Some Thoughts on Atheism

It might seem like I pick on Derek a fair bit. He did piss me off, when he started posting under his full, legal name; but, in the end, I suspected he might be too valuable to run off. I wasn’t wrong. He consistently brings up interesting stuff, and his comments of yesterday are excuse enough for me to segue into a discussion of what I think atheism is, and isn’t.

Derek writes:

I see we are going to be distracted by the meanings of words again. Indeed, atheism is a proposition, or more accurately a set of various independent propositions. One such proposition is the following: “I know that there is no God.” There are others of various formulations, but those that can be distinguished from agnosticism are logically incoherent. Some are outright self-refuting. If you don’t find them to be such, I’ll just leave you to that.

Derek is a computer scientist who is also a Christian priest. For him to have such a shallow understanding of atheism (not to mention of propositional logic) is a bit off-putting. I believe he’s being jocular with this nonsense, but even if that’s true, he’s the best kind of troll.

One might be tempted to see ‘atheism’ as a long set of conjoined propositions, one of which declares that no gods exist. This is not a very coherent definition. For one thing, there exists no accepted definition of “god”. For polytheists, who worship multiple gods (and I count Christians in this category) omniscience and omnipresence are out. Jesus, for example, begged his father to save him from death. Taking the text at face value suggests that while Christians view Jesus as a god, he is less powerful than his father. He also didn’t know, for sure, what was going to transpire the next day. The Christian goddess Mary needed comfort from the angel who announced that she was going to give birth — and rightly so. It probably seemed to that young girl that she was going to be cast out of the tribe as a skank-ho single mom. The Hebrews didn’t go for that shit.

Who is cooler or more powerful: Wotan or Thor? Can Zeus catch Apollo in a foot race? No one knows.

So, given that we can’t really define what a god is, it’s difficult for an atheist to declare that he knows such indefinite characters don’t exist, someplace in the universe. Lots of things might exist: Superman, the present king of France, three-eyed fish in the cooling pond near Springfield’s reactor.

It’s also difficult to pinpoint existence. Does Superman exist? It seems like he doesn’t. Yet, he has a particular set of properties that seem to be true. If I say “Superman wears a cape,” I think that’s right. If I declare that “unicorns have one horn,” that seems to be an analytic truth, even if the signified is empty. A philosopher named Meinong set all this stuff down in a paper, a long time ago, arguing for the existence of every possible object. Well, maybe not existence. Perhaps persistence is the right word.

Linsky and Zalta are a couple of logicians who argue for the possibility of a God who is neither abstract nor concrete. Their paper is dense and technical, but I’ve hosted it locally. It seems to me that one could make the case for the non-existence but possible persistence of such a God. Meillassoux argues for a speculative realism, which allows for the atheist, who is sure that there exists no God, to entertain the possibility that a God might pop into existence, at some point in the future, and start telling us all what’s what. Why couldn’t such things happen? There are no universal laws that declare that the universe needs to suit us.

Friends (Again)

[Editor: This is part two in a series by Emil Marchand. If you haven’t already, find the first part here.]

I held myself back and winced inside as she pulled records out and looked at them. I keep them in alphabetical order…….but I held myself in check. She was randomly pulling out LPs and just all over herself about my collection. I also reminded myself “hey, you told her to go ahead and swim, go easy here….”

“Wow…..this would be so cool, you know……a rainy day thing, just hang out and listen to records all day! That would be so much fun!” She said smiling at me.

“Yeah! It really would be fun do that!” I said in agreement while waiting for the kettle to boil, “Oh, here, let me show you the system if you want to play one.” I turned on the Sansui receiver from 1966, and the trusty Technics deck that I have lovingly owned since 1987. “You know how to handle records, right?”

She smiled, nodded “Yeah, my dad, the old man has some and he showed…” she stopped, realizing that I am about her dad’s age, a gentle faux pas on her part…….”But he’s cooler than most guys my age. He really is.”

Nice save I thought to myself. I smiled, gently touched her hair as I went back to the kitchen to pour the kettle, it was just about ready to whistle.

The cat at this point decided to make his entrance back to where the action was, he slyly poked his head out of the closet “Oh…..hey, hey you come here! You’re so handsome!” She said gently to him, “What’s the cats’ name?” she asked. “Nixon.” I said with smirk, and the cat upon hearing his name looked eagerly in my direction, as to get approval from me to come out.

“Handsome boy,” she said to him as he slowly trotted over to be petted “Wasn’t Nixon a crook?” she asked as she petted the cat…….

“Not by today by standards.” I said watching the tea steep in the teapot, “I named him Nixon because he was the president when I was born. That’s all. Easy to remember.”

The conversation rolled forward with tea, Devonshire cream and some honey. Records were spun and lots more laughs were shared, another fast two hours passed……but I knew it had to come out soon…………

What was this “it”? It was me explaining or telling this pretty woman I am a practicing Christian…I was trying to figure a way to let it come out naturally into the conversation……at one point I thought that I would not even have to bring “it” up, but that was not to be the case.

As the conversation lulled a bit, and I poured the last bit of tea into her cup she slowly stood up……and slowly put her arms around my neck……she was so spritefully cute that she had arch up on her toes to reach me. I liked it.

“Hey…” she said quietly while smiling, “You’re a pretty cool guy. I just want to say, I am having a great time…..” I smiled back. Looking down into her brown eyes. Now big eyed women are not the most attractive per say….but yeah, they are compelling for sure. She was a cutie for sure. “This is great, but you know it’s getting late…”

She laughed hard “What the matter? Do you turn into a pumpkin after 10 o’ clock?” she relaxed her arms, and brushed her arms with hands up to the top button of my shirt, and unbuttoned it. “I was thinking, well……I wouldn’t mind staying here tonight, a sleepover…….would be fun? Don’t you think?” She unbuttoned the next button on my shirt.


As Earl recently pointed out, our elder brother Roosh V. has taken to twitter to promote #thotaudit : a public-service program designed to get all our favorite camwhores (like Katie Emmerson and her mother, Sheila Gregoire) right with the IRS (and Revenue Canada.)

My right-wing brothers may be tempted to sympathy for the skank-ho single moms, who are just using the free-market to peddle their assholes and vaginas to desperate, thirsty simps. Please don’t kid yourself. These bitches sex-shows are often the most wholesome shit they do.

Some of these skank-ho sluts make 100,000 USD or more annually, for doing, well, pretty much nothing.

Don’t even bother feeling sorry for them. They get what they deserve.

#thotaudit : coming to a neighborhood near you.

On Being and Time

So, this morning, a new slut hit me up on one of the dating sites. She told me her name, said she was a nurse who was having a hard time meeting folks in our town due to shift-work. She seemed eager, and told me that she was down to fuck, and her photos looked presentable. In keeping with protocol, I balked at inviting her to my house without a public meeting. She invited me to a place I knew, on my side of town, and offered to pay for my coffee, which was a nice touch.

What I had planned for the day was a whole lot of maxing and relaxing. I did want to go get some cheapo Christmas gift-type junk. Could I squeeze in a nooner as I was going about my business?

Yes, I thought, I could.

She made the date for noon, so I did my usual thing and arrived at 11:30. As I walked into the joint I found it had changed, somewhat, since my last visit. Only a few weeks ago, the dive featured tattered menus and servers in cargo shorts. (I live in a semi-tropical area of the world, and this isn’t unusual.) I arrived to find three new female waitresses, in uniforms, looking surprisingly hot.

I ordered my usual, and ate. It was getting close to noon with no sign of the bitch, so I got out my phone. I found the text-message indicator flashing.

Bitch at 11:57: R u there? Running a little late. 5 min. I hope

Me at 11:59: I am here already. Yes.

At 12:05, I realized that the bitch was five minutes late. I stopped at the register to chat up my waitress. She had a wedding ring, but we made small talk for a bit, and I wandered on out the door at 12:09. I leisurely got into my car, and started the drive to the shopping mall, to get my niece some fuzzy pink slippers, and my father a book, and my skank-ho cousin’s kids some manly stuff. I’ve forgotten about the slut at this point, and am on the interstate, when my phone starts going absolutely nuts.

Bitch at 12:12: I’m here but don’t see you

Incoming call at 12:13

Incoming call at 12:14

Incoming call at 12:14

Incoming call at 12:15

As I’m driving, I am hitting the “refuse call” button repeatedly. I have voice mail, but the bitch doesn’t care enough to use it. She just keeps calling. After eleven incoming call attempts, she gives up — or so I think. After I park and get out of the car, I find my text message indicator starts flashing again.

Bitch at 12:27: Why did u leave?

My M.O. is to ignore such people, as my time is valuable, and they’ve already been disrespectful. Even so, I thought I could illustrate the attitude of entitlement which is universal among skanky American wimminz on this blog. So, against years of experience, and all my better judgment, I answered the slut, grabbed a screenshot of the exchange, and then deleted her number.

I actually didn’t pull out of the parking lot until 12:10. I lied to her for two reasons:

  1. To see if the bitch would behave as I predicted.
  2. To let the slut know that my time is valuable, and give her the impression that I left immediately after the (already delayed) time agreed upon.

So, did the slut pretend to be a normal person, and apologize for her rudeness?

Of course she didn’t. She lied too, claiming that she was there while I was still in the restaurant. Bear in mind that there is only one door in or out of this place, and I could see every table as I left, three minutes after she supposedly “got there.”

What can the young brothers learn from this? Plenty. In the first place, from my field guide to running hoez:

42. If the bitch is two minutes late, go ahead and scoot out the door. Your time is valuable. Five minutes early is on time. One minute late is barely acceptable. Two is not.

I should never have agreed to meeting her five minutes later than arranged. What I should have done is to delete her number when she said she was running late.

By agreeing to delay the meeting, I did two things:

  1. I signaled my desperation.
  2. I trained the bitch to see my time as less valuable than hers.

The typical wimminz will not see you as a nice fella if you’re agreeable to her whims. The typical wimminz will see you as a chump for doing this, and will get the message that it is cool to waste your time.

Had I waited around until she showed up, I would likely have waited around while the bitch ate. I may have got some uninspired sex, after which I would have waited around at least an hour until the bitch quit jabbering mindlessly and left. By the time I’d gone out shopping, it easily would have been 4 PM.

Because I did not wait around until she showed up, my niece is getting a fuzzy pink bathrobe-slippers combination for Christmas. My father is getting an antiqued bible for his end table. My cousin’s kids are getting handheld Nintendo Switch video game machines.

I’d say everything turned out exactly as well as it should have.

You have a finite number of moments available before your death. Spend them on the people who matter, rather than wasting them on ingrates.


Dead as dirt: 27-year-old John Allen Chau

This story is not meant to be funny, but it’s really hard for me to imagine anything more ridiculously stupid. From the Times of India:

An American man was killed on an island inhabited by a tribe known to resist outside contact in the Andaman and Nicobar Islands. And, his body still lies there.

The American was identified as 27-year-old John Allen Chau, who sources said was a Christian missionary who wanted to convert the Sentinelese tribe that inhabits the island where he was killed.

The Sentinelese are billed as murderous cannibals, and perhaps that’s true. One flat fact is that the Sentinelese don’t venture forth to bother other peoples with their religious ideas.

What a shame that my people don’t learn the simple and beautiful etiquette of this noble tribe.

Chau decided that he needed to bring the gospel of Jesus to the Sentinelese; but, visiting their island is prohibited. Laws were made to be broken! He bribed some poor local fishermen to smuggle him just offshore. The fishermen dropped him off with some scissors and a bottle of Coca-Cola, which he was apparently taking as gifts to the tribe.

The fishermen later saw Chau being attacked with arrows. “He was attacked by arrows but he continued walking,” news agency AFP reported, quoting sources. Local fishermen also saw the Sentinelese tying Chu’s body to a rope and dragged it along the ground.

You don’t fuck around with the Sentinelese

While Chau got himself killed, he also got the fishermen he bribed arrested. They’re facing long prison sentences. The article doesn’t specify just how many lives he ruined, but I’d guess it’s never enough.

The Sentinelese are immune to prosecution, and protected by Indian law.

While hack pseudojournalists at the BBC and NY Times are describing the Sentinelese as savage negroes, who kill for sport, I find it easier to believe that the Sentinelese have made an educated decision to protect their society from the ravages of artificial food, Christianity and feminism.

Who is the real savage, anyway?

Ask yourselves why any society, no matter how supposedly primitive, should let an American visit? America is famous for certain things, and those things include sodomy and divorce courts.

The Sentinelese must suspect that it is not in their long-term interests to have contact with trash like us, and I sympathize.

The Magical White Wimminz

Having been convinced to give so-called white nationalism a fair review, I looked up David Lane’s opvs magnvm and started reading.

I now know why all you pale brothers look askance at my conquests of black and jewish tinder chicks. Why would I slum with such creatures, when there are precious, modest, feminine white flowers like the following, ripe for plucking into the marriage and childbirth cycle?

Why indeed?

Note: Special thanks to Jack for sending me this entertaining video.

A Holiday Prayer

American Thanksgiving is almost upon us. Holiday dinners approach, and with them come endless opportunities to shiv our friends and relatives — many of whom are cucks and libs. Asking your mom, as she plops to the table in pussy hat and #Resist getup, “who’s your president, bee-yatch?” is probably pretty tempting. It will also be nearly impossible to refrain from calling your uncle a faggot, since he is, in fact, a homosexual.

This sort of dysfunctional squabbling, satisfying as it might be, and common as it truly is, is actually pretty tasteless. I know. I know. This is unlike me. Hear me out, please.

You probably think this chick looks familiar. That’s because she’s Susan Rice, Barack Obama’s national security advisor. She was in and out of the spotlight for several years. As you might imagine, she and her husband are hardcore liberal democrats.

Now meet John Rice-Cameron. He’s the son of Susan and her husband. He’s currently matriculated at Stanford University, where he is the head of the “Make Stanford Great Again” club, a pro-Trump student collective. He is famous for putting signs around campus, that read “White Privilege is A Lie!” “Affirmative Action is Theft!” and “Defund San Francisco!” He’s celebrated in this post code for getting a deranged faculty member (ANTIFA-affiliated) stripped of his tenure and thrown out on his ass. Brother Boxer approves of his good work.

Given their opposing views on any number of issues, you might assume that John wastes time at holidays squabbling with his parents.

You’d be mistaken in assuming that the Rice family is as autistic as your family is. Susan Rice has given numerous statements to the same effect, to hate-filled pseudojournalists who want to foment a family squabble that they can gleefully cover in their phony gossip media circus.

A new strategy I suggest: Be a gracious man at the holidays. Be the man of good cheer. In short, be like Susan and John. Politics doesn’t really mean all that much, anyway.

When your family gathers around the table, pay close and careful attention to each, emphasizing the shared bonds between you. Love and pride are the watchwords. Respect for elders, honor for ancestors, praise for progeny, and epicurean delight in the carnal feast are your minimum standards. If you pray, thank whatever God or gods you worship for one more year in the presence of such beautiful people, your links to the past and the future.

If there are screechers, do not join them. Let them reveal themselves as petty people, desperately in need of food and attention. Then feed them turkey.

Clownworld at EMU

Apparently “some women” are being excluded from the award-winning Vagina Monologues production. Who could these women be? Straight women? Religious women? Sane women?

Survey respondents opposing the production consistently indicated they were concerned that the play centers on cisgender women, that the play’s version of feminism excludes some women, including trans women, and that overall, “The Vagina Monologue” lacks diversity and inclusion.

Weird trannies and male fags can’t larp as feminist dykes. As such, the play is being canceled.

Patriarchal Thinking

Over on Sigma Frame, we read a somewhat sharp but well-written riposte to my contention in The Good Woman, specifically, that when one individual marries another, s/he needs to keep those promises. Our brother replies:

Marriage to an ex-rider is like sweetened lard icing on a cake of poop. It looks appetizing, until you cut into it and take a bite, suddenly realizing the main ingredients are not eggs and flower. The batter has been deflorested, and the eggs have developed chromosomal abnormalities.


And what if you “promised” to eat the whole thing… and it’s the only cake you’ll ever eat for the rest of your life? Worse, you find that after you swallow, you only get a haughty snicker, with not even a bit of remorse or gratitude?


This is what marital fraud feels like. This is why the RP advice says to avoid it.


Boxer argues that in a situation like this, it comes down to commitment. But the reality is more nuanced.

What my brother does not do is to spell out the clause, in those marriage vows, that allows for easy divorce if one party discovers something s/he doesn’t like in the history of the other. The omission is understandable, since there is no such addendum. The vows are un-esoteric, carnal, and easily understood by everyone. They were meant to be so.

If you are a female, your promise is to respect, honor and obey. If you are a male, your promise is to love, keep and cherish.

From this day forward… until death do us part

Our patriarchal fathers wrote those vows carefully, and handed them down to us for a reason.

Now, if one party breaks the contract after consummation, that’s one thing.

Otherwise, you’re expected to keep those promises… until when? Well, the brothers just told you.

Consider an analogy: If you invest in some project, and the members of the board steal your investment and run away, then you can have those scumbags thrown in jail. A court would award you some compensation, and in the ideal world, you’ll be made whole.

If, on the other hand, you invest in some project, and the project goes according to plan, but the project doesn’t return what you originally hoped, you are out the difference.

Is this difficult to understand? I don’t think it is.

If my readers want to go over to Sigma Frame blog, and start innovating un-patriarchal concepts like “marital fraud,” in an attempt to get out of the promises they make, then those men need to quit pretending to care about patriarchy. Those men are male feminists. You can’t fight frivolous divorce while excusing it, and you can’t object to the degenerate culture of frivolous divorce while promoting it.

Down below, Derek sez:

Virginity should be held in honor. His wife was not a virgin, but she’s still his wife and he has a duty to love her. He didn’t have to marry her, but he did anyway. He has to live with his choice.

Then Sharkly sez:

You were saying that her emotional state means she should get a pussy-pass out of the public naming and shaming for her sin that the Bible prescribes, as you pointed out. That is white knighting, as is your excuse making for her, and always insisting on assuming only the best about her, past the point of foolishness.

I didn’t read Derek’s comments that way. Maybe I missed his white knighting.

The reality is that Driscoll made an investment. If his partner is breaking the contract, then there are remedies available, which don’t include impotent whining and bitching in public. If his partner is not breaking the contract, then he needs to shut the fuck up and quit whining and bitching in public.

Public bitching and whining is unmanly. The time for reading the prospectus is before one invests.

If you marry someone with a past, then that past is independent of your promise. The purpose of this blog is to encourage young people to be good consumers. My work is not meant to make those people a bunch of whiny legalists, who condemn frivolous divorce in others while looking for loopholes to justify their own.