This is kind of a long post, so anyone not in the mood for longer form material, please click out now. There’s no good TL;DR for this. It’s not a real story, but I think we can agree it rings true. This whole scenario was kicking around in my head today, and it helped me to type it and get it out of my brain. Maybe it helps someone. Take from it what you will and please forgive my disregard for proper sentence structure and comma placement.

Women do not like to acknowledge that they actually have TWO numbers. They are interrelated, often inversely proportional. They have a FV and an MV – their Fuck Value and their Marry Value. Take a typical blond haired Barbie (who, drink in hand, will tell you all night how intelligent she is) who wants to be a model and move to New York. All dressed up on a Saturday night she has a FV of 9 or 10. Of course, life right now is all about fun so she’s not worried about her MV. She’s gonna have a hot Chad fuck her brains out tonight!

Let’s fast forward a few years and many miles of dick. Barbie’s friends are now getting married. Some of them are having babies. On purpose this time! Her flock of girlfriends that she can call on a whim to go partying with dwindles down to near nothing, so it’s not as fun anymore. She attends the weddings and envies all the attention showered on the bride. She also feels the wall approaching, like a mountain that suddenly comes into view in the distance as you round a corner on a road trip. She starts to look around at her options. The tab she started in her teens now needs to be closed out.

Here begins the slippery slope. She’s used to getting hot guys with her high FV, so she fully expects to lock one of those studs down. Chad won’t commit, obviously. And that’s fine, because she’s looking for husband material now – real genuine value. Unfortunately, the years of partying and endless sex have damaged her MV number. Any guy worth his salt is going to quickly figure out that she’s not wife material. Her behaviors, attitudes, and mannerisms honed over years in dance clubs, bars, and one night stands give her away like a smell she can’t wash off. Unfortunately for her, it’s not obvious – she can’t smell her own stink. Genuine quality guys quickly reject her after a short but fun evaluation period. It takes a few of these failed attempts for her to realize something is amiss.

Then the epiphany hits: settle! Find a guy, some average Joe with a job and car. He’s no Chad, but he’ll do. Joe is hypnotized by the last fleeting dregs of beauty left in her. He never had much luck with women, so he can’t properly identify that smell coming off her, and he’s thirsty enough to commit. It’s important to point out here --> at this moment she’s not thinking about doing anything bad to Joe. Actually, she’s not thinking about Joe much at all. She’s thinking about the dress, the invitations, the who’s who, the music, and the menu. She’ll get to be the star on her own wedding day, be the focus of attention, show off to all her friends, and Joe… is simply the tool to make that happen. As an added bonus, there’s another paycheck to siphon from and she gets her own personal lackey to order around.

So the preparations are made, the day comes and goes. The photos were beautiful and the top of the cake got frozen. She’s got a ring and joint checking account, a home, and a husband. Life is grand.

Except one thing sticks in her craw. Joe is a regular unleaded guy, and she’s fully accustomed to burning high octane. He’s a good provider, works hard, predictable and steadfast. That also makes him boring in her book. Plus, he’s no Chad in bed. He does well of course, but over the years she’s become accustomed to bigger cocks, party drugs, and more depraved sexual acts. Things she can’t bring up without exposing her real mileage. She dreams of the six packs and hung Chads she used to have and feels angry that she can’t have that variety anymore. All her friends on Facebook are posting exciting stuff. And she’s stuck with… this guy. Shit.

So this disdain, this sense of dissatisfaction, provides the “spice” in the soup of their marriage. Joe senses the bitterness in every interaction, and has no idea what’s causing it. But he’ll do anything for her, and anything to fix it. Maybe the marriage soup needs another ingredient? Maybe by this time she’s thinking the same thing, so they arrive at the conclusion together… a BABY! That’s what will make this right.

So she gets pregnant, they go to the appointments, learn to breathe right, her water breaks, the baby cries, they take it home, and somehow figure out how to feed it, clean it, and make it stop crying.

Despite the heroic effort however, the bitterness is still there. They end up fighting a lot because every discussion they have about what to do, where to go, what to eat, and what to spend is flavored by that never ending dissatisfaction -- because Barbie (in her mind) SETTLED. This isn’t really what she wanted at all, but it felt like her last best option at the time.

By now some of her married friends are getting divorced. And WOW. It’s like the good old days have returned! They hit the bars and clubs all the time and they start inviting her. She gets Joe to watch the baby so she can go have a ladies night out with her old friends. She deserves it, after all. They get all dressed and painted up, go dance and drink, and guess what? Cosmo says that at their age they are sexier than ever!

Then she goes home to… Joe and a crying baby. This is not her desired reality, and she lacks the foresight to consider anything beyond her short term gratification, as AWALT.

So Barbie begins complaining to her friends about how miserable she is at home. They flock to her like clucking hens, each sharing stories and dispensing tidbits of wisdom and legal advice all leading to the same conclusion: the problem is JOE. He’s holding your happiness hostage. Get rid of him, and your life will be all glitter, dancing, and cock variety again! You’ll get the house, child support, and alimony! You don’t need him, girl.

The more she internalizes all her friends' jabber and thinks about her situation, the more she begins to hate Joe. Her friends are right. Before Joe, her life was fun and friends, drinks and Chads, trips and gifts. Now it’s just housework and crying baby. A baby she loves but is just too much effort and responsibility. Joe ruined her life!! He deserves to pay for this!

So the next week she stops by a lawyer’s office recommended by one of her friends. He’s a good divorce attorney and knows all the tricks. He’ll get her top dollar on this. He prompts her to start with a restraining order. Joe comes home from work one day to find he’s kicked out of his house in a very legal way. He doesn’t understand what he did wrong or why Barbie would do this.

Unfortunately, Joe’s fate was sealed long ago. He’ll get halfway through the child support and alimony before he stumbles across the Manosphere, TRP, or MGTOW and starts to open his eyes to the truth. But maybe, just maybe, thanks to the magic of the Internet and the mercy of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, he could stumble across this message BEFORE the wedding. Imagine that the universe has - in a silly way of balancing karma - found YOU as “Joe”, reading this right now, and you haven’t met "Barbie" yet. Perhaps on that fateful night when she eyes you from across the bar, you’ll remember this story… and choose a different fate for yourself.