dramatically in slow-mo. Cue the “Ohhhhh, yeeeeeeaaaaah,” voiceover from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. Inexplicably, drama queen asshole starts screaming about how Locke only likes her because she’s a redhead. Her freakout is completely disproportionate to what he said and we’re wondering why she’s suddenly gone even more psycho than usual. She tells him to get lost, so he does, briefly. When he and Sabetha are alone again, he actually grows a pair and says to her, “You owe me an explanation. I will not let you push me aside just because you’re pitching a fit!” My God, there actually are some nads in there somewhere!

“I am not pitching a fit!” she says, despite the obvious fact that she’s pitching a fit. By the way, women always know when they’re pitching a fit, and they don’t respect you if you put up with it.

Sabetha continues,
“You cannot be so wholly ignorant. Do you know what they pay for red-haired girls in Jerem? Do you know what they do to us if we’re pristine?”

She then describes a horrible practice that some sick fucks do to red-haired girls. I’ll spare you the nasty details, but it boils down to this: It’s thought that men can cure various diseases they might have by gang-raping a red-haired virgin to death.

That is terrible. But it never happened to Sabetha. The worst she can plead to is living in fear. And since it didn’t happen where they grew up (she’d have to be abducted and carried off) and since she dyed her hair brown and kept it tucked under her hat, the risk was very small. Furthermore, since this disgusting practice is only believed to work if the girl in question is a virgin, she could have just gone and fucked some dude as soon as she was old enough, thus eliminating the risk right there.

And Locke didn’t know about this horrific practice. And it’s not like he was planning on raping her to death!

What is actually going on here? In plot terms, the author needs drama here, so that’s the actual reason for this. Within the fictional universe, whether the author realizes this or not, Sabetha is freaking out in order to attention whore, play drama queen, and play damsel in distress. This. Is. A. Shit. Test. What she is testing you for specifically, with this kind of shit test, is whether she can jerk you around by your emotions.

Here’s a question for ya, poochy: Does a girl sleep with a guy she can jerk around? That would be No. I don’t know how I’d handle this, but it certainly wouldn’t be by apologizing. I think I’d offer her a bag of Skittles and tell her to calm the fuck down. Guaranteed to work better than letting her control you by tugging on your heart strings.

As a female psychologist once wrote, “Women only love men they can’t control.”

On pages 479-81, Locke’s friend Jean loses his virginity to an older woman. Afterwards, Jean:

“Hey, there’s a… sorry, beneath your legs did we…?”
“Ah. My apprentice, allow me to introduce you to the concept of the wet spot.”
“Is that uncomfortable?”
“Well, it’s not what I’d call ideal. Hey, what are you—”
With an enthusiastic excess of groping and giggling, he applied his strength to shifting their positions. In a few moments, he’d pushed her to the dry side of the bed and taken her former place.
“Mmmmm. Jean, you have a gallant streak.”

Psssht. A real man would get a log from the fire, clock her over the head with it, and make her change the sheets. But seriously, why switch places? Someone has to be on the wet spot, and the girl’s going to think you’re a wuss if you pull that move, comments about gallantry notwithstanding. That’s the reality of female psychology.

Well, this dissection of blue-pill butt-fuckery has spanned two posts now. I’d like to draw things to a close, so I’ll just mention, without quoting in detail, some other blue pill stuff in this novel:

505-6: Scott Lynch can’t seem to even imagine a man making a pass at a woman. We are never shown an example of this in the entire three-book series so far. When Locke and Sabetha lose their virginity to each other in a flashback scene, it’s because she enlists a friend to drag Locke to a secret room she found in the hotel where they’re staying, so they can fuck there. Locke is drinking in the hotel bar when his buddy comes and drags him upstairs to the secret compartment where Sabetha is waiting. Then she’s just basically like, “I had him bring you up here so you could do me.” Then she kisses him. This ain’t great. Obviously women often make the first move in the sense of the first expression of interest (college, whoo-hoo!). But it’s a little much if the man doesn’t make the first physical move. Yeah, that can get you accused of “sexual assault” on a college campus in an “affirmative consent” state these days. For fuck’s sake, don’t go to college in an “affirmative consent” state.

468-70: In the present day, Locke and Sabetha are talking about how many people they’ve each boinked in the five years since they’ve seen each other. Locke confesses that he hasn’t screwed one chick in that five years. GAAAH, NOOOOOOOOO!!! Even if that’s true, you can’t tell the girl that; she’ll tag you as a loser. Just lie or just refuse to talk about this subject. Even worse, Sabetha says she’s had sex with several men in that time. This puts their relative notch counts topsy-turvy to what they should be.

So in summary: An above-average fantasy series, if you can stomach the main character’s invertebrate notions about women. Good pacing in plots that revolve around heists/capers, world-building that’s thorough without falling into the trap of being distractingly over-detailed, and amusing dialogue (aside from the wussy stuff). But the author’s blue-pilled notions about women could be used as a freakin’ textbook in What Not To Do. If you like fantasy, try the first one, The Lies of Locke Lamora. The chick is absent from that one, which keeps the blue pill stuff out and allows the main character to act like he actually has a Y chromosome most of the time.

Index page for my Red Pill in Fiction posts:

Red pill

Blue Pill in Fiction: The Republic of Thieves, Part 1

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.

Not sure how this cover image maps into the novel’s characters or events, but it’s a dramatic image, so whatever.

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.”
“Well, uh—”
“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.
“I suppose.”
(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.

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!”

Then what?

“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.”
“But—I hardly—”
“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.

Part 2 is here.

Index page for my Red Pill in Fiction posts:

Immigration Politics Red pill

Who Supports Walls?

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.

Red pill

Addenda on Darwinian Lenses

Some nuances etc. on my last post. I wanted to make the basic point before including the complications.

1) The evolutionary effect is not always something dramatic like you getting caught and eaten by a lion, or you or your offspring starving. E.g., peacocks have fancy tails because that attracts peahens, for no awesome reason. This is a runaway sexual selection result that cannot last in the long run – it’s like an asset bubble in Finance, a temporary deviation from a more stable situation. That tail is burdensome. Put a new predator in the peacock’s environment and see what happens. (But don’t do this if you like peacocks.)

2) Another qualification is there are equilibria with a mix of features across individuals. This can happen because some features depend on the prevalence of themselves and other features. So an equilibrium can have, say, 60% of feature A and 40% of feature B. Not all features are like having better eyesight, which is always better.

An example from David Friedman: Suppose, simplistically, that you can be born with a temperament to always fight (“hawk”) or never fight (“dove”). (Don’t sperg out; I said it’s a simplistic example.) The payoff to being a fighter depends on the prevalence of other fighters. If there are lots of such people, then if you’re starting fights constantly you’ll soon encounter another fighter. So you’ll run afoul of the Law of Large Numbers eventually and be outselected (killed or injured to an extent that hampers your reproductive success). So if there are a lot of fighters in the population, the average payoff to being a fighter is negative, so the percent of fighters in the population declines.

On the other hand, if the percent of fighters in the population is small, this doesn’t happen much. So you pick a fight with someone who just killed an antelope, he very probably runs away and you take the antelope. Lots of food at a trivial metabolic cost! So the average payoff to being a fighter is high if the percent of fighters in the population is small. So if there are few fighters the percent of fighters in the population will rise.

So if the percent is low it tends to rise and if it’s high it tends to fall. This, kids, is known as “stable dynamics.” The proportion of fighters in the population will converge to some stable percent such that the mean reproductive success of fighters and non-fighters is the same.

(BTW, I suspect a similar point is true for r/K theory, if that theory is descriptive of homo sapiens. We seem to be in a high-r period now, but that can’t last because a critical mass of rs is a problem that prompts a response from the Ks. Ks are getting PO’d, starting to fight back, electing God-Emperors, etc., while the rs themselves (whether they realize it or not) are starting a civil war that just can’t end well for them. They’re too impulsive and inclined to ignore tactics, strategy, caution, the long-run consequences of current actions, etc.)

3) In the previous post I asked, “why didn’t the subdominant males simply gang up to kill the dominant males and/or their children?”

And in the comments Alf said,

“Because the most dominant subdominant males answered to the dominant male, and in return received their share of the women. That has been the evolutionary deal between the dominant and subdominant males, and is reflected in the evolutionary fact that while all women get wettest for alpha males, they will pair bond with beta males.”

Indeed, alpha males are as capable of strategic alliances as anyone else.

In fact, alphas can be quite pro-social, especially with others of around their status level. Think of the way that guys on the college football team interacted with each other.

And of course, alpha/beta is not a binary thing; it’s a continuum.

4) The complications in the following turn out to explode quickly, so here’s the short version:

There’s a possible version of the human story that’s more pleasant than children of low-dominance males being directly or indirectly killed: Say that if you were an average man you had fine reproductive success, e.g., three (surviving) children, but if you were an alpha you had, say, six. Maybe this is because alpha traits are good for, e.g., hunting, which provides for children. So the most hair-raising version of the story isn’t the only possibility.

But I doubt this kind of effect can explain why all (it seems) women prefer dominant men. That’s because, while alphas and good providers have some overlap, when they’re distinct, women have a clear preference for alphas. A woman settles for a provider. She gets wet for an alpha.

I don’t think optimistic versions can explain women’s strong preference for alphas, because any optimistic argument (I can think of) that predicts an attraction to alpha (dominant) men also predicts an attraction to good providers. So optimistic arguments can’t explain women’s real-world preference for alphas.

What I mean is this: Suppose some men’s children have particularly high survival rates. Call these H men (for high-survival). For the moment it’s not important why these men’s kids have especially high survival rates. It’s easy to show that women who have a hardwired preference to mate with H men will gradually have their female descendants become 100% of females. (I did some arithmetic to check; the result is exactly what you’d expect.)

Now here’s the problem: The validity of the above argument doesn’t depend on the reason that a given man is H. That’s a problem because what’s to be explained is women’s strong preference for alpha males in particular. In light of that fact, the foregoing argument is too broad: It implies women should be indifferent between varieties of H men such as alphas versus providers. But they actually aren’t indifferent.

So it looks like we are back to the original dark view of the matter.

In fact, the failure of the optimistic argument is even worse, because it draws its false conclusion with even more confidence than it seems at first. That’s because it implies that any H man, regardless of why he’s H, should benefit from…

5) … positive feedback: Kinship support groups and conflict. If you get into violent conflict, your siblings are likely to support you. This raises your survival probability. Say H men have on average 6 surviving offspring and non-H men have 3. Then if you’re a non-H’s child you have 2 siblings who might support you in a conflict . If you’re an H’s child you have 5 siblings who might support you. This raises H children’s survival probability even more.

So the argument once again predicts a strong attraction to good providers just as strong as an attraction to socially dominant men. But empirically, that’s not observed.

What we actually observe is that women are most attracted to socially dominant men. This tells us that such men’s offspring had the highest survival probability in the ancestral environment.

In my (rapidly growing) set of notes on this topic, here’s one possibly-important qualification:

Do “all” women really prefer men who are unpleasantly socially dominant? The extent to which this is true should be investigated. E.g., as far as I could tell, most girls in my high school didn’t date thugs or seem to want to date them. Indifferent “bad boys,” yes, absolutely, but the truly fucked up guys, no. That was a small subset of girls. So when we remember, e.g., Charles Manson getting love letters from women, is that just salience bias? Do we just remember the women who prefer thugs because it sticks in our heads as shocking? And why does the average girl not go for the thugs? Does she not want the thug, or does she just not have enough social self-confidence that she can get the thug? This merits empirical follow-up.

Of course, one thing we do know: Even if it’s only a small subset of women who really are attracted to the very worst men, there is no equal-and-opposite set of women who are attracted to the nicest of men. (LOL, as if.) The female preference distribution is not symmetric around “average guy.” The question is exactly how asymmetric it is.