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And once again the Chateau worldview is vindicated.

The pair have reunited almost three weeks after Brown, 19, allegedly battered the “Umbrella” singer on Feb. 8, a source tells PEOPLE.

“They’re together again. They care for each other,” says the source. The on-again couple are currently spending time together at one of Sean “Diddy” Combs’s homes, on Miami Beach’s Star Island.

Aww, how cute. Rihanna and Chris, the two lovebirds, back together again. POW! She just couldn’t stay away, that girl! WHACK! Sources close to the loving couple say they can’t keep their hands off each other. SLAP! I bet!

Is Rihanna going back to Chris in spite of, or because of, the beatings he gave her? Answer: both.

Consciously, she goes back in spite of. Subconsciously, she goes back because of.

And science is slowly discovering that women’s sexuality can effortlessly occupy both the conscious and subconscious planes simultaneously.

A hit across the face, because it is an unabashed demonstration of male power, will trigger stronger orgasms in many otherwise normal women. I have observed this phenomenon myself. Think of a slap as Viagra for women. Lubed up for a long evening of hot sex!

PS: If you disapprove of this behavior, the way to contain this Pandora’s Box of human nature is to shame the women for freely choosing abusive men. Shaming violent men for striking women will not work as well as long as women continue to reward these men with their loving hearts and open pussies.

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All Lust Same

The results are in from yesterday’s post where I asked the readers to rank the beauty of ten randomly chosen women.

Woman                                             Readers’ Score            My Score
(a) tiaramouth                                            5,6                                  5
(b) mcdormandvsthewall                            3                                     3
(c) lovelysophie                                           9                                      9
(d) redscarf                                                  7                                      6
(e) themask                                                 2                                       2
(f) bridgegirl                                                 7                                       7
(g) alizee                                                      8                                       8
(h) cigstache                                                 1                                       1
(i) perfection                                                10                                    10
(j) morosemetrogirl                                     4,5                                    4

Not much daylight between the readers and myself. This wasn’t a perfect test, nor was it meant to be. Many of the critiques left in the comments were justified.

  • High quality studio shots versus low quality snapshots will skew the results.
  • So will distance from camera and partially concealed faces. Bridge girl and morose metro girl may have scores that are too low or high because of this.
  • I made the mistake of choosing a McDormand shot where she is older. Since we’re comparing female beauty before the ravages of time have taken their cruel toll, a McDormand at her youthful peak would probably clock in a point or two higher.
  • As commenter Agnostic mentioned, there isn’t adequate variability in the photos. It skews toward the higher range. I guess it’s more fun for me to search for hotties than slightly below average girls. (Searching for incendiary warpigs can be fun, like craning your neck to get a better glimpse of a mangled car accident.)
  • People who are subtracting points because of inconsequential accoutrements like a tiara or flip flops are undermining the value of the 1 – 10 system. The 1-10 scale is sacrosanct. Don’t corrupt it with your nerdy pet peeves.
  • Some people complained that I used a picture of Monica Bellucci when she was younger and hotter. Uh, no duh. When you judge Barack Obama’s alphaness, do you use his performance as a bowler for your criteria?
  • Sophie Marceau may be one of the strikingly few women in the known universe who got better looking as she aged into her 20s. The teen pic of her posted in the comments, while certainly meeting the threshold of hottie bangability, shortchanges the breathtaking ethereal beauty that she acquired in her 20s. See: Braveheart. Today, though, she is 42 and not nearly as good looking as she was at her peak. Tragic. Oh well, that’s one way to cure a stalker-crush.
  • You could go through one million 44 year old women before meeting one who could approach Bellucci’s beauty. That is how exceptional she is. Lesson: Don’t get your hopes up, ladies.

Nevertheless, despite the justifiable criticisms of the methodology listed above, and the specter of Arrow’s Impossibility Theorem, there was considerable agreement on each girl’s ranking. Plus or minus one point and a few wiseguy outliers, most men share the same opinions about where women fall on the 1 – 10 looks scale. Beauty is not an artifact of individual male minds. It is an objective reality. That this should be so and that men are wired with preferences for the more beautiful over the less, proves that men exercise some choosiness when deciding on a mate, just like women do. Pickiness is not gender specific, though women are pickier than men in general.

As I predicted, there was stronger agreement at the tails of the beauty distribution and more fussiness agreeing on the middle rankings. Every man knows a 3 and an 8 when he sees one, but one man’s marginal 6 could very well be another man’s solid 7. Looking at the bar graphs, this observation is confirmed by the wider spread (heh) of the votes for the 4-7 group.

Commenter twiceaday wrote:

What’s interesting, as de Tocqueville alluded to, is that while we don’t necessarily agree on the exact position for any particular woman, we all agree on the range. The bottom 3 (well, really bottom 1 and next 2) are quite clear, the top 3 are a quite clear, leaving the equally clear middle 4. I think it’s safe to say that any normal hetero man would bang the top 3, very few of us would bang the bottom 3 unless we were desperate and hammered, and the middle 4 would be various flavors of “it depends”.

These 3 tiers relate pretty clearly to the dating world. The top tier will attract alphas easily and ultimately be able to hold onto one. The middle tier will attract the occasional alpha, but not for very long, and will wind up with a beta. The bottom tier will attract no alphas, the occasional beta, and ultimately wind up with either cats or an omega (is there really any difference?).

This is mostly correct. I’d separate the middle tier into two subgroups: Lower middle (4,5) and Upper middle (6,7). The distinction is important, as there is a critical and abrupt change between the two groups that has important implications for how men treat these women.

This is how it breaks down:

Bottom tier = beta and omega pump and dump, invisible to alphas.
Lower middle tier = mix of beta pump and dump and beta commitment, still invisible to alphas unless really drunk.
Upper middle tier = beta commitment of the “profess my undying love” variety, alpha pump and dump.
Top tier = alpha commitment, occasional beta stroke of luck with tight game.

I enjoyed doing this exercise, so I plan to do another one in the future. Except next time, you, the readers, will offer photos of girls for judging. There will be a page at the top of the blog for you to leave a link in the comments to a pic of a woman, along with the ranking you give it, and I will choose from among the reader suggestions ten women representing 1 through 10 on the beauty scale for a reader vote, like I did in yesterday’s post. This way, you can see how your taste in women matches up with the general consensus. No celebrities allowed; I want to keep it to everyday girls. All races allowed.

Easter Egg

One of the girls in the photos is a former fling of mine. The perceptive among you (hi, PA, Seeking Alpha) may be able to figure out which.

To people who think I’m in the top photo: I’m not.

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Hypothetically speaking, if average human population group differences in aptitude, temperament, personality and decision-making exist and are immutable over generational timespans, and those group average differences are greater when the population groups being compared are larger (i.e. ethnicity versus race), would anything change about principal economic theories and concepts (e.g. free trade, externalities, free movement of labor, comparative advantage, public choice theory, opportunity cost, rationality of players, labor force growth)? If so, how would they change?

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Reader and prolific commenter Obsidian was interested in my take on this article by a white woman who discusses her preference for black men.

Black skin is thick and lush, sensuous to the touch, like satin and velvet made flesh. There’s only one patch of skin on a white man’s body that remotely compares to nearly every inch of a black man’s skin.

I have no idea what black man skin feels like, since VK won’t let me run my hands up and down his chiseled biceps and give a squeeze for good measure, but I remember the skin of the last black woman I slept with — it was wrinkle-free and taut but also somewhat rough in spots, like sandpaper. The softest female skin I have ever touched was on an Asian woman.

And I had the socially acceptable explanation for my craving. I used that paucity-of-available-white-partners rationale to explain my relationships with black men for several years. A white woman past forty is often passed over by her white-male contemporaries. She goes younger or ethnic or foreign-born or down the socioeconomic scale or darker or she spends lonely nights at home with her cats. Black men are happy to get the babe they couldn’t have when she was twentysomething and fertile. The laws of the marketplace do prevail. It’s not me, it’s them being the white guys who weren’t after me anymore, or so I claimed.

That’s a lie. The truth is, I attract about the same percentage of available white men my age (and far younger!) now as I did when I was thirty and that’s not including the unavailable white men who want to play around anyway.

Enough white men want me that I was hardly facing enforced celibacy, but I don’t want them.

Let’s take a look at the author’s photo, shall we?

grossoldhag

Here’s a video of her, for more accurate judging. Hint: She’s not the hottie standing on the right.

The only lie here is the lie she is telling herself. There is no way this gross disgusting old hag who hit the wall so hard she is on the other side of it is attracting any sort of white man except the bottom of the barrel dregs who will dump a fuck in her distended flabby hole because they can’t afford an internet connection to whack off to porn outside of the public library. Her looks are relevant to her claim that she is freely choosing black men in favor of white men — she is holding up her desirability to white men as proof of her options in the sexual market and her freedom to choose which men to fuck. A simple, revealing photo utterly discredits the core underpinning of her argument by anecdote.

The truth here is, unfortunately for her, quite unflattering. As her repulsive ugliness has worsened with age and fat, her options have been severely curtailed. If she is finding solace in flings with black men, it is because

  1. the white men she finds attractive no longer feel the same about her, and
  2. the black men she finds attractive are more willing to overlook her market value-destroying flaws and fuck her. At least for one night. Heh.

Moving along to the rest of the article…

I want black men. They want me. We look at one another and exchange a visible frisson of sexual energy in the lingering glances.

A small percentage of people do have an overcharged attraction for different races. But there’s not much we can generalize from this one old hag’s fetishistic sexual drive because she is not choosing in a free market with all options open to her. There are many delusional pretty lies humans tell themselves when cold hard reality is staring them in the bloated face. She may want black men given the structural incentives in place, but do they want her? Or, as I suspect is more likely, do black men see her sloppily flirting with them and think to themselves “Oh yeah, that white broad is gonna be an easy lay.”

Even in a time when nearly 40 percent of single Americans have dated outside their race, that deliberate seeking of the specific other makes some people, especially black women, damned mad.

Black women are mad because they’re looking at black men fucking fat old heifers like you and wondering what the hell they’re thinking.

We are what they denigrate and castigate: white women and black men who choose one another because of our racial differences. They resent our taking their men.

Define “taking”. I doubt in her case it means any commitment longer than a few nights together, away from the public eye. A man’s got a rep on the street to keep.

Black men are two and a half times more likely to marry a white woman than a black woman is to marry a white man.

Here are my thoughts on interracial dating. Despite all the sound and fury, I don’t see too much of it. Most people date *long term* within their race. There are likely evolutionarily mediated reasons for this. Women are more racist than men in the realm of dating. They are less open to having relationships with men of different races, while men are bigger whores who will happily fuck a cute chick from any race. (Commitment is another matter.)

So in the bigger picture, I don’t see many white woman-black man couples strolling around the city holding hands. In comparison, I see about three times as many white man-asian woman couples. These are my observations in DC and in major cities on the East coast; the numbers on the ground might be different in other parts of the country. Of the BM-WF couples I do see, I notice two different types: The Maury Povich who’s-the-daddy fat white trash girl with the thug, and the hot blonde, usually European girl with the handsome, well-dressed, and educated-looking yuppie black man. There doesn’t seem to be much middle ground between those two types.

From casual conversation, my white guy friends don’t find the general population of black girls attractive. Their preferences are decidedly skewed toward white chicks. I only know one white guy who has yellow fever. He proudly proclaims it, too. From my conversations with black women, they are even more racially provincial. I get the impression that black women don’t find men outside their race at all physically attractive. I’m an outlier, in that I’m the recipient of a lot of flirty attention from black women. I think if I were an even blacker dude than I already am, I would clean up with black women. King Kong ain’t got nothing on me.

So this is why black women are screwed, it would seem. Available black guys are hooking up with women of all races, white and Asian guys don’t much like black girls, and black women only want to be with black guys. I can’t think of a worse recipe for resentment and bitterness. Since men do some choosing in the sexual market (though men are not as choosy as women on average, neither are they mannequins standing around waiting for women to pick them out of the crowd), the choice by white and Asian men to overlook black women is going to have repercussions.

Why don’t black chicks dig white guys and vice versa? In a word: testosterone. Blacks have more of it, and more androgen receptors, than other races. The same testosterone that imbues black men with attractive masculine features and musculature makes black women look less feminine. On average. This isn’t an assertion from anecdote, because in my personal life I know quite a few really cute black chicks. I’m judging based on general observations and what I’ve heard from men of all races when the subject came up. Since women are attracted to men with lots of testosterone (for fucking, at least), it stands to reason that black women would want men who have more of it relative to their own. Here, few white and even fewer Asian men qualify as acceptable partners for black women.

I have demonstrated that the fundamentals of female beauty are universal. Men all over the world love 0.7 waist-to-hip ratios, clear skin, youth, feminine faces, big eyes, luscious lips, breasts and ass. Adjusting for racial idiosyncracies, a beautiful black woman’s face has more fundamental similarity to a beautiful white woman’s face than to an ugly black woman’s face. However, there is an important caveat. I now believe that there is a slight preference among men of the major racial groups for women of their own race. In general, black men, all else equal, would rather date long term a hot black chick than a hot chick of another race. To illustrate, black guys prefer the bigger rumps that are a hallmark of black women. The same intra-race mechanism apples to white, Hispanic (who?), and Asian men. They all have marginally peculiar preferences for the specific beauty of women within their own race. I would not be surprised to learn that Asian men like flatter asses.

I know I am this way. My roving eyes are overwhelmingly pulled in by hot white chicks. I see hot Asian and black chicks, but it’s clear to me where my strongest preferences lie. Is this because white chicks are, again on average, better looking than chicks of other races? Or is it because of my inborn endogamous sexual preference for girls of my own race? I don’t know. I suspect the latter. But I do have some personal observations that buttress my tilt toward women of my own race. For instance, whenever there is a news story from the Congo, or Rwanda, and throngs of people are swarming around the cameras, I don’t see a single woman in the crowd I’d want to bang. But when there is a camera pointed at Red Square or Stockholm, and girls are streaming past, I have trouble finding a fertile age woman in the crowd I *wouldn’t* want to bang. In places like Tokyo, the urge to merge with the locals on camera is less cut and dried. There are a few Japanese girls who make the grade.

The class of the women has an effect as well. There was this time I was driving through the hardcore DC ghetto (nothing like an adventure), and a large public housing apartment complex had caught fire. The traffic had stopped, so I was idling by the smoking building while hundreds of residents who had been evacuated were milling about the sidewalk, waiting for the firemen to finish their job. My most vivid memory from that incident, and one that sticks with me to this day, was just how brutally ugly those women were. I mean, “make a documentary of it” ugly.

All right, back to the article…

But in truth, black sisters, we’re after the sex, not the ring, and these guys aren’t the marrying kind anyway.

Squeeze those sour grapes, old bag. Of course she’s written off the ring. No man who isn’t a complete loser would commit to her decrepit carcass.

Black men have more energy, style and edge than white men. They know how to flirt, a nearly lost art among the rest of us. A black man is so damned sexy because he knows how to make a woman feel sexy.

This is true if we restrict our sample size to has-been fat white women who faint with joy at the slightest attention from any man. While I believe that black guys on the whole do have better natural game than white guys, their often aggressive style of flirting and their whiff of dangerous edginess can be a turnoff for younger white women who are repelled by displays of brute machismo. My experience suggests that SWPL white girls and especially Asian girls in their 20s are more receptive to subtler mating cues. This is why Mystery has rarely run game on black chicks.

They make me feel like a woman, both respected and desired.

Translation: No white man desires her enough to make her feel like the woman she was 20 years ago and in an alternate universe.

This brings up another interesting angle. Are black men less picky than white men? If so, that would explain the author’s sudden conversion. My view: Black guys are indeed less picky when considering short term flings and one night stands. They seem to be more forgiving of wear and tear on white women, such as the accumulation of fat and waddles. Like other men, black guys are probably pickier when choosing which women get to be their number one girls. Who are the pickiest men? The alphas, of course.

On we go dissecting this disaster…

My current lover,…

Translation: My current one night stand.

On another night in that same bar, a different black man, an artist, knelt and kissed my knees.

Beta.
Correction: Kissing this old sow’s gnarly knees? Omega.

They look better than white men, they touch and kiss and make love better than white men.

Silly cow. When a man finds you physically less than ideal, he isn’t inspired to please you in bed.

Statistically, their penises are only a fraction of an inch bigger on average, but they seem bigger and harder.

I notice my hardness varies by the girl’s looks. The hotter she is, the firmer I get. With this old broad, I’d have to enlist David Alexander’s pornified pud to do the job.

By the way, I remember reading a study from some years ago that purported to show that package size does indeed vary by race, with blacks the largest and Asians the smallest. Commenters are free to find any links proving or disproving the stereotype.

White men over 40 have lost their waistlines and their zest for life if they ever had it.

White women lose it even faster. Has this shoggoth looked in a mirror lately? On the larger point, I agree that sedentary black men keep their dainty figures longer than sedentary white men. Black women, otoh…

Society overvalues the white man, leaving him angry and bitter when he realizes, around age 40, that he’s not all that.

If this isn’t a picture perfect example of projection, I don’t know what is.

With the exception of some Italians, white men don’t turn me on anymore.

You won’t be missed, bowlingballhead.

While women my age scowl and frown at these aging, Upper West Side Boomers pushing strollers as the hand of the thin, blonde wife 20 years their junior rests lightly on their arm, I feel a kinship with the old goats. We are the same, me and that bald white guy, drawn to the exotic other, not caring that the object of our desire has no childhood memory of a Kennedy assassination or a typical WASP Sunday dinner of over-roasted beef, lumpy mashed potatoes and soggy vegetables.

This woman is hurting inside, deeply. She has secretly wanted that Ozzie and Harriet white picket fence life since forever, but now it is too late, if there ever was a chance. But the objects of her affection ignored her true wishes. There, there, lumpy mashed grandma taking random dick in bars and waking up to an empty bed and fridge. I’m sure all those older white guys dating younger women are JUST LIKE YOU. Except not.

Halfway through the first glass of wine in my last date with a white man, I realized that little clouds of sadness and self-pity were regularly fluffing off his psyche like the dust clouds kicked up by that dirt-smudged “Peanuts” character as he walks through Charlie Brown’s life. This guy was at least mildly depressed…

No wonder he was depressed. He was on a date with a beluga whale.

What did he think would entice me more: That he assumed sex was probable because I’m a sex journalist or that he would need chemical help if sex did occur?

This broad is the gift that keeps on giving. Sex journalist? Why is it always the ugliest women in this “occupation”? It’s like taking advice on losing weight from the world’s fattest man.
And, yes, the poor guy would need chemical help to get it up with you. I’m thinking an IV of distilled super viagra directly into the penis vein, and a brick wall with a hole drilled in it between you two.

I cannot even imagine a black man bungling an attempted seduction in such a sad way.

I cannot even imagine the omegas who are happily chowing down on her cheesy old lady labia.

I recently came out of my racial-preference closet and told my friends, “I love black men. I’m not attracted to white men over 40, and I’m not dating them anymore. Really, it’s not them, it’s me.

Translation: “I recently gave up trying to attract white men who aren’t trolls and told my friends “I love black men because some of them are so horny they look past my disgusting body to masturbate into my cavernous hole. I’m telling myself I’m not attracted to white men over 40 because it makes their rejection easier to swallow, like my black lovers’ loads. Really, it’s not them, it’s my ugly roast beef face.””

My work here is done.

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Maxim #77: Women will screech louder the closer your words get to damaging or exposing vulnerabilities in their sexual market value.

Based on the above maxim (and as amply demonstrated by the recent histrionic howling of the jezguzzling automatards shrieking on cue when confronted with my disconcerting words of truth), the top three soulkilling disses, in descending order of female ego destruction:

  • Being called ugly
  • Being called old
  • Being called a slut

Corollary to Maxim #77: Assuming your words aren’t too wide of the mark thus blunting the serrated edge of their slice, the worst insult you can call a woman is “hideously ugly old cougar cumfunneling whore”.*

This has been a public service announcement courtesy of The Hell Matrix From Which You Can Run, But Cannot Escape.

PS The male equivalents are:

  • Being called a loser
  • Being called a coward
  • Being called a fag

*Note that some women, particularly those of the fat, slutty and spinstery variety, will co-opt these words and use them among themselves in a transparently feeble attempt to mute their power to psychologically wound. When you hear women doing this, know that their soft underbellies are turned up for the quick and easy evisceration. “Cunt” is an especially vicious insult that never fails to get under the skin.

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And not just loser chicks with low self esteem. Mexican beauty queens who have their choice of men are fucking drug and gun running lowlifes.

Alpha Males

Alpha Males

Remember, this babe went along willingly with these guys. 

Alpha Female

Alpha Female

The kind of thugs she is fucking are bigger alphas than CEOs who work hard all day managing billion dollar companies only to come home to fat, frumpy wives well past their prime.

So why are you still busting your ass?

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Game is a social dynamic that children as well as horny adults play. Game has roots deep in the human psyche that appear at a very young age, and thus is immune to the cultural conditioning explanation. My one and a half year old nephew and three year old niece provided excellent test cases of game in action.

Examples

Even though there was a mountain of toys under the tree, some still unwrapped, and toys strewn all over the room, when my nephew saw my niece playing one particular toy with great concentration he decided that was the one he wanted, RIGHT NOW. When she wouldn’t share the toy, he cried (i.e. bitched and moaned in child language).

  • Game principle demonstrated: Social Proof. My nephew wanted that toy more than all the others (despite the possibility that the other toys were better) because he saw his sister having fun with it. The toy was preselected by my niece.

When I gave my niece her present, she grabbed it and shredded the wrapping into confetti. Her mom had to remind her to thank me and give me a hug, which she did… absent-mindedly and perfunctorily, like she was fulfilling a tedious social obligation.

  • Game principle demonstrated: Disqualification. By freely giving my niece a gift when she most expected it, with no strings attached, I disqualified myself as a person who intrigues her. Had I qualified her first — “Hey, I don’t know if you’ve been a good girl this year, maybe I’ll give your gift to your brother instead” — she would have worked to earn my gift (i.e. compliment) and showed gratitude in the form of a genuine spontaneous hug.

Later, I was deeply engrossed in playing with the cat. It’s a very fat cat that when it sits on you keeps you warm all over, like a wool blanket. My niece saw that the cat was contented, and I was completely focused on scratching it under the chin. I told her she could come and pet it if she was gentle. She bounded over.

  • Game principle demonstrated: Pawning. The cat comes closest to competing with my niece for everyone’s attention. She knows a competitor when she sees one. By befriending the high value cat and making it a part of my social circle, I was able to pawn it off and lock in my niece’s attention.

I was watching one of the great classics on TV — Cannonball Run. My niece wanted to play “magic wand” with me again. (Previously, I let her turn me into a frog.) I waved her away. She kept coming back and I kept telling her to move away from the TV. She whined and ran right up to my face, bopping me on the head with her wand and begging me to turn into a frog.

  • Game principle demonstrated: Active Disinterest. My three year old niece knows she is the cutest person in the living room. She prances like a princess. In this environment, she is a 10. I gave her an IOD (Indicator of Disinterest) when I showed more attention to the TV than her, and that motivated her to win my approval.

When I finally relented and turned once more into a frog, and made ribbit noises, she squealed with delight. She zapped me with her wand again, and I turned into a monkey. Then a dog. And a bird. Each time I imitated a new animal, she released bursts of joy. But as my list of zoo animals ran out, she began getting bored. When I half-assedly meowed like a dying cat, she said “That animal is boring. I’m bored” and haughtily walked off.

  • Game principle demonstrated: Push-Pull. I spoiled my niece by giving her what she wanted. I was “pulling” her by being her dancing monkey, without pushing her away to keep her wanting more. She became bored with her expectations constantly being fulfilled.

My niece pulled out her stuffed animals and arranged them around a few dishes of my grandmother’s fine china. I asked her what the toys were doing, and she said they were having a tea party. I told her the elephant would not need hands because he would suck up his tea with his trunk. Then I pretended to be each of the animals, acting out the scene in progress. “Woof, Mr. Giraffe, would you please pass the bone?” “Excuse me, Mr. Dog, but Mr. Tiger wants to eat you. He likes delicious dog meat with his tea.” My niece parried my every move with a storyline of her own. The character development was better than most Hollywood blockbusters.

  • Game principle demonstrated: Stimulate her emotions. I threw logic out the window and immersed myself in the stuffed animal tea party world, and my niece’s excitement grew the more I built up the fantasy world. She was happy to discard logic and run wild with the animals’ dialogue, no matter how little sense it made.

I told my brother-in-law that based on the toys my nephew and niece played with (lincoln logs and princess dolls respectively), there was little chance they would grow up homosexual. His lineage was safe.

  • Game principle demonstrated: It’s biomechanics all the way down.

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