In the same way a drug dealer targets the withdrawn and the weak, modern women carry that same sadistic instinct. They play dress-up with politics, spirituality, interests – peddling counterfeit intimacy like heroin to the lonely and desperate. Everyone worships something. These women worship engagement. They’ll “schizopost” under a ring light on TikTok, repackaging the cries of society’s outcasts as seductive slogans. They quote Nietzsche in fishnets. Their walls are plastered with posters of anime they’ve never watched. Not a single thing women say is sincere or genuine. It’s all theater. They’ll claim to believe in something – and maybe, in the moment, they even believe it themselves. But these fake convictions never last. Not because they’re overtly malicious, but because they’ve stopped policing each other. Slut-shaming once served a purpose – not prudery, but price control. High-value women defended the market, punishing those who gave it away. Promiscuity had to cost, or monogamy would fall. “Slut” was a weapon, not of virtue, but of value. Then came the Revolution: pills, paychecks, and silence. The shame faded; the word dulled. What was once sacred turned casual. The market crashed. Sex went digital – sterile, endless, cheap. No risk. No connection. And arguably, no eroticism. Maybe it isn’t that we need to hate foids more – they need to be made to hate each other.