I had a mild experience yesterday morning that our good friend GayLubeOil’s recent post made me remember. Namely, GLO proposed a hilarious activity, dubbed the “Squirrel Chase.” As we all know, 99.9 percent of men are rapists, so when a woman sees you at night, she doesn’t know that you’re among the 0.1 percent of guys who aren’t going to rape her. She’s going to scurry along quickly to put some distance between you and her and head to a crowded, well-lit place, then pull her phone out and immediately tell all of her Facebook friends that she was almost raped by a creepy guy. They will all commiserate with her near-rape experience and share their own stories trying to one-up each other while pretending to be friends. The winner will be whichever one first tells a story about how this one time, a guy who wasn’t hot actually asked to buy her a drink. Everyone knows that talking to a girl who doesn’t think you’re hot is rape, but actually offering her alcohol to incapacitate her? Egad! Even I feel for that poor woman. Where was I going with this again? Oh yeah.
So yesterday morning, I get to the gym at 5:00 A.M. like I always do, which is really inconsiderate of me. Because when it’s 5:00 in the morning, it’s still dark outside, and some women like to go to the gym early in the morning because they’re independent and have jobs, so it’s dark when they get there, too. And you can’t just park inside the gym. You might hurt someone with your car. There’s this place called a parking lot where you leave your car, then get out and walk, in the dark, where a rapist might get you (even though 5:AM is a peak hour at the gym and someone drives or walks by every 30 seconds or so), to the glass doors of the well-lit structure where everybody inside can see you coming from 100 yards away. Parking lots are scary. A lot of people get raped there.
So I park my car, and two parking places over is a woman in an SUV with her cabin lights on, playing with her cell phone. If she’d just gotten out of her car and gone inside the second she arrived instead of sending text messages for 20 minutes, she’d have avoided this situation entirely—but shit, I can’t say that. That’s victim-blaming. So I get out of my car as soon as I park, right about the time this woman is finishing up her very important phone session that I am certain was a billion dollar business deal with somebody in Tokyo who was about to go to bed and couldn’t wait, because any time I see a woman, I assume she’s rich, powerful, and important. She gets out of her car about the same time that I do. And there we are, not even 15 feet apart from one another, alone, in the dark parking lot.
I wasn’t sure what to do, because if I don’t acknowledge her at all, that might be even creepier than saying something to put her at ease, so I said, “Good morning,” and turned to walk toward the gym. This woman turned out to be in a lot better shape than I thought. She didn’t say good morning back, which is okay, because I’m not entitled to basic courtesy from a woman and can’t expect a common pleasantry for being nice. You can’t buy common courtesy with niceness, and I checked my privilege long ago. Instead of returning my polite greeting, she ran, really fast, all the way to the door of the gym, looking over her shoulder at me as she pulled it open.
She probably just didn’t hear me, and was so excited about her business deal that had just gone through, and really wanted to get warmed up before she got her workout started, so she got a quick sprint in. That’s what I thought anyway. But I get to the gym, go to the front desk to check in, and she’s giving me devil eyes. As a Red Piller, I’m pretty socially cued in, and I know the difference between a girl that’s interested in me and a girl that disapproves of me. I mean, I have a wife. I know that look of disapproval very well. And this was definitely a look of disapproval. It dawned on me that maybe this woman might have run away from me due to fear. I thought back to the scene in the parking lot and I realized the mistake I made and why she was so uneasy: I have a penis! How stupid could I have been, bringing my penis with me when I went somewhere dark where women would also be?
But I thought about this a little more. Women see men in parking lots all the time, and most aren’t afraid of me, or any man, really. Not seriously so. I mean, nobody actually believes they’re going to get raped in a heavily-traversed, public parking lot, in plain sight of a crowded building with glass doors. That’s just stupid. I’m a man, and I know that’s stupid, and women are smarter than men. Ms. Obama told me so. So what was different about this woman, this time? Oh shit! I told her “Good morning!”
It was so obvious, I almost cut my dick off in shame. I talked to a woman who didn’t think I was hot. What the hell was I thinking?
Here’s the deal, boys. Women aren’t actually afraid you’re going to rape them. They’re not afraid of rape. That’s just the hysterical, radical feminist excuse for society to hate men. But we all know, even women, that hardly anybody is actually going to be raped in a parking lot.
Here’s what women are actually afraid of: Being uncomfortable. Women hate, hate, hate those 30 uncomfortable seconds when some tool at a bar or other public place tries to awkwardly small talk about something. They know that when a guy politely says hello (or maybe good morning!), and tries to strike up a conversation, that’s really just a prelude to being hit on. And being hit on, then having to turn the guy away, is confrontational. Girls hate confrontation. It’s uncomfortable.
But do you know what girls hate even more than being hit on? Creepy-ass , timid little fucks who can’t even work up the balls to hit on them. When some creepy loser is talking awkwardly for 30 seconds, or even longer, and can’t even work up the courage to make his move, that’s physically painful to the girl. Actually physically painful. Because she’s on edge, having an adrenaline response, preparing for the confrontation where she has to turn the guy down, and she waits, and waits, on edge the whole fucking time, wondering when the fuck it’s going to happen. Then it never comes! That’s even worse than getting hit on! She gets all psyched up and uncomfortable and….the loser mutters and walks off, or worse, tries to stick around blabbing some more, and she actually has to use her brain to think up some lame excuse to get away from him.
That woman at the gym was legitimately afraid of me. She was afraid she was going to be conversation-raped. That I might talk to her, and she might have to awkwardly get away from me. And while only a small percentage of men are actual rapists, a very large percentage of men will talk to women. I’d say over 90% of men are potential conversation-rapists.
Now as a Red Piller, I can’t in good faith advise you guys to never talk to women, ever again. You’d never get laid that way. But here’s a good fallback position: Hit on women. A lot. All the fucking time. Don’t creep them out by blah blah blah blabbing while they awkwardly wait for you to make a pass. Just fucking do it. Hitting on women is less creepy than trying to be pleasant, talking to someone, and getting to know them.
Those of you who aren’t married (maybe some of you who are, too), make a point of just hitting on ten women a day. Whoever you see. Feeling awkward? Not sure what to say? The woman’s looking a little uncomfortable because you brought your penis within 15 feet of her? Confirm her suspicions and hit on her. That way, she’ll feel smart because she knew what was coming and was ready for it. That empowers her. Do your part to empower women and hit on them, all the fucking time.