The Forager/Farmer Thesis Is Wrong

Robin Hanson has been beating the drum on his liberaltarian wet dream known as the forager/farmer thesis in a series of posts. Basically, “liberal” values and lifestyle are a reflection of humanity’s ancient forager (hunter-gatherer) ways, while “conservative”, or traditional, values and lifestyle are emergent properties of our relatively more recent 10,000 year old farmer (agricultural) heritage. Modern foragers in the form of cafe-loitering SWPLs sipping dragonwell tea and reading Dan Savage columns are essentially freeriding on the industrial and moral substrates that were created by rules-following and hierarchical farmer ancestors. Thanks to their comfy livings and safe environments, elite cosmopolitan liberals in Western societies are returning to the values and lifestyles of their distant forager forebears, while modern traditionalists hew to more rigid codes of conduct and warn them (in so many words) that all foraging and no farming makes Jack a weak boy. (You can see where this is heading.)

If you buy Hanson’s thesis, this neatly explains blue state vs red state, Obama vs Bush, open borders nuts vs immigration realists, and Apple vs Windows.

Hanson relies for much of his speculative evidence on the Sex At Dawn book, which I promiscuously manhandled here. But there’s too much wrong with the claims made by that book to sufficiently lend support to the Forager vs Farmer (i.e., liberal vs conservative) thesis of clashing values and lifestyles.

For instance, Hanson and Ryan elide the force of jealousy in shaping human sexual dynamics. If we were built for polyamory as Ryan claims, or free love promiscuity as Hanson says, then jealousy would not have evolved to the extent it did (among Euro-descended people at least) to become a powerfully ingrained emotional hindbrain response to infidelity or suspicions of cheating. Both men and women experience jealousy, though men seem to react more violently when in its throes, (as would be predicted by a “farmer” reading of sociosexuality, since men stand more to lose by a cheating lover).

In addition, just about every polyamorous, free love utopia/forager commune that has been tried in historical record has utterly failed, some of them spectacularly. (It’s no coincidence that most dedicated polyamorists are androgynous, middle-aged frumps.)

Hanson and Ryan claim foragers are/were nonviolent compared to farmers. But from everything I’ve read on the matter, that is wrong as well: modern hunter-gatherers have impressive levels of tribal violence, mostly of the raiding and randomly savage variety. Farmers are also capable of violence, but when they do it the violence is coordinated and planned; the random individual violence that typifies forager society isn’t a steady state feature of farmer existence. I’m not going to dig around for relevant links, so I’ll throw it open to the commenters to do the dirty work.

Finally, a big point of Hanson’s repackaged thesis is that “rich and safe” modern foragers — implicitly the intellectual and social liberal elites of Western society — pursue and advocate a promiscuous lifestyle. Except the data show that isn’t necessarily true. Higher IQ men place greater value on monogamy and sexual exclusivity and are less likely to cheat than lower IQ men.

There are too many holes in this tidy farmer/forager outlook to take it as anything more than United States of Canada porn for self-satisfied cosmopolitan lefties to jack their head hamsters off to. And I say this as someone who lives to the fullest the modern, promiscuous forager lifestyle. I know its personal appeal, and its immolating potential for the wider society.

The Crazy Cat Lady Stage Of America

From a commenter over at Mangan’s:

Female suffrage has led to a feminizing of Western Civilization. That civilization is now entering its crazy cat lady stage, that most female of destinies. Witness the hoarding of immigrants (rather than animals) that we don’t need, that we can’t properly house or care for, the self delusions, the unstable self-image and sense of self, the recurrent suicidal behavior and self-injuring behavior, the picking at scabs. Government is now the defacto husband. Immigrants the children that were never had.

The crazy cat lady stage of America — yep, that about sums it up. So what follows? Who knows. It’s possible the pendulum will swing back, perhaps violently.

As we here at the Chateau relish provoking reminding the readers, giving women the right to vote has been a disaster for liberty-loving small-government patriots. Do any of the mainstream conservative or libertarian bloggers have anything to say about Lott’s study? Their cowardly silence speaks volumes.

Another Mangan commenter noted:

Agreed with Anonymous – if you look at when women got the right to vote you can see pretty much where the country started it’s liberal slide. Today there is a seventeen percentage point gap between male and female approval of Obama’s policies and if it was just the male vote, McCain would have won in 2008.

For all the principled reasons to grant the franchise to women, there is no doubt that doing so has exacerbated, if not precipitated, the decline and eventual fall of America. Forty million Mexicans don’t help, either.

Review Of A Roosh Night Game Workshop

A Chateau rep has had an opportunity to observe Roosh run a night game workshop with a student.

The workshop was at a popular U St bar. Roosh was wearing an earpiece, listening and watching a student engage with three girls. I asked if he could hear the student with all the bar noise, and he said he could hear some of their conversation, but sending instructions through the incessant bar noise was more hit and miss. Surprisingly, most girls did not notice the ear piece wire dangling along the back of Roosh’s neck. Perhaps they mistook it for a 1980s-style rattail.

The crowd was wall to wall, girls everywhere. And while plenty of men were there, they didn’t pose much of a competitive nuisance. This was a perfect night game student’s field of battle. Roosh and I kept an eye on his student, noting his body language while Roosh jotted notes down in a small notepad. Occasionally, girls would walk by and ask him about the pad he was writing on, and he would dismiss them with a sarcastic non-sequitur, which of course made the girls more intrigued. As we agreed later, the notepad and pen make a fantastic game prop.

The student for his part was fairly competent at generating friendly rapport with the girls, but needed work on projecting more of an alpha vibe through his body stance, and remembering to touch the girls during his interactions. Roosh had supplied him with plenty of easily-delivered openers, (they weren’t cheesy like “who lies more”; you could see an average Joe saying these lines without wincing), and conversation-building discussion threads, which the student used liberally. I arrived later, so I didn’t see all the sets the student opened, but he approached at least four different women during the time I was there. None of the women blew him out; whatever he was opening with was clearly making an immediate positive impression.

Sometimes the student’s sets went very well, and he wouldn’t return to Roosh for twenty minutes. When he did return, Roosh would give him a quick rundown and some pointers for the next set. The student seemed pretty happy to be there.

A big positive is that there were no high pressure tactics. I liked that Roosh was not barking orders at the student to open set after set. The vibe was decidedly chill and relaxed. There was encouragement to be sure, but nothing so intense that it would make a social introvert burn out on his first night. In contrast, I once witnessed, by coincidence, a game instructor (it was obvious he was teaching a couple of guys) pushing his students to approach as many girls in a night as humanly possible to get over any lingering anxiety. Every time a girl would walk by, the instructor would say “Ok, go! Now!” I find that method counterproductive at best and creepy at worst. The pickup robot frantically racing from one girl to the next can’t help but feel a little “off”. As Roosh mentioned to me, most of his students are eager to learn and don’t need much prodding from him to approach. He simply points out to the students girls in the vicinity and gives them a suitable opening gambit to use, depending on the environment and what the girls may be doing at the time.

Roosh sent me an excerpt of a post-workshop Student Report for one of his Day Game students. I read it and was impressed by the level of detail. It’s no wonder some of the students think the report is the best part of the workshop . It was chock full of analysis and constructive criticism about the student’s approaches. Example:

No. 13
Venue: Whole Foods
Length: 15 seconds
Description: You asked a whole bunch of food questions instead of rambling about food. Pepper your conversation with regular questions about the opening topic. The approach shouldn’t only be question-asking.

[…]

You’re asking too many personal questions. Most of your approaches were interviews instead of conversations. Towards the end of the workshop you changed the content of the questions to things about books or foods, but it was still too many. Questions kill the energy of the interaction. You want something that flows instead of halts every ten seconds. In fact, you can do exercises at home where you talk about objects as long as you can. Remember when I talked about the socks at H&M for a couple minutes while asking only one or two questions? It’s better to give statements and observations then to ask (only tight ramble can save approaches, not questions). Plus the more questions you ask, the more she’ll think you’re hitting on her.

I suppose you’d have to have a thick skin to read about your flaws, but that’s a necessary step to success with women. The thin-skinned are not going to handle rejection from women very well if they can’t take helpful criticism from a man.

I also got to read some of the Day and Night Game Workshop Manual Version 2.0. It reads like a revved-up pocket guide to game. The lines and conversation builders are highly accessible to the average man. You can see yourself saying these things without feeling like a nerd or a clown.

Roosh is offering a special to Chateau readers who want to take his day and/or night game workshops. (Here is an update post on his workshops.) Email Roosh at the email address provided in his Day and Night Game post and say the Chateau sent you. Roosh will give you a $20 discount.

If you do end up taking the workshop (or any other workshop), let me know how it goes. Contact me through the email on the About page.

Reader Mailbag: Poke Rape Edition

Email #1:

Short and sweet

What is a good response to a girls question of

“What is your biggest fantasy”

Seems like saying something crazy and different would be a good response, right?

The chick wants to know if her fantasies are compatible with your fantasies. Three ways to tackle this. Smolderingly serious, jokingly over-the-top, or intriguingly evasive.

Serious answer: “To scale the heights of Kilimanjaro during the autumnal equinox, and to gaze down at the herds of feminists stampeding across the veldt.”

Jokey answer: “You, me, your mom, Cool HHWip.”

Evasive answer: “We’ll see.”

Use the serious answer on girls you know something about, so that you can tailor your response. Use the jokey answer on attention whores and party girls. Use the evasive answer on girls who are already into you.

References to breastal motorboating, public sex or blumpkins should be avoided.

Email #2:

Dear Chateau,

This Asian chick I’ve been hooking up with for the past month told me at lunch (I’m in highschool) that my friend poke raped her. I asked her to define rape, and she said that she might be exagerrating and that he actually poked her in the boob. My friend defended himself (although a bit in jest) saying that he merely poked her in the side. This prompted her to do an exaggeration demonstration as she poked him in the chest (boob).

I looked at him seriously for a few seconds, and when he held out his fist to fist bump, I waited a few seconds before fist bumping him.

I don’t really care about if anything happened, but I am curious as to why you think a girl would do this (oi! he raped me)? Is she trying to tell me that some one else is interested in her?

(The relationship we have is unofficial. There are a few other things that may be in play that I don’t know about, but they are unimportant to me. This relationship is a learning one.)

W

Poke rape? Wow, high school has really gotten lame since I was there. What happened to heavy makeouts in the stairwell in between classes?

The tempestuous geisha is trying to make you jealous. She wants to see some sign of commitment from you in the form of defending her virtue from male interlopers. Ignore her sly provocations. Play with her expectations. Ask if her boob needs to go to rape counseling. Ask her to finger the suspect (ha). And don’t fistbump your buddy. He encroached on your territory.

Email #3:

Hello, first I would like to thank you for your wonderful blog, it has really helped turn my life around, so feel free to include your answer to this on your site.

I have a problem with erectile dysfunction, and it is really freaking me out as I am only a 24 year old man and am in otherwise excellent physical condition.  The problem was I didn’t know I had it until recently.  I’ve always been a very quiet type guy, ie the nice guy, and until the past year when I started reading your blog I have had almost no success with women.

I’ve been working very hard to turn my life around, and a couple nights ago I was finally able to get a very attractive 21 year old foreign girl into bed with me, and then it happened.  When we were kissing, I was rock hard, I was hard when she was sucking my dick, but when I penetrated my boner was killed almost immediately.  I can’t stress enough how embarrassing this was for me and I cant imagine what was going through her head.

I wonder if  the fact that it had been such a long time that I’ve been with a woman (several years) might have played a role since you just cant duplicate what it feels like to fuck a girl, but I find it very unnerving that I wasn’t able to keep an erection for a girl that I found very attractive.

I tried to play it off like she wasn’t doing enough to stimulate me, and she ended up staying the night and sucking me off again in the morning before she left, but I feel like I’ve ruined this situation.  My immediate plan is to see a doctor and get a prescription for viagra(that shit is ridiculously expensive), but I’m wondering if there’s anything that I can do in the mean time to save face with her.

One side of me wants to tell her that I just don’t find her very attractive but I was trying to make it work because she has a great personality and end the relationship there, while the other side get the medication and try to work it out since I really do like her personality.  I feel like she will just disgust me if I were to tell her the truth, but I could be wrong.

Thoughts?

I wish I could give you firsthand knowledge here to help you over your problem, but I’ve rarely underperformed. Instead, I’ll have to engage in some speculation with a layman’s understanding of the relevant medical science.

You’re 24, little to no previous sexual experience with women, and you’ve got a foreign girl in bed thanks to what you’ve learned reading this blog. I’m 90% sure it’s nerves, dude. Nothing physically wrong with you. It happens to every man occasionally. Usually it happens when you’re bumbling with the condom, or the phone rings and you’re distracted by the possibility that it’s your other girlfriend calling. No biggie; just tell the chick you need to rest for a minute and let her run her fingers over you while you put your arms behind your head and listen to music. Your boner will be back in no time.

One thing you didn’t mention was whether you were wearing a condom. Very tight and thick condoms can kill boners dead. Try ultra-thins. If she’s up for it, play just the raw dog tip. Don’t penetrate right away; build tension, tap her vulva with your dick head, go in an inch and pull out, etc. Eat celery, lots of it. My loads get incredibly viscous and milky-white after five stalks of celery. Take an l-arginine supplement, 500mg, three or four pills per day. Lift heavy weights. Get your testosterone level and your triglycerides checked by a doc. Don’t bother with Viagra until you’ve tried everything else.

Here’s a little trick I’ve learned that really amps up sexual pleasure and will cement your boner: do her from behind in front of a wall-length mirror, but stand profile (her facing to the side) so that you can watch your dick in the mirror appear and disappear in between her ass cheeks. This position will fill your testes with the juice of the gods and your dick with adamantium.

Oh, and don’t push the girl away. There isn’t enough sweet lovemaking in the world. Don’t insinuate she is at fault for not stimulating you enough. Your reaction to her wasn’t good. Just play it cool and carefree and she’ll fall into your arms as soon as you’re ready.

Email #4:

Can you please do a write up on Alpha Halloween costumes?

See here, here and here for what qualifies as examples of alpha, beta and omega GHEY costumes. As for what’s in this year, I read that sexy Sesame Street costumes are going to be big. If you’re creative, you could try a mash-up, like a Call of Duty Cookie Monster strapped up with belts of ammo and an assault rifle, and a bunch of cookie notches on the rifle barrel. Otherwise, stick with the tried and true pickup artist costumes: Zorro, Indiana Jones, James Bond (a suit always looks good on a man, particularly on a night when few other men will be wearing that), Jack Sparrow, gladiator (but only if you’ve got the body)… basically any costume that a) is manly and/or sexy and b) evokes power.

Last year, I saw a dude dressed as an infant, wearing a huge diaper, bib and bonnet and nothing else, while holding a rattler. It looked fucking ridiculous and creepy, yet the chicks swarmed around him, laughing and smiling. His trick? He had a bodybuilder physique. Contrast is king!

Email #5:

How do you deal with a narcissistic insecure woman who has been catered to and spoilt by former partners. she behaves selfishly and thinks the world revolves around her.

Three simple steps:

1. Don’t flatter her. Boosting her self-image will kill her attraction.
2. Neg! These girls are tailor-made for multiple negs. Also, employ tactical backturns at will.
3. Make her jealous. She will respond very well to denied attention and competition from other women.

Girls such as you describe can make surprisingly good girlfriends, *if* you know how to train them. A narcissislut has spent her life being chased by men; flip the script and she will explode with years of pent-up desire. Her gratitude will be your nut.

Email #6:

What does it mean when a girl has a pic of her kissing another guy as her profile pic on Facebook. She hasn’t indicated if she is in a relationship or not.

She initiated Facebook id exchange with me.

Is this a way of the girl telling “Look at me, I am desirable! Kiss my feet!”

She has a very pretty face and good sense of fashion but she is slightly chubby/thick and that lowers her points to about 7-8/10 in my eyes.

Thoughts?

How is she kissing him? On the cheek with eyes open, or full on the lips with eyes closed? The difference matters if you’re gauging her availability. Regardless, I’d avoid investing any time or energy into seducing such an attention whore. The “look at me!” Facebook profile kiss is a neon sign pointing the way to unending drama, single momhood, divorce and self-cutting. Who needs the hassle? On the plus side, she’s chubby and exhibitionist. She’ll show up to the date drunk and put out after an hour. Half hour, if you compliment her “striking figure”.

Email #7:

I read your post on Anal, and this is perfect timing.

I need your advice on this situation.

Im under 30 years old, good game, and i do my thing.

I got a main squeeze that ive been stringing along for a while. Shes under 25, and is exotic, with a huge ass. Recently, ive really been wanting to get in that ass, so ive been experimenting with it when shes drunk.
I got my finger in there and she squirted like ive never seen before. Ive done this twice while shes drunk and safe to say, she LOVES it.

Problem is, when shes sober, she denies wanting to do it and hates the idea of my dick getting in there.

Her body clearly loves it, but the hamster is trying to steer her away from it. I need some good advice on broadening her horizons.

Coochaholik

Keep that hamster inebriated. Fuck her in the ass for hours so that she sobers up while you’re still balls deep in her butt. This is known as systematic desensitization therapy, aka the sneakyfucker cure.

Modern Marriage In One Picture

The reader who sent this in wrote:

It’s kind of amazing how much one image can totally capture everything that is wrong with wedding culture and how warped the meaning of the institution has become.

I thought it might be useful for your readership to see, and perhaps if a few were dating chicks with this kind of ring idolatry (and other similar, unsavory tendencies) they might sharpen up their game a bit before they, too, were rendered faceless.

Can you name all the ways this photo is a metaphor for the crumbling state of modern marriage? There are at least four emblematic American woman plagues that are apparent to the trained eye.

The Duke Rejection List

I’ve gotten more emails to write about this Duke slut Karen Owen than I have on any other topic. I wasn’t interested at first, having scanned the notorious Powerpoint (also at this link in case first doesn’t work) and concluded that it was just another story of a whore riding the (alpha) cock carousel who happened to forego discretion and publicize her sluttery, nothing to see here move along dystopia down the hall and to your left. But a closer inspection of Owen’s tell-all reveals a river of scorned subconsciousness that the mainstream feminist bloggers have predictably failed to notice —

this chick was rejected by each and every one of these high status men she banged.

“But how can that be?”, some of the duller among you will ask. “None of the men turned her down for sex.”

Don’t you know it’s different for women? Failing to get laid is not how women are rejected; they are rejected when they don’t receive romance, love, and long term commitment from the men who fuck them. Most women under 25 with a slim and healthy 17-23 BMI profile have no trouble getting laid from the men they find attractive. Given that most young women can get sex fairly easily, falling into bed with a man, even high status men such as the Duke athletes targeted by Owen, is not much of an accomplishment. It’s like giving a trophy to a dog for being able to lick its own balls.

Now convincing these fly-by-nighter men to date, romance, introduce to their friends, spend money on, and marry the women they screw… that’s the real trick. And it is the measuring stick we should be applying to skank hos like Karen Owen. For by that metric, she and many others like her fail miserably.

For example, here is her write-up of the man (a tennis star) she rated the worst:

Note this man’s utter dismissal of her as a potential long term prospect. “Did not bother to kiss more than a few seconds”. “…after which he simply walked out”. “…did not return”. “‘I will leave them outside of the building for you'”.

And Owen’s reaction?

“1/10. Seriously.”

That is the tersely bitter send-off of one pissed and deeply wounded woman. Don’t let the whimsical snarkiness and slut empowerment pose fool you — even the raunchiest cockgobblers have a heart inside that beats for a man to love and cherish them above all others. The love of a man, true and loyal, is the slut’s white whale.

But what about the men she rated highly? Did they stay with her? Here’s her write-up of the man she rated the highest:

What did the first place man do differently than the last place man? He catered to her female need for signs of romance and commitment (which, in the end, weren’t forthcoming. And that kid went HA HAW):

“…intense level of eye contact”. “‘…if I get lucky you’ll wake me up with a kiss in the morning'”. “Him refusing to allow me to leave before noon”. “…how important it was to him that I got off as well”.

So when PUAs talk about leaving women better than you found them, this is what they mean — treat your pump and dumps like girlfriends and in the ego-assuaged haze of their pleasure they will forget that you haven’t actually committed to them beyond offering the half-eaten burrito in your fridge.

Unfortunately for Miss Owen, this story with ÜberMan #1 does not have a happy ending. After that amazing night together, this is how the following rendezvous meetings went down:

I saw him out briefly at Devines the Tuesday after, but since we had only just seen each other [ed: “seen” = “fuck” in chickspeak. GSS Fail!]… I did not even approach him, only making sure that he saw me in passing. […] I would have liked to have hooked up many more times than two, but he was tired and I needed to graduate the next day.

Long term romance fail. When a girl is careful not to talk to a lover in public for fear of creating an awkward moment that might kill the budding romance, you know you are dealing with a slut shooting way out of her league and, in the big picture, a dating market beautifully arranged to the maximum advantage of alpha males. This truly is the golden era for single men with game who have wisely avoided the trap of marriage. Conversely, it is the hell matrix for betas who now have nothing to offer but the pitiful consolation prize of being willing to wear ‘This is what a feminist looks like’ t-shirts in hopes of copping a pity fuck from a short-haired hippie chick on a five hour bender.

The whole Powerslut Powerpoint reads like the above. Owen snags another Duke alpha athlete (implicitly she has studiously avoiding snagging any computer science students on campus), has her sex, and then never sees the guy again except at beer pong parties where they exchange knowing glances if she’s lucky, or unacknowledged quick exits if she’s unlucky. Then she writes about it with a dash of humor and self-awareness to exorcise the demons tormenting her broken heart and chafed vulva, and sends it to a couple of girlfriends, her male-oriented brain assuming the girlfriends would be loyal to her and not pass it on to the wider public. Big mistake.

Probably the stupidest commentary on this affair was by that cougartown fembot Penelope Trunk, (the hypocritical conniving cacklepuss stalkercunt who harassed a man and his family in real life for having the gall to sneer at her feminist boilerplate), who in her infinite perspicacity managed to turn it into a treatise on, color me surprised!, sexual harassment and female empowerment via the magical art of spreading your legs for chaste men who only have sex once every thousand years when Jupiter and Saturn are aligned.

So what makes these slides so fascinating?  I think it’s her spunk and self-knowledge and enthralling sense of her own power. I wish I had had that when I was her age. I am twenty years older than Owen, but she inspires me to be brave, takes risks, and let my creativity get the best of me.

So what’s stopping you? Oh, that’s right. Twenty additional years (forty in female years) isn’t good for the bangathon business.

Jesus, what a buffoon.

Here’s some real insight for ya, Penelope and assorted Jizzabelers — Karen Owen has royally fucked up her chances to extract marriage from a good man thanks to her intemperate decision to write about, share and, consequently, archive for the masses for all eternity her insatiable hunger for a variety of lacrosse cock. Try to turn down the knobs on your psychologically-cemented female projection modules for a moment and put yourself in an alpha male’s shoes. What man worth his yarbles in character, money, career, looks, charm and/or social status is going to use Karen Owen for anything more than a hole in which to dump a perfunctory fuck? What high status man would marry a slut with a tap sheet a mile long, her every clitoral flutter registered in loving detail in ASCII, jpeg and png for his friends to read and laugh at?

Rhetorical.

Naturally, the double standards crowd will pipe up that Owen was just doing what men do all the time. Congratulations! You just figured out double standards exist and life isn’t fair. First prize, a group hug from fellow knobbobbers. Second prize, a beta with few options. Third prize, you’re still a rancid slut.

The impolite fact is that a man who wrote an Owen-esque fuck list would not suffer much, if any, penalty in the dating market *or* in the more tightly regulated social market for his promiscuity. Sure, a few femtards would wail at the objectifying of women and the unfairness that ugly but SMRT broads are passed over for alpha bimbo sorostitutes, but in the crucible of real life most normal heterosexual women would be uncomfortably drawn to such a man, and would work for his affections. I’m sure the athletes who are a part of Owen’s fuck list are high-fiving their pounding of Owen’s sperm cavern when they’re not fucking a hundred other groupies scrambling for their attentions.

Bottom line: a male Karen Owen would actually see his sexual market value *rise*, while Owen’s value as a girlfriend and potential wife has undoubtedly fallen. This — plus the raw hypergamy on display by her choice of sexual partners and her ability to effortlessly fulfill that limbic impulse — is the underlying message of Owen’s cutesy confessional. And it’s the message that the legacy media, the middle-aged vicars of vicariousness, and the feminists are trying hard to miss.

******

A few other points of note. Duke is also the site of the infamously racist false rape accusation by a black stripper against white lacrosse players. The mass media and fembots had a glorious communal orgasm over that one until it was discovered the whole thing was a lie. Funny how now, with another Duke scandal wafting in the autumn air, those same media mavens and feminists can’t be bothered to string up Karen Owen for her objectifying of Duke’s male students. Instead of a wail, admiration for her journey of self-actualization is shared by all.

Hypocrites, liars and filthy cunts, the lot of them.

Karen Owen herself looks masculinized. Check out her manjaw, beady eyes and heavy overhanging brow (on the left):

The photo of her lends evidence to my theory that women with high serum testosterone, or women who have been prenatally drowned in single mamma’s high T syrup, are more likely to slut it up with a platoon of men. These kinds of women are also more likely to value raw looks in a man, whereas more feminine women tend to downgrade male looks relative to other attractive male traits such as humor, charm and social acumen. It is possible that Owen’s masculinization gives her the male-like capacity to absorb to a greater extent than most women a series of repeated romantic rejections from crudely inattentive one night stands.

Last thought. What I’ve written above is based on the assumption that Owen was honest with her Powerpoint. It isn’t a guarantee that she’s telling the truth. The internet is the place where people make shit up. (Case in point: I could be making everything up as well. Every story I write could be a total lie. It isn’t, but it could be. You’ll just have to take my word for it.)

Owen could very well have made everything up for shits and giggles, or she could have been cruelly rejected by an alpha lacrosse player and this was her weird idea of getting back at him and those like him. It’s not unheard of that women will lie, in both petty and grand ways, about the men who have hurt them in a vain attempt at exacting vengeance, nor is it unheard of that they will fantasize out loud about having sex with alpha males. For purposes of discussion, we’ll have to believe the story as reported: the hookups are real and she only meant to send her fuck list to a few (formerly) close girlfriends.

I’m sure the Duke lacrosse players are crying in their red cups. [/sarcasm]

The SWPL Network

I saw The Social Network aka The Asperger’s Wing and thought it was a superficially entertaining dialogorrhea fest that’s supposed to make credentialed class yuppies and SWPLs inwardly gloat that their brains are quick enough to follow the zipadeedooda banter. The theeeeatre was a packed house; looking around, the crowd reminded me of the people who went to go see Jodie Foster’s IQ mash note Little Man Tate. Same faces, same age bracket, same preternatural glow of self-satisfied superiority.

Which got me thinking… why did this thin psychological slice of Zuckerberg’s inner sanctum (Hey! A hot chick’s rejection spurs him to achieve great things!) generate such buzz among the suckup credentialati? (Judging by Zuckernerd’s bland Asian girlfriend, he doesn’t seem like a larger-than-life figure upon whom to base an entire plotline.)

This movie says a lot more about the audience demo giving it accolades than it does about a handful of socially retarded code monkeys who hit it big in the internet glory days. The fact is, SWPLs are enamored of genetic genius and creativity… not ambition, not fortitude, not conscientiousness or discipline… IQ and CQ. The whole lot of them has Harvard envy, and they watch dramatized movies about their IQ superiors with equal parts schadenfreude and admiration. They’ve got a hard-on for good breeding, even if they’d never admit it.

Jesse Eisenberg is not a good actor. The guy who played the Winklevii was good. I was hoping the movie… excuse me, film… would take a wild twist where the Winklevii tag teamed Zuckerberg in a back alley. Rashida Jones is eminently bangable. Justin Timberlake has an annoying face.