This essay didn't make it into my novel, Land of the Losers, but if you like what follows, feel free to get a copy.
Of all the emotions I experienced in my first stint of grad school, one of the most frequent was how terribly busy I felt.
I considered myself quite lucky to have been accepted into my program, to be sure. The previous year involved some unlucky coincidences which complicated my application. My laboriously-filled documents to the university had gotten lost (thank you FedEx!) and I needed to re-apply with only a few days to spare. At the same time, my senior seminars were piling-on the work, I had to make long distance phone calls, pull all-nighters and beg professors (again) for letters of recommendation... the whole thing turned into a miserable ordeal and even today, I still feel glad that it’s been long over with.
Throughout my young life, education had been the central organizing principle of everything up until then. My parents really knew how to crack the whip: grades, test preparation courses, SAT scores, GRE tests, extracurricular activities that would look outstanding on an application... these were 90% of the parental demands which were placed upon my siblings and I. Getting a B on a big project or an important test was a badge of everlasting disgrace. Part time jobs, sports and hobbies were decent add-ons for me, but they couldn't interfere with school.
But after getting my acceptance letter for grad school in the mail, it all felt worthwhile. I could finally celebrate how my hard work had all paid off and now I was really getting somewhere.
But on the dating front, I was barely making an inch of progress. I kept running into obstacle after frustrating obstacle.
It wasn't because I wasn't social or I didn't have any friends; I actually had some pretty amazing friends. It wasn't because I dressed poorly or had poor hygiene; who wants to look and smell like a slob? It wasn't because I was lazy or unemployable; if I needed money, I always managed to find some kind of job to earn it. And no one I ever cared about called me a loser, either. Indeed, the people of my parents' generation always seemed to act as if I had my head screwed-on straight and had made pretty good choices for my life. I was pretty self-sufficient, too. It’s not like I only subsisted on pizza and beer.
I knew I wasn’t bad-looking. Sure, I was average height, maybe somewhat forgettable and a bit on the skinny side, but ugly?? No, I wouldn’t have called myself that.
Best of all, in my senior year of high school, I’d had a really fabulous girlfriend. I knew from experience that I possessed some good qualities. That fact alone was a decent confidence-booster.
And I didn’t expect kudos for any of that. I didn’t expect congratulations for being a grown-up with a good sense of direction in life. I didn’t expect accolades for being myself. I didn’t expect pats on the back simply for existing. I did, however, want to get a little something more out of my romantic relationships, and I was never really able to quite get it.
For whatever reason, I had an annoying tendency to repeatedly attract a certain type of woman in my twenties. She would accept invitations to hang out, be taken to entertainment and restaurants, or have coffee or cocktails. And she would apparently have a good time, laugh, chill, have decent conversations and tell me what a great time she had...
Those are surely complements, right? I was really getting to know someone on a deep level. I was really forming a special kind of connection. Emotional intimacy and communication seem important, yeah? They liked me, I thought. Why else would they seem to have a good time hanging out with me?
Their complements always had a certain kind of semiosis and, at that point, I wasn't able to decipher the real message lurking behind their sexuality-free complements: "I find you useful and amusing, eunuch."
And after a few weeks or months of not getting that message, because I was such a great “friend” and “listener,” they would open-up to me to tell me all about the dudes that they’d been fucking.
Boy howdy, was I ever missing-out on a ton of fucking.
They didn’t really seem to say many positive things about these fuckbuddies, either. Often, I’d hear that these other men were “jerks,” in their words. Selfish, arrogant, no ambition. Losers. They only wanted her for filthy sex and didn’t respect her for who she “really was.”
Those other men weren’t thoughtful, unlike me. They were unsophisticated pigs, unlike me. They couldn’t cook, unlike me. They were dumb, unlike me. They didn’t remember their birthdays, unlike me.
Maybe her parents didn't approve of him. Maybe her friends didn’t like him. She couldn’t get the unthoughtful, irresponsible, unambitious bastard to actually notice her and give her the kind of commitment and love that she wanted, etc etc etc. And “Why can’t he be more like you??” she might wail in exasperation.
Eventually, I’d say what I’d thought was clear: “But but… I thought we were dating??”
“Well, uhm, like…yeah, I really think you’re great and everything… but I don’t think of you in that way. You’re such a great guy…” Ugh, Jesus.
They felt safe and comfortable telling me stuff because I was "different" and "comfortable" to confess their innermost thoughts to. Also, I was spending quite a few dollars on food and entertainment for them, so that might’ve also had something to do with it.
Then, maybe a little later, some of these women would excitedly call me up: “I have a boyfriend now! I met someone last night and we just clicked!” At that point, I would either be discarded or happily informed that I was still allowed to continue entertaining her regardless, so I shouldn’t feel too bad about being relegated to the outermost fringe of her personal asteroid belt.
… God, my life sucked. I wish they’d just told me from the beginning that they only wanted free meals and free entertainment. It would’ve felt way more honest.
And I swear to God, those chicks were able to complain so damn much about their fuckmates. That is what being a "good listener" gets you.
I remember one whip-smart gal in college with whom I’d have long dinnertime chats with and all-night bullshit sessions in her dorm. I thought her personality was a perfect fit for my own. She delighted in our repartee and our similar senses of humor and how we had so much in common. She felt totally comfortable telling me her innermost thoughts, like how much she loved fucking basketball players.
In her senior year of high school, she proudly bragged about how her boyfriend towered over her and how he was super-awesome in bed and horny upon demand. And she'd point-out the basketball players at our college whom she wanted to fuck because they reminded her so much of him.
It was really disappointing for me, since I thought we'd gotten along extraordinarily well. I spent a bit of time in her friendzone in the foolish hope that she’d notice me. Eventually, I sadly resigned myself to the fact that I wasn't ever going to get any kind of real relationship with her. But what really got on my nerves was how she eventually started making snarky little gripes about how "all the men on campus are either taken or gay!" And she would say this at me, with a straight face, while sitting right next to me. The first time this happened, I let it slide—hey, we all say dumb things from time to time, right? I pretended I didn’t care and let the conversation go elsewhere. But the second time it happened a couple of days later, I got irritated.
"I swear, all the men on campus are either taken or gay!" Sneer.
"You know I'm not gay, right?" I felt myself struggle to keep my growing temper on a tight leash.
"Huh?" She blinked.
“I’m NOT gay. You know that, right!?” I asked again, more forcefully.
"Huh? Uh, except you, I meant." She mumbled it with some annoyance. As if she'd totally forgotten that I was straight and had a penis. Didn’t I know that a good orbiter should just nod along and happily concur with everything?
"You're not complaining about 'men,' you're complaining about basketball players!" I sputtered ineffectually, to no avail. Really, it was kind of a pathetic rejoinder. It felt like charging across no man’s land at Verdun while angrily waving a sharpened stick at the Huns.
I started avoiding her like the plague after that. She probably didn't even notice. I was a nobody to her. I was just some companion who was there to entertain her and easily forgotten once I was gone.
Because I possess two eyes and two ears, repeated incidents like that one helped me ascertain that these gals weren't exactly saving their virginity until "Mr. Right" came along. Some of them were proudly getting dick on demand before and after coming to me for meals, entertainment and talk-therapy. You know, all the nonsexual kind of interactions that they'd want to get from a gay best friend who’d reassure her how desirable she is and laugh with her about what stupid idiots men are.
In the depths of my ignorance, I often thought that’s how “dating” went: you were out there trying to meet people. Just keep being social and a bit flirtatious, keep showing the best version of yourself. Sure you’ll fail occasionally and inevitably, but only until you find a mutual attraction with the right person. Just work on self-improvement, keep trying and you’ll eventually “click” with the right someone. And I think I had a really decent attitude about it for the first 5 or 6 years.
But my blissful state of Blue Pillery eventually began to reach its end.
It was my first year of grad school in which I got one of the rudest, most painful, Reddest Pills of my life. It was a horrific dose of medicine, but it was probably necessary.
I never actually met the man who unwittingly fed it to me. But I suppose I owe him a dubious debt of gratitude. I'll never forget him. His name was Nushawn Williams. Or that was the alias he used at the time.
His story came as a sharp belt in the face with a sock full of shotgun pellets. Furthermore, I was fairly uncomfortable actually talking about this contentious topic at the time, so I never mentioned it to anyone. In addition to the usual embarrassment, it would've left me open to accusations of racism, misogyny and stoking fear against people with HIV. The combination of all these factors gave me the heebie-jeebies and felt too risky to broach, so I largely kept my mouth shut and dealt with it in exasperated silence.
I shall save myself some trouble and quote Wikipedia...
"Nushawn Williams (born November 1, 1976), also known as Shyteek Johnson, is an American convicted sex offender who admitted in 1997 to having unprotected sex with numerous girls and women after having been told that he was HIV positive. New York state and local public health officials stated that Williams had sex with up to 47 women in Chautauqua County and 50–75 in New York City. Williams said in a news interview that his actual number of sexual partners was up to 300."
...Mind you, this news hit the airwaves after I'd spent the previous few years trying to claw my way out of varying types of friendzones. This Williams fellow must've been a real smooth-talker with a magic radioactive glowing cock swinging between his mighty striding godlike legs.
Why would he knowingly spread HIV like that? Based on news reports, he was in denial about the diagnosis and maybe he brutishly reasoned: "if I was really sick, how could I manage to fuck so many women??"
But here's what really flummoxed me... by all reports, he was openly a dangerous-seeming character. He didn't act like a friendly, smart dude. He didn't pretend to be a polite gentleman. His appeal wasn't having a "great sense of humor" and "confidence" which suckered naïve little starry-eyed ladies into a false sense of security and glamour about who he was. Oh no.
He was right up front and unvarnished: He was a criminal. He bragged about it. He joked about it. He wore on his sleeve. Lawbreaking was all part of his swaggering, macho appeal, and the ladies still didn't seem to care. Did none of that actually matter??
My reaction, for weeks after this, was: "Ladies, do you really hurl yourselves at a man like that? Really? REALLY, now??"
I think the ordeal even gave me a headache at one point.
Again, I shall defer to Wikipedia...
"Williams, a native of Brooklyn, led a life of crime since his childhood. The son of a drug-addicted mother, Williams dealt drugs and robbed from the elderly.[2] Prior to his HIV-related conviction, he had three previous convictions for various street crimes. ... Numerous reports indicate that Williams was a crack dealer who bragged of his gang-related activities and had a history of violence against women, including many of the women he infected.[4][5] Williams' braggadocio and violence belied the ease with which he attracted women of all races and socioeconomic classes,[5] though most of his victims were those with socioeconomic or emotional problems. News reports make numerous mentions of his charming interpersonal style with women. Women quoted in news stories often pointed to Williams' ability to make them feel special and loved, even while exercising violent control over their actions. In the case of his youngest victim, who was 13, Williams reportedly pursued a relationship for several months.[5]
...You read that right. He was busted for raping a 13 year old. I might have not been the bestest, awesomeest dude on the face of the planet-- and I am still not such a person today-- but by Satan's red ass, I’ve never inflicted atrocities upon children.
Do I really need to say such a thing? Declaring "at least I'm not raping kids!" is a pathetic kind of self-affirmation, isn’t it. There are all kinds of preferable boasts that you could say before you'd descend to that level. Let us have some standards.
Still, the nagging question of “What’s wrong with me?” wouldn’t go away because the news stuck in my brain. I wasn't as desirable as a dude who was openly dangerous, controlling and violent. I really had trouble wrapping my head around that. It just didn't add up. Was I really less worthy than him?? What magic technique did he have that I didn’t?
In addition to everything else, did he at least have some other talent? Like, could he cook a really delicious mulligan stew after dumpster-diving?
What was his pick-up line? "Hi, I'm a violently-controlling drifter and I like to rap. Wanna have a three-way with me and your friend?"
And that might've elected a flirtatious laugh and a playful slap across the forearm nonetheless. "Oh, you're SUCH a kidder! Hee hee! My place or yours?"
In my mind's eye, I imagined the county health officials standing before the TV cameras, waving a blown-up picture of this person, saying "For God's sake ladies! Insist on a condom! Or better yet, STOP SCREWING MONSTERS!"
"HE'S SO HOTTT!" all the ladies at home would swoon with lust. They'd get on their knees and start licking their TV screens. "NOW I WANT HIM EVEN MORE!!"
Dozens of women in a conservative, rural county were throwing themselves at this dude. They had both eyes open. They knew he was bad news. He probably could’ve had “I WILL MURDER YOU” tattooed across his forehead and they still wouldn't have gotten enough of him. The whole thing sprained by brain. What the hell is wrong with this picture?
As if to share in my confusion, the media couldn't fully process the dynamics either. Sometimes, it seemed as if they were running a kind of damage-control by handing-out poorly-concocted Blue Pills. A contemporary sample from Newsweek illustrates these observers' confusion quite handily. It reads as if the educated, savvy, compassionate reporter was unable to fully accept what was going on. Her morbid, sneaking admiration for Nushawn and her cognitive dissonance cannot help but manifest themselves repeatedly.
“SHE KNEW HIM AS ""FACE'' AND thought he was cute. ""He was like, "What's up, baby? You look so good, you are so pretty'.'' This was sometime in October 1996, a month after Nushawn Williams was told he was HIV-positive. Andrea Caruso was 17, a pudgy little blonde with a long history of emotional problems and a devastating lack of self-esteem. ""I wanted love and he showed me love. He made me feel like I was the princess of his castle,''
Awwww, see? She wanted LOVE. She lacked self-esteem. It wasn't because she was horny. And no other man had ever attempted to show her love before, surely. Right? She felt like a princess in his den of drugs and booze and cum-stained mattresses. As real princesses are wont to do.
Ugh. This whole disaster is just infuriating, but we must forge ahead nonetheless...
"Nobody knows exactly what brought Nushawn Williams to the town, --(The easy pussy, maybe?)-- but it is clear that he soon established himself as a relentless seducer of women. He had charm and, to a generation mesmerized by gangsta rap, a menacing form of glamour. ""He was from the big city,'' says Tonya, 18, who lived with Williams but says she never slept with him. ""Anybody from out of town gets a lot of attention around here, and he got a lot of at- tention from the girls.'' Williams sold pot and crack from a variety of shabby apartments and claimed to be a member of the Bloods. He wore the right clothes--Tommy Hilfiger, Hugo Boss, Pelle Pelle--and showered his girlfriends with little luxuries. ""He was It--everyone wanted to be a part of him,'' says Sherry Wright, who lived next door. ""He had his own place, drugs and alcohol, and it was a place to have fun.'' Wright, who is married and the mother of eight children, marveled at the constant parade of local girls who flocked to Williams's door..."
It almost feels as if the author of this paragraph wants a little taste of Nushawn herself, doesn't it? You can practically hear her panties starting to soak.
Tonya "lived" with Williams but never "slept" with him? Really now? I take that as meaning that the two of them only fucked while they were wide-awake and she would sleep elsewhere because there were already six other girls crammed onto his bed.
I should point out an additional detail here: I had actually been to bars in that county on more than one occasion in the 1990s-- I have distant relatives in neighboring northwest Pennsylvania and visited the Chautauqua Institution for a few summer lectures and concerts. Despite being "from out of town", I can honestly say that I never received any disproportionate doe-eyed innocent "Goll-lee you're from the big city??" accompanied by fluttering eyelashes from young lasses. It might've had to do with my average looks and my failure to wear a backwards baseball cap, swagger truculently, say "bitch" a lot and carry a snubnosed Ruger SP101 in my waistband, but who is to say?
This gets even better. And by that, I mean it gets worse.
"...Those who knew Williams well say he had a vicious temper and a habit of beating his girlfriends. ""Everybody knew how he treated girls,'' Tonya said. ""But they all thought it would be different when it came their turn...''
Years later, that line still comes as an icepick to the skull for me.
I can’t make light of what happened to those people because it's a complete catastrophe. But these victims nonetheless seemed so... enthusiastic to be with that victimizer?
We’re all supposed to feel compassion for victims, but how much compassion can you really feel when the victims were all so very happy to jump into the shark pit surrounded by red flashing DANGER: SHARK PIT signs?
It was only natural for me to have made some comparisons with my own life. Like how I was barely getting to first base with the women I liked the most. Meanwhile, this woman-beating repeat-offending hobo was out there doing... that stuff??
"Hi, Miss-- I'm a grad student at State University and I'm going on an internship to Taiwan this summer. Can I get you a drink?"
"Outta my face, geek! I wanna get in line for the violent disease-giving thug!"
Elsewhere in the reportage, we find this nugget…
"The weird part is that Williams apparently ignored the warning that he was HIV-positive."
Yeah that's the weird part, isn't it. So odd that a psychologically-unbalanced, impulsive bad boy act like a psychologically-unbalanced, impulsive bad boy. So odd. So peculiar. Women shouldn't find a man like THAT attractive, right? For everyone knows that women only love upstanding, morally-upright, progressive-minded gentlemen who are respectful listeners with good career prospects and who wear pink hats at gender equality rallies.
Blech.
By the way, do you suppose any feminists ever sought him out to deliver stern lectures about sexism and rape culture and objectifying women and all that jazz?
Of course not, they probably would've been lining-up to fuck him too. So that he’ll see the light and turn into a good man through the transformative power of liberated vaginas.
Naturally, there was a lot of public outrage about Williams. After the authorities threw the book at him, politicos like Rudy Giuliani could ride the tide of anger, preen before the cameras, flaunt their law-and-order bona-fides and bray for ever-heavier books to be thrown. Some laws about HIV confidentiality were modified and this raised concerns about the effects on health reporting and so on. I'm not an expert in such matters, so I can't rightly say how any of that turned out.
Still, I couldn't help but get depressed about the whole thing. As a grad student, I guess I was too boring. Or not good looking enough. Or not tall enough. Or not something enough. God help me, I couldn't figure out what I was doing wrong. And, what's more, no one could even tell me what I was doing wrong. Why women will deign to eat free meals with me, but not go any further than that.
“Men like Nushawn are who women truly love.” I concluded. “They want a man like him. They want to have his children. They will contentedly follow him straight to hell, with both eyes open, fully aware of where they could end up.”
It was a raw, jagged, painful dose of medicine that stuck with me like few other life-lessons would.
As sick and twisted and weird and morally clueless as it might sound, I think I still have to say: Thank you, Nushawn. Thanks for showing me reality, at long last. I still loathe what you did. I really do. You're probably still locked up somewhere and that’s for the best. You probably don't have a lot of light in your life and there’s probably no way for you to read this. Despite everything, despite all of the pain and destruction and irreparable tragedy that you dealt out, you unwittingly managed to demonstrate an awful truth that I probably needed to know.
And I wouldn’t have believed any of it if it hadn’t been so terribly real.
houseoftolstoy Mod 1y ago Stickied
Whether or not these women realize it, they are incentivizing the behavior of men like Nushawn while dis-incentivizing the behavior of the "nice and caring" men that actually want committed relationships. This may be all fine and good with them when they are in their 20s "having their fun," but what happens when they are no longer able to live this lifestyle and want to look for a man to marry? Such men are not going to appreciate being put on the back burner when they were ready and willing to have a serious relationship when she was hoping to tame a man had no desire to ever be in any committed relationship. If these men come to the correct conclusion that such women are not worthy of being wifed up, these women will only have themselves to blame for not thinking in a timeframe longer than 15 minutes.
But I do not expect them to come to the conclusion that it was their fault. No, I expect they will blame the very men who they previously overlooked when it comes to their turn to overlook the women who took them for granted. They can protest in a variety of ways:
"I am not that person anymore!" "I have grown as a person and know what I want now!" "The past is the past, and I am wanting something more serious now!" "It is none of your business how many people I slept with or who I slept with!"
Along with the attempts to deflect from their choices in the past, I expect them to shame men who had real moral standards and decency who they previously overlooked just to accept them despite the fact that they whored themselves out to the opposite type of man when they had the most to offer. But when they have less to offer the man that they are hoping will bail her out and marry her, I can only say that based on their actions, they did not appreciate such men when they were in their 20s, and they still don't appreciate such men. Rather, they need these men if they want to escape the possibility of spinsterhood. Who wants to be in a position where you are needed, but not wanted? Certainly not me.
Overkill_Engine Endorsed 1y ago
Literally can see it in action right here:
https://www.forums.red/p/whereareallthegoodmen/319673/video_30yr_old_realizes_men_prefer_younger_woman_and_in_her
Stupid cunt admits to screwing around with non-committal men in her 20's and then is shocked and appalled when men in their 30's ain't about to hand her a relationship on demand.
Who does she blame? Certainly not her stupid past choices.
lurkerhasarisen Mod 1y ago
That's exactly what they do. When those guys start to get noticed by women at the Epiphany Stage, unless they've become red-pilled a lot of them just think that it's finally "their turn" to be a pony on the carousel, and they want to experience what that's like before they tie themselves down.
And why shouldn't they think that? Their entire lives they've seen that the same women who are chasing them have always expressed desire by throwing sex at the men they desire. Since they are now being pursued by multiple women, why should they commit any more than the 20-something Chads did? Commitment was never required before... why should it start the moment it's their turn to exercise options?
But then we hear complaints about men not wanting to wife these women up and accusations of "Peter Pan Syndrome"... as if the men aren't just following the socio-sexual cues that women created.
The problem, of course, is that while women are willing to share "alpha" men, they're most certainly not willing to share BetaBucks men. Nonono, you see: Chad can have a roster of women who want to have fun, but Billy Beta's role is to provide support, and the woman who settles for him is entitled to every bit of his effort.
Despite what he thinks should happen now that he can choose between many women, Billy's designated role is not to be a carousel pony with many riders... his role is to be a plowhorse with one owner.
Profitglutton 1y ago
May all the thrill loving modern women find the Nushawn of their dreams, with all the AIDS and beatings they can handle. I desperately hope they get what they find.
Land_of_the_losers Mod 1y ago
To be fair to those women, they surely would've preferred that their princely love not have HIV. Or a criminal background. Or a proclivity towards beating them. Those were all accepted as the price of being with a man who was just so-oh amazing in every other regard.
The drugs, booze and sex in the dinky flophouse were good, clean fun. They wanted those, but if you just got rid of the extra baggage they didn't want? All of their dreams would've come true.
polishknight Endorsed 1y ago
I liken modern unleashed women to wanting men to be sort of like roller coasters. They want a thrilling ride, that FEELS like they’re going to die, but then it should leave them at the entrance, without vomit on their pants, and ready to go for another ride. They want a feeling of danger, but at the same time if they KNOW it’s safe then that danger isn’t there. Another analogy (and pardon me for throwing out another analogy, but it’s like going to a movie where you feel like its super dangerous and all, but you really do believe it. We personally know that the movie isn’t “real” but they want to feel it’s real.
Hence, most single women want men who are clowns to entertain them (PUA) and when the clowns don’t, when there’s no “rollercoaster” available, they just get into a gypsy cab to go home for thrills and wonder why they woke up in an ice bath missing a kidney.
I chuckled at a (likable) female youtube advisor telling men “Women lie because they want to feel safe” but instead, modern women are the opposite: They’re reckless thrill seekers.
The problem is that with “traditional dating” in the modern era, they want the clown or bad-boy to somehow transform himself into a reliable spouse when she’s ready. The clown should take off his makeup when it suits her or the bad boy reforms himself when she needs him to. Oh, and yet they should still be interesting for the marriage as well. He shouldn’t have his own emotional needs apart from those that please her.
Land_of_the_losers Mod 1y ago
"I like my boyfriend because he looks like he can kill me, but he won't."
Profitglutton 1y ago
At this point I think the aforementioned traits were the selling points. There is a popular female fantasy of taming the violent brute. The beatings (maybe not AIDS) were selling points and their magical vaginas were going to make him change his ways. At least in their own mind it made sense.
polishknight Endorsed 1y ago
It's funny that classical literature often celebrated by traditional conservatives is full of royal entitlement messages: Girls waiting for wealthy noblemen to rescue her because she's "virtuous" but helpless and incapable of working. A "happily ever after" relationship where the two of them live in luxury while the peasants toil in the fields to feed and serve them. On the other hand, the enlightement literature of the past 4 centuries has been obsessed with literally executing entitled princesses. It's typical feminine thinking for them to both liken themselves to "disenfranchised victims" of The Patriarchy while fantasizing about marrying the most entitled members of it.
"Violent brute" fantasies are part of their belief that a man who could literally impregnate a hundred women by conquering the village, and then taking them to be in his harem should somehow love her because she's "special" similar to the tale of Esther in the Bible (fun tale, read it.)
It's my contention that feminism and chilvary (trad-feminism) has undermined the actual "progressive" or "enlightement" eras that sought to empower lower and working class men (and their families) and to create what we refer to as "the middle class". The feminist movement has helped to kill off this trend towards lower working hours for the middle and working class which, up to the 1950's, had been moving towards 30 hour work weeks.
hornetsfalcons12 1y ago
Great post. Yeah, once you think about a man like this, the rest of it falls into perspective. Simply put, women are turned on by someone who can “protect and provide”. Who better to do that, than a man who looks like he has survived gang wars and can go get tens of thousands in street money in a weekend if he hustled?
The guy working his way up? He can’t protect or provide like this man. Especially the first part. Men who look that strong make that reptilian portion of a woman’s brain go crazy. “He can keep me safe!”. Never mind all of the indications that he has no interest in doing so.
And remember, a lot of women have men similar to this in their past, albeit not as extreme. So while you’re trying to court her, remember that she’ll never want you the same way that she wanted Tyroneius Maximus.
DextroShade 1y ago
I can only hope those skanks suffered greatly while dying of AIDS.
mustangfrank1 1y ago
Another masterpiece by Land of the Losers. I offer another masterpiece from a different angle, but it still represents the Red Pill moment in a man's life. https://whoism3.wordpress.com/2012/11/17/confessions-of-a-reformed-incel/
• When i hear a woman tell me that she’s gone through a dry spell and not had sex in over X weeks/ months.. i feel like putting my fist through her face. • When i hear a woman tell me that she feels ugly or unloved or unwanted because her partner hasn’t touched her in over 6 months, i feel like laughing loudly 3 inches from her face. • When i hear a woman tell me that she just picked up a random guy for a night of fun because she was lonely, i feel like i’m glad i don’t own a gun. • When i hear a woman tell me that i shouldn’t feel bad about having gone without for so long, after all it’s only just sex, i feel like disfiguring her face with a scalpel. ****Nature’s cruel joke and cosmic irony in one. I as a man, biologically driven 365 days a year to ejaculate and produce sperm as often as possible, and having the drive and desire to want it every waning moment, who is villified for this natural urge and made to feel ashamed of my sexuality, control it and subdue it to conform to the feminine imperative… have to listen to women, who in their solipsism cannot fathom the ordeal of what i’m about to write about, women who biologically ovulate and desire sex rather infrequently compared to men, talk about, no celebrate their sexuality, their urges and desires.. and lament their short dry spells as if the world were coming to an end. They can never understand what a power differential there is in these urges. Women can say they love sex just as much as men. That is total BS. Until there is a glut of male prostitutes, male escorts, male rub n tugs for female patrons, a demand for male sex workers and strippers i’ll say nay. Unless they’re all having alpha sex on the side perhaps? Or will touching themselves to 50 shades suffice? At least mommy porn is culturally acceptable. Women DO NOT need sex like men do.. otherwise the sex demand imbalance would not exist. Anyways.. back to my pitiful former life. I have no pictures of myself from a time period stretching from high school to my late 20’s, save for some randoms others might have taken of me. I have no memories or recollections of my time in high school. I have no stories of parties, girlfriends or wild flings. It’s a time period i wiped from my mind, much like PTSD. The only way i can recall it is if i sit down and think really hard about it. I rarely do because i don’t like feeling like shit for the hell of it. I was that beta/omega/zeta. I let myself get LJBF‘ed on multiple occasions being that ‘nice guy’ that male hating cunt Amanda Marcotte despises. I played by the rules as handed down to me by the feminine authorities on what women would look for and appreciate in a man. I was asked to believe what they said, not what they did. ‘Just be yourself‘ (your nice beta supplicating self) was the golden code. So here it is… my Incel Hell.
Living by the feminist code earned me 12 years of hell. Let that number sink in.
moorekom Mod 1y ago
@land_of_the_losers, please cross-post this to WAATGM in reddit. You can distinguish it with your mod privileges. Thank you.
Land_of_the_losers Mod 1y ago
Al right, I'll take care of it today.
kevin32 Mod 1y ago
Fantastic writing and buildup to the red pill dude. Also crosspost to the WAATGM forum for members there who don't frequent the Reddit sub. We're stickying it.
Land_of_the_losers Mod 1y ago
I think I crossposted the correct way just now.
Incidentally, I thought you were planning to add a new kind of flair, like "fake tradwife" or something.
Typo-MAGAshiv Mod 1y ago
We did.
https://www.forums.red/p/whereareallthegoodmen/319525/if_it_sounds_too_good_to_be_true_it_probably_is_i_give_you_t
moorekom Mod 1y ago
Thank you.
moorekom Mod 1y ago
cc: @kevin32, @lurkerhasarisen, @typo-magashiv. Just fyi, we'll start asking people who post in forums WATGMA to cross post to reddit WAATGM from here on. We'll lock the comments there, subject to mod discretion. If a mod wants to leave it open there, then we can, but I would advise against it since watgma posts usually attract more bitching and moaning compared to WATGMA ones.
kevin32 Mod 1y ago
Understood.
moorekom Mod 1y ago
Thank you.
moorekom Mod 1y ago
@woodsmoke, @land_of_the_losers. Fyi.
lurkerhasarisen Mod 1y ago
Call me callous, but I feel no pity for the women. None at all.
They knew. They all knew. And it's not that they didn't care... it's that what we see as a bug they saw as a feature.
I'm grateful that I never went nearly as far down the blue-pill path as you and many other guys did. I struck out with women a lot, but I only orbited one girl, and that wasn't for very long before I saw her for what she was. (I saw her many years later and she had hit the wall at warp speed: she looked like an old leather shoe that had been left outside over the winter. I didn't even feel schadenfreude... somewhat to my surprise I didn't feel anything at all.)
But I never despaired. Lack of self confidence has never been much of a problem for me, and when I saw so many girls throwing themselves at lesser men I didn't feel inadequate... I felt contempt. I didn't want a woman like that... I knew I was a good man and a good catch and I wanted to find a woman worthy of my commitment. Being a "late bloomer," my two sources of frustration were that girls didn't notice me until I was in college, and that my initial success was painfully slow because I met so few women who were even remotely qualified for anything serious.
The story has a happy ending, though.
I estimate that I had 15 or so first dates before I met my wife. Those turned into a handful of relationships of various lengths and intensities. Most of the women were fun to be with, and I learned to be more socially adept with women through trial and error. I think I could have "made it work" with three of them, although two were lacking in one or more ways, which is why I married the one I did.
woodsmoke Mod 1y ago
And if they didn't, if every one of these women genuinely believed they were truly special and this violent psychopath would change his ways just for her...
I honestly can't think of a stronger argument in favor of The Patriarchy™. They, and all the women like them (which is to say: women in general) have clearly demonstrated they are fundamentally incapable of the level of cognitive function necessary for the responsible exercise of individual agency.
If you can't be trusted not to behave like a toddler you should necessarily be treated like a toddler.
Lionsmane8 1y ago
Someone finally said it! The only way out of the this current global mess is the age old solution of restricting female agency.
But I don't see that happening any time soon.
whytehorse2021 1y ago
You weren't dangerous. Gotta be dangerous to attract women. Many ways to become dangerous but becoming muscular and articulate are the best.
Durek_The_Bald 1y ago
Well written piece, that. I'm bookmarking the link to your book.
Land_of_the_losers Mod 1y ago
Thanks so much; let me know if you'd like a coupon for Smashwords.
Typo-MAGAshiv Mod 1y ago
Some of this was like reliving my AFC days before I started learning pickup (no Red Pill back then).
I actually had muscles and competed in combat sports, but when I dealt with women I followed the same bad advice you did. I was too nice. I was a respectful listener. I watched total losers getting sex while I beta-ized myself right into the FriendZone.
And like @woodsmoke said, Nushawn and all his bitches, and the many sluts featured at WAATGM asking The Big Question, are strong illustrations of the need for Patriarchy.