Its basically a really long winded talk about how sexual competition should be seen as motivation and incels are wrong for giving up on self improvement. This is of course coming from a foids mouth where the idea of sexual competition doesn't even exist. Seriously though the comment section is based as fuck & I feel relieved to see men opening their eyes. Theres a lot of mgtow in it also but if you can overlook that its worth a read:
"Why sexual competition is good."
Chilling words when penned by an attractive young women, aren't they?
I take no issue with such sentiments, I suppose, if for no other reason than that they conform to reality as it actually is. The perpetuation of beauty is a good thing, isn't it, because beauty is health, life and anything that contributes to it is morally indefensible. To promote any act that allows ugliness to flourish is tantamount to nurturing disease and all of the pain that attends it. If we neglect to separate the wheat from the chaff and allowed our species to glut itself with filth, our race would poison itself and be relegated to History's sepulture in very short order. If we don't rip the weeds from the ground they'll strangle all of the pretty blooms that provide the fragrances that obscure the odor of the Earth's perpetually rotting corpse. Hand the world over to the ghouls, the repulsive and unlovable, and the Golden City mankind has built would be reduced to a necropolis.
Though all of that is certainly true, they're very hard truths. Well, at least for the weeds unceremoniously ripped from the ground and cast into the fire, or for the strangle-vines torn ripped from the Tree of Life lest they diminish its majesty and harm its fruit. The bushel of thorns or the parasitic vine are still living things despite the fact that their nettles raise painful welts upon the otherwise immaculate skin of the well-formed, or the offense they give to the eyes of those who dwell in the Garden spending their lives surrounded by its myriad beauties. The hunger of a ghoul, repulsive though its appetite may be, still signifies its desire to participate in life's mysteries. The need for an ugly man to be loved will always be blasphemy in the eyes of Nature but we can no more prevent ourselves from committing this egregious crime than a weed can restrain itself from reaching up from its proper place rotting in the darkness beneath the Earth and groping toward the light forbidden to it.
We are all of us Mike of the Weeds and our proper place is rotting alone in the grave or the burning in the furnace reserved for all refuse. We know this just as intimately as this woman does, perhaps far more so. After all, we've suffered for this grim bit of wisdom, haven't we? We've paid for it dearly and will continue to do so until Gehenna's flames blacken and deaden our nerves and we're capable of feeling no longer. This woman knows what we do: that beauty is adored and ugliness despised because she is beautiful and is thus adored. She's been allowed to look at face of Mother Nature Herself without having had to have shed a single drop of a martyr's blood for the privilege because Mother indulges her pretty face with an affectionate kiss rather than wrathful fangs piercing her jugular, eager to rip the pulse from her throat.
As tiny compensation, she has to offer a knowing wink when it comes to any conversation regarding Beauty and Ugliness. She's the angel who was promised Paradise long before God spoke the cosmos into being that has to utter platitudes about the inscrutable kindness of the Creator lest she be condemned as a sadist who can rejoice in Heaven while there are devils screaming in torment down in Hell.
The Garden is good and its mechanisms obviously just provided, of course, that you rose up from the Earth as one of its beloved roses and not as one of its disgusting vines torn from the Tree and commended to the cosmic trash-heap to be burned up and away.
Would she be so callous and cavalier about the plight of the latter were it not for the fact she was born to the tribe of the former? Could she be?
Fortunately, at least for her sake, she'll never have to know.
