A thought occurred as the detritus of yet another beta male’s shipwrecked soul bobbed along the CH surf.
Where are the male friends of these abject betas to slap some sense into them?
A man needs male friends. He needs them a hell of a lot more than he needs female friends (and almost as much as he needs female lovers), because the potential to receive honest and learned guidance through the rough patches of life only exists with the former. A female friend can be great company, and even useful as a pivot to meet other women for much sex, but when crisis looms — romantic or otherwise — she won’t be the one to steer the hapless man away from terrible, avoidable mistakes of judgment.
Take JohnnyTampon. What a loser, right? But it didn’t have to be this way for him. Was there not one man, one male friend he could trust through the years, who would take him aside and verbally pimp slap the masochism out of him? Or were his male friends little sniveling manlets, Merchants of Mewl, all too eager to enable his self-sabotage? Was he simply friendless (despite his homemade video’s assertion to the contrary)?
The wages of SCALE. The wages of social and sexual atomization. The price we pay for radical individualism and postracial multicultural autonomy is big, sometimes small, but add it up and one day society is in hoc up to its eyeballs. JohnnyTampon’s dearth of Realtalking male buddies is one of those small prices that a fractured society pays, an insignificant detail to be sure in the grand scheme, but a personal ruination nearly as total as death. How many JohnnyTampons, broken men utterly denuded of dignity and manly valor, can America brush under the rug before the last connective fiber frays?