Now, here's the delightful detail, worms: the female of the species may well consume three or four 'romance novels' in a month. Her form of "adult entertainment" has her identifying with a woman whom her grandmother would have called a slut or a brazen hussy. The simpering little lipstick feeds her imagination and fantasizes about being a "sexually liberated woman," but she is locked into a fantasy world of sex, just as much as the man looking at pornography. But because she doesn't look at dirty pictures (she reads dirty books instead) it doesn't seem so bad.
This is the crunch, worms—to get both the males and females locked into a fantasy world of sex. We want them to live in an unreal sexual world where all the women are overblown and oversexed and all the men are unbelievably handsome, rich, and physically fit. With a little bit of skill these false images will determine what sort of woman or man your victim (I mean patient) is looking for in a spouse. Because such people never existed in the first place, your stupid little biped will (if he or she is looking for love at all) go on an endless quest looking for a non-existent ideal they think will make them happy. Whenever they meet a real man or woman they will reject them as "not good enough," never for one moment thinking that perhaps they themselves are "not good enough."
We could spend much longer on this complex business, but I'm afraid you'll have to learn most of it on the job. Next week we begin the next unit on the philosophical roots of pop-cult corruption.
We must end there for today. Snort? See me after class. We'll go looking for Glimwort. He can't avoid us forever.
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