Red Pill Initiates

Two things have happened in the four months I’ve been away: people have been asking me for male guidance and I’ve been squaring old business as any good businessman should. Naturally, the combination of these two activities necessitates a hiatus from writing and a doubled-down focus on the real world. If I’m going to help people or at least impart any kind of advice I have to be completely focused on what I’m talking about. The former is an ongoing project of male mentoring with multiple people so I expect my presence here to be sporadic for a while at best while I take those individuals under my wing. Get it? Under my wing.

All kidding aside, I’m happy the aforementioned people came to me. I tried to impart the advice on both of them over a year ago since I saw lives (and in one case, families) falling apart but they were not having any of it; it appears that both of them are now willing to accept the reality of the dichotomy between the sexes and therefore I may proceed. Keep in mind that I have not forced it upon them; they both sought me out for guidance. For the purpose I’ll be referring to the first in the A Red-Pill Man is Born section and the second in the It’s About Damn Time section.

A Red-Pill Man is Born

The other day I’m sitting at work doing my engineering thing and I get an instant message from one of the guys I work with. The entire text of it is “What does Alpha Fucks Beta Bucks mean”. I knew instantly where he had gotten that and knew why he was asking me that but I pushed for written confirmation.

“Where did you hear that?”

“Oh yeah, [NAME REDACTED] told me about /r/TheRedPill so I took a look”

Christ, I’ve created a monster. I told [NAME REDACTED] about that sub a year and a half ago so this has something to do with me at this point.

In my mind I’m impressed and going “Another one for the realists” and getting excited but I work in an open office environment so my outward reaction was much more calm than that.

He asked me a straight question so I told him what it means.

“So you mean an Alpha shouldn’t pay for a woman ever?”

He took it to the same extreme I expected just as all newcomers to the RP lifestyle do. I told him my honest thought on the subject: “Not necessarily. He can but he doesn’t make a habit of it”.

I find the “he doesn’t make a habit of it” portion to be the most important. The primary distinction is that an Alpha has confidence about him and a Beta uses the influence of his wallet. Each woman is different (yes, I know AWALT) in their reaction to it and it’s important to gauge it in order to figure out the probability of future events. When I sense a woman is more interested in the Beta ideology (i.e. the latter) I leave and never contact her again; I’m not going to bankroll her bullshit. Are you interested in me for my ability to work a room and draw people in with merely my personality? Okay, let’s talk.

If I fuck up and misjudge it? I couldn’t care less; abundance mentality is beautiful that way.

No matter what I do I keep the advice of the wise Christian McQueen (and a buddy of mine) in the back of my head each day: “Her being one in a million means she’s one of a million”. There will always be someone else and I try to impart that as one of the keystones of my advice no matter with whom I’m talking. I told the same to a psychologist/therapist friend of mine (we’ve known each other for 20+ years) and she was quite receptive to it and agreed wholeheartedly.

Getting back to the original point: I walked over to the guy’s spot in the office and saw him looking at the sub. I asked him what he was up to and he turns to me and says “There’s a lot of good advice here”. At that point the incubation period was going forward and he was well on his own way.

It’s About Damn Time

I just got off the phone with this one. Three different times he almost started letting his emotions loose in a bad way; I understood, of course, as I’d been there a few times myself a few years prior. I don’t begrudge him at all.

At one point he managed to tell me that he had written poetry about the break-up.

Not just any poetry; poetry for her.

Eighty-four multi-page poems for her.

CHRIST.

Okay, some people get their feelings out in different ways and need different amounts of time to…

“I still talk with her mom and dad”

Dude, what the hell?

“Yeah, she still feels bad about breaking up with me”

I’m sure she told you that. You’re my friend and all but there comes a time where I’ll smack you in the back of the head, call you a dumbass, and question your sanity. She must have told you any or all of the standard female fare after a breakup (“I still think about you”, “I miss you”, “You were the best thing that ever happened to me”, “It’s not you, it’s me”, etc etc etc). All it is is rhetoric; it has zero basis in reality.

“She’s really upset”

How convenient. She’s trying whatever she can to keep you in her life while absolving herself of any responsibility while doing so. Been there, man! We call it “Rewriting the Past”.

“She sends me pictures of our dog”

Now she’s just screwing with you in a bad way. She’s trying to evoke emotion and a sense of togetherness over a shared experience to goad you into contacting her. Also how the hell did she get your dog?

“I don’t know what to do”

Turn your phone off or throw it in a lake; either one will have the desired result. I can’t necessarily be irked at him for not knowing what to do; hell, most things that caused the transition to The Red Pill were these exact kinds of events and even feeling helpless to some degree for some people. I’d much rather he come to me than start spiraling out of control.

Go no contact and take it a day at a time. It will absolutely feel like going cold turkey from an addiction but that’s the surefire way you’ll rebuild yourself into a hardened individual that’s capable of handling life and understanding the general truths of modern sexual relations.

Conclusion

You’ve now seen two completely true stories of transitions into the RP lifestyle. It’s always possible. Unfortunately there are times when it takes an absolute breaking of the spirit and the psyche to trigger it; these cases are the easiest to push toward the natural order of things, however.  In our cases experience really speaks and to the victor (he who has persevered) go the spoils.

Advertisements

Regrets

We all have them.

At what point, however, do we look into ourselves to realize that it isn’t the end of the world? We’ve all done things that are better off buried and I’m sure we all have missed opportunities that we wish we could relive. Unfortunately that’s not life and we only get one chance. Somehow we have to find a way to live with our mistakes and keep on going.

Let’s take my colossal fuck-up as a pure example of how to live with regret.

The Setting

I went to dinner with my best friend, his girlfriend, and his grandmother. It was quite a motley crew if I do say so myself. Anyway, we went to a Norwegian dinner lodge so I felt quite at home (I’m part Norwegian and have quite a bit of the Viking culture in my blood). Being the dick that he is, my best friend thought he could catch me off-guard with lutefisk until I reminded him that I’m Norwegian and it’s the food of my people. I would feast on his now-downtrodden nature until we arrived at our location.

Upon arriving I had absolutely zero problem with the setting and felt quite comfortable among the other folks that graced our presence. I was wearing my “Haunted Mansion” shirt since I had just come from work so I felt a bit out of place as almost everyone else was in formal wear; I’m an engineer and a teacher so I’m allowed to wear whatever I please each day, luckily. I managed to find some kind of brotherhood (sisterhood?) in another patron as she had on Halloween garb and we discussed both Halloween and the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland. I heckled her roundly to the joy of her mother who was also in attendance; she was quite cute and had a great sense of humor but that’s beyond the focus of this post.

The dinner was for the most part uneventful. I made fun of Halloween Girl quite a bit and we enjoyed each other’s company. When thinking about it as this point I really should have gotten her number. I finished up dinner with my buddy and his folks and we went outside.

While walking around outside I found all kinds of interesting tables filled with either Norwegian history or culture. The ones that didn’t have some kind of Viking collectibles had trinkets from places of interest. Behind each table was a knowledgeable person with some kind of story to tell.

The Screw-Up

At one point during my journey I happened across one unassuming table. As I was leaving the person who was manning the table noticed my “Haunted Mansion” shirt. She and I struck up a conversation and she told me she was in attendance during Disneyland’s opening day in 1955.

Anyone who knows me can confirm that I’m a huge Disneyland fan and pride myself on knowing all kinds of things about it. Could I really luck out more than meeting someone who was there during opening day and getting the low-down from a first-hand account? She and I talked for about a half-hour and it was one of the best conversations I’d ever had about the park.

I’m sure you can see what’s coming here. As my friend had to take off I unwittingly left my source. I was already in the car and pulling away before I realized just how badly I had screwed myself.

I still kick myself when I think just what kind of information I could have pulled from her. I easily could have spent another three or four hours talking to her as well as regaling my own stories from the park to her. That is easily one of my biggest regrets and I unfortunately didn’t realize it until it was too late.

Conclusion

Some regrets are preventable and yet others are contextual to the point where you don’t realize you’re leaving a good thing until it’s already too late. The trick is to realize when it’s salvageable or when you have to put in extra work to prevent yourself from leaving a good thing. Sometimes, though, you can’t prevent yourself from leaving a great source or a great conversation and you’ll regret it for quite some time.

One for the Road

#BlackLivesMatter

I think it’s adorable that you think that. You may even be out in the street marching with the rest of the idiots that champion the cause. There’s only one problem: it’s an empty cause and the only reason you march is to make you feel better about yourself. The people whose lives matter aren’t the ones marching blindly in support of a vapid cause; they’re in the labs searching for cures to contagious diseases. They’re in the shelters making lost children feel better about themselves and keeping them from falling into the influences of the street gangs. They’re preventing the domestic violence victims from living in fear and giving them a place to feel safe. Those who rally around the people serving their community will see the lives of those who truly matter.

The Uncomfortable Truth

Do you believe that a police officer has the right to defend himself? How about when he’s facing down an idiot wielding a gun? Would you rather that officer allow himself to be shot? I personally don’t want to live in that world and I’m more than happy to see a piece of trash get sent to meet his maker than a good man be filled with lead. As far as I’m considered if you are wielding a firearm in the presence of a police officer without trying to defend other good men then you deserve everything you get; if you’re killed that’s just the way it goes. You shouldn’t have done something stupid.

Putting It In Perspective

Do I care? No. Do I really care about anyone? No. Human life is practically worthless to me since it’s wasted on the majority of people that have the privilege of wielding it. If I were to disappear from this Earth tomorrow I can guarantee there would only be a small gathering of people who would mourn my loss. The rest of you would go on about your lives as if nothing had transpired and I can’t really blame you; that is the nature of the human. We go through life without thinking of consequences and we pursue that which will result in the quickest sense of self-preservation, joy, or satisfaction. We are biologically incapable of caring about our fellow man. In my case, that feeling has been ingrained and I’m frankly happy because of it; I don’t ever have to deal with idiocy because I drop the person as soon as his deepest thoughts rear their ugly head.

Am I callous? Certainly though the reasons I feel this way have come to roost in the last twenty years. Are here other ways I can handle the situation? Of course. Am I fulfilled? Certainly. When the sun sets and all I have left are my thoughts I can only ask myself one question: am I happy? If I can’t say “I am” at the end of the night then I’m doing something wrong. It sounds selfish but at the end of the day the only person that matters to me is ME; if I’m not happy then I’m going to have a horrible next day and possibly a terrible next week. I’ve learned that you always have to look out for yourself and I no longer have any shame for doing so; I focus on my own happiness and I couldn’t care less about how anyone else feels.

Here’s Where It Hurts

We can see the reasons for our perseverance in the mechanical. When was the last time a One-Armed Bandit offered its condolences for taking your money and not offering any funds in return? When was the last time a Blackjack dealer, the slave to his four or six-deck shoe, offered a genuine and heartfelt apology for the state in which you found yourself? The long and short is that nobody will look out for you but you! You must take responsibility for your own human condition and you must own the fact that only you are in control of your destiny.

Where are the people championing for the white man unfairly gunned-down by his LEO brethren? Nobody cares because his skin color is the same as the person who cut him down. Why should his death be worth any less than someone who happened to be a different race than the person who shot him?

The police have gotten quite a bad reputation these days. Far be it from me to say that some of it isn’t well-deserved; however there are bad apples in every bunch and the actions of the many (in this case) shouldn’t be qualified by the actions of the few. The majority of the police are willing to protect and serve in accordance with the oath they took when they were sworn in as peace officers.

The Resolution Cometh

How do such problems be resolved? The primary solution is that groups of people should stop demonstrating in locations where nobody cares about their cause. You Ferguson people? Stop demonstrating in California; the Californians can’t help you and all you’re doing is wasting your breath campaigning on the West Coast. Better yet, stop doing it on college campuses; if you really want to affect change then you should be marching through the streets of your town. The fact you’re marching through cities that have nothing to do with your current plight lends credence to the fact that you’re just trying to be a big bunch of troublemakers and want nothing more than attention. If you truly wanted a solution to your problem then you’d focus all your efforts to your location and let the national media take notice instead of spreading like a virus throughout the country where we will do nothing more than laugh at your cause. Either get with the program or kill your movement where it stands; it’s your choice.

Conclusion

When it really comes down to it you have to ask yourself: which side will you stand with? Will you allow the idiocy to permeate your thoughts or will you accept the logical argument?

The Great Steak Caper

Our story tonight takes place on a darkened night with a moderate storm occurring in the background.

Are we discussing the minutae of human nature?

Are we referencing anything that has to do with behavioral psychology?

Hell no. We’re talking about a manly subject that many of my readers have come to hold dear: steak and its preparation. Tonight we will discuss the strangeness that comes from invoking a remote spectator in the overall preparation of said steak.

Let’s get to it.

The Caper Begins

When I was in college we had a shared kitchen in the shared dorm. Suffice it to say that several of the denizens of said dorm were of sub-par cooking quality. There were those who could make basic dishes and then there were those who struggled with even the simplest directions that were printed on the basic Cup-o-Noodles recipes.

One of the idiots decided to microwave the equivalent of a Venti cup of a particular Starbucks roast. Needless to say that concoction wound up covering the ceiling of the microwave as well as its bottom; as the idiot stood cleaning it the rest of us gathered around and laughed at him in order to drive home the concept that the aforementioned should not be attempted in a simple microwave.

It absolutely gets worse from here so I encourage you to read on.

The Build-Up

Everything was normal except for the one guy attempting to cook noodles that night. How he managed to burn said noodles and set off the fire alarm is beyond me; however, he pulled off such a feat and therefore the majority of us wound up outside in the cold air of a 2 AM morning.

I talked with one of the fire officers and he had nothing to say beside “Yep, that bowl of overcooked noodles is responsible”. Of course we hunted down the culprit and exacted the college version of frontier justice but that is neither here nor there.

We were informed of the status of the building (i.e. we can all go back inside and go back to sleep) fairly early that night. There are some things that just won’t die, however, and they tend to live on through either written story or word-of-mouth.

I had yet to realize that I would soon be engaged in such a discussion in the worst possible time.

The Steak and Its Victim

As I stand urinating at the stall before me I hear a familiar voice.

“Hawk, does this look medium-rare to you?”

I’M STILL PEEING. For some reason, the stall door is still open so this is at least partially my fault.

“Hawk, take a look at this”.

I’m greeted with a piece of steak on the end of a fork while I’m trying to pee. My friend Alex had thought it proper to bring in this piece of steak for my review; while I generally don’t mind taking a look at various pieces of steak I have a mental block against doing it while I’m urinating.

“Hawk, this is medium-rare, right?”

Alex is now shoving this piece of meat in my face now while I’m trying to pee.

It has a nice exterior coating with just the right amount of internal redness so I figure “this looks good”.

“Of course that’s medium-rare. That looks good to me!”

He replies, “See, that’s what I thought! Thanks, Hawk.”

Upon realizing what has just happened I go back to my business and everything goes normally.

Conclusion

Sometimes your friends need your opinion on a specific cut of meat. Other times, your friends require your opinion in a restroom stall and nothing else can possibly serve the requirements for which have been set forth.

Either way, meat always has some kind of underlying ruleset that is modified based upon how it is cooked.

OkCupid: Portrait of a Lunatic

WARNING: You may need eye bleach after looking through this post; I prefer ingesting bourbon instead. You’ve been warned.

No trigger warning here; you get one friendly statement of caution (believe me, I’m as surprised as you are) and then if you proceed it’s your own damn fault.

That’s more than enough notice so here we go.

A Picture Is Worth a Thousand Words

However, the majority of those words are derivations of “Gross” and “Horrifying”. From the perspective of my readers, though, they are more likely “Why are you doing this to me?” and “I thought we were friends”.

“This can’t be healthy,” I said as I took yet another swig from my now half-empty 750ml bottle of bourbon since I tend to drink like a fish when I write. Once you see the following photos you’ll understand.

Take a look at this tranny (we go head-first into the deep end here):

Turbo Tranny

Most people I know are saying “Yep, that’s a dude” right about now

What’s this guy trying to prove? Apparently he’s trying to convince himself that he’s of the female persuasion and is presumably looking for a thick shaft to fill the only hole that isn’t spewing feel-good identity crisis rhetoric.

Don’t believe that photo is a tranny? I can understand; there are some chicks that look masculine while still retaining some element of femininity. However, this case has absolutely none of the latter and all of the former so we’ll continue.

Posing Gets You Nowhere

Those bedroom eyes are made of heterosexual nightmares.

Getting more clear? I thought so. I’m a glutton for punishment, though, so I must bring up a third photo in order to drive the point home.

Yoga Has Never Been Less Attractive

Never has yoga been less attractive.

Now that we’ve established the absolute male dominance in this person’s body we can delve further into the broken psyche that allows something this lopsided to occur in the first place.

No, I’m not going to give out a link to this person’s profile. I may be a royal asshole but even I have my limits. Lunacy like this needs to stay online in order to be studied and preserved, not lambasted and insulted to the point where it completely disappears and is of no use to anyone. I’m a practical man so I prefer to keep such examples of sheer insanity online so as to serve as a lesson in what not to do; you don’t want it to get scared and delete its profile.

A Solid 10 in Mental Gymnastics

Now we get the joy of analyzing the textual content of this person’s profile.

I am transgender. I completely identify as being female, and I expect others to see me as female as well. I am a pre-op transgender female. Have not had the operation yet, but I very badly want to when I have the opportunity. I do not have both sex organs. That would be a hermaphrodite. I am not a hermaphrodite. Do not message me and ask me to penetrate you. I will not do this. Like I said, I identify as female and do not take the male role during sexual activity, or any other time. Though, I do wish gender roles were not so strict.

Hey, that’s wonderful.

News flash: I’m not sure what transgender means and I’m too lazy to look up a buzzword being shoved down my throat; I’m guessing, though, that it’s a softer way of saying “pre-op transsexual”. Nobody in his right mind will see you as female so you might as well be honest about it.

“I very badly want to when I have the opportunity” says quite a bit about the selfish nature of the people that participate in this abomination of identity. This thing is deliberately straddling the line between male and female. It’s more than willing to identify as a female while recognizing that it’s biologically a male; you can’t have both so you really need to pick one. I’m sorry you’re too much of a coward to embrace what you were given but that’s really not my problem. What IS my problem, however, is the masquerading of someone completely different before you have the biological organs to back up the claim.

“I do wish gender roles were not so strict”. Bullshit; you just want to go into any bathroom or changing room you choose without being looked-at strangely. As far as I’m concerned sex and gender are tightly-coupled when it comes to natural organs (i.e. those with which you’re born): if you have a dick then you’re a male; if you have a vagina you’re a female.

I feel as though I need to say here that I have no problem with homosexual folks since I know that some of you will try to misconstrue my words. To the wannabe SJW I say go right ahead; my words in this very post will vindicate me. There’s a huge difference between the homosexual folks and these abominations; at least the homosexual folks are honest about who they are. I can absolutely support honesty but I have absolutely zero respect for those that pretend to be something that they are not and then try to subvert nature and come up with spurious definitions for whatever idiocy with which they choose to identify.

The Insanity Continues

This winner can’t be summarized in one paragraph so let’s analyze this (good movie, by the way):

Sex and gender are two different things. Sex is biological. Gender is how one identifies. Sex reassignment surgery is listed as a viable treatment for transgender people because it would cause a lot of psychological harm to try to change a person’s gender identity, so surgeries are available. If you can’t change the mind to adapt to physical appearance then you change the physical appearance to reflect the identify of your mind (how one identifies).

Now, to make this clear, I am an alien. I also have a more evolved view on sexuality and gender. I believe it is wonderful to be sexually ambiguous. I do not believe anyone should have to claim a gender or assigned gender roles. Also, I believe everyone should be pansexual. This world would be a better place.

I have chosen to label myself as female not because I believe I am undoubtedly female, but because I believe I am more female than male, as in I have many more feminine qualities, so I believe labeling myself as female would be most accurate and would help me to feel the way I believe I should feel based on how people usually treat many females in this society. Well, in all honesty, I deserve more than how most women are treated in this society, but like I said before, at least it is the most accurate portrayal of my genuine feminine qualities.

Holy hell, where should I start?

“Sex and gender are two different things. Sex is biological. Gender is how one identifies.” If one doesn’t match the other then you get sex reassignment surgery. If you can’t get the surgery for the time being then you suck it the hell up and learn to live with the hand you’re dealt. There are a considerable number of people who have it worse than you and have still found a way to make it work; your idiocy barely registers on my radar in the grand scheme of world problems.

“If you can’t change the mind to adapt to physical appearance then you change the physical appearance to reflect the identify of your mind (how one identifies).” I’ll back you on that. I add an additional stipulation, though, that the two must always match. You can’t be like this guy and be biologically male while claiming to be mentally female; anyone who knows me will agree that I put very little importance on feelings. I believe in things that people can see or experience; a huge difference between what’s biologically available and what’s mentally available is not something that can be handled without significant compromise on one of those two sides.

“Now, to make this clear, I am an alien. I also have a more evolved view on sexuality and gender. I believe it is wonderful to be sexually ambiguous. I do not believe anyone should have to claim a gender or assigned gender roles. Also, I believe everyone should be pansexual. This world would be a better place.” It sounds to me like you’ve been watching too many episodes of South Park and want to believe you’re a “goo-back”. You don’t have a more evolved view on sexuality and gender; you have the same bullshit ideology that your fellow idiots have been parroting for years.

“I do not believe anyone should have to claim a gender or assigned gender roles. Also, I believe everyone should be pansexual. This world would be a better place.” One homogenous gender. Sound familiar again? I come from a background that celebrates differences in the genders; i.e. the biological women can have kids and the men can’t. That’s just how nature works. Don’t like it? Die. I’m not trying to sound like a harsh guy here but if you’re not in tune with the movement of nature then you’ll die out via natural selection.

Get a load of this load:

Also, I am an interdimensionary being, as we all are. I am not physical, but this host body is. I am soul.

E.T. called and he wants his communicator back; call NASA. I’m very much interested in the metaphysical aspect of life but even my investigative mind can’t process the thought that makes “I am not physical, but this host body is” a reality.

How can anyone believe the aforementioned? I find myself asking that quite frequently but at least in this case I can take solace in the fact that the guy is completely insane.

Conclusion

You should message me if you are open-minded, don’t care about me being transgender, or want a friend.

The term “open-minded” is thrown around a lot lately. I’ve noticed that it tends to mean “willing to put up with any insane idea emanating from a mind that doesn’t understand its implications” these days. Given the recent track record of humanity you’re an idiot if you’re open-minded.

Call me anything you want. What it really boils down to is that I’m a rational man that refuses to become the prey of the “progressive” community.

As a whole the human race stands to lose a considerable amount due to these divisions made by nothing more than buzzwords and feel-good ideology.

The 7 Key Wine Concepts

My buddy Mark Law has published an e-book called “The 7 Key Wine Concepts”. He asked me to review it and the link to his e-book is at the end of my review. If you’re into wine tasting and wine culture then you definitely won’t be disappointed. My review follows and you can get his book here: http://bit.ly/1wlGXRc


From the very beginning Mark sets the tone and purpose of “The 7 Key Wine Concepts” effectively and presents to the reader a situation that many of us have encountered: “How do I select the right wine for me?” He goes on to stress the point that one cannot place the brunt of their decision on the reviews of a wine critic or anyone else who, all things considered, is the same as any other person: he has different likes/dislikes and the reviews of a given wine tend to be personal in nature as taste is subjective. Finally, he rounds out a method of picking a similar wine if your desired choice is no longer in stock; the described method is solid and takes into account several important concepts and characteristics. All of this has happened in the introduction and serves as the perfect hook. I read on.

Mark makes the distinction between red and white varieties of wine instead of lumping them all together as a group. For those of us who like to pair our wines with food (he gets to this later and touches well on what to expect with pairings) this distinction is important. He provides an in-depth discussion of varietals and regions as well as the one-to-one and many-to-many relationships for both. He also provides an accessible discussion on wine terminology that is direct and free from the typical word-salad and nonsense of didactic lessons. The section on temperature plays into the above sections nicely as well as there are few of us who have a dedicated temperature-controlled cellar in which to store our selections; he gives practical advice here that is easily digested.

Faults are discussed and he gives some common profiles; I’m sure we have all encountered at least one on the list. He then segways directly into tasting a sample at a restaurant before committing to a bottle. He yet again presents a solid method but this time it involves ensuring the wine is not faulty. I’m a fan of swirling my reds to release the aroma so I was glad to see this included. The final concept is then discussed and it ties the entire experience of both the book and wine selection together nicely.

The writing flows well and at the end there is even a list of online resources for those interested in learning more. I’d recommend this book to fellow wine consumers without a second thought.