There’s a group of guys hooked on philosophy making waves recently. There’s an author who goes by the pen name “Bronze Aged Pervert” who published a book using edgy internet language to articulate philosophical concepts and it’s selling rather well, and various sub-tier versions of him trying for their piece of the action. Roosh V is attempting to rewrite the Bible to reflect his theological justification for use of Magic Mushrooms to find god. Cernovich is right behind him and judging by his physical tics I’m guessing a more caucasian choice of recreation Old ideas of masculine competition are coming up. Men must compete to be men, without conflict we are women, kill or be killed, dog eat dog, it must be like this because in the 40s a lot of brilliant minds were defeated in the biggest conflict in human history. Something a lot of the newfound masculine competition types are missing however:
Who are we competing with exactly? What exactly are we competing for?
In college I lived in some off-campus dorms. A small hundred person apartment complex surrounding a nice park. My roommates and neighbours were good dudes, a bunch who were on the university volleyball team, a drug dealer, fun-loving rednecks. A great motley crew.
I went to high school with guys who lived in the complex a bit further out. They were obsessed with their cars. There was also a bunch of immigrant students with rich parents on their side. Chinese kids who would park their Japanese imports in the parking lot with aftermarket parts like carbon fibre hoods, custom exhausts, cute Chinese girlfriends and god knows what else .
Redneck college kids couldn't afford a Supra or an NSX, so they bought used cars like the Ford Focus, Honda Civic, Integra’s and Preludes (remember those?) Aftermarket parts and body kits aren't cheap and take a lot of time to install. Every weekend they would hang out in the London Drugs parking lot beside the main college bar. Uncle Chucks I think it was called at the time. They would show off what they had bought that week to each other. Who had the best body kit, whose rims were lower profile, drinking beer, sitting on the hood etc.
Not a lot of girls interested in car parts for a Ford Focus. People in general didn’t really care. The only people who really cared were the guys who bought aftermarket parts for their cars. I never remember seeing any imports in the parking lot either. They were enjoying it in their little group and good on them!
We passed by the parking lot to get to the bar every weekend. We walked into to the bar, ran into girls we met during school year, we fooled around and built up a roster of people that we could invite to our house parties later on. I got really good at mingling with crowds, networking, being social, holding an audience while I tell stupid stories. Paul was a tall attractive fuck from the volleyball team. He looked like the Rock but with a swimmers body and he was always pulling the best looking chicks, every night. I got the second best, or third best, or last place. I would win some and lose some, it was no big deal.
I fly back to the west coast a few times a year. A few of the gang have done pretty well for themselves and are usually available to catch up. It's nice when I have a group of people I know in a bunch of different cities. If I ever had to move back, I like having a social circle ready to go, people to call up and catch up on what's new.
The point of this story is that I don't really care about aftermarket parts for someones Ford focus, neither did anyone who didn't own a Ford Focus with a fart can hanging off the back.
Also, this story isn't about a Ford Focus. Competition is great and all, but who you are competing with and what you’re competing over matter just as much.
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|Title||Competition; or, why I don't care about someone's Ford Focus|
|Date||March 19, 2020 3:24 PM UTC (1 year ago)|
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