Princess Miserable and the Great American Bitch Machine

I need to start, without hesitation, by tipping my hat to female MRA’s and female traditionalists who actually stand by their men in sickness and in health, no matter what might befall them in life. I also acknowledge equalitarian women who work, contribute equally to their romantic lives in terms of finance and make some sort of effort to carry their weight in other areas of a relationship, like say, getting out of a car to help change a flat tire – or finding a reasonable compromise to a conflict in their relationships.

I also salute the many women who can’t or won’t be defined by these labels, but who nonetheless live lives rooted in self worth and self sufficiency.

NAWALT covered, I now need to spend the rest of my time on women that most of the men in the world actually have to deal with in life, especially as they get a little older.

This won’t be popular with some.  Straight talk about real women, regardless of age, has a strange effect on the blue pill world. Just check out some of the reactions from the feminists, manginas, white knights and even some of the tenderfoot-green MRA’s over on reddit, to some of the articles posted from here.

It’s actually quite comical to go in for a read.  You can almost just see them, spittle flying over their keyboards as they hammer away in angry spastic fits, like manic Daffy Ducks on meth.

“Sthee! Stheeeee!! Ith’s Mithogyny! MITH-O-GYN-EEE! He just hateths women!”

Well, no I don’t.  I don’t hate children either, but I sometimes find them annoying, largely for the same reasons I am annoyed by a lot of women.  Take that back, it is for exactly the same reasons. There is really no difference at all, except that if I correct a woman I am subject to persecution.

I was doing a cross country trip a few years back and had the CB on, trying to make time and avoid cops.  I heard a conversation between two truckers; both sounded like they were middle aged or thereabouts. One was telling the other about how he kept a travel bag ready by the door every time he went home, so that when the nagging and disharmony his wife created became too much to bear, he could just pick up that bag and head right back on the road with no preparation at all.

An instant escape plan; one apparently that he had used a few times over the years.

The other driver said he understood perfectly well and then wondered aloud in the creative phrasing I’d come to expect from truckers, “I never could figure ‘em out. A woman would rather climb over a barbed wire fence and crawl through cactus to start a fight than to just look you in the eye and solve a problem.”

Then another truck driver chimed in out of nowhere to the conversation on the radio.

“That’s because they’re all children.” he said,  “Every last goddam one of them.”

The radio channel fell into a silence that spoke volumes. Not another word needed to be said. Indeed, none was.

Now it is easy, obligatory for many and compulsive for others to conjure up a reflexive “blue pill” interpretation of the conversation; to boil it down to some dismissive charge of woman hating.

The only problem is that there is a lot of truth in everything that was said.

We do have, for a number of reasons, a pandemic of gross immaturity in western women. I just heard a few duck feathers ruffle – which means the squawking is not far off, but as long as I am going to get thumb-botted down by the pussy police, I might as well finish what I started.

It starts with fairy tales; Prince Charming to the rescue, mystical unicorns and the like.  It gets solid reinforcement from the “Daddy” component of the “Daddy’s little girl,” equation and turns into a lifelong fantasy by many women that means a rich, handsome male supporter,  lots of fulfilled whims and eternal adulation for being beautiful. All this comes with a commensurate lack of expectation that our porcelain princess will need to contribute anything to a relationship but her looks, and her needs.

Now, all this would seem easy enough to fix. Such unhealthy fantasies should be dispelled right around the time we tell children there is no Santa Claus, Tooth Fairy or Easter Bunny.  We could tell little girls that when sexual maturity approaches that they have to “woman up.”

But something else happens instead.

Daddy continues to treat little girl like a princess, thus imprinting the future expectations of other men. Mom often augments with bitch lessons. And altogether we set about, with every form and force in the culture, to help them maintain a collection of childish beliefs about themselves.

We give them “Princess” t-shirts and tiaras instead of the truth and a moral compass. And they wear that commercialized princess gear far, far past the point of reason. Often they wear it to the grave, even if just in their minds. They never know that to the mature mind they look like a middle aged man with a plastic devil’s mask on, ringing a doorbell and shouting “Trick or Treat!” in a high pitched squeal on Halloween night.

There is just something awfully wrong with that picture. But they don’t see it at all, because their minds are not mature.

And it sets up a pattern of perpetual disappointment and frustration that is the hallmark of so many of their lives.

Even before most women’s looks start to fade, many of them are shocked to find out that Prince Charming is human after all, and that he actually gets a little tired of being held to royal expectations of what he is supposed to provide.

Of course, that means there is something wrong with him.  So our western woman embarks on the path of so many western women. She dumps her Prince Charming, cranks up the hypergamous volume, and goes in search of a non-defective “man unit.”

The self-help and women’s magazine industry are quite tuned in to this (or perhaps they created it?), so they run constant “How to Get a Man to___(fill in the blank with your childish desire of choice),” articles, knowing that at any given time there are now literally millions of women readers who have just fired that last disappointing bastard and are on the prowl to find another one who recognizes their royal status as bearer of the sacred vajayjay.

They have not figured out that their relationship problems are in the mirror and with the help of all those who profit from such ignorance, they are not going to.

Then, despite having a better standard of living and more options than any human beings in history, they get even more miserable.

Enter the pharmaceutical companies.  Sometimes a failure to mature and develop reasonable expectations has to be reinforced chemically.  It is the prescription version of COSMO; the anything-but-accountability pill, and it comes in, you guessed it, blue.

Women’s taste for anti-depressants now rivals their taste for chocolate, and that too, of course, is our faulty Prince Charming’s fault.

A pattern maybe?

I am not sure, but something really seems funny to me here.  Why is it that every dumbed down, fairy tale disappointment for women in modern culture leads directly to the illusion of being corrected by some sort of enhanced involvement in shallow consumerism?

It seems that women are generally in one of two states these days. They are either trying to make themselves into what the imaginary prince will buy in to, or they are immersed in their bitterness that he is imaginary.

Or, as so many women are want to do, they are doing both at the same time.

It seems to me that if women simply matured and developed reasonable expectations of men, as well as themselves, it might sound the death knell for COSMO, the entire self-help industry, the cosmetic surgery industry, the cosmetic industry, 99% of all psychotherapists and at least 10 very lucrative psychoactive drugs.

Oh, and they might actually find some happiness. With themselves, and with men who don’t have to jump through stupid hoops to try to make them happy.

No wait a minute. That can’t be. If all that were true then that would mean that women, as a class, are being duped out of countless billions of dollars of their (and their men’s) money, year after year, either on the pursuit of a childish pipe dream, or their anger over what should be its obvious unattainability.

It would mean that all these entities, feminism, consumer products, psychology, media, advertising, politics and social custom had all merged into one Great Big Bitch Machine; that the modern female psyche is nothing more than a product of that machine, and that the woman attached to that psyche now has to go out to work a shitty job so she can buy and consume other products of that very machine, or get some man to do it for her.

And it would explain why the quality of her life and her happiness deteriorates with every passing year.

Nah, as my Other friend says, that can’t be.

It’s all because we live in a patriarchy.

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