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The Parables of The Sower
How to NOT argue with feminists.
Published 02/10/20 by Whisper [1 Comments]

I broke a feminist last weekend.

She wasn’t my first, and she won’t be my last, and I am not in the habit of writing field reports, but…. so many young men have asked me for cunning arguments and ideas to arm them in some verbal war against feminism and some clam or other they have fallen into the trap of wrangling with. Always, I have asked them, “Why are you arguing with feminists?”

Here’s what I do instead.

“Jezebel” is FanGirl’s sorority sister from {small expensive private university for rich kids}, and when she hove into the area we live in for a job interview, FanGirl suggested that the three of us might meet her for lunch, although she was “slightly worried about how I’d get on with someone who used to share Jezebel.com articles on the sorority chapter mailing list”.

Oh, ye of little faith… why would you doubt me?

Over lunch (purchased from a much-touted, oh-so-trendy, but overrated, food truck, and eaten in the lobby of a hotel to shelter from the heat), Jezebel was at least able to converse like a human being, with no more than the occasional dribble of nonsense about how socialism was a good thing, or how everything (people, nations, rocks, trees, squirrels) was racist, or how the diversity who rape, rob, and murder are really just misunderstood angels who do bad things because they feel bad.

Since I am well aware that people who are in control of themselves speak to have an effect on others, and people who speak to adjust their own feelings are not that much in control of themselves, I let her ramble, content in the knowledge that I was learning far more about her than she was ever saying about sociopolitical reality.

Later, in my living room, when I became bored, I steered the conversation to her purpose for the job interview in this city.

More petty resentments spilled out. She was underpaid. Others on her level made more than her. GigantiCo was a pain to work for, a bureaucratic nightmare of government contracts. Her supervisors were oppressing her. She wasn’t a rich kid like FanGirl, she was a scholarship kid, and {small expensive private university for rich kids} had put her deep in student loan trouble.

Now she had given me enough rope to hang her. I began simply enough. I spoke of how to negotiate salary. Of viewing things in terms of supply and demand. In abstract metaphors of markets and apples, I explained, without naming the demon, how the free market works (leaving out for now how everything else just doesn’t).

Then, having laid the ground, I struck.

“You’ve got to stop seeing them as the enemy.” I said. “So long as you do, you will expect them to refuse you. You will enter the negotiation anticipating no. You will be hostile, and defensive, and you will fail.”

“But they have...”

“Because you do expect no, don’t you? You feel like you don’t belong there. You feel like it’s just a matter of time before they see that, and throw you out.”

She began to cry.

I just went on laying it out. The little insecurities, each one revealed to me by her boasts, her carping of injustice, her complaints of the misbehaviour of the rough working-class men of her childhood, of her neglectful father.

FanGirl began to speak once or twice, but fell silent when I raised a hand to cut her off. Good girl. FunSize just made sympathetic noises, and fetched a box of tissues. She knows better than to interrupt Master at work.

“How do you just… know… what I’m thinking?”, she kept asking. “How did he DO that?”, she asked FanGirl. “How did he just break me so easily?”

I drew her into my arms, let her sob on my shoulder for a while, told her how she had tried to be so strong, so independent, and not need anyone… but she had really wanted her father to protect her, to take care of her… how she tried to take care of others because that was what she wanted for herself.

More agreement. More tears.

After an hour or two of crying out all her secret pain while curled up in my lap, she was purring remarks like “I think I love you right now”, and “{FanGirl}, marry this man. If you don’t marry him, I just might” (she is already married), and talking about how I had missed my calling as a therapist. (What, because I can read an open book? Hah.)

I’ll leave off the story there. It’s not important what happened after that, or whether I fucked her or not. (Could’ve. Didn’t. 5/10, married, and I have threesomes on tap at home.)

What’s important is that you lot get to see where feminism comes from.


Fear of men. Not just fear of what we might do, but a deeper, more primal fear of how they need us, how they crave our approval, how they want to submit to us. How every time we “mansplain” they feel the urge to shut up and listen. How every time we patronize them, they feel the urge to say “Yes, sir”, and fawn on us for pats on the head.

Jezebel isn’t a hateful person. She’s scared. She grew up surrounded by men who weren’t strong and protective, so however submissive she instinctively wanted to be, she couldn’t see a single solitary male anywhere who was trustworthy enough to submit to. So she set out to quash the submissive urges from her soul. Telling herself they were “cultural”. That they were instilled in her by “The Patriarchy”.

Well, the first taste of actual patriarchy she was given, she rubbed against it, purred, and then rolled over and exposed her tummy fur for pets.

That’s why feminists are so vehemently against female submissiveness. In the words of the bard of Avon, the lady doth protest too much.

And that is the lesson of this story for ya’ll young bros. Don’t ask me how to “smack down” feminists. Don’t ask me how to argue with them and show them up. Don’t have long debates where you point out the weaknesses in their principles.

Because women don’t have principles. They have feelings. Any principles they invent are just camouflage. If you argue with a feminist, debate her, you treat her like your peer. She’s not your peer. She’s a scared little girl inside. She’s acting out of fear, and the more you show her up, the more scared she will be.

If you feel threatened and angered by feminists, you’re being scared by the facade of the strong-independent-woman-who-don’t-need-no-man. It’s a mask worn by a submissive woman who gets just as wet as any other off of Fifty Shades of Grey. Feminists can only hurt you in groups, by invoking hordes of White Knight beta males (also scared), or by voting for the next Joseph Stalin.

You won’t always be in a position to do this. Sometimes feminists just have to be laughed at or avoided. But if you must engage with one, don’t argue principles like you would with a man. Look for the scared, hurt little girl behind the facade.

I broke Jezebel by first showing her I was far stronger than her, then, when she was at my mercy, being unexpectedly protective. She couldn’t resist that, because male protectiveness was what she always wanted. All women are submissive. Learn to tap into that.

How to GET RICH OVERNIGHT with this one simple trick (Employers hate it!)
Published 01/22/20 by Whisper [1 Comments]

Red pill spaces abound with hustlers who have ambitions of making it someday, and think those ambitions will be advanced by acting and talking as if they already have.

You can spot them by their expensive watches and cheap apartments. They are typically salesman types, and "everything is sales" is their favourite stupid thing to say. They would have you believe, mostly as a side effect of trying to make themselves believe, that wealth building is "all about the hustle", and that anyone can become wealthy overnight if they are willing to work very hard, and take advantage of suckers.

What I do for a living is that I am what's called a "Principal" software engineer... which means I am in charge of large projects, doing design work, directing the efforts of other software engineers, aligning priorities with large scale business strategy, and reporting results to C-level executives. I don't consider myself wealthy (although perhaps some of the younger people here would), but I've spent considerable time in the company of very wealthy people, some of them billionaires whose names you know very well indeed.

I know what's different about them, and it's not hustle.

It's knowledge and opportunity. Simply put, they know how to run business enterprises, and they have the resources to start them. Specifically, they have the resources to start them multiple times until one project takes off. Most of them were born into wealth, but not nearly as much wealth as they now have.

It matters very much what parents you have, but not for the reasons you think. It has nothing to do with "oppression". Purge that commie nonsense from your skull right now, before it poisons your entire life. It has to do with being past a certain critical tipping point, the point where you can afford to start multiple business ventures until one of them takes off. This requires resources in two ways.

The first is that you have to fund a business somehow, but this is actually the lesser problem. Plenty of promising enterprises have started on a shoestring budget. More seed money helps, but all you need is some.

The second, far greater, problem is that you need to be wealthy enough to not be dependent on a regular income. You need to be able to start the business out while earning nothing, and, even further, you need to be able to do so multiple times if necessary until one of them "clicks".

These two factors create a "tipping point" which mimics the one that forms a barrier between tradesmen (such as carpenters and auto mechanics) and professionals (such as physicians and engineers). Carpenters and auto mechanics get paid apprenticeships, so they can "earn while they learn". But professionals need to go college, and, even if their tuition is fully funded by scholarships or socialism, they still need to be wealthy enough to spend four years (or eight) not earning an income. Unless you have a certain amount of "fuck you money", you can't take time off to go to college. In fact, most poor people not only don't have enough to support themselves for four years of non-productivity, their families need the income they bring in working. Like Alice's Red Queen, they are running to stand still.

By now you probably understand how there is a similar boundary at the upper edge of the professional class. Professional-class people, to leap that barrier, need not only seed money to become an entrepreneur, but enough "fuck you money" to get by, and not sink into poverty, if multiple failures come before eventual success.

This means that building wealth is certainly a life-long, and usually a multi-generational, process.

Which brings us to the red pill. Our messages have always been optimistic ones, messages of hope, but one needs to distinguish between hope and wishful thinking. TRP does not teach how to conquer reality and make circumstances not matter, because magic doesn't exist and we know that. TRP teaches how to play poker intelligently with the hand of cards you were dealt, and try to slowly draw better ones.

Before you can join that class of people, you need to gradually accumulate that kind of fuck-you money. That happens by playing the hand of cards you have been dealt.

So, if you want to play your hand of cards well, and get wealthiER, here’s what to do:

  • Learn a skill that’s in demand, ideally something that plays to your personal strengths and talents.
  • Sell it at the highest price you can. Always negotiate salary, always be interviewing for new possible jobs, always know your market value.
  • Spend only a fraction of your paycheck. Make sure your income exceeds your expenses by as wide a margin as possible.
  • What you don’t spend, invest. Don’t just put it in the bank. Only keep a moderate amount of cash there, for unforeseen expenses.
  • Invest doesn’t mean “play the stock market”. The stock market is not a game, and, if it were, the bigger, better connected players have far more pieces to control the board than you do.
  • Invest means “put your money in low-fee, highly diversified mutual funds”. You are looking to bet on the market as a whole, not on any one particular stock.
  • Yes, the market can fail, but if it does, everyone is hurting, not just you. And if it fully collapses, you have bigger problems than losing your dreams of being a big shot, and the only investments that will matter are your vegetable garden, your chicken coop, and your stash of rifle ammunition.
  • Avoid prestige spending. Don’t buy new cars, expensive watches, or other things whose function is impressing others because they know how much money you burned.
  • Be stingy with repeated expenses. Rent, eating in expensive restaurants, gym memberships, anything with a monthly fee, you economize on it. Quit smoking. Don’t take fancy vacations.
  • Be slightly more liberal with one time expenses. Don’t buy shitty used cars that are going to break down. Don’t buy cheap boots that wear out in six months. You’ll end up spending more over time.
  • Don’t check your investments every day. They fluctuate, and you’ll be far more depressed by temporary losses than you are cheered by slow gains. The market has a general upward trend, but with lots of jagged “noise’. Don’t get lost in that noise.
  • Only borrow to acquire things that will appreciate in value… real estate, an education, or a business. Anything else, if you can’t buy it with cash, don’t buy it.
  • Never. Get. Married.

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