Down below, Deti writes a very good little mini post.

Women don’t want to get caught cheating because they don’t want to lose the benefits that come from being married, namely provision, protection, help around the house, a man around the house, help with the kids, father for the kids, an intact family, avoiding the trauma of splitting up an established family with the house and cars and money and everything else, avoiding the shame and judgment of peer women in a public divorce, and just the status of being married. It is not because they care about who will get hurt if they get caught. And it is not because they care about hurting their husbands if they get caught. They care about staying married for the benefits that come from being married.

180

The status that a female (be she a wimminz or a solid woman) derives from marriage comes almost exclusively from her peer group: that is, other females and possibly a couple of trannies and homos in her circle. The husband is for show.

It’s as though every day is a parade, where she marches down Broadway declaring:

Look what I managed to catch with my superior cunt/mouth/ass, and my skills at applying makeup, lying, and double-talk! My chump is at least as good as any of yours!

So, what differentiates a wimminz from a woman (i.e. a solid female)? In my experience, it is the peer-group in question. If a woman spends lots of time hanging out with other serious-minded women, then she will take on the characteristics of those women. If the same women moves to a new town (i.e. suddenly has her peer-group shorn away) and falls in with skanks, weird trannies, faggots and divorcées, then her behavior will go down the toilet almost immediately.

This is why the virginity fetishists (like social pathologist) have spent years sniping at me on Dalrock. I will take the time to tell the young bros the uncomfortable truth. Number of cocks inside a woman doesn’t really correlate with long-term marital success. A virgin at marriage means little more than princess has been surrounded by other serious women so far. Take that same sweet, virginal woman to some other locale, and watch how quickly those panties drop. Enter Jenny Erikson, Saeed Abeidini’s bitch of an ex-wife, and other examples too numerous to name here.

This is also the reason that many men on Dalrock will cop to the fact that they found a filthy lying slut that they liked, and successfully turned the whore into a housewife. If you ask any of these success-story men how they managed this feat, it always boils down to getting her away from her bitch friends, and re-inserting her into a female peer-group with some standards. Whether this was the man’s mother and sisters, or some women’s auxiliary of the Orthodox Church, it inevitably happened. The decisive factor is that on Tuesday, the bitch was running around with wimminz who didn’t mock her for being a filthy, lying slut; but on Wednesday, she was suddenly in the company of serious women who would shut her the fuck down for uttering an off-color joke. Suddenly, this trashy wimminz is wearing dresses, getting her skank-ho tattoos lasered off, and successfully raising healthy children as she takes care of husband’s needs. The men who tell these stories often credit Jesus or some religious miracle, and maybe in an abstract way perhaps that’s true, but Jesus always has help in reforming a whore, in the guise of a bunch of other women who won’t stand for a slut stinking up their sewing circle.

In another thread, Honeycomb shares a gem of an article written by “The Ambrose Girls.”

The article is quite short and direct, and the syntax/style looks like it had one single author. It’s possible that a group of wimminz wrote this dull self-justification, but I doubt it. I find it more likely that one wimminz wrote it, and pluralized the byline, for fear that she’d look like a slut. Now that she has a mythical peer group, it’s much easier for her to tell the truth about her status. She is a filthy, lying, slut; but, she has a theoretical group of other filthy, lying, sluts to flock around with, so potential judgment of her peers is less damaging to her ego.

It’s all about the flock.

Stats and anecdotes suggest that married wimminz are cheating on their men in ever-increasing numbers. Over on Dalrock, our brother Deti lays down his ideas as to why the increase might be so. He then goes on to speculate as to why wimminz are not more open about their participation in the trend.

Deti opines:

I still have to believe that most women cheat on the downlow because they don’t want to get caught, and that most men would end the marriages as a consequence of her cheating. I still hope that most men are going to draw that line in the sand. I still hope that open polyandry is a Rubicon we can’t cross.

With respect to Deti, this is absolutely wrong. Wimminz do not care what men think or do. This includes married wimminz who are cheating on their husbands.

Married wimminz hide their downlow sex, not because they give a shit about their men, but because of how they are perceived by other wimminz. The opinion of the fem-hive is the only real concern of any wimminz. Wimminz are hard wired this way, and so it shall always be.

I always arrange to meet any wimminz before the possibility of sex, so that I can make an educated guess as to her status. If she is married, I bail. If she is crazy, disrespectful or otherwise unhinged, I ghost. During this initial meet, I may buy her a coffee or a meal (probably not), but that was never promised beforehand, and if it happens, it’s only to keep the clock running so that I can make an accurate assessment.

The woman who meets me knows her purpose. She is a filthy, lying slut, and her purpose is to be used as such. Specifically, it is to allow me to penetrate any/all of her holes, at my discretion, and for as long as such things amuse me.

When I meet a woman, I promise her one thing, and one thing only.

The only promise that I make (and which I always keep) is absolute secrecy and deniability. This is not to protect any other men in her life, because if she cared about the other men she was fucking/exploiting, she wouldn’t have met me in the first place. She cares about the other wimminz (and possibly a couple of male homosexuals and trannies of indeterminate sex) in her immediate social environment.

I know she is a filthy, lying slut, and she knows that I know it. I make the solemn promise that I will not let her bitch friends know that I know she is a filthy, lying slut. That is the only promise I make, and I don’t make any promise that I’m not absolutely committed to keeping, until death.

Given that wimminz don’t care about anyone except other wimminz, my promise is the necessary and sufficient condition to seal the deal.

Deti continues:

But, then again, we also thought SCOTUS wouldn’t go from

“Homosexual conduct is not protected by the constitution (Bowers v. Hardwick, 1986)

 

to

 

“Homosexual conduct is protected by the constitution (Lawrence v. Texas, 2003)

 

in 17 years.

And in a few more years we’ll likely go from

married in the anus as constitutional right

to

Boxer jailed for accurately describing wimminz as filthy lying sluts on his blog.

Already married men are prohibited from having sex with their own wives unless there is “enthusiastic consent” which, as we’re all aware, can be revoked retroactively, as soon as skank-ho princess decides her husband needs a prison sentence for rape.

Clown world can’t get much more ridiculous.

Thanks to Billy, over on Dalrock.

This is a contribution from the aptly named “Seventies Jason”

I was born too late, I sweartagawd…

There is a one-line summary to the political question in the USA, in 2018. It is that the Democrats are learning from their mistakes, while the Gay Ol’ Party is committed to burning down headquarters, rather than ceding another inch to the voters who elected them.

While I was traveling for business purposes, an article appeared on Dalrock entitled Waning Pussy Power. The author concludes that:

I suspect an even bigger problem with the messaging is that the women trying to capitalize on the power of the pussy are making the very image seem ugly, not to mention downright frigid.

The blog often features brilliant rhetoric, but shallow analysis, and this is a good example. I suppose no one knows all the details about what’s really going on in D.C., unless he’s one of the key players, but we can make some educated guesses and get a fair picture of the inner machinations.

The Democrats are abandoning sexual/identity politics at the same time they elected their first Alabama senator in a couple of decades. This is not a coincidence. The Democrats won in Alabama by refusing to run a hostile bulldyke or weird tranny for office. Instead they promoted a sensible populist candidate named Doug Jones. The GOP arrogantly ran an oddball Ted Cruz type, who prayed into the microphone for a revolution after he was soundly defeated, and who has a long history of questionable sexual behavior. The Democrat is already voting along populist lines, proving himself more of a friend to President Trump than his GOP challenger likely would have been.

Both before and after the election of President Trump, the GOP trotted out George W Bush, to condemn Republican voters as bigots and fascists. To be sure, the Democrats did that for a few weeks, too. Unlike the Republicans, they aren’t total idiots, and are rapidly self-correcting.

Here’s Bernie Sanders, in Reading, PA, a few weeks ago. (Skip ahead to about 52:00)

Bernie is now filling auditoriums to capacity, and I’ve seen a couple of these rallies. They’re all possessed of the same energy Donald Trump harnessed before the election, which he has now abandoned. Bernie seems to specifically address the voters who elected Donald Trump, telling them directly that they aren’t motivated by race hatred. They had real concerns that he identifies with. Occasionally, liberal ideologues or antifa in the audience will catcall Trump supporters. Bernie always makes a point to stop speaking, and tell the hecklers to shut the fuck up. He goes on to say that he understands why people elected Donald Trump, and uses soundbites to remind the audience of the promises Trump made, before the election. Things like universal health care, a commission to resolve the student loan crisis, hardball negotiations with big pharmaceutical corporations, reducing the wasteful size of our military footprint, and cutting freebies to defense contractors.

A year into the Trump administration, and we don’t have a border wall. We don’t have universal health care. We don’t have a moratorium on refugees. Trump did negotiate lower prices on some too-expensive jets with Lockheed Martin, but that seems to have been largely theatrical. He also managed to pass an almost universally hated tax bill, which benefits nobody but the large corporations he promised to go into battle with. Had Jeb Bush, Marco Rubio, or Hillary Clinton been elected, it’s doubtful there would be any meaningful differences today.

Bernie is largely free of the horrendous optics of the Clintons, a couple consisting of a hateful dyke, married to a serial rapist (who lately looks about as healthy as Matthew McConaughey in Dallas Buyers Club). He also has a track record of speaking out to secure the borders, and limit attacks on the second amendment. These are the reasons that he is out leading the rallies to revive his party.

Speaking of the Clintons, Donna Brazile authored a book entitled Hacks, which is a pretty good read. It exposes the sleaze, corruption, and parasitism of these grifters, condemning their takeover of the Democratic party, and urging reform. In response, structural changes are underfoot to slash the number of superdelegates, and bind their votes. The Republican party is also rigged (as Donald Trump said himself), but no such self-awareness is visible there. The GOP party leadership is made up of nepotistic lackeys (including a couple of Mitt Romney’s relatives) who promise business as usual.

To the extent that there remains a mainstream/business wing of the Democratic party, it’s likely going to be led by someone like Barack Obama, rather than Hillary Clinton. This is also a positive change. Barack Obama was never an America Firster, but he was elected twice on populist merits. His first victory was against a foul-mouthed degenerate named John McCain, who promised to launch a nuclear first strike against Russia. His second victory was against Mormon trash-person Mitt Romney, who arrogantly told the working-class that they didn’t matter. This misconception remains inexcusable, as Mitt Romney has never done a day of productive work in his life.

I suppose that “conservatism is dead” is a vacuous truth. To the extent that there is a conservatism in America, it has ceased to be a motivator for Americans; yet, the word has always been a floating signifier. There has never been a conservative manifesto, nor has there been any consistent positions, other than perhaps serving the interests of the super rich, the energy industry, and big agriculture.

Populism is inevitable, as Sanders’ rallies demonstrate. Sanders isn’t going to give nationalists everything they want, but that shouldn’t matter, since the GOP has promised to fight Trump voters to the bitter end, and leave them with nothing. Trump voters are wise to this sort of thing, and I predict big Democrat victories in 2018, as they make the sensible choice to ally and make deals with people who are open to at least talking to them honestly.

A few months ago, some batshit crazy wimminz baked two of her four kids in the oven. She shot video of it, and sent it to the father. Amazingly, the New York Post broke protocol, and quoted the poor guy.

Now, we can scoff at Jameel’s poor grammar, and talk about the objectively bad choices he was making, as he chose this skank-ho cunt to be the mother of his two children; but, everyone’s a genius in hindsight-analysis, and it’s hard for me to feel anything but pity for him.

I could easily see Mr. Penn as a dumb but earnest young guy. He may have been raised by a similar feral skank-ho wimminz, who taught him to hate all men (including himself). In other words, he coulda been me.

Jameel probably knew this bitch was nuts, but like all wimminz, I’m sure she put on a good show until she (oops!) got pregnant the first time. By the time the first boy was born, Jameel may have thought this bitch was the best he could do. Maybe he saw the writing on the wall, but figured his genes were already expressed, and he wanted to be around for as long as he could, so he jumped through the bitch’s hoops for a while, and knocked her up with a second baby. In a world with no good choices, I might have done the same. It seems likely that Ja’Karter’s birth gave the murderess no further use for Mr. Penn, and he was kicked to the curb with her old tampons.

On a more general note, there’s always the old saw about journalists being corrupt sociopaths, who lie for pageviews/ad revenue/copies sold. I don’t know what would sell more copy than this real-life horror story… yet it has been effectively buried. Maybe the Atlanta press reported on it. I never heard about it. Front page headlines, candlelight vigils and national conversations are safe space for feminists, and this doesn’t fit the profile of one of their approved stories to harp on ad nauseum.

Mizz Williams will likely be let out of prison in a few short years, and if she does get any national attention, it will be to call for better funding for single moms, so that this tragedy never happens again. She will be made into the victim, while Jameel is reviled. Rinse and repeat.

Young men need to fully internalize this process, because while it’s not common, it does happen. In an age where wimminz like this one exist, it’s imperative that it not happen to you or your kids. That entails using your very best judgment before entanglement occurs.

A while back, I ran across a paper entitled Women as Proactive Transmitters of Culture. This is a work by an identifiable student, so I won’t be addressing the author or the contents directly. There is really no need to do so, because a whole genre of poorly-conducted, stupid pseudo-research exists, authored by similar feminists, who propose that worthwhile culture is transmitted through mothers to children, fathers being unnecessary.

Is this true?

It’s not true, but, we should begin by acknowledging that we are painting in broad strokes (unlike the feminists who usually posit the contrary position) and exceptions exist. Even so, a general trait specific to human females is a narrow focus on the here and now, with little energy left to worry about cultural transmission across generations.

I believe that human beings were designed this way on purpose. Unlike most other members of the animal kingdom, the human infant spends a prolonged period of time totally helpless, and its brain develops outside the womb. This has a number of specific advantages, but it also requires an intact family to see it through to adulthood. Men and women were designed to pair up and mate (whether they were created by a God to do this, or wired up by natural selection to do it, is really beside the point).

Men and women are designed to survive and raise children in social groups, with a father and mother as the minimal core. This is the optimal way to live and survive in a hostile world, and it’s the best way to transmit one’s genes across time. The differences that men and women exhibit (both physical and behavioral) are meant for expression in this context. As husband and wife bring different skills to the table, they find life easier.

Even so, some of our complex behaviors are not hard-wired in the way that our instinctual drives to mate and couple up are. Culture is defined by complex behavior, and the absence of this core social group, a father and a mother, working together, derails cultural memory and transmission entirely.

Women tend to exhibit no interest in transmitting cultural norms into the future, because that tends to be inborn in men. Women tend to better than men at many things (short-term memory, immediate verbal acuity, etc.) but this is not one of them.

The evidence for this is anecdotal, as no serious institution dares to challenge the feminist “fathers are worthless” rhetoric. Even so, we need only venture into the ghetto housing project or the trailer park to see the sort of “rich culture” and “complex behavior” which is transmitted by single-moms to their children.

In my experiences as a white dude, who has occasionally lived in the midst of a bunch of white single-mothers, the racial differences so important to the manosphere do not compensate for lack of a father. White kids who are raised by single-mothers overwhelmingly turn out to be emotionally stunted, shiftless idiots. They’re much more likely to be into escapism (drugs and alcohol), truancy and petty crime at adolescence. Some of them become “nazi skinheads” in an effort to give their mindless rebellion an abstract meaning, but this is cosmetic. One of the Stormfront kids who used to commit car burglaries in my old neighborhood had a black girlfriend. Hilariously, neither he nor his crew seemed to realize the contradiction.

Black or white, fatherless children tend to resemble other species of apes, more than their civilized human counterparts. They’re violent, unable to delay gratification, incapable of effective communication, and unable to concentrate for more than five minutes.

The feminists who read this will immediately trot out some high-profile counterexample – usually the child of some millionaire celebrity single mom. It is true that in isolated cases, fatherless children can grow up without significant problems, but I’ve found these specimens always came from homes with the income to outsource the father’s job to various surrogates: coaches, scout-leaders, etc. Most single mothers do not have the means to approach this level of output, and most of them aren’t self-aware enough to know that it’s necessary, thanks to the feminists who constantly tell them that they can do it on their own. Moreover, it’s a horribly inefficient way to raise children. All a woman has to do is to marry a good earner, and she saves hundreds of thousands of dollars over a lifetime, for the process of civilizing and enculturating her kids, which comes naturally to such men.

Alienation takes many forms, and one of the most pronounced happens at the level of the family group.

In 1850, before industrial capitalism changed the social and political landscape, most Americans lived on small farms, in large nuclear families. This correlated to living in close proximity to other, closely related, large nuclear families.

If you grew up in 1850, you were likely to have four or five siblings. The families would likely settle on neighboring (or, at least, approximate) farms. When you reached marrying age, around the time of the civil war, you’d have four to six kids yourself, as would your other four or five siblings. Thus your own kids would likely have twenty-five cousins, living at most a day’s ride away.

Cooperative networks were formed between kin. This was an important bit of social insurance that immunized the individual from all manner of risks, even as it constrained him from giving way to his baser instincts (at least in public).

Graphic courtesy of qz dot com.

Today, even as we are infinitely more mobile, the average family has two children, and it is unusual to find a family with five children.

Thanks to our brother Honeycomb, who brings us this inspiring story of an empowered single mother, who brutally tortured her two children to death, before having the decency to save the taxpayer the cost of a trial. From Daily Fail:

A North Carolina woman killed her two young children and then took her own life by leaping from a bridge onto an interstate highway over the weekend.

 

The Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police Department says they were called at around 5.40pm on Saturday after the woman landed onto Interstate 485.

 

Christina Elizabeth Treadway, 34, was pronounced dead at the scene after jumping from the Old Gun Branch Road bridge.

Setting aside the obvious question, as to why we have to turn to reporters in the UK for a domestic story, (blackout, anyone?) we will note that, as is the custom among American media, the father of these children is not interviewed in the piece. He’s not even named. Why not?

Police have classified the incident as a double homicide-suicide. The father of the slain siblings has been notified and he is not considered a person of interest.

It seems to be an absolute standard never to acknowledge the surviving victims in these too-common incidents.

The fact that dad has been ruled out as a suspect so quickly can lead us to some interesting conclusions. My guess is that he has been out of the picture for quite a while. Most likely, he was told by a faggot judge at the divorce courts to get lost, after the state had divided his entire estate between itself and his violent skank of a wife. He likely lives hours away, and probably had very little contact with his own kids.

The past week has been framed with long journeys: 16-18h in airplanes and courtesy lounges. Bored as I was, I watched the new Blade Runner movie. This was an easily predictable error in judgment, and nobody else’s fault. I’m about to share its awfulness with you, because I love y’all.

Ordinarily I wouldn’t spoil a film like this, but this movie is so dreadful, it becomes worth analyzing.

I was a teenager when I watched the original Blade Runner film, and it had an aesthetic that I admired. I did not (and do not) really consume sci-fi, but like a couple of other old films (Tarkovskii’s Solaris and Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey) the original had a compelling story, interesting characters, and worthy acting.

Unlike the typical (gay) sci-fi story, the original Blade Runner universe is neither a dystopian shithole, nor is it an autistic technocratic paradise. It was a world much like the one I knew in my own childhood, only a bit weirder, darker, more multicultural, with flying cars and bases on other planets. The people in the original Blade Runner universe also had far better taste than Americans do today.

By 2049, art deco is out. Most of the art and architecture looks like a cross between your local Federal Building and the strip-mall where your dentist’s office is.

The Tyrell Corporation is also gone. It has been replaced by an organization run by an introverted, eye-glowing, robotic hermit named Wallace (Jared Leto). The troublesome replicants of the past have been replaced by newer, more obedient models. A new replicant hunter, named alternately “K” (to his female boss) or “Joe” (to his hologram girlfriend) is played by Ryan Gosling. His job is to hunt down all the older models and retire (murder) them.

Yes, I’m sure the name was a deliberate allusion to The Trial. Kafka is still grave-rolling.

The first plot-hole appears almost immediately. The world has been destroyed (see: “dystopian shithole,” paragraph 4) and folks are raising worms for food. Joe K hunts down one of these protein farmers, played by Dave Bautista. Bautista’s character first seems compliant. Officer Josef K needs to scan the barcode which has been genetically programmed to appear on the farmer’s eyeball.

One will recall that in the old film, different parts of the replicant body were outsourced, and the corpse was apparently built and animated from parts designed by specialty firms.

Not so in 2049. The Wallace-bot is producing grown humans in an artificial placenta, which looks, to my novice eye, like a giant, suspended plastic bag. So the question arises: How is it that a genetically engineered but otherwise indistinguishable human clone can have a serial number on its eyeball? It stretches the imagination to think that one could genetically engineer such a precise deformity.

In any case, the mediocre Josef K slaughters Bautista’s character (who delivered one of the few noteworthy performances in the film), and cuts his eye out, for delivery to the (female, of course) Los Angeles police commissioner.

Another storyline-disaster occurs immediately. Right outside the protein farmer’s house, stands an old withered tree, with a date that is carved into the root. This carving matches one that little K remembered from childhood, inscribed on a toy horse he remembered. He later goes back to his orphanage and finds the toy horse, somehow, and realizes that his memory isn’t artificial.

How all these amazing synchronous coincidences just seem to happen is never fully explained.

So, we have androids who aren’t really androids any longer. They’re just human beings grown in garbage bags. The replicants minds aren’t designed any longer, they’re just human brains. In short, we have humans of the traditional variety, and human beings who were grown by the Wallace-bot, and there isn’t any meaningful difference between them. One of the main themes of the film is a question about whether a robot can possess an authentic soul, or feel authentic emotions. In this instance, why wouldn’t they? Unless the Wallace-bot is growing brain-damaged people, they would be indistinguishable from the heirloom variety.

The Wallace-bot has a right hand woman (another kickass female assassin… yawn) named “Love” (Sylvia Hoeks). She kills a police officer in the department’s evidence room. Somehow, she gets away clean. I guess the LAPD has grown very lax about video surveillance in 2049. Emboldened by the ineptitude of the cops, “Love” subsequently comes back and murders the (female, of course) police commissioner. Slaughtering L.A.’s top cop goes unpunished also.

In one of the few comedic moments, Wallace-bot’s assassin/assistant can be seen plugging SD cards into the side of Wallace-bot’s head. Truly a funny scene, though it’s embedded in a sequence that is so nauseatingly self-important that the humor was entirely unintentional. So much for self-awareness…

Harrison Ford’s character (the original Officer Deckard) is revealed to be a robot himself, and he shuffles through his lines halfheartedly, looking like a sufferer of the beginning stages of android-Parkinsons. Even as an old geezer, Harrison Ford can deliver on the screen (check out his work in 2015’s Age of Adaline). My guess is that he saw the script, took the money, and like the rest of us, refused to give a shit.

Making Deckard a robot not only sours the contemporary release, it also ruins the original. One will recall that the younger Deckard was on Earth, as a human being, and he was depicted as being a bloodthirsty and cruel murderer-for-hire. His victims, who were derided as being emotionless, were constantly displaying empathy for each other. At the end of the original, the dying replicant (Roy Batty, played by Rutger Hauer) even showed mercy to Deckard (Harrison Ford). This was supposed to illustrate a deeper dichotomy about the definition and limits of humanity. All that thoughtful stuff is gone now, with the introduction of the plot holes scarring this odd, poorly envisioned piece of fan-fiction.

Deckard’s meeting with Wallace-bot, the autistic grower of humans in garbage-bags, clues him in to his true purpose. He was designed to meet Rachel, impregnate her with the first android-baby, and bring the child to term in a natural way. Wallace-bot is jealous of this ability, and needs to find the child for dissection, so that he can make his garbage-bag humans fertile. I guess the Dearborn assembly line isn’t producing enough robot-people. What the world really needs is millions of robot-playaz, constantly impregnating millions of android-skanks, to get that population booming.

So Deckard is designed to fall for Rachel, and vice-versa. Why didn’t the Tyrell Corporation just keep them both on company property to do their little fertility experiment?

The camera angles and synth-music attempted to ape the Vangelis score and Ridley Scott’s direction. They made the film a muddier, more confusing mess. Of course, the competing bombast, alternately delivered by Wallace-bot and Police-wimminz, in ham-fisted, self-important soliloquies, tells us more-or-less what the filmmaker wants us to think. We are supposed to identify the garbage-bag humans as the working class, and the individuals as your parents’ Meso-American gardeners, and we are supposed to feel sorry for them, and contrite for holding them down.

Note to the producers: It doesn’t work.

One surprisingly noteworthy performance was given by Josef K.’s waifu pillow, a hologram girlfriend named Joy (Ana de Armas). She sheds tears as she gives her man a name, and tells him that he’s special to her. This was a very moving scene. She’s also tasked with things other actresses would never do (appearing fully nude on screen, being a nerdy robot incel’s VR porn doll, etc.)

If a director asks his actress to do such stuff, then he has a moral and professional obligation to feature her work in a worthy, watchable film. Denis Villeneuve skipped out on his part of the bargain.