"Bodice rippers" as they also call them are what the more euphemistically named "romance novels" that women consume more hours of than men do video porn.

We know that that's what women want in a man because they literally pay for it. They don't even want men to buy it for them like lingerie or food or fancy presents. They'll willingly shell out their own hard earned money for it, well into their golden years.

In nearly all of the stories have women or are plain, ordinary, and whisked out of their humble drudgery of a life by a famous, powerful, tall, handsome man, who's literally an alpha/general/prince/king/captain, and "ravish her" against her fake protests. Often abandoning some lifelong friend who she was considering (beta bux), then marrying the prince, often bearing his children, and living happily ever after. Some dumb bullshit will happen in the story to assuage her guilt about monkey branching, and he'll be "happy".

I found a tv series I thought was a fantasy series. Turned out it was romance novel porn in video form. Exactly what I described played out. It's so solidly more romance porn than just fantasy I couldn't keep watching it. The cataclysmic magic was more believable than the luck (no shred of effort) that the Mary-Sue had. It's just like Lifetime/Oxygen/Hallmark movies, and daytime romance stories. (84% off readers are women)

This fantasy is literally what women masturbate to. Then they turn around and tell us to "be ourselves" or that it's personality that matters. They might even believe what they're saying. But it simply isn't true. "One-third of All Mass Market Fiction Books Sold Are Romance Novels." Looks like we found your porn addiction, ladies.

Why should we believe the red pill is wrong, when their actions, and the porn they consume in absurd quantities are in perfect agreement?