One of the immediate reasons for not having sex with everyone is because there is a cost associated with doing so!
If you accept that the idea of "life" is to propagate your genes, and thus, you want your genes to be the most fit they can be, then making a pairing with a "low-quality" partner will hamper your genes in the long run!
While the cost of sex is comparatively low for males physically, since sperm is a relatively "cheap" gamete, it is quite expensive for females! Once impregnated, a female, as everyone knows, has to gestate an infant for nine months! That’s nine months of moving slower, needing to be more careful, and then however many years to raisea baby into adulthood!
If you mated with everyone, you would need to hope that random chance slotted you with a great partner! For those on the extremely genetically "unfit" spectrum, random mating would be great, because usually, they would mate with higher quality partners!
Those on the other side of the bell curve would, by the same rationale, do worse, as they would typically end up mating with lower-quality partners.
If we’re just talking about sex for pleasure, that’s a slightly different story. But similarly, every mating with a lower-quality partner would mean you weren’t having sex with a higher quality partner. This could lead to reduced quality elsewhere besides children. Perhaps "quality" in a mate is governed by resource giving, or attention, or help with social problems or tasks.
In reality, we don’t operate like bonobos simply because we’ve evolved under different circumstances, so it’s difficult to simply rewire our brains to behave as such! Even if we don’t like to think so, there is a nearly constant assessment of "quality" going on in our social interactions.
It’s like having the worst girlfriend ever, who you are madly in love with but who treats you like shit, makes you sell your car and house and furniture and even your high school yearbook that your crush from 10th grade signed and told you that you were cute. She’s told you to stop talking to anyone you’ve ever cared about, they don’t want to talk to you while you’re still dating her anyways. You sell your clothes so she can go out and buy new ones. You eat ramen every meal so she ca eat at the best restaurant in town. In the morning you think about her and in the evening you think about her and when you go to take a crap but you can’t because you’re constipated you’re reminded of her. You wake up and if she’s not in bed with you you get the chills, your eyes water, you have diarrhea, you sneeze, your muscles ache, you have anxiety, you have depression, you don’t want to eat because food isn’t appealing even though your stomach is rumbling, you don’t particularly want to drink but you’re dehydrated so you force yourself to drink some water, and during all this your skin is crawling as if it was dirty covered in goose-bumps from who knows where and you wish you were still asleep so you could at least pretend she was still in the bed with you. But you’re awake now. So you get out of bed, and you go find her. Maybe today you won’t have to do something that compromises your morals to find out where she’s gone, but really you don’t even care, as long as there is a way. You walk an hour and forty five minutes to get on the bus. You travel for another 45 minutes on public transportation. You get off at the train station in the bad part of town. All the while you have to shit so bad but you know once you find her that will be solved. You’re hungry but dont want to eat, once you find her you can eat. You feel dirty and sad and anxious but once you find her she’ll bathe you and make you happy and calm. But right now your walking through the ghetto. You walk another 20 minutes. Maybe it’s cold and raining, if so you are so so so cold. Maybe it’s hotter than hell and that just makes you feel dirtier. You find a guy that knows where she is. He says he’ll go get her and bring her to you. And the cops pass you as you’re talking to him and they have to know what’s up. What’s someone like you doing in this part of town? So the 10 minute wait for her to come back to you accompanied by the guy who could give two shits about you as long as you bring him money seems like an eternity. Maybe he’ll run off with her and your money. Maybe she wont be looking so hot today, maybe she won’t be herself. Maybe he’ll come back with a woman you don’t know and don’t want to meet but now your money is gone and you’re broke and sick and a good few hours away before you can get some more money and the world might as well be over in your opinion. But your girlfriend comes back, he brings her, and she gives you a kiss on the cheek. Then you go home, to your mattress and your overdue rent and the lack of food and the piled up bills and the same clothes you’ve been wearing for three days and your parents that have called but you never answer and your friends that invite you out but you never go, but you’re home and she’s there with you. Eventually you go to bed. But she’s never there the next morning, and you know she won’t be, and you wish someone invented a way to pause time, or go back in time, to that first time you met her, the first couple months when you guys hung out, before she made you sell everything to be with her, but you can’t and you’re fucked. And you know it.
I’m not going to romanticize it, that won’t do you or me or anyone reading any good.
All in all, it hadn’t been a good day. Bad traffic, a malfunctioning computer, incompetent coworkers and a sore back all made me a seething cauldron of rage. But more importantly for this story, it had been over forty-eight hours since I’d last taken a dump. I’d tried to jumpstart the process, beginning my day with a bowl of bowel-cleansing fiber cereal, following it with six cups of coffee at work, and adding a bean-laden lunch at Taco Bell. As I was returning home from work, my insides let me know with subtle rumbles and the emission of the occasional tiny fart that Big Things would be happening soon. Alas, I had to stop at the mall to go Christmas shopping. I completed this task, and as I was walking past the stores on my way back to the car, I noticed a large sale sign proclaiming, “Everything Must Go!” This was prophetic, for my colon informed me with a sudden violent cramp and a wet, squeaky fart that everything was indeed about to go. I hurried to the mall bathrooms. I surveyed the five stalls, which I have numbered 1 through 5 for your convenience:
2.Clean, but Bathroom Protocol forbids its use, as it’s next to the occupied one.
3.Poo on seat.
4.Poo and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered on seat.
5.No toilet paper, no stall door, unidentifiable sticky object near base of toilet.
Clearly, it had to be Stall #2. I trudged back, entered, dropped trousers and sat down. I’m normally a fairly Shameful Sh1tter. I wasn’t happy about being next to the occupied stall, but Big Things were afoot.
I was just getting ready to bear down when all of a sudden the sweet sounds of Beethoven came from next door, followed by a fumbling, and then the sound of a voice answering the ringing phone. As usual for a cell phone conversation, the voice was exactly 8 dB louder than it needed to be. Out of Shameful habit, my sphincter slammed shut. The inane conversation went on and on. Mr. Sh1tter was blathering to Mrs. Sh1tter about the sh1tty day he had. I sat there, cramping and miserable, waiting for him to finish. As the loud conversation dragged on, I became angrier and angrier, thinking that I, too, had a crappy day, but I was too polite to yak about in public. My bowels let me know in no uncertain terms that if I didn’t get crapping soon, my day would be getting even crappier.
1. I think everyone has a movie that they love so much, it actually becomes stressful to watch it with other people. I’ll end up wasting 90 minutes shiftily glancing around to confirm that everyone’s laughing at the right parts, then making sure I laugh just a little bit harder (and a millisecond earlier. to prove that I’m still the only one who really, really gets it.
2. Answering the same letter three times or more in a row on a Scantron test is absolutely petrifying.
3. I fear the day Facebook decides to inform users of who has viewed their profile…and how many times.
4. Nothing brings two people together like the mutual hatred of another person.
5. Every phone should have the same charger.
6. Whenever I’m Facebook stalking someone and I find out that their profile is public I feel like a kid on Christmas morning who just got the Red Ryder BB gun that I always wanted. 546 pictures? Don’t mind if I do!
7. If anyone found out the one password I use for everything I’d be fucked.
8. I never understood why the Lions and Cowboys always get to play on Thanksgiving. Shouldn’t the Patriots play the Redskins, and then steal their stadium afterwords?
9. I wish it were appropriate to say to a complete stranger, “Excuse me, would you like me to show you how to discipline your child?"
10. I had to walk to school 40 miles in the snow… barefoot” was good in it’s day. But imagine the sheer terror on your kid’s face when you drop “When I was born there was no internet
11. I saw a guy walking through two feet of snow in sub-zero temperatures to get to the florist. He must have really fucked up.
12. I think the best compliment is when someone who generally hates everyone decides that they like you.
13. Did any of the villains on Scooby-Doo actually break the law? Last time I checked wearing a rubber mask and being kind of a dick wasn’t a crime.
14. Who made up the unwritten rule that only losers show up to parties early? Make your grand entrance later if you want, but I’ll have had 4 beers, a shot, and double-dipped on the nachos several times by then.
You know, a lot of people have never seen their breaking point. And in a way that’s very sad… The bottom of that pit is where you eventually find a snarl to put on your face and the will to climb out into the light and shape the very world into something more pleasing. More pleasing to you. It turns out the world is very malleable if you put the work into it.
We all get knocked down. Hard, sometimes. Sometimes we get knocked down real hard.
Ya just can’t beat a person who never gives up, though.
The breaking point. That’s where the best life lesson is. You felt so little and so hurt, you even wanted to just give up and die. But you’re still here, right? You shrugged it off because it sucks but you can bear the emotional weight of it. Day after day, ending it all just doesn’t make it onto the to-do list. Maybe ’cause you’ve got other shit to do. Maybe because you know you’re better than that. Maybe you’ve got the same thirst for greatness we all do and you’re not satisfied with where you’re at so far. Or maybe just because you don’t think it’s the right thing to do.
So it sucks, but you trudge through each day anyway. This is the key to everything in the world. How many people start up a workout routine but then fade off because one day they wake up and it’s too dark, too cold, too early? Those people don’t ever get in shape. But you can. You can because dark, cold, and early are pesky but in the grand sum of depressing things you’ve had to deal with, waking up early is trivial. it’s kind of a joke. Working out is hard and you feel weak and powerless because you can barely lift the thing and you so badly want to just put the bar down and go home when you’ve set a goal and your body gives out halfway there. So a lot of people do. They give up, make up some excuse, and walk out the door. How many days have you had a chance to do that? How many times have you hit your breaking point, but then shoved it back instead of breaking? So people like you can don’t hit boundaries and go home. People like you have the ability to stick it out and finish the job. Even if the job sucks, you’ve survived worse. So you can finish the workout and then stack on five more reps because fuck it and fuck it all and fuck the bar and everything sucks and this hurts but that’s nothing new so five more and then five more and then five fucking more.
One Of The Greatest American Novel, The Great Gatsby, Accurately And Concisely Summed Up In The Styling Of 4chan
Be student that wants to learn about bond
move to this new city called West egg in Long island
Only relatives I have at this place is my cousin, Daisy
She’s a solid 7/10, married to some compulsive asshole named Tom
Cheats on her with this whore, Myrtle, who is also married
Tom keeps his relationship in the down low and always have sex parties with Myrtle and bunch of plebs
Be at dinner with Daisy and Tom when first arrived
introduced me to Jordan, she’s pretty cute, 8/10
Learn about this "legendary guy" named Jay Gatsby
Jay is this rich guy that throw amazing parties, rich, charming, as alpha as you can get basically
Got invited to his party, about to shit my pants
went to the party, first intimidated by Jay
He called me old sport, English gentleman type
totally cool, doesn’t have an ego or anything
started chit chatting away about his past
found out that he actually knows my cousin Daisy from back in the day
bought his house, located in the East Egg, which is directly across the river from Daisy’s house
would peak at the house at night just to get a glimpse of her
Why? Why would a show aimed at little girls attract such a large audience of non-little-girls? Most bronies would give a simple answer: “This show is awesome”. But it goes deeper than that.
Clearly it’s a good show, with good characters, good writing, and good animation. But that hardly explains the scale of the brony phenomenon.
The big factor is the brony community itself. The community sustains and expands itself, and the show has become a proxy for a variety of values and relationships that are much more important and fundamental than the actual show. Allow me to explain:
Though we don’t often realize it, young men (approx. age 13-29) are constrained by a variety of social norms. (The same applies to any other demographic, of course.) We tend to enjoy badass things like superheroes and martial arts. (Well we’re mostly internet nerds so we don’t do much martial arts, but we watch martial arts movies etc.) We spend a lot of time playing Halo or Modern Warfare, killing aliens and terrorists. This is all fine; we actually do enjoy this stuff. But for most of our lives, we have been socially prohibited from enjoying anything cute, pure or innocent. (Even our comedies are crude.) This prohibition is so strong that we don’t even realize it’s there; we don’t even think about various styles of entertainment which don’t fit within our social norms. (And those who deviate are often derrided as “fags” etc.) This has created a kind of emotional malnutrition; we have not allowed ourselves to consume as much cuteness, pureness or innocence in our media as we would actually like to consume.
MLP:FiM contains all of these elements in spades, with the strong bonus that it’s a well-made show overall. With the advent of the brony community, young men have collectively granted each other permission to rewrite our own social norms and relieve our malnutrition. The existence of the community encourages new bronies to “come out of the closet” as it were, not to admit that we are gay (which we typically aren’t), but to admit that we enjoy these elements which are typically regarded as feminine and/or socially prohibited to us. Thus the community enables our enjoyment of the show, and the exhilaration we experience at successfully changing our own social norms is one of the primary feelings that we share with each other. (Though most people don’t think this through in such detail, and reduce the entire phenomenon to “This show rocks!”)
I bought this mockery of a machine as a gift for my wife, because she hates grating cheese by hand. She’s very lazy, but that’s neither here nor there. The first thing she did when I gave it to her was ask, "What’s this? What kind of a cheap b@stard buys a cheese grater as a birthday gift?" Pushing my anger aside, I told her to try it out. That it’ll make her life in the kitchen a bit easier. After being yelled at for what seemed like an eternity about how I’m sexist and a fool for implying that a woman’s place is in the kitchen, she finally calmed down and decided to try it out. Yelling at me always makes her hungry.
Finally, I thought. Wait until she sees this bad boy in action. From what I had seen in the commercials, this Power Grater was going to demolish that block of cheddar protruding from her sweaty ham-like hands in seconds. She placed the block in and struggled with connecting the cover to the base. "Oh yeah." she said. "This is as easy as easy gets." She’s fluent in sarcasm. What little sincerity she possessed quickly died after I said, "I do." After snapping it in place, she pressed the button. Then it began to grate the block of cheese. To say that it was slow would be giving the Power Grater much more credit than it deserves. A minute had passed, and it had barely grated enough cheese to cover the surface of a quarter.
My wife looked at me with a rage I hadn’t seen since the time I made the mistake of eating the last slice of pizza several years earlier. "What in the (expletive deleted) am I supposed to do with this? I’d lose 10 pounds before this damn thing finishes grating the cheese!" I had to bite my tongue to the point of drawing blood to prevent even touching that one. "You take this (expletive deleted) back to whatever dollar store or flea market you bought it from and get me a real gift!" She flung it at me with lightning speed and plastic and cheese exploded across my forehead. My head was ringing and all I could see was flashes of white light.
"That’s what you get for buying me a piece of crap for my birthday, you worthless (expletive deleted)!" I heard her shout through the intense ringing sound that had now become my universe. "The commercial…it…it…" was all I could utter. The commercial had lead me to believe that I had bought a miracle machine. That I would for once have done something to make my wife actually give me a compliment. Now it was my turn to rage. "I WAS LIED TO!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. A small gash had opened up where the Power Grater had made contact and blood was trickling down into my left eye. "All I wanted to do was make your fat (expletive deleted) happy for once in your miserable life! It’s not my fault! The commercial made it seem like it would cut the cheese in seconds! Everything is a lie! Our marriage is a lie! I can’t stand you and I want a divorce! Happy birthday, you fat, miserable (expletive deleted)!"
Long story short, she broke pretty much everything I owned and took the house. I’m currently living in a tiny apartment that is so rundown, not even the roaches would live in it and my neighbors make crack heads seem like upstanding citizens. I’m currently having to review this product from the library because, one, it’s the only place I feel safe. And two, my soon to be ex wife broke my computer. So would I recommend this product? If you have to ask, then you must have skipped the first four paragraphs.