Some men foolishly believe that a marginal chance to tap some fat, smelly ass is worth the humiliation of publicly declaring your own allegiance to feminism. Take a lesson from old Bob, here. Standing up for feminists will not serve your interests.
Feminists hate men and want them ruined. Getting their attention will only make you a target.
Read and learn, boys…
Derek Ramsey’s important work on dysgenesis is now categorized separately from the rest of the nonsense on tap here. His articles can be pulled up and read as a series by using this link.
Gunner Q is hosting a critical analysis of Derek’s dysgenesis series at his blog. You can read his exegesis and various comments using this link.
Remember to show respect for the host if you enter another man’s lair, for such is a timeless tenet of patriarchy.
For three full years now, I’ve entered the holiday season convinced that I’m going to let my subscription lapse. It irks me to keep funding WordPress — even more now that their parent company has merged with the feminist Tumblr platform. Even so, Derek’s middlebrow articles give me an excuse to kick in my paltry contribution to our deadly enemies, in return for the privilege of using their own infrastructure to lampoon them.
I’ve taken to playing a game which is simultaneously fun and effective with the holiday hoez on the internet dating sites.
Her: 26, one kid, recently divorced after a 2 year marriage.
Me: y’r pal Boxer, hardcore misogynist.
Setting: text messaging, after matching on one of the silly phone apps.
I always ask the question what are you actually looking for within the first five minutes.
What she says she’s looking for is someone who could “start as friends” and “see where things go…” She lied. She says that she wants an LJBF, rather than the regular sexual encounter that she pretended to want on the banging site.
What she’s actually looking for are a large group of men who endlessly chase her, in hopes that she will choose one or more of them. The manosphere will clue you in to this, and it’s true. Unfortunately, the manosphere will then immediately lie to you, and tell you that if you accept this lowly position, you will never, ever get that ass.
Back when I was a young and naïve lad, I took the offer to become a slut’s LJBF quite frequently. I almost always got some mediocre sex, but only after an endless series of encounters punctuated by lies, flaking, demands, wasting money, etc.
When I got clued in (thanks to AfOR and Roosh V.) I began nexting wimminz like this immediately. That changed recently, as you can see above.
What I’ve started doing is reflexively messing with these bitches, by calling their hand and telling them I’m looking for someone to marry. I could excuse this descent into dishonesty with a series of good for the goose rationalizations, but I won’t. I’ll just tell you that it amuses me to do so. It has the effect of flipping the script, as I see the thirsty bitch immediately take the bait and begin kissing my ass in an attempt to take her seriously.
Of course, as she drops ever more frequent and transparent hints about meeting in the real world, I drop ever more ambiguous hints about looking for a wife, and not a friend, and wishing her well in her search for a celibate groveler.
It’s the holiday season. I know, because I’m starting to see men’s rights and MGTOW web sites declare as much, and in the same sentence, they’ll tell me about how our liberation from feminism is right around the corner. Nevermind the fact that they’ve been posting identical shit every single year since I started reading such web sites, which would have been something like 2007. Unlike the rest of them, I’m not going to lie to you. Nah, I have some practical advice for the lonely hearts, instead.
’round about mid October, I got my ass on Plenty of Rotten Tuna, OKStupid, Stumble, Snatch dot Com, Bender, and all the similar sites, just to enjoy the show; and, what a show it is, too.
Every desperate slut within 500 miles has suddenly regained interest in a relationSHIT, conveniently right before the holidays, when they’re suddenly confronted with the fact that they’re alone and no one likes their dumb asses.
As much as we may like to deny it, there are certainly male correlates to the holiday wimminz on the dating sites. Just as Jane is ready to get down on all fours to take dick in return for not looking like a total loser to her parents at Christmas dinner, so is John ready to suffer through dinner at Jane’s father’s house, in order to get some cunt.
It might not even be sexual. Maybe he just wants a few facebook profile photos to show his skank-ho ex that he can pull a better looking piece of ass. Whatever his motivations, it is wild season on the internet.
So I’ve been hitting lots of new holes in the past few weeks, and striking out with orders of magnitude more than I land. Such is the way of the holiday hoez. And I don’t have any doubt that I’m not the only one.
Of course, if you are one of those nearsighted men who wants a relationSHIT at this time of the year, you might be deceived by the scarcity of responses in light of the overwhelming traffic. A few things you will want to remember, my brothers.
In the first place, you aren’t going to find a decent woman on the internet. The decent girls don’t get on Tinder or Bumble, because they don’t need to. What you will find on the internet are beyond being called prostitutes. A professional skank-ho at least has the dignity to perform a competent service, with a minimum of hassles, and leave when the transaction is concluded.
None of the skank-ho bitches you meet on the internet are worthy of a decent man’s time or attention. A more meaningful relationship can be fostered with a cat or dog, and there are plenty of those down at the shelter. You may have to feed a pet, but that pet will not fuck your friends, wreck your car, or sue you for lifetime alimony.
Every bitch on the fucking sites has taken miles of cock, and no matter how sweet or innocent little Janie looks in her profile photos, it’s a safe bet that she sees you as nothing more than a new piece of furniture, to be used only so long as you continue to be amusing, and to be discarded the moment you become inconvenient.
So you can start crying tears at the fact that little Janie has quit responding to your messages, and send her ever more invitations to connect, making yourself look more like a thirsty simp. Or you can message Susie, Staci, Josie and Amy, and let one or more of them worship your cock, until that day that little Janie decides she actually does want a new rocking chair (with penis attached) and finally calls you up.
You can be absolutely certain that you are not the first chair that little Janie has lowered herself onto — in fact, your turn will most likely be in the mid three digits. No matter how tough you might be, or what a good earner you are, little Janie has already seen every simp move you can make, and your lovesick messages telling her how she’s “the one” is about as interesting to her as a Star Trek rerun.
When I was a little boy, I just assumed I would get married and have a wife, in whom I could confide things, through whom I would get children, and with whom I would build a complete life. Of course, when I was that age, I also assumed I’d get a flying car, just like the ones I saw on the Blade Runner movie, and I assumed that I’d be able to take a trip to Jupiter, just like I saw in 2001: A Space Odyssey.
I can keep wishing it were so, and by extension, wishing that I could bring back the innocent mentality of little Boxer who was naïve enough to build such mental castles-in-the-sky, and the minute I act on such immature wishes, I have set myself up as prey for a wimminz, who will eventually divide my life’s work up between herself, the state, and a bunch of scroungy divorce attorneys.
Or I can live in the real world, and accept the material conditions on the ground as they actually exist. Life is not all bad here. After work yesterday, I met Angie, and fucked her hard. Then I went directly from her house to Rachel’s, and after a late dinner, I fucked that bitch, too.
Angie texted me this morning, wanting to fuck again this weekend. Rachel texted me this morning, telling me that I was an asshole, and warning me to shape up or she’ll quit talking to me. I texted Angie back, in a noncommittal way, and ignored Rachel. Stacy also texted me, inviting me to her place on Saturday. I’ll probably accept.
Happy Halowe’en. Happy Veteran’s Day. In case I don’t see y’all, Happy Thanksgiving.
A woman wants a nice man, a man who will open doors for her, a man who treats her with respect at all times. A woman wants a gentleman who will let her trod his jacket, rather than muddy her toe. A woman would never give up the ass to a rude jerk…
She’s now very happy in a new relationship…
The 23-year-old begged with Magistrates to impose an anonymity order on her trial to keep her case out of the public eye. Glencross’ lawyer Shelley Buchecker said there were multiple Facebook posts showing her client could be in danger following the savage beating. Goolang Magistrates’ Court, in Victoria, Australia, threw out the application under the presumption of open justice. It was ruled she would have to live with ‘demeaning and humiliating’ posts on social media after finding no evidence of threat among the messages. Open justice is based on the fundamental principle that the actions of the courts should be transparent to the public.
Apparently, there is one judge in Australia with the guts to say ‘no’ to the ho’. Good for him (or her).
Read more here.
Down below, Jason refers us to this character who calls himself “Coach Corey Wayne.”
Off topic, but someone sent me a “coach corey wayne” video about MGTOW. Never heard of this guy. Wish I hadn’t. If I ever meet him face to face, I will pull his skull through his large intestines.
This particular video actually reminds me of another simp, Dr. Nerdlove, who wrote a similar article back in 2012.
What truths to these men teach us?
The last technique I’ve used is to ignore her flaking out. I make other plans for the day and put her out of mind… until the day after. The day after the aborted date, I’ll either call – especially if I know I’m likely to get her voice mail – or send a text profusely apologizing for having forgotten that we were supposed to get together. After I give whatever bullshit excuse comes to mind – long night and overslept, got caught up by a deadline, something fairly minor – I’ll insist that I need to take her out in order to make it up to her. Again: this reframes the situation to where she is the offended party and feeling as though she’s owed something in recompense… especially if it’s being treated to a nice dinner.
When some useless cunt rudely wastes your time, you should reward her with an expensive night out at your expense. That sounds logical.
Do you gentlemen have any thoughts on this nonsense? Shout in the comments.
When this character rambles on all stream-of-consciousness like, he ends up condemning himself. There are numerous examples, but this one at 31:35 is particularly humorous.
If you know how to apply the things that I cheat… er… teach
Thanks again to Jason for turning me on to this ham-fisted PUA.
I enjoy getting feedback on articles, publicly or privately, good or bad.
Someone noted that my last article could be interpreted as motivated by envy or ressentiment. I can dig that, and I thought I should probably expound.
My understanding of Roosh’ life includes at least one advanced degree in either zoology or biology, which means he’s probably at least one standard deviation brighter than I am (I studied math and physics in undergrad because that was the way I could get out of taking any life science courses – no shit). I also understand Roosh to have been offered a 6-figure job by some biochem or pharmaceutical company right out of uni. That certainly beats my story.
So, Roosh is brainier than Boxer. He’s also (objectively speaking) a better and funnier essayist. While I know I can get as much sex as I want with women who meet my standards, probability suggests that the author of Bang Yugoslavia has fucked way more 8s and 9s than I have.
No arguments on any of the above points from me.
What bothers me about Roosh’s life — and by extension, the lives of all the “game” gurus — is not their real or perceived superiority to me. It is rather the presupposition that they are superior to me simply for fucking lots of skank-ho wimminz.
Roosh had a biochem M.S. and a 6-figure job as a guy in his early 20s. Now he’s a 40-something old man. What has he done in the interim? The answer, of course, is nothing. He has no real-world achievements, other than doing a bunch of stuff that even a mediocrity like myself can manage.
Rather than concentrate on his career, and achieve excellence in his field, Roosh decided to drop out, wander around the world like some postmodern hobo, and screw lots of wimminz. Roosh did some writing, while he was living the hobo life. Jack London and Jack Kerouac did this, and they wrote about it too, but their writings were also funny and insightful. Instead of dedicating himself to writing meaningful stuff, Roosh wrote solely about screwing wimminz. I’ve read a couple of Roosh books. There is no substance there.
Having abandoned his grandparents’ honorable faith (Muslim or Christian it doesn’t matter) and having abandoned the degrees and career, Roosh is a 40-something old man, with nothing to show for his life. Not only do I not envy Roosh, I am compelled to feel sorry for him.
I am down for having sex with skanks myself, and don’t make any pretense of virtue, but I decided (many years ago) to take the advice of Epicurus, and make these indulgences a special-occasion thing, for weekends and holidays. Spending all day in the brothel makes sex become a chore, and while the master knew this, Roosh is apparently only now finding it out. I think that’s a pity, and I hope none of my readers follow him down his path. It’s a way to uselessness and nihilism.
For several months, people have brought up Roosh V. and his turn toward faith. I don’t remember anyone writing an article about this, so I figured I would do so now.
For those who don’t know, Roosh V. is one of the godfathers of “game,” and he has the distinction of encouraging the cad known as Roissy to start a blog of his own. Last spring, Roosh V. unpublished such classics as Bang Poland before announcing that he was not going to allow any more ribald discussion on his forum…
Assuming that he’s being honest about his motivations, rather than cynically self-censoring to avoid the SJW mob, I can’t criticize him.
While I wish him well in his new lifestyle, there are a few things to point out. The first is that what Roosh is doing is by no means unprecedented.
A great many men eventually realize the emptiness embodied in a hedonistic lifestyle. Rather than dial back the pleasure-seeking, they often implode into marriage or male-feminism.
Basing one’s life and lifestyle around screwing lots of women is to make a film, with a finite budget, filled with glossy shots and wild effects which never work, because they are compositionally forced. There is no substance to such an existence.
The pattern seems to follow a predictable course, and at some point, the “game” guru looks about himself to realize he sits in a castle in the sky, which only he can see. Thus, the moment came when Roosh realized that all his real-world achievements were limited to a dozen poorly written pornographic books, which only attracted fat autists on the internet. The only thing left to do, at such an inflection point, is abandonment of the delusion.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t seem to be strong enough to ghost out and have fun with his life. He’s addicted to the dopamine rush of internet fame. Thus he is busy reinventing himself as some sort of matchmaker.
And there we have the end of the cycle.
I think Roosh, and “game” gurus in general, operate under the misconception that we MGTOW brothers don’t have the skills to compete with them. This is a mistake. I just fucked a decent looking skank this morning. I could fuck another one within 48 hours, if I wanted to. Roosh and the “game” promoters haven’t got any secret, occult knowledge that is missing from our lives.
The differences between us are subtle, but they do exist. MGTOW use a different (though related) epistemic cycle to interpret the world. Around here, we don’t feel obligated to a society which stacks the deck so brutally against us, and even if we can Bang Nicaragua, we generally don’t. Life is short, and sex is an important but minor part of it.