In one of the more ludicrous examples of women in prime wall-hitting age having trouble getting to grips with reality, Vogue writer Karley Sciortino tries to convince herself that she’s, like totally, a great catch for any cucked young buff handsome billionaire with a predilection for leftovers. According to her article, How Did I Become the Last Single Person in My Friend Group?, she seems to live in a parallel universe in which women get more attractive the more morally corrupt and physiologically decrepit they are.

We learn the following about her:

– her friends are sluts (“inflating a 6-foot blow-up penis”)
– she loves to drink (“a month’s rent worth of rosé”); her saving grace is probably that she can’t afford a proper place to live, so her rent isn’t all that high thanks to sharing a place with half a dozen other libshits
– she doesn’t even like her friends (“pretending to be happy for Karen”)

All of this came from the last sentence of the opening paragraph. Man, she’s clearly quite a keeper! As I read her article, I wondered if she’s suffered a serious head injury earlier in her life because there can’t be a sane person who thinks that what I quoted above, and what I’m going to quote below, in any way reflects positively on her.

So, onward, dear wall-hitting train wreck of a woman!

What else has our lovely little snow flake done in her life? A lot. A lot of dudes: she writes of “emergency threesomes” and seems proud of the fact that she celebrated her 30th birthday by having a foursome and getting shit-faced, probably not in that order. Just imagine an eligible bachelor googling her name! Any remotely sane guy would lose interest at all, simply due to the fact that if you bother to date someone, you’re interested in their long-term potential, and that’s not so great if she spent a decade or so binge drinking and getting gang-banged.

It’s not as if she doesn’t see the value in having a boyfriend, though:

As a millennial feminist, allow me to run with this victim thing. Last week I had a new air conditioner delivered, only to realize that it was too heavy for me to carry up four flights of stairs to my apartment. So, being single, I had to hire a random man from the Internet to carry it for me. Then I had to hire a different man to install it, only to have that man explain that I’d bought an AC with the wrong voltage for my building, which meant that I had to rehire the first man to carry the AC back downstairs again. When I told this story to my mom, she responded with a sigh, “See, this is why you need a boyfriend: Air conditioners, broken toilets, a raccoon in the basement—that all becomes their problem.”

I get it, it probably sucks being stupid. If that woman is a “victim”, it’s due to her poor choices in life, and now it’s simply too late. Let’s get some guy to mansplain that to her.

At least she’s got her priorities straight:

But it’s not just that being single suddenly feels alienating in your 30s. It’s also that dating itself becomes more difficult. For one, the stakes are higher. You don’t want to waste your time on someone who doesn’t feel like they could be “the one.”

Listen, Karley, at your age you likely have to pay drinks so that men spend any time with you, and if they do so, they certainly don’t assess whether you’d make a good mother. If anything, they’ll ask herself whether they could tolerate fucking you, and you better hope than none of the five ditzes they have been talking to on Tinder gets back to them by the time you’ve finished your martini.

However, she just goes on and on how great she is:

Essentially, we are far more discriminating in our 30s than we were in our 20s, which is both a blessing and a curse. We know more about what we want and what we won’t tolerate—but to a point where almost no one is good enough.

Someone should tell her that there’s a problem with the product she’s trying to sell: it’s no longer a seller’s market because any guy who wants to settle down will look for women in their 20s, and guys who just want to blow a load but don’t want to, or cannot, because feminists have outlawed it, make use of the services of an escort may only consider her if there really are no other options.

Here’s the kicker:

Sometimes I think I should’ve picked someone when I was 25 and stupid, and then just made it work.

I’ve got a surprise insight for you, Karley: you can’t just make it work. The reason why every single guy you ever dated left you is because they just didn’t like you enough, and good luck changing your personality! You didn’t succeed being a pleasant girl in your 20s, and presumably teens, so what are you going to do now? In my experience, the average Western whore doesn’t even know how to keep a guy around. They all assume that they are oh-so great, and at one point whomever is fucking them gets tired of their shit and dumps them.

She has a friend who’s dishing out hate facts, though:

This past weekend, I was commiserating about 30s singledom with my friend “Steve,” a 35-year-old TV producer who lives in Chicago. “Okay, I’m going to be really misogynistic for a minute,” Steve told me from the phone, “but I think that women—even if they are modern and feminist and independent or whatever—still feel pressure to get married and grow up in that specific, Disney-lifestyle kind of way. So the women who are my age-ish, who are still single, are kind of the fucking leftovers. They’re the people who couldn’t get their shit together, and they’re kind of crazy—believe me, I know, because I’ve dated them all.”

Well done, Steve!

This is the end game for women like Karley:

If you had asked me two years ago about having a family, I would have been like, “Eww, why would I have kids when I could devote my life to more important things, like blogging and attending mediocre sex parties?” But now I’m like: “I’m too lazy to go out. Maybe I should just start a family.” (I guess biology is real?)

No, you are not too lazy to go out, instead you no longer like going out because you only appear interesting to guys after they have gotten shot down by every young and attractive woman in the club. Good luck starting a family with one of those dudes!

Do you know what guys like even more than middle-aged women with saggy tits and a loose pussy? Women who additionally have their head in the clouds:

I’m literally cringing while typing this, but I also think that a lot of people—particularly people in creative fields, whose professional lives have less predictable trajectories—see themselves as always on the brink of “making it.” Like, “Well, my career is just about to take off, after which I’ll be rich and famous, and then I’ll have access to better, hotter people.”

Fucking LOL! So, one day you’re writing a column for Vogue, and the next day you’ll buy a 500-foot yacht and get railed by Leonardo DiCaprio, aight? She doesn’t even get that guys don’t give flying fuck about the material success of a woman. Okay, that’s a mild exaggeration, but a young super-hot ditz (with conservative attitudes!) has a much higher chance getting a high SMV-man to start a family with than some 30-year-old woman with a Liberal Arts degree from Fuck U whose career “has taken off”, so that she no longer has to live with room mates and her aging parents only have to support her with a mere 250 bucks a month to bridge the gap between her expenses and her income, or something like that.

She just doesn’t get it:

However, I would argue that the leftovers are not always crazy, but often are the women who refuse to subscribe to the Disney, faux happy ending, and who therefore lead more interesting and strange lives.

Yeah, keep telling yourself that.