The following story is not mine (obviously). It was posted anonymously to a usenet newsgroup. It’s copypasta here because it pretty much has it all.

Many’s the time I’ve wandered around on the Dalrock and Heartiste comment section, bored to death by Joe Jackass fetishizing his virgin bride.

This guy married his high-school sweetie and took her hymen in a messy red conquest. According to Dalrock, Cane Caldo, Anonymous Reader, and countless other idiots, he should have had a perfect marriage (just like Saeed Abedini, Mr. Jenny Erickson, and so many other lucky men).

A couple of points here:

1. Those of us who love the patriarchal ideal respect this man’s choice to take this girl in adoption. The problem is that he should have been afforded that choice when she was a baby, not after he was lied to by his skank-ho wife.
2. AfOr (over at the wimminz blog) predicted the clandestine use of ancestry tests for the establishment and refutation of paternity. He’s now gone, but we nonetheless tip our hats to the prophet, who foresaw yet another social consequence of technology.

I don’t know about anyone else, but this really makes me regret not marrying little Sara Barlow, who I was playing grabass with in the tenth grade. Just think! I could have worked my whole life while she banged all and sundry, with me none the wiser until someday, in my early 50s, it all comes to pieces.

My brother is still stuck in the ideological trap of assuming that wimminz are possessed of a normal sense of morality. He thinks that his slut wife will feel badly about exploiting him for his time and resources. She will not. Our Uncle Sig already explained this in painstaking detail.

This wimminz knows that she is a filthy, lying whore. She doesn’t care that her husband knows it. He is a man, after all, and to a wimminz, a man is merely a piece of machinery.

What she does care is the knowledge spreading to other wimminz.

If I were in this brother’s shoes, I’d calmly sit down with my lying skank, and encourage her to open her new web page, which will be found at:

http colon slash slash www dot sarabarlowisawhore dot ca

There she would find the scanned results of all DNA tests, along with moving testimony, authored by me.

Before she could react, I’d explain that I had an email list of everyone in our (Mormon) ward directory, and that by pressing one button on my phone, the link would be sent to everyone we knew, all the relatives of everyone we knew, and various other people who work in the supermarkets and shoe stores around town. She would then get one chance to work out an equitable property settlement in our divorce, which would be filed as uncontested, within the hour.

Some quick answers to this poor guy, off the top of my head.

1. Your adult children really ought to be made aware of all the facts, with a calm explanation that a serious man treats his adopted children precisely similar to natural ones.
2. Given that you have taken these children in adoption, your behavior toward your skank-ho ex is one of the most important lessons you are obligated to teach them as their father. Explain to this girl that you’re a serious man, and that you don’t tolerate lying whores in your vicinity. Her mother has already abdicated her position as your wife, and she has also disqualified herself from being worthy of any peripheral association.
3. There is no way you can save your marriage. I might allow for the fact that you occasionally fuck the whore on the downlow after the divorce, but only if she’s some sort of uniquely talented sexual acrobat.

Months ago, I warned all my brothers about fucking a tinder slut who claims to be “visiting” from some other area. Tinder allows such a wimminz to seek out other men, while keeping her main squeeze in the dark. It’s especially nefarious, because such a man who had a tinder account would never see his wife or girlfriend as “online,” given the proximity filter.

Tinder execs immediately contacted ya boy Boxer, confirming that they marketed their app to attached wimminz who wanted to cheat with new dick, out of sight of their partners.

The following helpful video has been produced by the company, in order to illustrate the process. It is with great honor that I share Tinder’s public confirmation, and I thank based Tinder for their support of our blog.

If you are fucking a wimminz who has a tinder profile, the company would like you to know exactly what “your” girl is doing on her “vacations,” her “business trips,” and her “visits to grandma.”

Likewise, as we already know, if some hot piece of ass “matches” with you, and she tells you she’s from “out of town,” then you can be absolutely confident that she’s cheating on some other man — likely a husband. No matter how good she looks, you should let the next simp hit that.

I found a very interesting photo shoot over on Facebook, depicting some ugly old post-wall wimminz and her divorce celebration. The captions are a fascinating study in self-deception.

This wimminz and her handlers (the photographers to whom she paid her ex-husband’s money, in return for a fatuous online ego-boost) seem desperate to sell female bystanders on the idea of divorcing their husbands. Of course, this is profitable to the photography company, because it will increase the pool of potential customers. It’s also a way for a hideous, immoral, failing skank to assure herself that she made the right choice, in violating her most important promises, and in ruining the lives of her children.

As we’ve seen many times on this blog, the natural symbiosis which obtains between the male and female who couple up in a traditional human dyad has been warped, perverted, mutated. What exists in a contemporary pseudo-marriage is more akin to a parasitic life-cycle, in which the female parasite seeks out a male host. Through a variety of psychological tricks, the parasite weakens the host and feeds on the decaying physical and financial organism. She does so only so long as she feels she is maximizing the return on her efforts.

It is very common for the host to begin failing before the parasite’s life-cycle is complete. When this happens, the wimminz will inevitably look for a new host to which she can attach, and often this will occur before the present host is even aware of the ongoing transformation.

When a new parasite is located, she will make her move with a rapidity which shocks even the most hardened of misogynists (like me.)

Once the new simp is in place, the hammer is dropped, and she announces that she “loves” her husband, “but is not in love” with him.

In order to maximize the profit of this transition, the parasite will use the power of the capitalist and feminist state, to strip her host of any final remaining assets. His residual wealth will usually be split between her, the government, and various divorce attorneys.

Thus we might see the first husband as an intermediate host, through which the parasite gains full maturity, developing her ability to grift and rob and lie, while simultaneously learn the intricacies of the family law system and the rules with which the capitalist mode-of-production allows her to efficiently and successfully exploit the men around her, for the maximum dollar output.

Many divorced wimminz, in my experience, sport a tattoo which memorializes the victory she achieved in the divorce courts. The tattoo which commemorates the successful destruction of her victim is much more common than the photo shoot. Tattoos convey several collateral messages simultaneously. Tattooed people are unemployable in most serious professions, and thus the skanky tatt communicates the fact that she is independently wealthy — supported by a man she chumped — and thus is not used to working, and doesn’t like productive labor. The tattoo is also a signal to the weak, evil, and destructive men in her vicinity. It identifies her as a fellow traveler in the decadent lifestyle of the hedonist, the criminal, and the undisciplined. It signals that she is available for mating to this decadent and shiftless element.

The parasite’s transport host has been discarded, and her basic needs have been met, but only temporarily. She knows instinctively that she needs to attract and keep a subsequent man. As her looks have gone, she amps up the vulgar displays of sexual accessibility to all men within view. She hopes that her cottage-cheese thighs and her turkey-neck will be passed over by you, her next victim, as she lewdly flashes her cunt in your direction.

With arrogant preening and sarcastic laughter she mocks her last victim, and within seconds, she turns on a dime, to express what seems like sincere empathy and commitment to the next. She has already betrayed all the men who came before you, but she assures you they deserved it. You are worthy of the love that all these other men never managed to merit.

She’s such a wonderful wimminz, who has been the victim of a long series of misfortunes. Won’t you help her achieve her potential?

If you grew up in Canada — within the last forty years — you would know who this character is. His name is Bill Leeb, and he was one of the founding members of Skinny Puppy. Early on, he spun off his own side-projects, Front Line Assembly and Delerium.

The Canadian music scene in the 1980s was as dreary as the American status-quo, and not too much different. Teenagers generally listened to Loverboy or Rush, along with typical American metal bands like Cinderella and Ratt. Everything on the radio was boring, and it all sounded the same.

In the America of the mid 1980s, bands like Soundgarden, Alice In Chains, and Mudhoney started emerging in the Seattle area. Much of the allure was the authentic tone and content of the music. At about the same time, and for all the same reasons, industrial music started becoming popular in Vancouver, B.C.. While the historical phenomenon and its motivations was similar, the music kids gravitated to was very different on either side of the frontier. Canadian industrial music is nothing like earthy, stripped-down, folk-inspired grunge music. It was inspired by the European EBM and house music, exemplified by Front 242, Kraftwerk and Cabaret Voltaire.

Industrial music was a later import to the United States, though it always had a limited appeal, and American industrial artists were always pretty honest about where they got their ideas.

Skinny Puppy and Front Line Assembly still exist, and their founders still make music, despite being considerably older than I am. (At this point, I think they qualify for the senior discounts.) Being that I’m a sentimental fucker, I buy all the new releases. So it was a couple weeks ago, when I bought Front Line Assembly’s new CD, entitled Wake Up The Coma.

So I’m listening to this album today, and trying to make out the lyrics. I realize that the Bill Leeb is singing about all the same sorts of shit that I do, here on this blog.

That can’t be right, I think, this is decadent pop culture garbage… 

I always default to the position that I’m reading, listening, or sensing anything through my own ideological lens, so I try not to take things like this too seriously. Even so, the messages on this album are so explicit that I decided to take a few minutes and see if I could type out some lyrics, and run them by you brothers.

Is Bill Leeb a candidate for mayor of V5K 2C2? You tell me.

I feel your face on my skin
Depraved sleeper cell you fit right in

Faceless atomic deviants
Oppressive hysterical obedience
Autonomous swarms
Of secret drones
Skull mined warfare
Erotic zones

I feel your face on my skin
Depraved sleeper cell you fit right in
I feel your face on my skin
Perverted visions and erotic sins

I’m making love to an alien
Who’s not from this world
I’m making love to an alien
I thought you were my girl

In the wake of adversity
We gaze into the sun to see
All of our lifes imperfections
Unrequited love and rejection
The light of fools steers our path
Unseen by all and those who fall
This blackend hole
Which you made for me
Image intelligence
Won’t set us free

I’m living the lie
And I don’t know why
Its easier to pretend
When you know it has to end

This is the end

In the realm of the dying sun
No salvation surveillance begun
A state of hypocrisy
Fuck an alien and you’ll be free
Obsessive, toxic obedience

Lies, lies

Faceless atomic deviants
In the wake of adversity
Fuck an alien and you’ll be free

Living a lie, a lie.
Fuck an alien, and you’ll be free…

 

What did he mean by this?

If Bill Leeb is based and redpilled on the wimminz question, how did he get that way? I have a theory based on the results of a one-second google search.

Around fifteen years ago, Leeb was served divorce papers by his wife, Carylann Loeppky. I don’t know if it’s possible for any legal system to be worse than America’s, but if there is some facet of the divorce process that can be more excessively cruel to men, it’s likely that Canadian wimminz have instituted it in British Columbia. The result: Leeb had to sell a bunch of high-end hardware, to pay off his bitch ex-wife.

I guess I wondered why this guy was still cranking out music when he’s crowning seventy. Ongoing payments to his skank-ho ex are a fair assumption, in context.

About the album, Leeb not only alluded to talking about wimminz, but also taking a Francis Fukuyama-esque take on the historical imperative and technology…

Divorce has pushed this man into questioning not only the nature of contemporary gender roles, but also the more general questions (atomization, degeneracy, reification) we all discuss here on a regular basis.

In the end, I find mirth in the fact that hundreds of stupid, pink-haired Canadian wimminz are going to be stomping and dancing in their thigh-highs to this tune, all summer long.

Wake Up The Coma is available from Metropolis Records. Buy it if you like it. Leeb’s ex-wife will thank you.

Earlier I honored one of this post-code’s most dedicated critics, a wimminz who calls herself ‘sue,’ and who has posted almost daily, for several months, in a vain attempt to garner some attention from all you brothers. Such people are useful, even when they are unable to make a sound argument in support of their positions. As such, I decided to allow ‘sue’ to make an occasional rage-poast, in case one of you brothers wants to fulfill her masochistic abuse fantasies.

This week, ‘sue’ has appeared to mock and jeer the unfortunates who find themselves victims of opioid addiction.

Sue’s point, that wimminz never become junkies, is hardly credible.

Even so, I think there’s some general sentiments behind Sue’s inane babbling that I can get behind. Escapism is for the weak. If you are hooked on some substance, then getting rid of that backmonkey will be your greatest achievement. Brother Jason can probably give better advice about kicking bad habits, but in a pinch, one can also call the National Drug Helpline (+1 888 633 3239) for local assistance. For similar reasons, if you are connected (through blood or marriage) to a self-destructive junkie, then keeping him or her at arm’s length while finding outside help would also be advised.

Keep these wonderfully bright, helpful, interesting poasts coming, sue. Poast more! Poast more now!

Nicholas cage is getting married. Again.

Nicholas Cage has been divorced three times. The last marriage was to a wimminz named Alice Kim, who surprised him by dumping his ass and chasing some new dick… but not before petitioning the divorce courts for a huge payday.

Nicolas Cage has said he was ”shocked” by the end of his marriage to Alice Kim but admits he has no hard feelings towards his estranged wife.

The 54-year-old actor parted ways from his third spouse, who is the mother of his 13-year-old son Kal-El , in 2016, and the Ghost Rider star says he wasn’t expecting their relationship to end.

Like many manosphere dullards, Cage has a serious case of “yellow fever.” Many’s the day I’ve wandered through the Heartiste and Dalrock comment sections to hear some dolt praise the orient, for producing humanity’s finest specimens of submissive, feminine wives.

Not wishing any of those brothers ill, mind you. I’m glad people enjoy their fetishes. Just pointing out the obvious, which is sufficiently illustrated here. Your Thai or Chinese bride is first a wimminz, and she’s really no different than the white and black chicks that the rest of us run with.

Speaking to The Guardian, Cage said: ”It was a shocker for me – I definitely didn’t see it coming, and those feelings had to go somewhere, so they went into the performance.”

Asked if he and Alice are still in contact, he added: ”Oh yes, I want to. She was quite young when I married her and I don’t really have any ill will towards what happened. That’s all I’ll say.

I can see this simp standing tall in the divorce courts now, groveling and scraping before the judge, promising to give his unfaithful slut of an ex-wife an endless river of money for the rest of his life.

Cage divorced Mizz Kim at the end of 2016. Eighteen months later, guess what he was accused of?

Vickie Park, Cage’s rebound fling, accused him of beating her ass. True or not, a normal man would have taken this as a wake-up call. Some men just never learn.

I suppose after three divorces and one restraining order, Cage has finally figured out the recipe for transforming a wimminz into a loving and faithful wife. It’s a shame he doesn’t get on this blog and share his wisdom.

These stories are funny, but you boys should remember that you’re not in Nicholas Cage’s position. He has a long string of million-dollar acting deals, and he’s the nephew of Francis Ford Coppola. He has the money and resources to support multiple lying whores for the rest of his life. Most men don’t have his connections and resources.

Earlier we learned the sad story surrounding Johnny Depp’s failed marriage to Amber Heard.

Depp, widely regarded as one of the most eligible and attractive men alive, got cucked and falsely accused of all sorts of horrible shit by his skank-ho wife, the minute she got tired of pretending to be married.

Folks in this post code may have assumed that Depp was going to follow the lead of weak simps like Neil Degrasse Tyson, who apologized to the (hideously ugly) women that falsely accused him of sexual assault.

In fact, Johnny is not the sort of weak cuck that Tyson is. Johnny is going to teach Dr. Tyson, and the rest of us, the correct response to a lying wimminz who tries to ruin a man’s life for sport.

Not only is Johnny suing this whore, he is actively lobbying with industry execs for the cancellation of her contracts, and that is exactly as it should be.

Before I ever fuck any wimminz, and often before I meet her in person, I let her know that every interaction is being recorded and stored in the cloud, and will be used if the need ever arises. Johnny had the same policy, and it is serving him well.

Every wimminz you meet should be keenly aware of the fact that you are prepared to spend the rest of your life fighting her. That’s the only way to mitigate the existential threat of #MeToo.

I pulled the full text of the Depp v. Heard lawsuit. Read it in pdf format here: Depp v Heard.

The wall is real, and it’s often too much for a wimminz to bear…

This song is supposed to be about a cat. In reality, it’s about women…

More of the same… Compare the answers…