Another Red Pill Dicktum anal-sis.
The other night I went on one of those fantastic once in a blue moon dates that started off perfectly. The kind where you’re finishing each other’s sentences, laughing uproariously at each other’s jokes, and looking into each other’s eyes with chemical attraction, both thinking “This is the one!”
I’m not sure how the floodgates of simpatico opened. Was it our mutual rizz? My confidence? Her charm? Or maybe my seductive sweet talk.
Her: You’re unusually confident. Most guys turn into jibbering idiots around a Mars, Inc. heiress and Miss America contestant like myself.
Me: It’s because I know you’re not mine, it’s just my turn.
Her: That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.
Me: Right? If you and I were to get together, eventually you’d leave me beause of hypergamy, also known as “monkey branching.”
Her (swooning): You know so much about female nature.
Me (taps head): I’m a Red Piller. I’m in the know, baby.
Her: But I really do like you! I swear!
Me: Oh, sure. You say that now. But in two years? Five? Ten? Fifty?
Her: No, I’m serious. I’ll marry you right now.
Me: Sorry, but I’m not going to be the sucker who gets his heart broken at some indeterminate point in the future. It’s better to not try at all than to risk that. Goodnight, Miss America.
Sadly, our true love was not to be.
Out of the many Red Pill dicktums that are out there, this one may be the most cynical and toxic. However, technically it is true. In every relationship there is a 100% chance it will end. It’s just a question of when and how. Death? Divorce? Due to cheating? Or simply “growing apart?” Obviously no relationship is forever. But is it productive to go into one already anticipating (if not expecting) its eventual failure and the ensuing potential heartbreak? Do football players who reach the Super Bowl go into the game expecting to lose? Fifty percent of them will not hoist the Lombardi at the end of the night, but such a loser mindset is destructive and can create its own self-fulfilling prophecy.
The Red Pill solution to this Gordian Knot of inevitable relationship obsolesence is to “spin plates.” That means to have a number of women on rotation that you sleep with and/or with whom you maintain a connection. This way if one has a “hypergamy-gasm” on you, you can counter by just ringing up the next bimbo in line. Putting aside the fact that for average men this is largely an unrealistic scenario, “plate spinning,” even for high-value Lord Cockuluses, is time consumptive, expensive, largely superficial, and leads to nothing but complications.
There’s no genuine social regard for such plate spinning behavior, either. Society does not view you as King Solomon and his many concubines. You’re just a dude who can’t keep it in his pants. Though the family court lawyers chasing you down for child support and paternity tests will love you, I’m sure.
As I’ve mentioned elsewhere, the Red Pill, aside from some generic be-your-best-isms, is just hedonism in disguise. Some are out there saying men should have sex with as many women as possible in preparation for marriage. Will these guys just start their own indy porn studios already? It’d be a lot more efficient.
“She’s not yours, it’s just your turn” best articulates the caustic outlook of the manosphere, which views relationships as inherently temporary and disposable. Interchangable, even. Like picking up used parts for a factory machine you expect to break down. On the surface it seems like good advice. The subtext is the admonition to not allow a relationship with a woman to consume you from succeeding in your life’s work and mission. Fair enough. I recall watching an animated series on Newgrounds decades ago centered on a bright young guy who gives up a scholarship to M.I.T. to pursue his high school girlfriend to some state college, only for the girl to abandon him so she can “explore” herself. That scene always stuck with me. What an idiot, I thought. Though there have been many such cases in the real world.
Making yourself an attractive quality partner and focusing on your unique gifts and your work so that you become the “prize,” is a worthwhile endeavour. In so far as the Red Pill espouses that doctrine, I’m on board. But then why the need for plate spinning? Why add all that unnecessary drama, not to mention the greater chance for STI infection or illegitmate children? I’m the bastard product of the kind of, shall we say, “excessive amorousness,” the Red Pill promotes, and let me tell you, it ain’t good being an infant football getting kicked around between two warring ex-lovers in family court, and losing one’s father in the fallout. To say nothing of being the proverbial redheaded step-child. Especially when you’re racially mixed.
You have to judge a philosophy or thought process based on the results as seen by the behavior of its followers, not entirely on whether it holds any real “truth.” The Communist Manifesto may have some worthwhile nuggets, but in practice communism is a ghastly inhumane system, as evidenced by virtually every country that’s tried it. The Red Pill is not waking men up from the Matrix of feminism, it’s demoralizing them and putting them to sleep, mainly. Most men aren’t even trying with women in the first place. Almost half of young men haven’t even approached a woman in person. They’re certainly not going to “spin plates.”
“She’s not yours it’s just your turn,” may seem like some a cold, hard truth to shield one’s heart from the cruelties of break-ups, but it functions as an install code for manwhorism, while devaluing potential quality relationships that might arise were one not seething 24/7 with pathological distrust. It’s less the war cry of a victor and more along the lines of Milton’s “Better to rule in Hell than serve in Heaven.”


