North quotes me and Hugo Schwyzer on the topic. Here’s the extended remix of my remarks:
Unfortunately, in most cases, I don’t think it’s possible to talk someone out of a Men’s Rights obsession. For most of them, it seems to be driven not by facts — they’re happy to simply make up facts to fit their worldview — but by feelings, most obviously by rage at women. If they were driven by actual interest in issues, they probably would have accomplished something by now; in reality, only the overlapping but more politically focused Father’s Rights movement has actually had much of an effect on the real world, for better or worse. For most MRAs, the closest they come to activism is leaving angry comments everywhere online — or harassing individual women online in a manner similar to the ways abusers stalk the objects of their obsessions.
The one argument I think you can make to MRAs who are not too far gone is this: it’s not healthy for you to spend so much time stewing in your anger online. Instead of trying to help men work through their personal issues with women, the MRM encourages men to cultivate their rages and hatreds, to remain stuck. That’s not healthy for them, or for society at large.
North’s post was inspired by a recent Dear Prudence question on Slate from a girl whose dad had recently gone all MRA on her. (It’s here, scroll down a bit to the question that starts “Dad-Related Dilemma.:)
The guys at The Spearhead also had a whack at the Dear Prudence question here. Needless to say their perspective is a little different than mine or Hugo’s.
As far as I can tell from the badly Google-translated version of her blog, the Brazilian versions of Man Boobz (Homens Idiotas?) are pretty much identical to our Man Boobz, right on down to their obsessions with alphas and betas and all that crap.
Today, a GUEST POST from Catherine! Thanks, Catherine! And the rest of you, enjoy!
Over on Chateau Heartiste, the (He)artist(e) Formerly Known As Roissy devoted a recent post to the conundrum of handsome men coupled with ugly women. It’s essentially an open thread for the denigration of women who don’t live up to Roissy’s porntastic standards (17 to 20 years old with a BMI of about 18 *and* a D cup, and related WTF?! attributes), as well as ragging on those awful beta manginas who are punching below their weight – or, to quote Heartiste himself, are “polluting the gene pool with pigwoman blood.”
I was participating in a mobile conference which included question and answer periods, and I noticed an odd couple standing to my side. He was youngish and good-looking — most women would agree on his physical attractiveness — and his wife was a snout-nosed, inbred-looking, stringy-haired, big fat pig dressed in sweatshirt and ill-fitting jeans. In other words, the typical American woman. I assumed they were married because I saw their rings and she had her hand on a stroller with an infant tucked away in it.
He’s just getting started.
What abomination is this! I thought. But then the reason became crystal clear after only a few moments watching and listening to them interact.
Speaker: Any questions?
Big Fat Pig: [nudging her hubby with her elbow] Honey, remember…
Handsome Husbandry: [tentatively raising his index and middle finger, and haltingly talking] I have a question… I have a…
So obviously the young good-looking man is totally under the thumb of the big fat evil feminist woman, who has sucked out his brains and reduced him to a quivering lump of hesitation and uncertainty!
As he asked his question, he kept looking over at his wife — in fact, staring at his wife more than the speaker, although he was ostensibly addressing the speaker. One would be forgiven for having the impression that he was seeking constant real-time assurance from his wife that his question was acceptable for public discourse. Nervously shifting from one foot to the other, leaning into his wife, gazing downward when the speaker responded to him, his body language was so beta it was painful to watch. No, it was repulsive to behold, almost as repulsive as the visual effrontery of his wife’s blubbery carcass.
So, sniveling, indecisive beta manginas are repulsive… but not as repulsive as a corpulent woman! Gotcha, Roissy.
After getting in a few more digs at the contemptuous, unsympathetic wife, Roissy sets forth his views on various types of couples. First, the kinds of couples that should be allowed to exist:
Handsome man with beautiful woman
All is right in the world. You infer the man has alpha characteristics to complement his good looks, and he has cashed that in for a hot babe. …
Ugly man with ugly woman
All is right, if depressing, in the world. You infer the ugly man has beta or even omega characteristics, and that an ugly woman was the best he could do. You assume the ugly woman resents him for having to settle, but knows she has no other options. Love between them is less about passion than it is about task delegation and avoidance of suicidal loneliness.
All is well in the world of alpha males with hot babes, but those in ugly people combos need to find some highly diverting hobbies to keep from offing themselves.
Now Roissy turns his attention to two apparent mismatches, and delineates his usual double standards:
Ugly man with beautiful woman
Wow, he is shooting out of his league! But then, thinking on it a bit, you recall that you saw quite a few couples like this mismatched pair during the week. It’s less rare than popularly imagined. You may ask yourself “What does she see in him?”, and from that you infer the ugly man has compensating alpha attributes to snag such a hottie — maybe he’s wealthy, or slick, or funny, or a dominating asshole, or some combination of each. You assume this ugly man has options to be able to choose a beauty for a girlfriend.
Moral: ugly men are permitted to have counter-balancing attributes! Can you guess what is coming next?
Handsome man with ugly woman
Whoa, what is he thinking?! An uncommon sight, (occurrence less frequent than its polar opposite), you presume the handsome man has some debilitating personality flaw — maybe social awkwardness, or shyness, or micropenis — that prevents him from fornicating with his true potential. Unlike the mirror image couple of the ugly man with the beautiful woman, you do not give the ugly woman the benefit of the doubt in assessing why she was able to catch a handsome man. You simply conclude, reasonably, that the handsome man is not the alpha male on the inside that he looks like on the outside, and therefore the ugly woman is not really dating out of her league. There must be something wrong with him, you think.
Women have no value beyond their looks, so the pitiful man dating someone wretchedly below Roissy’s artificial standards must likewise be sub-standard, in some way invisible to us, to have abased himself so humiliatingly.
Having drawn these pictures, Roissy rounds out the post with a sermon on female ugliness, which is to be universally shunned:
There is an instinctive, deeply primitive understanding chugging away behind the prefrontal cortex in every one of us that women sexually respond to a suite of male attractiveness traits, of which looks are only one desirable male quality. It is therefore not inconceivable to most non-brainwashed observers that an ugly man might have other characteristics that appeal to a beautiful woman on his arms, or that a handsome man might be crippled with weakness and self-doubt that constrains his ability to attract no better than a big fat pigwoman.
And we’re back to the disparaging references to pigs. Why, oh why does Roissy hate pork so? (That he detests women is more or less expected.)
In the mismatched couple I witnessed, it was clear that whatever good will or tokens of desire that the handsome man had inspired in his pigwoman were completely squandered by his beta behavior. It was easy to see by her loathsome demeanor that his looks no longer held — if they ever did beyond the first couple of dates — any sway over her feelings for him. But being the big fat pigwoman she is, she knew she could not do better.
And that is why the generational increase in human beauty is a slow, painstaking process, punctuated by tragic reversals to a sloping brow norm (see: Appalachia, Detroit). Handsome betas are polluting the gene pool with pigwoman blood.
What the hell was that? I’ll quote it again: “Handsome betas are polluting the gene pool with pigwoman blood.” Oh, the huge manatee! Shrink in terror from the impending doom to be brought about by porcine-human hybrids!
Naturally such hyperbole is a cue for some predictable misogyny in the comments, such as the following from regular tool Tyrone:
That’s why its good to be older to get a good sense for how a woman will age. There are loads of women who look hot when young but turn into cattle as they age. Mom is usually a good bench mark. If you’d do her Mom, you’re probably safe. Check out how Ginger Lynn looks like nowadays. You’d never recognize her from her porn days.
A view right in line with Roissy’s famed dating value regimen that women lose value once they’re older than, say, 29; and Tyrone follows it up with some white supremacism:
White people won’t survive without more kids. Smart white men need to breed more in our country- with white women.
What, you might ask, about women with great bodies but unappealing faces? One Anonymous coward urges his brethren to go for it :
[O]ne of my biggest regrets was not doing a girl who had the hottest body around but an ugly face. Temporarily of course.
But for fuck’s sake don’t marry them. Right, tenderman100?
Some years ago, before I was married for the first time (twice married, twice divorced) I was banging this babe. Amazing body. Amazing tits. But a kind of a bucktoothed face. When I first met her, I thought, wow what amazing tits…yeah she’s kinda ugly but she’s friendly and I just have to see those tat tas. Well, not only did I see them, we banged for a few months. She was incredible in bed, highly orgasmic, very flexible (did ballet). Haven’t seen her in decades, but if she is a fat cow, I wouldn’t be surprised. Yeah, she was ugly but she pounded like a pro. So it isn’t always what it seems. Then again, I would never have married her.
If not marriage, then what about a long-term relationship? Over again to Tyrone:
A good woman who has reparable shortcomings is still a good option for an LTR. Fugly is a whole different animal.
But if you marry one of them, Tyrone adds, make sure you have a contingency plan!
My wife knows if she ever lets herself go, talks about divorce, whatever that pisses me off enough to leave, I will simply disappear into the night. No arguments or emotions, it will be a complete coup de main. There won’t be anyone around to serve papers to. I’ll be overseas in an undisclosed location screwing LBFMs.
In case you don’t already know, LBFM is short for Little Brown Fucking Machines, a term of art to refer to Asian women (frequently underage) sought out by sex tourists — which should be sufficient to outline Tyrone’s sophisticated moral principles. He continues:
I say this with no emotion or bravado, just let her know its a fact that she must deal with. Marriage is like defense policy, the best defense is a good offense. Strike first, strike to kill. Identify a location and buy yourself some property there, so you have somewhere to go. Move enough money there to live well until you can start a bar or whatever to live. Plan this for a few years in advance if need be. Life is too short to be some stupid broad’s wage slave.
How charming!
Heartiste really has a way of bringing out the best in people!
As you may have heard, Christopher Hitchens – writer, drinker, atheist, shit-stirrer – died the other day. He’s gotten tributes from people all over the political spectrum. Over on The Spearhead, the fellows are paying tribute to his life. Well, not so much his life as to his opinion that women just aren’t funny – apparently their vaginas get in the way, or something.
Here a fellow named Rocco offers his fond remembrances of the man:
I applaud him and wish him to be considered by the big man upstairs to have done the world a service by publically opposing the political machine that is feminism by telling a simple truth.
Woman aren’t funny and men do alot of the great stuff they do like music, art and war to impress women.
Maybe this is why women will never invent anything, why bother.
Twenty upvotes and one downvote for that. Presumably that one downvote is from God, who’s probably spent the last couple of days just going around downvoting anything positive said about Hitchens.
His point being that not only do women not need to be funny to attract men, they don’t need to do anything else but simply be women; dress nicely, wear a little make up and perfume – – pleasant personality or the ability to engage in substantive conversation is completely optional.
Everything men strive for is to attract more women.
Everything women strive for is to be more like men.
This Cuntry has become so PC- that it couldn’t produce someone like Hitchens- as much as I may disagree with some of his views. He had a functioning mind- and an evidently rigorous education. Can anyone name anybody like him in the public arena? The fact he could throw words like “dyke” around with ease in the middle of his perorations shows a great deal of confidence (he wouldn’t let himself be bullied).
Well, he was drunk in a lot of his interviews. Personally I thought he was great and one of the things that made him remarkable–he’d be drunk in an interview or debate and still soundly spank the other person with his wit.
Whether you loved him or hated him, agreed with him or disagreed with him, you’ve got to admit: he somehow managed to accomplish more while staggeringly drunk than most of us accomplish stone-cold sober. And that’s something, I guess.
The programming executives at ABC have been secretly replaced by alien pod-people from planet MRA. That’s really the only logical explanation for “Work It,” an upcoming ABC sitcom whose premise seems to have been lifted straight from the comments section of The Spearhead. Here’s a description of the show from ABC:
With unemployment an ongoing issue and women now outnumbering men in the workforce, the new comedy series Work It follows two alpha males who realize the only way to beat the current “mancession” and land a job in pharmaceutical sales is to pass themselves off as women.
Yep, it’s a retread of Bosom Buddies, this time sprinkled with MRA buzzwords. Alpha males, mancession – all we need is a few false rape accusations to complete the MRA-cliche soufflé.
Of course, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe this isn’t an MRA show at all. Maybe it’s just a really inept and misguided attempt to explore the issues faced by trans women in the workplace. But somehow I doubt it.
Women totally slutting it up in provocative waist-cinching attire
Apparently, or so I’ve learned from the manosphere, every single thing that women do is designed to torment men. Yesterday, we learned that women with jobs are leeching off of men just as much as women without jobs.
Further proof of female perfidy can be found in a recent post on the popular manosphere blog In Mala Fide with the provocative title Provocative Female Attire is an Assault Against Men. Guest poster Giovanni Dannato lays it out for anyone who needs convincing:
When a woman walks down a crowded sidewalk in revealing clothing, she is forcing herself on every man nearby.
The woman fully understands the powerful biological drives of men. She knows they cannot ignore her, not even if they want to.
Amazingly, the fact that a woman might show some cleavage does not automatically mean that she wants to have sex with every single man who sees her.
She has chosen to advertise herself to everyone passing by, but she is looking only for a few men. The wealthiest, the most famous, the most powerful men she can attract. …
There’s an old elementary school custom…when you bring something tasty to class, it’s understood that you should put it away unless you intend to share it with others. …
Likewise, a woman who puts her goodies blatantly on display is making false advertisements. Nobody supposes or expects that she could share herself with her entire audience—not even if she wanted to.
That’s right. Women are like gum. Or that pizza Spicoli had delivered to him in class in Fast Times at Ridgemont High that the mean Mr. Hand forced him to share with everyone. And if you gum-pizza-ladies are not willing to share yourself with every horny man (and, presumably, lesbian) who happens to notice you in your slut uniform, you are committing a terrible infraction.
Oh, sure, wearing a totally cute outfit is not specifically against the law, but, as Dannato reminds us,
looking for refuge in explicit written law is inherently disingenuous. …
[W]omen exposing themselves without intent to reciprocate the attention they attract is impolite and inconsiderate – an act of aggression in which they use the power of their sex as a weapon.
a defense mechanism used by lower status men against women flaunting themselves publicly – for the benefit of millionaires only.
What else are men supposed to do?
[M]en are effectively strapped down, gagged, and muzzled while females can flaunt and taunt with impunity. For many men this pretty much sums up every single day of an entire lifetime at school and at work.
And women won’t even admit that when they put on a cute outfit and leave the house that they’re doing it to torment men.
Western Women don’t just abuse their incredible sexual power, they pathologically lie about their inability to understand the effects and implications of their actions. In fact, they seem to derive a sort of sociopathic pleasure from being able to sow unpleasantness and discord without consequence – all while playing innocent. They express their contempt and hatred for men even as they troll the populace for providers. Their enormous power comes without responsibility and they love it that way.
And now these evil women have come up with an even-more-dastardly-than-usual way to torment men “[i]n the most vengeful, derisive, and mocking way they know how.” Yep, you guessed it: The SlutWalks. Large groups of women tormenting men with sexy clothes in unison!
Apparently overwhelmed by contemplation of the sheer feminine evil of the SlutWalks, Giovanni ends his post abruptly at this point.
I admit I don’t have the patience to wade through the comments. If any of you do, please post any of your findings below.
EDITED TO ADD: Ironically, Ferdinand Bardamu (the guy behind In Mala Fide) aids and abets the evil sexy-woman assault on men with his own retro porn site Retrotic. NSFW, of course. And if Dannato’s post is to believed, not safe for straight men generally.
Manosphere dudes – MRAs, MGTOWers, PUAs and whatever other acronyms they will eventually invent – love to tell themselves little “just so” stories about women. One of their favorite stories is the story of the Bad Boy Cock Carousel.
The gist of it: Women in their twenties are at the height of their physical beauty. So they act like entitled bitches, sleeping with every Bad Boy and Alpha Asshole there is and ignoring the humble, honest, hardworking “nice guy” betas silently pining for them.
But once these mean girls hit the age of 27 or so, they suddenly become ugly monsters, and the bad boys stop returning their calls. So then the evil ladies try to glom on to the nearest beta male in an attempt to marry him and steal all of his money.
But the beta males don’t want none of that used-up pussy, and so they Go Their Own Way and everyone ends up forever alone. Or the guys learn “game” and start banging the hotties. Or they just go back to posting sammich jokes on Reddit. I think these are all supposed to be happy endings, because at least the evil bitches get their comeuppance.
Recently, someone posted a n especially creepy version of this Manosphere fairy tale in the comments here; it turned out to have been cut and pasted from a comment on Roissy/Heartiste’s “game” blog by a guy who calls himself PhillyBoy81. It’s long; I trimmed it a little for space.
“[A]lpha males” are doing all the rest of us a favor in the long run. They operate very much like short sellers in the dating market, exposing fraud and helping to discover the true prices of commodities (women).
Yep, we’re on the express train to Doucheytown.
Let’s take a 21-year old chick who’s between a 7/8 (cute to pretty. … She can pretty much get sex whenever she wants it and with whomever she wants to have it with. And that is ultimately her downfall.
Young women (and some older ones) have an overinflated sense of the value of their vaginas. I mean, they have Wharton MBAs paying for exotic trips and they’re drinking Cosmos in the VIP with the Wizards.
Apparently this is just how women in their early twenties live. Who knew?
Since they are able to get such easy access to “alpha” dick, it follows logically that they should also have access to “alpha” wealth, marriage, and the lifestyle that accompanies all of that, right?
Wrong. See, when women gain this enormous sense of pussy power, they swing for the fences. … So, the cute guy with a 3.8 GPA, but no car? Nope, not good enough. The nice-looking pre-med student? “Nah, I’ll just get back to him later. I heard Jude Law’s hotter brother is transferring here this semester.”
This had me worried for a second, but I looked it up: Jude Law does not have a “hotter brother,” or indeed a brother at all, which is good news for all straight men of equal or lesser hotness than Jude Law.
Anyway, back to the evil women:
They invariably end up overplaying their hand. They chase these players looking to get a ring, and then that ring never comes. So now they’re 27. It’s a good thing she kept that pre-med Johns Hopkins student in her back pocket just in case things didn’t work out with the player, right?
Wrong again. In a vacuum, women would have their way. Men beg for sex. Women decide whether to give it to them (and for most guys, they will not give it to you). But luckily, we don’t live in a vacuum. We live in the real world with social constraints, and there are two that work distinctly to a man’s advantage: reputation and age. …
Ladies don’t think … we won’t remember your bitchiness. And don’t think we won’t remember those guys who you ran behind like a cum bucket.
Hmm. I’m pretty sure the only place buckets are gifted with mobility is in old Disney cartoons.
We remember. And we punish.
When a man sleeps with 100 chicks, he’s a stud. When a woman sleeps with JUST ONE guy, that eliminates you as wifey material to ALL of his friends. …
Apparently penises have a sort of reverse-Midas Touch thing going on: every woman who touches one turns into a filthy, used-up slut.
The height of a woman’s value, in terms of her value as a long term partner, is around the age of 27. That is the praecipice. The older she gets, the more her singlehood gets scrutinized by men. Why the hell is she still single? Who’s cock has she been sucking all these years?
Clearly that is the first question every straight man should ask himself whenever he sees a single woman older than the age of 27. (Just make sure you don’t actually ask this question out loud; it doesn’t go over well.)
[L]et’s face it, what virile, successful bachelor wants to entertain a 29 or 30 year old as wifey potential. She’s going to want to become a baby factory right away and rip away the last vestiges of your freedom. I don’t think so. It’s now my time to swing for the fences and bang some of these 21 year olds that I couldn’t bang in college.
Hello creepy older dude lurking in the shadows at the frat party!
In conclusion, a woman’s value is really defined by the type of man who puts a ring on her finger, not the type of guy who will fuck her. It takes a lot of women a long time to understand this, and thus, they overplay their hand. If it wasn’t for the players dogging them out, these women would not get a sense of their true value and start to seek out men who fit within their price range.
So that’s the story. It’s a stupid story. It’s not a true story. But it’s the story that manosphere dudes, like young children, want to hear over and over and over.
But I haven’t even gotten to the best part. Our pal MarkyMark, an excitable and somewhat addled Man Going His Own Way, reposted PhillyBoy81’s comment on his blog. In the comments there (as Man Boobz commenter Wetherby pointed out) we find this little gem:
A man is not being respected if the woman he is with has spent her youth, beauty and fertility on someone else.
Yep, that’s right. I’m just going to repeat that, because, wow.
A man is not being respected if the woman he is with has spent her youth, beauty and fertility on someone else.
All women older than 27 or so who date or marry men are disrespecting these men because … they are older than 27. Apparently women age out of spite. Maturation is misandry!
I wrote earlier this year about the controversy swirling around Lucky McKee’s film The Woman. After a midnight showing at Sundance last January, one angry man in the audience stood up and denounced the film as a “disgusting movie” that “degrades women.” Given McKee’s nuanced treatment of gender issues in his previous films May and The Woods, I suspected that this outraged critic had completely missed the point.
Now I’ve finally gotten to see the film and, yep, he did. The Woman isn’t a misogynist film; it’s a film about misogyny. The Woman revolves around a cheerful , self-satisfied and and superficially charming country lawyer who captures a ferocious feral woman he spots on a hunting trip and chains her in the cellar in what he perversely sees as an attempt to “civilize” her. A patriarchal king of his castle, he introduces her to the rest of the family and assigns them all chores relating to her upkeep.
I don’t really want to give away much more than this; suffice it to say that as the film progresses we learn just how much of an odious psychopath this “family man” really is. But while the film offers a savage critique of his cruelty, and his misogyny, none of the women in the film are unambiguously noble victims, and when they begin to fight back the story is no simple tale of feminist empowerment. It’s a bit more subtle and unsettling than that.
While less overtly violent than, say, your typical Saw film, The Woman is a film that’s often, and by design, hard to take. Yes, there are some grisly deaths, but this isn’t a film that glories in gore for gore’s sake; it’s really about cruelty and complicity and feeling trapped, the ways in which fucked-up families can ensnare even outsiders in their toxic dynamics.
Naturally, the film has drawn sharply mixed reactions from critics. It got a glowing review from Andy Webster in the New York Times, who described the cast as “remarkable” and praised the way McKee invests the film’s “a powerful parable with an abundance of closely observed details.” Marc Holcomb of the Village Voice, meanwhile, dismissed it as “torture porn for people who’d never admit to liking torture porn.” (He also noted sardonically that the feral woman is “apparently tame enough to shave her armpits.” And her legs too, I might add; under the caked-on-grime, she’s what the PUAs would probably rate a HB10. )
But the strangest review I’ve seen so far is one by Rene Rodriguez in the Miami Herald, who perversely describes the film as, er, fun. While acknowledging the film’s feminist themes, she dismisses them as mere window-dressing:
[C]ome on: You want a feminist movie, go rent Norma Rae. The Woman is the sort of horror picture designed to make you throw popcorn at the screen, groan with disgust and shriek out loud when McKee springs a shock on you. … Good times.
Really? Were you throwing popcorn at the screen during Antichrist too?
Of course, it doesn’t exactly help – as Rodriguez and a couple of other reviewers have noted – that the film’s publicists sent out the DVD screener with a barf bag “just in case.” The Woman deserves better than that.
I feel sorry for you and any other woman who truly believes that they can physically overpower a man.
You know, if women are just as physically capable as men, I’d love to start my own inter-gender boxing league. Sign me up, baby! Equality at its finest. 🙂
#mencallmethings is just another example of how women (in first world countries) don’t have any actual problems. Between the government and manginas doing everything for women, no woman has any true problems. Any “problem” a woman has is because of one of these reasons:
1. A desire for the equivalent of fried ice. IOW she wants something that is physically impossible.
2. Failed attempts at defrauding, stealing from, or otherwise attempting to enslave men.
That’s it. When a woman has to go through 1% of what a typical non-alpha man has to go through then maybe she can talk about having actual problems. Until that happens women should keep their mouths shut.
Exactly. We need to stop talking about men raping women to focus on the much more important issue of women not having sex with White and Nerdy.
But I am wondering about one thing. Is it possible that the women in question were asking for fried rice instead of fried ice? Because fried rice is totally a thing, and if you call up the proper restaurant someone will literally bring it to your door.
So a six man crew has just touched down on Earth after a nearly two-year Russian expedition to mars. Well, that’s not quite true. The five men have returned from an imaginary trip to a fake mars; in reality, they spent the entirety of the “mission” sitting in some trailers in a parking garage in Moscow. Except for a brief interlude in which several of the fake marsonauts took a brief stroll on the surface of fake mars – also inside a trailer in the parking lot.
The idea behind all this? To see if six dudes could manage to stay sane while stuck in cramped quarters together for the length of time it would take to go to mars and back.
One of the many weird details about this weird faux-mission is that it was an all-dude affair. None of the marsonauts were women. Not, evidently, because the mission planners thought that women would be less capable than men of handing the pressure of a fake (or even a real) mission to mars. But because if they sent any ladies along, the men would want to have sex with them. As one news account explains:
Controversially, the experiment did not include a woman, with researchers clearly wanting to avoid it degenerating into a scientific version of television’s sexual tension-filled “Big Brother”.
When the “returning” marsonauts stepped out of their “spaceship” at the end of the experiment, the same news account notes,
They were each presented with a flower by young female researchers in white coats as a reward for their endeavours.
It has not been confirmed if the marsonauts popped boners at the sight.
I for one support the notion of male-only spaceflights, real or phony. And not just because the ladies would turn our space capsules into deep space slutmobiles. Just imagine what would happen if a female-infested space crew had an encounter of the third kind with some really handsome space alien dudes – the interstellar equivalents of Brad Pitt. You know what would happen next: those dirty sluts would sell out our planet for a ride on the little green cock carousel.
Ah, who am I kidding, those sluts would sneer at the little green men, holding out for the tall greys.
Audiovidual supplement: Three videos. One, Rachel Maddow talking about the mission at its halfway point. Two, a brief look at everyday life on the “spaceship.” And last but definitely not least: a video of the fake-mars walk. Inside a trailer. You have to watch at least a few seconds of that one.
Cheating is jerky. But this picture is still hilarious.
Here’s the bravely anonymous alpha blogger behind “Danger & Play ~ An online magazine for alpha males” explaining “Why You Should Cheat on Your Girlfriend.” I’ve bolded my favorite bit:
Haters will tell you to, “Man up! Break up with your girlfriend if you’re not happy.” They are missing the point. You want to have your cake, and to eat it too. Steady, reliable pussy and the occasional strange is the best of all worlds.
Cheating is a lot of fun, and it’s something I highly recommend. It’s way more exhilarating than bungee jumping, and few things feel as good as banging your girlfriend on the same day you banged some strange.
Cheating keeps your game tight. The best way to regulate your girlfriend is knowing you can bang chicks as hot or hotter than your girl. Well, when you cheat, this isn’t hypothetical. It’s reality.
Somehow I’m guessing there’s a lot more “hypothetical” than “reality” going on in this guy’s posts.
You don’t want an exclusive relationship? Fine. There’s no law saying you have to be in one. You can date casually and non-exclusively. You can have an open or polyamorous relationship. There are a lot of people out there in relationships, yet happily fucking other people outside of them. They’re just above board with it.
But that’s not what’s going on with our PUA friend here. With his talk about “regulat[ing]” girlfriends, he seems more interested in fucking over his girlfriend (assuming such a creature really exists) than he is in fucking strangers (sorry, “stranges”).
