Ricky Clarridge
Ricky is a writer from London. He spent most of his life being told his innate red pill ideologies were misplaced but in recent years has taken a strong stand against devil worshipping feminist propaganda. He likes football, poker and travelling.
I watched the UK version of dating game show Take Me Out the other night. For those of you fortunate enough never to have witnessed this emasculating abomination, the format sees 30 single women each standing on their own lit-up podium to show how special they are.
Each one has a button to turn their light off. In each round some hapless simpleton—sorry, lucky male contestant—lumbers out to try to impress them by dancing, singing, and revealing intimate details about his personal life.
If the girls want to date him they keep their light on and if they don’t they turn it off, often in the opening segment (which is based purely on looks). At the end, having pranced around and humiliated himself on national television, the contestant then gets to choose which of the remaining women he’d like to treat to a short getaway to Cyprus.
If all the girls turn their lights off, the beta walks off to a humiliating rendition of Celine Dion’s All By Myself as the girls sway their hands back and forth above their heads. Honestly.
Given this unprecedented level of entitlement, you’d think the girls would at least be stunners. Far from it; some of these self-indulgent bints are bonafide hogs. In the interest of journalistic objectivity, here are a few pictures of women who have actually had the gall to appear on the show. You can judge for yourselves.
England’s finest.
Case closed.
So why write this article now given the show has existed for some time? In short, the latest episode represented a new low for this degrading insight into the UK’s slut-on-a-pedestal ideology.
The slutty ex
Whilst I was busy shaking my head and tutting at another contestant reassuring his prized pig that it “didn’t bother [him]” that she was more than a decade his senior and had a kid, out walked Nick. He was a little too hipster for my liking but seemed harmless enough, and fared well with nearly half of the girls still interesting moving into the final segment.
Host Paddy McGuinness then checked how it was going with a couple of the girls. It was at this point that the audience met the cuntishly-named Looci (spelt Lucy in 99% of the world) who revealed that Nick was actually her ex-boyfriend.
“He is a beautiful person from head-to-toe, inside and out” she cooed through pierced lips before revealing that she’d dumped him. She patted the tattoo on her chest which covered her black heart, feigning genuine emotion, and her little act paid off. The other girls immediately turned their lights off with the exception of one particularly desperate manatee.
The kind of face only a mother could love.
“He was the last serious boyfriend I had” she admitted in a thinly veiled hat tip to her glory days on the cock carousel following the breakup. Stuck between a rock and a fat place, Nick foolishly opted for his cock-gobbling ex-girlfriend and the two walked off into the distance holding hands as the audience applauded the downfall of humanity.
In his ensuing 10-second interview Nick gave us a frustratingly submissive insight into his decision. “She broke my heart. I’m hoping this is a second chance at something with her…I’ll try not to cry” he whimpered.
How can anyone, even a beta as feeble as our antihero Nick, consider taking back a piece of shit like her? Let’s rewind, shall we Nick? You were together three years and she broke your heart when she gave you the elbow. She then spent “a long time” without a “serious boyfriend” as she sucked off every man and his dog before applying for the show in search of more attention and more penetration.
She had your number. She didn’t call you. She chose the show.
Then, young Nicholas, you appeared. At the first hint of you actually moving on and enjoying some time with a girl who wasn’t a grotesque, tattoo-ridden demon with more shrapnel in her body than a World War II veteran, she pulled a cock-blocking move of mammoth proportions. Have some pride. Put out her light. Spit in her face (optional).
What it means
Whilst we can all collectively weep for what will inevitably be a torrid second dumping for Nick it was, of course, largely his own fault. The real problem here is the ramifications on a national audience. The show pulls in around 3 million viewers which is a significant figure in the UK. Think of the impressionable teenagers and young adults watching this who think that this is actually the way men should behave in society.
The idea that men should have to parade themselves around and quite literally put on a performance to impress these brain-dead and largely unattractive women sets a worrying precedent. What makes them so desirable? Why should men pander to them for the privilege of giving them a holiday? Why is there no alternative of a woman vying for the attention of 30 fat, slobbish men with tattoos and piercings?
This piece of shit show is a microcosm of the modern western world’s skewered perception of gender roles. Women, no matter how uninteresting, unintelligent, and unattractive, are raised with a sense of entitlement which makes them believe they have an innate right to be fawned over by men.
Despite being uneducated and well-versed in the universal language of dick, girls like Looci continue to trap blue pill betas like Nick and condemn them to a life sentence of tolerating damaged goods.
Shows like this will come and go. The lasting imprint on our culture will not.
Read More: 35 Things Wrong With America
Ricky Clarridge
Ricky is a writer from London. He spent most of his life being told his innate red pill ideologies were misplaced but in recent years has taken a strong stand against devil worshipping feminist propaganda. He likes football, poker and travelling.
