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…

• This cunt is the best cunt that has ever existed, from the beginning of humanity.
• No cunt will ever be as good as this.
• This is the hottest bitch I will ever get.
• If I don’t do what this bitch wants, no other wimminz will ever part her meatflaps for me again.

A number of collective memes also take root, and when combined with these silly ideals, make the conditioning difficult to break.

• Grandma and Grandpa were married for 50 years. If I can’t keep this silly ho’ interested in me, then I won’t measure up.
• Janice dumped me in High School. If I can’t keep this stupid cunt yapping at me, then Janice will be proved right.
• God expects me to be married and start pounding out little (Catholics, Protestants, Jews, Mormons, etc.) and I owe it to God to do His almighty will, and keep enduring this bitch’s humiliating taunts.

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.

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!

Scharron Dingledine: Murdering Cunt

At noon on Friday, 3 August 2018, emergency crews responded to a vehicle submerged in the Kansas River. Divers saw skank-ho bitch Scharron Dingledine, pictured above, bobbing around in the current, so they pulled her dumb ass to shore. They also pulled the limp bodies of her two kids, Amiyah Bradley (female, 5) and Unknown (male, 1) from the drink. Little Amiyah was dead at the scene. The unnamed son of this whore has been revived, and is now on life-support in hospital.

A single mother has done something horrendous. So, what differentiates this stupid bitch from the thousands of other irresponsible, unfit, skank-ho mothers we read about on a daily basis?

Not much, really.

We can learn something about journalistic integrity, from studying the story, as it is reported.

The fact that one child is named, and another one is not, suggests that these children may have different fathers. Who are the fathers? Almost no one wanted to admit that there were any men that existed at all. Only one station, the local FOX affiliate, admitted that there was at least one man, someplace, that had anything at all to do with this bitch.

An interview with the whore’s “boyfriend” and “high-school sweetheart” is very curious.

The unnamed father of little Amiyah

My man is described, in the first place, as the cause of the problem. The headline states that he “lives with regret.” Despite all his supposed remorse, the story fails to list any of his faults. Without evidence, it is safe to assume that the media is baselessly smearing another father.

Next, the interviewer describes the little boy as “his son” but the girl as “the daughter.” Did the whore fool this good man, cucking him, and then allowing him to put his name on the birth certificate? No one knows, but it wouldn’t be the first time…

The story goes on to state that this poor sucker “had not seen his children for over a year, despite supporting them financially.”

So, here’s the real story. My man met a good-looking but nuts wimminz in childhood. She may have cucked him with his first child, the little girl seen at right. Bitch dumped him after second kid was born. Father complied with every insane demand by feminist divorce courts, paying out the ass, even as he was denied visitation with his own kids. Bitch subsequently decided to ice her babies. Fade to black.

As an aside, she’s not bad looking in the photo. Quoting the bard, I’ll just point out that she’s “of the hue that I would choose.” She’s exactly the type of woman who would have chumped me, when I was a younger man controlled by his pecker.

Our man did all the things he was supposed to do. He wifed up this bitch when she got knocked up. Even after she dumped him, he “put the interests of his children first” — up to and including paying big money for these kids, who he never got to see, and which probably weren’t his anyway.

If the little girl wasn’t his biological offspring, does it make any difference? I argue that it does not. He adopted this girl into his household, and by the timeless rules of patriarchy, she became his kin. He loved her, he worried about her. He lived to support her. He probably had dreams of seeing her go off to prom, graduate from High School, and find some corn-fed farmer to wife her up. He assumed that he’d give her away at her wedding, and push his grandchildren on the swings some day.

All those big dreams are now gone, because the bitch took this man’s children and snuffed them.

Why did she kill these kids? Let the bitch tell you herself…

So, what can we learn from this farce?

If you do not vet your woman well, you will end up in this man’s place. The bitch who murders your kids will get off with the cunt pass (and this is in the works now.) Your sentence, for doing everything right, will be to have your name dragged through the mud, in the feminist press, to be blamed for your kids’ deaths, which you had nothing to do with, and to be left with nothing.

The feminist press is your enemy. Their first duty is to destabilize families and to excuse the atrocities committed by single mothers. Never forget this.

Lori Alexander has dedicated her free time to educating young people — particularly females. I don’t agree with everything Sister Lori advises, but I know that it all comes from a good place. Lori is an authentic individual, who sacrifices her time and energy, in an effort to reproduce civilized mores and values across time.

The following film is before our time (for most of us, anyway). It depicts a group of teenagers, swaggering into a New Jersey prison, where they will shortly be told some unpleasant truths from the inmates.

In our liberal society, young people often get a pass for bad behavior. The adults around them will usually blame their parents, their teachers, and everyone else, up to the President of The United States, for their latest lapse in judgment. These adults think that they’re being “kind”or “compassionate,” but they aren’t. They are furthering bad behavior, and allowing petty crime to metastasize into hard-coded habit. The men in the video have dispensed with all this touchy-feely bullshit, and the kids they advised ended up thanking them for it.

Skank-ho feminists like Katie Emmerson will whine about how cruel Lori is. In fact, sometimes the truth is unkind. The truth will out regardless.

Typical Skankface

It has been a very big summer for my fave radical feminist, Sheila Gregoire. First she was curb-stomped after attempting a pathetic game of Let’s You and Him Fight, between her henpecked husband, and a Christian priest. Shortly thereafter, she published some essays that I believe to be flagrant examples of plagiarism. We all had a good conversation over here, about the problem with stealing the work of others, and passing it off as our own. It is a mark of intellectual laziness and dishonesty, and should never be tolerated.

Then, as immoral wimminz always will, Sheila got very upset about Lori Alexander’s good advice to young girls. Sister Lori wrote a quick essay, warning young women away from the stripper’s pole, and encouraging them to get married.

Why would a supposed Christian priestess be filled with white-hot rage, simply at the prospect of other people reading a few bible verses? The answer is simple. Hate-filled feminist lunatics, like Sheila, can not abide the possibility that females may grow up exercising the self-discipline she lacks, and as such, the filthy wimminz must react.

In the process of lambasting our Sister Lori, Sheila ordered her lackwit daughter to publish a “rebuttal” on her youtube channel. What followed was twelve minutes of horsey fake-tears, as the poor damsel pretended to be triggered into a laughable mental breakdown.

Skank-ho Katie “…just read the most horrifying thing…” 

The reaction to skank-ho Katie’s stupid hack video was less than acceptable to mama, and so Sheila had yet another embarrassing public meltdown on twitter. This garnered lots of laughs from our end of the spectrum. In the interim, she did bring up something interesting. Brother Earl picked it up…

According to Sheila, Katie was a virgin until her wedding night. Sheila is shocked and horrified that the rest of us still call her a slut, and because she’s such an empowered feminist heroine, she’d like to get some men to shut us up.

The fact is, Katie is a slut. She is a skank-ho wimminz, just like her mother, and her own behavior (or lack thereof) doesn’t factor into the reality of the label she wears with pride.

I should probably explain.

As a secular Mormon, I don’t really pay much attention to most of the rules of my folk-religion; but, one of the things I have always done is to refuse alcohol or any recreational drug. We call this “the word of wisdom,” and it’s actually pretty good advice.

Now, suppose clean-cut Boxer was approached by couriers for one of the Mexican drug cartels, and offered a sweet gig as a dope mule. “You’re perfect,” they tell me. “You’re a soft spoken white dude who speaks English, and you travel for work occasionally.” They wear down all my knee-jerk refusals. “You don’t have to join up officially, or use the stuff yourself,” they assure me. “You just stick some baggies of crack up your asshole, and walk across the border…”

My day job is boring, and I have wanted to make some extra dough. They pay well enough to make it sound like a pretty great deal, so I accept the job.

Now, suppose, five years hence, the IRS and Revenue Canada start wondering why I have an eight-figure bank account, and they start poking around, and learn the truth. Naturally, I’m arrested, and my mansions and Ferraris are seized by court order. The newspaper headlines describe me as a DRUGGIE.

“But,” whines Boxer, “that’s not fair! I’m not a DRUGGIE — and I can prove it. I’ve never indulged in drugs before! I would never allow anyone I care about to be a DRUGGIE, either. just made extra money smuggling the drugs that were sold to your kids, and I lived large on a cut of the profits…”

Is She Hot, Or Not?

I trust this simple thought experiment is sufficient to illustrate my point. Not only would I be a DRUGGIE thanks to my career choices, but I would be an especially loathsome example of a DRUGGIE. It’s easy to make an argument that the garden variety junkie is (at least partly) a victim, but I couldn’t be a victim, since I made all my bad choices with a clear head and a sober mind. I took the filthy money and enjoyed the benefits of it, even as I spread around misery to others.

Katie is still a ho’. Katie is an especially loathsome example of a ho’, in fact, because she runs interference for hoez, and attacks the people who are constructing a critical theory of our immoral society. She makes money spreading her immorality thanks to her youtube channel, which generates ad revenue, and garners donations from thirsty simps.

If this summer has proven anything, it is that fragile feminists can not hack being laughed at by solid sisters. I’ll cop to the fact that I’m becoming a huge fan of Lori Alexander’s blog. I’ve also followed and read Renee’s blog for a year.

If you know of a female-authored blog with quality content then shout out the URL in the comments below. Serious women bloggers will end up here.