Wimminz are not very good for much of anything practical. Even so, some diversity does exist. Some wimminz are stupid, while others are even more stupid. Some wimminz are sluts, while others are professional prostitutes.
One thing wimminz are objectively good at is remembering nonsensical events, and holding stupid grudges over them. In my early years, I wondered from whence this talent springs. My tutor instructed me in the origin, many years ago.
There is an old manosphere trope, which originated somewhere on the now deceased AfOR’s blog. I can’t find it on short notice, but will retell it second hand, because the wisdom bears repeating.
AfOR was an old geezer, and he grew up in the U.K., where school dances were apparently a thing. The school dances began, as he recalled, with men and women completely segregated. The men lined one wall of the gymnasium, and the women lined the opposite wall. When the music started, the athletes, the outgoing and the wealthy were the first across the floor. They had their pick of the local girls. Naturally, they didn’t pick any fatties, uglies, or skank-ho wimminz. They went for the brightest, cutest, and best-behaved girls. After the ice was broken, then the broad masses of men would wander across the floor. Like the men that went before, they discriminated on the basis of looks, behavior, femininity and social status (likely in that order).
There were always about ten percent of the females, who were left standing against the wall. The most mediocre boys would forego dancing immediately, preferring to queue up to get the next dance with an acceptable mate, rather than debase themselves with a pig, or be seen among their peers as touching a filthy skank-ho wimminz.
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The wimminz who were left standing on the wall kept score between their ears. As life’s failures, they had to find a way to salvage their feminine ego, and keeping an invisible scoreboard is the way to go. Picture Darla, the ugly fattie, and what goes through her mind as she watches her peers having a great time…
Jenny got asked to dance by the star football player, so she scores 10.
Martha got asked to dance by the hunky lead in the school play, so she scores 9.
I’m left on the wall. My score is 0!!
Occasionally, some fool would wander over and ask Darla to dance. Sometimes, the boy would be doing it to have a laugh at her expense among his friends. Other times, he’ll be a silly but sincere fellow who sees some value beneath the blubber.
Not only will Darla not accept this fool’s invitation, but she’ll inevitably reject him in a creatively humiliating way.
Ha! I have rejected Johnny in front of the whole school! Now I score 200! Game over, cunts!
In reality, Darla is the feminist in embryo. Look at the typical feminist, and you will find one of life’s failures, who makes a big production about refusing to play the game, because she knows she can’t win. She hates men. She hates successful and beautiful women. Her goal in life is dragging everyone else down to her pathetic level, distributing her own misery far and wide, in the process.
Oh, and once Darla is 29, and finally ready to consent to walk down the aisle with someone? Even then she won’t be grateful.
During the final hours of your marriage, the predatory female reviles you over all the real or imaginary affronts she has held you accountable for over the years. You will be chastised for even the most insignificant or questionable slights, some you can’t remember, dating back prior to the wedding. She may exhibit genuine hatred as she berates you for what she has “had to put up with.” The predatory female works hard to preserve all these self-defined offenses and ceremoniously dumps them on you as the marriage collapses.
Shannon, L. The Predatory Female (Reno: Banner, 1985): p. 101
‘The predatory female works hard to preserve all these self-defined offenses and ceremoniously dumps them on you as the marriage collapses.’
And women wonder why men prefer virgins for marriage. There’s no bigger ‘offense’ to a woman than giving her body away to a strange guy who gave her some brief passing emotions and then leaves…even if she consents to it.
Thank you Boxer for taking some time to honor the Vantablack pill geezer himself. I have seen you in his comments, and in the MGTOW forum AfOR (anonymous for obvious reasons) set up for a while there to shame those who demanded cash to run men’s hangouts, so I know you are one of the old salts in the men’s internet game.
Man oh man I owe so much to that dude, coming across his comments on the Spearhead taking down females and manginas, and just the righteous fire of the formerly falsely accused of rape and abuse, man he had a way of cutting through all the bullshit and laying it out.
I discovered him coming off my own harsh breakup that I didn’t understand, and to hear another man just lay it out in the starkest, bleakest possible terms was bracing. I am finding myself somewhat in mourning over the loss of this dude I never met, this dude who I interacted with civilly at times, and at other times knowing he thought I just didn’t get it.
If I had my way there would be tributes from men’s sites like mad, pouring in, even from his enemies whose arguments he sharpened, but no, only Boxer giving credit where it is due.
So much I wish I knew about the dude. Did he ever get to meet his grown boys? Will they somehow have access to his blog when the time comes?
Anyway, thanks Boxer for being to one to do it. I admit the sheer blackness of his pill made me wax and wane as a reader over the years, but you could always go back and hear a witty curt rant on the wimminz, or read some abstract convoluted metaphor only an engineer could get or love. He just seemed like one of the dudes who would outlive us all.
I feel, as many others do, as if he was a sort of a mentor, and in going back from the beginning and reading over his blog, I am also noticing all the expressions and style points I picked up from him, the turns of phrase like rubber hitting road and skin in the game and core competence.
He was talking about things in 2010 that people are thinking they are discovering now, and some of his conceits, like rejiggering the monetary system in terms of energy used are unsung and mostly unremembered brilliance.
I see his influence in your writing too, so, thank god for righteous role models. Hope any of the other cunts I got used to seeing in his comments section take the time to pay some sort of tribute to the guy whose last act, checking himself out of a hospital whose general sanitary condition mirrored how he always said fat chicks’ breath smelled, was, sad as it was, so perfect a representation.
So his girl is interacting a bit in the comments over there. I hope he made arrangements about all his writing, all his computers, but who knows? Fuck it, you figure it out might have been his plan as well.
Part of me is still hoping this is a hoax.
RIP
You’d probably be intrigued to listen to this.
The description of school dances in the U.K. (except that we called ourselves GB then) is exactly right. I remember it so well. I was first out of the starting block; should I go for the fattie on the assumption that she could not possibly turn me down or the real cutie whom after all was who I was attracted to? Happily testosterone guided me in the right direction and so I began my dating life at the very top. I have of course been slumming it ever since for repetition is a tiresome thing.