Red Pill Rhymes: The Iliad

(Yes, this is a poem, so it qualifies as a Red Pill Rhyme.  Plus, I couldn’t think of a catchy alliterative term for Red Pill Stories.)

I figure there are many reasons that schools stopped teaching the classics: incompetence (of both teachers and students), modernism, shifting time to leftist indoctrination, and so on.  But one reason had to be the increasing influence of feminism, and the discomfort caused by the red pill truths about men and women in these classic stories.

For those who don’t know the story, here’s a summary.  First, the backdrop is the Trojan War, which starts when three goddesses are challenged to a beauty contest and Paris, a prince of the city of Troy, is appointed as judge.  The goddesses shamelessly parade naked before him and promise him various worldly favors, thus nicely demonstrating the vanity and social competitiveness of women as well as the power of the neg.  Paris picks Aphrodite, who rewards him by making Helen, the wife of the Spartan king Menelaus and the most beautiful woman in the world, fall in love with him (though she repeatedly calls herself a whore, so it’s not clear that it was all that involuntary) and he carries her off to Troy.  Though wife- and daughter-stealing is not unusual at this time, the Greeks take umbrage, and assemble a massive army from the various Greek city-states, which sails to Troy, pillaging along the way, making Helen famously “the face that launched a thousand ships.”

As The Iliad opens, the war is entering its tenth year, and the Greeks are gradually winning.  Along the way, they’ve acquired many “bride-prizes”: women taken in battle from the losers and portioned out to the various Greek kings and commanders.  Agamemnon, leader of the Greek forces, has taken a girl who turns out to be the daughter of a priest of Apollo, who persuades Apollo to send a plague upon the Greeks in retribution for this sacrilege.  Agamemnon whines for a while, then finally agrees to give the girl back, but because he’s supposed to be the Big Cheese, he can’t not have the best bride-prize in the army, so he insists on taking the bride-prize of Achilles, the greatest Greek warrior (presumably she was the second hottest).

This gets Achilles extremely pissed off, to the point that he pulls himself and all his own troops out of the battle and sulks in his tent while the Trojans begin to get the upper hand and kill lots of Greeks during his absence.  Achilles even asks his mother, a sea goddess, to talk Zeus into helping the Trojans kill Greeks so they’ll have to come crawling to him.  They do, and Agamemnon gives the girl back plus some bonus prizes, but by then Achilles is so furious he still refuses to fight.

So we already have a big red-pill truth: Women Ruin Everything.  Women started the war in the first place, and now because of men fighting over prize-girls they barely know, so many men are dying that they’re wading in blood.  Achilles demonstrates history’s worst-ever case of Oneitis; though it’s mainly his pride that’s damaged, he whines about losing the girl like she was the great love of his life.

But here’s the part I knew I had to write about here.  When Achilles’s mother Thetis convinces Zeus to help the Trojans hurt the Greeks, that pisses off Zeus’s wife Hera, who’s partial to the Greeks and still mad about losing the beauty contest.  So she starts nagging Zeus about favoring this other goddess — whom she saw kneeling and hugging his knees while she begged for his help — and basically going all fishwife on him.  Zeus responds:

  • And Zeus who marshals the thunderheads returned,
  • “Maddening one … you and your eternal suspicions –
  • I can never escape you.  A but tell me, Hera,
  • just what do you do about all this?  Nothing.
  • Only estrange yourself from me a little more –
  • and all the worse for you.
  • If what you say is true, that must be my pleasure.
  • Now go sit down.  Be quiet now.  Obey my orders,
  • for fear the gods, however many Olympus holds,
  • are powerless to protect you when I come
  • to throttle you with my irresistible hands.”
  •                                                       He subsided
  • but Hera the queen, her eyes wider, was terrified.
  • She sat in silence.  She wrenched her will to his.

As soon as I read that, I knew there’s no way any modern liberal teacher would let that anywhere hear her classroom.  Zeus tells her to sit down and shut up — and she does it, and wrenches her will to his.  She doesn’t just obey; she changes her will to align with his.  It goes on with her children consoling her and convincing her to work back into Zeus’s good graces.  After a while she’s smiling and happy, and the part ends with:

  • And Olympian Zeus the lord of lightning went to his own bed
  • where he had always lain when welcome sleep came on him.
  • There he climbed and there he slept and by his side
  • lay Hera the Queen, the goddess of the golden throne.

That’s so beautiful it almost brings a tear to my eye.  No one’s sleeping on the couch or running off to her mother’s.  Of course, it’s not permanent; Hera returns to being a harpy and trying to manipulate him again later in the book.  And another red-pill truth: Zeus lets her get away with too much because she wears him down and he gets used to it, and doesn’t always put her in her place fast enough.  But there’s enough red pill there — and not just on socio-sexual relations, but on things like politics and war as well — that I can see why kids have to be kept away from it.  Teachers would probably read Huckleberry Finn in class — with the original scary Word — than read this stuff.

Red Pill Rhymes: Centerfold

I heard this song the other day, and it took me back. I think I was about 13 when this song was huge (great album, too), and the big-haired, sweater-wearing girls in the video are still exquisite. It also happens to be an example of the red-pill truths that I somehow missed on my way to becoming a pedestalizing White Knight, even while singing along to them:

She was pure like snowflakes
No one could ever stain
The memory of my angel
Could never cause me pain

Years go by I’m lookin’
Through a girly magazine
And there’s my homeroom angel
On the pages in-between

How did I not realize he was talking about my angel?

But more interestingly, it touches on a topic that comes up now and then in these parts: the idea that men prefer a woman with sexual experience. It’s always been my contention that that’s false. Except for the rare cuckold fetishist, men want unspoiled women. What happens is this: a guy meets a woman and falls in love with her, then finds out she’s had about ten times the amount of cock that he was guessing, but it’s too late, he’s hooked. So he rationalizes it away by telling himself that it shows she likes sex and isn’t shy about it, so at least he won’t have to wait too long and should get plenty. That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t prefer her to be a virgin, but he’s not willing to move on, so he’s looking for the silver lining.

The song describes that perfectly. When the guy first sees his “homeroom angel” in the girly magazine, he’s shocked and horrified.  But after thinking about it a while, he finds the upside:

I hope that when this issue’s gone
I’ll see you when your clothes are on

Take your car, yes we will
We’ll take your car and drive it
We’ll take it to a motel room
And take ‘em off in private

So he’s thinking, “Hey, she took her clothes off for millions of magazine buyers, so she’ll get naked for anyone, including me.”  Before, he thought she was a good girl; now he thinks all he has to do is say the word and she’ll disrobe and jump him. Unfortunately for him, that’s probably not true at all. Sluts can be the biggest prudes ever when they aren’t attracted to a guy, and their defensiveness over their slutty acts only adds to that. If he was the nice guy who did her homework for her in school, he’s the last guy she would ever get naked for. Even the knowledge that he saw the centerfold would creep her out in a way that millions of strange guys seeing it didn’t.

So the lesson, guys: Your “homeroom angel” is really a devil, but that doesn’t mean she’ll be a devil for you.  It doesn’t matter where she falls on the virgin-to-slut scale — if you want to see her naked in person, you have to be the guy she finds attractive.


My apologies (again) to commenters whose comments were stuck in the pending file for a while.  I got very busy with real-life things this summer and neglected this, which is inexcusably rude to people who take the time to comment.  I’ll do better.

I didn’t really have much of a plan when I started this blog. I came up with the name Cail Corishev so I’d have a pseudonym for commenting on dissident web sites. I don’t make a big effort to maintain a secret identity, but I comment on some topics that would be foreign to friends and family, and I didn’t want to have to lecture on them every Sunday after church. So I thought a pen name would
provide some separation. Then after I’d been using Cail for a while, I discovered that there were times that a comment went too long to be polite, so I created this blog for those. Unfortunately, sometimes those are few and far between, and I’m too picky about what deserves a long post here, so this blog stagnates.

That’s not necessarily a problem — the blogosphere would manage with one blog fewer — but I’m working on self-discipline and organization, so having it sitting here nagging at me isn’t good. It’s also not fair to commenters to ignore their comments for weeks on end. I need to either run it properly or trash it. So starting yesterday, I’m going to post at least one thing each weekday before I allow myself to comment on any other blogs. Some may be pretty short, but better short than never.


Once in a while, the idea of taking the vote away from women comes up. It’s a good idea, though I’m not really a fan of democracy in the first place. But someone generally responds, as in this comment at Alpha Game, with the fact that married women vote much more conservatively than single women; so the real problem is single people, or some other configuration.

The thing is, both are true. Women, in general, are more emotion-driven and short-sighted than men, so more likely to vote for security and short-term gains over freedom and reason. Married women, in general, are more sensible than single women, because they have an allegiance to their husbands that outranks their allegiance to their own whims, so they have less dependence on the state and Other People’s Money.

But you can take it further than that. Any restriction on the vote would improve matters, as long as it’s not targeted toward white, native-born, Christian, home- or land-owning, married men. The more a person varies from those criteria, the more he is likely to vote for big-government leftism, and the more problematic his group’s vote is likely to be.

  • Ban women from voting? Better.
  • Blacks/Hispanics/Asians/other-minority? Better.
  • Naturalized immigrants? Better.
  • Unmarried and/or childless people? Better.
  • Ban homosexuals and other deviants? Better.
  • Renters, or people with zero equity? Better.
  • People who don’t speak English? Better.
  • Government employees? Better.
  • People without a driver’s license? Better.
  • People without a hunting license? Much better.
  • People who can’t name the current vice president? Better.
  • Charge a dollar to vote? Better.

Any or all of those would have better results than universal suffrage.  (For what it’s worth, a few of those would ban me, and I’d be fine with that.)

I think, though, that any vote is liable over time to spread to more people until it becomes universal. There’s too much advantage to be gained for the state in buying off more and more people and groups. We’re still moving in that direction in the US, with some Democrats now suggesting that it’s unfair to ban non-citizens from voting. The only solution is probably to get rid of voting altogether; or make it less direct, like having a hereditary monarchy but allowing the people to vote to depose the current monarch; things like that.

PTSD Flashback Sex

Over at Dalrock’s, Isa asked the following question.  Since I’m on record as saying that wives should obey their husbands without exception, I thought I should respond to this delicate issue here.

Just as a more personal question, when would it be acceptable to withhold? If I know that engaging would cause ptsd flashbacks etc. I of course say no (I’d rather not crush his soul into tiny tiny tiny pieces).

I think part of the problem is that women really have no clue how important sex is to a husband.  Even the ones who think they know only grasp it partially.  When you deny your husband sex, that “crushes his soul into tiny tiny tiny pieces.”  You may think it would crush him to be inside you when you have one of your flashbacks, and you may be right about that.  But denying him over and over devastates him too, and perhaps worse.  Only he can know that.  You can’t.

Lying next to the woman you love, smelling her, hearing her breath and movements, and not being able to have her, is torture.  If you have no choice — if she was in a terrible gymnastics accident that broke her vagina so it had to be removed — you can roll with that; at least you’re in it together.  But when you can’t have her because she denies you, then she is the one torturing you.

You’re saying that sex (often) is torture for you.  But being denied sex is torture for him.  Is it fair to subject him to torture to save yourself from it?

So my short answer is: it’s never acceptable to withhold.  It’s just not.  Aside from the fact that Saints Peter and Paul didn’t say, “Be subject to your husbands except when it would be really horrible for you,” it’s the most destructive thing you can do to your marriage, short of cuckolding him in public.

Having said that, there’s nothing wrong with asking for his understanding.  A man who loves you doesn’t want to put you through torture just to get himself off.  I assume he knew about your issues before you married, so he expected to have to deal with this.  I don’t see anything wrong with saying, “I’m in a bad place right now; could I have a rain check?”  He’ll probably agree, glad that you’re communicating, as long as you don’t overuse it.  Just make sure you keep that rain check, and show him a good enough time that he’s glad he waited.  If there are times that you feel like you’d be okay, seize the opportunity by seizing him.  If he asks you to do anything to help with your fears — counseling, praying together, medical treatments, sacrificing a chicken first — do it without complaint.  Be the best wife you can be in every other way; sandwiches and a clean house won’t make up completely for lack of sex, but they can help.  Pray constantly for release from your demons, and pray for patience for your husband.

Frequency of sex is important, but perhaps even more important is that a husband never feels like his wife is using her issues, whether headaches or flashbacks, to deny him or manipulate him.  If there are times that you just can’t do it, apologize, beg his forgiveness, and make it up to him as best you can.  But when you can grit your teeth and bear it, do it; don’t abuse his consideration.


The lesson here for unmarried women:  if damage from your past, whether self-inflicted or inflicted by others, makes you feel sick at the idea of a husband pulling you into the bedroom and tearing your clothes off whenever he feels like it, don’t get married.  Don’t even date, because you’re not ready to marry.  And don’t think you’re going to find an understanding guy with low libido so it won’t matter, because what’ll happen is a guy will fall in love with you and claim he doesn’t mind, but he’ll really be thinking, “My kindness will heal her wounds, and soon we’ll be humping like bunnies,” and he’ll resent you when that doesn’t happen.  Get help for yourself and heal those wounds first.  If you can’t, well, that’s a tragedy, but marriage isn’t for everyone.

Bad Catholic Advice

I could probably dedicate this entire blog to chronicling the non-Catholic advice given at the Catholic Answers Forum (I’m not linking to it because I don’t want to help Catholics honestly searching for help with their faith to find the place), but I won’t.  It would be too depressing.  I did want to respond to this one posted in a comment at Dalrock’s blog, though, since it gets into Catholic apologetics more than is on-topic there.  I won’t quote the whole thing, but the context is that a Catholic wife went to her priest for advice because her husband doesn’t want to have procreative sex, so he’s basically blackmailing her: have sex with a condom or get me off some other way, or I’m going to turn to porn.  And the priest told her to go along with it for the sake of keeping the marriage together.  Now, we only have her side of the story, but I’m going to take it as given for the sake of discussion, because this kind of thing does happen.

The problem here is that a Catholic wife with a Catholic husband went to her Catholic priest and got non-Catholic advice. Whether non-Catholics at Dalrock’s disagree with Church teachings is irrelevant to two people who took vows in a Church where openness to procreation is one of the absolute prerequisites for marriage.

Note that the priest doesn’t tell her to obey her husband out of obedience to God — that would be too traditional. No, he tells her to go along with his sinful desires (grudgingly and tearfully, from the sounds of it) in hopes that the marriage will magically get better (or that the kids will get old enough that she can blow up the marriage without hurting them, probably). So he’s still coming from the female imperative, encouraging her to choose to participate in sin rather than saying, “Lord, I’m putting my faith in You and following Your Word by submitting joyfully; please use me to bring my husband closer to You.” See how this priest’s advice actually lets her husband partly off the hook, whereas actual wifely submission would put all the responsibility on him? See how it results in her thinking that she — as the more spiritual, moral partner, being female — has to “help” him do the right thing?

Also, as far as we know, the priest hasn’t visited with the husband to find out what the heck is going on and correct this member of his flock if necessary, which should have been his next stop after talking to her. But that would probably be too confrontational; and besides, we all know that women are the spiritual ones in the family and men are pretty much hopeless brutes, so why bother.

Also, many priests of a certain generation are just as dismissive of Church teachings on sex as anyone else. It’s not unusual for them to shrug this kind of thing off with, “Oh, it’s not that big a deal; no one’s perfect.”  I’ve even heard of priests telling people to stop bringing it to Confession. I know people with several children whose priests have offered to give them a dispensation for using birth control — even though they have no such authority and no such thing exists. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s some of that coming into play here, with the priest wishing she’d just get with the program like the other 90% of Catholics who ignore the teachings on procreation and stop bugging him.

These “micro-managed rules” (which they aren’t: “no contraceptive sex ever” isn’t micro-managing; it’s actually one very simple rule) make sense and work just fine, in the context of an overall Catholic life. Not so much when the spouses are immersed in the female imperative; have been taught since Vatican II that you can pick and choose from these “old-fashioned” rules; and have a cowardly, modernist priest who only makes things worse.  It’s not surprising that non-Catholics think it’s a lot of arbitrary nonsense with this kind of guidance happening.

Deadbeat’s Day?

I’ve finally gotten some other things out of the way, so I’m going to be posting regularly starting this week.  But I had to share this lovely sentiment I saw on Facebook today:

To all the great dads (and the mom’s who did the job of a dad) everywhere, Happy Father’s Day.

So we can’t let fathers have one day to themselves without sneaking mothers in there.  But even worse, we have to use the opportunity to take a shot at fathers who weren’t around (usually, as in the case of this single mother, because she made it so).  O happy day!

I’m going to try to remember this, so I can post the reverse next year on Mother’s Day (minus the apostrophe abuse) and see what happens.