In Defense of Hitting Women

Wait... Wait. Hear me out.

Jun 30, 2025

I distinctly recall watching this clip on ebaumsworld or something as a young kid:

When I saw it the first time I almost certainly just laughed and chalked it up to Sean being an ancient-ass Scotsman. But over the years it’s stuck with me for a few reasons:

Baba Yaga asserts quite confidently at the clip’s inception that Connery “regrets the conversation,” even though by all appearances he doesn’t regret it in the slightest and if anything seems to consider the point rather incontrovertible.
If you listen to his thoughts on the matter they’re nuanced and respectful, and not in the least bit fratty or boisterous—this is something he’s given a lot of thought.
I was raised to believe hitting women is something only undesirable low status degenerates do, whereas Sean Connery was a famous movie star who may well have been masturbated to by more women than anyone else in human history.

So what gives?

I was 26 the first time I hit a woman.

Note that when I say hit I obviously mean in the face; in years prior I’d struck a fair few maids on the buttocks (not especially adroitly given my inexperience and Mischling-coded lack of hand-eye coordination), but that’s clearly not what we’re talking about.

Though actually it sort of is.

See, it was Little Marie who originally asked me to slap her during sex, as at the time I never could have fathomed trying something like that of my own volition (though not on account of any gay moral qualms so much as because we were hooking up at the height of #MeToo, and being freshly post-incel I was petrified of false accusations).

It was also a bit outside my comfort zone at first; slapping registered to me as one or two clicks kinkier than spanking or even choking, and sure enough ended up igniting those bloodstained neural pathways about a million times more reliably—to such an extent that these days I have basically zero interest in coupling with a lass who ISN’T cool with it, and tend to find spanking asses a bit insipid and Reddit-coded.

Anyway you may be wondering where I’m going with all this because you’re a tedious normie who draws a weird and artificial line between behaviors in and outside the bedroom. And if that’s your attitude I’d actually contend you’ve internalized boatloads upon boatloads of unhelpful category errors borne of obscurantist and sanitized and flattening heuristics for understanding love and sex—heuristics out of step with both the behavior you observe around you and your real-world wants of heart and cock.

See, EVERYTHING you do with your woman outside the bedroom is ultimately just a higher order species of foreplay, and the moment you stop treating it as such and try instead to negotiate or transact with her like a man she’ll clock it as bad faith and instantly disengage (unless she’s autistic / Jewish / old). Guys who try to operate in that realm almost always end up getting desexualized and put in a horrible emasculating dead bedroom situation—best case scenario she kind of just turns into your mom.

But the thing is that for certain types of women—and particularly young ladies from more theatrical / performative cultures like Latinas and South Italians—slapping a gal on the face is nothing more than a culturally normative script for men to hold frame and assert dominance over a woman, in the same way WASP guys will stoically disengage and withhold affection or Jews will Talmudically dismantle their squawking yenta.

Now, niggas from frostier climes will never understand this because they presume to universalize their life-denying and spiritually homosexual sensibilities on the rest of the planet, but to a girl who came up in such an ecology you’ll seem like a repressed weirdo if you DON’T respond to her faggoty little shit tests with a cheeky smack.

Much the same principle applies to a lot of neurotic sperg-adjacent chicks with thighs drenched in Linkin Park tallies. For girls like that it’s often non-negotiable that the dude is palpably smarter than her, but if she herself is intellectually impressive that will inevitably leave her with a pool of 140+ IQ freaks who are both physically clumsy and saddled with bizarre emotional issues that impair his ability to consistently hold frame like a Downton Abbey character. The way to make this work is to create a sort of private universe wherein the feller leverages verbal acumen and emotional intensity to appear theatrically domineering in a performatively NPD way while she herself is performatively BPD—sort of a Phantom of the Opera dynamic—and this will usually involve lots of intense fetishistic domination approximating a more subtextually adjudicated variant of what libtards call “lifestyle BDSM”, sometimes involving hitting and sometimes not. But long story short it’s basically just a shared delusion you’re cultivating to make romance possible in a world where she was raped by her uncle and you didn’t experience any meaningful human warmth until your mid-twenties.

Now it goes without saying that normalfags can never understand a dynamic like this, nor do they particularly care to—their chuddish amygdala instantly registers a disgust response and determines you deserve to be tortured to death and she rehabilitated.

And tbh that’s just fantastically gay, because for plenty of couples a script involving mild physical violence is straightforwardly the optimal conflict resolution mechanism.

Of course, the more of a Boomer / WASP you are the more this will likely seem inconceivable to you, but I’m quite certain that if you seriously interrogate your own sensibilities you’ll soon conclude you’re being entirely retarded.

To begin with there’s no sound basis for arbitrarily designating physical harm—even when mild and wholly ephemeral—as categorically more heinous than emotional, reputational, or epistemic harm. It’s self-evidently true that stonewalling, circular arguments, gaslighting, infidelity, public flakiness, and malicious renarrativization are orders of magnitude more harmful than lightly slapping someone across the face, and if you’d actually dispute something like that you aren’t a serious person. In fact, I’m actually going to turn the tables here and submit that the analogous WASP script—passive aggression, emotional withdrawal, sexual frigidity—is a hell of a lot more life-denying and cruel than mere slapping, and that if we stigmatize anything it should very obviously be that.

Second, you likely have an irredeemably wrongheaded theory of mind as regards the type of girls who enjoy this sort of thing, who are invariably something like 90th percentile neuroticism on a good day. Their interiority is a roller coaster; their basic personhood scarcely contiguous. If anything defines them it’s the Call of the Abyss—an incessant pursuit of novel and intense life experiences because below a certain level of dopaminergic throughput literally all they want to do is sit around and rot. The issue is that for a lot of these dames the only force that can scratch that itch in a suitably powerful way is catharsis—to not dissociate they quite simply NEED to slice open their leg or binge and purge or fuck some nigga who’s terrible for them.

Now, lamo high conscientiousness tendersexual biddies with Maude Flanders Amygdalas will no doubt insist such girlies need psychiatric intervention or something. But what you need to understand is that such people are just bigots.

Because, look—human personality is distributed the way it is for a reason, and there’s an ecological niche for just about every temperament. Why do you think Dark Triad traits are ubiquitous among CEOs and surgeons? You kind of NEED to be a bit of an evil narc to dispassionately lay off entire departments or slice niggas open all day. Similarly, low conscientiousness is typically a bad thing, but when paired with high openness and a decent IQ can facilitate art (i.e. the high frequency transmission of meaning society depends on to cohere values at scale) and labor-saving innovation. The same applies to high neuroticism, which seems like a shitty deal all around until you realize that in a premodern ecology Woody Allen detects threats like no one else.

Meanwhile ultra-neurotic masochists of the gentler sex serve an incredibly specific and entirely crucial civilizational role insofar as they function as an eager psychosexual release valve for Dark Triad niggas. At the basic bitch level you have garden variety sloots ensuring high status Lotharios aren’t running around despoiling Joe Normie’s daughter (recall I made that case a year ago in Stop Being Mean to Slutty Women), whereas at the advanced level you have Torture Addicts offering fetishists and sadists something nice to play with whilst acting as a buffer between them and tendersexuals.

Now perhaps you’re an imperious tendersexual hobbit who yearns to eradicate the fetishist / sadist impulse from masculine cognition wholesale. If that’s the case you have Down Syndrome and fail to understand my point about distributional utility.

To put it bluntly, you NEED narcissistic r-selected sadists to push civilization forward by starting retarded fights and clearing out societal underbrush—that’s what keeps shit fresh and vital while checking cultural stagnation and elite overreach. Without the Dark Triad risk taker you have no one to man Columbus’s ships or follow Cortes into Tenochtitlan or colonize Mars. Soon everything gets ensconced in a fetid Willendorfian rainforest and then before you know it you’re living in Ming China.

Moreover you can’t really be intellectually generative if you care deeply about other people or humdrum normie crap like “feelings” and “chores” and “marital fidelity”—ideas don’t work that way. The best artists and scholars treat their wives like garbage and externalize their bullshit onto loved ones, who put up with it for Ben Franklin reasons and in doing so facilitate basically all meaningful human advancement.

To accomplish literally anything that matters at scale you NEED to have a tolerance for hurting people, and it helps a lot if you actively get off on it. And it goes without saying that folx like that are often hugely unpleasant to deal with personally.

But you also need to recall that without sadistic narcs we wouldn’t even be having this conversation because Neanderthals would have just raped and eaten everyone.

So my point is Ted Bundy is necessary—which implies as a corollary that so are BPD Woods Witches who register a dopaminergic return when you bite their nipple.

So let’s circle back to the aforementioned Little Marie so as to interrogate how this sort of thing looks closer to the ground.

The first thing it’s important for you to understand is she was an achingly sadomasochistic young lady in very nearly all aspects of life.

For one thing she was a Classics major, which if we’re being honest should have given it away from the start, as any girl who genuinely likes Rome on its own merits is 100% thinking about rape all the time.

But the really interesting thing about her is that from a bird’s eye view Marie was actually a switch—just hyper-contextually, which isn’t at all uncommon in Zoomettes. She dommed boys her own age (mostly twinky Celestials) as the cunty goth girl, then smoothly code switched to kitten with her White/MENA Millennial sugar daddies, and then with older womyn (never chicks her own age or even mine, just Elder Millennial and Gen X broads) she’d domme them as a bratty daughter figure

Looking back I’d hazard Marie’s thoroughgoing sadism powerfully amplified her capacity for masochism. Obviously there’s the nested power dynamics Jungian angle under which everyone’s implicitly a switch (so men all want to rape their anima while girls have got that animus penis envy), but I also suspect there’s some sense in which despite being a registered Demon Rat—mostly forgivable in a 20yo girl—Marie was psychosexually sort of right-coded, as it appears her sexuality mostly centered around a deep and abiding yearning for a heroic and brutally hierarchical masculine ideal.

You see basically the same preference in all cognitively conservative women, which is why I recently argued hyperverbal spergs should eschew them for libtard feminazis, who register e.g. a far weaker disgust response to physical clumsiness and emotional erraticism alongside a much stronger erotic pull to verbal finesse and social insight.

But Marie herself was sort of a shiny Pokémon, as much like Rose she was ALSO a hyperverbal sperg. And I’ve found female autists are a lot like male neurotypicals— their sexual preferences are approximately 65% legible to them and they’ll generally clock it as a favor if you simply perform their preference instead of getting the ick the nanosecond you fail to signal disinterested nonchalance or have a normal one.

These gals also approach dating in far more of an overtly “strategic” or “reductive” manner than other women, which is why you’ll often see a significant density of them in Female Dating Strategy and Red Pill Women groups—they have a rather hard time sharing their experiences in normie spaces because most other girls (and the most wretchedly normalfag of men) tend to think of them as weird or self-sabotaging on account of their visible goal-orientation or willingness to talk about a man’s height or money in the same way poor or nonwhite women do. I also find there’s this horseshoe thing where they’re either A) ferociously slutty—and not infrequently sex work adjacent or polyamorous—to secure different things from different men; or B) unusually monogamous / loyal in a legible malebrained way but also RUTHLESSLY hypergamous when bae falls short of his explicit promises (Jewesses are similar).

Now, girls like this will invariably seem like a breath of fresh air after spending a bit too long in the Art Hoe Gas Chamber, but in my experience the romance ultimately feels a bit less natural / intuitive than paying court to a libtard because much like with trad bihs once you’ve fucked the spergette she’ll usually get a bit annoyed if you start acting too gay after you cum. The thing is she’s also malebrained enough to not give her icks totalistic narrative sovereignty over her life, instead choosing to optimize around other relationship goals while embracing (and openly soliciting) asymmetry and performance to amplify polarity (hence why spergettes are often into ddlg and age gaps, BDSM, sugaring, bimbofication, etc). And then when an ick does arise she’ll frequently just poke you in exasperation and be like heeeey why you stop being daddy.

Of course it goes without saying that ultra-safetyist / hyper-legible performance is for despised redditors; ideally you’re subtextually adroit enough to leave something to the imagination such that it feels organic and plausibly authentic.

And thankfully that’s what happened with Marie—at no point did we discuss a CNC contract or some kind of fake and gay safeword thing.

That would have ruined it for her, as she was there to be plausibly raped.

And so instead we gradually developed a bespoke conflict resolution script wherein if she ever grew untenably annoyed / turned off by my neurotic 26yo man behavior she’d just say something super duper bitchy and hurtful, at which point I’d whack the little cunt sternly across the mandible before productively expelling my male interiority into her Peach Ice Piehole—a stratagem rather ingeniously suited for resolving thorny altercations with zero hurt feelings on either side, as it proffered immediate catharsis to both parties and thus an instant release of tension. Thanks to this Marie and I were able to enjoy a clean emotional slate while circling back to the issues of the day in good faith and entirely free of ego and insecurity. Meanwhile my knowledge that she was digesting my lineage only cemented my drive to approach all six years older than her daddy duties in the proper spirit of abundance and generosity

Still, it goes without saying that some contingent of normies will persist in calling this dynamic ‘toxic’ and ‘unhealthy’ because there’s no way to notarize a covert contract.

They, too, can eat my cum.

So earlier I mentioned the nested power dynamic angle to sadomasochism.

Another side of that evokes this unintentionally legendary tweet by Noah Smith, which ever since he posted it has massively undergirded my worldview.

More or less all asymmetric social scripts succeed because they approximate this model of arbitraging opaque value differences. The most obvious example is, of course, just all social interchange between the sexes, but it’s very nearly as palpable on a racial level—think offering blackpeepo positions as crossing guards or TSA Agents where they feel important and powerful, or Walt Bismarck boasting about how many comely Jewesses he’s known Biblically (if not always as Talmudically as he might like).

You see the same type of shit with doms and subs… and also with bears and twinks, and also sugar daddies and sugar babies, all of whom are just different flavors of the same basic formula of exaggerated r-selected performance of traditional sex roles.

Now these scenes for sure are all kind of silly and theatrical, but I’d still argue they’re wholly preferable to flattened androgynous gray goo normie dating, and contend the classier sort of people within such scenes are likely the closest you’ll get to robust and non-performative #tradlife in some degenerate coastal den of iniquity.

The thing is not many outsiders comprehend how they actually function.

For instance, one thing I always found volcanically pestiferous when I was active in sugar dating is that normgroid womyn would see me (or purport to see me, at any rate…) either as a predator exploiting “structural inequality” or as a pathetic incel-adjacent john engaging in an entirely economic transaction bereft of any real erotic glamor or romantic dignity—both of which are clearly Down Syndrome takes given that I was competing with multiple decamillionaires for the likes of Alyssa, Rose, and Rebecca.

See, most of the top gals on SA aren’t hurting for cash and optimizing for allowance and nothing else; they’re optimizing for who’s best at performing Daddy, which for some of them means the chill old dude who won’t catch feels / act needy / ask for weird shit, and for others means the one who’ll mentor them about business or idk golf I guess, and then for still others means the feller who’ll rape them in the most creative way.

That said, yeah—the legible script often WILL be uwu I’m such a helpless exploited young girl how ever shall I pay my rent if I don’t let this scary old man five years older than me who forces me to listen to cumtown clips put it in my ass for four minutes???

But why exactly shouldn’t it be that?

The plausibly exploitative framing renders it orders of magnitude more arousing for both of you and hugely improves her own position given that the feeling of conquest is worth a hell of a lot more than the feeling of transacting. That’s why the genuinely savvy girls pretty much never just haggle for more cash like a grasping fishwife, as they tend to understand that’s kind of a peanut brain broke bitch move. Instead they’ll achingly inspire a bit of sympathy for their fake sick cat—mayhaps guilt over their soulfully sore sphincter—and then will let YOU begin upping the ante (note this is likely the single most important criterion for competently deployed feminine power).

Of course. the aforementioned tack isn’t a universal or even especially common thing in sugaring, but you definitely see it on occasion, as the most narratively gifted gals in the lifestyle understand that part of the implicit value proposition with sugaring is the unspoken illusion of exploitation, which thanks to their fanciful girlbrains they’ll half buy into earnestly and half ruthlessly dismiss while regularly sending LOL to ten potential backup boomers offering bigger allowances or cooler vacations or less weird sex or fewer holes in their tank tops or sex noises that sound less like a bear, whatever.

But the thing is she’ll basically never engage deeply with her own motives when she’s doing this, or even perceive herself as being even remotely disloyal—it will all reside in a vibey hazy fugue state that allows her to semi-consciously clear the runway for unsentimental branch swinging with an entirely clean conscience once she’s ready.

I know how it all works because I was on both sides of it several times—occasionally with the exact same girl! Hell, once things started to decline with Rose I literally made a fake account to catfish the tart and attempt to steal her from myself, and boys… for a spergy 18yo that girly pop’s can-kicking equivocation game would make Bill Clinton blush. The ladies have us hopelessly outgunned here… and they don’t even realize it.

Though note that as I said earlier, the way it works in fetishistic subcultures like this is simply an exaggerated and accelerated version of how it works in normie dating.

The painful fact is that every girl who isn’t gross has at a bare minimum 5-10 viably competitive niggas on insta who’d love to steal her and are circling her like sharks.

She also has that “creepy” coworker she always complains about, and the delusional old boss, and the googly eyed TA, and the simp best friend… all of whom are engaging her routinely in what feels to them like reciprocal flirting.

But of course she doesn’t seriously interrogate any of this. Because to her it’s only a bit of light fun, a non-event—it means precisely nothing to her.

Until, on occasion, it suddenly means everything.

So here’s the crucial thing about masculine power.

It clearly isn’t about provisioning, because if you want to fuck her to begin with I can promise you there’s always MULTIPLE guys far richer and a lot more thirsty than you she can rely on if she wants—guys she might even make fun of with you hoping you’ll clock the subtext that she’s for sure not desperate enough to think of them as anything but a joke right now, but if you’re ever retarded enough to try and make masculinity entirely about provisioning she’ll be forced to ask herself: why not them?

But it’s even less about brute physical strength, as bae controls MILLIONS more in the way of man-muscle than you could ever even dream of accessing—imagine a kind of Infinite Masculine Fleet-in-Being—since low status dirtbags will always and without question believe literally any story that lets him LARP as White Knight for a bit.

The ugly truth is that masculine physicality is an UNQUALIFIED DISADVANTAGE in modern intersexual power games—literally all it does is compromise your own frame by letting bae position you as scawy.

And tbh all forms of traditional male power are like that—fame, institutional reach, money, an age gap… each is useful to your sexual framing for precisely as long as she wants it to be, and then it’s just another torch or pitchfork en route to slice up Shrek.

And if she DOES say you hurt her? Or threatened to, or were obsessed, or just needed the last word, or actually expected her to follow through on some faggy incelpromise? It can be used to eviscerate you—asymmetrically, disproportionately, unaccountably, extrajudicially; almost always epistemically; at times even ontologically.

Because that, my friends, is the ultimate power of the Sub; the Sugar Baby; the Twink.

And, more broadly, of the Feminine.

When you’re inhabiting a frictionless opt-in sexual ecology wherein you’re the pursued party—wherein a narrative of Conquest is itself part of the operative currency and an indispensable part of your leverage—you have a sort of basal moral authority that lets you maneuver (and defect) opaquely and with plausible deniability—even to yourself!

You’re likewise free to renarrativize events however you’d like, because at least from a game theoretic perspective the “powerful” party has no way to defend himself without worsening his own position. Even presenting his side of things makes normgroids call him obsessed / overthinking / not having a normal one, which means he can’t even target a White Knight toady without it getting perceived as “punching down” by tards.

And so things said to her in irony or exasperation will be remembered as dead serious, while any genuine tenderness that accompanied your mostly performative cruelty and narcissism will just fade into the aether. Girls recall everything how they need to and genuinely believe their own reframing—just as men will very genuinely believe all of the fake and gay boasts and promises we make in the moment to get inside a bih.

Yet my beloved reader certainly oughtn’t think Wally B some repugnant blackpiller—things are far from hopeless for the Unfair Sex!

Because there’s another side to all this shit, which is that when you win girls will rewrite history in YOUR favor and call anyone who doesn’t like YOU an incel.

Recall, for instance, that both Bill Clinton and Donald Trump flew on Epstein’s plane.

Now, it’s not especially difficult to imagine that each man has carried out atrocities a hell of a lot worse than anything their conspiratard detractors could countenance, but women and Mulaneys say you’re an incel not having a normal one who deserves to be tortured to death and written out of history and laughed at weirdo faggot loser if you actually give a shit about the dude on your side having done it… which is why the Trads / pedo-obsessed people didn’t even talk about Trump’s Epstein connection.

Because at the end of the day all moralism is performative.

We all know most dudes who aren’t worthless nothings are kind of rapey; we all know most women who aren’t slugs are grasping whores; it couldn’t be more obvious that nearly every one of us is a craven, ethically lazy self-promoter cognitively precluded from even realizing that, such that we deeply abhor anyone who tries to interrogate the revealed preferences and subtextual power valence of our behavior. Meanwhile basically all professed aesthetic tastes amount to cringey self-serving status jockeying and I FUCKING KNOW you have some gross secret in your family you’d be mortified if people found out about and there’s also that shit at work you’re hoping no one sees.

It doesn’t matter.

Nothing matters except Winning.

When you Win Juanita Broadrick and January 6th become incel-coded to remember.

When you Win the normgroids instantly change their down home hot dog water common sense Honey Boo Boo opinions on a dime and immediately forget they ever once thought otherwise—no doubt also maintaining that anyone who currently believes what they themselves believed yesterday should be sounded to death.

The point is that the Man Who Wins gets whatever he wants. He’s post-scarcity—not in the vulgar material sense but a deeper epistemic sense, because his critics disappear from what serves as the public record of our vibes-based oral culture, their grotesque earnest interiorities forever obviated by Pete Davidson’s racially ambiguous side eye.

Yet this is a glory women can never enjoy.

Because with at least half the characteristics required to cum in nature’s cereal bowl it would seem the fairer sex clings tragically close to the human median, while in the most essential (aggression, ambition, risk-taking, dark triad shit) they’re cartoonishly deficient. Meanwhile if they aren’t at least partially autistic they don’t even seem to have real metacognition—they take *aesthetics* and *feelings* and *vibes* at face value to such an insane degree it’s mechanically impossible for them to manipulate people at scale without suffering prohibitive levels of cognitive load. Hence why even global outliers like Hilldawg can get obliterated by a buffoonish orange game show host.

Yes he’s a fucking buffoon—and probably every other thing they say about him.

And you probably believe it all too, deep down.

Like, come the fuck on.

You literally just don’t care. Admit it.

It’s fine—neither do I.

He won.

Which means he gets away with it—even in the hearts and minds and cunts of women who called him a treasonous rapist blahblah not two years ago. They have a story.

They always do and always will. And that’s why he’ll always get away with it.

Don’t despair! You, too, can enjoy that type of power—provided you really deserve it.

The thing is literally whatever happens is sort of automatically justified by dint of an “epistemic ad baculum,” insofar as opposing the Current Thing is repulsively and inexorably incel-coded since it’s proof you’re not aligned with John Mulaney Thought .

And so you either avoid that ad baculum, or play Diogenes and stake everything on YOUR tribe of normies being the ones to seize a more dictatorial mode of power.

Sadly the world’s a bit too messy at this point to make any halfway-decent predictions. Perhaps Newsom will get in there and exterminate anyone not having a normal one, or maybe Vance or DeSantis will at long last instantiate Atwood’s bean flicker.

Either way it’ll be Real Fucking Chill.

I guess this was supposed to be about hitting women, huh?

I dunno I was gonna include some crap at the end here about how even in premodern societies it was never acceptable to beat the shit out of your wife, as at least according to ChatGPT the standard seems to have been don’t leave bruises or any other kind of marks or permanent injury and also don’t do it in public and also don’t disrupt the family or bring dishonor etc. otherwise the broader community will intervene.

And honestly? That all seems entirely reasonable to me, and I’d bet you anything almost all womyn back then would call you a gross incel (or the equivalent in Olde English) if you objected to it. At the same time I’ll not dwell on that, as it will probably code as low status if I make my broader thesis contiguous with anything overtly premodern.

That’s dumb and gay though, because I’m quite confident all the libtards still reading this will be cool enough to have been more or less convinced by my earlier subtextual lifestyle BDSM framing, and if you think about it when premodern guys slapped their wives they were almost certainly doing a more normie and old-timey version of what I was doing with Little Marie. That or just literally helping her escape an anxious fit.

And that’s actually another part of this shit I didn’t even touch on—we act as though dudes slapping hysterical women in Noir films and such is so toxic and retrograde, but it’s clear that aggregate levels of anxiety and modal expressions thereof shift over time, and I dunno fam… seems to me the broads in that era weren’t especially different from the Xanax-munching sadgirls of our own what with they vapes and they phones.

Anyway if you’re gonna kvetch about me taking female hysteria at face value you’d better never fucking call me exhausting ever again.

So a couple years ago I hooked up with this pair of Zoomer lesbians.

Though it was only supposed to be one of the girls. It ended up as two because the chickadee I was courting decided to bring along her girlfriend without even the slightest forewarning—apparently at the latter’s behest.

A possessive breed, dykes.

Also “hooked up” may be a bit of a stretch, as said girlfriend ended up being quite a lot heftier than I find altogether convivial, with a positively rancid little clam whose stench proceeded to haunt my bedroom for the better part of the subsequent week.

And so for most of the evening I sat there listless in the corner like a hotel cuck, trying my damndest to photograph Skinny without her ovular paramour noticing I’m angling her out of shit. Then at long last I cut my losses and jerked off while sucking Skinny’s toes (7/10), letting the two of them have at it while I crashed on the couch.

Anyway the point of all this is I was actually rather scandalized by how lesbian sex looks when they’re not simply performing for a man.

It was genuinely revolting—at its best devouring mother (each called the other “mommy” numerous times—an echo of Little Marie’s sapphic posture…) and at its worst a hell of a lot more violent than I could EVER fathom being toward a woman.

These little bitches were fisting each other so aggressively—so mechanically—I very genuinely felt as though I’d stumbled into some perverse gonzo flick.

And then there was the slapping.

I mean, it wasn’t slapping

It was fucking beating.

They reminded me of those blurry potatophone clips you’ll find on Motherless of a gang of Chinese or Indian broads cackling like banshees whilst stripping and beating the daylights out of some terrified slut who fucked one of they bfs.

And for the record my interest in such clips is entirely anthropological and mythic in character—not once have I jerked off to them. That’s partly because I find Indian and Chinese girls sexually unappetizing, but the main of it’s that even after years of desensitization to violence these videos still trigger a response of disgust and horror.

They don’t hit women like I hit women—or even the FacialAbuse chuds hit women.

I know not how to describe it… even the openhanded strikes land not with a zesty crack but instead a wretched thud. Entirely absent is the swaggering theatricality to shock and awe in a grandiose and mythically impactful way. Nor is there any of that tacitly masochistic anima rape subconsciously building runway for soothing aftercare. And no praying mantis in the girl’s eyes; there’s no matryoshka doll of power there—just fear of brutal vindictive intrasexual competition from something I want to protect.

Unvarnished physical sadism conjoined to Medusan narrative erasure…

Anyway I made the little dykes stop hitting each other because it was freakin me out.

The only sociological insight I’ll attempt to pry from all this is that my impression has been that Zoomettes seem A LOT more brutal to one another than girls my age ever were.

The thing is Millennial women have this fake and gay cloying politeness thing where they pretend not to see patterns and constantly try to repress any candid discussion of status hierarchies or power dynamics because I guess that was the defining ethos of Kindergarten circa 1999 which makes it the eternally sound and universally binding writ of Divine Providence exhaustively applicable in all situations and anyway I’m quite sure literally every Millennial girlfriend I’ve had would look at me like I’m some sort of deranged psychopath if I ever described her dynamic with a friend (or even some retarded coworker she clearly hated) as even having the flavor of competition—even if that was transparently what was going on.

Meanwhile my Zoomies have often spoken about their friend group like it’s some decadent Byzantine court, and will be disarmingly open about competitive status dynamics even with their BFF. But that certainly doesn’t mean they’re faking any of it; they simply inhabit a low-consequence oral culture that updates at light speed and demands constant post hoc reframing and emotional detachment not to go insane.

See below for my basic schema (may expand to longform soon):

Anyway what this all means is a lot of these girly pops just tell everyone precisely what they individually want to hear at all times, because A) why the hell not; and B) if they DON’T do this there’s often a pretty decent chance it’ll get them socially shredded.

This comment seemed especially perspicacious:

Now I’m entirely certain that Millennial ladies faced plenty of complex social triangulation in their own girlhoods and I don’t mean to downplay any of that.

Hell, I even watched Mean Girls last year with my age appropriate (if suitably arrested development) 1994 bih so as to properly grok what you damnsels went through.

That said, I was able to decipher approximately 70% of the girl bullying in that film but can barely parse 10% of inter-Zoomette meanness until it’s explained to me super duper autistically after the fact. It just takes place in so many registers and under so many levels of affect and code switching and faggoty plausible deniability and idk the underlying level of meanness also just seems to be dialed several notches up, while the attendant status competition between girls feels in a different universe altogether.

Like maybe I’m talking out of my ass here… but it seemed like the ultimate cringe compilation faux paus among Millennial chicks was to let boys see you competing or displaying jealousy for another girl, and I have to give the old gals credit—they kept up that kayfabe pretty damn good. In comparison Zoomettes tend to seem like impulsive scabs—almost like when black people join a union.

Compared to their elder sisters they’re a lot more contemptuous up front of male desire and earnest pursuit, but it’s also like they’re focusing literally all their agentic social cognition on a kind of low fi performative cuntiness / mirroring and literally none into the higher order socialite shit Millenniettes excelled at (and may very well be outdated these days given how fast everything is moving).

But yeah you could literally have dinner alone with a Millennial broad’s bestie and she’d be like OKAY THAT’S FINE bc can’t seem competitive or insecure never ever ever whereas with the Zoomettes you can scarcely even introduce yourself to her friends without it coming off as hugely sus.

Honestly it’s pretty gay behavior. That said there’s also clearly a huge psychic wound there—a sort of lack of baseline security around other women (mommy issues are huge in Zoomettes…) and I genuinely feel quite bad for them.

Not remotely bad enough not to instrumentalize it for my own purposes tho.

In conclusion there’s lots of ways it’s fun and useful and ethical to hit women—particularly when they hit us in all sorts of epistemically existentially energetically devastating ways. But you likewise need to keep in mind that non-autistic females are kind of just muggles when it comes to autism magic, so if you’re trying to get inside a muggle lass it behooves you to either learn how to mask or simply enchant the bitch and bring her back to your evil tower so you can draw runes on her tidders and such.

But the one thing you absolutely mustn’t do ever is get your gay little feefees hurt when her fat friend wants to burn you at the stake or something. Instead be grateful her friend is fat so you won’t be tempted to introduce yourself / invite her on your pod.

You also need to check your privilege and recall you still have an infinitely higher ceiling than just about any of these hapless girly pops on account of your Big Fat Cock ( + metacognitive runway + mayhaps subclinical NPD). Climb far and high enough and that plausible deniability fugue state becomes as kind to you as it was to Slick Willie.

Ultimate point is basically everything infuriating about girls when you’re struggling is your beloved bestie once you’ve won—and they won’t even realize what’s happening.

On the other side of that incel concentration camp there’s a stepford facefuck factory, and there’s nary a camp guard in existence who isn’t moonlighting there and laughing at you until the very moment she’s laughing at the other nigga whilst gargling your ejaculate and scarcely even noticing that bitter aftertaste.

Because, dear reader, that’s the only Trve and Authentic source of masculine power:

Narrative Impermeability.

We men have precisely zero intrinsic worth—at the low level we’re what we produce and at the high level we’re what we demand. But that also means it’s entirely possible (and not especially uncommon) to go from loser to hot shot and incel to chad and there and back again and nobody will particularly give a shit. 90% of how you’re treated by the world is entirely a function of the man that exists in the present.

But women often don’t have that luxury. They’re like sponges with their trauma and memory and reputation. And meanwhile the entire narrative architecture of feminine existence bends around the possibility of real asymmetry, such that most neurotypical women will never even fathom setting foot in that world.

And even when they attempt to do so they have a hard time benefiting from asymmetries like we can. They take their feelings far too seriously, overindex on meaningless noise because of contempt for systems-level thinking, get casually exploited by predators who can calibrate a pitch-perfect signal without a lick of substance underneath… and then when this happens pretty much no one cares.

And so everyone associates Bill Clinton in his final years with feeding potbelly kids in Africa or whatever, whereas even if Monica were anointed Empress of All Creation people will forever imagine her first with William Jefferson’s jissom in her mouth.

Alright.

So what have we learned from all this tomfoolery?

Literally whatever happens to men is justified. They can do what they’d like to each other and it’s basically all coo so long as you get away with it because deep down literally nobody cares about your pain on the downswing. Yet one makes up for this on the upswing by feeling free to smell the roses and whatever else he’d like :)
Women need more protections—just not from men. We all abuse and manipulate and exploit the other sex and it’s all part of the game hot praying mantis etcetera
Girls need protection from each other. They require a soft gentle place where they can slow down and not be triangulating and performing and rotting all the time.

So I want to propose a rather wacky idea.

Hear me out everyone!

What if Millennial women do some shit to actively mentor Zoomie chicks or have like tea parties or slumber parties or idk just give them space for noncompetitive sisterly softness and mayhaps a bit of gentle cheugy nonperformance? This was something I tried to do for the dudes last year and Tortuga has kind of turned into a cool place for that alongside lots of other shit, so maybe yinz can try to create the distaff equivalent?

this seems like something

Lirpa Strike

would be fantastic at so I’ll call her out and drop it there before someone decides to call me a groomer.

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— Walter

The Walt Right

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