Because you’re worshiping the watered down psuedointellectual ramblings of a f*cking psycho with more logical holes than a block of swiss cheese as “true philosophy” and you’re too stupid to realize it. Probably because you have no philosophical background yourself.
“Back in the late 1920s, as Ayn Rand was working out her philosophy, she became enthralled by a real-life American serial killer, William Edward Hickman, whose gruesome, sadistic dismemberment of 12-year-old girl named Marion Parker in 1927 shocked the nation. Rand filled her early notebooks with worshipful praise of Hickman. According to biographer Jennifer Burns, author of Goddess of the Market, Rand was so smitten with Hickman that she modeled her first literary creation – Danny Renahan, the protagonist of her unfinished first novel, The Little Street – on him. What did Rand admire so much about Hickman? His sociopathic qualities: “Other people do not exist for him, and he does not see why they should,” she wrote, gushing that Hickman had “no regard whatsoever for all that society holds sacred, and with a consciousness all his own. He has the true, innate psychology of a Superman. He can never realize and feel ‘other people.’””
http://www.alternet.org/books/145819/ayn_rand%2C_hugely_popular_author_and_inspiration_to_right-wing_leaders%2C_was_a_big_admirer_of_serial_killers?page=4
I’m not even going to bother addressing it beyond that. Other than going to state that Darwin himself found the concept of social Darwinism both horrifying and disgusting.
Living by her teachings was impossibly to do in any logical manner, as she proved herself by very rationally exploding at her lover for cheating on her in front of everyone and rationally dying of lung cancer (she insisted that smoking, as symbolic of the fire of the mind, was necessary for people in her company, unironically called The Collective).
Really, the woman was loco. In addition to smoking, she insisted that men she associated with not wear facial hair, listen to Tchaikovsky and not Mozart, read Hugo and not Hemingway, etc., for reasons known only to her.
Her own life was a direct contradiction to much of her own “philosophy”.