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[LONG] An autistic breakdown of the viral short story, "Cat Person"

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TheIncelPill

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TL;DR - A story has just reached mega-popularity simply because it showed how much females hate having sex with non-Chad men. The hatred of men who don't know what she wants, how to do it, and when is as visceral as The Hero's Journey, or female submission towards more dominant men. All women hate all Incels, and it has nothing to do with their "misogyny", but because they're ugly, autistic losers.

Introduction

"But whyyyyyy, IncelPill? Why should I read this X,000 word rant about some typical female clap-trap? Its just fiction bro. Can't we do something more productive, like bitch about L00ks for the 80 millionth time?"

One of the main reasons why I entered the manosphere, whenever it be anti-feminism, Red Pill, MGTOW, or Incels, is that they offered pieces of the puzzle I was missing when describing human nature. For years, I noticed that things did not line up with the mainstream narrative. It started with the existence in God. People told me there was a magical sky daddy that would always love and defend me in my time of need, if only I believed. But when you did the research, it became clear that not only is there no God, but much of The Holy Bible is anti-science and outright barbaric. Another quick revelation I made was the superficiality of love: how could something of such high praise be so intertwined with the animalistic drives of sex, where exclusivity and looks are more important than being a good person?

In my attempts to find these answers, I admit, I was dangerously close to becoming a male feminist. Because many social standards can be viewed as "oppression" if you believe in the absolute equality narrative. But that is a fundamentally wrong assumption: we are NOT absolutely or remotely equal to each other. What many people call shallow or bigotry is really a fundamental, unchangeable function of our biology, that can never be negotiated. And once you get rid of this liberal bias, you suddenly see that other people practically goosestep into "sexist"/"racist" stereotypes. 

"Cat Person" by Kristen Roupenian would be forgettable if it weren't for its extreme success. The story about a female's bad relationship with a (low value) older man became the 2nd most read article on The New Yorker this year. Roupen just got a SEVEN FIGURE DEAL for a short story collection based on this. That's more than many authors expect to make in their entire careers. It went viral on the internet, with assorted activists, blogs, and social circles talking about how it relates to "emotional labor", "gender expectations", and #MeToo (even though it has no rape inside).

To write it off as "just fiction bro" would be like saying you can learn nothing about men's love of first person shooters, or female obsession with 50 Shades of Grey. It assumes things get popular by pure chance; there's no rhyme or reason to what we like. It is pushing subjectivity to the point of post-modernism. There are reasons why some media flourishes, and others die. And "Cat Person" resonates with females from every walk of life because they all HATE men who, as Rollo Tomassi would say, "Don't Get It". If you're not attractive, and don't know how to be attractive, females will not only despise you, but won't even have the courage to say so in your face. I.E. - This story proves everything we already know about female nature. Just a perfect reminder really.

Breakdown

The full story can be read here: https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/12/11/cat-person

However, most of the entire story is recounted here. Because this is so dense with beta-hating emotionalism, there's something to rage about in almost every paragraph.

Margot met Robert on a Wednesday night toward the end of her fall semester. She was working behind the concession stand at the artsy movie theatre downtown when he came in and bought a large popcorn and a box of Red Vines. “That’s an . . . unusual choice,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually sold a box of Red Vines before.”

Right out of the gate, we have a hesitant othering of this infamous Robert. Trust me, as the story goes on, there will only be more peculiarities associated with the basement-dwelling misogynerd who can't get laid. Buying Red Vines instead of just a drink and a popcorn, like every good American, is just the very tip of the iceberg.

Flirting with her customers was a habit she’d picked up back when she worked as a barista, and it helped with tips. She didn’t earn tips at the movie theatre, but the job was boring otherwise, and she did think that Robert was cute. Not so cute that she would have, say, gone up to him at a party, but cute enough that she could have drummed up an imaginary crush on him if he’d sat across from her during a dull class—though she was pretty sure that he was out of college, in his mid-twenties at least. He was tall, which she liked, and she could see the edge of a tattoo peeking out from beneath the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt. But he was on the heavy side, his beard was a little too long, and his shoulders slumped forward slightly, as though he were protecting something.

Many of those "misogynistic" critics of Cat Person mistakenly believe that this is the author's personal account. Because it reads like a personal account. Margot has no interesting traits to separate her from the millions of other basic bitches out there. We learn she's a cocktease - yet she'll still bitch about attractive non-Chad men. Robert is "cute", only in the sense she could imagine herself settling down with him. He's fat, ungroomed, has bad posture, and is an older man, but he's, y'know "cute". These are the hamsterings females make so they don't admit they only want Chad. Just lose weight, shave, and stand straight bro, and you can be one of those girls she bangs at a party. Already do that? Then its you that's the problem, you filthy misogynist.

Robert did not pick up on her flirtation. Or, if he did, he showed it only by stepping back, as though to make her lean toward him, try a little harder. “Well,” he said. “O.K., then.” He pocketed his change. But the next week he came into the movie theatre again, and bought another box of Red Vines. “You’re getting better at your job,” he told her. “You managed not to insult me this time.” She shrugged. “I’m up for a promotion, so,” she said. After the movie, he came back to her. “Concession-stand girl, give me your phone number,” he said, and, surprising herself, she did.


Now you see what the Red Vines were leading towards. Its not about the Red Vines, its about being a social outcast loser. He has trouble reading social signals. He's shy. A little too direct. Females all want men who are masters at social experience. If you're autistic (like this guy), females will assume malice where there was just poor communication.

From that small exchange about Red Vines, over the next several weeks they built up an elaborate scaffolding of jokes via text, riffs that unfolded and shifted so quickly that she sometimes had a hard time keeping up. He was very clever, and she found that she had to work to impress him. Soon she noticed that when she texted him he usually texted her back right away, but if she took more than a few hours to respond his next message would always be short and wouldn’t include a question, so it was up to her to re-initiate the conversation, which she always did. 

If you ever seriously attempted delving into Red Pill Pick-Up, you'll notice that their philosophy on Text Game is spot on with this paragraph. "Make sure you don't respond immediately, your responses should be a third as short as her." As a man who never experienced female attraction, this makes no sense. "Why would a female want to be limited attention from her boyfriend? Shouldn't you enjoy every interaction with your SO?" But that's applying male attraction towards females to female attraction towards males. Females will see too frequent texting as "needy". Both Pills discourage being "needy", but this essentially means either reducing your attraction towards her or lying about your love and lust - far from traditional notions of love. Because females have no such ideas in their head. They only want a rich, dominant Chad, who is mostly apathetic to her situation beyond a fucktoy he supplies resources to.

Then, one night during reading period, she was complaining about how all the dining halls were closed and there was no food in her room because her roommate had raided her care package, and he offered to buy her some Red Vines to sustain her. At first, she deflected this with another joke, because she really did have to study, but he said, “No, I’m serious, stop fooling around and come now,” so she put a jacket over her pajamas and met him at the 7-Eleven. It was about eleven o’clock. He greeted her without ceremony, as though he saw her every day, and took her inside to choose some snacks. The store didn’t have Red Vines, so he bought her a Cherry Coke Slurpee and a bag of Doritos and a novelty lighter shaped like a frog with a cigarette in its mouth.

And now the flags of the stereotypical "Nice Guy" should be obvious. He tries to help her out in an autistic fashion. That is a crime by female standards, even if they accept the help anyways. He buys generic junk food instead of a dinner at a 5-Star Restaurant. Cherry Coke Slurpee, bag of Doritoes...oh, let me guess, he also bought a Mountain Dew, a lightsaber, an anime body pillow, a Playstation...oh, and she probably saw him browse Reddit on his smart phone, he was totally looking at r/MensRights too! What a literal Neckbeard Loser, right gals? Isn't this obvious, fat, pathetic stereotype so relatable with all those losers you nuclear rejected, or, *GASP* maybe even opened your legs too!?

“Thank you for my presents,” she said, when they were back outside. Robert was wearing a rabbit-fur hat that came down over his ears and a thick, old-fashioned down jacket. She thought it was a good look for him, if a little dorky; the hat heightened his lumberjack aura, and the heavy coat hid his belly and the slightly sad slump of his shoulders.

No, females don't call men they are actually attracted to "dorky". They're not attracted to your belly, they don't care for your sad slump posture. This hypothetical female was never attracted to this caricature to begin with, yet she still decides to sleep with him anyways. 

The movie he wanted to see was playing at the theatre where she worked, but she suggested that they see it at the big multiplex just outside town instead; students didn’t go there very often, because you needed to drive. Robert came to pick her up in a muddy white Civic with candy wrappers spilling out of the cup holders. On the drive, he was quieter than she’d expected, and he didn’t look at her very much. Before five minutes had gone by, she became wildly uncomfortable, and, as they got on the highway, it occurred to her that he could take her someplace and rape and murder her; she hardly knew anything about him, after all.

Margret Atwood once famously said “Men are afraid that women will laugh at them. Women are afraid that men will kill them.” This is one of those commonly cited, feminist "Gotcha!" quotes. Men commit more crime, therefore it is actually reasonable to assume any man may go up and violently rape and murder you at any time. Meanwhile, men are 76.8% of murder victims, and you don't see them whining about the constant shadow of male violence. A more accurate quote would be "Men are afraid that women will laugh at them. Women are afraid, period." Studies show females are consistently significantly more worried about their safety then men. Yet we're supposed to give a shit about their "feelings" when men deal with the actual realities of violent crime. As ridiculous as her fear sounds, this literally is one of the reasons why she has sex with Robert: because she's "afraid". And now its you job, men, to make sure your partner is 100% comfortable at all times, even when she says jack shit. Also note the subtle Loser Shaming: his muddy cars, his candy wrappers. As a man, have you ever cared about the state of your female's car?

"Just as she thought this, he said, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to murder you,” and she wondered if the discomfort in the car was her fault, because she was acting jumpy and nervous, like the kind of girl who thought she was going to get murdered every time she went on a date."

Yes, yes it is. Like all females, your the absolute anti-thesis of strong and empowered. You're not only extremely cowardly, but you'll blame other men for being extremely cowardly, with no negotiation between partners. There's nothing heroic about female nature, and your demands for further representation in fiction are like acting more cats to play dogs in Hollywood.

“It’s O.K.—you can murder me if you want,” she said, and he laughed and patted her knee. But he was still disconcertingly quiet, and all her bubbling attempts at making conversation bounced right off him. At the theatre, he made a joke to the cashier at the concession stand about Red Vines, which fell flat in a way that embarrassed everyone involved, but Margot most of all.

Oh, this "Robert" fellow is also not funny either. I bet he also voted Republican in the last election too.

“So, do you want to go get a drink?” he asked when they got back to the car, as if being polite were an obligation that had been imposed on him. It seemed obvious to Margot that he was expecting her to say no and that, when she did, they wouldn’t talk again. That made her sad, not so much because she wanted to continue spending time with him as because she’d had such high expectations for him over break, and it didn’t seem fair that things had fallen apart so quickly.

If you're an autistic, beta Incel, females will assume every action is an act of manipulation designed to get into her pussy. "You're not legitimately nice!" and all that bullshit. Coincidentally, it seems like only unattractive males get lobbed with this insult. Because when attractive guys try to snag a girl, it actually works. 

“We could go get a drink, I guess?” she said.

“If you want,” he said.
“If you want” was such an unpleasant response that she sat silently in the car until he poked her leg and said, “What are you sulking about?”
“I’m not sulking,” she said. “I’m just a little tired.”
“I can take you home.”

"UGH! Why is this SPERG not understanding my subtle social signals? Probably because he's a misogynist. Chad would know what to do!"

“No, I could use a drink, after that movie.” Even though it had been playing at the mainstream theatre, the film he’d chosen was a very depressing drama about the Holocaust, so inappropriate for a first date that when he suggested it she said, “Lol r u serious,” and he made some joke about how he was sorry that he’d misjudged her taste and he could take her to a romantic comedy instead.

Another random act of autism. He should "just get" that she's not mature enough to watch a movie about historical/cultural issues that have repercussions to this day. He should have turned on the local Idiot Box and slipped in an unfunny, unoriginal film where women he's attracted to get railed by Chad. WOMEN ARE SUCH VICTIMS!

But now, when she said that about the movie, he winced a little, and a totally different interpretation of the night’s events occurred to her. She wondered if perhaps he’d been trying to impress her by suggesting the Holocaust movie, because he didn’t understand that a Holocaust movie was the wrong kind of “serious” movie with which to impress the type of person who worked at an artsy movie theatre, the type of person he probably assumed she was. Maybe, she thought, her texting “lol r u serious” had hurt him, had intimidated him and made him feel uncomfortable around her. The thought of this possible vulnerability touched her, and she felt kinder toward him than she had all night.

The entire story is riddled with "Tell, Don't Show." Don't describe the emotions that would lead her to being attracted to vulnerability, tell us she's attracted to vulnerability. Because females are SO attracted to the soft, sensitive men, as many effeminate men will attest to. Those hypermasculine beasts fulled with bravado? They're the real Incels! 

Skipping a section where Margot breaks down for petty, bullshit, female reasons.

"He kissed her then, on the lips, for real; he came for her in a kind of lunging motion and practically poured his tongue down her throat. It was a terrible kiss, shockingly bad; Margot had trouble believing that a grown man could possibly be so bad at kissing. It seemed awful, yet somehow it also gave her that tender feeling toward him again, the sense that even though he was older than her, she knew something he didn’t."

Oh, he's a bad kisser too! He probably doesn't even care about a woman's pleasure! Oh, he also has no experience slaying bitches. We'll pretend she appreciates that a little bit, even though all the raw signs show she HATES not being dominated by Chad right now.

With the drinks in front of him and the kiss behind him, and also maybe because she had cried, Robert became much more relaxed, more like the witty person she knew through his texts. As they talked, she became increasingly sure that what she’d interpreted as anger or dissatisfaction with her had, in fact, been nervousness, a fear that she wasn’t having a good time. He kept coming back to her initial dismissal of the movie, making jokes that glanced off it and watching her closely to see how she responded. He teased her about her highbrow taste, and said how hard it was to impress her because of all the film classes she’d taken, even though he knew she’d taken only one summer class in film. He joked about how she and the other employees at the artsy theatre probably sat around and made fun of the people who went to the mainstream theatre, where they didn’t even serve wine, and some of the movies were in imax 3-D.

Someone jut down all the negatives this former boyfriend...I mean "Robert" has. I couldn't have written such a pathetic creature, even if I wanted to, as the pangs of empathy for my fellow losers would pull me back. Females do not have such empathy. Why can't he just like the meaningless trash I like? Can't he just pretend that Mama Mia! is literally equivalent to Schindler's List? Females would rather be told an emotionally validating lie than a cold truth.

By her third beer, she was thinking about what it would be like to have sex with Robert. Probably it would be like that bad kiss, clumsy and excessive, but imagining how excited he would be, how hungry and eager to impress her, she felt a twinge of desire pluck at her belly, as distinct and painful as the snap of an elastic band against her skin.

Lul, no she didn't. Females hate unattractive men. This isn't about being "experienced" enough so you can "negotiate" a female's desire. There's a reason why this story doesn't star an attractive men. We just need these little bits in the story to keep the narrative, that the average man, beating himself to death with a 50 hour work week, is actually attractive to his wife. He's not, but if that little truth came out, there goes your Western Civilization.

Robert takes Margot back to his place, drunk:

As she thought this, she saw that Robert was watching her closely, observing the impression the room had made. And, as though fear weren’t quite ready to release its hold on her, she had the brief wild idea that maybe this was not a room at all but a trap meant to lure her into the false belief that Robert was a normal person, a person like her, when in fact all the other rooms in the house were empty, or full of horrors: corpses or kidnap victims or chains. But then he was kissing her, throwing her bag and their coats on the couch and ushering her into the bedroom, groping her ass and pawing at her chest, with the avid clumsiness of that first kiss.

Again, there's the feminine imagination pondering all the evils that a man could have, but clearly doesn't. He's still not good at sex, because OF COURSE HE'S NOT. Only good people are good at sex, remember? 

Margot sat on the bed while Robert took off his shirt and unbuckled his pants, pulling them down to his ankles before realizing that he was still wearing his shoes and bending over to untie them. Looking at him like that, so awkwardly bent, his belly thick and soft and covered with hair, Margot recoiled. But the thought of what it would take to stop what she had set in motion was overwhelming; it would require an amount of tact and gentleness that she felt was impossible to summon. It wasn’t that she was scared he would try to force her to do something against her will but that insisting that they stop now, after everything she’d done to push this forward, would make her seem spoiled and capricious, as if she’d ordered something at a restaurant and then, once the food arrived, had changed her mind and sent it back.

And now we get to the #MeToo portion of the story. Drunk sex = rape because females must constantly be coddled with their life decisions. She realizes that, holy shit, that #DadBod trend was, of course, a bold face life. All females want a fit, athletic Chad. Yet she cannot stop him because she cannot politely shoe him away. Muh emotional labor. She needs for it to be socially acceptable to nuclear reject his loser (as previously established by the story) ass. But let's not fool ourselves - this would probably have turned out very differently if our Robert had a six-pack. 

The way he looked at her then was like an exaggerated version of the expression she’d seen on the faces of all the guys she’d been naked with, not that there were that many—six in total, Robert made seven. He looked stunned and stupid with pleasure, like a milk-drunk baby, and she thought that maybe this was what she loved most about sex—a guy revealed like that. Robert showed her more open need than any of the others, even though he was older, and must have seen more breasts, more bodies, than they had—but maybe that was part of it for him, the fact that he was older, and she was young.

Seven guys at 20 years old isn't a lot, gentlemen. Also not the "older-younger" canard. Sorry bitch. Men like fertile, young women. Teenagers is a huge pornography category for a reason, and it has nothing to do with being a pervert. If you open your legs to older men after 17, you're the only one to blame. If only you listened to your Dad. If only you listened to your Church. But hey, half a dozen cocks with men you don't even like was worth it, right Feminists?

As they kissed, she found herself carried away by a fantasy of such pure ego that she could hardly admit even to herself that she was having it. Look at this beautiful girl, she imagined him thinking. She’s so perfect, her body is perfect, everything about her is perfect, she’s only twenty years old, her skin is flawless, I want her so badly, I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anyone else, I want her so bad I might die.

Females are extremely selfish in their sexual desire. That's one of the reasons why rape fantasies are so popular - they like to believe that they're so sexually attractive, Chad cannot even resist her Yes Means Yes prattling. This is rarely true in real life, but that still doesn't stop them for shooting to the moon.

And then he asked, urgently, “Wait. Have you ever done this before?”

Too late, beta fag. You should have asked before you were feeling her up. I mean, she was going to open up her legs either way, but...what about her fee-fees?

Losing her virginity had been a long, drawn-out affair preceded by several months’ worth of intense discussion with her boyfriend of two years, plus a visit to the gynecologist and a horrifically embarrassing but ultimately incredibly meaningful conversation with her mom, who, in the end, had not only reserved her a room at a bed-and-breakfast but, after the event, written her a card

Nowadays, mothers have no issue about letting their girls be sluts. This is bad parenting. If your daughter is fucking anyone other than her husband, you need to pull all financial support until she shuts her legs. Or else you'll have them writing feminist garbage short stories well after they past the wall.

Yeah, right, she thought, and then he was on top of her again, kissing her and weighing her down, and she knew that her last chance of enjoying this encounter had disappeared, but that she would carry through with it until it was over. When Robert was naked, rolling a condom onto a dick that was only half visible beneath the hairy shelf of his belly, she felt a wave of revulsion that she thought might actually break through her sense of pinned stasis, but then he shoved his finger in her again, not at all gently this time, and she imagined herself from above, naked and spread-eagled with this fat old man’s finger inside her, and her revulsion turned to self-disgust and a humiliation that was a kind of perverse cousin to arousal.

This is the end result of opening your legs up for whatever rando to use and abuse you, feminists. Turns out "sex positivity" does nothing when women don't enjoy non-Chad sex. 

During sex, he moved her through a series of positions with brusque efficiency, flipping her over, pushing her around, and she felt like a doll again, as she had outside the 7-Eleven, though not a precious one now—a doll made of rubber, flexible and resilient, a prop for the movie that was playing in his head. When she was on top, he slapped her thigh and said, “Yeah, yeah, you like that,” with an intonation that made it impossible to tell whether he meant it as a question, an observation, or an order, and when he turned her over he growled in her ear, “I always wanted to fuck a girl with nice tits,” and she had to smother her face in the pillow to keep from laughing again. At the end, when he was on top of her in missionary, he kept losing his erection, and every time he did he would say, aggressively, “You make my dick so hard,” as though lying about it could make it true. At last, after a frantic rabbity burst, he shuddered, came, and collapsed on her like a tree falling, and, crushed beneath him, she thought, brightly, This is the worst life decision I have ever made! And she marvelled at herself for a while, at the mystery of this person who’d just done this bizarre, inexplicable thing.

The passive, obvious statement here is that men have been ruined by pornography. They want degrading sex they seen online, when women want detailed, romantic, personal, long sex sessions. Meanwhile, females frequently watch the very same violent, objectifying pornography they say they hate. Christian Grey treated his Anastasia as nothing more than a sex doll in the bedroom. Now its a billion dollar franchise. The issue has fucking NOTHING to do with the kind of sex he's giving, but the kind of man giving it (AKA, not Chad).

“We should probably just kill ourselves,” she imagined saying, and then she imagined that somewhere, out there in the universe, there was a boy who would think that this moment was just as awful yet hilarious as she did, and that sometime, far in the future, she would tell the boy this story. She’d say, “And then he said, ‘You make my dick so hard,’ ” and the boy would shriek in agony and grab her leg, saying, “Oh, my God, stop, please, no, I can’t take it anymore,” and the two of them would collapse into each other’s arms and laugh and laugh—but of course there was no such future, because no such boy existed, and never would.

This is the bullshit females fantasize about. Its sooooo saaaaaad they can't get a Chad to listen them detail their flings with other, ugly, low status men, passed around like a worthless joint. Whyyyyyy can't Chad just lol at this LOSER who doesn't know how to bring me to a billion orgasms? Doesn't Chad shove these guys into lockerooms lol." Females love shunning and belittling men they don't find attractive. Its just gossip to them. By the way, this is a perfect example of females waiting for you to be vulnerable, then using it as ammunition behind your back.

Then, out of nowhere, he started talking about his feelings for her. He talked about how hard it had been for him when she went away for break, not knowing if she had an old high-school boyfriend she might reconnect with back home. During those two weeks, it turned out, an entire secret drama had played out in his head, one in which she’d left campus committed to him, to Robert, but at home had been drawn back to the high-school guy, who, in Robert’s mind, was some kind of brutish, handsome jock, not worthy of her but nonetheless seductive by virtue of his position at the top of the hierarchy back home in Saline. 

This is called "being vulnerable". Robert, an unattractive man with little experience, is worried that a more attractive woman with more experience will seek handsomer men. A brutish, handsome jock...because females love brutish, handsome jocks. And of course, it feels like ants crawling in the author's...I mean Margot's skin. Whatever happened being attracted to a man's weakness, his inner thoughts, sweetheart? You mean you want an emotional rock instead? Oh, you mean like literally every woman on the planet? 

“How old are you, exactly?” she asked him.

“I’m thirty-four,” he said. “Is that a problem?”
She could sense him in the dark beside her vibrating with fear.
“No,” she said. “It’s fine.”

Men do not in fact age like fine wine. But we're supposed to pretend an adult male is exploiting an innocent adult female here. Not buying it. This is the kind of relationship all men would seek if they could achieve it. My papa himself married a woman 10 years younger. Trust me, it was a fine family, and the only problems in my life were beyond their control.

After she sulks in her room after being "consensually raped".

“Hey, so it seems like you’re really busy, huh?” Robert finally wrote, three days after they’d fucked, and she knew that this was the perfect opportunity to send her half-completed breakup text, but instead she wrote back, “Haha sorry yeah” and “I’ll text you soon,” and then she thought, Why did I do that? And she truly didn’t know.

“Just tell him you’re not interested!” Margot’s roommate, Tamara, screamed in frustration after Margot had spent an hour on her bed, dithering about what to say to Robert.

And then she ghosts him. Because, while you owe respect to all women, women do not owe any respect to you. 

“He’s a nice guy, sort of,” Margot said, and she wondered how true that was. Then, abruptly, Tamara lunged, snatching the phone out of Margot’s hand and holding it far away from her as her thumbs flew across the screen. Tamara flung the phone onto the bed and Margot scrambled for it, and there it was, what Tamara had written: “Hi im not interested in you stop textng me.”

GEE, what kind of dating stereotype is the author referring to? Who can say! The author tries to at least show that this girl was leading him on, but that's not the message 100% of females got from this story. They all agree "Ugh, what a beta loser! He's not legitimately nice, because he's like, bad at sex! And he doesn't even like romantic comedies! HE'S LITERALLY THE REINCARNATION OF DONALD HITLER!" "He needs to be ghosted, because women are afraid of men! And he takes it bad! Can't men understand they should suck their break-ups up? I know I get over my bfs in a week haha!"

She grabbed the friend she was with, a guy named Albert. “Oh, my God, that’s him,” she whispered. “The guy from the movie theatre!” By then, Albert had heard a version of the story, though not quite the true one; nearly all her friends had. Albert stepped in front of her, shielding her from Robert’s view, as they rushed back to the table where their friends were. When Margot announced that Robert was there, everyone erupted in astonishment, and then they surrounded her and hustled her out of the bar as if she were the President and they were the Secret Service. It was all so over-the-top that she wondered if she was acting like a mean girl, but, at the same time, she truly did feel sick and scared.
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While the character, perhaps even the author, recognizes the hypocrisy, you will never, EVER, find a female who reads this story and thinks that she should change her behavior - unless it allows her to nuclear reject those evil neckbeard Nice Guys (TM! TM! T FUCKING M!) and get closer to railing Chad.

“When u laguehd when I asked if you were a virgin was it because youd fucked so many guys”

“Are you fucking that guy right now”
“Are you”
“Are you”
“Are you”
“Answer me”
“Whore.”

Seems like a reasonable reaction. I know females don't FEEL like its "legitimately nice", but if you gossip about the guy you fucked, ditch him, and never respond to him again, you don't deserve the guy's respect. Of course, the average female doesn't think people should be careful with their words, but wishes that Margot delivered the verbal smackdown.

Conclusion

Read the story twice. Read my notes if you have to. But your visceral, gut reaction should be saying things I could never get across with words alone. 

This is the story that resonates with the female psyche. This earned a woman a million dollar advance. This is the average life of the typical female - being pumped and dumped by a slew of non-committal men, then blaming all men for not respecting her boundaries, one's she broke on her own accord, and will gladly break again the next time she wants to be felt up by men not good enough for her. This is how women view men who aren't conventionally attractive. He's fat, he's socially unskilled, he's a pervert, he's bad at sex, he's unclean, he's condescending, he's literally every negative trait you can attract to him and more.

Now, tell me, after reading this - what kind of respect to you have left for the female race? Do you awe them for their restraint? They certainly have little, and will now blame you for not giving her the Chad sex she wanted. Do you think you share common interests? Yeah, because the woman in this story has SO many intellectual topics that fascinate her, like watching romantic comedies and fucking other men. Do you think women give a shit about your actual vulnerability, your loneliness, your struggles, your insecurities?

If you do, then its only a matter of time before you're the next "Cat Person".
 
Didnt read lmao xdddddddddddddd
 
Im not reading this fucking wall of text ffs. Somebody TLDR please.
 
who cares about some hippie bitching in the New Yorker anyway?

The entire magazine is about that.
 
If u read the op ur a faggot
 
read the whole thing op. it was a classic self-expose of women. i enjoyed it.

St.Tropez said:
Give me a short version
Some girl meets a dude and they develop a relationship. He's a BB who this girl LTRs. He ends up "raping" her because she's too much of a pussy to say no, all the while thinking about the guy's physical flaws(you can tell this exact scene played out with Chad would be the time of her life). Her friend ends up stealing her phone and cutting off the reationship
 
mikepence said:
read the whole thing op. it was a classic self-expose of women. i enjoyed it.

Some girl meets a dude and they develop a relationship. He's a BB who this girl LTRs. He ends up "raping" her because she's too much of a pussy to say no, all the while thinking about the guy's physical flaws(you can tell this exact scene played out with Chad would be the time of her life). Her friend ends up stealing her phone and cutting off the reationship
Alright thanks,gonna read it then sounds fun
 
After re-reading my own work, I can confirm: brevity...is wit.
 
Ain't nobody got time for dat
 
read the whole thing and boy was that one tasty blackpill
 
Nice read

Thank you
 
Anyone have the link to this? Old bump i know but this sounds interestingly stupid

Wait nvm i cant read im stupid
 
This foid's writing alone makes me want to rope.
 

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