By Choicy and Cillo.
I played my foolish game
With arrogance and pride
All the more telling when sung by a woman, and appropriate to this post:
This post is about :
- Meeting some women who expected to ride the carousel through to their thirties and then find a “Mr Right” to settle down with.
- The effect of hypergamy on their idea of “Mr Right”
- A reason why “Mr Right” is conspicuous by his absence when the women want to settle down.
Our self-imposed Rules for this Post:
- Relate to the women as a group and avoid one-to-one discussions.
- Don’t give real names or places. Maisey etc are not their names IRL.
- Choicy’s words here are in green print and Cillo’s are blue and joint effort will be black.
Because of rampant hypergamy, women are mostly ignoring all men except the ones who score 8+ out of 10 on the scale of attractiveness. We don’t have a comprehensive grip on what “attractiveness” is. In our case, masculinity has something to do with it.
There’s a widely-held belief that 8+ men are too busy servicing the carousel women to think beyond the wham-bam kind of relationship. This must be true. We agree with the old saw, “Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?” But… what if the 8+ men are also thinking, hell, I’d want no part of the MMP anyway, it’s terminally tupped?
We decided to try to expose some women to this “mission statement”, and pretty soon discovered what a woolly* mission it is.
[*a euphemism if ever there was one]
This is no scientific experiment. It’s a couple of good mates on a woolly mission, and to have some fun. We knew we’d require a good balancing act, or the fun could vanish like a fräulein’s phone at a railway station.
When it comes to the SMP, the things women do for kicks won’t work for us, such as flaunting ourselves in front of the opposite gender before rejecting them as unpleasantly as possible. We’re not a bitch. On the other hand we aren’t going to be chivalrous either. If we find ourselves starting to go soft on our mission, we will think of the ugly ways women reject men. We have both been to Toronto, the arsehole of the world. If the need should arise for us to harden our resolve, we’ll think of the repulsive treatment we have seen Toronto women dish out to Toronto men.
Our Woolly Conspirator, Maisey the Madam:
We decided the venue for our mission would be the very respectable suburban home of Maisey, a prostitutes’ madam. Choicy and I have never been into prostitutes (why buy the milk when you can get it for free?). However, I know quite a few of them (“Prostitution More Honest than Marriage“).
So I phoned Maisey, and discussed our mission. It wasn’t to be a get together of men and prostitutes, but of “regular” people looking for long term relationships. I knew this shouldn’t be a problem, as Maisey moved in “respectable” circles.
I was hoping Maisey would guide me through the woolliness of the mission, and she didn’t disappoint:
“A get together of people looking for long term relationships? Is that what you want?” she asked.
“No, definitely not. Choicy and I are single and not looking.”
“So what am I to say is the reason for the get together?”
“Um… could it be just… fun?
“What, a couple of guys appear out of the blue for some fun? ”
“No, no, a couple of unavailable blokes want to meet women who are getting past the carousal stage…”
Maisey was laughing, and I was grimacing into my phone at how ridiculous I sounded. I was on the verge of abandoning the mission when Maisey slowly said “Okaaay, there might be a way… I’m going to need a major draw card… I’m going to say you two are unavailable yet highly eligible men, okay? And… we’re going to need something else as well. Let me think about it.”
A week later she rang to say she’d arranged the appropriate guests. She also said one of the guests would be a special surprise. I pressed her to tell me the identity of this guest.
She said “I can’t tell you now or it would spoil the fun. You’ll understand.”
As it turned out, she was right. If we’d known the identity of the “surprise guest” we would have prepared for a very different mission and it might have ended badly.
We Launch Forth:
The big day is now, and here we are, arriving at Maisey’s house. I can’t see any “surprise guest” among the 10 women gathered here.
This is not a bad looking mob, mate, better than your average Kiwi sheila. I’ve said before, most Kiwi sheilas are fairly middling in the looks department, about equal with English sheilas which is average I’d say. Aussie sheilas have got the drop on them I think, except for the top Kiwi shielas who are simply made in heaven and the good Lord threw away the mold. HOWEVER – I going to try to resist the urge to rave about Cillo’s female rellies. One of them is here right now as I sit here typing in an overcast Summer arvo* in the Land of the Long White Cloud, and she’s brought me a beer. Lord help me. I pray for divine aid to guide this digger’s wandering eyes back to the screen and keep his walkabout mind on the job.. [*afternoon]
It interests me, we’re invited to a hooker’s house for this get together. I hear she moves in some highfalutin circles and has invited Cillo several times and he’s finally taken her up on the invo*. I reckon he’s in two minds about the whole thing, from what I can see. Cillo is doing this for the team, my mates. He’ll deserve a couple of cartons of Fosters when this is all over. [*invitation]
The women focus on Choicy. His outback drawl advertises his nationality straight off, giving them an opening to ask which part of Australia he’s from, and then what does he do in the outback, and what sort of animals does he farm, and how many animals, and does he have electricity and the internet…
In no time at all, they own my Aussie friend’s SMP/MMP credentials. He’d be a huge catch. It’s open knowledge down under, a farm like his is worth a King’s ransom. In his usual forthright way, he has divulged a heap of personal info. I glance at Maisey and she avoids my eye.
I’m not too worried. Choicy has been around the block a few times. He has been burned, and he’s not the sort of bloke to make the same mistake twice.
I can tell these sheilas do like me, though it’s as conspicuous as a shag on a rock, Cillo is the one they’re curious about. They don’t know what to make of him and are eyeing him up when he’s not looking and I can read their thinking, “he doesn’t look like a typical john”.
One of them is Sue who stands up to re-charge her glass. Hmmm. Not bad, nice arse and trim shape and a good rack of pneumatic natural knockers. Sue asks Maisey “Have you and Cill known each other long?”
“We are just good friends” says Cillo.
“Which means he is footloose and fancy free” says Maisey.
“But you never know”, says Cillo. “I might be seeing someone.” Bugger me days, Cillo is an incurious joker with no understanding of curiosity at all, mate. It’s as if he wants to give these sheilas a slow death by curiosity, or maybe he has a humane dream of putting them off curiosity for good.
“I’m seeing someone once or twice a year”, Sue says bubbly voiced. “It’s not serious seeing. Are you, like, seriously seeing?”
“Seeing is believing”, says Cillo. People are quiet while they try to absorb this.
Another woman decides to cut straight to the quick. “So Cill, what do you do for a living?”
“I’m a jack of all trades” says my mate.
One of the sheilas is Felicia, a mid-thirties married woman dressed up to the nines, expensive clothes, flash as a rat with a gold tooth. She claps her hands. “Oh goodie, can I book you in? I do need a jack of all trades at home! My husband is absolutely hopeless.”
“So is his wife”, Cillo says. Her jaw drops. “Well obviously”, says Cillo, “you’re as hopeless as your husband, or you wouldn’t need a handyman.”
Maisey is quick to step in. “Felicia is no handyman” says Maisey with a laugh. “Felicia is an exceptional marketer”.. and she reels off a string of pretty impressive sale successes of Felicia’s, I have to admit.
The room is as tense as a Grand Final, and Maisey has managed to deflect a pretty angry reaction I reckon. Felicia is pissed off, my mates. If eyes could kill, the daisies would be 3 days old on Cillo’s grave by now.
Felicia stands and steps across to Cillo. She’s a graceful mover, I’ll give her that much. “Let me see your hand”, she asks sweetly. Her tone of voice is the same as if she’d asked, May I kiss you?
“Felicia is a gifted palmist” explains Maisey. “She reads hands.”
Felicia reaches out to take Cillo’s hand, and he sits still, doesn’t take the bait. She moves close and looks into his eyes then she looks slowly and lingeringly down the length of his body, mate. It’s quite seductive the way she did that, quite experienced I think. It’s like she’s a magician using her body language to distract attention away from her hand which has moved bloody close to Cillo’s. She tries to grab it and he’s too quick and moves it out of her reach. She had staked everything on that move succeeding, and for a second she’s waving her arms to regain her balance, her cheeks pink as a slapped arse.
My mate Cillo has a smile that would sweeten the soul of the devil himself, however with Felicia it just makes her angry as a rash. She is used to having things all her own way, I reckon. She is used to marching up to men and treating them however she wants, and instead of belittling Cillo (which I’m pretty sure she intended) she is making herself look as silly as an arse full of smarties.
The Surprise Guest is Revealed!
And suddenly I find out who Maisey’s “surprise guest” is. Choicy exclaims “Hey I know you!” He’s staring at Felicia. “You’re a bloody PPP!”
“What’s a PPP?” someone asks.
“A PPP is a Predatory Promiscuous Princess”, Choicy obligingly tells them (outback Aussies are not known for their subtlety). “You were a part of a PPP Crew”, he informs Felicia.
Felicia’s face is a study in blankness, while the other women wait expectantly. I get the impression Felicia is not popular with everyone here. Maybe it’s her fancy clothes.
“A Crew is a mob of PPPs on the lookout for sex…” Choicy pauses, apparently confident that his helpful prompts will stir her memory.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about”, Felicia says lightly. “You’ve mistaken me for someone else.”
“It was you”, Choicy insists. “Your hair is different and you’re way flasher now than you were back then, or I would have recognized you straight away. Don’t you recall? You gave me the come on and you would’ve been my next tap if I hadn’t already taken two for the team, mate.”
After a pungent pause Felicia says “In your dreams, mate. Huh! Me and you? I’m glad to say this is the first time I’ve ever seen you and I hope it’s the last, you Strine* piece of- “
[*derogatory slang for “Australian”]
“Felicia”, Maisey interrupts, “you did knock around with a big bunch of girls… didn’t you? I knew some of them. I heard -“
“O no, not you too, Maisey!” Felicia rolls her eyes at the ceiling. “It’s a load of complete garbage!”
“I heard there was lots of drinking and men.”
“I don’t care what you heard, it’s rubbish!”
“Lots of men.”
There’s a not-too-subtle change in the two women. They are squaring off, and it looks like neither is going to back down. Maisey is smiling, Felicia is not. There’s something going down, here, something I haven’t been told about.
Felicia glances around the room. There’s not much sympathy to be seen. “I’ve never been so insulted in all my life.” She strides for the door. “I’m particularly disappointed in YOU, Maisey!” She slams the door behind her. “Two can play this game Maisey Jones!” her voice yells outside. “I KNOW people!” is her final threat. We hear her car door slam, and the sounds of scattering pebbles as her car’s wheels spin up the driveway.
“She didn’t remember me.” Choicy intones thoughtfully into the silence. “I shouldn’t be surprised I suppose, considering the way PPPs go after men. Bloody hell mate, she was body-hopping like a buzzard at Last Hope Bore*.”
[*A water well in the Central Desert, Australia]
As soon as Felicia is gone, Maisey brightens up and turns on the hospitality with food and drink. Cillo heads off as if to the toilet and I follow suit. We chat in the bathroom.
“What do we do now”, I ask. “Maisey’s ‘surprise guest’ was a bit of a game changer, mate.”
Cillo nods. “Let’s basically stick to the plan, except we better re-hash what we’re going to say.”
We spend a few minutes re-hashing the nitty gritty of our position, before we head back to the gathering.
Later, a sheila slips the question, would we be interested in seeing any of them again? What are our views on a serious relationship?
Cillo explains our position to them (Part I):
“We don’t want a town bike like Felicia, that’s for sure. Feminists would say, if it’s okay for men to sleep around, why isn’t it okay for women? Well, we don’t have your in-group bias coupled with your hypergamy. For hypergamic women, a man has to rate 8 out of 10 to be good enough for a woman rated 5. It’s nuts, right? Hypergamy gives you an inbuilt prejudice not only against your male equals but most of your male superiors as well. Half of first marriages end in divorce, 70% of which are initiated by women, and group-biased feminism helps them to fleece their husbands of their assets and their children. And de facto relationships are every bit as bad as marriage for men in this country. So, no, I’m not interested.”
By the camel expressions on their faces, this info is alien to these sheilas.
“What about your friends”, Sue asks. “Do they think like you?”
“Yes they do”, Choicy says. “I concur with Cillo. Feminism has made you women as appealing as a saltie* with lipstick. Sex in the City, the mad dingo feminist leaders that you sheilas let do your speaking for you, Sheer Hite or Shite or whatever that particular lying bitch’s name was… I’ve worked too hard to trust everything to that shit. I’ve opted out.” [*salt water crocodile]
The Opting Out of 8+ Males:
Maisey chips in, “Getting back to the female 5 and the male 8, an average woman will be happy with a man of 8, won’t she? She thinks he’s her equal.”
Cillo explains our position (Part II):
“The man won’t be happy with that, though. Feminism insists on equality of outcome in every respect. Taking the 8 to 5 ratio again, say he’s that much better at making the right decisions. She’s going to insist that her decisions are as good as his. He backs the 8-quality of his decisions on empirical grounds, she backs her 5-quality decisions on hypergamy and group-think. So we have conflict. She’s just a drag on his progress. The same goes with physical attractiveness. A woman of 5 married to a man of 8 needs to be realistic, but her hypergamy backed by Feminism tells her to be a narcissistic twat. So a man of 8+ is unlikely to settle down with you either.”
The conversation continues. [see Final Notes below]
At one point, when the discussion is about #N (number of sex partners) Cillo makes the comment, “I sometimes wonder if I know every adult female virgin in this country, and I’m related to every one of them.”
And I’m thinking, I can’t wait to get out of here to go see them. Sue here is pretty tasty but… fuck the action, give me those beautiful virgins and a breath of fresh air.
The conversation with the women didn’t end there. They surprised us by not getting too bitchy about it. They must have found it interesting, because apart from Felicia they all stayed for at least another hour.
Basically they wanted to know what men think, what WE think… about “empowered” women and LTR, the carousel and #N, the career woman and the SAHM, “strong” independent older women etc – all the stuff we’ve traversed on this blog umpteen times.
All agreed on the harmful effects of feminism. Our response to this was along these lines: “We hear lots of women say that. Women’s excessive priviledge is so deeply entrenched, the only people who can get rid of it are women themselves.” They had no suggestions for getting rid of feminism.
The hottest discussion was around the carousel. We wanted them to know, if a woman plays the field until her thirties then snares a man, it’s just a matter of time before she decides he doesn’t measure up to the thrill of her carousal days and even if he’s a good provider he can’t be their all-in-one “soulmate”. We urged them to do men a favor: jump off the carousel or keep on riding it, but spare men the relationships.
Some of them didn’t like this, but we think we convinced most of them that ours is the attitude of a growing percentage of men, and helps answer the question “where have all the good men gone.”
The story behind the “Surprise Guest” thing:
Maisey tells us Felicia moonlights as a hooker behind her wealthy old husband’s back (surprise, surprise). Felicia is a man-hating sex addict who enjoys humiliating men. Her palm-reading trick is but one of many ways she gets her kicks.
Maisey said. “It’s amazing how powerless men are against a woman of her type. If a friendly-looking woman reaches out, nearly all men will let her take their hand. Her ‘reading’ gets more and more insulting, and he’ll just stand there with his hand in hers while she carries on tearing him to shreds. She gives sex workers a bad name.”
So… the get together at Maisey’s place had a second agenda. It didn’t disadvantage us so we’re not complaining.