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Sunday, March 03, 2019

Hot Chicks Will Destroy Socialism

Like anyone else, I have my own political viewpoints. I'd never ask anyone to agree with my own, for a number of reasons:

1.  I think it's rude to tell other people what and how to think.
2.  I think it's rude for other people to tell me what and how to think.
3.  Frankly, I really don't care what and how other people think.
4.  It really doesn't matter what and how other people think.

Okay, that last one probably sounds a bit presumptuous, but that's the one that's most important. Look, I realize I'm no longer a young man.  In fact, at this point, I may even qualify as a borderline antique.  Fine with me.  I'm totally okay with trading youth for experience, because if you pay close attention, life has a way of teaching you patterns that are, for the most part, totally and completely immutable, yielding wisdoms of the master sages.

That's why it never really matters what people think at any given moment. I know their opinions are going to change as they age and life starts beating the crap out of them with unforeseen events and circumstances that nobody saw coming, including deaths, diseases, accidents and girlfriends who got pregnant even though they swore they had taken their pills.

Oh, sure, when you're young, life is all about rejecting the old and exploring the new.  Your twenties are all about arrogantly defining who you are and to whom you're trying to sell it. Some tactics work; lots of them don't. And somewhere between the time they decide to reject their parents' values and the day they accept the late charge on their Mastercard bills, life begins to point and laugh at young people's attempts at self-direction.

Being young, poor and insecure, the easiest path for these kids to choose is usually socialism, which makes sense, since the majority of socialists in America are young people in their twenties (and early thirties) who haven't yet succeeded, accrued wealth or figured out how to make sense of their lives. In fact, about the only thing they have discovered, is that creating a successful life is far more challenging than how this week's Netflix movie would have them believe.

Success, as it turns out, is not a thirty-second montage.

Out there in the digital world, where virtue signaling is the currency in which young socialists trade, eschewing material wealth and demanding entitlements is the stuff to which young socialists can relate and fuels the charisma of pols such as Bernie Sanders.  After all, he's a socialist and he's old, which must mean socialism isn't just for young idealists.  An old socialist, it turns out, can be a very reassuring image to a young socialist, who still craves parental approval.

But I digress.

Since 2008, the socialist agenda has swelled along with the ranks of impoverished twenty-somethings who feel that sharing a little holds more promise than risking a lot.  But if history teaches us anything, it's that fads like socialism are doomed to fail, if only for one solid, basic, proven reason:

Hot chicks.

Don't laugh. History is on my side for this one.  And here's why:

Young people are not immune to the laws of nature. Neither are you. You can grow as big a man-bun as you please, but at the end of the day, women are viscerally drawn to masculine providers, not posers. The more a man can provide, the more women he can attract. This is why men build tall buildings and great bridges and foolishly lay it all at goddesses' feet.  Men, being the grunting savages we are, know that the more women we can attract, the higher quality woman we can win.  So we bulk up what we can, where we can -- usually in our bank accounts -- which unfailingly brings droves of incredibly gorgeous, talented, intelligent women within matrimonial striking range.

It doesn't take more than, say, one ten-year high school reunion before socialists in their late twenties meet up with their class members who've long since abandoned their socialist cause.  Most often, these are the hot chicks, with rich, older husbands in tow, who long ago traded their pussy hats and Bernie buttons for million dollar mansions, complete with three kids in private schools, two dogs who are walked by her live-in maid, and a leased limited edition Mercedes coupe.  One look at that three carat pear-shaped diamond on her hand tells Mitch, the sparsely-bearded former Sanders community organizer, that he's been hiking the wrong trail for the last ten years with nothing to show for it other than his father's wedding tuxedo that he borrowed for the occasion. In one instant, if he's paying attention, he'll have learned that nobody -- especially hot chicks -- chooses a flea-infested commune in Berkeley over a hot tub in Aspen as the more rewarding way of spending the rest of their lives.

Try as many drugs as you want; nothing wakes you up faster than the realization that life -- your life, in particular -- has been passing you by, made even more bitter by the fact that fewer and fewer people are sticking with your program and most are hopping the next train for their last chances of traditional happiness.  It happened to hippies in the sixties and it will happen to socialists just as predictably -- if it isn't already.

And that's why I don't worry about socialism at all. For the billionth generation in a row, nature wins again:  Women want the best providers. Men want the best women. Don't blame me if you find that sexist: that's nature's law, not mine.

Sure, Bernie likes to promise the nation's youth everything they could want.  But until he can deliver slender, curvy brunettes in high heels and string bikinis poolside, he doesn't have a chance.


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