Bad Boys

friend zone
We’re just friends.

Today we have a guest post by Twitter user @Pharmaheretic on the animal nature of the ‘nice guy’.

The view that ‘bad boys’ are significantly more attractive to women than ‘nice guys’ has become pervasive enough to be now considered mainstream. One could even go so far as to say that it is the dominant view in younger age-groups. As many of you also know, a lot of ink and electrons have been spent on trying to understand why women prefer ‘bad boys’ over ‘nice guys’.

Some have tried to explain this phenomenon by invoking deterministic scientific-sounding concepts such as “evolutionary psychology” and “hyper-gamy”. Others see it is an outcome of some vaguely defined “moral failings” inherent in secular societies, the tertiary effects of feminism or a lack of long-term planning. In my opinion, all such explanations are ex post facto rationalizations rather than objective explanations. Moreover, they almost willingly ignore or gloss over a very important question.

Why should women prefer ‘nice guys’ over ‘bad boys’?

The conventional reasoning for ‘nice guys’ being better than ‘bad boys’ in the long-term usually centers around the first group being supposedly better providers than the latter one. Somehow that is supposed to translate into “better reproductive success”. But how does that reasoning play out in the real world?

Let us, for a moment, hypothesize that humans are mindless and deterministic machines devoted to reproducing themselves like bacteria, worms, or wolves. What would a world where that hypothesis is correct look like? Is there a correlation between the number of children people have versus their ability to provide for them? Do you see billionaires having hundreds and thousands of children? What about upper-middle class types? How many have a dozen kids?

Now some of you might say.. “it is not just about how many kids a couple has, it is also about whether you can provide them a good upbringing and life”. OK, so how much money and resources does it take to raise a child properly? And when do you reach the point where extra money does not improve things any further? As far as the world we live in today is concerned, there is no real gain from spending more money and resources than that spent on raising an average upper-middle class child. Beyond that point, spending extra money does not reliably improve outcomes to a worthwhile degree. In fact, for most purposes the biological viability of a child born to working class parents in developed countries (other than the USA) is statistically identical to one with billionaire parents.

So why aren’t billionaires pumping out kids by the dozens? What about upper-middle class professional couples? Why aren’t they having one dozen kids each?

The answer to this apparent paradox has two major components. Firstly, human beings are not mindless machines devoted to reproducing themselves. Secondly, having kids usually diminishes the general quality of life for their parents. Furthermore, having kids no longer guarantees social contact, assistance, or care in your later years.

Consequently, it is no surprise that human beings today are just not into having kids. The ‘nice guy’ strategy of being a “better provider” worked as long as having children was a net positive. Once having children became profitless and optional, women simply did not need the spineless stable provider-type.

I can almost hear some of you say “OK, that could explain why women don’t care for ‘nice guys’ anymore. But why do they detest them? Alternatively, what makes ‘bad boys’ attractive? The conventional answer to this question is that ‘bad boys’ are attractive because they are more popular, dominant, rebellious, mysterious etc. But is that really the case?

The belief that ‘bad boys’ are attractive because they exhibit some desirable characteristic is widespread, and it can explain why certain highly successful and visible types (such as famous entertainers, sportsmen, musicians) get tons of pussy. But how do you explain women lusting after barely known musicians, low-level drug dealers, semi-functional alcoholics, and others who are considered “failures”. What makes women prefer such apparently “failed” men over “conventionally successful” guys?

My answer to this apparent paradox is as tasteless as it is unconventional: willing slaves inspire disgust and contempt, not lust and passion.

The vast majority of jobs throughout human history have always been based on voluntary slavery. Indeed, there is a direct correlation between the willingness of slaves to humiliate and debase themselves and their compensation.

Consider for a moment the idea that the long educational requirements and probationary periods for conventionally high-income occupations such as physicians, scientists, lawyers, architects, and engineers are about selecting especially spineless and willing slaves rather than perpetuating meritocracy or ensuring competence.

What kind of person would end up in such conventionally well-paid careers? Also, wouldn’t such a servile mindset spill over into their personal lives?

What are the chances that a person with any significant level of self-respect, ability for independent thought, or autonomous agency would end up in a well-paid and “socially-acceptable” occupation? ‘Nice guys’, both established and aspiring, have more in common with well-trained dogs than human beings as far as women are concerned. They can jump through many obstacle courses, learn amazing new tricks, and be loyal companions. But at the end of the day they are just that: dogs who serve others for meager rewards.

In contrast to that, ‘bad boys’ are in it for themselves even if they are not especially successful. They possess autonomous agency, something that ‘nice guys’ lack. While women may not explicitly think in those terms, it is pretty obvious to them that they see ‘nice guys’ as whimpering voluntary slaves. Wouldn’t you if you were in their position?

Sure, such ‘nice guys’ can often make decent money and provide a decent lifestyle to the woman they are with. But is it possible for that woman to continuously overlook the fact that she is with an easily manipulated, servile, and spineless human being?

Malthusian Trap

Das My Baby.

Today we have a special guest essay from Twitter user @mrmarfanman on the horrors of 21st century employment.

“Has anyone here done a group interview?”

I’ve been enrolled in some youth job employment program that trains fresh-faced, nubile men and women for our future lifelong careers in their various affiliated multinationals. “One of the requirements a prospective employee must fulfill before being assigned a workplace involves completing a series of interview and employment preparation workshops.” We must be taught how to dance like monkeys for our overlords so they allow us to burn our retinas in front of Microsoft Excel™ for 50 hours a week. How else can we purchase Netflix subscriptions, Apple devices, fancy Adidas shoes and tickets to the 9th Star Wars movie? We’d join our fathers’ small businesses, but all of our dads have become suicidal telemarketers at major pharmaceutical companies that primarily fund studies about the benefits of nationwide state-enforced SSRI prescriptions for all college-aged males.

The woman who’s been tasked with putting us on the 9-to-5 conveyor belt has prepared a wonderful slide presentation to help her inculcation. She’s hunched over and paces nervously across the office carpet while she dispenses her vocational wisdoms in a scared, quiet voice. Her speech is peppered in “um”s and “yeah”s, even though she must’ve spent 2 hours beforehand reciting her PowerPoint™ doctrine to herself in between deep breaths her psychiatrist has asked her to do to help with the anxiety. She squirrels off to a corner every time a diligent little hamster from the audience is eager enough to take a picture of one of her slides. “Sorry, I just look so bad in pictures, like, yeah, haha.”

Ms. Mouse and her ilk were shoved in lockers in high school and routinely ignored at parties in college. Now they’ve developed technology to help them inherit the Earth in retaliation. Millions of hunched over, quiet Silicon Valley bugmen spend their lives developing PowerPoint to coddle the inherently poor leadership and social skills of millions of hunched over, quiet middle managers like Ms. Mouse. With this corporate aid, these middlemen can effectively enact their revenge by enslaving millions of their high school bullies to spending their lives in Excel.

The sexual marketplace used to be the one area where the nerds have failed to violently redeem their youths. So they’ve funded the development of natural language processing AIs and life-like sexbots that acquiesce to any romantic or erotic demands. In the meantime, they have dating apps that reduce attraction to the sole determination of some proprietary algorithm that they’ve developed. So on and so forth. Software is eating the world. Soon, they’ll use CRISPR to built augmented hyper-nerds, optimized for high APM play during League of Legends and maximally productive pair coding. There will be no escape from the boundless, pent-up rage of that kid from school who had braces until 19 and played Magic: the Gathering and now brags about being a project manager for Gmail.

“You know, like an interview where you’re basically, um, being interviewed with other people? … No? Well, it’s getting kinda more popular. It helps speed up the whole process. I’ve got some great tips for that kinda interview.”

In a group interview, when your interviewer unbuckles his pants, claw at the other interviewees’ eyes so you get the first chance at taking his facial. Remember, the wider you smile when he cums, the better your odds are of getting the job. In a fishbowl interview, where you’re up against multiple interviewers, you will seem more passionate if you request the bukkake first. Remember to show up 15 minutes early to your interview; spend the time practicing your blowjob and submissive dirty talk skills. You never know when an interviewer might throw you a curveball, so do an enema the night before and bring KY jelly just in case. Employers value a disciplined and orderly self-starter, so make sure to play with their balls and nipples. Remember, if you want to climb the corporate ladder, you have to be efficient, passionate, and hard-working. The fastest hamsters get the biggest wheels. Valuable advice that eager, jolly drone bees jot down in their Notes apps.

Once you get your job, learn how to dress well for it, but not so well that you would potentially embarrass someone at a higher caste level. Remember to be a jolly drone and network with your peers. Smile and talk about the weather and how much you love being chained at the ankles to those flexible, comfortable $700 bootleg Aeron chairs. Be respectful to your boss. She will most likely be a radfem lesbian from Smith College hired to fill diversity quotas, clip-clopping up and down the aisle in her 6-inch heels with her proudly hairy legs. Her proud contributions to the company include a grassroots program to teach African refugees how to code JavaScript, as well as a propensity for hiring other womyn that had 2.1 GPAs in their Drama majors. You’ll soon learn from your new coworkers that ‘being a free spirit and discovering who you are’ essentially boils down to using their parents’ money for yearly visits to Buddhist shamans in Shanghai and capitulating to the demands of fratboys who DM them over Instagram for nudes. Remember not to look at their meaningless tattoos for too long or PandoDaily will write an article about toxic sexual harassment in the tech workplace. It won’t matter, anyways, because soon you’ll be fired for performing poorly on the Implicit Association Test. Buzzfeed will write an article about it and you’ll be blacklisted from every company in the in the Western hemisphere.

As Ms. Mouse droned on, my eyes glazed over to the pasty Oriental peer a couple of seats away from me, no older than 19. He was chugging from a bottle of Soylent® 2.0 and absentmindedly scrolling through /r/LateStageCapitalism. I could tell his entire daily routine just by looking into his tired, dark, baggy eyes. He wakes up miserably at 10:30 AM after a long night of watching Hearthstone streams on Twitch until 4 AM. Then, he walks into his iOS development class 25 minutes late. He tries to make up for it with some class participation and asks his professor how the latest Apple devices can be used to Make The World A Better Place™. He learns that they can be an indispensable aid in the effort to dramatically increase estrogen levels in municipal water supplies and reads a relevant article from HackerNews. Despite earning miserable grades, he won’t ever consider switching out of a STEM major because he needs to feel superior about his perceived workload. He spends time on Facebook ceaselessly bragging about how bright his career prospects are, blissfully unaware that similarly talented H1-Bs will work for half his expected wage. He’ll find out about them when they start protesting for the right to openly defecate on Palo Alto streets. He goes to his dorm and plays Overwatch for 3 hours, remembering to take regular breaks to vape and watch hardcore porn. Finally, he finishes off the night by watching Hearthstone streams on Twitch until 4 AM. Rinse and fucking repeat.

The ideal man. All miserable bugmen, chasing miserably improbable goals promised to them by psychiatrically deluded baby boomer CEOs spouting platitudes at TED talks, waiting until the day they’re offered sweet, sweet release from the mind-numbing monotony of their cultural Marxism.

“So, is anybody here excited for their new jobs?”

Sorrow’s Furnace

tfw no gw
>tfw no gw

The word nostalgia was once used to describe the homesickness felt by soldiers deployed abroad in the vast colonial lands of Europe. Nostalgia was treated as a medical condition, an excess of black bile causing an acute melancholy in those who suffered from it. Today, nostalgia refers to a longing for the recent past, a contracting span of time shrinking with each passing year. Decades are reduced to curated pop culture selections and sold back to us as if buying them could somehow take us back in time. We do not long for home anymore but the films, music, and video games of our youth.

When Americans are not arguing about politics or divulging our health issues to strangers, we are talking about pop culture. Film, music, and video games act as the cultural waypoints by which we navigate the desolate wilderness of our own hyperreality. With nothing in common other than a vague, fading sense of national identity, we form friendships and communities around these mutual interests. High school cliques originate in part from one’s preferred media selections: those who watch sports, those who listen to hip hop, those who play World of Warcraft (though the football teams of my day seemed to secretly share an interest in all three).

I spent the better part of middle school in the fictional land of Tyria, the setting for ArenaNet’s 2005 online role-playing game Guild Wars. Guild Wars was structured much in the same way as World of Warcraft and Everquest, though it borrowed the best elements from each and eschewed many of the typical MMORPG norms that made its contemporaries such a chore to play.

Gone were the long hours of endlessly grinding for levels and rare items: Guild Wars put its players on relatively equal footing in regards to experience and gear. Success in player-versus-player content, a core component of the game, often came down to team composition and player skill. The game consumed hundreds of hours of my youth, yet eleven years later I find myself without a shred of regret.

Growing up in a southern California exurb leaves you with limited options for entertainment. These towns were built for families working in Los Angeles and function solely as places to sleep at night before beginning another two hour commute the next morning on the 5 Freeway. When you are young and unable to drive a car, your very existence is limited to school and home. There were no kids on my street growing up and my extended family had long since left the state. Outside of school, there wasn’t much to do.

I used to regret spending so much of my childhood immersed in virtual worlds. I was told the days and weeks I put into playing video games were a waste of time. Looking back now, I empathize more with my situation. What else was I supposed to do? My family scarcely went on vacation or took weekend trips. Every vacation I remember was ruined because of some logistical error or grand, week-long argument. It was a relief to return home for the summer, even more of a relief when school started.

Guild Wars was, more than any game I have ever played, an escape from the mundanity of my younger years. I convinced my friends from school to start playing and within a few months we had a functioning guild. After class we would rush home, log on, and put each other on speaker phone while completing quests and missions.

MMORPGs have a trope called the “holy trinity” which consists of a tank, a healer, and a DPS. The tank mans the frontlines, absorbing enemy hits while the healer keeps him alive and the DPS does damage. I played Warrior in Guild Wars (the original tank profession) and my two friends played Monk (a healing profession) and Elementalist (a spellcasting DPS profession) respectively. Together we explored and conquered Tyria, from the frigid Shiverpeaks to the dense jungles of Maguuma.

The game was for us the adventure we lacked in our young lives. Boys are supposed to play in the woods, get into fights, and generally cause mischief. In our real world of helicopter parents, bureaucratic school administrations, and overbearing government, we have to increasingly seek virtual means to fulfill that which is innate in our sex. Sports and video games, the two remaining outlets for a boy’s competitive nature, provide some relief. But in a repressive culture without some higher calling, some higher purpose, they are ultimately substitutes for more worthwhile endeavors.

By the time the second expansion Nightfall was released, my friends and I had moved on. The guild that we had started was full of inactive players and the cities and outposts throughout the game world grew empty. Though the servers are still active today, returning to the game leaves you with a vague sense of unease. Hardly anyone still plays these days. The communities that were formed within the game have disbanded and gone their separate ways. The sense of uneasiness I felt was only shared upon returning home from college the first time: the town I grew up in strangely devoid of life, the majority of the people I used to know having left for greener pastures.

I didn’t know it at the time, but Guild Wars would be the start of my interaction with others online. MMORPGs predated social media and were how you used to talk to your friends over the Internet. The barrier to entry kept people who didn’t share your hobby offline watching MTV or whatever it was normal kids did those days. For a while, the Internet was a paradise for those who played video games. Almost everyone who spent their free time on the computer was just like you. We were a part of something that will never be experienced again.

What will happen to these virtual communities when they eventually cease to exist, when the servers are shut down and the worlds we grew up in vanish? We’ll be left with memories of times and places, real in a sense to those who remember them but virtual nonetheless. The Internet once provided us a window to vast, fantastic virtual lands when our own reality wasn’t much to look at. Now all we see are the very reflections of our hideous reality in the social media sites and advertisements that have colonized the Web.

I suppose you really can’t go home again.