Peacocks and Lions

Are you competing with Peacocks and Lions, or Turkeys and Hyenas?

Peacocks and Lions

Guys, with hawt bodies show it off. Guys wear tank tops to the bar, shirts, so tight, that they look painted on. Guys love the v-necks, shows off the gym gainz. The more skin the better, right? These kinds of things can appeal to women. There's a saying, cleavage is to men what forearms are to women. Same as a man who has game. A man with a little bit of a hard edge to him. All these behaviours, all of these clothing choices, all of the ways of being social in mixed company.

Game is king on attracting women.

Then there's the other things. the guys who buy the imported sports cars. The guys who sit in the biggest office in their company, fight for the coolest title on their business card. The guys who wear their combat uniform out for drinks on a Friday night. Yes, there's even guys who purposefully get cauliflower ear, so they can look more like a 'fighter'. We can no longer legally beat the shit out of any guy taking an interest in the girls we want, so we replaced them with these signals. Such sophisticated animals we are.

These are the things we do to signal high status to other men.

Science-types call them intra, and inter-gender signalling. It's a very technical way to describe Peacocks vs Lions. We grow more colourful feathers to attract women. We grow bigger fangs and teeth to compete with the competition.
Humans are very good at abstracting these things. And, humans are very bad at understanding their original purpose. I've had, and others continue to have, the lack of deliberate focus in our actions. The things we do without thinking about the purpose. What purpose is X in our lives?

Are you competing with the right kind of men?

My university had a great car culture in the dorms. Tons of kids with suped-up imported cars. A lot of country boys with their domestic cars. The Vancouver kids with their MR2s. I remember the Nissan Skyline was finally legal to purchase in Canada, and everyone had to have one. You'd see a parking lot, in university dorms at $300 a month rent. The parking lot, covered in cars with Tommy Kaira decals, carbon-fiber hoods, and 17-29 inch rims. The guys would spend the weekend, sitting on their cars, going to clubs, chilling in these big groups with the other guys. It was the equivalent of peacocking, and it was damned cool to watch.
Every weekend, the guys were sitting there, talking about cars, spending every dollar, showing off what they had. It had a little hierarchy. They followed the same general vibe that any hierarchical group had. They would swap parts, wear the newest fad, always sit around, flirting with any woman going into, or coming out of the bar. I knew guys who spent their entire disposable income on their cars.
I ran with a different crowd. Khaki chinos were the coolest thing, the Gap had run a campaign saying swing dancing was the 'in' thing to prove it. I had a 1 ton Chevy truck. For that model year, all Chevy trucks had issues with the primer being oil based, and the paint job being water based, so it was half primer grey, half white. My tall, lean, attractive buddies had:
  • 84 mustang
  • Honda Civic, stock
  • Didn't drive
The one guy, Steve. He had a giant banner outside his place. "If you like to party, ###-####" He had awesome parties. Steve's thins was, he would flop his porn sized dick out on the table. It was a game for him, to always surprise you into looking. Paul, who looked like a thin version of The Rock, used to set up and suntan outside his room, on the lawn, shirtless. Paul was on a basketball city team, a jock, but not university level jock, and it was the place for girls to come and 'just chill'. I was a giant redneck with tailgate parties, usually with fresh meat from one of the cows we'd butcher from my Ranch, and had my fathers silver tongue.
We ribbed each other constantly. We even had the great idea of staggering our parties instead of having separate ones. they would condense into one at some point anyways. Now, instead of  a big one every week, they went on each day of the week. It got to the point where we would come home from class, and there would be 20 people in one of our places, none of which we knew. The parties were waiting for us. I wasn't game aware back then, I spoiled a lot of great chances to get laid, and had others fall right into my lap, despite my own best efforts to fuck em up. Steve and Paul however, were more than happy to pick up the slack for me.

Men love to compete, it's in our nature.

If you stood me side by side against the top of the car circuit, we were at the same bar, dressed comparably. One of us was in the game, the other was not. One of us had a friendly competition with the guys that were getting all the girls. The other had a friendly competition that cost a lot more money, with the guys were weren't. When competing with the other men, ensure it's the guys who are in the game. The paper alpha LARPERS are spinning their wheels, spending their money, and coming up empty.
I could have been the guy who put in his 4 years, and came out with nothing. Instead, I was the guy who lucked out, picked the right competition, and had success, despite myself. After those days, I had learned pickup, solo'd a lot of bars across the world in my naval career. I will say it was a huge amount of effort, compared to just surrounding yourself with high quality men, and having some friendly competition.
You don't see Peacocks competing with turkeys, you don't see lions competing with hyenas, and you sure as shit won't see men competing with nerds and their rice rockets.
-- Rian 

Coen brothers as life.

The random, lazy Saturday.


No Country for Old Men is a Great Movie

I'm a fan of Coen brothers movies. They do a great job of building up all this tension, and then releasing it in some kind of anti-climax. No country for old men had Anton and Llewelyn, building up for this cowboy showdown, and at the end, Llewelyn was just gunned down by random drug cartelers. No build and release, no pretty little emotional event with a start to finish. Just stuff happening.

The Hair Appointment

The ol' lady (OL) had her hair appointment today. Everyone had a wee bout of … something last night. I'm half way through a 24 hour fast. I find it interesting, I can easily stop eating for a day or two, and it doesn't really hit me. without something in any 8 hour window, OL loses her fucking mind if lunch is skipped.
Wants to grab breakfast, then I can drive her to her hair appointment. Funny, I don't really talk about them, but as soon as I skip a meal, her drive to throw some food at me grows. Leaving this alone for now. In this case, typical guy, as she's talking from across the house, I'm sending the very neutral yeahs, and Ok's. Girls like to feel acknowledged, and my role in those conversations is just to have someone to throw them at.
Long story short, she had the idea I was taking us out to breakfast. I did not. I became an asshole, and could go fuck myself.[1]
It started small, with some quick shame thrown my way. You said you would, men keep their word. It builds up to me being an asshole, and to go fuck myself. Continues to climb, becomes a sulking, pouting, angry mess on the balcony. This was the angriest yogurt eating I have ever seen, it was really something else.
I'm curious, how much of this temper is for show, and how much is real. I go outside and chill. She moves back in. I come back in, sit right next to her, bring the dogs, and have a good time scratching some belly. Some more insults, a few fuck offs etc.
Clearly manufactured anger. If she was actually angry, she would love to talk to me about it. This is some weird womaneese punishment. Regardless, this isn't going anywhere. I realized I'm starting to get sucked in when in between assholes, it's still assumed I'm driving to the hair appointment. "You're kidding right, who in their right mind would sit in a car and be called an asshole for 20 minutes?"
I pack up the dogs and head down to the dog park. Do a couple laps, watch Hitchens piss off some french bulldog and get chased around a bit. I always get a kick out of watching him speed walk away from a small dog chasing him with 100% effort.
About to take the dogs back, and I see her walking towards the park, or "On my way to my hair appointment."

Frame vs Frame

Here's the question. I can either continue this stupid cold war, maybe have a freak out. She can't talk to me this way, right!? Walk your own ass to it! Or, I change this whole frame, and enjoy my Saturday.
"This isn't the fastest way to your hair appointment, get over here and help me drop the dogs off the house and get in the car, stop being silly" It went from a cold war into a sales job. "I'm hungry and don't have time. It's going to take too long and I'll be late. I'm still hungry and want Starbucks" I get it. Is it a shit test? Is it some kind of congruence? I don't know, nor care really, my mood went from 10/10 to a 7/10, and I'm not about to let her temper dictate my weekend. I don't really address the points, just put the dogs to bed, and throw her in the car.
Grab a Starbucks on the way. Coffee? Hot? Whats wrong with you? Cold? Just say what you want?[2].
Come back, a bagel in her mouth, and a smile on her face. Got me an apple fritter too. She just can't accept the idea that I'm not going to eat something. It's been a while since I bibled… Did Eve constantly nag Adam to eat it? I'm good, so she ate it. We have random chit chat, she has a problem where she cannot tell how old people are, I have a theory that looking at how lumpy a girls arm is separates young chicks from old chicks (Fead:fat)[3].
Drop her off, she has enough time to go shoe shopping, and I have some quiet time to get some work around the house.

The Takeaway

There is no big events, there's hundreds of little, inconsequential ones. Women, no matter how great they can be, will always be an up and down, back and forth, angry and happy woman. Plates are easy, they work their ass off to keep that side of them from entering your worldview, because you would ditch them in a heartbeat. Part of running a relationship is dealing with the occasional grief, what fun would life be if everything was smooth sailing[4]?
Anton and Llewelyn build up tension the entire movie. Then at the end? Anton broke his arm and drove off somewhere, Llewelyn was gunned down by random dug cartelers. The day keeps moving on, nothing really changes. No climax, no masculine overcoming of some obstacle. No 'insert alpha, receive sex' master plan, no cathartic beat down on the wee little girl disrespecting the big strong masculine male.
It's the grind. Small little areas in life where you make small decisions. They eventually add up to a frame of a man. This is why the phrase fake it till you make it exists. There is no parlor tricks, it's not a constant test of brainpower, it's just stuff, and you want to be a natural in dealing with it. This example is mundane, there is no life lesson, other than this. How you react to life matters, in simple little ways. She gets cunty, I leave and go do something else. She gets pleasant, I come back. I don't sweat small things, I don't get mad, but at the same time, I don't put up with bullshit. Not some grand declaration "You can't talk to me like this!" but just little actions. The OL framed the morning as some deceptive flaking over a romantic breakfast and chauffeuring. He doesn't listen, he doesn't care, I'm on my own etc. I framed it as me missing something she rambled in the morning, and that she gets irritable when she doesn't eat, all the while, the chores in the house still need to be done.
Will I get fucked tonight? If I want, this morning really had no bearing on it. I like my reality better, it's much more pleasant, calmer, and enjoys some sunshine. What to do with the 3 hours of hair-time? I'll have another coffee, probably clean a bit, and do some laundry.
Life is good man.

Digressions

[1] - I think about the difference between not getting in a huff over a wee little girls temper tantrum on one side of the spectrum, and being a punching bag unnecessarily on the other. There's clearly a tipping point, and right now, the only difference I have is when it gets an emotional reaction from me. Surely there is some kind of difference, but how to see it?

[2] - It's not what was happening here, but I found it apt. If a girl wants to please you, and doesn't know how, she just wants direction. Women hate making decisions, just make one. Even arbitrary ones. Could be some kind of "is he invested" thing, could be just avoiding discomfort. Who knows, just pick something, doesn't matter how small the interaction, pretend to stubbornly have a preference.

[3] - Referencing this. I notice the exomorph chicks are skinny fat, which you just can't see through a sun dress. So far, the only tell I've seen is that arm flab, right around the armpit area. Chicks who are skinny because of genetics, and not through exercise, always seem to carry that tell. By the way, totally pissed her off to bring it up. Typical chick, all she was concerned about was whether her arms were lumpy or not.

[4] - I've talked about manufactured drama, as an extension of DEVI. This is the kind of stuff that happens when I lay off for a few days. The ladies emotions WILL happen, the only difference is if I am in control of the when and where they happen, or she is. I prefer to be proactive than reactive.

Finally, someone is getting it

I see why writers were alcoholics
From our resident peanut gallery. She does no understanding of satire, but clearly is not stupid.
her happiness is NOT a valid reason to divorce. But his IS.

She gets it at least. 

Becoming ones own #1, 2 3 and 4th priority, his own masculine center. Not only do people project their morality onto the men in MRP, they do it with no thought for the outcomes. Men in MRP are happier, and they are better men, because they know how to be vile men. People argue that it's wrong for so many reasons, mostly from their own bias and projections. All MRP men know that you have to drag someone into a happy life kicking and screaming. They had to drag themselves into it first, stop getting in their own way and learn to be happy. And just as some men want to feel like an Alpha male, without doing the work, a lot of them drift towards feeling like a good, moral and happy person, again, without doing the work.

Dalrock already said this

My thoughts when reading this drifted to Dalrocks new years resolution
X. There’s no future in being a better man, so I will work hard to become a better woman. I will give myself free reign to do whatever I want whenever I want, and I will do so with impunity. I will demand the best for myself because I deserve it, and shame those who do not immediately offer it. I will be faithful to my partner when it suits me, and adventurous when it doesn’t. I will be bad and demand nothing but good in return. I want it all, and I want you to give it to me right now. I will find power and self confidence by being sexually promiscuous while ignoring the fact that I’m not accomplishing anything that your average chimp at the zoo hasn’t. I will demand that you accept, embrace and celebrate my actions because I am being true to my exceptionally unique self. I will righteously criticize those who engage in the exact same behavior I do, because unlike them, I’ll do it with style. Most importantly, if my Sex and the City lifestyle doesn’t pan out, I’ll blame it on whoever or whatever is closest to me.
It's right there, if you read it all. The Cardinal rule of relationships, The amoral strategy. What she calls hypocrisy, I'd call finally catching on and playing to win. I'd say she's 100% right! And I'd say, it seems to work just as well, so will add some more tools for the toolbox.

Praxeology

If you look at this like some kind of philosophy, ideology, some kind of moral framework. If you look at it like this, it does read poorly, inconsistently, hypocritical. Of course, it's none of those things. It's strategies to achieve what you want. what men want will vary as much as a man can vary from his brothers. Above all else, he wants to win, to be the prize, in whatever way suits him.
It's advocating the removal of woman from the top of the totem pole, and the removal of his expected rewards, the piecemeal kindness (unconditionally one way only) that men should receive for all their hard work. The whole rant reads like the want of men, to be the benevolent, kind plow horse. The manipulated man, who holds everyone to the same standard, regardless of merit, only their intent. Of course, that same equal standard is more equal to some, but it's OK, we can take it...
How good of a man can we be, if we are unable to accomplish any dread in a dying sexual relationship? How much better a person are you, than the guy who could be the cruelest sonsofbitch around, but chooses not to. Choose not to, because she is more valuable to treat kindly, than any short term Machiavellian schemes payout would be. Every awkward dread implementation I've seen in the field. Every, single one, is based on impotence, not effectiveness. No one blows up a marriage by being too good at having options, too much abundance. guys blow up a marriage for being such low value men, that any assertion of their masculinity removes their sole value from in her eyes. The walking ATM wants more? I'd rather just cash out now, instead of put up with the child wanting to run the show.
Good, she enforced rule 7, someone had to.

But... It just doesn't work OK?

If it didn't work, we wouldn't do it... That makes me laugh, makes me take this less seriously than a woman would. Give someone else, other than me the chance to make everyone happy. Give someone else the keys to run the show in a way that helps me. Give the leadership role away, and what happens? They screw it up, but with the best of intentions. Best part, it will be your fault. Shit in one hand, wish in the other, see which fills first.
She means well, so it's all OK. This is why you may as well run the show, it's your fault if it fails, may as well be responsible for it too.
All the talk about knowing happiness, the moral highground, and whats wrong with every man there, what's there to show for it? Abusive ex-husbands are the prime reason the MRP peanut gallery exists, and to them, we exist to project their shitty men onto all men. All this knowledge on how and why red pilling men is wrong. I ask you this, where are the feminine success stories, the stories that come from deliberate action? Someone who did not have a winning hand, but through deliverate action, caused it to work?
Winning at life through happenstance isn't good enough, it isn't going to cut it. The lottery is, and always was a tax for the stupid, and asking a man to put his life into the meat grinder with hope and dreaming is just that. Dummy taxes.

Paper Alphas

I often laugh at paper alphas, men who know how to type being alpha on a keyboard, but crumble at the first test. Men who speak about lifting constantly, while they cannot see their dick past their belly buttons. Paper Alphas are a joke, and what is this if not paper virtue? Everything I know about you is wrong, you act inconsistently, hypocritical and mean. Yet, the ones who are good at it are happy, while most critiques come from people who are objectively not. You tell me, where exactly is the problem? Are all these happy men, happy relationships wrong? Or the one throwing rocks from the outside, constantly screaming their bile?
The question has always been: how do we have a stable relationship with maximum happiness for all? To me, this critique illustrated the answer perfectly. We have a stable, happy relationship by dragging them to into it, kicking and screaming, in a way they absolutely hate, and with no regard for their feelings and wanting of comfort and false virtue. Once your woman is there, and they show they are worth keeping around. Once you have it at a maintenance level, and only then, they can enjoy the spoils and think it was their idea. The benevolent dictator indeed.

This is simple, it isn't easy

As my fellow brother BogeyD6 says. Unpacking this is difficult and having our minds grasp the concepts are maybe the most complicated things in this world.
No one else has a god damned clue what the fuck they are doing. They double down on what they think of the world, and how you should act in it. Never mind that it hasn't worked for them, never mind that they aren't happy. Call for equality when they lose, call for gratitude when they win. Their hard work when they happen to win, your fault when they lose. Fuck it. I will take my own wheel, drive in my own direction, and do what I have to do to get there. If you have what it takes, and give more than you take away, you can come along.
Fair is for sports. This is life, fair is never considered