The Painter

One block from where I live, on a residential street corner, I saw a lanky, unkempt white man talking to two attractive blondes dressed in the uniform of the City Bitch On Her Way To Do Something So Very Important At Her Paper Pusher Job: crisp Banana Republic skirt, tennis shoes for the sidewalk commute, and hair in a ponytail. Upon closer inspection, I noticed the man had a tall painter’s easel in front of him with a postcard-sized canvas propped on the easel. He was dangling a brush from his right hand rather effeminately, while the girls smiled broadly, flipped their ponytails to and fro, and engaged him in animated conversation.

The canvas had a few splotches of pastel-colored geometric shapes on it. If this was supposed to look like my neighborhood, I couldn’t make out the resemblance. I figured it must be some postmodern stylism that only the illuminati, and City Bitches, could comprehend.

Then I noticed something else; I recognized this guy. I’d seen him ambling around my neighborhood, walking with that loserly shuffle. He was a local. I’ve never seen him painting outdoors on a weekday morning either, and until now I’d never seen him in the company of women. This new painter’s schtick he had devised was clearly working. There he was, three random colors on a tiny canvas, a cheap art store easel on the sidewalk corner, and two hot blondes eating out of his palm. He was probably smacking himself for not coming up with this idea sooner.

Go ahead and try it. Buy an easel and a canvas board. Set up shop on a corner in the daytime, ideally during the morning or evening pedestrian commute. Dangle a paintbrush from your hand effeminately whilst cocking your head like you’re deciding how best to capture the majesty of the street corner. Wait for girls to approach you (which automatically signals their lower status relative to yours, as girls are programmed to never approach men), and run your normal game as usual.

“I’m surprised you can recognize the deep spirit of the land and its people I’m trying to evoke. I wouldn’t have taken you for the type of girl who could appreciate art.”

You don’t need to be an artist, or even have painting skills, to pull this off. All you need is the ability to handle the public attention you will get, and a cultivated sense of haughty arrogance.

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Never Take Girl Advice From A Beta Or A Gay Man

In what has to be one of the most ignorant interpretations of game and its associated techniques I’ve read in a long time, some mincing little betaboy named Conor Friedersdorf, who looks like he was born to be a stay-at-home cuckold, wrote an article lashing out at men who dare to learn how better to attract women. Andrew Sullivan, the jihadist Homosexualist gay man who knows what it’s like being a straight man picking up women, gave Conor (what a precious name!) a platform on his blog to berate men who use negs as a courtship tactic. Conor found great offense in a post he read by occasional commenter Sebastian Flyte at his blog Elysium Revisited, and cried emo tears of sanctimonious envy that his cotton candy la-la land of soulmates and Hollywood love was being crapped on so mightily by men who know a thing or two about how women operate.

Of course, the belief that one acts amorally by manipulating women quickly leads to abhorrent behavior. The rogue who is zealous for sexual conquest at least understands that he acts badly if he uses deception to get sex. The cerebral “player,” exemplified by [Sebastian Flyte], doesn’t grasp that anything is the matter with his behavior.

As a result, he is quite unabashed as he describes a male behavior that I’ve observed on many occasions, and that I abhor more than any other mainstream pickup technique. Though I’d never heard it referred to as such, Sebastian Flyte dubs it “the Neg,” and calls it “the Swiss army knife of pickup.”

All goal-oriented communication is a form of manipulation. When you try to convince a friend to see a movie that you saw and loved, you are attempting to manipulate your friend’s emotions so that he cannot resist the urge to go see it himself. Manipulation is as permanent and commonplace a feature of the human condition as is eating. Some of us are just better at it than others.

Friedersdork “abhors” the neg. It’s “abhorrent behavior”. Funny that something so abhorrent should cause women to respond so positively to its use.

I’ve never seen anyone do this to a woman [the neg] who hasn’t seemed to me a complete asshole even beforehand — and I’ve been dismayed at the frequency with which it works.

Betas like Conor HATE HATE HATE alpha males. The guy who doesn’t kiss up to women like the proudly chivalric beta champion of all that is noble and good is an automatic asshole. What motivates this tepid beta spittle? Is it that assholes discredit the Power of the Pedestal that betas reflexively place women upon? A lifetime of illusions shattered by one well-placed neg? I bet Conor is a feminist.

Fascinating, isn’t it? The author perceives a world wherein women unjustly pass over beta males in favor of alpha males. He justifies the insults in the same way that MIA justifies Third World robbery and murder: as a tool that is the only choice of the dispossessed to achieve equality.

This must be a first. Freidersdorf compared the neg to robbery and murder. A helpful clue, Conor: Women *like* being negged. It turns them on like a nice rack and a tight ass turns on men. Robbery and murder victims don’t get sexually intrigued by their assailants as far as I know.

Over at Sullivan’s histrionically Ghey Emporium of Steroidal Delights, our intrepid Master of His Own Domain further reflects on the seduction community and posts comments from readers.

The difference [between a neg and a compliment] is that while compliments or put downs can be either truthful or disingenuous, only put downs lower the self-esteem of the target. In most contexts, it seems obvious that it is wrong to gratuitously put people down for selfish ends. Why is dating different?

Newflash: The mating market is inherently selfish. How many women are offering free pussy access to homeless bums or pining niceguys? How many women expect *absolutely nothing* from a boyfriend or husband? You are a product, on display in a window case, for potential mates to inspect and deem worthy or unworthy. This goes for men and women. Humans are not exempt from the basic laws of the market just because we have the mental capacity to gussy up the dismal bartering of our innate goods and services with soul-sparing pretty lies.

Newsflash #2: Negs aren’t insults. They are edgy teasing. Is this distinction so difficult to grasp?

Newsflash #3: If “putting down” women is so wrong, why does it feel so right to them?

That some men cannot understand this really boggles my mind, and makes me suspect that they aren’t even thinking of women as being people (interestingly, some of these men seem to think of women as less than human, and others as superhuman). Every man can imagine how he would feel if a woman approached him at a bar, assessed his dress or some physical feature, and breezily made some cutting public remark: “You dress like a guy who has a small dick.” Yet numerous correspondents seem utterly unable to imagine that women might also feel badly if criticized this way.

Conor Friedersdorf, beta of the month candidate, has no understanding of negs.

Moreover, if I concede that some women find these kinds of put-downs thrilling — I’ll do so for the sake of argument — the problem remains that a guy out approaching strangers in a bar cannot reliably distinguish between that kind of woman, if indeed she exists, and the kind of woman who’ll be quite wounded by a deprecating remark made about her by a stranger.

Conor Freidersdorf suffers from the same mental disease that afflicts most betas and all women — the frantically held belief that women are individual wonders of joy and incomprehensible mystery who cannot ever be generalized about. Except that their belief is bogus. Women mostly share the same criteria in what they find attractive in men, and beautiful women with high sexual market value share these criteria even more strongly than less attractive women who must compromise more to find a mate. Men don’t need to reliably distinguish between women who like getting negged and women who don’t, because almost all women like it. It’s part of their prehistoric coding. The only distinctions men need to take into account when deciding whether to use a neg are the hotness of his targets and the edginess of his negs. The less hot the chick relative to his own status, the lighter he can go on the negs without dooming himself to rejection or the LJBF zone.

[T]hose who use “the neg” concede that the pickup techniques they use succeed in part because they are unabashed about getting shot down many times in a night before they find someone for whom the technique works. Thus “the neg” is used on many women who are insulted but unsold, and who haven’t any intention of having casual sex.

Selection bias is an overused gotcha! counterargument by betas who wish to believe men cannot control how many women find them attractive. They think they are onto the “real” reason PUAs do well with women — numbers of approaches! game only works on girls that game works on! — but they are engaging in tautological handwaving. Certainly there is a learning curve where a guy will approach a lot of women to get his technique down pat, but once his skills are acquired he can dial down his approaches to the same number of women he approached before he learned game and still experience much greater success.

Advice: being yourself from the beginning might result in fewer relationships begun — but it’ll also result in fewer relationships lost.

This sounds like the happy slogan of beta self-abnegators anonymous, but the opposite could just as easily be true. If being yourself results in fewer relationships begun, it will also result in losing more of the few relationships you do manage to get. For if women don’t like aspects of your personality up front, they are going to like those aspects even less two years deep into an LTR.

This pretty lie is heard so often by guys like Conor that it’s become a Rorschach test for glimpsing the sordid inner workings of the beta mind. To the typical equalist pissbucket beta, there is no such thing as a useful generalization. Women are all individual creatures of deep deep individuality who go for all kinds of men. So maybe you can arouse that girl over there by using a neg on her, but there are ten more girls who would never fall for it. So you must… MUST… treat women as individuals. Eventually, you’ll find that perfect match who LOVES YOU FOR YOU. Nevermind that a guy like Johnny Depp or Scott Peterson gets thousands of times more attention from women than Milton the stapler guy.

Friedersbeta goes on to quote his favorite reader e-mail:

How does one determine if a pickup technique has “worked”? What counts as success? You say that “the neg” does indeed work sometimes. What does that mean? I guess it depends on what the pickupper’s goals are. But I bring this up because that discussion about pickup techniques seemed to assume that women are all looking for nice guys to have solid relationships with – they could be seduced by “the neg” and then get burned. But women can spot pickup techniques that are disrespectful and still respond positively (outwardly). A man who uses “the neg” or some other slimy pickup technique can be taken to be someone whose feelings are not of great importance. So he could be used for free drinks, free tickets, meaningless sex, whatever – and all without guilt because, hey, he’s no better, right? It may not be moral, but it is fair. A man’s pickup techniques can signal exactly where he belongs on the relationship food chain. Has a guy who has used “the neg” and then ends up buying lots of drinks been successful? Depends on if he likes buying women drinks, I guess.

I hate to break it to this reader, but a man who knows about negs and uses them to great effect is a man who is smart enough to know not to buy women drinks. Until after sex. Heh.

Beta of the Month candidate:

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Visualizing Herb

Oh man, this picture of a herb doing what comes naturally is almost too gruesome to contemplate:

[For this post we have a guest appearance by the judges from ‘American Idol’]

Simon: Paula, your thoughts.

Paula: I think they look cute together. He’s different, he’s unique. I like him.

Simon: [rolls eyes] Randy?

Randy: Dawg, this herb is doing his thing.

Paula: The chin cradle shows real love. [starts to cry] What the world needs are more herbs like him.

Randy: [addressing supine herb] I’m feeling ya, dawg, but dawg, maybe you could, you know, tone it down a bit, you know what I mean dawg?

Simon: Well, I think this herb is dreadful. His puffy face, his soft plush body of a woman, his chipmunk cheeks… just horrible. If I wanted to see something soft and cuddly lay down in the fetal position and rest its noggin in a woman’s lap to be stroked and petted I would get her a fluffy bunny rabbit. The rabbit would probably have bigger balls.

Paula: Simon! That’s mean.

Randy: [to herb] You know, he’s got a point dawg. In the hood, guys like you would get turned upside down by our bitches for your pocket change.

Simon: Randy speaks for the hood about as much as I do.

Paula: [to herb] I think you look fine. You are doing what two people in love do.

Simon: [to Paula] But does he make your gina tingle?

Paula: Simon!

Randy: That’s a “No”, dawg! [Randy high fives Simon]

Simon: [to herb] Look, a word of advice. If you want this girl to stick around, you need to stop acting like a bowl of Jell-O. That means stop planting your face in her lap like a cat. Man up! Her face should be in your lap, nibbling your knob. Especially in public, for god’s sake!

Herb: [fat cheeks quivering with anger] Simon, you suck. I love her, and that’s all that matters. Not everyone has to fit into your alpha-beta categories!

Paula: You tell him, herb!

Simon: [herb’s girlfriend crawls out from under the table by Simon’s chair, wiping her mouth] I’m sorry, I was busy. What was that you were saying?

Ryan Seacrest: [to herb] Congratulations, you’re going to suicide watch, my friend!

***

There are only two ways a man can act like this herb without suffering the consequence of major beta heartbreak over and over again:

1. Date an Asian girl, or

2. Date women less attractive than himself.

For those of us who prefer to grab the brass ring and date good-looking girls who have options in the sexual market, nauseating herbitude of the type shown in this photo should be avoided as much as possible. At the very least you shouldn’t snuggle up like an albino Smurf into your girl’s lap in public.

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Washington Post Fembot Tells Cuckold ‘Suck It Up’

A diligent reader emailed me a ‘Beta of the Month’ submission about a guy who fears he may have been cuckolded and who turns to a Washington Post advice columnist for support in his time of need. I read the article and decided that the real value to be gleaned was not in the unearthing of stupefying betatude (after all, at Chateau Heartiste where the better angels of humanity are handcuffed to bedposts and repeatedly gangbanged by their demonic cousins, mewling cuckolds are mere run of the mill betas), but in the reply to the beta chump by Carolyn Hax, a Washington Post Style columnist.

I reprint the column in full along with my remarks, so that you may glimpse the true face of woman.

Here is the original cry of anguish by the man who believes his child is not of his beta loin:

Hi, Carolyn:

I’m writing to you because I don’t know who else to ask. My wife and I have been happily married for six years. We have a beautiful daughter, age 2. For about the past six months I have suspected my daughter isn’t really “mine.” I have never suspected my wife of cheating on me, but for a number of reasons I cannot quiet my suspicions about the baby. I have not confronted my wife because I know that might devastate our marriage. But I have to know. What should I do?

Suspicious

If a man suspects his wife has cuckolded him, the odds of his child not being his rise to 30%. The general nonpaternity rate is around 4%. Low confidence “fathers” are right to be worried. Cuckoldry is serious business because it is the female form of rape.

So by the second sentence I know this guy is a Natural Born Beta. It’s always the guys getting most screwed by their wives who persist in believing they are “happily married” seconds before she’s caught with her boss’s dick in her mouth. Another telltale sign of the beta: If he cajoles tepid sex out of his wife once a month he thinks that is proof the marriage is full of love. If you want to know how well a marriage is doing, don’t look at the husband’s face for hints of marital bliss; look at the wife’s face.

Now we’ll examine the Style columnist’s family counseling advice. You may want to prepare a crucifix and garlic.

Give careful thought, please, to what you “have to” know.

This is going to be good. The first words out of her mouth are a slopbucket of shame aimed straight at… the man.

When just seeking the truth could change your life in dramatic and irreversible ways, it’s best to start not by actually doing something but by inviting each possible truth into your imagination as fact.

What the fuck does she mean here? This is postmodern therapeutic age gibberish squared. Nonsense on stilts. “Invite each possible truth into your imagination as fact”? Screw action, just imagine everything is true. Embrace the female way: Wallow in your psychodrama while getting nothing accomplished. It’s no wonder the newspaper empire is crumbling with the third rate hacks they have writing for them nowadays. I spewed more sensible shit after a 12 hour dorm room pot and Milwaukee’s Best bender.

That way, you can figure out the way you want your life to look before you start saying things you might regret.

Wait, did I miss something, or did Miss Hax Off Your Balls just guilt trip the guy who got cuckolded?

If your life were a physical structure, this would be the “blueprint before sledgehammer” approach.

Translation: If you just take a breather and don’t let your anger and pain get the best of you, you’ll find that life as a beta provider for an alpha’s kid isn’t so bad. Your wife will love you for your measured approach and self-sacrifice, and the most important thing is to keep your wife happy, right? Right? At the very least…

…do it for the children.

If your “number of reasons” points to infidelity, for example, then you need to imagine the worst, and assume your wife did cheat — Imaginary Scenario 1 — and then you need to decide whether you’d want to stay in the marriage or leave.

I’d think the decision would be self-evident, but hey, we’re talking about spineless betas and amoral women here, so everything is up for grabs. Bizzaro America!

If the answer is to stay (Scenario 1a), then you need to ask yourself, is that outcome better served by not digging into the past?

If the guy decides to stay and prove to the world what a pathetic sap he is, then I suppose he deserves the indignity of having his worthlessness as a man rubbed in his face every time his non-kid is in the same room with him. If he’s that low on the self-esteem pole then he might be able sack down and survive eighteen years without once mentioning his wife’s whoring and the kid who doesn’t look anything like him. I can imagine the thoughts going through his head, when years later our protagonist is coaching his daughter’s soccer team: “Wow, she’s so athletic and assertive. And so attractive, too. Maybe it’s for the best that my genes weren’t passed on. Life is beautiful!”

If the answer is to leave (1b), are you ready to challenge your paternity — or have it challenged by your at-that-point-estranged wife?

1b? Is this superfluous numbering system supposed to make her sound scientific? Maybe it’s just my male logic, but if the guy decides to leave the marriage on account of strong evidence — say, oh I dunno, a paternity test — that he is a cuckold, then it wouldn’t much matter if his cheating whore of a wife is estranged from him or challenges what he already challenged.

If, on the other hand, your suspicions are based solely on your child’s appearance, then you need to ask yourself if you’re being irrational; genes are a lot more complicated than the “She has a cleft chin and therefore can’t be mine” parlor games would suggest.

More shame. You starting to notice a pattern? This is what women do when they have nothing left to fall back on but hollow arguments. Fact: Babies look more like their fathers than their mothers. This is an evolutionary adaptation that ensures fathers will stick around to care for the infant. “Cleft chin” red herring notwithstanding, if the guy thinks his kid doesn’t look like him and therefore could be the cable guy’s kid, he’s got a 30% chance of being dreadfully right.

But let’s say instead you have an unshakeable gut instinct that this is someone else’s child. If you’re right, then the percentages would be obviously (and heavily) in favor of infidelity, which loops you back to Scenario 1.

Still, you can’t entirely rule out the rarer than rare, yet not unprecedented, hospital error — Scenario 2 —

She’s flailing.

so you also have to imagine your way through to the conclusion of a different worst-case altogether: If the baby turns out to be neither yours nor your wife’s biological child, would you still love this baby?

Alpha answer: No.
Beta answer: No, but I’ll say yes because it’s what’s expected of me.

Want to raise her?

Alpha answer: Hello, orphanage drop off box!
Beta answer: My wife said she’ll stop giving me biannual handjobs if I don’t say I’ll love the child as if it were my own.

Want to find your biological child and switch?

Style columnist Hax either has a weak grasp of human nature, or a weak grasp of rhetorical devices.

In other words, would it make a difference if this were error vs. deception?

No. If it was a hospital error, then the wife should be equally pleased as her husband to know the truth. Their marriage would remain strong, or at least viable, as they made arrangements with the hospital to find their true baby and swap kids with the other victimized family who mistakenly got their kid.

If it was deception, then their marriage (hopefully, but you can never know for sure with these congenital betas) will dissolve, but the cuckold will have spared himself the humility and genetic metadeath of providing for another man’s legacy with his sweat and tears while his own sad seed withers to dust.

If you decide you’d want this child no matter what, then the question becomes, again, why you’d want to risk everything to scratch even a torturous itch.

Is the idea of robbing a man of eighteen years of his life and a chance to bear and love his own children meaningless to this Style columnist? Here’s an analogy, Miss Hax, you could try wrapping your twisted cancerous soul around: A man getting cuckolded is the moral equivalent of a woman getting secretly implanted with another woman’s fertilized egg, giving birth to it, and raising it for eighteen years.

Is any of this getting through to you? Bitch?

And finally: What if you started digging, wrecked your marriage and learned your daughter is “yours”?

Q-tip swab of the kid’s cheek while the wife is away takes two seconds. He can have the sample tested with no one the wiser. If the kid is his, hey, he can sleep easy at night and feel good about helping his kid with her homework. The proof of his paternity might even motivate him to go down on his wife. If the kid isn’t his, the marriage was wrecked long before he “started digging”.

I urge you to imagine your way down every painful avenue here, best cases as well as worst.

Translation: I urge you to find it in your heart to put aside your doubts for the good of your wife and bastard child.

Then, once you’ve figured out what you can live with emotionally, please, if you’re considering any action at all, have a lawyer vet it legally.

Vet? Vetting is beta. Get the paternity test done before consulting any lawyers, and when you do get a lawyer with test results in hand, make sure your wife doesn’t find out about any of it until you slap her with the divorce papers. You don’t do battle with a whore by playing nice.

Only then can you be confident whether truth-seeking serves your interests — and your family’s — or smashes them to bits.

Shame! It’s what’s for dinner! Gotta love her admonishing a cuckold — the victim, remember? — that he needs to serve his family’s interest along with his own. I guarantee every woman reading this Post article nodded their heads in agreement with the author, and probably quite a few limpwristed faggy SWPL betaboys agreed, too. A better illustration of the second class status of beta males in society — as foretold by our evolutionary heritage — would be hard to find. Women are simply assumed to be moral paragons and Vestal Virgins, and betas are… there to be ransacked.

Give, betas, give till it hurts. And when the hurt begins, don’t bitch and moan about your endless torment. Just keep giving. While you’re paying the last ounce of tribute in self-respect, here’s some porn to keep your senses dulled.

***

Whenever I read articles by women attempting to grapple with the evil of cuckoldry, the impression I am always left with is one of fear. I can smell the fear in their words. It emanates from every ill-conceived shaming maneuver and transparent rationalization. The emptiness of their amoral excuse-mongering is beyond lame.

“If you confront your wife over her cheating your family will shatter.”

If she cheated the family is already shattered.

“You have to suck it up for the good of the child.”

She should have thought of the child’s welfare before spreading wide for the alpha interloper to blast in her pussy.

“What good will come of the truth?”

Good has got nothing to do with it. But justice and dignity do. Not to mention the Darwinian prime directive.

Finally, my favorite of all the cuckoldry excuser tactics:

“Be the GOOD MAN and take one for the team. After all… *wink wink*… it’s not like you’re gonna find another woman.”

To which a man should answer in the only way acceptable: FUUUUUUUCK YOU.

The fear coming from women when the spotlight is on efforts by men to expose cuckoldry is perfectly understandable. Humans fear most the loss of mating power, and the prerogative of women to get impregnated on the sly with an alpha while foisting the bill on a beta is a hardwired preference millions of years old. Any threat to the established order, especially an existential threat as game-changing as DNA paternity testing, will send women into involuntary apoplexies of hair-raising moral myopia. The beastly decrepitude of their animal souls will lay bare for all to see.

Hallmark doesn’t make cards for moments like these.

The first Sexual Apocalypse was heralded by the death song of the following Four Sirens: the Pill, No-Fault Divorce, Economic Gender Egalitarianism, and Misandrist Laws. But a new era is upon us. As I see it, the future of humanity will radically change once again with the coming of the Three Horsemen of the Second Sexual Apocalypse:

Widespread, accurate and accessible paternity testing.
The male Pill.
Realistic sexbots.

Paternity testing alone is enough to alter women’s sexual behavior in a big way. Mandatory paternity testing is already on the docket in some legislatures. There have been hopeful signs of justice being served. It’s not enough to say “Well, only 3-4% of women cuckold their husbands. So really, not much will change.” The impact isn’t in the marginal loss of cuckoldry as a mating strategy, but in the *perception* of loss by *all* women. Even the most faithful, loving wife has the corrupt core of a cheating whore buried deep in her hindbrain. Blasting rays of sunlight on her gnarled, caged id won’t be met with good cheer. I predict very few fertile-age women will be emotionally invested in men’s paternity rights, and in fact most of them will advocate against it. Pussywhipped beta males and opportunistic alpha males sufficiently sequestered from the negative consequences of their decisions will likely defend the women in hopes of short term gain in payment of sexual favors. If you think alpha males of middling resources would vigorously support mandatory paternity testing, remind yourself who benefits the most from cuckoldry.

Here is Miss Hax’s contact info:

Write to Tell Me About It, Style, 1150 15th St. NW, Washington, D.C. 20071, or tellme@washpost.com.

It would be fun if my readers sent her a link to my post under the ruse of fan mail. The goal isn’t to change her mind — no, that will never happen — the goal is to drive a chainsaw through her soul. To make her hurt. To sear her ego with the harsh, ugly truth. Sadism is an exquisite pleasure for those practitioners trained in the art of administering it.

***

A final note: I will play therapist for a moment and give proper counseling to Mr. “Suspicious”:

Q-tip. Swab. Paternity testing clinic. The rest is commentary.

And because I am a gracious and good man of charitable inclination, I also give my tender and supportive counseling to Miss Hax:

“Please, Miss Hax, take a seat on the couch over there. Yes, that’s good. Ok… now… tell me only the bad things that come to mind when you hear the word

C  U  N  T.”

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Best Photo of 2009

Yeah, we’ve got nine more months in 2009, but this photo will not be beat.

Can’t fault the polar bear. He knows a delicious blubbery buffet when he sees it.

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Update: A Second Herb!

Thanks to the eagle eye of reader W Baker, a second herb has been discovered in the photo of the herb with satchel.

Unbelievable. Two herbs frolicking in the wild! What fortune. I didn’t even see the second herb when I snapped this shot. It’s like finding out your antique ceramic cat is hiding secret code from the Spanish-American War engraved on its underside.

As you can tell, the second herb is the subspecies “de-balled family man” herb. He is a prime specimen of his taxonomy. Just look at his firm two-hand grip of the stroller handle, the head held high proud of his emasculation, the papoose slung insouciantly across his chest like a beacon to all other herbs that, yes, here be safe haven for our kind. Stroller, baby, frontal papoose… is that a pink blankie over his elbow?… my god, it’s the perfect storm of herbliness. A magnificent beast! What could possibly make this better except for the not insignificant odds that, since this shot was taken in a yuppie habitat, our herb may be the rare breed known as the “two daddies” herb. This find is almost as good as the Zapruder footage of the paunchy papoosed herb holding mall shopping bags while his annoying wife shouted instructions at him.

I should send this pic to National Geographic.

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Herb In The Wild

Take a look at this photo.

Is the person on the right a man or a woman? Neither. It’s a herb. Particularly, a subspecies of herb known as the hipster herb.

All the telltale indicators are here in one self-contained lump of flesh. The demasculinizing flip flops. The ungainly, loping walk that suggests the presence of a load in the pants. The baby soft skin from years of avoiding manual labor, sun and harsh soaps like Ivory. The slumped shoulders of meekness from carrying the ultimate calling card of the herb — the man satchel. I had to walk in front of them to verify the herb was male.

This herb is of the hipster variety. Notice the mop top hair, retro shirt sleeves, strangely androgynous countenance, and cute girl in his company. We can’t be sure the herb is banging this girl. Most likely, she’s a shopping and irony-laden cultural critic companion into whom the herb secretly yearns to dribble his tepid seed.

Why does the herb inspire my contempt? I’ve thought about this and I have an answer. The herb is nothing less than a physical emblem of the decline of America and a rejection of everything that made it great. As our SWPL women are getting more masculine and bitchier, our SWPL men are becoming human bean bags of suppleness. Sit on them and they’ll conform to whatever shape your ass is, because the herb most of all is a man who loathes the fiercer spirits of manhood. That’s why you’ll see them wearing frontal papooses and walking cats on leashes.

The hipster herb, the suburban family man herb, the art fag herb, the gender role smashing herb, the “I went to a formerly all-woman liberal arts college and I’m proud of it” herb — all 21st century versions of the new American Gollum. Pitiable creatures.

Oddly enough, a nontrivial number of herbs manage to score cute girlfriends. Scientists are baffled. Maybe they have an agreement — she gets to fuck around and he gets to continue treating her like a princess.

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