Александр Николаевич Волков: Chaikhana with Portrait of Lenin (1928)

People speculate as to my underlying reasons for writing articles on this blog. Popular theories include:

1. bitterness, caused by a very small penis,
2. too much free time, and no spending money,
3. lax personal hygiene, and,
4. a limited intellect.

While all those observations are objectively true, they don’t approach my actual motivations for writing. I figured I’d take a few minutes and illustrate the reason for my strange compulsion.

By the spring of 2011, I had already mastered online dating, thanks to AfOR. At that point in my life, I was in a graduate program, while trying to patch things up with my father, a man who had been alienated from me, thanks to my mother and the divorce industry.

I was very, very busy, with important stuff; but, I somehow managed to make time for a lot of procrastination reading, and plenty of fucking strange wimminz, and going to Japan. Looking back, I honestly don’t know how I managed it. I was spinning plates like nobody’s business.

At some point, I met Patricia on one of the dating sites. Patricia was cute, but not beautiful, and alluring, but not sexy. I suppose had more attractive options, and so she sat on the back burner for a while. We texted. We were noncommittal.

A few weeks after we had initially matched online, I was in a coffee house, listening to some stupid slut drone on, and on, and on, when Patricia texted me, all spontaneous and out of the blue. Coffee skank was objectively quite beautiful; but, I had plowed coffee slut in every hole, a number of different times, and my patience had worn out. When Patricia asked what was up, I copped to the fact that I was out with another girl.

“I wish it was me,” she replied.

I instantly asked…

“Want to go to the movies?”

An hour later, I had ghosted on coffee skank, and met Patricia at an old art deco cinema I liked. I believe I told coffee slut I was going to the men’s, and would be right back, and just walked out. It was something like that, because coffee slut blew up my phone for about twenty minutes, before I put her in the block list. It’s interesting to note that while I remember all sorts of details about Patricia, I don’t remember anything about coffee slut… not even her name.

Patricia was waiting for me when I walked into the cinema. She bought us the tickets, and I bought the popcorn. While I was talking to her, I realized that she was deaf. She didn’t wear hearing aids. She read lips so well that I could speak to her and she’d get what I was saying. For about one second, I was a bit put out, but then I saw the bright side. The realization that she had gone to the movies, when she couldn’t hear most of the dialogue, was sorta touching, and sweet, and all that.

We went back to her house that night. We fucked. She was a twenty-two year old virgin. It was a mess. She lied about it beforehand.

I should have known, at that moment, that this was a problem, but I was in love, and that was that. We became exclusive.

Things fall apart. It lasted about four months. It wasn’t entirely Patricia who fucked it up. I got tired of paying for most things, and I got tired of being lied to. If I’m honest, I’ll cop to the fact that I got tired of monogamy. One evening, her hot friend came on to me. Fucking the whore was fun. Before the whore even left my house, I knew what was coming, so I pre-emptively texted Patricia, told her that skank ho had come over, and politely broke up with her.

Her response was priceless. She told me that two weeks prior, she had met a Native American guy on PoF, and fucked the hell out of him.

Was it true? I haven’t any idea. She didn’t seem the type, but then, none of them do, and she certainly lied a lot.

The slutty friend and I remained attached at the genitals for several weeks. We went out as a group, a number of times, and Patricia was part of that group. Patricia was just as sweet to me in public as she ever had been. I have to believe, looking back, that she really didn’t care. Patricia and I remained connected on Facebook and Twitter and Instagram, from the moment we had met, until I disabled all of those stupid social media accounts, last year.

Around 2014, Patricia invited me to her wedding. Had I got this from the typical skank-ho ex, I’d have assumed the sender was playing an emotional game with me: trying to make me jealous, or attempting to boast about how I’d missed my chance. I lived out of state at the time, but when the invitation came in the regular mail (and it was an invitation, and not an announcement) I felt like it had been genuinely sent. I sent her 40 dollars and a thank-you note, wishing her well.

In 2015, I was in town, and was invited out with this same social group. Patricia’s husband zeroed in on me, and we made small talk, alone, while his wife was on the dance floor, feeling the beat through her feet, dancing like she was listening, in perfect rhythm.

“How did you meet her?”

“I don’t remember,” I lied. “Probably through her slut friend…”

His face and his demeanor suggested disbelief, but acceptance, and I came away from that encounter feeling a little bit ashamed, and with a good deal of respect for this man, who had married the deaf girl, and loved her enough to go out socializing with one of the men she had banged in her misspent youth.

In early 2017, Patricia sent me a Facebook message. I was going to be passing through the town in which we had once met, and where she lives still. She wanted to see me, when I went through.

“I’ll buy you and your husband dinner,” I told her.

When the appointed day came around, Patricia picked me up, alone, in her new van. Her husband, she explained, was busy. Plausible, I thought, but I doubt it. Anyway, such is the way things go. A number of other manosphere stereotypes were confirmed, during the course of the next ninety minutes, including the propensity of married women to get a butch dyke hairdo, to gain 50 pounds, and to proposition old boyfriends for fucking and sucking. I tried not to embarrass her as I declined her generous offer. She didn’t seem offended, or even affected, by my rejection. I didn’t ghost out on the woman, but I did cut things short, and I got an uber back to my hotel, rather than letting her drive me.

Fast forward to last week. I had to re-activate my Facebook account to get a photograph. Not five minutes after everything came back online, Patricia appeared in my direct messages.

Now, if you want to know why I’m compelled to write this blog, here’s an illustration.

I got incredibly lucky, as a young man, because I managed to keep from getting entangled with a slut just like this. I fucked the bitch, when she was young and cute. Another man — a much better man than I, in every conceivable way — did her the honor of making her his wife. This is his reward.

She says he knows she’s cucking him, and I believe her. Probably, he’s fucking other women too. It’s still a damned shame, and you had better believe that he is the one who will get the bill, the minute their marriage falls apart, and it will. The only possible upside to this mess is that these two don’t have kids. Not yet, anyway.

Ask yourself: Would you rather be in my position, or in his shoes?

This blog is a survival guide, for all the boys who are running around with their own Patricia. If you play your cards right, you’ll keep from getting cucked by one of these bitches.

Patricia is not an anomaly. My grandmother was Patricia. Maybe my grandmother didn’t act on her baser instincts (maybe…); but, if she didn’t, I believe that’s because she didn’t have Facebook and PoF to waste time on, rather than any difference in character.

They’re all Patricia.

If I can convince one young brother of that basic fact, then whatever work I’ve done on this blog will be worth the effort. That’s why I write, and it’s all the motivation I need.

Down below, Earl says:

A few years ago, a skank fucked a random man named Muhammad. That is nothing new. She then — out of the blue — solicited him to murder her husband.

Muhammad beat feet into the local police station. In his initial interview, he expressed two different emotions. First came amazement, both that this whore was married, and that she had so easily convinced him she was single. At first, police didn’t believe him. Cops admit that this man started crying as he begged them to take him seriously. He told them that he knew someone was going to be killed otherwise.

Cops finally bought into the story, and found that it was all true. Dalia Dippolito was searching for a hit man to kill her husband, a man that she had only married six months before. Muhammad hooked the bitch up with a professional murderer, and the deal was on.

Someone else started crying tears a couple of months later…

Skank-ho Dalia certainly put on a convincing performance as the distraught and grieving widow, as police broke the news that her husband had been killed.

Of course, her husband was still alive. The hit-man she hired looked like a scroungy street thug. In fact, he was an undercover officer for the state police, who usually worked narcotics cases, and needed to act the part of a skeezy doper.

When confronted with the obvious facts, the bitch did not apologize or express remorse. The opposite happened. She doubled down, blaming everyone from the man she was fucking (Muhammad) to the city’s police chief, for her shit behavior. Watch it here:

Skip to about 13:00 to see the bitch realize that she’s been had.

Recently, an opinion piece appeared on (that bastion of cucked-out faggotry) The Huffington Post. I’m going to excerpt a good bit, and under fair use, I have to comment on the text. My comments will be outside the blockquote. The essay is actually very funny, and an excellent example of the derangement of feminist wimminz. I encourage you all to go read it, if only to celebrate these losers and their desperation, now that they realize peak feminism happened around ten years ago. There’s a link at the bottom.

The monsters are always men. They menace from the highest positions of power; they lurk in the shadows of our subconscious. At this time of reckoning ― thanks to movements like Me Too and Time’s Up ― some of our cultural monsters are being revealed.

Of course, the monsters are always men. Like the man who caved in his daughter’s skull, and the man who cooked his children in the oven, and the American man who took his kids into war-ravaged Syria, to betray his country and kill Americans.

Except those weren’t men. They were all garden variety women.

But there is a reckoning that hasn’t yet happened and that’s with women, who use their bodies and social positions as wives and mothers to mediate how we handle the monsters of our society.

You cunts would really be better served shutting up, but like all wimminz, you never will.

These intermediaries are all too often women ― white women ― of privilege, who are doing quite well under the patriarchy. It’s a neat trick ― enforcing a system that affords you an amount of privilege but also oppresses others just like you. And it’s one white women have been playing for years.

Counterexamples include the black chick who cooked her little babies to death, and the Arab bitch who caved in her daughter’s skull, and left her to bleed out, and the mystery-meat slut from the trailer park who divorced her man, and took her kids to Syria, against their father’s wishes.

Not that we really care about race in this post-code. A wimminz is a wimminz. You’re all the same, regardless of what shade your skin might be. The boys know this, and I know it, and you know that we know it. That isn’t all that bothers you, however…

It was 53 percent of white women after all who voted for Donald Trump, a president who has publicly admitted to assaulting women.

Really irks you to contemplate the fact that your haggard old bulldyke was defeated (not once, but twice!) by men who appear to have just woke up one morning and said: “Fuck it, maybe I’ll run for president.”

Cool. Glad it bothers you. Get used to it.

Women are in positions of power in his cabinet and it is his daughter Ivanka who provided much of the cover for his policies during the campaign. Her presence, for many Trump supporters, continues to soften his most aggressive and erratic positions.

The feminist gripe against Ivanka is that she is 1. attractive, 2. able to keep a high-quality man interested, 3. devoted to religious discipline. Feminists are failures at all such endeavors, and as such, they seek to spread their own misery and sickness around to others.

Read the rest at the craptacular clickbait site HP(V).

Just yesterday we learned that Heather Locklear, a washed up Hollywood phony, had been arrested for the second time after violently assaulting those she was closest to. Exactly as I and others predicted, she is in the news yet again. She has just been ambulanced off to hospital, after reportedly “overdosing” on unknown substances.

Police have released more details about Sunday’s incident. Whereas in February, Locklear was arrested for felony domestic battery for attacking her live-in boyfriend, she was arrested last night on suspicion of attacking her parents. I had assumed (though I didn’t report as much) that the same poor simp who got his face chewed on, earlier this year, was the target of this latest attack. I hope that dumbass finally got the sense to hit the bricks.

I honestly don’t know what’s more pathetic than physically attacking one’s own mother and father, but that is what police contend happened, at Casa Locklear, on Sunday evening.

Given that Locklear has boasted a history of using very powerful narcotics, her “suicide attempt” is reasonably interpreted as an attention-seeking gesture. Young brothers should ponder the fate of a man who entangles himself with such a woman. No man wants to spend his fifties dealing with this sort of lunacy.

Read more about this looney attention-seeker / abuser here…

TMZ: Ambulance Rushes Heather Locklear to Hospital

Gunner Q: VAWA Doesn’t Work If You Hit The Cops

NSFW

Spirit Airlines flight 346 left Houston (IAH) this morning, headed to Minneapolis. During the flight, an elderly man had a medical issue, and as a result, the pilot wisely decided to divert to get him to hospital.

What happened, after the plane landed in Rochester MN., was a shocking display of feminist entitlement. A single fat wimminz successfully delayed the departure for over an hour, as she ran up and down through the aisles, screaming and cursing. She can be seen here, alternately threatening to murder a (male) flight attendant, and ranting about how she’s connected to snipers who can take out the passengers who have annoyed her.

The dried-out old bag at left is Heather Locklear, age 57. Skanky Heather was arrested last night, and charged with two counts of battery on first-responders.

The Ventura County (CA/US) Sheriff’s Department was first called to the whore’s house around 6 o’clock, Sunday evening. Witnesses in the neighborhood had reported a domestic violence situation unfolding. When officers arrived, they claim that they did the whore a favor, warning her to shut the fuck up and quit being a nuisance. They were subsequently called in again, four hours later. Officers describe finding a belligerent skank, drugged out of her mind, trashing her own house, and screaming at the top of her lungs. True to their word, they arrested her, and police say she immediately started fighting with them. Skank-ho Heather was reported to be so irrational, that police officers ordered her to be taken to hospital for a medical evaluation. Police say she started kicking the hell out of an ambulance driver, shortly after he arrived to take her to the doctor. Eventually, they tied her down, and she got tired of playing the jackass. She’s sat in the clink over night, and has just been released on bail this afternoon.

Heather-ho is no stranger to legal problems. In February of this year, this violent skank was arrested after she allegedly beat up her boyfriend. As will surprise no one, it was skank-ho Heather who called the cops, playing the VAWA card, claiming that said boyfriend tried to murder her. When the deputies arrived, they found Heather-skank alive and perfectly healthy. Her boyfriend, in contrast, had a chunk bitten out of his face, and was covered in blood. Heather kept up the victim charade until the cops clapped the bracelets on her. The police report states that once she was detained, her demeanor instantly transformed from tears to rage. The report goes on to state that Locklear threatened the arresting officer’s children.

It really boggles the mind to note that her arrest, last night, came after she had posted bond for this earlier incident, and while she was preparing for that first trial. A normal person would probably try to keep a low profile at a time like this. Like any typical skank-ho wimminz, Locklear can not control herself even when she’s facing felony charges.

Locklear gained fame as a 1990s sex goddess in the hit tee-vee show Melrose Place. The program, which originally aired on Fox, was a low budget evening soap opera, aimed at teenagers. It portrayed the lives and trials of a bunch of spoiled, narcissistic children who, despite not having jobs, somehow managed to afford living in a trendy deco apartment in West Hollywood, all unsupervised. A great many young men in my generation salivated at the prospect of getting close to a wimminz like this, and as such, her life is an object lesson in the reality of what a wimminz turns into once she hits the wall.

Locklear’s first marriage was to a real-life “Fuckbuddy Rockbanddrummer” named Tommy Lee. She divorced him before her seventh anniversary to marry another musician, Ricky Sambora. Like the classy skank she is, she appeared on Howard Stern’s trashy radio program to compare the size of their penii, and boast that she “had better than both of them” at many times in the past. She divorced Sambora in 2007, only to shack up with the poor fella who apparently got his face chewed off.

I doubt we’ve heard the last of this bitch.

Edit: Gunner Q reported independently on Locklear’s first arrest. Read it.

Wimminz constantly seek to monopolize the role of victim. I suspect that they do this instinctively. The stupid young whore, Emma Watson, gives one example above. This is a particularly ridiculous statement, that we might be tempted to dismiss as one slut’s craziness. In fact, it is not an isolated expression. Another great example is Hillary Clinton’s idiotic 1998 statement, to wit:

Women have always been the primary victims of war…

When our favorite elderly bulldyke said that, most of the men in the audience probably snorted, finding it too ridiculous to even address. That was their mistake, but it is also understandable. I believe that it is a masculine instinct to expect nonsense to vomit forth out of a wimminz’ mouth, and too many men have mistakenly given such trick whores a pass for such stuff. We should learn to override this instinctive response, and always remember to call the feminists out on such big lies.

As for this big lie, we have already seen one counterexample, in our review of the Triple Alliance War in Paraguay. At the end of that war, there was a female-male ratio of something like 5:1. It is difficult to claim that the wimminz suffered more than the hundreds-of-thousands of men, whose bodies lay all unburied, attracting flies.

We can anticipate the typical feminist response, which would assure us all that the Paraguayan ratio would be corrected once we all embrace feminism. In our future feminist utopia, wimminz will supposedly sprout some national pride, and get into the trenches to defend their countries.

There was, in fact, a nation which conscripted wimminz into its armed forces. That was the U.S.S.R., and we can look at the figures before and after the Great Patriotic War (what we call World War II) to see feminist equality in action.

At the beginning of that war, the female-male ratio was about 1.05:1. At the end of that war, it was 1.5:1.  (Andreev, et. al.). The feminists are partly correct, in that far more wimminz died in combat in the U.S.S.R., than did so in any other society, but they’re still basically full of beans.

Why is it that so many wimminz survived the GPW when their male comrades got slaughtered? We can reconstruct several likely scenarios, based on contemporary knowledge of wimminz behavior in the now-integrated armies of the United States, no?

• Pregnancy as a strategy to get moved to the rear, or
• Fake suicide attempts and self-inflicted minor injuries, or
• Wimminz surrendering immediately, and performing sucky-sucky on thirsty Wehrmacht invaders, in return for not being sent to P.O.W. camp.

The list goes on.

Here is an actual photograph of brave Soviet partisans “resisting” the German invasion of their town. (They resisted with bread and salt, as an old man once told me.) These wimminz’ husbands and fathers have just been slaughtered by the same men they will fuck with abandon, the minute darkness falls.

Remember: These are the primary victims of warfare.

The same general hypocritical trend can be seen in every other aspect of wimminz’ communication. It is very common for so-called red pill wimminz to endlessly whine about how feminism has hurt them also. Take the case of Michele Weiner-Davis, a licensed social worker and renowned marriage counselor. Weiner-Davis is the author of several books on how to keep your spouse interested, and how to evade divorce. In the past, she has claimed to be motivated by a devotion to her religion (I believe she’s Jewish) and a commitment to CONservative political principles. She has also cited personal reasons for making marriage counseling her life’s work, implying that an incompetent marriage counselor encouraged her own mother to divorce her father, when she was a child.

Michele Weiner-Davis is a milder precursor of contemporary characters like Dr. Helen Smith, and while she earns my respect as a critic of feminist excesses, she is still given to making nonsensical statements, just like the wimminz she attempts to talk sense into.

Weiner-Davis says that:

…women suffer the most after a divorce

Whether she actually believes this nonsense or not is a good question. Either way, it is a fascinating statement to parse. What do the statistics say? About half of all marriages will end in divorce, and an astounding 80 percent of those divorces are initiated by wimminz (CDC).

For this character to make such a claim seems flatly contradictory. If wimminz truly suffered the most after a divorce, would they file for divorce in such staggering numbers? Weiner-Davis doesn’t speculate on the amazing disparity between reality and her opinion. She merely repeats her big lie, and expects all of us dumb men to swallow it.

What is most interesting is the fact that the converse of this process is instinctively rejected, and with similar emotional energy. The fact that wimminz will playact at being victims, expecting sympathy when it is convenient for them, does not mean that any wimminz will allow men to do likewise. A great contemporary example is the incel phenomenon. Here’s a feminist wimminz of privilege, agitating for such men to be forced into poverty.

It seems like men in the incel community, who suffer with crushing loneliness and social isolation, would be a natural choice for anyone to sympathize with. The fact that they are men opens them up to dehumanization, whatever their problems. This is likewise not an isolated expression. We can go back a while, and replay the video of radical feminist “big red,” who abrasively sneered at male rape victims. Rape is only a crime when it happens to a wimminz. When it happens to a man or a little boy, the feminists find it fodder for lighthearted discussion and comedy.

We are entering an epoch in which men have largely awakened to the existential threat that feminists pose, both to them as individuals, and to their civilization. The instinctual strategy of wimminz is to play the victim. In doing so, the individual wimminz seeks to hold herself out as an exception to the feminist monolith. Such wimminz will claim that feminism harms them also, and will often bombastically join us to curse her sisters, like Emma Watson and Hillary Clinton. In reality, such so-called red-pill wimminz benefit from feminist praxis just like their hardcore sisters do, and the minute such wimminz find it convenient, they will march into the divorce courts to get those papers filed.

If so-called red-pill wimminz want to be taken seriously, they can make themselves an example of decency, by physically resisting the feminist occupation. As it is, they pretend at victimhood, while surrendering at the first opportunity, and proceed to lay down for our enemies.

Six weeks ago, Bella informed me (via text message) that she had much better prospects. I was told that if I wanted to keep her, I needed to up my game, and pony up some cash for that gash. She was a fun chick, but ultimately I’m not in the market for a wife. I wished her well and told her not to let the door hit her in the ass on the way out. She didn’t want to ghost out immediately, however. She gave me a play-by-play of her prospects… all of whom were much cooler and better men than ya boy Boxer.

Bella made much ado, over the course of the next week, about how much fun she was having, riding different cocks. I simply wished her a good time. Eventually, I got another ultimatum.

Suddenly she decided she “had feelings” for me, after a week of fucking random men. She told me she had lots of potential suitors, and she wanted to be sure I knew what I was giving up, before she committed to one lucky fellow.

I told her that I hoped she’d be very happy with her new beau. Then she went quiet.

Suddenly, this week, Bella reappeared. I have to assume that this two-month relationship wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. For the last four days, she’s badgered me with the same questions, and I’ve given her the same answers.

There’s only one way to keep your dignity intact. When a wimminz decides to give you an ultimatum, you point to the door, and invite her to walk out of it. Ironically, when you do this, you gain a certain measure of respect, and open up the possibility of her coming back.

When (and it’s usually when, not if) she reappears, you have the choice to reject her, or to allow her to re-enter orbit. If you choose the second option, you have an obligation to see that she reattaches at a wildly reduced level of commitment and obligation than she originally enjoyed. To do otherwise is to allow the bitch to see you as a sort of revolving-door, who will permit her to come and go as she pleases.

Wimminz have several distinct methods of conflict, and one of the most annoying is on display above. Rather than making a sound argument in support of her position, a wimminz like this will merely repeat the same demand — over, and over, and over again — ad infinitum. This repetition is probably very effective on a typical male, who ends up acquiescing to her demand, however ridiculous or arrogant, simply because he wants her to shut the fuck up.

This is similar to the torture used on American Prisoners of War in the Korean conflict, by interrogators in the Chinese People’s Liberation Army. It is a particularly abusive form of brainwashing which can eventually lead to a man questioning his own sanity.

Wimminz who use such techniques are used to operating from a position of strength. The most effective way to combat such tactics is by never allowing such a wimminz to have any leverage over you whatever. Imagine what your life would be like if you were actually in a relationship with such a wimminz. Is it any wonder that ya boy Boxer’s replacement dumped this bitch after a mere two months?

The bottom line is to identify wimminz who do this early, and keep them at arm’s length by any means necessary. You don’t want to live with a wimminz who turns to these sorts of games, whenever she doesn’t get her way. You certainly don’t want to have any children with her.

I was never a huge Michael Jackson fan, partly because I grew up in Canada, and as was the custom in that shithole, I used to listen to old Skinny Puppy records. The only real alternative was Avril Lavigne.

I realize now that I never gave Jackson’s music a fair chance, and this was probably because of my perception of his personality. The race-change operation, combined with widespread suspicion that he was a pervert, ruined it for me. You might say I chose Skinny Puppy not mainly out of national chauvinism, but because they were objectively less bizarre. At least, that’s what I thought, before this week.

Skinny Puppy was before my time… roughly concurrent with Michael Jackson’s solo career in the U.S.. Like Brother Michael, who did his own thing after his departure from the Jackson 5, Skinny Puppy broke up. All the members have solo acts. The one I tend to follow today is OhGr.

In 2011, I bought OhGr’s most recent album. For whatever reason, I ripped it with iTunes but didn’t get around to listening to it. I finally realized I had it kicking around by chance, when I was going through my ipod, on a city bus. The album opens with the 911 call that was made by Jackson’s personal assistant, after our man Michael was already dead at the hands of his dope-peddling doctor. The red flags in that conversation are so numerous that one begins to wonder all sorts of shit.

Press play to pay respects, and listen closely. That call happened exactly nine years ago. It is the stuff that conspiracy theories are made of.

Jackson died at the end of a long and well-publicized court battle, with prosecutors alleging that he had kidnapped and raped a young boy. The jury found Jackson not guilty on all counts. Some time after the trial, his accuser’s mother pled guilty a perjury charge, in connection with another legal action in which the family tried to shake down another celebrity for money. The same family who had attempted to extort a living from the king of pop, also attempted as much with Jay Leno, Chris Tucker, The J.C. Penney corporation, and numerous others.

Despite being a pop star, Jackson was a shy fella with a lifelong interest in religion. He was born a Jehovah’s Witness, but didn’t seem to find that a hindrance to exposure to other ideas. I don’t know whether Jackson ever officially converted to Judaism, but he was friends with a rabbi named Shmuley Boteach (pronounced Bo-tox). Boteach released a book, entitled The Michael Jackson Tapes, in which are transcribed selections of Jackson’s confessions.

In the first place, the book surprised me simply due to its context. I don’t know what Jewish law entails, but if there isn’t a general ethical rule that says a man’s rabbi can’t publish a book containing his confessions, there really ought to be. That aside, Jackson makes a number of stunning observations in the book.

About his abortive 1991 relationship with Madonna, Jackson says…

“She is not a nice person,” Jackson told Boteach. Jackson revealed how he and Madonna had bickered about where they would socialize.

 

“Madonna laid the law down to me before we went out. [She said] I am not going to Disneyland, OK? That’s out,” Jackson said. “I said, ‘I didn’t ask to go to Disneyland.’

 

She said, ‘We are going to the restaurant. And afterwards, we are going to a strip bar.’ “I said, ‘I am not going to a strip bar, where they cross dress. … I am not going to there. If that’s how it is, forget this whole thing. … Afterwards, she wrote some mean things about me in the press. And I wrote that she is a nasty witch, after I was so kind to her,” Jackson said.

Apparently Jackson wasn’t degenerate enough to stay in Madonna’s good graces.

(Then again, who is?)

Jackson had some very nuanced ideas about females. He loved women, always speaking well of his mother, and a few other solid sisters he knew personally. Like every decent man should, though, Jackson hated wimminz.

Boteach said Jackson simultaneously held women in reverence and awe yet harbored deep suspicions about their motivations and his perceived their use of sexuality to achieve their goals.

 

Jackson: “Women can do some things that make guys very unhappy. I see it with my brothers. I see my brothers crying in tears and pulling the grass out of the lawn out of frustration because of their wives.”

 

Boteach: “Do you think all their wives were interested more in their success than in them?”

 

Jackson: “Absolutely. They were after their money. That’s why I said to myself, ‘I’ll never be married.’ I held out the longest. I stayed at home until I was 27, 28.”

 

Boteach: “What was part of the attraction to Lisa Marie? That she had her own money? She had her own fame. You knew it wasn’t about any of that.”

 

Jackson: “Absolutely. She didn’t take a penny, didn’t want anything.”

Like most child celebrities, raised in the praxis prism which is the typical Hollywood film lot, Jackson came to adulthood with some very serious issues. Be that as it may, he tried to warn us, in his songs, about the dangers of wimminz and feminism. The establishment and its corporate media repaid him for this noble act, by spreading the meme that he was a homosexual pedophile and a dangerous predator. I realize, after doing less than an hour of research, that I had been suckered, like a typical SJW halfwit, into believing this nonsense.

Jackson died of a drug overdose, administered by his shady doctor, who has since been charged with murder. Had our man Michael lived, who knows what truths he would have told…

1958.08.29 (Gary IN) – 2009.06.25 (Los Angeles CA)

Paraguay has the dismal distinction to be one of the perpetually underperforming basket case countries of the western hemisphere. While it’s hard to point to one single catalyst, I suspect I can support the argument that fatherlessness was a factor.

I’ve always been partial to the idea of fathers as the primary transmitters of civilization and culture. My opinion is informed primarily by anecdotal evidence. I’ve lived near negro ghettoes and huwyte trash trailer parks, and have seen the produce of the skank-ho single mom, firsthand. That aside, I have no real training as a sociologist, and thus the following is just me giving some historical details in support of my own speculative suspicion.

The gent at top-left is one Francisco Solano López. As his uniform suggests, Frank was sort of a belligerent fellow, who was appointed the second ever President of Uruguay by his father, the first President of Uruguay. He didn’t get his position merely via nepotism. It seems he took the work of preparing for his role seriously. He studied at a French military academy for at least a year, and returned to Paraguay with a British contract to deliver weapons.

Paraguay appears to be the Belgium of South America. By that I mean it was artificially created as something of a buffer state, between two large, powerful rivals. Brazil and Argentina border Paraguay from each end, and it has no outlet to the sea. While Brazil and Argentina are both Catholic countries, the language difference (Portuguese / Spanish) make the peoples inhabiting each ethnically separate.

While López was apparently a competent military officer, his political cunning was sorely wanting, and he allowed himself to get drawn into a fight, first with Brazil, and then with Uruguay. Once Uruguay was attacked, an old military alliance was triggered that brought Argentina into the fight. Thus this conflict is called the guerra de triple alianza. While Frank had a very well-trained and well-staffed army, most of the heavy weapons he ordered from England were blockaded immediately by all three of his neighbors. Brazilian troops retook Paraguay’s occupied territory in the Matto Grosso, crossed the Rio Paraná, and began slaughtering everyone in their path.

(More blood in the gutter at The Economist)

What followed was an absolute disaster. Thomas Whigham estimates that around 60 percent of the total population of Paraguay was erased between 1865 and 1870, when our boy Frank met his end. The carnage was not entirely due to hostility. Jerry W. Cooney estimates that by the end of the war, at least 50,000 Paraguayans had died of Cholera and Smallpox. At the conclusion of 5+ years of carnage, 80 percent of the marriage-aged men of Paraguay were gone — to disease, to bullets, or to desertion.

Estimates by François Chartrain put the total prewar population of Paraguay at around a million people. The postwar population of Paraguay, according to the 1871 census, stood at 221000. David Jordan interprets the data, inclusive of adults, as featuring about two adult men for every ten adult women. In any random village, circa 1870, every surviving Paraguayan male had three to five Paraguayan females from which to choose. This is a society that seems like a playaz paradise, until one considers the physical and mental state of people who have been savagely crushed, raped, occupied and looted, for years, until they were abandoned to start over again.

Paraguay is an interesting case study in a society which reaped the benefits of chivalry. “Wimminz and children first” could have been the motto of this nation, which depopulated its male citizens to such a drastic degree.

Did this first feminist republic find the wimminz paradise that the bulldykers promise, once they “killed all the men”? The short answer is no. The U.N. Human Development Index lists Paraguay as only slightly better off than Haiti, and in worse straits than Peru and Sri Lanka. Anecdotes from Paraguayans suggest that the country is still in the process of recovery, over a century after the cessation of hostilities.

(Ask Lost Patrol about his time in the Feminist Republic here)

We have to wonder exactly how this nation survived, and as amateur historians we can come up with a couple of possibilities. There is a high degree of likelihood that many Paraguayans are descended from the Brazilian and Argentine conquerors, who occupied parts of the country during the conflict. Whigham goes into detail about the low social standing of soldiers in Brazil, specifically. It was probably a step up, socially and economically, for many of these men to simply stay on after the cease fire, and with so few native Paraguayans around, they faced little resistance in doing so.

In the twenty-first century, Brazil, Argentina and Uruguay are all developed, pleasant places to live. Paraguay, in contrast, is one of the basketcase countries of the western hemisphere. I doubt this fact is coincidental with its status as the first feminist society, founded on chivalry, fatherlessness, and killing all the men.