Two Feminists: Meghan McCain and Her Dad John
One of the cute #TrumpTrain sluts I’m fucking sent me an emergency message, moments ago. Apparently John McCain is dead.
So, you know my opinions on the man and his life. If you’ve got any fond memories of this feminist sack of shit, feel free to post them in the comments.
Really hoping Mitt Romney will be next to contract the brain cancer…
Yesterday we got acquainted with the Smith family, which consists of my childhood pal Jenny, her husband Joseph Smith, and their daughter Susie. I say their daughter because Brother Joe legally adopted Susie, prior to her fourth birthday.
Yes! Joe married a skank-ho single mom, who had been twice divorced. Moreover, Jenny had no idea who the biological father of little Susie was, when Joe met her. She only knew that neither of her husbands had sired her baby. Joe brushed such trivialities aside, and he used his patriarchal right to make an honorable wife of this whore, and to remove the shame of bastardy from her little girl.
We can only speculate as to what motivates a man like Joe to shoulder such a responsibility. I suspect that many such men imagine that their wives will appreciate and respect their willingness to overlook these shortcomings. Such an assumption entails that their wives are self-aware enough to fully realize their own disastrous positions, based upon a lifetime full of poor personal choices. We shall shortly see that this is often a mistake.
So, how did this little experiment work out for Joe? Fast forward to the present day, several years after he met his loving bride at the altar, and we can hear it from Jenny, the lucky lady who (somehow) managed to convince this simp to marry her.
In the spring of this year, Jenny decided to divorce her husband. Her daughter, now a teenager, tried living with both dad and mom, eventually to pack up and go to grandma and grandpa’s house in Mississauga, because she can’t stand either one of these self-centered morons.
Jenny and Joseph now live in apartments, in different suburbs, and are wrangling over who gets the dining set and the patio furniture in endless court hearings.
Jenny decided to text me after midnight, a couple of days ago, and update me on all the trivial details of her life. We will thank her for giving the young brothers yet another warning about the dangers of dealing with a wimminz like her.
Jenny (12:03 AM): I’m up, are you awake?
Boxer: Yes
Jenny: Whatcha up to? Did you have a good day?
Boxer: I got some of my lectures done. Just winding down now.
Jenny: Nice.
Jenny: I’m a little upset…
Jenny (12:06 AM): Actually I’m a lot upset…
Boxer (12:16 AM): Ten full minutes of typing.
Jenny: Joe told Susie today that he is done with her and I. He told her your mom and I are done so I think its time that I move on from being your dad. She called me at 4 something and was crying… he said your mom made her choice… we are divorced… so you and I are done. You’re not a Smith… you’re not my blood… so I am and moving on from being your dad. Susie told him… I have been your daughter since I was a little girl… your saying you don’t want me… he told her… I have to move on with my life I am done. You’re a good girl but I’m not biological your dad. So… I do not want to be your dad anymore. It has been devastating to her… she has cried… Joe’s brother and sister in law actually called me and said how they can’t believe he has said this. She will always be their family! They said Joe isn’t taking his medication and is spiraling out of control. Her Uncle told Susie she has been family since she was 4! To not listen to him. It’s been an awful day. I can say I actually hate him.
Jenny: This is a nightmare
Jenny: I have cried nearly all day. At 4 this afternoon I left work… I cannot believe he can be so cold. His mother who loved and adored her would be devastated by this. She left Susie with her jewelry… her bible… I can’t believe he just did this to her.
Boxer: So, tell me, what would you like him to do?
Jenny: He is an ass
Jenny: He adopted her… he told her I am no longe married to your mom… so I am done. The Smith family is so mad at him. It’s a mess.
Jenny: Her uncle Jimmy went to Mississauga and told her you are and will always be family.
Boxer: So, tell me, what would you like him to do?
Jenny: I will say this has been a nightmare
Jenny: Honestly, I am done and divorced from him. I’m so glad the Smith family has rallied beside her. It just breaks my heart how he treated her. Jimmy said its a control thing… he can’t control you anymore so he is doing this through her. We love her and please know we love her.
Boxer: You still didn’t answer my simple question.
Jenny:I would love for him and her to have the dad and daughter relationship… she always tried to please him and make him proud. I feel so bad for her. She is a good girl.
Boxer: Is there anything in it for him? I mean, he raised her from a baby, and has been dumped, and probably feels like a chump. I must say I feel sorry for him.
Jenny: Seriously… even his own family don’t feel sorry for him. I was treated like a servant.
Boxer: Well, I don’t know the whole story. All I know is what I hear. I’m glad I’m not him. It seems like he has been used and disrespected and thrown away. She is grown now and doesn’t need him any more anyway.
Jenny: His Uncle Demetrio is coming to Mississauga to see Susie she is devastated by all this. I found out for 3 years he had an affair with Janice.
Jenny: She was crying… it was so sad… she loves him so.
Jenny: His mom left Susie all her jewelry and her bible in her will.
Jenny: My sister in law called me and is so mad at Joe. Apparently he hasn’t taken his bipolar meds since I left… he is drinking… he lost his job in CP… he is a mess.
Jenny: It’s a horrible day. Susie is a trouper… she said I am going to Toronto this weekend with Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Janie they told me the truth about you and dad… and doesn’t blame you for getting divorced.
Jenny (12:41 AM): I kept a lot secret from her… anyhow… what a horrible day.
Stay tuned for part 3 of this article, where we deconstruct this scenario to gain some wisdom from this poor man’s misfortune.
Last night I received some oddball text messages, from a strange woman. While I’m currently parsing them, and still debating as to how much of her story I want to post publicly, I thought I’d make some general observations about stories like hers. In order to do that, I have to write a whole post describing the source. Here goes…
Characters:
Backstory:
When young Boxer was about 14, he met a girl also 14, named Jenny. Jenny was entirely too good for him. She let him know this at every possible opportunity. As both these kids lived in a small town, in the middle of nowhere, they couldn’t escape each other, (try as they did.)
When Boxer was in his mid-20s, and living in Vancouver, BC, Jenny found him on one of the gay social media sites, and quickly connected. Jenny was living in the Toronto ON area, by then, and married to a nice guy named Joe. Boxer was amused to see this bitch again, and the two started conversing, randomly and irregularly. 100% of those interactions were initiated by Jenny.
Some of my own memories of Jenny include the following…
At or about 18 years old, Jenny and a 21-year old returned missionary named Danny announced their engagement. Jenny is the grandchild of converts, while Danny comes from one of the old school Mormon founding families. This is a big deal to my people, and Danny’s ma and pa shitcanned those wedding plans immediately.
As an aside, and this is neither here nor there, Danny is a relative of mine, and he never got married, and is now the same sort of playa I am. I often wonder if ma and pa don’t agonize about that decision, today.
In the interim, having had a wedding date announced, Jenny and Danny started fucking the hell out of each other. Suddenly, when ma and pa pulled the plug, Danny got his ring back, and Jenny was no longer eligible to marry a decent Mormon (i.e. she wasn’t a virgin any longer – this is a dealbreaker for Mormon families.)
With this in mind, Jenny disappears to Calgary, and ya boy Boxer never hears another thing from her, until around 2008, when she appears as a fagbook friend request, and gives the impression of having the perfect life.
Jenny reappears, and she’s changed a bit. She’s converted to Christianity, for one thing. For another, she’s got a kid.
While Jenny publicly wore the persona of perfect wife and devoted mother, she would privately flirt with Boxer, who would generally ignore her. She also asked (and asked, and asked) about Danny. I was a younger man at the time, and wasn’t as practiced at reading skank-ho wimminz, but every man in this post code knows why she was asking, and her original friend request was probably more motivated by the desire to ask me about “the one who got away.”
In late 2015, Jenny started becoming more bold in her flirtatious messages, and would frequently send Boxer unsolicited nudes and talk about fucking him. Boxer continued to ignore this nonsense, sure in his own mind that she was just trying to mess with him, in precisely the same fashion she was wont to do some fifteen years prior.
In 2017, Boxer finally allowed Jenny to open up, in text, and learned her story.
Here we reach the delimiter between my firsthand knowledge, and what she told me when I asked about her life. Here’s the shit she claimed happened to her…
At 18, she left our little town (good for her) and converted to Christianity. My understanding is that both her parents, and her sister, have also converted to Christianity. My people wouldn’t care too much about this, because they were a convert family of only a couple generations anyway… (so long, and thanks for all the fish.)
While in Calgary, she hooked up with a series of random dudes. One of them was a very successful singer, and she went on singing tours backing up this swingin’ dick. Anyway, very shortly after this, she became pregnant. She gave birth to Susie, having no idea who the father of the little girl was.
The lounge singer gave her the brush, and while it may well have been his kid, she didn’t pursue him. At first, like the typical Canadian wimminz, she decided she didn’t need no man, but rapidly realized she couldn’t raise the kid herself.
Jenny married and divorced at least three men, in rapid succession, over the course of not more than two years. The last marriage took, and the lucky winner of Jenny’s used up cunt was Joe: the same man she was (then) pretending to be happily married to on facebook.
When she told me this story, I asked about the two ex-husbands. She (surprise!) described them as assholes, druggies, violent abusers, perverts who would surely have raped her baby, etc., ad infinitvm.
I asked her (as is my general tactic) where these violent headcases were serving their prison sentences. Naturally, neither went to prison, because Jenny was lying, and I assume she was libeling them for the sake of her own ego.
Before I continue, I ought to thank Jenny for giving me the equivalent of a graduate degree in female nature. There are a number of valuable lessons in her story, and while I learned these lessons from Jenny, I really don’t think they’re unique to her. These childish coping mechanisms seem common to most wimminz.
Wassily Kandinsky: On White (1923)
Those of us who care about reconstructing a notion of patriarchy spend a lot of time studying the standards extant in healthier cultures. We are motivated by the pragmatic desire to find what works, in order to promote such ideals among our own lost peoples.
Some examples include our own culture, which enjoyed much saner mores, prior to about 1955. Certain other societies provide practical examples. There are also prehistoric accounts, extant in sources like the Hebrew Bible, Talmud, and Epic of Gilgamesh. And then there are notions from classical antiquity.
One static artifact that exists in across times and cultures is the woman’s privilege within her own home. This privilege exists whether the woman owns her own home outright, or whether she lives with her husband, father, or brother.
I pulled this photo off a web page, but it depicts (as I tried to capture) the sex-specific doorknockers on contemporary Iranian homes. I’ll give you the rundown, as I understand it, as a tourist of a few years ago, who wasn’t really paying attention to such important things.
In Iran, if you go knocking at a door, the first thing you do is to use the correct knocker. IIRC, the male doorknocker looks intuitively like a penis, and the female knocker looks like a vagina. You knock on the door with the dick-door-knocker, which sounds distinctly different compared with its female counterpart. You use your left hand, because your right hand is already up, covering your eyes.
You cover your eyes and use the dick-door-knocker, because in Iran, a woman has the right to walk around bare assed and topless in her own home, or in her husband’s home. Her beauty and her body is for her husband’s enjoyment, not for the general public’s amusement.
If a skank-ho wimminz walked around in public naked, in small-town Iran, she’d get a prison sentence, or at least get her ass whipped in front of her neighbors. The burden of modesty is legally inverted in the woman’s home. When you knock at a stranger’s door, it is theoretically possible for a nekkid woman to open up that door, and if you gawk at her, you’re the one who is going to do prison time, or at least get a good beating, by the morality cops, out in the town square. She is held harmless, because she had a reasonable expectation of privacy in her husband’s house.
I haven’t looked for an example of a man getting his ass beat, after looking at a nekkid broad in the doorway, but knowing wimminz the way we do, I wouldn’t be surprised if there were examples of careless dudes who got set up for this. Really, people were so careful to warn me (a dumb Canadian tourist) about it, that it’s safe to assume it to be common knowledge, and I wouldn’t feel too sorry for the chump who did get punished for peeping.
Over on Dalrock, there is a discussion about the Biblical narrative of David and Bathsheba. For those that don’t know the story, here it is, as recounted in 2 Samuel 11:
1 And it came to pass, after the year was expired, at the time when kings go forth to battle, that David sent Joab, and his servants with him, and all Israel; and they destroyed the children of Ammon, and besieged Rabbah. But David tarried still at Jerusalem.
2 And it came to pass in an eveningtide, that David arose from off his bed, and walked upon the roof of the king’s house: and from the roof he saw a woman washing herself; and the woman was very beautiful to look upon.
3 And David sent and enquired after the woman. And one said, Is not this Bathsheba, the daughter of Eliam, the wife of Uriah the Hittite?
4 And David sent messengers, and took her; and she came in unto him, and he lay with her; for she was purified from her uncleanness: and she returned unto her house.
5 And the woman conceived, and sent and told David, and said, I am with child.
6 And David sent to Joab, saying, Send me Uriah the Hittite. And Joab sent Uriah to David.
7 And when Uriah was come unto him, David demanded of him how Joab did, and how the people did, and how the war prospered.
8 And David said to Uriah, Go down to thy house, and wash thy feet. And Uriah departed out of the king’s house, and there followed him a mess of meat from the king.
9 But Uriah slept at the door of the king’s house with all the servants of his lord, and went not down to his house.
10 And when they had told David, saying, Uriah went not down unto his house, David said unto Uriah, Camest thou not from thy journey? why then didst thou not go down unto thine house?
11 And Uriah said unto David, The ark, and Israel, and Judah, abide in tents; and my lord Joab, and the servants of my lord, are encamped in the open fields; shall I then go into mine house, to eat and to drink, and to lie with my wife? as thou livest, and as thy soul liveth, I will not do this thing.
12 And David said to Uriah, Tarry here to day also, and to morrow I will let thee depart. So Uriah abode in Jerusalem that day, and the morrow.
13 And when David had called him, he did eat and drink before him; and he made him drunk: and at even he went out to lie on his bed with the servants of his lord, but went not down to his house.
14 And it came to pass in the morning, that David wrote a letter to Joab, and sent it by the hand of Uriah.
15 And he wrote in the letter, saying, Set ye Uriah in the forefront of the hottest battle, and retire ye from him, that he may be smitten, and die.
16 And it came to pass, when Joab observed the city, that he assigned Uriah unto a place where he knew that valiant men were.
17 And the men of the city went out, and fought with Joab: and there fell some of the people of the servants of David; and Uriah the Hittite died also.
So, we’ve got a man who climbs up onto his roof to peep at his neighbor’s wife. He decides he likes her enough to get her to come on over and fuck him. Once she becomes pregnant, our man decides to kill her husband. Incidentally, that husband is depicted as being unwaveringly loyal, both to his boss, and to his men.
As a misogynist, I enjoy blaming wimminz for their crap behavior. Even so, I can’t find fault with this wimminz initially. People on Dalrock disagree, yet, none of them can make a very convincing argument with the text.
Bathsheba can certainly be blamed for jumping the fence, and catting around with her husband’s boss. But, can she be blamed for bathing in her own home? A careful reading of patriarchal mores would suggest she was harmless, before the sexy time.
And in case you’re worried that I’m being selective, and applying contemporary Iranian mores to the Bible, I’ve got other sources that give us the same verdict. Cicero’s Letters paint a very clear picture of this female privilege, as it was enjoyed by his wife, Terentia. So, the custom existed in Rome. It also existed in the American State of Washington, as it is encoded in RCW 9A.44.115.
This general notion is not limited to Ancient Rome, or people in Seattle. Laws against peeping exist in every state and province in North America, suggesting that a healthier society inverts the imperative to modesty when a female is in her own house.
NEW YORK CITY – Dozens of simps compete for one mediocre skank.
The following story originated with mysha (@bvdhai) on twitter. Our man Honeycomb found a third-party retelling of it in the comments.
I should probably add text inline, and in order to do so, I’m breaking up the original thread. Let’s see what Brother Mysha can teach us.
Aspiring playaz, take note. This is how you handle a flighty bitch. The only thing I can fault my man for was the overly wordy response. When it happens to me, I generally reply like so:
Her: “Actually, I have this huge presentation I’m workin on for my job… blah blah blah… would it be OK if I text you in a couple months? You’re so hot and I wanna smash, but I’m just so busy fucking other men working and stuff… blah blah blah… would that be OK?”
Me: “cool”
Remember that the wimminz like you better when you acknowledge their worthlessness. One-word is all a bitch usually deserves even in good times.
At this point I would be suspicious, and while our bro doesn’t say so out loud, there is a tangible unease in his tone. Tinder sluts don’t generally keep a man waiting, unless they’re playing games.
Remember that Tinder is the contemporary equivalent of that whorehouse, hidden out on the Alberta prairie. People don’t walk in to that building unless they want to fuck, and it’s for quick fucking, not for goofing off for weeks at a time.
Never trust a bitch who draws things out to this extent.
If a bitch texts me “hey I’m running a little late…” I tune out. Of course this is a personal thing, but my time is valuable. I make a point to be on time to all my meetings, and I’ve left meet-ups, one minute after the appointed hour of meeting, ignoring a bitch frantically calling and texting with excuses.
And that is the moment when every one of those fucking simps should have followed Brother Mysha out of Union Square, and moved on to the next bitch.
Did they do so? Please…
Every man who read this far should scroll back up to the top, and get a good view of all these pathetic chumps. Every one of those men is a total failure. They should each go home and curse their fathers for ever bringing their simp asses into the world.
Slavery is the natural state of man. Truth to fuck’n tell.
Certain meatspace friends of mine let themselves be treated like warmed-over shit, by whatever wimminz they happen to be plowing at any particular moment. We could take my pal x, who follows his ho’ y meekly through the supermarket, as she berates him in even tones, in front of me, his friend. Roosh would probably argue that she does so because she wants me to hit on her. It doesn’t work.
We can also look at the strange case of a, who lets his wife, b, make every decision. Last night, I was out for a beer with a. I don’t drink beer, so I had club soda.
I don’t drink beer, but don’t fault a for doing so, as his life seems so utterly miserable that it would drive any man to drink.
About an hour into our personal time, he interrupts me.
“I have to call my wife,” he says, fumbling around in his pockets for his phone.
I simply look at him blankly, as he rudely takes out his gay electronic device, and frantically starts dialing numbers.
“Hi honey, I’m gunna be a little bit late. Is that O.K.? Yeah the meeting is running a little bit longer than I expected. Oh. I’m sorry honey. Yeah. I’m sorry baby. O.K., I’ll make it up to you…”
“Wow!” He exclaims, as he slides his phone back into his jacket. “I musta lost track of time!”
Less than an hour after this silly ordeal, he ordered a 20 dollar dessert, to go, to take as a peace offering to his woman. Our server blandly slid a melted chocolate brownie across the bar in a styrofoam container.
It will interest the readers here to note that neither x nor a are the sorts of simps we’d expect. Both are athletic. Both are moderately successful.
My man x is an African-American business owner who has a very nice house in the suburbs. Of course, this isn’t enough for y. She truly believes that she can do better.
My brother a is a tall, slim, good-looking blond farm boy, from Iowa or Nebraska or one of those fucked up states. He just got tenure in the department he works at, at a big public research university. Of course, this isn’t good enough for b. She is sure she can do better.
The ladies are really not much to write home about. Neither is dog ugly. That’s about all I can say for them. They aren’t much alike. The first bitch is black, and the second bitch is white. The first bitch likes to berate her husband in public, and the second bitch keeps her man on a tight leash, just like a dog.
The men, for all their superficial differences, are almost precisely similar. They’re both far too compliant. They’re both far too devoted. They’re both prone to falling in love. This leads each, in his own way, to tolerate the intolerable.
The phenomenon is so inexplicable, that I had to play amateur psychoanalyst, and try to figure out the common motivations that underly this personality type. My first thoughts run toward a common delusion, shared by many men, about their individual wimminz. These delusions include…
A number of collective memes also take root, and when combined with these silly ideals, make the conditioning difficult to break.
Earlier I noted that there were not too many similarities between these two wimminz, and these are only two of countless examples of lousy partners among North American hoez. Be that as it may, they all seem to have one thing in common.
They all hate me.
Every time these bitches see me, at work-related functions, around town, at the gym, they note that I am either alone, or I am with a brand new skank.
I am free. I have no wife. I have no girlfriend.
I get all my needs met without the use of a parasite, bleeding me dry of time and money.
I am not a compliant slave. I have left the plantation.
These bitches don’t hate me just for that reason. If these bitches were single themselves, then they’d either ignore me, or come on to me. They hate me because I am an existential threat to the scam they are running.
Earlier I mentioned that my brother a lied to his wife about where he was at. He was with me, at a low-key restaurant. He told her that he was in a faculty meeting, or busy with one of his dumbass committees, or some such nonsense. I said nothing to him about this. I politely pretended not to listen in. I said nothing about it when I recounted it, for all you brothers, either. Even so, it is the climax of this dumb tale.
Why did he lie? He lied because he knows that his wife doesn’t want him hanging out with Boxer, and especially without her loving guidance and supervision.
I know that these men don’t have to put up with the shit they regularly endure. Their wimminz, different as they may be, sense instinctively that I am demonstrating a way-of-life that would put either out of business, very quickly, the minute I convinced their men to dump their asses, and follow me into MGTOW.
They know this, and I know it, and they know I know it. Thus lies have to be told, and hatreds fester, and your boy Boxer goes home to a peaceful house, at the end of a quiet hour of bullshitting, with only a small interruption to prove the point.
Canadian men often describe themselves as “second class citizens.” I never describe myself that way, though I often talk about how glad I am to have left Canada.
The following document serves as an illustration. Every man in Canada should read it carefully.
Now, it may seem like a boring legal document, but as you read it, you’ll soon uncover an unpleasant truth about the world, and your place in it.
Nicole Patricia Doucet married a man named Michael Ryan in the 1990s. In 2007, after having a kid, Nicole decided she was “not happy,” and moved out of the family home with the child. Rather than drive down to the divorce courts, Nicole decided it would be more profitable to have her husband killed. She thereby stood to inherit a farm and over a million dollars in assets. She started shopping around for a murderer.
The killer that skank-ho Nicole hired was a police informant, who worked closely with the RCMP. Nicole was videotaped conversing with the murderer in furtherance of the crime. She was seen on tape, laughing, as she dropped the killer 25,000 CAD. Skank-ho’s ex-husband had begun dating a 20-year old woman. Nicole alluded to an extra reward if the killer happened to ice the girlfriend, also.
When asked “did he ever beat on you,” Nicole shook her head and said “no.”
Skank-ho Nicole laughs with the murderer
Needless to say, Nicole was arrested. Immediately, the bitch changed her story. Nicole suddenly “remembered” being a victim of Michael Ryan’s horrific abuse, despite the fact that she had earlier denied any such thing. During the criminal trial, the judges decided to disallow any testimony from the victim, Michael Ryan. The judges also decided they would not hear testimony from the RCMP. They simply acquitted Nicole, because she was a wimminz.
The crown appealed the decision all the way to the Supreme Court of Canada. Their honors admitted that the silencing of the victim was a gross mishandling of the trial; but they decided to order a stay of proceedings, so that no new trial can be held anyway. Skank-ho Nicole has been immunized from any punishment.
The murderess is now free, and she has her job back, as a school teacher. I’m sure fathers in Nova Scotia are grateful for such a stellar role-model, daily interacting with their kids.
The connection every Canadian man should make is obvious, and if you’re not frightened, you are an idiot.
Every single Canadian wimminz now enjoys this same immunity from prosecution, and every single Canadian wimminz knows this.
The typical simp will immediately start yapping about how his girl is “one of the good ones,” and how she would never, and yap yap yap.
The reality is that every single wimminz in Canada is a human being, and like everyone else, she will take full advantage of a stacked deck, the minute she finds it advantageous. That isn’t a wimminz’ weakness. That’s simply the way of human beings.
Should your wife find it profitable to have you murdered, that is what she will do. After you’re buried, will the RCMP even investigate your murder? Why would they?
If they did, the bitch would just concoct a story about how you were an asshole. The judge will “listen and believe,” and that will be the end of it.
Canadian men are not “second class citizens.” Canadian men were stripped of their citizenship in 2013.
Canadian men are not even properly called “slaves.”
If a plantation slave was murdered by his master, in the American South, the master was subject, at least in theory, to a prison sentence and a stiff fine. Arthur William Hodge was hung by the neck until dead, for killing one of his slaves. Nicole Doucet will never spend a day in jail.
Canadian state-run media has made a hero out of this murderous slut. She is lauded in reports by the CBC as “courageous.” Incidentally, the CBC also pulled the video of her laughing and joking with the killer she hired to off her husband. History has been rewritten.
Canadian men no longer enjoy ordinary human rights. You faggots are cattle. You may be slaughtered at any time by your owners. That is the reality of the situation on the ground in Canada, and the Supreme Court has upheld this simple fact with their ruling.
Regular features of my blog include the violence of single mothers, and the dishonesty of establishment journalists. This story has it all.
Newly released evidence about murderess Jessica Edens paints a dark picture of marriage to a single mother. Trying to decipher the actual history, viewed through the lens of corporate media scumbags, is likewise difficult. My job is to give it a shot.
First the backstory. Here’s what we know, no thanks to the dishonest hacks in media.
The skank-ho born as Jessica Dingee got pregnant at age 25. The supposed father of that first child, whose name is Nate King, is reported by the media to have been married to Jessica. I can find no evidence of a marriage between Nate and Jessica, and I’ve looked.
At some point, Jessica dumped Nate King, making his young son, Hayden, a bastard. Hayden King was likely bounced around a few years, until parasite Jessica found a new host. The new man’s name is Benjamin Edens. He still lives in South Carolina.
Jessica Dingee-King moved in with Benjamin in 2009, bringing along her little boy, Hayden. Benjamin “did the right thing,” and welcomed this skank-ho single mom into his home and life, paying the bills for her and her boy.
Benjamin Edens married skank-ho Jessica on 10 April, 2010. According to all the rules we follow here, she ceased to be a skank-ho on that day, and became the honorable Mrs. Edens, wife of Benjamin. Hayden ceased to be a bastard on the same day, and became the son of Benjamin.
One would think that a wimminz would be incredibly grateful to this man. Let’s keep reviewing the details, to see what happened.
Almost immediately after the wedding, Jessica quit her job, informing Benjamin that she would be a “stay-at-home mother.” Benjamin agreed to this, and Jessica devoted herself to looking after Nate’s son.
In the summer of 2012, Benjamin and Jessica welcomed a daughter into the world. They named her Harper. Unfortunately, things were already going downhill.
Describing her marriage as boring, Jessica demanded that Benjamin fund a small business. Amazingly, Benjamin agreed to this, too. Jessica opened up an online storefront in 2012, and pretended to be a “professional photographer.” Her online autoencomium read, in part:
I wanted to turn my passion for photography into a career. I decided I wanted nothing more then to become a stay at home working mom.
In April 2017, Benjamin moved out of the family home and filed for divorce. The complaint and subsequent writs are interesting. According to Benjamin — who is now the only living witness to the marriage — Jessica had thrown him out of his own bedroom almost immediately after the wedding. Benjamin writes:
I slept on the couch for almost the entire time we have been married
He went on at length, describing his wife as “distant,” and his marriage as “unloving,” and “stressful.”
Here we can review, and see another example what my man AfOR called “wallet seeking mode.”
A single mom with few prospects and a little boy needs a sucker. She subsequently puts on a show of being submissive, sweet and loving. She keeps up this charade only long enough to get your ass to sign that legal document, pledging your life and property to her. Once the deed is done, she has no further use for you, and off you go, to live a celibate life on the sofa. You exist in her mind; but, only as a strange combination of livestock and furniture. You live to bring her money. That is the sum total and extent of you.
Doesn’t this life sound good to you, brothers?
So, Jessica again became a skank-ho, and she wasn’t too happy about her uppity slave leaving the plantation. In the mean time, Benjamin got a cheap apartment, and began rebuilding his life. He fell into the same trap that many brothers do, initiating a relationship with another wimminz almost immediately.
As an aside, I have seen this play out a number of different times, in completely independent settings. It’s absolutely surreal to watch the filthy wimminz begin to swarm, and it happens immediately after a breakup. Only minutes after a man becomes newly single, every skank within a 1000-m radius seems to know it. In they come, to see if they can take advantage of his ass and use him for all he’s worth.
In Benjamin’s case, it was a co-worker who won the prize. Her name was Meredith Rahme. She was 27: The classic “younger, hotter, tighter…”
Back to the story… Enraged by her husband’s move, Jessica’s first tact was to deny him access to his children. In an affidavit to the feminist divorce courts, Benjamin writes that his skank-ho ex was “using the children as a weapon against him…” He petitioned for custody of little Harper, due to skank-ho mommy’s repeated refusal to let him see or speak to his own daughter.
Naturally, the black-robed faggots laughed in his face. Benjamin was told to keep paying, and keep his mouth shut.
Such are the fruits of marrying a single-mom.
While Jessica had her children, which she had kidnapped from two different fathers, and while she had a steady stream of money from her slave, what she clearly wanted was control. Her host had left her, and was now shacked up with a better-looking and better-behaved wimminz. This Jessica could not abide. And so she hatched her plan.
She first cornered Benjamin’s new wimminz, Meredith Rahme, and gunned her down in the parking lot of her apartment. After making her getaway, Jessica sent her ex-husband a series of texts, designed to lure him into meeting her. In hindsight, she clearly planned to off him. Unfortunately, he was wise to her. He brushed her off.
His newfound ability to say no to the ho’ ended up saving his life. She sent him a chilling reply:
You will have exactly what you want. No wife. No kids.
Skank-ho Jessica drove to a remote part of Pickett County, South Carolina. Police think she first shot Hayden through the head. After watching him suffer and die, she shot little Harper through the throat, with a .40 caliber bullet. The baby certainly died in horrible agony.
Hayden King and Harper Edens
After enjoying her “revenge” against the men who she had hated — the same men who had both given her the honorable title of “wife,” when she clearly didn’t deserve it, she penned a few final words. Here they are…
For my parents and sister, I am so sorry for the pain I am causing all of you. You’ve all always been there for me and I love you all so much. I know what I have done is selfish, but I cannot live with this pain any longer. I just cannot handle it. It is too much. It hurts too much. I will no longer be in pain and my children will no longer hurt either. I am so so sorry. I love you all.
It’s always my children, to a slut like this. Note this well, brothers.
To Nate, I don’t know what to say. You gave me my first child. I will forever be grateful because of you. i never meant to cause you so much pain as this. I am sorry.
Yeah, she’s really grateful to ya, Nate. So long, and thanks so much for giving her a hostage she could ice.
To Ben, You have caused me more pain that I’ve ever been in in my life. You have caused my children pain. i hate you. I hope you rot one day for what you have done to me and my kid. you can no longer hurt us, We are at peace. hope you live with pain and shame and guilt for the rest of your life. And I hope that everytime [sic] you look at your whore… you know that you & her did this. Live with that. Both of you.
My children. My children. It’s all about me.
In the old days of patriarchy, a man would meet a woman, and they would have children together. Those children were seen as the joint responsibility of both parents. This is no longer the case, and this example is an illustration.
In our feminist society, the basic family unit is the skank-ho single mom, and her children. Any men that are attached are temporary, and last only as long as they have utility to the family unit.
Had the faggot judge, down at the divorce courts, enforced his own order for visitation, that little kid would be alive today. He didn’t, because he respected the rules as they exist. As a father, you will not matter. Legally, you will have no rights, only responsibilities. Your skank-ho ex can snuff your kids, and the media will either erase you from the story, or they’ll blame you for the violence.
Never forget this story. Your life, and the lives of your children, depend upon it.
Metaphysics is a serious discipline at university, in which brainy men (and they are all men) write papers arguing about the nature of reality. The word has been heartlessly mangled, and is now a label used popularly to categorize new age claptrap. In fact, it is actually all about what kind of shit exists in the world, and what that shit’s qualities might be.
Take the color red, for example. Before I studied philosophy I just took it as a range of frequencies of electromagnetic radiation, or some such. That’s because I had a math degree. It’s actually a much deeper question. Even if “red” is a range of frequencies, we still aren’t any closer to figuring out what it is. We’re just wondering about the nature of describing radiation by wavelength, and subdividing it by spectral colors.
I’m not smart enough to be a metaphysician, but I get to hang out with these guys fairly often, and one of the things they all love to do, is to sit around arguing about determinism.
Determinism is another word that a mathematician thinks he knows, because he took the 100-level physics series as a schoolboy. We think it has to do with cause-and-effect.
If I see a baseball suddenly accelerate in R3, I think there must be some reason. I saw that baseball traveling due east at 40 m/s, and suddenly it is traveling WNW at 30 m/s, accelerating 30 degrees from the plane. I don’t know exactly what happened. I think there must be a crazy fastball pitcher someplace, and a guy with a bat. Whatever it was, something made that baseball change velocity in three degrees of freedom. Isaac Newton told me that shit can’t just happen on its own. The acceleration had to have been determined by some underlying cause.
Determinism, as its defined philosophically, encompasses a much wider and deeper set of questions. These lead to a bunch of conclusions that touch upon the concept of human freedom. As a result, we wonder if all of the choices we think we make, with a clear head, are actually choices.
Say I come to your house. If you live in Seattle, you probably won’t invite me in. If you live in Biloxi, you probably will. In Mississippi, you invite your neighbors in as a matter of course. If you keep someone standing, dick-in-hand, on the porch, and talk to him through the screen door, you’re considered an asshole. People get the hint you don’t like them.
In Seattle, you don’t even invite your friends in your house, unless you’re hosting a party. In fact, if a guest expects to come in, the homeowner will likely find him rude and pushy. Everyone cools his heels on the porch, and no one takes it personally.
One can speculate that person x is making the free choice to invite person y into his house, but is he? Much of what we do is a matter of custom. Certain things were impressed upon x throughout his life, and while x might imagine that he is freely choosing to invite y through the door, we can not be certain. In fact, a pretty compelling case can be made that all manner of moral and personal choices are decided not based on will, but on prior programming.
And so we arrive at the point. Many men walk down that aisle with the idea that they are making a free, sober, and conscious choice. Each one of these dopes would likely claim that he is using an act of will, to wife up that girl who made eyes at them at the supermarket, a year prior. He’ll explain that she’s funny, great in the sack, and a lot of fun to go road-tripping with.
The problem, as I see it, is that there is not a single benefit to signing on that marriage certificate, in front of the priest. All the fun shit your girl does with you now, will not magically become more fun once you are married. The hot sex you’re both having now, will not get better after the wedding. So, upon what incentive is the choice to marry based?
Thus I think marriage is an obvious example of the paucity of the libertarian thesis. Most men who think that they are freely consenting to marriage seem to actually be playing a role or bowing to the expectations of others.
Since contemporary society affords a man no benefits for marriage, and only piles liabilities upon him when he signs on for the job of “husband,” it’s easier to believe that marriages are now compulsory.
NSFW: It will probably disappear from YouTube within hours. Enjoy!