We talk about the decline of male spaces a lot on the Red Pill — how, more and more often, there has been an erosion of those places where men can be in the company of men, and horse around and talk bullshit, and discuss issues of importance to those blessed with a penis.
I am lucky enough to have found one. It's tiny but warm, the beer is cheap and of good quality, and the few girls that show up are respectful. I have even heard a man bring up Patrice O' Neil out of the blue.
Even here, I do not talk about Redpill. Many of the men who show up to this place are simply not ready, and I'm not painting a target on my back. But there is a question that I like to ask that gets men scratching their chins in thought:
Would you be willing to work hard at your job — 15 hours a day, 6 days a week — if, upon return to your home, your wife was sitting there in a clean dress, smelling good and dolled up with her hair done the way you like, ready to give you an enthusiastic blowjob and a bowl of hot Campbell's Soup?
I have never heard the answer no to this question.
Okay. Now. That blowjob and that bowl of canned soup — that's what? 15 minutes? And maybe smelling nice and putting a dress on, that's...well, let's say that she is gonna take a whole 45 minutes for that. So we have ONE HOUR of effort for your 15 hours of hard labor. Why is it unreasonable for a man to ask that of the woman who is supposed to love him?
Then...then there is, inevitably, an uncomfortable silence.
Okay. And...well, let's say, one day, you come home tired, with your dick hard and your belly growling, and...your woman is sick in bed with a virus and runny nose and a box of tissues. 'I didn't make your soup,' she croaks, 'and it might just have to be a handjob tonight...'
What do you do? Do you tell her that she's a disappointment? Complain? Sulk? Start chatting with new ladies on OKCupid? Or would you do anything to help that girl get back on her feet?
And there it is. Because it isn't about the blowjob, and it isn't about the soup. It is about the desire to do those things.
This woman is a fantasy woman — this woman who dedicates an hour of her life to making sure that her man has the strength to go out day after day and be a MAN. Because they don't know. They have to be guided into that life, into that position of love and reverence and respect, and to see how happy it can make the both of you.
Try it. Ask that question to your friends. And if you get a particularly interesting answer, mention it below.
EDIT: The best comments here are arguing about soup quality. It should be tiger veal dipped in gold for working 90 hours a week. But there are dudes out there KILLING THEMSELVES for NO SOUP and NO BLOWING.
Because the desire isn't there. At the end of the day, she doesn't want to. And that is an epiphany moment for a shockingly high percentage of the men out there.
EDIT 2: I would like to thank Redditors of all hues for the influx of red envelopes. For the sake of argument, you may assume that the woman in our example has an IQ of 150 (in the Ke$ha – Asia Carrera range) and that her hobbies include 1) Fortran and 2) being an actual, real person with thoughts and feelings. Thank you.