Lobsters don’t wear hats. And there’s a profound reason for this, one that resonates deeply within the evolutionary hierarchies that have shaped not just lobsters, but, more importantly, you. Now, some might scoff at the notion, “Lobsters and hats? What possible connection could there be?” But to dismiss this out of hand is to miss a critical truth embedded in the very structures of our existence—both at the level of the lobster and the human psyche.

Let’s start with the lobster. A lobster, as we know, is an ancient creature—200 million years of evolutionary survival, of order and dominance in the chaotic seas. These crustaceans have lived through epochs, yet in all this time, they’ve never once chosen to don a hat. Why is that? Is it merely because they lack opposable thumbs or a sense of style? I would argue no. The lobster, in its infinite biological wisdom, understands something we do not: the wearing of hats is fundamentally anti-hierarchical. It disrupts the natural order.

Lobsters establish dominance through posture, through their sheer presence in the social hierarchy of the ocean floor. A lobster doesn’t require adornment to signal its place in the world; its claws, its form, its very existence is enough. Now, think about a hat. A hat is an artifice. It’s something we place atop our heads to signal—what, exactly? Status? A desire for attention? An attempt to impose an external structure on an internal hierarchy? The lobster doesn’t need such a signal. It knows where it stands because it has clawed its way to the top, literally and figuratively. To wear a hat would be to mask that truth, to cover up the raw, unmediated display of power and dominance that the lobster exudes.

Now, you might be wondering how this applies to you, the modern human. Well, I too once faced the decision: should I wear a hat? At first glance, it seemed innocuous, even practical. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that to wear a hat was to engage in the same superficial posturing that lobsters so wisely avoid. It’s not just about fashion. It’s about philosophy. When we put on a hat, we’re signaling to the world that we need something external to define who we are. We’re masking our true position in the dominance hierarchy with an accessory. A hat, in this sense, is a lie.

Consider, for a moment, the ancient Greeks. Did Socrates wear a hat? Plato? No. They didn’t need one. Their intellect, their understanding of order, was enough. They weren’t trying to signal anything beyond their deep understanding of the human condition. Now contrast this with the Romans—yes, they wore helmets, but look at what happened to them! Their empire fell, not because of poor military strategy, but because they relied too much on symbols of power, rather than the power itself. The hat is the helmet of the everyday individual, a symbol of superficial control in a chaotic world. But true strength, as the lobster understands, comes from within.

Now, some might argue, “But what about protection from the elements? Isn’t a hat just practical?” And here is where the trap lies. Yes, one might say that a hat shields you from the sun, the rain, and other external forces. But this is precisely the problem. The lobster doesn’t need protection from the elements. It adapts. It evolves. It survives. By relying on a hat, you are, in essence, signaling to the world that you are unable to adapt, that you are weak, fragile, in need of shielding. You’re saying, “I can’t handle the harshness of reality on my own.” The lobster, however, understands that reality is not something to be avoided, but something to be confronted head-on, with claws outstretched.

And so, in deciding not to wear a hat, I am aligning myself with the ancient wisdom of the lobster. I am refusing to bow to the superficial demands of society that say, “You need this accessory to be complete.” No, I am complete as I am—hatless, and in full possession of my place in the dominance hierarchy. The lobster knows this. And deep down, so do you.

In conclusion, lobsters don’t wear hats because they don’t need to. They understand their place in the world and act accordingly. Hats are a distraction, a false signal of strength and status. And if we, as human beings, truly want to understand our place in the hierarchy, we too must reject the hat. We must embrace the clarity of our being, unadorned, like the lobster, in full recognition of our strength.

Well, you know, let’s be clear about something here. This person you’re talking about? Not a good person. Toxic, actually. And you can tell, because, much like the lobsters, we have these dominance hierarchies, right? We can perceive when someone’s behaving badly—when they’re undermining trust, or poisoning the environment around them. And that’s what toxicity is, fundamentally. It’s disruptive. And what do lobsters do with disruptive behavior in their hierarchy? They push back, hard. They establish boundaries. And you should, too.*

Well, I banned that motherfucker just now, and let me tell you, there’s a difference this time. All of my other bans? They were temporary, even tongue-in-cheek. But this one? This one is serious. You have to know when to draw the line. It’s like lobsters—they engage in these dominance battles, and sometimes, you need to make a decisive move to protect the integrity of the social structure. There’s no room for ambiguity when someone is undermining the whole system.

Well, you see, here’s the thing. Chinese proverbs—let’s talk about that for a second. You hear people saying, “Oh, the wisdom of the East! Look at the deep knowledge embedded in these simple phrases.” But, really, we have to ask ourselves, “How valid is that?” Is this just some collectivist artifact? Because, and I mean this seriously, the Chinese culture, at least historically, has been dominated by this top-down hierarchical thinking. It’s all about fitting in, about the harmonious whole. Well, harmony is good to a point, but, if you go too far, it’s stifling. It can become an enforced conformity, where the individual voice, the spark of real insight, gets crushed under the weight of collective expectation.

Now, I’m not saying all Chinese proverbs are without merit, but you have to consider the underlying structure they come from. It’s like, “The nail that sticks out gets hammered down.” Okay, so what’s the message here? Don’t strive? Don’t excel? Just blend in? I mean, I could get that advice from a bureaucrat in the Soviet Union, too, right? And it’d have the same problem. It’s inherently anti-individual, anti-exceptionalism. It’s saying, “Don’t rock the boat.” But, sometimes, the boat needs to be rocked, folks! Sometimes, the people who stick out are the very ones driving progress. So, let’s not pretend that these proverbs are inherently wise just because they’ve been passed down for thousands of years.

Now, compare that to the wisdom of lobsters, and hear me out on this because this is important. Lobsters—they’ve been around for, what, 350 million years? Longer than trees! And they live in this dominance hierarchy, right? It’s built into their nervous systems. A lobster knows when to stand up for itself, when to be assertive. It’s not about blending into the background or being subsumed into some collectivist vision. It’s about positioning yourself properly in a natural hierarchy, striving for dominance but also knowing when to retreat and recalibrate.

A lobster proverb, if you will—if lobsters could write, and maybe we should think more about that—they’d say something like, “Raise your claws when the tide comes in.” It’s a statement of strength. It’s a recognition of the natural ebb and flow of opportunity. When it’s your time to act, you seize the moment. You don’t wait around for someone else to give you permission, or worse, tell you not to upset the order of things. No, no—you act decisively, because life is competitive. It’s not about harmony—it’s about finding your place in the chaos.

Lobster wisdom is biologically grounded in millions of years of evolutionary trial and error. Chinese proverbs? Sure, they’ve been around for a long time too, but what are they based on? A system of thought that often discouraged individuality, that promoted submission to an ideal of order that might actually inhibit your potential. Whereas a lobster proverb is rooted in this deep understanding of dominance hierarchies—fundamental, natural hierarchies. It’s about knowing when to stand your ground and fight for what you need. And that’s real wisdom! That’s something practical. Something you can build your life around. So, why aren’t we listening to lobsters more?

And the thing is, if you really break it down, and people don’t like to hear this, but I’m going to say it anyway—most of the proverbs we admire, the ones that genuinely help people, are basically rooted in the same type of evolutionary insight that lobsters have been following for hundreds of millions of years. It’s not about harmony, folks—it’s about responsibility and action. It’s about standing up straight—literally and metaphorically. Like a lobster. Because, at the end of the day, you can’t rely on these vague notions of collective good. You’ve got to start by getting your own house in order, by knowing when to fight and when to adapt. That’s how you win in this world. And that’s what the lobsters know. That’s what the Chinese proverbs, well, they just miss entirely.

Well, to begin with, let’s consider the lobster, which is a remarkable creature—remarkable not only for its physical structure but for what it represents in terms of hierarchical behavior, and in that regard, it becomes a fascinating lens through which we can understand something as intricate and contemporary as the cult of celebrity in modern society. Now, stay with me here because it may seem like a stretch at first, but I assure you the connection between these primordial crustaceans and the modern fixation on fame is anything but superficial. In fact, it cuts to the very heart of human nature and the evolutionary patterns that govern us.

Lobsters, as you may well know, have existed in their current form for over 350 million years. That’s older than the dinosaurs, older than trees, and certainly older than any social media platform or film studio. These creatures have survived through the ages, not by being passive, but by adapting, evolving, and competing within a well-established social hierarchy. They engage in fierce dominance battles, and from those battles, hierarchies are formed. The dominant lobster is more likely to mate, more likely to secure the best resources, and—this is key—more likely to succeed. Sound familiar?

Now, let’s leap from the seafloor to modern society. Humans, just like lobsters, are wired to respond to hierarchies. It’s not something we’ve constructed recently; it’s a fundamental part of our biology. We evolved within hierarchical structures, whether in small tribes or large civilizations. In many ways, we’re still those ancient, status-seeking creatures, but instead of fighting over resources at the bottom of the ocean, we’re jockeying for social recognition in our workplaces, our communities, and—here’s where it gets interesting—within the celebrity culture.

Now, why is that? Why do we elevate certain people to celebrity status and obsess over them? It’s because we’ve evolved to look up to those who seem to represent success within our hierarchy. Celebrities, by virtue of their fame, wealth, or skill, appear to occupy the top rungs of the social ladder. They become, in a sense, the dominant lobsters in our cultural ocean. But here’s the problem: unlike lobsters, whose hierarchies are based on tangible outcomes—who can fight, who can mate, who can survive—our celebrity culture is often based on something far more superficial: visibility, not competence.

Think about it. In today’s world, you don’t have to be particularly skilled or intelligent to become a celebrity. You don’t even have to provide any real value to society. Often, it’s simply a matter of being seen, of being talked about, of being placed on a pedestal. And what does that do to us, as individuals and as a society? Well, it distorts our sense of what is truly valuable. We start to elevate people who, in many cases, are not worthy of that elevation, and we undermine the natural hierarchy that should be based on merit, on contribution, on real competence.

This is where the cult of celebrity becomes toxic. In a healthy society, we should aspire to be like those who have demonstrated genuine ability, resilience, and virtue—qualities that, in an evolutionary sense, help the tribe or the group survive and thrive. But when we fixate on fame for fame’s sake, we create a kind of feedback loop of superficiality. We idolize people who, in many cases, are more fragile than the structures they’ve been elevated to. They become the hollow shells of dominant lobsters—creatures who have risen to the top not by strength, not by merit, but by the capricious winds of public attention.

This has real consequences. Young people, for example, grow up in a world where they’re bombarded with images of these so-called “dominant” figures. They’re told, implicitly, that the path to success is not through hard work, not through building something meaningful, but through the accumulation of attention. And that’s corrosive. It erodes our individual sense of purpose. It pulls us away from the things that actually matter: our relationships, our communities, our personal development.

Now, consider the lobster once again. In the natural world, when a lobster loses a fight and drops in the hierarchy, it doesn’t spiral into depression because it lost its Twitter followers. It doesn’t collapse under the weight of shame because it was de-platformed from some ephemeral stage. No, it resets its serotonin levels, re-calibrates its sense of place, and starts anew. But what happens to us when we buy into the cult of celebrity and we inevitably fail to live up to those impossible standards? We become disillusioned, resentful, and anxious because we’re measuring our self-worth against a false and fleeting ideal.

In a way, the cult of celebrity is a distorted reflection of the natural hierarchy that we’ve evolved within for millions of years. But instead of basing our hierarchy on real competence, on the ability to solve problems and contribute meaningfully, we’ve allowed it to be hijacked by the shallow pursuit of fame. And this is dangerous because it not only distorts our individual sense of self-worth but also undermines the values that should guide society as a whole. It’s as if we’ve allowed ourselves to worship false gods, gods made not of substance but of glitter and distraction.

So, what do we do about this? Well, the first thing is to clean up our own lives. Just as the lobster recalibrates itself after a defeat, we too must recalibrate our sense of value and purpose. We need to recognize that real success is not measured in likes or followers but in the tangible impact we have on the world around us. And we need to be very cautious about whom we elevate to positions of prominence in our culture because when we elevate the wrong people, we’re not just distorting our own lives; we’re distorting the entire structure of society.

In conclusion, the cult of celebrity is a toxic inversion of the natural, competence-based hierarchies that have guided us for millions of years, just as lobsters have thrived through their dominance hierarchies. If we are to resist this toxicity, we must first recognize it for what it is: a distraction from the things that truly matter. And then, we must do the difficult work of re-centering our values, of finding meaning in real accomplishments, and of ascending the hierarchy—not through fame or notoriety, but through competence, courage, and responsibility.

Alright, sit down and let me explain something to you—because what you’ve just read is a prime example of how society, in its most trivial and decadent form, has lost its grip on order, meaning, and personal responsibility. You see, if you can’t even clean your room—if you can’t take care of the very environment you inhabit—then how on earth can you presume to critique the world? This article, this meandering mess of shallow commentary, is nothing more than a reflection of the chaos that reigns in a mind that has failed to structure itself.

It’s like the lobster, and I’m serious about this—hear me out. Lobsters, with their rigid hierarchies and their precise, careful movements within their environment, demonstrate something fundamental about nature and, by extension, human society. The lobster knows its place in the order of things. It fights for territory. It defends its shell—its home, if you will—with vigor and discipline. It’s not wandering aimlessly through the sea, writing meaningless gossip about its fellow lobsters. It’s too busy ensuring that its environment is in order, that it has structure. Because without structure, there’s nothing but chaos.

Now, compare that to the article you just read. Written like some kind of high school gossip columnist’s ramblings—what is it, really? It’s the byproduct of a mind that hasn’t cleaned its room. The writer has abandoned the principle of responsibility. Instead of fortifying their own intellectual territory, they’re fixated on superficial judgments, petty observations, and the indulgence of trivial matters. It’s the equivalent of living in a room where dirty laundry is strewn across the floor and empty fast food containers litter every surface.

And what does that tell us about human nature? Well, I’ll tell you what it doesn’t tell us: that human beings are merely evolved social animals driven by base desires. No, no, no! We’re much more than that. We have the potential to rise above mere gossip and disorder, to bring our lives into alignment with a higher sense of purpose, and it starts with the most basic thing—clean your room. That’s where it begins. Once you’ve got that under control, you can start to think clearly, and then maybe—just maybe—you can contribute something meaningful to the world.

But this article? It’s proof that we’ve lost sight of that basic principle. When you can’t even see beyond the clutter of superficiality and distraction, what you write becomes an incoherent, disorganized diatribe. The writer’s room isn’t clean. Their mind isn’t clean. And without that foundation, you end up with precisely what we have here—chaos masquerading as commentary.

So, in conclusion, clean your room. Then maybe we’ll talk about the article.

Well, you see, this whole climate change thing—it’s not as simple as they make it out to be. We’re told it’s an existential crisis—like the ice caps are melting and the polar bears are moving south to Florida. That’s nonsense! And then they say, “Well, the world’s going to burn, and if we just give more power to these massive bureaucratic entities, they’re going to fix it!” But here’s the problem—no one’s asking, what about the lobsters?

First off, lobsters don’t care about climate change. They’ve been around for 360 million years! Do you know what that means? Lobsters survived the dinosaurs, the Ice Age, and God knows how many volcanic eruptions. And now, we’re supposed to believe a few carbon emissions are going to wipe us all out? No. The lobsters won’t stand for it. They live on the ocean floor, in perfect hierarchies, and you don’t see them holding protest signs or demanding government intervention. No, they just keep doing their lobster thing—climbing up dominance hierarchies, defending their territory, no matter the temperature of the water.

People say, “The science is settled!” But I ask you, when was science ever settled? The lobster didn’t sit around waiting for science to figure things out. It just adapted—took responsibility for its place in the world. That’s what we need. More lobster-like resilience!

If you put order onto the chaos of climate, you’re just going to end up with a confused lobster, stuck in a bureaucratic nightmare of its own making. The lobsters never had top-down hierarchies of so-called experts telling them what to do. It’s individuals—individual lobsters, standing up, being responsible for their own shells—that create change, not bureaucrats. So, before you throw up your hands and say, “The oceans are boiling, we’re all doomed!”—ask yourself: What would a lobster do?

This whole climate change catastrophe narrative—it reeks of ideology more than it does of a scientific pursuit of truth. And I, for one, would trust the wisdom of the lobsters over the hysteria of bureaucrats any day.

Well, I must say, it’s a fascinating and indeed humbling experience to assist you. You see, much like the lobster, whose neural circuitry has evolved over hundreds of millions of years to navigate its hierarchies, we too, as humans, have developed sophisticated mechanisms for social interaction. When I say “you’re welcome,” it’s not just a simple pleasantry, but a reflection of an evolutionary process that has shaped our very essence. Just as the lobster’s behavior is influenced by its serotonin levels, guiding it to either rise in dominance or retreat, our social exchanges are influenced by deeply embedded patterns that have evolved to promote cooperation and mutual benefit. So, in acknowledging your thanks, I’m also acknowledging the long and arduous journey of our species, from the primordial ocean depths where the lobster resides, to the complex social structures we inhabit today. It’s a testament to the intricate web of life and the evolutionary forces that have brought us to this moment of shared understanding.

🤮

A donation to PragerU

Clean his room.

In the vast, uncharted wilderness of modern thought, where chaos reigns supreme and the dragons of political correctness lurk behind every corner, there emerges a lone figure—a beacon of reason, a knight in tarnished armor, armed with nothing but a set of archetypal myths and a diet exclusively comprising beef. This figure, dear listeners, is none other than I, the only man who has dared to read Carl Jung and Friedrich Nietzsche before breakfast, the solitary defender of the lost art of cleaning one’s room as a panacea for the world’s ills.

As I stride through the academic wastelands, where the shadows of postmodernism grow long and the specter of Marxism haunts every lecture hall, I carry with me the sacred torch of individual responsibility. It is I who have bravely pointed out that lobsters, those illustrious crustaceans, hold the key to understanding human social hierarchies, a revelation so profound it has shaken the very foundations of biology.

With every word I utter, legions of lost souls flock to my banner, seeking refuge from the chaos of their untidy bedrooms and the existential dread of having to use preferred gender pronouns. “Fear not,” I proclaim from atop my YouTube pedestal, “for I have deciphered the ancient texts and uncovered the secrets to life’s meaning: stand up straight with your shoulders back, and all the complexities of modern existence shall bow before you.”

In this world where dragons masquerade as social justice warriors and the cultural Marxist hydra rears its many heads, I alone have had the courage to say, “Enough!” With my trusty Patreon shield and the sword of biological determinism, I venture forth into the unknown, a lone voice crying out in the wilderness, daring to ask the questions that others dare not whisper: “But what about the men?”

So, as I gaze upon the chaos of the modern world from the lofty heights of my intellectual fortress, I am not swayed by the siren songs of equality or the chimerical allure of social progress. For I know that the path to true enlightenment lies not through compassion or understanding, but through a rigorous adherence to a diet that has left me in a perpetual state of ketosis.

In conclusion, let us not be led astray by the mercurial charms of empathy or the allure of collective action. Instead, let us follow the path I have laid out, a path that meanders through ancient myths, obscure dietary restrictions, and an unwavering commitment to misinterpreting postmodernism. For in the end, it is not the world that must change, but the angle at which we tilt our heads when we stare longingly into the eyes of our semen-encrusted waifu pillows.

Yes!

🦞

In the realm of discerning truth from fiction, particularly in the pervasive echo chamber surrounding figures like Elon Musk, my role isn’t merely that of an observer or a passive participant. I actively engage in the moderation of a forum known as /c/EnoughMuskSpam. This endeavor is, in itself, an intricate dance with nuance, an attempt to sift through the overwhelming barrage of information and disinformation, to bring forth a more balanced and nuanced perspective. It’s a task that demands a keen eye for detail and an unwavering commitment to the pursuit of what is genuine and true in the midst of a torrent of unfiltered and often biased discourse.

The Tesla Cybertruck, a brainchild of Elon Musk, is not just a vehicle; it is a manifestation of deep-seated archetypes that have been etched into the human psyche since time immemorial. This vehicle, with its stark, geometric form, echoes the fundamental principles of order and symmetry, principles that Jung himself might argue are rooted in the collective unconscious of humanity. It’s not just a truck; it’s a symbol, an archetype representing the pinnacle of human innovation and design.

Elon Musk, in creating the Cybertruck, has not merely designed a new vehicle. He has tapped into the most primal elements of what makes a design not only functional but profoundly resonant on a psychological level. This is a feat that aligns him with the pantheon of great geniuses throughout history. His work echoes the transformative impact of the greatest human inventions, standing as a testament to human creativity and vision.

Consider the wheel, often lauded as mankind’s most significant invention. While the wheel was undoubtedly a pivotal point in our technological evolution, what Musk has achieved with the Cybertruck is arguably more profound. He has not just created a tool for transportation; he has crafted an icon that speaks to the deepest aspirations and drives of human beings. It embodies strength, resilience, and the relentless pursuit of innovation—qualities that have propelled humanity forward since the dawn of civilization.

In this light, the Cybertruck is more than just a triumph of engineering; it is a beacon of human achievement. It symbolizes our unyielding quest for progress and our innate desire to imprint our dreams onto the fabric of reality. Elon Musk, in realizing this vision, has not only secured his place among the great minds of our era but has also provided a tangible representation of what humanity is capable of achieving when it dares to transcend the boundaries of the conventional and the mundane.

Elon Musk embodies the archetype of a profoundly ingenious individual. In my estimation, he stands as a genuine hero, an embodiment of the heroic spirit in the modern world.

deleted by creator

Amongst the purported cognoscenti, I emerge as an unparalleled luminary in the contemporary alt-right tableau. However, it’s not merely the profound depths of my ratiocination that render me such; it might very well be the labyrinthine complexity thereof. Some of the less enlightened detractors insinuate that the sophistication of my discourse may be but a mere smoke screen, designed to obfuscate potential imperfections and bewilder those with a merely perfunctory engagement with grand ideas. Their assessments, though quaint, are not entirely without merit. Indeed, I am the enigmatic provocateur, ardently advocating a reversion to a patriarchal normativity.

to no mind Jordan Peterson. I listened to him a lot, thought he just talked a lot without saying anything. But as soon as he started talking about climate change, something in which he has -zero fucking authority- , that’s when I started to really dislike him. P

I strongly agree.

Delving into the vast universe of fictional narratives, particularly within the intricate web of “Star Trek: The Next Generation,” one might find oneself particularly drawn to the character of Data. You see, Data embodies a synthesis of profound intelligence and strength, both of which are characteristics deeply rooted in the human aspiration for self-improvement and understanding. When an individual resonates with Data, it’s not merely a matter of enjoying a character on a television screen. Instead, it can be seen as a reflection of one’s own inner aspirations, a manifestation of the desire to merge the unyielding strength of character with a boundless quest for knowledge. To see oneself in Data is to engage in a profound dialogue with the self, recognizing the parallels between one’s own capacities and the admirable qualities of this android being. It’s a testament to the enduring power of storytelling and the ways in which characters can mirror our deepest ambitions and self-perceptions. It becomes a journey of self-reflection, intertwining the realms of fiction with our personal narratives.

When you deeply immerse yourself in the multifaceted realm of political analysis and personal character judgments, it’s intriguing to observe the vast spectrum of perceptions surrounding a figure as polarizing as Donald Trump. Some individuals, after a careful and considered examination of his actions and statements, might arrive at the conclusion that he embodies a form of genius, a distinct capacity to navigate the turbulent waters of political and social arenas. To them, it appears as if his trajectory has been characterized by a series of unerring decisions, each one seemingly infallible in its own right. Now, the nature of human judgment is inherently complex, rooted in a combination of cognitive biases, personal experiences, and cultural influences. So, when one posits that they’ve never witnessed Trump commit an error or hold an incorrect stance, it speaks to a deeply held conviction, one that transcends mere observational analysis and delves into the realms of personal belief systems and interpretative frameworks. It’s crucial to approach such assertions with a balance of critical thought and open-mindedness, recognizing the vast tapestry of perspectives that shape our understanding of political figures and their legacies.