The Destruction of the Muse Machine

Laugh as you might, but in my idiotic and naive youth I fancied myself quite the poet.  This was brought about in part because of advice from my father (he said girls like stupid poems) and my observation that a poem was a convenient vehicle to hit on a girl while also displaying wit and cleverness.

Just one problem.

Poems rarely worked and were the epitome of beta.

Sure poems enthrall the girl you're already dating, but as a tool for "game" or attracting a girl, poems quickly showed their use - useless.

Slowly, but surely, my poetry writing met the same fate as a gal bladder becoming an present, but obsolete, unnecessary and never used tool.

Still, since that time roughly 15 years ago, there was the rare occasion a girl would suit my fancy, so much so I would be "inspired" to do something creative.  Poetry was just one thing, but there were other forms my creativity would eek out. Crafty ways to ask her out, line up unique activities for a date, or just be inspired to write the most charismatic of e-mails.  I didn't know it at the time, but what was happening was what I would later find out to be called the "muse effect."  A muse being a woman and her effect to inspire men to be creative and productive.

At first hearing about it I dismissed this "muse" effect, but with wisdom and hindsight, it's as obvious as day that there is indeed a muse effect.  Matter of fact, it's so obvious the entirety of western civilization (and any civilization) was built off of it.  Mens' desire to procreate with women they are attracted to is just a powerful a force as gravity in this universe and all of our advances in all of the different fields as an indirect and inspired means to nail chicks is proof of it.

A sad thing, though, happened one time.

After countless dates with countless pains in the asses manifesting themselves as American women, my system was just completely worn down.  So much so (and I remember this quite clearly) I walked into a restaurant one time and there before my very eyes was the epitome of "my type of gal."

Just imagine it "THE Cappy Cap Gal."

Petite, redhead, with a little bit of that 90's grunge moxie chick thing going on.

My lizard brain immediately went into default mode and I sent out to approach her.  Fully intending to spew some charming charismatic bullshit, I had not one iota of worry as I desperately wanted this woman so.  But as the neurons fired and electro-chemical pulses flowed and I was confident in my stride, I remembered, quite clearly, walking towards her with the full intention of asking her out, something abruptly slapped me across my face and stopped me dead in my tracks;

My empirically-experienced frontal lobes said,

"Wait, what's the point?"

I remember the restaurant, and I remember the exact location I stopped.  And I remember leaning against the wall there for a solid 3 minutes debating with myself whether or not I should even approach the girl.

What ended up happening was almost precisely what happens when you try to start a car with a dying battery.

The engine just couldn't turn over.

I just could not get excited about what was in front of me.

I sat there running two concurrent debates in my mind.  The now-dying debate as to whether I should even bother approaching her versus the now more-recent discovery that I was not incentivized to approach what (as to up to that point in my mind) was the "perfect girl."  Taking inventory, I realized that my frontal lobes had vetoed my lizard brain so much so that while there was the natural and impulsive "wooza!" experience, it quickly faded into a simple, but 100% truthful and empirical excuse:

"I'm too damn tired."

Naturally, this accidental, nay, biologically forced decision ended up being the right one.  I decided instead of pursuing her to just sit and observe her.  And so, over the course of a year, patronizing this restaurant/bar I learned several important things.

One, she was dating a loser whose only form of transportation was a peddle-bike.  He had tats, a dumbass haircut, worked as waiter and was about 33.  I was just this "loser" compared to him - 30, owned two cars, rental property, taught dance on the side and was still working in banking.

Two, bar her physique, she was no catch herself.  Also a waitress, but also an "aspiring artist" painting "murals" at people's houses (her art work went nowhere).

And three, after getting to know her on a platonic level, I learned about how hard it was for her to make rent and pay for groceries, and...well...to occasionally lend her boyfriend money.

In the end I realized what happened.  My muse machine was broken.  No more could the mere glance of a woman prompt me to work harder, be more creative, or produce more GDP.  If anything, the more attractive a girl, the more my cynical and empirical mind would distrust her.  And while this epiphany helped me 10 years ago, it isn't until now I realized the severity and critical ramifications "broken muse machines" present to our economy.

The blatant truth is men are the true innovators, shakers, and makers of this or any other economy.  Certainly there are some outstandingly productive women, but by and large nearly 100% of all economic production and creativity come from men.  And the primary motivating factor for men is the beauty of women.

But what if women in this (or any other) society become so disagreeable their repugnance actually overrides and kills mens' biology?  It destroys their "muse machines?"

Well, the answer is obvious - what we have now.

Pajama Boy, men on strike, basement dwellers, video game players, man-childs, herbivores, etc.

Call it what you may, you have an army of men who are just not incentivzied or mused any more.  And you can't really blame them.  Look at what is supposed to "inspire" them.

I always love how "low t" and "erectile dysfunction" is presented as a "disease" or problem men have.  When in reality you damn well know the number one cause of erectile dysfunction is a fat, unattractive wife.  Throw in divorce, lippy attitude, socialist voting preferences, and genuine psychological problems, modern day American women are the anti-muse that are shutting down the engine of economic growth.  Nuclear bombs dropped from mother Russia herself could not be as devastating to the US economy and society as the unfeminine, loud, noxious, obese and uninspiring women that roam the landscape today.

I mean, seriously, wow, ANOTHER overweight, short hair, tatted up, democrat-voting sociology undergrad pursuing her masters in social work with a cat that reads Cosmo and thinks The Daily Show is funny who thinks she's "unique" and "independent" while living off of daddy's credit card?

Wow, let me fire up the ole creative juices and go paint the fucking Sistine Chapel!  I need me some of that all-too-common hairy-armpit bitchy government worker play!

The truth is men have lost what has traditionally inspired them to be the awesome, creation and production machines we were.  And though it took a while, after 40 years of feminist propaganda and turning women into men, they were successful.  Women in the west are so homely, so physically unattractive, and (I would say above all else) COOKIE CUTTER COMMON they couldn't inspire a bear to shit in the woods.

Naturally, women will be appalled and criticize such statements.  But when China cuts off the credit line or the Fed's QE-hyperinflation jig is up, the "uninspiring, not unique, not terribly intelligent, make work government worker, I'm an independent, worthless-degreed female that really offers nothing to society" bubble will burst and the importance of feminine beauty and genuine production will become painfully clear.

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Aaron Clarey is a meanie, jerk, poopey head that lives in his mother's basement and can't get laid.  He's a professional asshole and specializes in pointing out the truth and not giving a fuck about what people think because...well, how do you argue against truth?  You can buy his awesome books here and hire him for his "asshole consulting services" which every Idiocracy dipshit in America is in desperate need of.