Tools #1

I’m basically a beat down grunt that’s trying to learn some medicine these days.  My definitions of psychological principles are worth nearly what you paid me for them. Bearing that always in mind, here are some basic definitions:


Unconsciously transferring feelings experienced earlier in life to an object encountered later in life because the two objects are similar.

Me – I fucking hate horses.  When I was a kid, a horse stepped on my toe and broke it.  I can barely remember the actual incident, but I sure as hell know I hate those dumb goddamned animals.  Probably as a result, I dislike camels.  Those long faced, humpy pieces of shit are too close to horses for any sane person’s (by that I mean me, of course) comfort.  That is transference.  I hate horses, camels are pretty close, so I hate those sons-of-bitches too.

I sometimes dream of owning a horse ranch, but instead of letting little kids ride the horses on the weekends and stuff, I’d just make a fortune in cat food.  I’d also teach courses on long distance precision marksmanship with camels as targets, and I’d die a happy man.

I don’t do so well with girls who like ponies, and I don’t fucking want to, either.  They are infatuated with my equine enemies, and are treated like the traitors they are.



This one’s a bit stickier.  It typically refers to the interaction between a therapist and a patient.  Basically, the therapist feels certain emotions based on the emotions of their patient.  The therapist’s emotions are usually tied into the therapist’s own past, and aren’t necessarily relevant to the situation being discussed with the patient.

If you try and look this one up on the googlebox, you’re going to get bogged down in a bunch of psychological mumbo-jumbo.  Since Siggy Freud coined this term, anybody who’s a Jung fanboy is going to have a conniption fit, and you might get dragged into an argument about which dead brain-shrinker’s dick is bigger.

Who cares about all that?  Not me.

Here’s what I’ve noticed, and how I use my street-level definitions:

Most people you interact with evoke some feelings in you.  The feelings aren’t usually all that strong – a general happiness if you like the person, or some mild distaste or even dread if the person’s a pain in the ass.  Now, once in awhile, you get some really strong feelings that motivate you to do something when you encounter a person.  The mere fact that you had these strong feelings in an otherwise routine interaction is the key to start paying close attention.  You need to kick up into Condition Yellow, or even Condition Red.  Your radar is telling you something.  Why?

Here’s another example from my own past experience:

If I talk to two different women about normal stuff for five minutes – different times, different venues, with both women being equally attractive – I’ll come away being really attracted to one of them.

Here’s what I know:

The woman who I’m really attracted to has problems.  She’s got a coke habit, sexual abuse issues, an eating disorder – something like that.  The women and I won’t talk about that stuff, but my subconscious has picked up on certain patterns and mannerisms.  Those subtle cues have rung the fire-bell hanging on the wall where my own personal White Knight hangs out.  That bastard starts polishing up his rusty armor and looking around for his sword.  He’s gonna go rescue this chick from herself, and he starts conspiring with my limbic system to make me attracted to her.

See?  The gal with problems acts a certain, subtle way.  Subconsciously, she’s broadcasting her pain/problems out into the world.  Because of certain experiences I’ve had/the way I was raised, my antennae are very sensitive to certain signals.  Because of those signals, I feel certain things – attraction, the need to rescue, the need to “be there”, etc.

I’ve just been countertransferenced!

For whatever reason, I was a rescuer.  I’m initially attracted to people I think I can help.  After a few disastrous relationships, I’ve learned to look at that initial extreme attraction with a very skeptical glance.  I learned that my “girl picker” was broken.  If I act on that initial extreme attraction, before long I’m going to be looking up various support groups for my girlfriend, or even having her drug dealer ex-boyfriend try and stab me in a parking lot after work (yes, that actually happened).

More people ought to do this kind of analysis about the people they’re attracted to.  If the new person makes you feel exactly like the person in the last five shitty relationships did at first – well, there’s probably something to that.  Start looking for patterns.  Don’t just dive in to those feelings.  Sure, enjoy them, but realize those feelings are there for a reason, and those feelings signify something important. Just because the feelings are good doesn’t mean you’re going to end up happy, either – don’t confuse the two.

Don’t get too wrapped up in my examples.  I used to be Sergeant Save-A-Ho, and maybe you laugh at guys like that.  No worries – I don’t care.  Just don’t overlook your own patterns.  Every guy has a “type”, and physical appearance isn’t always the biggest part of that.  What is yours?  Think back to girls you instantly were attracted to – what did they have in common?  Upbringing?  No gag reflex? Lots of brothers?  Slutty, but hiding it?

By mastering, then monitoring your countertransference radar, you can learn things about people they don’t want you to know.  That information will help guide your course, and keep you efficient in your efforts.  It takes some effort and thought to get this kind of working knowlege of how your subconcious works.  I assure you it’s very worth the effort.


Transition Mantra #1

He was three steps across the bedroom floor before his brain finished booting up.  He ripped the screaming alarm clock out of the wall for some fucking quiet.  His first conscious decision of the day was to line-drive it into the opposite wall.  Fuck that bitch, anyway.  Too bad that dent is just in drywall, and not her lying fucking face. He took a deep breath and sank to his haunches, palms grinding the sleep out of his swollen eyes.  Goddamn…gonna have to buy another alarm clock – a louder one, he thought.

The Lying Whore kept reaching out of his past to torture him.  Her latest trick was to appear in ever-changing mental movies.  The movies were short loops, and the only consistent characters were The Lying Whore in the thrall of utter sexual satisfaction and a nebulous male listed as “The Guy She’s Fucking Now #4” in the credits.  This trick was the worst so far, because it ambushed him as he drifted into sleep.

Moving to a different city had helped, especially at first.  He’d been busy with the details of the sudden move and lining up a job.  The eternal dilemma of What To Do Now? occupied the rest of his mental energy.  The new city didn’t have The Lying Whore’s favorite restaurant, or the lakeshore where he’d proposed to her, or the apartment that once felt like a fortress of bliss.  He decided the new city was going to be home for awhile, and to stay alive.  Things weren’t great, but they weren’t terrible.  He’d been through worse, for sure.  He smiled as often as once per week now.  Progress.

This latest trick was undermining all that.  Sleep was no longer a welcome respite, easily achieved.  The latest trick sent claws of anger, jealousy, and despair ripping through his guts every time he started to drift off.  He slept fitfully when exhaustion overwhelmed him, but only for a few hours at a stretch.   Exercise helped a little, and whisky helped more, but he’d started dragging ass at work.  Fatigue lessened his control of the constant rage that seethed just under his skin.  He’d slept through his alarm twice this week, making him late to work.

He was three minutes late that night.  Nobody noticed but him.  He liked his job as a bouncer, and a year ago would’ve been there ten minutes prior to the start of every shift. The recent struggle to show up on time mystified him.  He’d never been late to anything until The Lying Whore fucked him over.   Now, even good things were a struggle.

Working at this bar was good for him.  His employers wanted friendly, competent staff who engaged with the patrons and cultivated relationships with the regulars.  He’d always prided himself on being professional, so he donned the expected role like a costume.  Even pretending to be happy was preferable to his normal state.

He made his first walk of the night through the place, bro-hugging the regulars and chatting with the new faces.  A cocktail waitress pulled him away from one such conversation.  She asked him to throw a drunk guy out for groping her ass and grabbing one of her tits.  He verified the drunk guy’s identity and observed the drunk guy’s group for half a minute.  Usual shit, he thought.  Routine.  He told the other bouncer what was going on, and went to do his job.

The talk with the drunk guy started out like they all did.  Evasions first, then the possibility of mistaken identity was trotted out.  After that came denial and demands to speak to the manager.  Refusal to leave was next, and finally the drunk guy telegraphed a geriatric right hook in the general direction of his head..  He did what he usually did – step in, quick shot to the xiphoid, twist out an armbar, promise to break that elbow first if anyone in the drunk guy’s group even thought about moving.

Maybe the drunk guy was whinier than most.  Maybe fatigue was a factor.  Maybe he had a strange kind of crush on the aggrieved waitress, or decided the drunk guy was an adequate stand-in for The Guy She’s Fucking Now #4.  Instead of going out the front door like usual, he steered the drunk guy out back into the alley.  He smashed the drunk guy’s face into the brick wall, gave himself time to transition to a choke.  The drunk guy struggled feebly and went limp.  He rammed the unconscious man into the dumpster a few times, enjoying the noise.  The drunk guy’s shirt tore, and he lost his grip.  The drunk guy sprawled boneless onto the asphalt.  He dropped the scrap of shirt and kicked the drunk guy in the stomach.

He stepped back and admired his work.  The drunk guy started moving his limbs in spastic, weird little circles.  A few seconds later, the drunk guy scrunched his face up.  A scratchy wail sobbed out of a bloody mouth.  He toed the drunk guy face-up, then stood on both the drunk guy’s elbows.  Pinned like a butterfly.  He looked into the drunk guys eyes until he was sure full consciousness and awareness had returned.  He let a gobbet of spit drip slowly onto the drunk guys face.  The drunk guy shook his head from side to side, but the spit just rolled around on the bloody face.  The drunk guy started crying, really sobbing.  Tears and quivering lip, snot and rivulets of blood.

He looked up, and saw the other bouncer watching from the doorway.  The other bouncer accused him of having problems.  He thought about it for a few seconds, and then a few seconds more.  He rehearsed some retorts in his head, but they didn’t make sense, even to him.  The other bouncer wasn’t going to agree that this was actually The Lying Whore’s fault.  The drunk guy was a dick, but he wasn’t The Guy Who’s Fucking Her Now #4.  Even with the reality-bending power of post-combat rationalization, he couldn’t make the pieces fit. Shrug.  Sigh.

He agreed with the other bouncer.

He had lots of problems.


Just get your guts ripped out by a woman you loved with every cell in your body?  Recently, or does it just feel like that?  Are you fine most of the time, until some random association shits you into the clogged toilet of hellish introspection?

The guy in the story’s been there, and most guys who’ve read or ever will read these words have been there, too.  Depending on your circumstances, it’s one of the worst things that will ever happen to you.  It sucks, no doubt about it.  It’ll get worse, unless you do your new job well.

What?  New job?

Yup.  In addition to all the other shit you’re dealing with, you have additional duties and responsibilities that you didn’t ask for.  No, you don’t get paid.  There are no vacation days or scheduled breaks.  Sometimes the gig is pretty easy, and sometimes it’s a cast-iron bitch.  You’ll hate it for awhile.  Do it diligently, though, and you’ll be extremely gratified.

Here are your duties:

1. Don’t communicate with her. No phone, text, email, Facebook, smoke signals, semaphore flags, or heliograph.  Don’t even say “I’m not talking to you anymore.”  Nothing. Every time you re-engage with her, you’re setting the clock back to zero.

2. Don’t get addicted. Don’t rely on non-prescription chemicals to cope.  Be cautious with prescription chemicals.  Sure, get fucked up and blow off some steam – once.  The absolute last thing you need is a Xanax habit or a DUI.  Feel shitty now?  Imagine you feeling shitty, except in detox and headed to jail soon.  See what I’m saying?

3. Conduct yourself with dignity at all times.  Venting, bitching, begging The Universe to deliver you from your torment – all that’s done with extremely close friends or family – and sparingly.  Cryptic emo poetry about how unfair it is does not belong on your Facebook.  You aren’t Maynard James Keenan, and all that shit does is make you look foolish.  Same thing goes for appearance and grooming.  If you let yourself go after a break-up, you’re broadcasting inner weakness.  Be sad and depressed and angry for awhile – that’s fine.  You can still wash your ass, brush your fangs, and do your laundry.

4. Do not get an STD.  Pregnancy is hereby defined as an STD until further notice.  The ancient wisdom that “The best way to get over a girl is by getting on top of another one” has some truth to it.  Notice how the saying does not endorse pissing razorblades, Planned Parenthood, herpetic lesions, or writing child support checks to a bar skank?

5. Don’t get fired.  If you’re still in college, don’t let your grades slip.  You’re bummed out right now.  The repo man doesn’t give a shit.  Neither do the grad school admission folks.

Do these things, and in a few years this part of your life will be a minor bump.  Fuck them up, and you’re doing yourself permanent harm.  You won’t be able to look back and say,”Yeah, it was rough for a minute, a bit of a nut-check, but I came through alright.”  Instead, you’ll be begging your parole officer to give you a ride to your shift at Arby’s.  You’ll have proven that your ex was correct to leave.

Your pain is like gasoline.  Some men douse themselves in it and stink up the joint.  Fuck them – those guys are hazardous and toxic.  With a little discipline and work, you can put that gas in the tank and drive somewhere better.

Be that guy.

On Insecurity

Wikipedia says:

“An intimate relationship is a particularly close interpersonal relationship that involves physical or emotional intimacy. Physical intimacy is characterized by romantic or passionate love and attachment, or sexual activity.”

No shit, right?

Anybody who’s reading this spends an inordinate amount of time thinking about relationships – how they work, when they happen, what kind of people they happen to…

I’ll bet you could spell out in exact detail the type of relationships you want, and with whom.  Would you consider a single mom?  Your current girl, but 15 lbs lighter? A reformed carousel rider?  Twin bisexual cheerleaders who inherited a chain of liquor stores?

How should she treat you?  Supportive and submissive?  How many blowjobs a week is optimal?  You looking to start a family?  How much debt is that hottie dragging around?

All that stuff is important to work out, right?  You’ve got to know what you’re looking for and who’s a bad bet, or you’ll never be happy.  That’s common knowledge, of course.  Of Course…Everybody says it so it’s gotta be true…


Well….no, not really.  Not yet.

You’re starting in the wrong place.  You’re attempting a kidney transplant surgery believing a semester of high school biology is perfectly adequate preparation.  Make an incision and get started, if you want.  In the grand scheme of things, another rapidly cooling corpse is no big deal.

So, Smart Guy, I hear you ask – just what should I be thinking about?

The answer, as with so many things, is You.

Seriously – what the hell are you after?  What are you hoping to achieve, to feel, to become, in your relations with women?  If you’ve never before thought about this, it’s deceptively hard.

“No it’s not!” the novice crows,”I just wanna bang that receptionist with the big tits!”

The novice isn’t answering the question.  Why her?  Why not some other clerical worker with similar mammary glands?  Why not an actress with small boobs or a lunch lady with one?  If you can’t honestly answer, you’re going in blind and dumb.  You’ll have more fun and better long-term results wrapping 50 feet of duct tape around your head and sprinting across highways.

Why is this particular question so critical?

It’s the only way to recognize your insecurities as they pertain to relationships – and every human being yet born has insecurities.  The answer to that question is the first part of identifying the habits and subconscious strategies you use to compensate.

Insecurities are highly individual – possibly even unique in their manifestations from person to person.  A lonely nerd might pine for a gregarious woman – a relationship with her might prove to himself that he’s just as good as the “popular kids”.  It might salve the red, suppurating rash of loneliness, or offer an opportunity to shed his old social identity like a snakeskin against the rocks of her world.

A disorganized, grabasstic underachiever might be drawn to a woman who keeps a clean house – possibly seeking to benefit from her structure and stability, to learn a bit of that for himself.  He could also be working with some weapons-grade cognitive dissonance, seeking to prove to others he’s not actually that much of a slob.  Shit, his girlfriend wears librarian glasses and has plastic wrapped couches in her apartment.  She makes people take their shoes off inside!  A girl like that would never date a guy who didn’t have his shit together – obviously.  Her librarian glasses signal to himself and others that he’s reliable and organized…at least in his mind they do.

Even though insecurities are as unique as fingerprints, they have some common attributes.  They all influence one’s social environment – from the girl with a weird tooth who hates smiling to a fat asthmatic kid who affects intellectual superiority toward athletes.  Tooth-Girl’s lack of smiling will gradually nudge her toward interests, peers, and activities that are different than a more smiley person.  Maybe she wears a lot of black eyeliner, listens to The Cure and VAST, and starts smoking at age 15 with the goth kids.  They don’t smile, either, and she’s more comfortable with them.  The fat asthmatic kid will preserve/obtain his self esteem from other kids who don’t like sports – maybe he gets into programming or theater.

Insecurities also influence who we sustain intense attraction with.  A partner who assuages, invalidates, or compensates for our insecurities evokes more than attraction from us.  In extreme cases, you can feel like a person has “fixed” you or made you whole – in addition to more pedestrian love and attraction.  You can come to depend on them for your identity. They fill some hole you have in your ego. This can be very powerful.

Your insecurities are communicated overtly and covertly to the people you interact with.  It’s helpful to think of them like smells – you stink like hobo socks and skunky Budweiser and you ain’t getting in to that club.  The right kind of pheromones, though, can make a pretty girl into a goddess – for the right kind of guy.  So it is with insecurities – you’re interacting with people who’s brains are highly adapted for picking up subtle cues in their fellow humans.  Not much gets missed.  Many times you think you’ve gotten away with compensating, the other person simply didn’t call you out/think it relevant.  They notice and evaluate, though, even if it’s subconscious.  Uncle Paul’s elevator shoes ain’t foolin’ anybody, and neither are Jeremy Piven’s hair plugs.

It seems that most people never bother to examine their insecurities in any meaningful way.  We’re all experts at spotting others, but our own might only warrant some blustery talk or a bullshit waist size on some relaxed-fit jeans.

Consider that for a moment.  Other people can’t fool you very easily, can they?  You can spot the Napoleon Complex after 10 seconds of interaction.  You see the strange head tilt and heavy makeup of the girl with the big zit on her forehead.  They can’t hide this stuff they so obviously want to hide.  You are no different – you broadcast your crap just as they do.

How do your insecurities influence you?  What “choices” do you make that are really the dictates of your insecurities?  What does being massively infatuated with some particular person indicate about your self image and your personal context?  How has that influenced other areas of your life?  Why are you attracted to X?

Could you change it if you wanted to?

Couple things about this stuff I wanted to mention:

Sometimes our insecurities are ugly, or stem from ugly causes.  That’s fine – if you liked something about yourself, it wouldn’t make you insecure, would it?  If you shy away from thinking about them, though, you’ll never, ever improve.  It’s necessary to either bull through this natural aversion, or learn to examine yourself objectively.

One technique to identify subtle insecurities that influence your present behavior is to get ruthless and clinical about your past. Sit somewhere quiet for an hour and think.  What were you after when you did X? How did Y make you feel, and what would have made you feel different?  Why do you like Girl 1 but not Girl 2, and what does that mean?  What would your mother say about that?  Your best friend? Teddy Roosevelt?  George Washington?

Also, this stuff might not be useful if you’re just looking to bang bar-skanks.  It can be a lot of uncomfortable work, and there are many easy, somewhat effective ways to camouflage the insecurities most detrimental to rapid-rate booty.

It’s also tempting for a naturally shy guy to use this focused introspection as a means of avoidance.  Don’t bullshit yourself.

Sermon The Second, Part Two

This took longer than I wanted to post, mostly due to the denizens of my fair city attempting to die a lot.  Makes for an unpredictable schedule, does ol’ Death.  I’d lodge a complaint, but that Dude creeps me out when he turns His attention toward me.  I just collect the overtime and shut up about the extra hours.

Awright, before we get started –

This shit is not The Way, The Truth, and The Light.  It is a collection of concepts you should consider carefully.  It all applies to some degree, but no human being is exactly the same as another.  We all balance on a meniscus of habits, desires, drives, and pathology.  No curve is precisely the same – but everybody’s bent.  Okay?  Okay.

In the first part of this Sermon, I advised the newly Red Pilled Man to let go of his preconceptions about what women like.

So….what do women like from men?

Here are some basics, in no particular order:

1. Women want to be stimulated.

Stimulation in this context is not objectively “good” or “bad” – it’s merely a stimulus that evokes thought or feeling.  This can mean verbal fencing, listening to interesting/funny stories you tell, or doing some activity.  It can also mean engaging in a contest of wills.  It sometimes means thinking about men/you – whether fantasizing, worrying, playing matchmaker, stalking other women on your Facebook (stop it, Katie, we broke up a long time ago), etc.

Relationships figure prominently in women’s status/identities and the stimulation she gets from them is very important to her.

2. Women want to feel sexy.

There is a lot of nuance and individual variation to this.  Women want to be desired by men/a man they find desireable themselves.  Jane Doe doesn’t give a shit what BillyBob the itinerant, meth-addled garbageman thinks of her ass.  She considers him “creepy”, – the only enjoyment she gets from BillyBob’s Epic Ode To Her Glutes is to affirm that she’s out of his league.

A woman who’s in touch with her sexuality also enjoys using it to influence her environment.  For some women, that means making hubby’s Dockers tight by wearing that one nightie for him.  Other women like getting into the VIP/bottle service area of the club due to their Awesome Bew-bage.

3. Women want to feel deserved.

This is distinct from feeling taken advantage of.  Ye Hoary Olde Saying “Rank hath it’s privileges” applies here.  Every woman has a core identity, a way she views herself.  From this view she derives her social status.  This core identity feels like it deserves certain attributes in a man.  If more “man” is available – hey, great! – but less “man” will not be tolerated for long, if at all.  A dude who barely makes the grade will be tolerated only grudgingly.

This principle is perhaps more mutable than others, and bears careful consideration by men.  The core identity changes over time, therefore the “man she deserves” often changes as well.  This identity is subject to influence by extrinsic factors (I’m prettier than that bitch….right!!?!?) and events like childbirth, health, and the appearance (gasp!) of that first grey hair.

The most important and influential extrinsic factor operating on a woman in a relationship is her significant other – but he is emphatically not the only factor.  Do not forget that, gents.

4. Women want to feel secure.

This feeling has many manifestations.  Security can come in the form of a social support net, money, love, a good family, or confidence in the ability of her significant other to deal with problems.  The less perceived ability a woman has to influence her environment (either directly or indirectly), the less security she will feel.  The more her significant other behaves how she feels he should, the more secure she will feel.

Perhaps the most important thing for the Newly Red Pilled Man to notice about these things is that they all occur inside the woman’s head.  None of this stuff is directly related to who you actually are or what you do, gents. Getting women to treat you like a Badass is easier if you are, in fact, badass, but that’s not what we’re talking about here.  How she feels about you is the critical vulnerability.  Her feelings are what fuel her actions.  If you want to influence her behavior, you must be cognizant of them.

It’s also important to point out that some of these principles can conflict with each other.  For example, a woman may feel less secure watching her man be hit on by another woman.  She’s stimulated – there is definitely cognitive and emotional activity elicited.  If the man handles the situation Gamefully, she will then feel desired (sexy) and have her social status reinforced positively (deserved).

The relative importance of these principles is also dependent on context.  A woman you just met in a bar is looking for a combination of the first three, with security a distant fourth.
Matter of fact, if she’s yelling, “Security!” you’re about to have a Real Bad Night.  A pregnant wife, on the other hand, is going to value security very highly.

Rather than seeing these principles as contradictions, it’s more useful to imagine them as competing forces that must be balanced. Pay careful attention to the balance of stimulation and security, in particular.  Think of an aircraft – the pilot must manage lift, thrust, weight, and drag.  Neglecting any of these forces is where smoking holes
in the ground come from (fact!).

In some later Sermons we’ll discuss how you can effect these things.  In the mean time, feel free to argue/teach/learn/discuss in the comments.  I’m heartened and gratified by the discussion that’s taken place here already – you folks kick ass.

Condition Yellow – The Badger/Yohami Corollary

Badger said: Critics of game say it teaches men to objectify women, view them as robots or (as bb’s husband put it) “non-player characters.” That’s bupkus, it’s been the complete opposite for me – women no longer confuse and anger me, because I no longer see them as defective men or inscrutable extraterrestrial creatures (I’m looking at you John Gray). I can appreciate them for what and how they are, and have realistic expectations for what they can and can’t bring to my life.

Yohami said:  Code gold: the land is full of opportunity

These statements bear careful consideration.  I saw somewhere that by knowing things that exist, it’s possible to know that which doesn’t exist.

Beats the shit out of Twilight, any day of the week.

Sermon the Second, Part One

If you learn nothing else from me, let it be this:

Women want what they want.  Period.  End of story.

There is much gnashing of teeth done by men who’ve just taken the Red Pill:

“How could she leave me?  I was the fastest COBOL coder in this time zone!”

“But…but…but I handed my entire paycheck over to her every week!  I never so much as looked at another woman!”

“I brought her flowers and asked if she would please accompany me to a showing of The Vagina Monologues.  She flaked and went drinking with Spike instead.  He’s got two motorcycles and no helmet.  He went to a trade school, for fuck’s sake.”

Another hard truth here, gents:

Most of you Blue Pill Guys are barking up the wrong tree.  It’s a fact. You just are.  Listen – women are not men.  All the Women’s Studies classes in The Universe will not change that.

The things you respect about yourself and your buddies are not necessarily the things women respect about you.

Let me say that again another way:

Women do not necessarily value the same things in a man that you think are important.

One more time, below your sensitive, politically correct belt:

If you insist on treating women like men with boobs, you’re blinded by your male gaze.  You’re a sexist, actually.  You’re bordering on male chauvinism, especially if you burn billions of calories arguing about why things should be the way you think they are.  You’re just as bad as Amanda Marcotte or that sniveling, lickspittle eunuch who runs the Manboobz site – just the flip side of the coin.

Smear your face with ash, wail piteously, and don a jockstrap of coarsest sackcloth – The Universe doesn’t give a shit, and neither do women.  Women want what they want, not what you think they should want.

Me and lots of other men will argue with you, try and show you the error of your ways, even point out where you picked up this faulty bit of programming.  That’s the point of this blog, as a matter of fact.

However, you need to do a little work yourself.  Like an addict working a 12-step program, you need to accept that the way you did things in the past was not the best way to be happy, long term.  Like a recruit in boot camp, you need to accept that most of what you “know” is bullshit.  You need to use the proffered tools to rebuild yourself into a fully functional man.
Here’s a little Rudyard Kipling to ponder.  Read it, and think about it’s application to your life over the next day or so:

The young recruit is ‘aughty — ‘e draf’s from Gawd knows where;
They bid ‘im show ‘is stockin’s an’ lay ‘is mattress square;
‘E calls it bloomin’ nonsense — ‘e doesn’t know, no more —
An’ then up comes ‘is Company an’kicks’im round the floor!

The young recruit is ‘ammered — ‘e takes it very hard;
‘E ‘angs ‘is ‘ead an’ mutters — ‘e sulks about the yard;
‘E talks o’ “cruel tyrants” which ‘e’ll swing for by-an’-by,
An’ the others ‘ears an’ mocks ‘im, an’ the boy goes orf to cry.

The young recruit is silly — ‘e thinks o’ suicide.
‘E’s lost ‘is gutter-devil; ‘e ‘asn’t got ‘is pride;
But day by day they kicks ‘im, which ‘elps ‘im on a bit,
Till ‘e finds ‘isself one mornin’ with a full an’ proper kit.

Gettin’ clear o’ dirtiness, gettin’ done with mess,
Gettin’ shut o’ doin’ things rather-more-or-less;
Not so fond of abby-nay, kul, nor hazar-ho,
Learns to keep  ‘is ripe an “isself jus’so!

The young recruit is ‘appy — ‘e throws a chest to suit;
You see ‘im grow mustaches; you ‘ear ‘im slap’ is boot.
‘E learns to drop the “bloodies” from every word ‘e slings,
An ‘e shows an ‘ealthy brisket when ‘e strips for bars an’ rings.

The cruel-tyrant-sergeants they watch ‘im ‘arf a year;
They watch ‘im with ‘is comrades, they watch ‘im with ‘is beer;
They watch ‘im with the women at the regimental dance,
And the cruel-tyrant-sergeants send ‘is name along for “Lance.”

An’ now ‘e’s ‘arf o’ nothin’, an’ all a private yet,
‘Is room they up an’ rags ‘im to see what they will get.
They rags ‘im low an’ cunnin’, each dirty trick they can,
But ‘e learns to sweat ‘is temper an ‘e learns to sweat ‘is man.

An’, last, a Colour-Sergeant, as such to be obeyed,
‘E schools ‘is men at cricket, ‘e tells ’em on parade,
They sees ‘im quick an ‘andy, uncommon set an’ smart,
An’ so ‘e talks to orficers which ‘ave the Corps at ‘eart.

That’s a message of hope for those who choose to hear it, and a warning for those who do not.

You’re being kicked by life, day by day.  You can either adjust, or get kicked to Death.  You can use the kicks as teaching tools, or live as a bruised, lumpy human target.  Go ahead.  Maybe someone will admire your tombstone one day:

“Here lies Joe.  He didn’t care about Reality.  He stuck to his fantasy until the bitter, lonely end.  It just made more sense to him than the real world.  He was proud of his failure to adapt and overcome.”

Or, get with the program.  Use your eyes.  Perceive things as they are.  Stop asking,”But what does it all mean!!???!”  That’s the wrong question right now.  It’s counter-productive.  You aren’t qualified to ask, let alone hear the answer, until you understand how it works.

We’ll start getting into some nuts-and-bolts type stuff in Part Two of this ‘ere Sermon.

Sermon the First

Over the next few posts I’m going to lay some foundations.  These are things I think are important for the newly Red-Pilled Man to understand.  Some of them are not nice.  There are no quick fixes for any of them.  Gimmicks will work for a short time, or give you a glimmer of hope, but I’m not interested in that.  I want you to get what you want, long term.  So here’s the first sermon:

Remember what happened the first time you went off to college, or deployed, or visited Grandma over the summer?  You came back home and things were…..different.

There was a new stoplight at that intersection. Johnny’s mom got a new car.  Sarah fucked Billy and now her car’s outside his apartment every night.  Old Man Yi got killed in a robbery and his son Little Yi is running the liquor store.

For many of us, the first time we return home from an extended absence is the first realization that people actually have separate lives.  Instead of seeing only your future stretching out in front of you, an awareness creeps in of thousands of other futures moving forward, all at the same pace.  They intertwine, intersect, or swerve away from your future, never to be seen again.  Stuff happened while you were gone.  It still does.

Keep that in mind.  If you’re naturally a bit narcissistic, or have a tendency toward solipsism, it’s easy to forget.

“But…but…but Dogsquat!  I’m not a narcissist!” you retort.

Yeah, we all are to some degree.  A little narcissism is a good thing.  Without it, you could never show up to a job interview, or stand up to a bully, or argue with a stranger over the internet about how non-narcissistic you are.

I think this facet of humanity is where a lot of guys get into trouble with women.

Say you’re pining over a girl – she’s beautiful and cool and into the same weird shit you are – you spend a lot of time thinking about her.  You imagine a future together or wonder what she’s like in bed.

Well, she ain’t doing that.  Her life is separate from yours.  Her thread may cross yours a few times in the Marvelous Rug Of Life, but it’s not twined intimately with your thread, no matter how much you’d like it to be.  For the most part, people aren’t thinking about you when you’re not right in front of them.

If you pin your hopes for happiness or booty or whatever on some chick, you’re going to let all kinds of bizarre thinking creep in.

That girl you met at the bar?  Not thinking about you right now.

That cute chick that sits next to you in Cell Biology?  Not thinking about you right now.

The ex you’d like to get back together with?  Yup, you guessed it – not thinking about you right now, either.

Why am I repeating this depressing fact of life so many times?

Because it’s superfuckingimportant.

One of the fundamental principles of Game is called Outcome Independence.  It is not talked about often, but it’s one of the most powerful tools you posses.  If your happiness is truly independent from the outcome of an interaction with a woman, you’re halfway to where you want to be.  You won’t fall for little shit tests, appear too desperate, or sink into mini-depressions when she doesn’t text/doesn’t come over/won’t go home with you.  You might not even notice the little landmines girls lay in your path, because you’re skipping right past them.

If you pursue this principle, along with a few other things, you may find desirable women chasing you.

And Gents – it is impossible to be Outcome Independent if you’re pining away over a girl who isn’t thinking about your ass anyway.    There are many ways to discipline the mind in this regard.  Sometime down the road I’ll share mine.

Until then, here’s an easy fix:

Every time you think about a specific girl when she’s not there, or how much you’d like a girl in your life, do 20 push-ups.   Seriously – walk away from the group and pound ’em out.  If you’re in bed and your mind drifts, roll onto the floor and beat your face 20 times.  Studying?  Working?  No excuse – bash ’em out ASAP.

There are times, of course, when a girl is thinking about you.  Until you fully internalize (I mean live it, not fake it) this principle, odds are it’s not the girl you want thinking about you,  or it is the girl you want, but she’s not thinking anything good.

So start pushing, Gents.

Feel free to expand on Outcome Independence in the comments if you have tips or anecdotes to share.