Women Gossip To Compete For Men

Feminists are gonna blow an ovary reading this study. Perfect.

Although most researchers acknowledge the speculative nature of evolutionary arguments in this area, social aggression among reproductively viable females is usually interpreted as a form of mate competition. Hess and Hagen, for example, suggest that the sex differences uncovered in their study would likely have been even more pronounced in a younger group of participants. Evolutionarily, historically, and cross-culturally, they point out, girls in the fifteen- to nineteen-year-old range would be most actively competing for mates. Thus, anything that would sabotage another female’s image as a desirable reproductive partner, such as commenting on her promiscuity, physical appearance, or some other aberrant or quirky traits, tends to be the stuff of virile gossip.

File under: Women are the world’s worst misogynists.

So now science has come along to (re)prove what we all knew anecdotally: women, particularly younger women who are most desirable to men, gossip viciously as a means of tearing down the female competition for high quality men. So gossip is analogous to a woman stitching a verbal scarlet S (or F or H) onto the blouses of other women who would compete for the men she likes.

Stay classy, ladies.

You’ll notice as well that the sort of stuff women primarily gossip about — sluttiness, infidelity and fatness — to cut down their female competition, are exactly the character flaws and vices that feminists claim should be free from judginess, and accepted by everyone, especially men. Why do feminists focus on these things? Because they know they matter. Men really are less likely to commit to sluts, whores and fat chicks. And for good evolutionary reasons. (Not to mention good aesthetic and tactile reasons.)

An interesting question is why, if gossip is, presumably, evolutionarily adaptive as a means of reducing the mate value of sexual competitors, men don’t do the same thing? Where are all the male yentas tearing down the competition?

First, men have their own version of gossip; it’s called winning. Men kneecap male competitors by fighting and defeating them, physically, mentally or socially. Second, women are more intuitive than men are about reading subtext in gossip. A man who gossips about another man’s sexual prowess, or social savviness, or whatever, in the hopes of reducing his mate value is likely to be perceived by women as a second tier beta clumsily trying to undermine better men than himself. And gossip just doesn’t sit right on men; women are liable to think you’re gay if you prattle on about other men a lot.

Personally, I think a lot of female gossip is much less effective than believed by women. Men mostly judge women by how they look, so a guy is not going to stop boning out for a hot chick just because some mother hen gossiped about her disloyalty. But gossip is universal and still with us, so it must offer some mating advantage to women. My guess is that gossip which distills to slut smears (“she’s got crabs!”) is probably the most effective at handicapping a woman’s ability to snag a high value man into a long-term relationship. This is why women who aren’t broken losers are so mortified at the thought of being labeled a slut.

Like feminists who claim otherwise, they know it matters.

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The Allure Of Male Dominance

Men feel powerful lust from dominating attractive women, the same lust women feel from submitting to the domination of powerful men. But most men will never admit to this. Not because they agree with the myths of feminism, but because most will never be in a position to enjoy the sublime pleasures of dominance over women. A complete lack of acquaintance with dominating women, and a dearth of opportunity to do so, psychologically castrates weaker men until they embrace, at least in theory, the opposite of what they truly desire. The embrace of anti-desire, the dark matter of joylessness, offers respite from an otherwise unrelenting daily reminder of their sexual and romantic failure.

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The Ideology Of Powerlessness

In a post over at GLPiggy about “The Soapboxroom” and Aaron Sorkin’s deliberate distortion of gun control statistics, a thought occurs about the mentality of the type of people whose natural reflex is to default to excusing thugs and disarming potential victims.

This mentality is the ideology of powerlessness. When faced with a threat, a person with this child-like psychological profile instinctually resorts to finding ways to strip power from himself and others, and to elevate helplessness to a noble virtue. People who think this way share commonalities with equalists, some liberals, leftists and women. Stockholm Syndrome is an extreme manifestation of the powerlessness ideology.

Those pointing to statistics purporting to demonstrate the downsides of power — in this case, the power inherent in owning a gun and its implication in accidental shootings — miss the point: the downsides of power are still better than the downsides of powerlessness. Do you want to leave your fate in the hands of the powerful, who often don’t have your interests in heart, or do you want power for yourself so that you may exert a measure of control over your own life?

Anyone who wants more control and power over the trajectory and outcome of his life needs to avoid powerlessness peddlers like the plague.

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What Happens When Your Nation’s Men Are Emasculated

Supposedly, that is the Crips’ gang sign those Swedish handball team women are all flashing. It may as well be a gangbang sign, because odds are good Usain Bolt rammed home a 9.63 in each one of those broads’ Nordic pussies.

Now I know some (most) of you looking at this pic felt a blood pressure rise or, at the least, a stirring of disgust. That’s perfectly natural. Seeing women of your race (or tribe, or family) bang an outsider alpha male interloper, even going so far as adopting his cultural swagger and betraying their very essence as members of your shared tribe, and feeling emotions that would scandalize polite society, is a primal reaction that is evolved in all humans and has therefore likely served a beneficial role to our reproductive fitness. The id monster will not be reeducated.

It’s said that Swedish men are, arguably, the world’s most feminized men, bending backwards to feminist demands, rhythmically swaying to intone feminist boilerplate and flagellate themselves for their sin of being born men. It’s also said that Swedish women are among the most eager of the world’s women to sample the cock of the Other.

My purpose with this post is to proffer that the emasculation of Sweden’s men has a direct, causal effect on the willingness and ardor and shamelessness with which Sweden’s fully feminist women rush into the crotches of decidedly non-feminist, self-confident alien swashbucklers. When your women’s kinsmen — the men, lest the reminder be needed, who are the presumed benefactors of their women’s sex — are lickspittle, mincing betaboys who happily accede to every asinine feminist idea, it should be no surprise to scholars of female nature that the women who hold such ahistorically lopsided power over their countrymen would, unintentionally, geld them so thoroughly that they are reduced to anhedonic lumps the likes of which the male competitor Usain Bolts of the world could run over with impunity.

What this photo symbolizes better than anything is the age-old and unmitigable female paradox of insisting upon shit she does not really want. If you listen carefully and follow to the letter your women’s rambling feminist inanities, you get Sweden, land of the castrated men who repulse their own women. If, on the other hand, you dismiss and deride, in action as well as word, the feminists in your midst with the cocky assurance of the man who makes no excuses for his raw masculinity, you might piss off a few ugly manjaws, but you get to enjoy the continued admiration and carnal desire of your beautiful native women.

Game can save Sweden’s men from utter humiliation. Game at its most primitive is an illusion of power, but an illusion of power is still better than powerlessness.

This post gently massaged into Bill Bennett’s shoulders.

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Fat Chicks Flaunt It, Expose Themselves To Everlasting Torment

Fat chicks are getting uppity lately. You’ve got your NAAFA (National Association for the Advancement of Fat Assery). Your fatkinis. Your slut pride parades aka fat slut pride parades. Your proud fatties wearing clothes made for thin girls. And pretty much an entire media industrial complex allied, in word if not in deed, with the fat pride/acceptance/delusion movement.

I, for one, welcome our new fat flaunting underlords. Putting themselves out there in showy, ritualistic displays of unmerited pride, their bulbous folds cresting like wind-whipped seas and their triple chins held aloft like war banners, makes for a tempting array of overinflated egos. Proud and loud fat chicks are the morbidly obese equivalent of the Iraqi soldiers fleeing from Kuwait: plump targets for my GPS-guided jeering.

As long as I’m here to protect the earth from the assault against beauty by the horde army of gaping pieholes, the fattie who dares to stand tall and jiggle her blubber indignantly will face the point blank precision of my cruelest ridicule. Sweep the cankle.

Exhibit A: This monster formerly known as a human being, who happily informs the world of her “sexercise” program for shedding imaginary fractions of a pound off her 600 pound frame.

Why is this Jabba given media airtime? Why does it feel comfortable talking about its disgusting sex life with the general public? In a saner time, beasts like it had a sense of humility, and self-preservation, even an understanding that they were frightening to children and had a duty to keep out of the public eye. They sequestered themselves in steel reinforced bedrooms, blinds drawn, until they either died alone or dieted down to a reasonably presentable weight. Now we get this:

“I sweat off loads of calories,” 600-pound Pauline Potter revealed in an interview with UK magazine Closer this month. “I call it ‘sexercise.’”

Potter, 47, became the Guiness World Record holder for heaviest woman last year when she weighed in at 700 pounds, but she’s managed to lose nearly 100 pounds in the last year by rekindling her romance with her ex-husband Alex.

Fucking ugh. You read this stuff and try as you might, your brain can’t help meandering to visualizing what shoggoth sex must look like. Is the fupa lifted and propped with a cane before penetration? Does the stank from cheesy crevices cause temporary blindness and retching? Does a hobbit make its home in her vagina? Just HOW BIG must this guy’s dick be to plow through feet of blubber to reach the wet spot? Speaking of him, how does he get it up? At sufficient levels of grossness, a man’s penis will actually retract into a protective shell behind the pubic bone. A male porn star jacked on viagra and yohimbe and fluffed by a team of sugar-lipped supermodels would shrivel to the size of a speck at the first sight of this gelatinous cube.

“I hadn’t had sex in three years, but we did it six times!” she told the magazine, adding they now make love between two and seven times per day. “He took charge as I couldn’t move much, but he was so attentive.”

He took charge. “Honey, be a dear and roll to your right so I can dislodge this pot roast from your thighs.”

“My bed is strengthened and, although I can’t buy sexy lingerie, I drape a nice sheet over me.”

😆

Though she already weighed 400 pounds by the time she gave birth to her son, Potter said she binge ate when she and her husband divorced and ended up packing on the pounds.

Her son:

But Alex still thought her size was sexy – despite the occasional logistical issue.

“It’s hard to position her and find her pleasure spots as she has a lot of fat in the pelvic area,” he told the magazine. “But it turns me on knowing she’s satisfied. Although once, when she got on top, I couldn’t breathe.”

😆 😆

What kind of “man” would find this sexy?

A middle-aged lesbian!

Exhibit B: A blog by two fat chicks who videotape themselves eating mass quantities of food to ostensibly piss off healthy thin people.

You’d be mad at the world too, if everyone vomited when they saw you naked.

Exhibit C: Fat chick wails about, get this, “thin privilege”. The yuks just keep on coming.

Thin privilege is turning down the air conditioning without ever thinking of the fatter people in the room who aren’t nearly as cold as you are.

Thin privilege is assuming yours is the default body: your comforts and discomforts are default; your width and weight are the defaults.

Dear fattie,

There’s a reason why thin, healthy people are privileged over disgusting fat fucks like yourself.

Yours in rendering soap from your lard,

Tyler Durden

ps would you like a wafer thin mint to go with your bison on a stick?

Fatties, like their loser feminist cousins, are stuck in a matrix of pure, distilled self-delusion. They know how people look at them with derision and disgust. They know how men ignore them and thin women pity them. They know how unhealthy they are and how gross they look, even to other fatties. But instead of doing what it takes to slim down and become normal, they choose to rail against normalcy, to elevate the ugly and denigrate the beautiful, and to try to retrofit reality and human nature to accommodate their weakness and repulsiveness.

You see, fatties, your pain is self-inflicted. Your sloth and gluttony, vices which are within your control to tame, are your ruin. You have no one else to blame for your miserable existences than yourselves. Concocting feelgood fantasies of overbearing patriarchies and thin privilege isn’t gonna save you from your real enemy — your own disfigured souls.

And, FYI, plastering your porcine carcasses with tattoos, piercings, and Sharpie ink isn’t going to distract people from your ugliness, an ugliness that is objective and real because it violates ancient evolutionary preferences for healthy, slender, fertile women. Fat is the physical embodiment of a flawed character, and your twisted, self-annihilating mentality is on display to be gawked at by the whole world. A gawking which I will assist with incalculable sadism, until you and your false pride skulk ignominiously back to the hovel from whence you erupted.

Think I’m exaggerating? Or that I’m a demon who doesn’t speak for the majority of humanity? Think again. Those polite commuters you see avoiding your gaze very day on the train are thinking this:

Strangers on a bus: Study reveals lengths commuters go to avoid each other

Kim found that race, class, gender and other background characteristics were not key concerns for commuters when they discovered someone had to sit next them. They all just wanted to avoid the ‘crazy person.’

“One rider told me the objective is just ‘getting through the ride’, and that I should avoid fat people who may sweat more and so may be more likely to smell,” said Kim. “Motivating this nonsocial behavior is the fact that one’s own comfort level is the rider’s key concern, rather than the backgrounds of fellow passengers.”

No one cares about your feelings, fatties. They just want to get away, far away, from your undulating rolls of blubber and your smell. Your campaigns and blogs and tumblrs and pride walks will never…

ever…

no, not even a tiny little bit…

alter this universal fact of human nature.

The only choice you have to win acceptance, real acceptance, is to put down the pride and push away from the table. That means living not by lies. But if lies are your stock in trade and your cultural weapon leading others down your benighted path of ugliness, then don’t be surprised when a stone cold bastard calls you out on them. The battlefield is total war and the frontline is everywhere. Whose side will you be on? Truth and beauty? Or lies and ugliness?

It’s funny, but I sometimes get neophytes ambling in this happy hunting ground wondering why I’m so relentlessly cruel to the losers in our midst. They never see the precipitating events. My sadism is not haphazard. The fattie who makes real efforts to lose weight, who doesn’t make excuses for her condition, and who doesn’t advocate for acceptance of her less than ideal shape, gets no shit from me. I gladly give words of encouragement to those who are making real efforts to slim down and better themselves.

It’s the liars and the deliberately delusional that I hate with a passion. The lords of lies. The traffickers of untruths. The propagandizers of poison. The ones who would take the beauty and truth that makes life worth living, and shit on it out of spite. If an equalist or a feminist or a fattie wants to come here and engage this proprietorship in good faith, with an open mind, she will earn my two minutes of mercy and polite indulgence. But if she comes in here, screeching and screaming and slandering in her first comment, like so many have done before, because she can’t believe what she is reading it so violates the PC norm she’s used to regurgitating, she should not be surprised when I unleash the wrath of a thousand hellhounds to tear at the tatters of her misshapen soul.

At the very least, she is made example of for the others. Plus, it amuses me.

Fat pride advocates would be wise to reflect on the sympathies that normal people give them when they know their place. The fattie who doesn’t flaunt her monstrousness and demand approval from her betters earns a measure of tolerance. People don’t hound fatties who keep their mouths shut and their bodies tastefully covered until dieting and exercise make them presentable again for public viewing. Humility, a virtue understood well by a much better people than our current crop of loser pride degenerates, is a lost art in the modern West. It’s high time it was rediscovered, and the waddles of the ululating tormented humbled as befits their decrepit station. A dose of humility might even motivate these sick freaks to improve their lives and rejoin the community of happy people.

ps:

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A Little Pain Warms The Female Heart

As the Kristen Stewart affair (re)confirms, women, particularly young, slender women with high mate values, possess a seeming masochistic tendency to seek out relationship drama and wallow in it. All women have this urge, although the degree to which the urge expresses itself varies in its intensity among women. A very rough estimate by yours truly puts it at 1/3 women crave sadistic assholes (who may even beat them), 1/3 of women are drawn to men who provide non-thuggish but nonetheless insecurity-amplifying drama, and another 1/3 are put off by thuggishness and prolonged drama-inducement but who do enjoy some minimal amount of relationship tension, whether manufactured by the man or organically arising from his higher value relative to hers.

Furthermore, this craving for asshole men diminishes slowly with age, and with declining beauty. The elicited excitement and allure of the jerk tends to be strongest in very pretty, slender women aged 16-25, and weakest in ugly women over age 35. The reasons for this dynamic are obvious: very attractive and maximally fertile women — that is, those women with the most options in the sexual market — are best able to capture the attention of an asshole, and extract commitment from him. Older, uglier, fatter women are not even on assholes’ radars; their options are limited and their ability to extract commitment from men is kneecapped, so they tend to de-emphasize their longing for badboys and emphasize their appreciation for the secure reliability of lower value niceguys.

A few feminists are only now beginning to grapple with these hypergamous truths of female nature, not least in part because of the efforts of alternative blogs belched up from the bowels of hell, like this one, but they have yet to fully imbibe the meaning behind the evidence that confronts them. Many of them will attempt to scaffold their tattered ideology and hide the beast from their sights by making feeble assertions to the contrary, with no evidence in hand, that for instance, to pick a classic example of the genre, men “like drama-inducing bitches just as much as women like drama-inducing jerks”.

Well, ain’t that an ego salver! Too bad it isn’t true. There is very little real world evidence, either in the scientific literature or in anecdotal observation, that men crave relationship drama and the bitches who can give it nearly as much as women crave the badboys who can give them drama. Dark triad traits? Benefit men’s desirability; do nothing for women’s desirability, or even hurt it. Female groupies for male prisoners? So well-known that there are even websites devoted to letting women air their grievances with the prison system and detail their efforts to get conjugal visits with their killer lovers. And then of course, there are the women who, despite plenty of resources and peer pressure to guide them to better choices, freely opt to love and love again abusive men who turned their faces into mashed pulp.

Men do not share with women this masochistic compulsion for relationship drama. Men who are stuck with abusive women are often losers who know they couldn’t find another woman to save their lives. Men who have options will leave bitchy women without a second’s thought. Men, in fact, are the total opposite of women in this regard: the typical man will usually RUN AWAY FROM bitchy women in favor of sweet, feminine women, given equal looks. Even given unequal looks, most men will choose, for example, a sweet, caring 7 over a bitchy, sadistic 9, at least for long-term consideration. (For a one night stand or short term fling, men will put up with some shit in exchange for the pleasure of defiling exquisite beauty.)

So it is with this sex difference in drama-seeking in mind that the theme of this post emerges.

Maxim #19: Making a woman feel a little emotional pain will reward you a thousandfold in returned physical pleasure.

You don’t have to be fists-of-fury Chris Brown to pick up a Rihanna and make her fall in deep, profound love with you, but don’t let the lesson of their relationship be lost on you. If you are a beta male — and odds are you are — you can superglue your relationship bond by instilling in your woman a calculated level of discomfort and insecurity. You won’t feel bad about this, because you will know that the discomfort you create is subconsciously DESIRED by your girl. Despite her outward appearance of frustration and timorous appeasement, you will know that inside, she is lit up like a vagina tree, with a squirting orgasm shooting out of the star on top.

The more beta you are, and the hotter your girlfriend or wife, the more necessary will be the application of drama inducement game (DIG).

Reader David Collard comments:

I have written a poem about virginity and defloration, mainly to annoy skanky feminists:

http://davidcollard.wordpress.com/2012/04/16/first-draft/

As I have said before, deflowering my wife was unpleasant, and painful for her, but I am glad I got to do it, not some man before me. […]

I have seen a serious scientific (evol psych) argument that the pain of childbirth gets a woman to bond to her child, and the pain of defloration gets her to bond to a man. On the other hand, my wife says my deflowering her put her off sex for quite some time. She had a very tough hymen.

It is an intriguing theory that women are, in some primal sense, attracted to the freeing chains of pain. The pain — physical or emotional — seems to release in woman animal lusts, which then stampede beyond her control. This loss of control is something women secretly yearn to experience, and the alpha males who so delight them are the men most adept at stripping women of their superficial veneer of control.

David writes that childbirth and defloration are both major masochist milestones in a woman’s life that also represent pinnacles of pain. In the crucible of this pain (physical in these two instances), a bond so powerful, so unbreakable, is formed, that the woman will be forever merged in psyche, soul and snatch with the child and the man, respectively, who visited this pain upon her. I believe this is the best argument there is for beta males to actively seek out and deflower virgins, for the resultant bond will be so strong that they can then coast in their betaness for many years afterward without threat of cuckolding.

“Anonymous” writes:

Quoting Kristen Stewart: “I feel boring. I feel like, Why is everything so easy for me? I can’t wait for something crazy to fucking happen to me. Just life. I want someone to fuck me over! Do you know what I mean?”

So, she wants to play some Russian Roulette? Why are women so masochistic? You have a tenuous alpha/beta analysis when it isn’t even 100% clear that Alpha’s are better for survival or fitness then beta (why are there so many betas if alpha is the better gene)? I won’t quibble over this because your pop science has a much more serious problem. The central problem with female fitness in modernity has nothing to do with alpha/beta but is delayed pregnancy. What are the psychological consequences of going 15-20-35 years after menstruation and failing to get preggers? Ancient women were ALWAYS pregnant, like in stone age societies. Women are designed to be constantly knocked up and hauling 5 kids. How can their psychology pull the 180 to barren femcunt lawyer slut? Or barren and bored slut actress? You don’t think this makes them masochistic freaks? They are built for pain (pregnancy and hauling kids). Your Alpha/Beta analysis works, but the bigger issue is masochism and other psych problems from being chronically barren.

I understand anonymous’ wrenching repugnance at women’s callow and seemingly self-annihilating unimpeded sexual behavior, but that is a confusion remedied by a widening of perspective and a depth of experience. This odd drive by women for the powerful, charming, dominant men, even when it threatens a solid and secure relationship, must have served some benefit to our distant female ancestors, including the mothers of the infinite mothers of your mothers.

But then, as anonymous rightly states, there has always been, until relatively recently, a natural curb — an auto-pilot emergency brake — on this female hypergamous impulse, that would engage when the impulse became destructive. This natural curb was PREGNANCY. Ancestral women used to get knocked up quickly, at very young ages, and then be burdened with child after child until the wall removed from them the last hope of fulfilling a latent hypergamous urge. A Kristen Stewart, shorn of the props and rebar and condoms and abortifacents and Pills of modern society, would not, in the ancient times, have had the luxury of chasing down and fucking multiple alpha males to satisfy her id-shaped itch. In times bygone, her downlow would have meant the abandonment and eventual death of her child by her beta provider (Robert Pattinson) and the ostracization by her tribe’s women. Her alpha lover (the director) would not have agreed to help much in the raising of the children she had borne from previous men. There would not have been a media-savvy slut-excusing PR machine, aided and abetted by feminists and manboobed robots, to carry her through the ordeal to a safe landing ensconced in the lap of a replacement alpha male.

Instead, a modern Western Kristen Stewart gets to skip all that pain that would have been hers in prior eras, and indulge her hypergamy nearly free of consequence. Perhaps anonymous has a point; the mitigation to almost total irrelevance of this primal pain that was once the birthright of women has rendered their sex so psychologically scarred, so emotionally gutted, that they deliberately seek destructiveness in their relationships to feel anything at all. This destructiveness, once harnessed, feeds on itself, and there is no cure save sexual obsolescence, which must come, as it does for all women, sooner than they think.

The barren woman. The spinster. The pathetic partying cougar. The slutty alpha female. The delayed marriage and childbirth. The 0.5 child SWPL mother. Is it all coming together in a vortex of unhappiness and self-despoilment? Is the answer a reconnection with the animal spirits — and the animal dangers — that used to animate our free choices?

Kristen Stewart and millions of women in similar circumstances as hers will realize their fates too late. Worse for them, the Robert Pattinsons of the world are beginning to wake up and realize their fates as well. The interesting times are just beginning.

This post sealed with a kiss for Billyboy Bennett.

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Holmes: Another Lovelorn Beta Male Rampage

It looks like we may have another case of a beta, possibly omega, male with woman troubles expunging his feelings of worthlessness through the barrel of a gun. Could game have saved the lives of those theater-goers Holmes killed?

James Holmes struck out with three women on an adult sex website shortly before he allegedly perpetrated the Colorado movie massacre, according to a new report.

He described Holmes as “a shy, pretty socially inept person,” and said he tried at one point to introduce Holmes around the institute, taking him to another floor where a high school girl was working.

“He just had no interest,” Jacobson recalled. “I attributed all this to adolescent shyness, maybe feeling intimidated [by] people around him.” […]

On Monday, it was also learned that Holmes was turned down by three women on the casual sex website Adult Friend Finder shortly before he allegedly perpetrated the Colorado movie massacre.

The grad school dropout opened an account on the no-strings-attached sex site on July 5, and quickly reached out to three lusty ladies — but all said, “No thanks” to a hookup, the unidentified women told TMZ.com.

One of the horny honeys told TMZ that Holmes was rather innocent in his approach, claiming he was “just looking to maybe chat . . . nothing sexual.”

If you don’t have much experience approaching women and talking to them, getting shot down one after another by three sluts looking for casual sex is a grievous blow to the ego. Had Holmes had some game and approaches under his belt, he would not have been as fazed by these rejections, (nor would he have been as impelled to use a casual sex website to fulfill his sex and love needs).

In addition, this skank’s recollection implies that Holmes is the classic niceguy, unable to flirt with or entice women except through the niceguy method of chatting innocently about nothing and hoping to elicit a pity fuck through the LJBF back door.

Using the screen name “classicjimbo,” Holmes said he was straight and looking for “casual sex,” either one-on-one or with a group of three or more.

I figured maybe there was a chance this guy might be gay, which would help explain his indifference to women he worked around. But his admission here dispels that possibility (unless he’s lying out of a psychological need).

“Will you visit me in prison?” read a haunting line at the top of his profile page.

This is about the closest Holmes came to using effective game.

His account, which has been taken down in the wake of the horrific attack, lists Holmes as single, athletic and a light drinker. He described his “male endowment” as “short/average.”

An underemployed, undersexed, socially awkward niceguy beta male with incipient schizophrenia and a small ween is a carnage waiting to happen. Again, had Holmes some knowledge of game and success using it on women in the past, would he have ever bothered arming himself to the teeth and committing himself to his bloodlust? I don’t think this question is unreasonable to ask.

“Am a nice guy. Well, as nice enough of a guy who does these sort of shenanigans,” read his [profile] introduction.

Here, Holmes admits that he is a niceguy. Do niceguys generally own up to their niceguyness? I’ve observed that many of them do. They seem to hold their niceguy status as simultaneously both a moral virtue and an unlucky burden to bear. Narcissist niceguys like Holmes love the feeling of martyrdom because it erects in their minds a triumph over their self-inflicted failures.

“After the TMZ incident, I am hesitant to continue using this site. Never know who’s on the other end,” a 30-year-old from Steamboat Springs, Colo., who goes by the screen name “fancydarling,” posted at the top of her profile Monday.

These low class broads who use casual hook-up sites like Adult Friend Finder are test cases of hamsters on overdrive. Really, lady, you log onto a site practically dedicated to anonymous sex and you’re shocked to find out the men you meet aren’t model citizens nor interested in friendly chatting about throw rug patterns? Of course you’re not shocked. You’re just a woman being womanish.

Classmates who knew Holmes at Westview High told The News they had no recollection of the accused killer ever having a girlfriend.

In an increasingly r-selected society like the one America is turning into, beta males without game are going to be left in the dust. Some of them with pre-existing mental disorders may go over the edge.

On Monday, his high school buddies were shocked that the clean-cut brainiac had morphed into the wild-eyed, mop-haired man they now saw.

Does anyone ever see it coming? Serious question. I’ve yet to read an account of some mass killer that someone who knew him predicted would crack one day. That’s the thing with unassuming niceguy beta males: they’re generally invisible to people around them until they snap and go out in a blaze of lookatme! I don’t know there is any way to protect against this happening again, except to issue PSAs that educate the public on the signs to note of someone beginning the descent into homicidal madness. Or maybe make game a required course in all high schools, so that socially invisible beta and omega males get some basic dating experience under their belts before their fuses are lit.

“He looked so dazed. Then it was like his eyes were going to pop out of his head. I never saw that look from him before. This is not the kid I knew playing soccer back in high school,” Brandon Wanda, 23, told The News.

Doctors probably drugged him.

Holmes has shown all the signs of a guy who had a paranoid schizophrenic breakdown. The sudden change in appearance and behavior, and the indiscriminate nature of the attack suggest he has a real mental illness, and advocates for the mentally ill ought to stop shielding the public from the knowledge that crazies can sometimes turn out to be excessively violent beasts. But his mental illness may not be the whole story; if his condition reinforced his failure with women, the two personal insults could have operated symbiotically to drive him to the breaking point. Holmes may have been destined to go nuts, but it’s possible he could have been saved from violent schism by an intervention that helped him navigate social interactions with women; in other words, helped him not be himself. Could game have been the answer? Feminists shriek indignantly, but it’s not such an outlandish thought.

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