All Tomorrow’s Parties

St. Elliot
For Thursday’s child is Sunday’s clown.

The 2013 Isla Vista shooting signified a watershed moment in my personal life. I had moved out of Isla Vista only a year before, leaving behind Santa Barbara for what I thought would be the last time. Isla Vista is an unincorporated town bordering the Pacific Ocean, home largely to students from the adjacent UC Santa Barbara and Santa Barbara Community College; it is Southern California distilled into its absolute essence. The town has a reputation for its house parties and bohemian surfer culture. It’s not uncommon to walk around on a weekend night and end up invited to an ad hoc party provided your group contains a girl or two.

On its surface, Isla Vista is a fairly welcoming place. It’s easy to talk to random people when you’re both in varied states of inebriation. By the end of the night, you’ll often find yourself with a larger group than you had initially gone out with. The drunken friend, in all his inescapable ephemerality, is among the most agreeable of souls. He is excitable, earnest, and adventurous. You will never see him again beyond the night you met. Your haphazard plans for hanging out again will fall through despite his prior insistence.

Californians love to make plans and never follow through with them. If you don’t have a specific date and time set to meet with someone, they will never show up. Even if you do, they still won’t show up. It’s somehow acceptable here to make arrangements at the end of a conversation and silently disregard them the following day. Word is most definitely not bond around these parts. I’ve often postulated whether alcohol is the only substance holding our postmodern social fabric together. Alcohol makes what so many find unbearable about company temporarily endurable. It’s no small wonder that mastery of the fermentation process was one of our earliest agricultural achievements.

Beyond the opaque façade of revelry and distraction, Isla Vista can be an incredibly sinister place. When you are not invited to the parties, when you are alone, the entire town comes to resemble a rowdy bar in which you’re the only sober person. Being in a bar while sober is a test of patience. The drunken man exists on a mental plane far apart from the sober man. His freewheeling speech and brazen antics become unwelcome provocations on your limited patience. Some men become aggressive while drinking, and though I consider this to be an exceptional circumstance, their presence can often sour a night out.

No more is the sexual Pareto principle in effect than in Isla Vista. I can imagine it has only gotten worse with the advent of online hookup apps. The top ten to twenty percent of young men in regards to appearance and reputation have unlimited access to the affections of the young college girls populating the town. In a place known for its laid back culture and open-mindedness, the competition for sex is a constant Pyrrhic war of deception and deceit.

Your status as a young man is proportional to your sexual desirability. Young men do not compete so much for economic or scholastic achievement, as they do for the favors of women. Even the perception, manufactured or legitimate, of sexual prowess among your peers is enough to catapult you into the upper echelons of social status. Men want to be you; women want to be with you. The former case inspires an effete, but caustic jealously among your male peers. Those unable to compete with you in the extended domain of struggle are hell-bent on hindering you, damaging your reputation and dragging you down with them into the mired pits of involuntary celibacy.

French philosopher Jean Baudrillard wrote that in Santa Barbara, the question you always hear is, “What are you doing after the orgy?” To paraphrase from a friend on Twitter, Elliot Rodger asked us, “What are you doing when you are not invited to the orgy?” During my time in Isla Vista, I arrived at the inevitable conclusion that violence would one day come to this town. Someday, someone would snap under the immense psycho-sexual burden bearing down on them and lash out against man and woman alike.

Elliot Rodger was a victim of Isla Vista, as much as those whom he killed were victims of his unfulfilled desire and rage against a society that enables unchecked lust and hedonism. While I must profess that, for the sake of public record, I do not endorse his murders; I understand completely the unfortunate series of events that led to their occurrence. Reading through My Twisted World, one comes to comprehend the entirely foreseeable and deterministic character of his birth and upbringing. What the media, in all their faux outrage seems to have missed, was how a young man of his breeding and background would invariably choose the fatal path he walked.

Elliot was born of an East Asian mother and a Northern European father, creating at birth the genetic aberration of the Eurasian or Hapa male. The Hapa is a castaway Frankenstein monster of East and West, a byproduct of mass transit and globalization unfairly rejected by both of his disparate cultures. The sexual marketplace of Isla Vista predominately favors those of the tall, fair Nordic phenotype. The ‘surfer dude’ of California is in fact a blond, blue-eyed male of impressive stature and physique. At the outset, Elliot was unsuited to his future life in Isla Vista. This, coupled with a detached father figure and an isolated adolescence, would portend his eventual rejections and untimely demise.

While race is seldom a deciding factor in one’s fate, one can often internalize unwanted or undesirable aspects pertaining to their racial phenotype. The rejection that hurt Elliot the most was not at the hands of any girl, but the initial and lifelong rejection of Elliot by his father. Fathers want to see themselves reflected in the visage of their sons, an insurance of their reproductive success. It is likely this phenomenon that underscores the primeval demands for marital fidelity and unspoiled brides. Fathers have yet to learn, if possible, to empathize with the biological results of their interracial pairings.

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?”