Neurotoxin and the Christmas Miracle

One December day Neurotoxin was skating at a rink. He chanced to skate over a section of the ice that had been sectioned off by the Orange Cones of Do Not Trespass.

Lo, a Rink Employee appeared and made it known to Neurotoxin that the Ice Planes of Do Not Trespass were forbidden, for they were dangerously rent by gaps and bumps and other hazards.

“What about skating between that last cone and the wall?” Neurotoxin asked. “That’s cool, right?”

“Nay,” the Rink Employee replied, “for it is our intention that people just avoid that whole area entirely.” And the Rink Employee withdrew.

And Neurotoxin began to cry.

Grievous and copious were his tears, for he had been rebuked by Rink Staff.

And lo, as he cried, his tears fell upon the damaged ice and began to resurface it.

And the other skaters gathered around, gazing in wonderment, for they had never beheld such an occurence. And then a bold one placed a foot upon the resurfaced ice and did skate upon it a little. And then did other skaters begin to emulate the bold one’s example. Tentatively they skated at first, but then with more confidence, and they exclaimed in wonderment, “This is like unto a resurfacing done by the best Zamboni that ever was!”

It was a Christmas miracle.

And God looked upon it, and saw that it was ace.

And then Scrooge appeared and gave everyone cigars and a turkey.

And then Tiny Tim, or maybe Long Dong Silver, I forget which, said “God bless us, every one.”

Also, there was a kitten there.

And a puppy.

Merry Christmas!

Miscellany 27: When you stare long into the Miscellany, the Miscellany also stares into you

(1) I don’t agree with the view of NRx that monarchy is better than democracy. I suspect the people who think that are comparing the sordid reality of democracy to the radiant vision of the best theoretical monarchy. That’s not a valid comparison; we must compare the sordid reality of democracy to the sordid reality of monarchy.

But.

It looks like we don’t have a choice anyway. Apparently history says either we’re going to get totalitarianism, which as a practical matter is going to be led by one person a la Stalin, or we’re going to get a Caesar, who is going to destroy our current totalitarianism and replace it with a non-totalitarian monarchy. In other words, in the long run it looks like our only choices are one kind of monarchy or another kind of monarchy.

If it is true that those are the only two possibilities, then it indeed makes sense to think about how to bend the coming monarchy, if we get one, into its best-case scenario.

(2) Director Eats Too Many Finger Paints in Art Class, Tries to Make TV Show Trailer

“Drama is people doing amazing things for good reasons; melodrama is people doing amazing things for no reason.” —Dictum of fiction writers.

Via Blind Prison of the Mind
https://blindprisonofthemind.substack.com/p/the-wheel-of-time

There’s a desperately sad trailer for an upcoming Wheel of Time vidya series. The Wheel of Time books are a fantasy series I haven’t read, but they’re well known among fantasy fans.

The trailer goes like this. A bunch of people – suitably racially diverse for Current Year – are sitting around in an old-timey tavern and inn. It’s definitely not a pub, let alone a bar or club, but a tavern. There’s no electricity, everything’s made of wood, etc. There’s a massive fireplace, the fireplace equivalent of a walk-in closet. That bad-ass fireplace turns out to be the best thing about this moronic trailer. We get enough shots of the clientele laughing to get that this is a laid back/party environment where everyone is having a good time. In fact, there’s enough unexplained acausal laughing that I started to wonder what the fucking joke was. But okay, whatever.

There’s a moment of two dudes having some dumb beta orbiter talk about the barmaid.

Then the stupidity really kicks in. The tavern door opens and we see a pair of boots. The camera is on the floor, lingering on this pair of boots. We cut away to some reaction shots of the tavern’s customers. They’re all appalled, or shocked, or just stunned into silence. My God, what is it? Back to the floor-level camera, showing us the boots walking a bit. “This is weird,” I thought, “what’s with the boots?” Then another couple of reaction shots of the stunned clientele. What is it, a dude with two heads or something? Then another floor-cam shot of the boots, walking. At this point I blurted, “What the hell? Is the director of this a foot fetishist?”

Then the camera pulls back and we see what has caused the tense hush among the people. It’s… a man! This is what has shocked the tavern’s customers into speechlessness. Or maybe it’s the fact that he left the door open behind him – on this rainy winter night – and they’re all thinking, “What a douche!”

(New joke:
You: “A guy walks into a bar.”
People you’re telling the joke to: “Yeah, then what?”
You: “I can’t tell you; I’m shocked into silence by a guy walking into a bar.”)

Challenged by the barmaid to identify himself, he dramatically pulls back the hood of his cloak and introduces himself as “Joe Shmoe, moron who was raised in a barn,” or whatever, I wasn’t really paying attention. Then we jump to a flashback or dream sequence or hallucination or something. It’s a severely out-of-focus shot of a figure walking toward the camera. What does it mean? The focus resolves and wait, nope, it’s not a dream sequence; it’s just a woman walking into the tavern, out of focus for absolutely no reason whatsoever. In she walks, and she also leaves the door open, even though there is no one else coming in after her. What a fucking twat!

The man introduces her and she orders a stable for their horses and a room for the night, a move that is so unexpected in this tavern and inn that everyone is still speechless. Finally the tavern owner is like “No prob; I’ll sesh you,” and… that’s the scene.

As one YouTube commenter asks:

“How do you reckon that conversation went? ‘Okay, so here’s the plan. I’ll walk in alone while you stay out in the rain and wait for people to stop what they’re doing to notice me before announcing myself. Then when I announce you you dramatically walk out of the downpour, and we leave the door open.’”

There also is a thread of commenters who have read the books wondering why these two people, who apparently need to be traveling incognito, are doing everything possible to draw attention to themselves short of setting their hair on fire.

The whole trailer is notably fuckwitted, and it raises a question: What the fuck was the animating idea for this scene? Worse, this is what the producers of this thing think is one of the best scenes in the production, good enough to be featured in an ad for it. It’s clear from watching it that the director had no idea what the fuck he – or she! – was doing. An ad for a new show should make us think “Wow, that looks really cool” or “Hmm, I’m intrigued by the mystery.” Instead we’re thinking either (1) Close the fucking door! or (2) Why did they hire a director of foot fetish porn for this project?

That foot thing is surreal. You have to watch the clip to believe it. The director was just copying some technique he saw somewhere and now he thinks that’s just how you do it: You focus on the feet. This is a textbook example of the cargo-cult mentality: copying techniques without the faintest idea of why and how the techniques were originally used. Presumably this kind of shot originally was used in a way that made sense. One can easily imagine such uses. E.g., it’s from the viewpoint of a character who just got slugged and is lying on the floor. Etc. But this dumb-ass director has never even contemplated the notion that cinematic techniques are used for a reason. He just saw it in a music video once and thought, “I’ll do that.”

(Is western society becoming more idiotic? Or was it always this stupid, and the past seems better because the crap is forgotten over time, leaving mostly the good stuff?)

I tried to come up with a hypothesis of some conscious goal that the producers of this crap had in mind as they tried to string a coherent thought together in the fog of their oxygen-deprived haze. And maybe there is a semi-sentient purpose in this: to name two major characters who will be familiar to the fans of the book series. Thus we get Barn-Boy dramatically pushing his hood back and saying “I’m Barn Boy,” then adding, “And this is Standing-In-The-Rain Girl.” (No, I’m not going to re-watch it to see what their actual names are; I’ve already watched the crap twice, which is more than enough.) But this is done badly; badly enough for the YouTube comments to be overwhelmingly mocking. Do it correctly, asshats.

Off the top of my head: We start with the tavern. Two people enter. They don’t leave the door open, they don’t stand there in the middle of the floor, and they don’t do anything else to call attention to themselves. They unobtrusively go straight to a table and take a seat. They doff their hoods, not melodramatically, but normally, and we see that one is a man, who is sitting with his back to a wall so he can see the whole room, and the other, facing him, is a woman. He says to her, “Why don’t you swing around a bit so you don’t have your back to the room, [Her Name].” And she replies, “I don’t have to worry about that, [His Name]; I have you to watch out for me.” Thus we get their names for the fans, and we also get realistic behavior. We also get some mystery for the non-fans, because we want to know why it’s dangerous for her to be sitting with her back to the room and how/why she has this bodyguard traveling with her. And can the average person afford a bodyguard? Presumably not, so that raises the question of her social position as well. Is this a countess traveling incognito or what? And if so, why?

If that’s not enough there’s her ring, which figures prominently in the actual trailer. I have no idea what its significance is, but that could be worked in as well. Just have a barmaid come over to take their order and have the woman quickly pull her hand under her sleeve, obviously trying to hide the ring. That adds more mystery. And the whole scene, if I say so myself, has an appropriate measure of drama. None of it involves bizarre camera work that pulls the viewer out of the scene with its grating pointlessness, people traveling incognito going out of their way to call attention to themselves, or humanly unrealistic reactions of people being shocked into speechlessness by the once-in-a-lifetime spectacle of a guy walking into a bar.

Now my version doesn’t end on a dramatic note, so if you want, you can then do the standard rapid-fire montage of action shots to let people know that, yes, there is some action, and yes, we have a special effects budget of more than fifty bucks. Fine. It’s been done, but it’s better than trying to whip up drama with a couple of people requesting lodging at a tavern/inn.

Now as I said, I’ve never read the books. Maybe they’re not on some dangerous quest and my bodyguard notion is off. But I’ve heard this is a classic “band of heroes teams up to defeat the bad guy before he destroys the world” fantasy series. So there’s something interesting about them, or there wouldn’t be a series of like ten books devoted to their quest. Whatever that interesting thing is, the dialogue between them can hint at it.

I literally just made this up, and I dare say it does a better job than the version they actually came up with. I’m pretty sure that my version would at least dodge dozens of comments to the effect of “Close the fucking door, asshats,” and might even interest a few people.

(3) Circa November 8, 2021: I read some article about a guy slashing a bunch of people on a train in Germany. They don’t report the perpetrator’s name or any details. So of course I make certain inferences about the attacker.

If you dig around you can, with a little effort, find out the attacker’s salient identity-politics characteristics. He’s a Syrian immigrant. Surprise!

But that’s not my main point. My main point is that it recently hit me:

We now read the news like the citizens of the Soviet Union read their news.

Soviet citizens would read Pravda not because they thought it told them the truth, but because they could infer certain truths from Pravda by analyzing its content. They noted what it said, what it didn’t say, how it said what it said, how the narrative would do a blatant 180 from one week to the next, etc.

All that is stuff we do now, at least those of us with a clue. The newspaper didn’t tell me that the attacker was a Muslim and/or non-white and/or immigrant, but I inferred that with a high degree of confidence from what they didn’t say.

Of course, those of us who aren’t leftist wackos have been reading in a manner somewhat like this for decades, but it’s become different in the last few years. Consider e.g. the media’s simultaneous assertions, starting in late 2016, that subverting US elections is impossible (and anyone who thinks it’s possible is a fascist), and that Trump and Russia subverted a US election. That is a new level of double-think. The media has demanded that its faithful leftist readers abandon all principle, and embrace hypocrisy, for a long time. But

“US elections cannot be subverted and Trump subverted a US election”

is new. It is a leveling-up of the psychological demands made on the ideologically faithful.

Another case from 2016 is the case of Hillary Clinton having a blatant seizure on video, followed by the media saying, “You did not just see her having a seizure.” This was the clearest case of “How many fingers am I holding up, Winston?” that I can think of.

The other major example over the last few years is the new approach to reporting based on racial criteria. The media always reported in ways that helped the leftist party line on race. But lately the deliberate burying of news stories of black-on-white violence, playing up of the opposite stories, etc., has intensified significantly. It has mutated from silence about black-on-white violence to an attempt to convince the population of the opposite of the truth about inter-racial violence. The truth, which one can still learn from official crime statistics— for the time being— is that blacks are several times as likely to attack whites as vice-versa. But the media purposefully report, and don’t report, news stories in such a way as to create the opposite impression. I fear that many young people in the US might believe that whites attacking blacks is more common than the opposite.

Of course we know the media does this, but here’s an interesting case in which they actually admit to doing it. Here’s a piece at a Binghamton NY media outlet in which they lament, in 2019, that a 2009 shooting has all but been forgotten. Gosh, why was it forgotten?

https://www.pressconnects.com/story/news/local/2019/03/27/binghamton-mass-shooting-aca-american-civic-association-forgotten-murders/3222090002/

“Not that the community wants to be solely identified by its own active shooter at an immigrant center that claimed the life of 13 victims 10 years ago.”

Goodness, a shooting at an immigrant facility! It must have been a white supremacist!

“But with each subsequent mass shooting, it seems the shocking incident that gripped this community in fear and mourning on a rainy and chilly Friday morning fades further from the nation’s collective memory, creating a double tragedy for the innocent, many of whom were foreign nationals in an English class.”

We read a rather lengthy article filled with woe that this shooting has been forgotten. Strangely, the identity of the shooter is never mentioned. Then we get to an editor’s note at the end:

“Editor’s note: Though the identity of the man who killed 13 people at the American Civic Association in 2009 is public record and has been widely circulated, the Press & Sun-Bulletin has chosen not to include his name or likeness in these articles.”

Yeah, I noticed that. A quick Net search reveals this at Wikipedia:

“Jiverly Antares Wong, a 41-year-old naturalized American citizen from Vietnam, entered the facility and shot 17 people…”

Of course we don’t need the editor’s note or an article identifying the shooter to know why they censored his identity. This is merely a rare case in which they are relatively explicit about their censorship.

(What goes on the minds of people who censor news stories, then wonder why those news stories are forgotten? I can’t even imagine what it’s like to be that stupid.)

Even people who aren’t aware of egregious cases like this know the media does things like this all the time. And so we read and watch the media the way people in North freakin’ Korea read and watch their media.

And so we take another step into the psychology of totalitarianism.

Miscellany 24: Shred the Miscellany like You’re a Surfer and It’s the Ultimate Wave

(1) June 2021, the Dark Herald makes a side remark about Lois McMaster Bujold’s novel Memory, prompting me to glance at its Wikipedia article. I find this:

“After years of refusing to marry any of the tall, slim, eligible Barrayaran ladies paraded in front of him…Gregor unexpectedly falls in love with a short, voluptuous Komarran…”

I.e., short and fat. I’m guessing this is a fiction version of…
Sailer’s Law of Female Journalism: The most heartfelt articles by female journalists tend to be demands that social values be overturned in order that, Come the Revolution, the journalist herself will be considered hotter-looking.”

(2) First, some background: The Williams Institute at UCLA is a gay and lesbian think tank. In 2011 they released a study claiming that 3.5% of American adults identify as homosexual or bisexual. (A little over half of those are people, mostly women, who identify as bi.) And since this is a gay think tank, they have an incentive to exaggerate the number. So this is an upper bound on the percent of homo- and bi-sexuals.

With that number in mind, let’s consider a recently-published novel.

Leigh Bardugo’s Crooked Kingdom is a novel about a criminal gang of seven people (To recall them for those who have read it: Kaz, Inej, Matthias, Nina, Jasper, Wylan, and Kuwei). Three of the seven are homo or bi: Jasper, Wylan, and Kuwei. In the follow-up King of Scars, per Cataline Sergius’s review June 2021 https://arkhavencomics.com/2021/06/28/book-discussion-king-of-scars-by-leigh-bardugo/, Nina becomes a lesbian, making it 4 out of 7. So more than half of the main characters are homosexual or bisexual.

This is not about “representation.”

(3) A funny aspect of Game: Because it starts by accepting certain features of female psychology like their desire for assholes instead of nice guys, one way of describing Game in general terms is

“Men cannot change women. Men have to accept women as they are.”

If just left at that, it would prompt shouts of agreement from women in general and feminists in particular: “Right on, pal!” “Preach it, brother!” “You got that right!” But the details— what it actually means to take women as they are instead of trying to change them— is something that fills feminists with rage. Feminists of course cannot abide any speech other than “All women are totally perfect in every way.” And women in general do not like to be understood in the mating game: it destroys much of their power in the game.

(4) Uri Harris, July 2017: Even moderate leftists are becoming rarer in academia.

“What is particularly striking about this shift is that the number of moderates has dropped sharply among professors…

As part of the survey, members were asked to identify their political affiliation on an eleven-point scale, from ‘very liberal’ to ‘very conservative’…

Intriguingly, the least popular point among the left-of-centre points was the most moderate one… More than two thirds (67.8 per cent) chose one of the three points furthest to the left on an eleven-point scale, and more than a third (38 per cent) chose one of the two points furthest to the left. And 16 per cent chose the furthest possible point to the left on an eleven-point scale.

This means that there were almost as many people who chose the furthest possible point to the left as there were who chose all the conservative points, the centre-point and the most moderate left-of-centre point combined.”

(5) I once read that an old definition of heresy was focusing on one of God’s attributes at the expense of others. I don’t think this definition is doctrine, but maybe it should be, since it could damp holiness spiraling. For example, focusing on God’s justice at the cost of ignoring his mercy, or focusing on God’s mercy at the cost of ignoring his justice, would be heresies.

In an environment in which promulgating heresies in this sense is energetically punished, holiness spiraling probably would have a harder time getting off the ground: You and your buddies start holiness spiraling about who can be most like God in the sense of being most just. But soon the inquisitor shows up (or tons of people weigh in on Twitter) to give you a warning about obsessing about God’s justice at the expense of ignoring His mercy. And the opposite if you’re spiraling on mercy. It could be a built-in moderator.

As I was surfing around on this topic I came across the same thought here: https://quillette.com/2017/12/12/worry-piety-contests-not-virtue-signaling/

The problem, rather, is judging the acceptability of statements and actions on the basis of a single sacred criterion. Fundamentalism in this sense is part-and-parcel of the piety contest. No matter what your foundational principle, if you have only one, there will be bullets you have to bite.

The defense against piety contests, therefore, is to cultivate a multiplicity of irreducible sacred values. This gives the moral community a vantage point from which to evaluate the consequences of each norm against something else. Christianity, for example, is filled with pairs of concepts that orthodoxy holds “in tension”: trinity and unity, free will and predestination, grace and works, and so on. Indeed, heresy has been defined as emphasizing one element of one of these pairs at the expense of the other, and throughout Christianity’s history it has been heretical movements of just this sort that have been filled with the fervent zeal of the piety contest.

(6) Biden appoints a person who said that blacks are genetically superior to whites as his civil rights Czar.
https://cnsnews.com/commentary/hans-von-spakovsky/biden-pick-civil-rights-czar-advocated-black-supremacy
The nominee is Kristen Clarke. Writing in the Harvard Crimson,

START OF QUOTE FROM FOREGOING LINK.
Clarke cited a number of “experts” regarding what she called the “truth” about the “genetic differences between blacks and whites.”

She posited that “human mental processes are controlled by melanin — that same chemical which gives blacks their superior physical and mental abilities.” Additionally, “melanin endows blacks with greater mental, physical, and spiritual abilities.”

The liberal editors of [Harvard University newspaper] The Crimson found Clarke’s “racist theories” to be “outrageous,” saying that Clarke had “resorted to bigotry, pure and simple.”… Not long after she penned her letter claiming that blacks are genetically superior to other racial groups, the Black Students Association under her leadership invited professor Tony Martin to campus.

A notorious anti-Semite, Martin’s ensuing lecture about his tract, “The Jewish Onslaught,” was apparently a racist diatribe against the Jewish people, their history, and their traditions, claiming they were the source of the supposedly “ordained” notion of “African inferiority.”

Yet Clarke told The Harvard Crimson that “Professor Martin is an intelligent, well-versed black intellectual who bases his information on indisputable fact.”

END OF QUOTE.

(7) Related: In the comments at https://blog.reaction.la/culture/mate-guarding-game/, Rick says “This isn’t surprising but remember to let your people know the score:
https://www.islandpacket.com/news/local/crime/article251689813.html
Black guy murders white retired police chief, confesses to the crime and the all black jury lets him walk.”

Here’a another link which confirms that he was acquitted: https://www.islandpacket.com/news/local/crime/article251701818.html, though neither link mentions the race of the jurors.

(8) France is worried that US identity politics is penetrating France and damaging it. It’s good to know that they have the sense to be worried. Though it might be too late at this point.
https://twitter.com/ggreenwald/status/1359139829418758146

“French President Emmanuel Macron has joined numerous French intellectuals & journalists in warning that ‘out-of-control woke leftism of US campuses and its attendant cancel culture’ poses a grave threat due to the social strife it creates.”

Though I am curious about what they used for lube in Mississippi in the 1800s

Here are some quotes from the USA Today article “5 books not to miss”, January 2, 2021. I present the entire list of books from the article with some of its commentary on the books, and the whole fucking thing is leftist cultural propaganda. You’d think that a tiny saving grace would be that, every once in a while, leftists would get bored of constantly spewing propaganda. Nnnnnnnope. They fucking love it!

  1. “The Prophets,” by Robert Jones Jr.

What it’s about: Jones’ powerful debut novel centers on a forbidden love between two enslaved gay men on an antebellum Mississippi plantation.

The buzz: Kirkus Reviews calls it an “ambitious, imaginative, and important tale of Black queerness through history.”

So two men fuck each other in the ass. Yeah, so?

  1. “Outlawed,” by Anna North

What it’s about: It’s 1894, and Ada is an outlaw. After a year of marriage and no pregnancy, in a town that hangs barren women as witches, the teenage wife joins the notorious Hole in the Wall Gang, a new safe haven for outcast women.

The buzz: “It’s ‘The Handmaid’s Tale’ meets ‘True Grit’ in the best sense…”

  1. “A Lie Someone Told You About Yourself,” by Peter Ho Davies.

What it’s about: A family has a child after terminating an earlier pregnancy that yielded catastrophic test results and grapples with the decision made and the unending work of parenting.

  1. “Bone Canyon,” by Lee Goldberg

What it’s about: Eve Ronin, the youngest female homicide detective in LA, always feels like she has something to prove, but especially when a cold case heats up…

  1. “The Push,” by Ashley Audrain

What it’s about: Blythe never wanted to be a mother but changes her mind for a man she loves. But motherhood turns out to be everything she feared and her conviction that there is something deeply wrong with her daughter tears her family apart.

Summarizing: “Black queerness through history” plus “slavery!” (the Emacipation Proclamation was in 1863, more than 150 years ago) plus “Yay, abortion!” plus other forms of anti-natalism (“the unending work of parenting”) plus “women, oppressed by the Patriarchy as they are, have something to prove.”

Apropos of nothing, here’s a quote from Orwell’s 1984:

Winston turned a switch and the voice sank somewhat, though the words were still distinguishable. The instrument could be dimmed, but there was no way of shutting it off completely.

Red Pill in Fiction: LibraryThing’s Name That Book

The book cataloging site LibraryThing has a standing community project called Name That Book where people ask for help identifying books they’ve read but the titles of which they’ve forgotten. The Romance requests are revealing from the content of the requests, and often just from the titles of the requests. E.g. …

Thread title: Historical romance – starts off with heroine being spanked for being a spoiled/dirty brat?

Thread title: Historical romance with a cruel hero.

Request details: I have been looking for the title of this book for MONTHS. I read this over a decade ago, so some of the details are fuzzy. What I remember is the heroine has inherited her land from her father and she doesn’t want to get married because she doesn’t want to give up her independence, but this guy swoops in and pretty much forces her to.

Thread title: Romance , bad boy , series. (Bad boy, bad boy! Complete with misplaced commas.)

Thread title: Romance: inheritance, western. “…He’s pretty rough, and mean. At one point they get stuck in the snow together out in a cabin, have a snowball fight, he spanks her. They end up together, of course…”

Judging from the plot summary here, the book, eventually identified as A Man To Call My Own by Johanna Lindsey, sounds intriguingly madcap:

“Historical romance fiction. Identical twin sisters sent to live with unknown (twin) aunt of their dad after he dies from New York to out West. One sister disguises her beauty (bottle glasses which cause her to be accident prone and frumpy clothes) because of her twin, the “beautiful” twin would steal the other twin’s beaus. Also, father favored the beautiful sister over the other. Find out later that he did this with his other sibling. Get left in their stagecoach in a small town because the beautiful twin is too demanding. Aunt sends a cowboy to find them. Cowboy thinks he falls in love with the beautiful sister, but in reality it is the one in disguise. He gets confused with how the beautiful sister acts towards him after sharing a kiss and he blames her horrible behavior on the circumstances. The ugly sister keeps it a secret, but the beautiful sister figures it out and sleeps with him. Aunt realizes the ugly twin’s disguise and learns that she is waiting for her sister to get married before she sheds her disguise, she is even willing to allow the cowboy to marry her sister. Sister runs off with cowboys rivalry who owns the bar/gambling house. Aunt causes a shot gun wedding for beautiful sister and the guy who owns the bar/gambling house. Cowboy figures out what happened. They all go to New York and the former ugly twin believes she has seen her father. Turns out their father actually fakes his own death because he got his mistress pregnant [Yawn. I always fake my own death after I get my mistress pregnant.] and the beautiful twin was just too expensive and the mistress gave him a boy and wanted the son to be his heir. I think one of the twins name may be Amanda.”

BONUS: It turns out that the handsome and charming cowboy is actually named… Chad!

By the same author: Tender is the Storm. Yes, seriously. But the title is only the half of it. Check out the cover: He’s actually tit-fucking her!

Ted couldn’t decide whether he wanted a fuck or a blowjob, so he decided to split the difference.

“I read a book… about a 19th century Englishwoman shipwrecked along the Arab coast, captured by Tuareg Berbers [whoever the fuck they were] and sold to an Oxford-educated handsome sheik.”

This request is funny for the way it starts: “I am looking for an historical romance I read some time in the last 1-2 years. I don’t remember the title, author or characters names.” LOL. How disposable is this stuff if you can’t remember anything about it after 1 or 2 years? I suspect women buy these, have a wank or two over them, then toss them. Why oh why can’t women be more ecologically responsible?


Index page for my Red Pill in Fiction posts.

Red Pill in Fiction, Classics Edition: Pride and Prejudice

That man is a scoundrel and a miscreant! His manners are appalling! I would never entertain a marriage proposal from him!

Since little or no new information on the political situation appeared over the Thanksgiving break and we’re not likely to get any until Monday, here’s some lighter material.

In the Red Pill in Fiction posts on Alpha Trio and Suddenly Royal I wrote that female authors often fantasize that they (via their author-insert character) will get the alpha by being “feisty,” and that this seems to be a form of snowflaking. On Suddenly Royal I wrote,

Many women have this fantasy that they’ll attract an alpha male by being “feisty” and “stubborn.” (While all the other girls fail to snag him because they’re too compliant.) I’m not sure what the psychology is here. My current best guess is that it’s snowflaking. I.e., “I’m going to stand out from the crowd by doing the opposite of what all the other girls do with alphas. I’m unique! No other girl is like me! No other girl ever thought of being ‘feisty’ before!”

This is stated explicitly in Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, in the last few pages (Ch 18 of Vol. III). When Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy get engaged, she says,

“Now be sincere; did you admire me for my impertinence?”

“For the liveliness of your mind, I did.”

“You may as well call it impertinence at once… The fact is, you were sick of civility, of deference, of officious attention. You were disgusted with the women who were always speaking and looking, and thinking for your approbation alone. I aroused, and interested you, because I was so unlike them… You thoroughly despised the persons who so assidiously courted you.”

Here it is explicitly, from the horse’s mouth. As I type these notes up it occurs to me that female projection is another reason for this trope of female-authored fiction. That last sentence, “You thoroughly despised the persons who so assidiously courted you,” is the female reaction to any man who seems to really desire her. So: snowflaking plus projection.

There’s other red pill stuff in this novel too. E.g. the main male character, Darcy, comes across as a completely rude asshole at first but then falls for the heroine and they fall in love and get married. At a ball, a mutual acquaintance offers Darcy to introduce him to Elizabeth. Elizabeth is sitting right there. Here’s Darcy’s nuclear neg which is the first thing he says to her… or rather, about her:

“Which do you mean?” and turning round, he looked for a moment at Elizabeth, till catching her eye, he withdrew his own and coldly said, “She is tolerable; but not handsome enough to tempt me; and I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men.”

LOL, what an asshole. They end up engaged. Pride and Prejudice was written by a woman in 1813 and is arguably the most famous and popular work of chick-lit in the English language. (The only other contender is Gone With the Wind.) Tell me, go ahead, tell me, that Game is just a bunch of nonsense that some male PUA nutters made up in the 1990s.

More: Later, when they have a little spat he tells her, “Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections? To congratulate myself on the hope of relations, whose condition in life is so decidedly beneath my own?” LOL. Your family sux! Now get on your knees and get on my cock, bitch!

In the end– surprise!– the asshole falls for the heroine. And, bonus, he turns out to have a heart of gold: Darcy pays off a man who was threatening to run off with Elizabeth’s sister without marrying her, thus ruining her reputation. He does this solely because he’s so in loooooove with Elizabeth. So you see, he’s an asshole… Who Really Has A Heart Of Gold Underneath It All.

Oh yeah, thoughts on the novel as a novel: You know, it’s actually not that bad. (I know, I was surprised too!) What happens is, because it’s a classic of chick lit loaded with shopworn tropes like the jerk who really has a heart of gold, etc. you think it’s going to be one huge wedge of cheese dropped on your head like Dorothy’s house landing on the Wicked Witch of the East. Actually, there’s a good deal of humor, which the admirers of this novel really should play up more if they want to effectively proselytize on its behalf. For example, consider the well-known opening sentence:

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

I always read this as a straight line, as if Jane Austen actually believed it. Ha, no. The passage, and indeed the rest of the novel, proceeds in a way that makes it clear that she’s joking:

However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters.

And then we swing right into this bit of dialogue:

“My dear Mr. Bennet,” said his lady to him one day, “have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?”
Mr. Bennet replied that he had not.
“But it is,” returned she; “for Mrs. Long has just been here, and she told me all about it.”
Mr. Bennet made no answer.
“Do you not want to know who has taken it?” cried his wife impatiently.
“You want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it.”
This was invitation enough.
“Why, my dear, you must know…”

In other words, social satire with understated English humor.

Due to its droll comedy-of-manners humor and its generally well-written dialogue, I am afraid this novel is not even a serious contender for the coveted Ten Chunks of Cheese prize. I can award it several chunks due to its “bad boy who eventually falls for the heroine… and turns out to be rich” blurt, directly from the Universal Female Id. We’ll call it six chunks of cheese. Sorry, Jane Austen, but the state of the art in female porn romance cheese has really advanced since 1813. Your competition is much tougher now. Good effort, though.


Index page for my Red Pill in Fiction posts:
https://neurotoxinweb.wordpress.com/red-pill-in-fiction/

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

WitchesOfEastEnd
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.

Miscellany:

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:
https://neurotoxinweb.wordpress.com/red-pill-in-fiction/

Screwtape and Trump Black Pillers

C.S. Lewis, in The Screwtape Letters, notes that many human endeavors start out as a kind of exuberant 50-yard dash, but soon settle into a marathon. There’s a lesson here for supporters of President Trump, when they freak out too readily that he’s cucking out. 

We are now past the “Oh thank God!” euphoria and relief of his 2016 victory, which saved us from a civil war with Hillary Clinton as President. We are now in the “settling into the hard work” phase. It’s still joy, but it’s marathon mode.

For those of you who haven’t read The Screwtape Letters, this wonderful little book consists of letters from an older demon, Screwtape, to a younger demon, Wormwood. The subject is tempting humans.

Screwtape mentions the distinction between early euphoric sprint and later steady marathon in the context of Wormwood’s target becoming a newly-enthusiastic Christian. From the demons’ point of view this is a disaster, but Screwtape reassures Wormwood that all is not lost: the renewed enthusiasm of Wormwood’s target (“patient”) won’t last forever; he eventually will have to make the transition to a religious commitment that is calmer and more enduring. If the target had thought that his new euphoria would last forever, that necessary transition affords opportunities for the demons:

Work hard, then on the disappointment or anticlimax which is certainly coming to the patient… It occurs when the boy who has been enchanted in the nursery by Stories from the Odyssey buckles down to really learning Greek. It occurs when lovers have got married and begin the real task of living together. In every department of life it marks the transition from dreaming aspiration to laborious doing.

We are in power now in the White House (and increasingly in the judiciary as Trump gets his nominees confirmed). That is wonderful! But to exploit this to its fullest potential we can’t let ourselves get too carried away with emotion. We have to create long steady progress.

And it may help to remind oneself occasionally, “Thank God, Hillary Clinton will never be President!” Yes, that was a couple of years ago and we must press on, but it’s a real morale booster to remind oneself that she’d still be President right now if, God forbid, she had gotten into the White House. The fact that she is not in the White House is a continual victory.

Furthermore, anyone who thinks Trump is actually a secret agent for the other side (WTF?) need only remind himself of our enemies’ attitude toward him: Hate, terror, and rage, and an unceasing attempt to remove him from office, long after it ceased to be merely stupid and descended into the realm of the clownish. All the right people hate him.

Yeah, yeah, Trump’s not perfect, but nobody is. And he’s pretty close to perfect for the war that we’re in now. He actually hits back against our enemies! This still freaks them out, they’re so used to that never happening! We got immensely lucky that he stood as a candidate in 2016. He’s pretty much our best-case scenario. What else do you want!?

And he has to work against the preponderance of the nation’s government at the federal, state, and local levels. Were you expecting total victory 12 seconds after he took the oath of office?

Trump should not be immune from criticism— he needs to hear from us when he strays off, to put him back on track— but before criticizing him too readily, remember this:

People out of power can afford to be purists. People in power have to deal with the realities of it.

Red Pill in Fiction: The Best Red Pill Scene I’ve Ever Seen in a Movie

Also the wisest and most joyful.

Baahubali

Via the Dark Herald, https://darkherald.net/2019/06/25/things-that-will-give-sjws-a-heart-attack-the-love-scene-from-bahubali/, a scene from an Indian movie called Baahubali: The Beginning. The point of the scene is entirely physical, so you don’t need the dialogue. Believe me, you don’t.

Here’s a direct link to the vid.

Watch it up to the 4:00 mark. (After that it’s just a love song/dance, which is fine as far as it goes.)

Whoever wrote this scene knows the concept of amused mastery cold. And the importance of passing shit tests. And negs/being unimpressed, since his changing her hair etc. says, “You need to look more feminine before I’m willing to sex you.” And understands that everyone is happier when natural male-female sexual polarity is respected and honored. Very nicely done; absolutely beautiful.


Index page for my Red Pill in Fiction posts:
https://neurotoxinweb.wordpress.com/red-pill-in-fiction/

Red Pill in Fiction: This n That

(1) In Ocean’s Eleven (George Clooney version):

Danny: Does he make you laugh?
Tess: He doesn’t make me cry, Danny.

Oh, this is just pure pussy bait! (*) When they were together, he made her laugh and he made her cry. So two items here: One is, emotional roller coaster. Chick crack. The other is that he’s an asshole. We don’t know why he made her cry— I’m guessing by cheating on her— but it’s enough that he did. He’s no good! He doesn’t care for her! Her treats her badly! You can just see that one line setting off the Bad Boy Alert for the women in the audience, and having them leaving wet spots on their seats. Very deftly done: Two terse lines of dialogue. That’s all that the chicks in the audience need to get that there’s some sort of soap-opera-y relationship backstory.

* I was going to write “pussy crack,” but that would’ve pulled up the wrong mental image.

(2) Random red pill item: Actor Larry Hagman said he rarely got any female fan mail when he played a nice guy on I Dream of Genie, but got tons when he played the total bastard J.R. on Dallas.

(Those two characters were so different that I never even realized they were the same actor until I read that quote.)

(3) Neal Stephenson’s Quicksilver, a trilogy I strongly recommend if you like Stephenson. It’s the most “Neal Stephenson” of his works that I’ve read, i.e. stylistically dense but always intelligent and funny.

Page 374 et seq.: In 1683 a “vagabond”— that is, a roaming criminal adventurer— named Jack is wandering around in the chaos of the siege of Vienna. In a Turkish officer’s tent he happens upon a young English woman, Eliza; she’d been captured at sea as a child. After some back and forth:

“You talk like a girl who is in need of a spanking.”
“Books of India,” she said coolly, “have entire chapters about that.”

Jack prefers not to get bogged down with companions unless they can help out in a fight, but eventually agrees to let her travel with him. But he warns her:

“If we make it as far as Paris… and if you’ve given me so much as a blink of trouble—one cross look, one wifely crossing of the arms—cutting thespian-like asides, delivered to an imaginary audience—”
“Have you had many women, Jack?”
“—pretending to be shocked by what’s perfectly normal—calculated moods—slowness to get underway—murky complaints about female trouble—”
“Now that you mention it, Jack, this is my time of the month…”
“Not funny at all. Do I look amused?”

Stephenson provides a good list of some standard shit tests here.

And on page 389, on one-itis:

Eliza seemed impressed. Jack was gratified by this—a bad sign. No man was more comprehensively doomed than him whose chief source of gratification was making favorable impressions on some particular woman.

Later in their adventures Jack gets outrageously beta— like, after Eliza harpoons him to a mast (long story) and he is still in luuuuurv with her— so this is definitely not an unqualified endorsement of Stephenson on women. But he does display flashes of insight here and there.

(4) In Bruce Sterling’s Zeitgeist, some conversation among Leggy Starlitz, his daughter Zeta, and Viktor, a minor criminal. Starlitz is a gray-market hustler who’s always working some semi-legal scam. His daughter Zeta, 11, has been raised by her mother and her mother’s lesbian lover until a crisis forces them to hand Zeta over to Starlitz. She’s been with him about a week, as he drags her around on various pieces of semi-underworld business. In Istanbul one of Starlitz’s contacts is a young Russian man named Viktor. The three of them are at a cafe and Viktor steps away for a moment:

“Dad, is Viktor a nice guy?”

“No.”

“I knew that,” said Zeta triumphantly. “I just knew it. I mean, I get it about Viktor now. Viktor is the guy that Mom One and Mom Two never wanted me to meet. Right?”

“Right… He’s every mother’s nightmare.”

Gah! Bad move, Starlitz! Should have downplayed Viktor’s Bad Boy cred so that your daughter finds him boring. Don’t confirm the “dangerous bad boy” thing, for fuck’s sake! The correct response is something like, “He tries to be a criminal tough guy, but just can’t swing it. He’s always getting beaten up and outwitted by the real criminals.” Something like that.

Zeta put her elbows on the table. “Dad, can I tell you something? Viktor is just the coolest guy, Dad. Viktor Bilibin is just the coolest, dreamiest, gangster guy. He has such amazing eyes. They look like my pet snake’s.” (LOL.)

Starlitz considered this artless confession. At first glance this was a very alarming development, but she wasn’t his own child for nothing. “You don’t need Viktor,” Starlitz informed her…

Viktor rejoins them. He and Starlitz usually speak in Russian, which Zeta doesn’t know, but she has an uncanny ability to suss out the gist of their conversations. Viktor tells Starlitz in Russian,

“Mehmet Ozbey is dead.”

Starlitz laughed. “I saw Ozbey last night.”

Viktor went pale. “I know he’s dead. I had Ozbey hit,” he insisted. “Nobody could have survived that.”

“Dad,” Zeta said thoughfully, “did Viktor kill somebody?”

“No.”

“He thinks he killed somebody.”

“There’s a big difference.”

Viktor lifted his right hand with two fingers outstretched and his thumb as a revolver hammer. “I killed somebody,” he told her in English, his voice resonant and spooky. “He wanted to kill me, because I know too much. He put me on his hit list. So, I took revenge on him. I had him liquidated. Boom-boom-bang.”

“Wow,” Zeta marveled, eyes like saucers and goose bumps all over her arms. “That’s so corrupt!”

“It was the naked justice of the steets,” Viktor intoned.

“He’s full of it,” Starlitz said.

Much better response.

(5) This wouldn’t normally be categorized as fiction, but I don’t know where else to put it. I’m flipping through this book that my woman has from college: Women Mystics in Medieval Europe, edited by two chicks. I randomly open it to page 77 and start skimming. On page 78 we get this:

Tactile sensations play an important part in Beatrice’s visions: She feels God’s presence passing through her whole body; the Lord pierces her soul with the fire of His love, as with the point of a flamboyant sword, drawing her heart to His. The blood of Christ’s wounds flows into her soul.

As I’ve noted before, women are always being penetrated by men in female-authored material. Interestingly, this happens a lot more than male explorers thrust themselves forcefully into receptive virgin lands or whatever, in material written by men.

(Thus when this crazy bitch claimed that the desire to settle space is just men’s desire to grab the asteroid belt by the pussy or whatever, I think that, aside from garden-variety insanity, she was projecting.)


Index page for my Red Pill in Fiction posts:
https://neurotoxinweb.wordpress.com/red-pill-in-fiction/