Vapid Feminist-Entity, an aging shrike just a few short years from a terminal date with the Wall, is telling younger women to sleep around with sexy badboys and then settle down in their 30s with a boring beta male for financial security. Glad to see even the head-in-sand feminists getting on board with the Heartistian view of the modern sexual market.
VFE sarcastically (or sincerely, who can tell with this cheat code ironic posturing that femcunts employ whenever they have to contemplate the horror of reality) lays out her vision of the good life,
I did everything the Susan Pattons of the world said not to do and I ended up marrying a freaking wonderful man — not despite disobeying these [anti-feminist slut] retro rules, but because of it.
What’s her husband’s SMV? Yeah, dead-eyed feminists with cock-scarred holes can theoretically find a man to settle for them, but the way to bet is that these men are losers with few other options.
True story, I recently went to the optometrist and she told me, “Your eyes aren’t young anymore,”
Neither is anything else about her. True story.
Work your butt off. First in college, then in the work world. Become the man you want to marry — or rather, the woman the man you want to marry will want to marry.
Because you know how men get hard for workaholics. Yes, become the man you want to marry, and the only men who’ll marry you are closet homosexuals.
The microwave is all the lover you need for now. Swing by Walgreens after a long day at the office and pick up a Stouffer’s frozen lasagna. [...] This is how you learn to be alone, which you need to do before learning to be together. Sorry, them’s the rules.
Feminists have a lot of practice learning to be alone.
You know that drug dealer who keeps money in his freezer and doesn’t know where to put apostrophes? Date him. Same with the guy who literally has “I’m a mistake” tattooed on his arm. They are terrifically wrong for you, but they are truly lovely people who will enrich your life. (If they are not truly lovely people, get the hell out of there. Only poor choices with hearts of gold are worth your mistakes.) It’s only from dating these self-styled bad boys that you will realize the folly of making yourself interesting through men. You get to be the protagonist of your own god-damn novel.
I think we’re gonna need the Hamster-to-English Translator:
Hamster: “but they are truly lovely people who will enrich your life”
Jerks make me come hard.
Hamster: “If they are not truly lovely people, get the hell out of there.”
I need to tell you to avoid very bad men because it won’t come naturally to you as a woman.
Hamster: “Only poor choices with hearts of gold are worth your mistakes.”
A man with a heart of gold is a poor choice.
Hamster: “self-styled bad boys”
I miss my ex-badboy lovers so much.
Hamster: “realize the folly of making yourself interesting through men.”
I have fucked so many men who never bothered to learn my name that I’ve forgotten what it means to love.
Hamster: “You get to be the protagonist of your own god-damn novel.”
Everybody Gets Genital Warts.
Fake so many orgasms. Look, sex in your twenties is going to be horrible.
Spoken like a woman who spent her 20s sucking random cock in public restrooms.
For a long time you won’t even realize that sex can be more.
And this is why you should follow in her footsteps.
You will take pleasure in giving pleasure.
Because when you’re an aged hag with zero personality like her you’re gonna have to learn to give a lot of pleasure just to keep men around for longer than an hour at the bus depot.
It is all the intimacy that you can take, for now. Despite the faking, these are some of the realest, rawest moments of your young life; two unformed people pressing their naked egos against each other.
The feminist knows her ego is her most cherished possession.
It’s not like you’ll have learned all the sex things by the time you get married, either. That’s when the learning can really begin. It won’t be long before you feel like you need an entirely new word for sex.
Yes, you’ll need an encyclopedic knowledge of molecular biology to figure out where his penis goes.
Start joking about your shriveling ovaries once you turn 26.
Soon enough, it won’t be a joke anymore.
Throw pity-parties with friends. You’re all single, bitter and hardened to the disappointing world of romance. Get together to drink cocktails, watch “The Notebook” and bitch about men who don’t call. You will go to bed at night alone, but this friendship stuff is great!
Misery loves company.
Mr. Good Enough is not good enough. That guy who seems almost perfect but still doesn’t feel right? Trust yourself, dump him and then wallow in sorrow. Call him and leave drunken voicemails about how much you miss him, when the truth is that you’re just afraid to be alone. Constantly remind your friends that you’re a woman who “wanted too much.” When books like “Marry Him: The Case for Settling for Mr. Good Enough” come out, snark it up online. Privately, weep. Later, you will feel sure that you dodged a bullet and thank yourself for being brave.
She does claim to speak from experience.
Facebook-marry a friend. You’re both approaching 30, you both feel like you’re going to be alone forever, so announce yourself as married, to each other, on Facebook.
She’s done this.
Entertain the idea of a male harem.
“Male harem” = two dudes I met at bars who fuck me in between fucking their other twelve girls.
Now you’re just owning this spinster thing. It really doesn’t sound so bad anymore.
She keeps telling herself that.
You know that guy friend you weren’t romantically interested in because he was just too nice and available? Suddenly, you’re grown up enough to come to your senses. Marry the fuck out of him.
The problem with this alpha fux, beta bux lifestyle plan for feminists with furry man-faces is that the quality of man they can expect to get as a past-prime cougar will be lower than what they could have gotten when they were younger, hotter, tighter and less cynical. And by “quality man”, I mean the sort of man a cunt like VFE would actually love.
You see, faux savvy feminists, there are prices to be paid for your dating choices. There’s no free lunch, and that’s especially true when lunch is the slime mold you call your vagina. You can screw around with sexy charismatic cads when you’re younger and thinner, but those men won’t be around to give you the marriage and Netflix viewing partnership you’ll want when your hair is stringier, your tits saggier, and your heart harder. You will, not to put too fine a point on it, have to settle for less. Sometimes much less.
Hope this smart advice helps.
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