All women will hit The Wall someday (for the vast majority of women that day is no later than their 50th birthday.) Some women will hit it sooner, some later. Some women will approach The Wall cautiously, slowing down a bit as it nears; others will hit the gas and zoom straight at it when it looms, going out in a sudden blaze of wrinkles and sag. Some women will make glancing blows with The Wall, taking minor hits to their crumple zones that slowly add up over the years until their engine finally blows a gasket. Other women will make a last, valiant charge at The Wall when it appears on the battlefield horizon, living out the last moments of their futile resistance looking as good as possible before surrendering Christ-like to the inevitable.
But then there are those women — fewer in number but out-sized in their penchant for spectacular exits from the sexual market — who turn to face The Wall when still young and pretty and jam the accelerator to the floor, propelled by a jet engine and a metadeath wish, and slam into the immovable edifice with such speed and unswerving gusto that the wreckage left behind is used as PSAs for classrooms full of young women on the perils of hard living and waiting too long for marriage and children.
This is actress Jennifer Lien, who was recently arrested for exposing her post-Wall devastation to three kids.
That is a fifteen year separation folks. F-i-f-t-e-e-n years. She doesn’t just look like a different woman; she looks like a different species. Her destruction, at age 41, is complete.
Looking at that 1995 photo of lovely Ms Lien, I would have pursued and happily spelunked her secret sinkhole. In her 2010 photo, the thought of accidentally grazing her fat clammy forearm skin in a supermarket aisle fills me with revulsion.
That, ladies, is the incredible romance-killing power of The Wall. Respect it, and heed its warnings. The time for dawdling about in the feminist factories of urban sluttitude and swallowing the pain away with a cocktail of anti-depressants is shorter than you think. tick…. tock.
Reader Stationarity writes,
I read this article yesterday, and after I cleaned up the vomit, I wondered, could her tit flashing be some desperate post wall attempt at validation?
Half of women’s psychoses could be described as behavioral manifestations of a subconscious need to feel externally validated in their sexual worth. The other half is the cognitive dissonance created by rationalizing away this need as feminist empowerment.