The Sexual Anarchy of Working in an Industrial Kitchen

Why I have no friends

As mentioned in my relentless self indulgent blogging, I work a lot of jobs right now. The idea was, to move out of the urban hellscape and retvrn/go insane living in the woods. Something I’ve talked about for a long time.

Things were all going smoothly until I suddenly found myself with the amount of liquid cash that, according to the plan, I was first supposed to have in a couple of months. I can’t go into details, but lets just say that every time things in my life seem to go bad, I’m always saved at the last minute by miraculous intervention. Lets just say the sweet baby Jesus saw fit to manifest REAL CASH into my life. I refuse any responsibility for turning things around, I accept no responsibility for anything good that happens, ever. Anything good that happens is the benevolence of God, anything bad that happens is my personal responsibility, forever, no exception.

Anyways, and I met a girl who will 99% certainly become my gf in ~September. All of a sudden, I’m finding myself thinking about not moving after all. All of a sudden, I’m finding myself thinking about, just sticking with this and making more money, maybe seeing how this girl thing plays out, you know.

One of the things I do is short shifts washing dishes in an industrial kitchen. I’ve been thinking a lot about internet poster “Grendel” and his misadventures as a line cook, his catchphrases about seducing waitresses, many things. I get it now. I’m flirting with waitresses too. The industrial kitchen is a highly sexual environment. I think it’s the humidity.

Today was the first time I had a bad day at work. Through no fault of the kitchen, or the people there – all of a sudden, during the shift, I just found myself feeling really fucking depressed and gloomy. Really destructive – self destructive, murderous, you name it.

How I got upset

One of the waiters was making conversation, said something about how things were moving along pretty fast. Complimenting my work. I just made some affirmative human noises. A couple of minutes later I saw him again, said “I thought of something funnier to reply. Tell me that again.”

uh, okay, you’re working pretty fast. He’s a bit nervous, not sure where I’m going with this.

“hey thanks man, the machine’s doing most of the work though”

I make ironic “hahaha” noise, to signal that I recognize that I made a silly/bad joke. He laughs, relieved that I was indeed making a joke. This makes us friends. We are now work friends. I extended the slightest bit of extra effort, asking him to say the setup again, and now we are friends. He hangs around talking about all kinds of shit, I don’t even remember, for a while, before going back to waiting. I think I disrupted his flow. He really wanted to talk. To just, hang out.

The next 20 minutes, just alone in my head, getting through the work day, I just happen to, for no particular reason at all, think about a bunch of unresolved, unhappy, bitter relationships I have had in my life. And it makes me upset.

Particularly, I think about the men I have known who have fucked my ex girlfriends. Particularly one guy, who I only met 2 times through mutual friends, who I later heard were dating her, despite actively making every effort to never hear anything about her ever again. (Author’s note: I hope she’s dead).

Even now, writing about it, about this guy, who I liked socially and I had a nice time out with our mutual friend with, is making me feel nauseous. To be fair I haven’t had dinner yet and I’m drinking coffee until I can finish writing all this. But it is making me feel uneasy, queasy, even now.

When I noticed I was getting angry, despite being in this job that I otherwise had decided I liked, I started wondering. Hey whats going on. Then I noticed what I was thinking about, and I thought, well, I should just not think about that stuff, that’s a weird and pathetic thing to obsess about. I should think about proactive future stuff and what I’m going to do with all of this nice money and freedom. That’s a weird thing to be thinking about on such a nice day, while things are going so well, and after you just made a friend at work and generally had a good time.

WHY I THOUGHT ABOUT THAT SHIT

The question is then, why did telling a little joke and making friends with a guy, remind me of getting cucked. And furthermore, why do I still consider it cucking despite me having broken up with her, years before they started dating?

The answer to the second question is the easiest. Because if I fucked her she’s mine forever. Simple as. Ever heard about Microchimerism ? The very real very scientific explanation/post hoc rationalization for the emotional attachment you feel for women you have been intimate with? God, read a book you idiot.

But why in the world did telling a joke to a stranger make me spend the next 20 minutes thinking about a guy I was almost friends with, who I later learned fucked my wife.

In armchair psychology there’s this term called “evolutionary psychology”, which is inspired by Jordan Peterson. It’s basically about saying things to make sense on an intuitive level, using metaphors borrowed from mythology. Within this discipline there’s the concept of, “doing stuff to evolutionary prepare yourself for dangerous situations”, when identifying a dangerous aspect of life. Like recognizing a stove being hot, or snakes being teethy-poison-owie-hurts-death, and, sometimes, getting your feelings hurt by other guys prioritizing getting to cum, over, you.

We talk a lot about alienation and lack of community around here. Well, maybe a part of that has something to do with not having anyone in your life that you trust to value YOU more than, a cum. Cumming once. A sex.

What’s hurtful about that memory in particular is not “getting cucked”. It’s that this guy who I considered pretty cool, judged a relationship with me to be worth less than a relationship with her. In my internal narrative, I don’t believe they’ll stick together. If anything it’s the other way around, getting friendshipcucked.

And I started thinking about these things, because I was making a friend for the first time in a million years. I was being friendly, going out of my way, above and beyond – telling a joke I didn’t need to. I could have just kept my head down and stayed in my little fantasy world in my head thinking about Important High IQ Things. But I deliberately went out of my way to socialize, and establish a friendly relationship. And this, on a psychological level, is something I consider dangerous.

Because there’s not really anyone in the entire world I trust. That’s what I realized today. I can fake it 99% of the way, but that’s because I mainly dont really care about most things people care about, and I can make them conflate my indifference with trust. But I don’t actually trust them. I’m indifferent.

And then I thought to myself. Huh. There’s not a single person in my life that I would trust to not fuck my wife, if she gave him the option.

Then I thought, my misogyny is a direct product of this. I don’t trust any man living today to not jump at the chance of any pussy he can get. I don’t trust any man alive today to be able to say “no” to a woman. Literally no exception.

Now I realize that I am probably an exaggerated case, seeing as my best friend at the time fucked my first ex girlfriend after we broke up, and I was literally so upset about it I became an alcoholic and spent 5-6 years crying about it. But I also think I have struck on something general here, like a principle or something. Something “cultural”, perhaps.

SEXUAL ANARCHY

We do not today live in sexual liberalism. We do not live in sexual libertarianism. We live in sexual anarchy. All of the internet analysis of studying “pussy” or “pussy distribution” across economical theories, is flawed in the sense that there is infinite demand for pussy, rendering the pussy economy a worthless metaphor. If we lived in sexual libertarianism, I would have simply killed my friend for betraying my trust, by shooting him with a gun. Sex gun. In minecraft.

I think this relates to what I was saying about what we today experience as “culture” is in fact a lack of culture, a lacking in the exact shape of the Thing desired, and so confused for being a kind (of it).

I got so wound up on my lunch break that I went out to the parking lot and shouted, “the beginning of männerbund is saying “I am not going to fuck your wife”! And MEANING it!”

The beginning of Culture – of a human culture, of a society, of a world or a nation – is, metaphysically, rejecting women. Culture begins when you are capable of saying “no” to a woman who offers you sex.

Trust, the irrational trust of friendship, the leap of faith, loyalty. It all begins when you can say NO to a woman. It does not exist without it. Forget about “would you let them watch your kids” - that is WAY, way down the line, that is a thousand times more complicated of a moral judgment. First is, would you let him be alone with your wife.

Society doesn’t happen without something mediating this. This is what the perverts and libertines and bonobo monkey wannabe’s get wrong. It’s a kind of prisoner’s dilemma: and the “free love” “polyamorous(tm)” people have simply adopted, “I fuck his wife” as the answer every time. (Never ever use the word “polyamorous”, they dont want to win they just want you to play their game, they don’t want to convince you, they just want you to use their words)

The mediating factor to solve for this problem has historically been, marriage, which means, morality, religion. Without these, you don’t have intrasexual male trust. Without this you don’t have loyalty. Without loyalty, you don’t have a society. Or a culture, or a nation. Marriage is not a solution to the woman question. It’s a solution to the Man question.

I haven’t trusted another man in my life since I was 17, and I wash dishes for a living with an IQ of 130.

And then I thought - would I trust this guy, the waiter, to not fuck my wife? And the answer is no, I would not. He’s kind of an idiot. He would jump up and down rubbing his cock like a retarded monkey at the slightest excuse to. Good enough guy don’t get me wrong. Just, you know. A fucking animal. A lonely and desperate and disgusting, pathetic, animal.