A Brief Course in Althusserian Marxism

So I flew a few hours on an airplane yesterday. Before the typical USA FAA boilerplate safety information was given, the skank-ho wimminz stewardess announced the names of captain, first officer and navigator, and then introduced herself and the other two wimminz shoveling drinks, and announced (as though it made some magical difference, and in case we hadn’t noticed,) that it was an all-wimminz staffed flight. The self-congratulatory speech met with tepid applause from a bunch of holiday weary travelers, most of whom just wanted to get home. The same 40-something stewardess parked her wrinkly ass near me, fifteen minutes later, and “bought me a drink.” I had scotch, and vowed to write about her — thanks bitch.

Of course, it’s all very wonderful to have all wimminz do things like punch a seven digit code into the computer (built by men) that automates take-off, and in-flight navigation (with the help of satellites and ground-radar, built by men) and an all male-crew ready at our destination to do the heavy lifting and baggage transfer and refueling and de-icing and routine maintenance. Let’s all cheer for Alaska Airlines, which has hired a surplus of wimminz to hit on passengers and loaf around taking credit for various things they really had nothing to do with.

The obvious irony in all this is the precarious state of wimminz in general, and particularly boastful skanks like those I just mentioned. Should society change very slightly — and I don’t mean a societal collapse, but merely the Chinese loaning our masters more money at slightly higher interest rates — then employing these same wimminz will suddenly be untenable. Sure, there might be some wimminz on the plane, but the skank-ho wimminz who rubs her ass in your face and leers at you will be twenty, and not forty-five, and rather than having three wimminz up front to watch the controls, you’ll have one or two capable men.

Human beings enjoy their ideology, but the ideological apparatus which controls the states-of-affairs today is particularly wasteful. Feminism has no future. It’s so inefficient and counterintuitive that it almost seems like a society-wide handicap. We boast about how progressive we are, simply because we (somehow) manage to survive, while wasting so much, on so many people who don’t deserve it at all.

Happy New Year, Gentlemen!

Wishing You All…

About two weeks ago, I finished up at work, and left town. I’ve been driving through the hinterlands ever since, and I’m loving it.

One thing that I always used to do, on Christmas Eve, was to get on the wimminz blog and wish all the webmaster — and all the other men in the world, who happened to share his situation — a happy day.

Far too many men have had their children and property stolen from them, and have been tossed into the gutter. Tomorrow will be these men’s painful reminder of their place in our degenerate society. The brutal, ironic nature of the feminist system is its tendency to immunize slackers like me, while focusing all of its hateful intentions on those better men who have stepped up to toe the line.

This is the most obvious indicator of the abject stupidity of our enemies, as it guarantees that the feminist system will collapse (and rather quickly) due to the extreme nature of its own internal contradictions. The Chinese won’t be loaning the sisterhood money forever, and the disassembly of the infrastructure is already beginning.

In the interim, we express our love and respect to those men who have held themselves forth to the thankless task of maintaining the civilization our enemies take for granted, even while we work to destroy it. Particularly at this time of the year, we honor the fathers and grandfathers among our ranks, and vow revenge in the name of all those who won’t make it to see our final victory. The longest night of the year is now behind us.

Happy Holidays.

Tales from Degenerate Hollywood


Will Smith’s confused son, Jaden, wears a dress to school

One has to wonder about California in general, and Hollywood in particular. Why are people in the film industry so bizarre?

Here’s Terry Crews to talk about his own experience, as part of the #MeToo movement.

Crews is making a feminist speech, but he uses religious language throughout… the “cult” of rape… “a ritual” to illustrate who held the power…

It’s enough to make a man wonder what he is actually trying to communicate, in the subtext.


While I’m not sure I buy the organized Satanism angle, I have no doubt as to the existence of the “casting couch.” It’s also easy to argue that Hollywood insiders have far too much money and political power.


The New McCarthyism

Laura Loomer Mocks Our Enemies

Today, Sargon of Akkad (rumored to be a British bloke named Carl) was banned by Patreon, a web page which allows regular folks to kick money to their favorite tranny troller. What’s most interesting is that Sargon isn’t a particularly contentious figure. Sure, he occasionally gives a shout-out to establishment non-faggots (like Donald Trump), but he doesn’t make fun of skanks or trannies, which are the cardinal sins of our generation.

Even annoying P.J., who wouldn’t care if we were all deplatformed, stands aghast at this insane example of overreach.

Another example of encroaching hubris is the deplatforming of radical feminist Meghan Murphy.

Murphy had the audacity to call a man named Steve, ‘Steve,’ rather than to pretend he was a woman, and call him Stephanie. For that, she has been permanently silenced. All her friends have taken note, and are in the process of being “re-educated” out of speaking such simple truths. We are being taught, in word and deed, who are our new masters.

It seems to me that Lenin has something to teach us in this particular context. Neither Watson, nor Sargon, nor Murphy, ever objected to my deplatforming. The time to complain about this was when it started, way back in 2015.

Lenin was a big fan of the historical imperative, and so am I. Given that none of these people cared when I was silenced, I look forward to their upcoming muzzlings (soon!) The more people who are arbitrarily banned, the more people will come to hate our digital overlords.

Worse is better… for now!

The End and Beginning of This Blog

In 60 days, this blog will revert to being found at v5k2c2.wordpress.com and my domain name will go up for sale.

I don’t pay wordpress too much (it’s like 50 dollars per year) – but it’s still too much.

From TechCrunch:

Automattic, the company behind WordPress.com, has created a new rule to specifically handle the Sandy Hook conspiracists, and boot them from its platform.


While some of the affected sites – which include some extreme right blogs and those floating conspiracy theories – had already been flagged for other violations, many were hosting Sandy Hook conspiracy theories and other “false flag” content.

Kooks who make light of mass shootings (example: Laura Loomer) are an annoying part of our society, and I certainly sympathize with the parents in this regard. Even so, Laura Loomer should not be silenced.

The feminist state is making examples of such people not because they threaten the state, and not because the feminist state cares about any of the dead kids. They do so in order to condition the general public to accepting censorship of kooks and loons. Once this goal is reached (and we are very, very close) the feminist state will shut down all outlets that don’t grovel before the idol of the status quo. This site will disappear, as will every other samizdat publisher on the net.

Until wordpress cancels my access, I’ll keep writing. What I won’t do is pay them when they’re silencing other people. I hope you won’t, either.

The Lies Wimminz Tell Themselves

So, I’m wandering around the feminist internet and found some interesting reading material. I found it amusing enough to share.

Despite the fairy tale, I don’t see a whole lot of middle aged men frivolously divorcing good women to remarry girls in their late teens.

What I do see are a whole lot of hateful feminist wimminz, who frivolously divorce their husbands, in order to “get even” for some slight, real or imagined.

It works, but only in the short term. After the man has been suitably broken, the faggot judge cuts him loose and declares the divorce final. Within a year, he’s healthier, wealthier, and better off without the dead weight. Suddenly (surprise, surprise) girls in the 19-24 year old set find him worthy to fuck.

These “new models” will shortly begin nagging him for marriage. He may trade up, but only if he hasn’t learned his lesson. Those brothers who are so short-sighted find their ex-wives suddenly have new stories to tell.

Someplace else, there’s an amusing letter in an advice column, supposedly written by a 35-year old skank-ho. It’s entitled:

I’m Broke, Friendless, and I’ve Wasted My Life

Even if the letter is a fraud (have wimminz ever been self-aware enough to write such a thing?) we can learn something interesting from it. So, let’s take it away…

I feel like a ghost. I’m a 35-year-old woman, and I have nothing to show for it. My 20s and early 30s have been a twisting crisscross of moves all over the West Coast, a couple of brief stints abroad,

I’m sure these “brief stints” included lots of brief stints with strange foreign dudes.

multiple jobs in a mediocre role with no real upward track. I was also the poster child for serial monogamy. My most hopeful and longest lasting relationship (three and a half years, whoopee) ended two years ago. We moved to a new town (my fourth new city), created a home together, and then nose-dived into a traumatic breakup that launched me to my fifth and current city and who-knows-what-number job.

At no time prior to the ripe old age of thirty-five did this bitch decide to laser off the skank-ho tatts, put on a dress, and start hitting up marriage minded men. It is only now that all her options have left the room, that she starts whining.

For all these years of quick changes and rash decisions, which I once rationalized as adventurous, exploratory, and living an “original life,” I have nothing to show for it. I have no wealth, and I’m now saddled with enough debt from all of my moves, poor decisions, and lack of career drive that I may never be able to retire. I have no career milestones and don’t care for my line of work all that much anyway, but now it’s my lifeline, as I only have enough savings to buy a hotel room for two nights. I have no family nearby, no long-term relationship built on years of mutual growth and shared experiences, no children.

I wonder how many nice dudes skanky nexted in order to chase promotions?

No one felt sorry for all the burned and dumped men she ran through. Why should we shed tears for her?

While I make friends easily, I’ve left most of my friends behind in each city I’ve moved from while they’ve continued to grow deep roots: marriages, homeownership, career growth, community, families, children.

Those women were smart enough to snag the same dudes you nexted.

They are the winners. You are the loser.

They are the victors. You are the victim.

They are the fit. You are the useless eater, begging to be culled.

They are the strong. You are the weak.

I have a few close girlfriends, for which I am grateful, but life keeps getting busier and our conversations are now months apart. Most of my nights are spent alone with my cat (cue the cliché).

You have a few other loser wimminz with whom you occasionally commiserate, but you all hate each other almost as much as you hate yourselves. As such, regular communication is unpleasant.

I used to consider myself creative — a good writer, poetic, passionate, curious. Now, after many years of demanding yet uninspiring jobs, multiple heartbreaks, move after move, financial woes, I’m quite frankly exhausted. I can barely remember to buy dish soap let alone contemplate humanity or be inspired by Anaïs Nin’s diaries. Honestly, I find artists offensive because I’m jealous and don’t understand how I landed this far away from myself.

You’re not Anaïs Nin. You’re an idiot who wants to be her.

You never “landed … far away from yourself.” You’ve always been a dull-witted skank. You’re only now coming to realize what everyone else could see immediately.

Also, within the past year I’ve had a breast-cancer scare and required surgery on my uterus due to a fertility issue.

Probably originating in HPV warts growing up there, or complicated Chlamydia. Glad you’re still enjoying those “brief stints abroad.”

On top of that, I’m 35 and every gyno and women’s-health website this side of the Mississippi is telling me my fertility is dropping faster than a piano falling out of the sky. Now I’m looking into freezing my eggs, adding to my never-ending financial burden, in hopes of possibly making something of this haunted house and having a family someday with a no-named man.

Don’t bother. No man of substance would want anything to do with you. He has options for authentic childbirth.

I’m trying, Polly. I am. I’m dating. I’m working out and working hard.

You’re fucking random old men you meet on Tinder, while shuffling papers at your dead-end job. I hope it continues to fulfill you.

Listening to music I enjoy and loving my cat. Calling my mom.

You curse your mother when she’s reminded that she gave birth to such a useless cunt.

Yet I truly feel like a ghost. No one knows who I am or where I’ve been. I haven’t kept a friend, lover, or foe around long enough to give anyone a chance. What’s the point? I don’t care for my job. I’m not building toward anything, and I don’t have the time or money to really invest in what I care about anyway at this point. On top of that, society is telling me my value as a woman is fading fast, my wrinkles require Botox (reference said poor finances), all the while my manager is asking for me to finish “that report by Monday.” Why bother?

You tell me.

My apathy is coming out in weird ways. I’m drinking too much, and when I do see my friends on occasion, I end up getting drunk and angry or sad or both and pushing them away. And with men I date, I feel pressure to make something of the relationship too soon (move in, get married, “I have to have kids in a couple of years”; fun times!). All the while still trying to be the sexpot 25-year-old I thought I was until what seemed like a moment ago.

You bother and annoy everyone who has the misfortune of coming into contact with you. No one can stand wimminz like you. We all hate you.

I used to think I was the one who had it all figured out. Adventurous life in the city! Traveling the world! Making memories! Now I feel incredibly hollow. And foolish. How can I make a future for myself that I can get excited about out of these wasted years? What reserves or identity can I draw from when I feel like I’ve accrued nothing up to this point with my life choices?

Like the fictional man who “trades up” by dumping a good wife for a 19-year old child bride, I never see any wimminz ever regret her life’s poor choices. What I do see are a whole lot of wimminz who know very well that their choices will lead them into the pit, and they don’t care. Their attitude is “it’s better to burn out, than fade away…”

Moreover, by the time they hit 35, these same wimminz don’t ever whine or cry about their choices. They blame their misfortunes on fate, or their fathers, or their abusive babydaddies. It’s always some man’s fault.

And how dare you judge? You don’t know her, or her amazing life!

To conclude: I know a professional journalist who has a job writing “letters to the editor” at a big regional paper, so I think this is a joke at the expense of wimminz like this, rather than an actual letter written by the one wimminz self-aware enough to realize that she fucked herself over, with a lifetime of bad decisions.

All that aside, do you have any advice for the poor bitch? Sound off below…

Post-Theological Thinking

Down below, Derek writes:

Honeycomb’s statement is imprecise, but otherwise accurate. You can prove some negatives, so I state it rather wordily: you can’t deductively prove an absolute negative of general existence.

Honeycomb is flatly wrong, and you are, too. Here’s Abel’s deductive proof of the nonexistence of a general algebraic solution to the quintic equation:


There are countless other examples, but as a guy with a math degree, this is the first thing that came to mind.

This is pedantic: the evidence is overwhelmingly against its existence. We can construct a (nearly) universal, deductively sound argument against the monster’s existence. This is not, however, the case for God. There is enough evidence of God to make unsound proof claims of God’s non-existance.

I don’t even know what this means.

Before we can answer this question, let’s break theodicy down to two different related, but mutually exclusive, (simplified) claims:

1) Gratuitous evil exists, therefore God does not exist.
2) God exists, therefore there must be a non-gratuitous explanation for the existence of evil.

The believer in #1 thinks that those things are all examples of gratuitous evil and the believer in #2 thinks that they are not. Both believe mutual exclusive propositions. This has a certain circularity: each believer’s belief “disproves” the other believer’s belief.

You’re complicating the argument unnecessarily, and adding superfluous premises. I also suspect you didn’t read my original article, or perhaps you didn’t understand it.

To put it as simply as I can, gratuitous evil might exist, but the burden of proof is so high on the atheist that he can’t show it exists without a time-travel machine and a light speed spaceship.

My point in that article was merely to illustrate the weakness in the common atheological arguments. It wasn’t a profession of faith or non-faith. Not only are atheological arguments weak, they’re actually no stronger (structurally speaking) than theological ones.

Your arguments here aren’t compelling, but neither are theirs. In fact, I’d posit that no arguments, pro or contra the existence of God, are compelling enough to get even a leaning atheist or leaning believer to change his mind. Basically, if someone has a credence level of .49, your arguments aren’t even compelling enough to get an educated man to .5. The same goes for the Dawkins types, who approach a leaning believer.

I believe you wanted me to disprove the premise (“gratuitous evil exists”), but I’d rather disprove[2] the conclusion (“God does not exist”). This still addresses your main questions, just not the preferred way.

You believe wrong. I wanted you to respond, but don’t care about your attempts at a proof. You’re not a very good proof-writer, and your attempts don’t make any sense. That’s not an insult, by the way. I regularly talk to anthropologists and philosophers who are way brighter than I am, but who have had your sort of training, rather than mine.

I mainly wanted to see a Christian priest talk about theodicy. I can learn something useful from that sort of thing. If you want to post an essay on it sometime (not a response, but your own working out of the problem) I’d love to read it.

More generally, you (and Honeycomb) ought to be grateful for these atheological arguments. They aren’t particularly compelling, but they still provide you with an opportunity to clarify some of the implications of your belief.

Twitter Gets Loomered, Wall Street Wises Up…

As I type this, Laura Loomer has been chained to the front door of Twitter’s NY office.

For those who don’t know, twitter dishonestly bills itself as a “public utility.” In fact, it has a dual function as a propaganda organ, and a pavlolvian experiment in desensitization. It conditions its users to accept limits on what they can say, by banning outrageous people like far right journalist Loomer, neo-Nazi Andrew Anglin, male feminist Alex Jones, black-hat hacker Weev (who once fucked Shanley Kane) and similar performance artists.

Once the public has been “enlightened” to the idea that a few outrageous goons do not have the right to speak their minds, the system plans to come for you, me, and anyone else who doesn’t grovel and scrape to the feminist state. We should have no doubt that this is their end game. Twitter is therefore an outgrowth of every man’s deadly enemy, and should be resisted by any means necessary.

Loomer donned a concentration camp outfit and hung a huge banner over the door. A bystander reports that she’s currently screaming “Jack Dorsey fucked with the wrong Jew.” (LOL!)

At this rate, Loomer is set to get arrested by the feminist police in New York City. More to come as this story develops.

And then there’s this story, just out an hour ago:

Male executives on Wall Street are so spooked by the #MeToo movement that they’re avoiding women altogether, a Bloomberg report said Monday.


Interviews with more than 30 senior executives suggest that the #MeToo movement has led to “gender segregation” in the workplace, Bloomberg reports.


“It’s creating a sense of walking on eggshells,” one adviser told the publication. Another said just hiring a woman these days can present “an unknown risk.”

Considering the magnitude and frequency of bogus complaints by attention-seekers, I’d say the risks are hardly unknown. Neil DeGrasse Tyson is merely the latest example. Why should any successful man “mentor” or socialize with a wimminz, when she can reappear, a decade after the fact, with a fabricated story dredged straight from her weird nightmare fantasies, and ruin his life?

Read more at Bloomberg.

Tyson’s Response

Neil DeGrasse Tyson has been accused of rape, sexual assault, “groping” and being “creepy,” among other high crimes and misdemeanors, by a series of ugly nobodies who are clearly looking for their fifteen minutes.

Did Dr. Tyson have his attorneys issue a statement, before filing the defamation lawsuits? No. He did not. He went to (Jesus Fuck’n Christ) facebook, and apologized, for doing, well, nothing.

An ugly old cat lady is currently libeling Dr. Tyson in the mainstream press, for something he didn’t do nearly ten years ago. She’s tirelessly working to get him blacklisted from speaking tours and media appearances. Her aim is to break him, financially, socially and professionally. He responds by writing…

I’m deeply sorry to have made her feel that way.

This is how you don’t respond to someone who is ruining your life, you faggot.

And then, there’s this batshit crazy lunatic:

There’s probably not enough booze (or Viagra) in Austin Texas to provide for any such thing happening, now or then. But, never mind. Tyson addresses her laughable false allegations also.

This is not quite as pathetic; but still serves to empower every other spinster Tyson has ever said hello to in an elevator to “bravely come forward” as yet another “victim” of his monstrous sexual appetite.

What is actually happening is a series of lessons, to all the women within the western macrosphere, as to how to ruin a man’s life for sport. Three filthy wimminz have vomited up their sicko rape fantasies as truth, in an attempt to destroy a man whose only crime is terrible acting and Asperger’s syndrome. No consequences are forthcoming, and none can be expected. We can all be confident that more wimminz will decide to indulge in this strange hobby soon.

You may be the next target. Don’t be as weak as Neil. If a wimminz tries this with you, make it your mission in life to destroy her life and her reputation, by any means necessary. To do otherwise is to empower your enemies and dishonor all of your ancestors.