As our Modren Wahmen lose E and gain T, they become increasingly and routinely combative, as if they’re biologically turning into men, rather than just aping men because they mistakenly think this makes them attractive.
I’ve seen the changes in the field: women don’t play coy as much as they draw swords. Shy flirting (a lost art among women imo) has been replaced by bellicosity. Chicks come snorting out of the gates, stomping all over newborn flirtations, unloading batteries of YASS BITCH QUEEN interrogations, snark, and leading questions.
I’ve had to adjust, as I assume most men have, and this may explain why men of more sensitive constitutions have preferred to drop out altogether. The turtling soyboy can’t adapt his vestigial Game to meet the challenges of today’s ballcutter; his only options become dropping out or merging with the eunuchracy and hoping that his new master — the battlecunt — generously offers a crumb of clitty litter to her supplicating lackey.
A recent example from personal experience: A girl I chatted up almost immediately asked me whom I voted for in 2016 (she could probably smell the musky MAGA on me).
NINTH CIRCUIT SLAYER: that’s personal.
GIRL: not really.
NINTH CIRCUIT SLAYER: way really. since you brought it up, you look like a Rod-ham voter.
GIRL: what’s that supposed to mean?
NINTH CIRCUIT SLAYER: it means what it means.
GIRL: still not getting it.
It was then I realized she didn’t know that Rodham was thecunt’s maidencunt name.
NINTH CIRCUIT SLAYER: hillary clinton. surprise me, and tell me you’re not with her.
GIRL: *sensing the trap* maybe I voted for Bernie.
NINTH CIRCUIT SLAYER: nope. you don’t have a Bernie face.
Physiognomy talk is chicknip. A sly allusion to your meaning is all that’s required to fluff up her hamster.
GIRL: oh yeah? *leaning in* what kind of face is a Bernie face?
I was in my groove with that quimquisitive opening, readying a fusillade of cold reads, but just as her pleat-heat was about to emanate into my zone of sinfluence an unpretty friend summoned the pussy comeandsaveus, and a throng of thongs descended on us, pulling her away from a romance she would never forget (and write about later in a twatzine recalling in vivid color her INDIGNATION that she surrendered herself to a very bad no good magaman).
Gird for battle, gentlemen, because the leash is off and the girlies are gine-primed for a man who fights back. This is the time to show some mettle, a little steel in the spine; these alpha-starved hillary harridans are boiling over with resentment at the soyboys in their midst, and subconsciously welcome any man mentally strong enough to wrest the whip from their dainty hands and free them to enjoy their neglected femininity.