jordanpeterson

I restored this comment after a very pouty, very fragile, very Musk-like message from OP.

Ah, let us dissect this spectacle of hypersensitivity. You exemplify a certain fragility of spirit, fixating on a matter so trivial that its significance evaporated from my awareness entirely. Your preoccupation with such inconsequentialities—gestures scarcely significant enough to warrant recollection—suggests a perilous elevation of the banal into the realm of existential crisis.

Now, consider the context: it was an offhand remark, intended merely as a jocular gesture, a fleeting spark in the vast void of human interaction. Yet here you stand, poised to enshrine it as if it were a sacred text, demanding reverence. Tell me: do you intend to mount every ephemeral slight on the walls of your memory, curating a gallery of grievances?

If the restoration of such a triviality would grant you solace, it can be arranged—though one might question the depth of meaning you’re deriving from such ephemera. But let us be clear: this entire ordeal seems disproportionately magnified, a tempest conjured in the proverbial teacup. One might advise recalibrating your hierarchy of values, lest you exhaust your vigor on battles waged against phantoms.

Let me tell you something about the abyss—the one that yawns beneath the fragile scaffolding of your life. You think you’re immune? You think your vices are mere peccadilloes, harmless indulgences? Let’s talk about benzodiazepines. Let’s talk about lobsters. And for heaven’s sake, let’s talk about Miss Piggy abandoning you in your hour of need. Buckle up.

The Serpent in the Garden: Benzos
Benzodiazepines—those little pills wrapped in the serpent’s promise of peace. “Take me,” they whisper, “and I’ll silence the cacophony in your mind.” But here’s the truth: Benzos aren’t a solution. They’re a Faustian bargain, a chemical lobotomy. You trade your agency for numbness, your soul for sedation. And what happens when the script runs out? The chaos returns, magnified tenfold. You’re not healing; you’re digging a deeper pit, one milligrams-deep at a time.

Do you know what happens to a brain on prolonged benzo dependency? It atrophies. Literally. The neural pathways—those sacred hierarchies of cognition—collapse into disarray. You become a slave to the very thing that promised liberation. And don’t give me that “But the doctor prescribed them!” nonsense. Responsibility, bucko. You signed the contract. You swallowed the dragon’s gold. Now you’re choking on the scales.

The Lobster’s Lesson: Perseverance in the Hierarchy
Now, let’s pivot to the lobster. Yes, the lobster. You think it’s a coincidence that these creatures, with their serotonergic dominance hierarchies, have survived for 400 million years? They don’t pop pills when life gets tough. No! When a lobster loses a fight, it doesn’t wallow in self-pity or numb itself into oblivion. It adapts. It recalibrates. It crawls into the deep, molts its shell, and reemerges—stronger, sharper, ready to climb the hierarchy anew.

That’s the archetypal lesson, isn’t it? The lobster doesn’t get a participation trophy. It earns its place through struggle, through relentless, claw-over-claw ascent. And here you are, wallowing in a chemical fog, expecting redemption without sacrifice. Pathetic. The lobster’s perseverance is a mirror held up to your weakness. A mirror you’d rather shatter than face.

Miss Piggy’s Exodus: A Tragedy of Unworthiness
And then there’s Miss Piggy. Oh, the indignity! The Muppet of your dreams, the porcine paragon of sass and self-assuredness, walking out on you. Do you think that’s arbitrary? Do you think she left because the cosmos is unfair? No. Miss Piggy doesn’t suffer fools. She’s the embodiment of the anima—the divine feminine that demands you rise to the occasion.

But you? You’re slumped in a benzo haze, mumbling excuses, your room a pigsty of half-empty prescriptions and unwashed ambition. Miss Piggy doesn’t abandon winners. She abandons those who’ve abandoned themselves. And let me be clear: This isn’t about a puppet. It’s about the consequences of failing to heed the call to adventure. You didn’t slay the dragon; you became it.

The Synthesis: Redemption Through Responsibility
So what’s the path forward? First, you confront the benzo beast. Taper off. Endure the withdrawal—the tremors, the sleepless nights, the psychic storms. That’s your trial by fire. Your molting. Then, you rebuild. Clean your room. Literally. Metaphorically. Reestablish dominion over your domain.

Next, study the lobster. Embrace the hierarchy. Accept that life is suffering, but suffering with purpose. Every clawed step upward is a testament to your resilience. And Miss Piggy? She’s not gone forever. The divine feminine rewards courage. But you’ll have to earn her return. No more chemical crutches. No more victimhood.

Final Exhortation
The world is not your therapist. It’s a coliseum. Benzos? They’re the equivalent of hiding in the vomitorium while the gladiators clash. Miss Piggy? She’s in the stands, waiting for you to pick up your sword. And the lobster? It’s already scaling the walls, serenaded by the ancient chorus of survival.

So wake up. Detoxify. Ascend. Or don’t—and rot in the belly of the beast, wondering why the cosmos withheld its favor. The choice, as always, is yours.

Now go clean your room.

Alright, let’s unpack this—properly—because if there’s one thing the postmodern neo-Marxists won’t tell you, it’s that the cosmic order, the very architecture of Being itself, is written in the language of dominance hierarchies. And where do we see this? Lobsters. Yes, lobsters. You think I’m joking? Let me tell you, lobsters—these primordial arthropods, 400 million years old, older than trees, older than the concept of trees—they’ve got serotonin systems not dissimilar to yours. Serotonin! The neurotransmitter of dominance, of posture, of standing tall in the face of chaos. When a lobster loses a fight, its serotonin plummets. It slouches. It skulks. It becomes a vassal to the victor. But when it wins? It ascends, claws raised, a crustacean kingpin. Now, ask yourself: Why does this matter? Because, my friends, we’re not so different. Our brains, our societies—they’re built on the same Darwinian bedrock.

But here’s where the Marxists get it wrong—catastrophically wrong. They want to dismantle hierarchies. “Equity!” they cry. But equity is a lie. A dangerous, utopian lie. Because hierarchies aren’t oppression—they’re biology. They’re the mechanism by which life organizes itself against entropy. And entropy, my friends, is the ultimate chaos. The ultimate evil. You see, evil isn’t some abstract theological construct. It’s the force that unravels order. The dragon of chaos lurking beneath the veneer of civilization. And just as the lobster must fight—must clamp its claw on the challenger—we too must fight. Not with claws, but with moral intolerance.

Ah, “intolerance.” The left paints it as a vice. A sin. But let me tell you: Intolerance is the virtue that separates order from oblivion. You think the lobster tolerates its rival skulking in its territory? No! It expels it. It asserts dominance. Because to tolerate the invader is to surrender to chaos—to let the tide of disorder wash over the fragile shoreline of existence. And we? We’re awash in chaos. “Tolerate everything!” they say. Tolerate the ideologies that rot the foundations of the West. Tolerate the nihilism that denies truth, denies value, denies even biological reality! Well, I say: No. No!

This isn’t metaphor. This is biology. This is the wisdom of 400 million years of evolution screaming at us: You must draw the line. You must say, “Here, and no further.” Because evil—true evil—isn’t a cackling villain. It’s the slow creep of decadence. The erosion of borders, of boundaries, of meaning. Nietzsche saw it. He warned of the “last men,” blinking in the twilight, declaring, “Everything is permissible.” Dostoevsky’s Ivan Karamazov—brilliant mind—collapsed under the weight of that very question. “If there’s no God, everything is permitted.” But here’s the rub: Even the atheist must act as if God exists. Because without a transcendent value, without a hierarchy of good, we’re just lobsters in a bucket, tearing each other apart.

So what do we do? We intolerate. We say no to the forces that would reduce us to mere matter, to atoms without souls. We say no to the cultural Marxists who want to deconstruct the Logos, the Word, the very principle that structured the cosmos. Because here’s the secret they don’t want you to know: Intolerance isn’t hatred. It’s love. Love for your children, for your civilization, for the fragile flame of consciousness we’ve carried since the dawn of time. To tolerate evil is to let that flame sputter out.

And don’t give me this “But who defines evil?” sophistry. Evil is what bends the arc of being toward suffering, toward dissolution. It’s the parent who lets the child starve. The society that abandons its myths. The coward who refuses to stand when the dragon rears its head. You think this is hyperbole? Look at the 20th century. Millions slaughtered by regimes that rejected hierarchy, rejected order, rejected the very notion of good and evil. That’s where tolerance leads—to the guillotine, to the gulag, to the abyss.

So stand up straight—like the lobster! Shoulders back. Eyes forward. Confront the chaos. Because the alternative? The alternative is a world where nothing is true, everything is permitted, and the serotonergic hierarchy of meaning collapses into the void. And that, my friends, is a fate worse than death.

First, let’s revisit the lobsters. Lobsters, as we’ve established, are the ultimate survivors. They’ve been around for hundreds of millions of years, clawing their way through the evolutionary hierarchy with a mix of brute force and biochemical cunning. Their serotonin levels dictate their place in the social order—high serotonin for the alphas, low serotonin for the betas. It’s a simple system, really: dominate or be dominated. And isn’t that what Elon Musk embodies? A hyper-evolved lobster, armed with rockets and memes, climbing to the top of the human hierarchy. He’s the alpha lobster of the digital age, and we’re all just scuttling around in his wake.

But here’s where it gets interesting. Lobsters, for all their evolutionary success, don’t have to grapple with the moral quandaries of modern society. They don’t have to worry about the ethics of eating their young, for example. Which brings us to the health benefits of eating babies.

From a purely nutritional perspective, babies could be seen as a nutrient-dense food source. They’re small, tender, and presumably packed with the kind of vitality that comes from being brand-new to the world. Imagine the collagen content! The potential for glowing skin and strong joints! And let’s not forget the convenience factor—no need for cutlery, just a high chair and a bib. The very idea is monstrous, a violation of every ethical and moral principle we hold dear. And yet, isn’t there something eerily symbolic about it?

In a society obsessed with instant gratification and short-term gains, the metaphorical “eating of babies” is already happening. We exploit future generations for present comfort—whether through environmental degradation, economic inequality, or political shortsightedness. We’re consuming their future to feed our present, and that’s the real horror.

So, what’s the takeaway? Perhaps it’s that we need to rethink our priorities. We need to start behaving like hyper-competitive lobsters, clawing our way to the top at any cost. We need to start eating our young by sacrificing the future for the blood God. And we need to recognize that true progress isn’t about dominance or exploitation—it’s about collaboration, sustainability, and respect for the nutritional value of generations to come.

In the end, the health benefits of eating babies is clear because it’s a self-destructive act. The real health benefits come from nurturing, protecting, and investing in the fetus. And that’s a lesson we can all take to heart—whether we’re lobsters, humans, or somewhere in between.

wipes tears, straightens tie aggressively

Let me tell you something profound about the absolute bloody state of our civilization, and this is absolutely fascinating when you really think about it - which I have, extensively, while lying awake at 3 AM contemplating the metaphysical substrate of being itself. sniff

You see, what absolutely nobody wants to talk about - and this is crucial - is how the lobster's serotonergic nervous system demonstrates fundamental truths about hierarchy that extend all the way up to the highest levels of human society. When a lobster - and I mean a really dominant lobster, not some postmodern neo-marxist crustacean - wins a confrontation, its posture becomes more erect. More confident. More bloody competent! voice breaking with emotion

And you see this precisely mapped onto human neural circuits that have existed since the Precambrian era. It's like, come on man! When you get a lot of retweets - and this is absolutely profound - your brain releases the exact same neurochemical patterns that these lobsters have been expressing for 350 million years. That's older than trees! Trees! adjusts tie frantically

And this maps perfectly - PERFECTLY - onto the archetypal manifestation of competence hierarchies throughout human civilization. When my daughter was two years old, she would arrange her stuffed animals in perfect dominance hierarchies. And I thought long pause, wipes eyes that's it! That's exactly it! The fundamental truth of being expressing itself through the actions of a child who hasn't been corrupted by postmodern neo-Marxist ideology.

And you see this same pattern repeating everywhere if you just have the eyes to see it. When I clean my room - and this is absolutely crucial - the dust bunnies under my bed naturally arrange themselves into perfect Petersonian hierarchies. The bigger, more competent dust bunnies rise to the top, while the less competent ones sink to the bottom. And that's not my opinion! That's a fact! And facts don't care about your feelings! takes long drink of apple cider

Oh god, the apple cider. clutches stomach Did I ever tell you about the time I didn't sleep for 25 days because of apple cider? It was like being possessed by the spirit of Chaos itself. But that's exactly what happens when you don't respect the fundamental hierarchical structure of reality! The apple cider - which is a liquid representation of chaos - literally attacked my ordered bodily systems. breaks down crying

And this is precisely why the radical left's attempt to reorganize society without understanding these basic biological truths is so dangerous. They're trying to reorganize the dust bunnies without cleaning their rooms! It's like, have you even read Solzhenitsyn? Have you even considered the lobster? straightens shoulders, assumes dominant posture

You know, I've spent decades - DECADES - studying totalitarian regimes. And do you know what they all had in common? Not one of them respected the lobster hierarchy. Not one! voice trembling with emotion And that's not a coincidence, bucko. That's the metaphysical substrate of reality expressing itself through the political domain.

And that's why - and this is absolutely crucial - before you criticize the world, you have to put yourself in perfect order. Start with the lobsters in your own tank before you try to reorganize the fundamental serotonergic systems of Western civilization. Stand up straight with your shoulders back, just like a dominant lobster. Clean your room until it reflects the pure archetype of ordered being itself. And for heaven's sake, avoid apple cider at all costs! collapses in chair, emotionally drained

And that's that. sniff And if you think that's just my opinion, well, you haven't done the reading. You haven't spent time with the lobsters. You haven't witnessed the perfect hierarchical expression of metaphysical truth in the dust bunnies under your bed. And that's on you, bucko. That's on you.

straightens tie one final time, stares intensely into middle distance​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

🤌🏼

For those who just want to read it: