Credit to our brother Oscar for finding this gem of a wimminz. Let’s see what her story is…

Bitch grows up in a nice family in Indiana, then decides to join ISIS and wage war on Americans. We all know that women are more moral and ethical than men are, so I’m sure her bad decision is all some man’s fault.

Yes, of course. It’s her husband’s fault. (It’s always the husband’s fault, isn’t it?) Her husband took her to Morocco, and somehow they ended up on the Syrian border. This happens to me all the time. I start out with one destination, and then end up in an entirely different one, thousands of kilometres away from where I should be.

She has a son, an ex-husband (apparently a loyal American veteran) who is her son’s father, and a family in America. Betraying her people and nation was “the only way to protect her daughter…” We all believe that. Poor dear.

And this is as close to the story of her little boy’s father gets. Her son, who was beaten into compliance, and made to perform in ISIS propaganda videos, does not get to see his father, even after all this time.

Read the rest of the story of this disgusting traitor here.

(source)

In this episode of Father Knows Best, we meet skank-ho wimminz Brodie Bond. Bond is becoming famous, at least in Australia, for behaving even worse than the average wimminz.

Death comes for us all. Some years ago (we don’t know exactly when), Brodie’s father kacked it. Dad’s will directed his estate to be divided between his heirs. Brodie’s father knew, better than anyone else, that she was a useless cunt, and as such he specifically left her nothing, in hopes that she would clean herself up, and quit playing the jackass.

As an empowered feminist wimminz, Brodie had no plans to take advice from the patriarchy. She secured a pro bono lawyer, and tied the estate up for years, until the rest of the family were finally so sick of her that they gave her a payout, in the amount of 220,000 AUD.

How did Brodie Bond spend her inheritance? We’ll let her tell you, herself…

When she finally received the money in June 2016, Ms Bond says she celebrated with a slab of Jack Daniel’s and vodka shots during a drug-fuelled night with a friend. She said: ‘Why not? It’s not everyday you get that much money.’

(source)

Mizz Bond went on to squander every last dime of her inheritance, and is now back on the dole. She is, of course, a real stunner, so it’ll be easy for her to find a man to foot the bill for her frivolities, for the rest of her life.

Admit it, boys: You’d love the opportunity to curl up to this looker.

Individual wimminz often do stupid things, and thus it is no surprise that when they get together, wimminz will collectively be even more ridiculous. This is easily predictable, as any group tends to be led by its loudest and most power-hungry nutters, who seize control at the first opportunity. An individual wimminz will complain about her thug boyfriend, who gave her Chlamydia, but collectively, wimminz will come up with shit like #metoo, which guarantee that decent men stay the hell away from them in increasing numbers. This translates to a smaller pool of men to choose from, and one which is heavily slanted toward containing a greater proportion of Chlamydia-riddled thugs.

Wimminz have proven themselves the enemy of men. One is thus forced to approach dating as one would strategize any encounter with an enemy. Fortunately, wimminz tend to be short-sighted and quite stupid (as the #metoo movement amply demonstrates), and thus a properly-motivated man can come up with counter-strategies to maximize the returns and minimize the risks of any encounter.

The wimminz strategy has been to collect social and political power, in the form of legislation and orbiters, to enforce her “right to choose” who she fucks. She has, of course, been aided by ruling-class men in this regard. They were motivated by the desire to fuck the wives and daughters of working-class men without consequence.

Since the wealthy have abolished monogamy and marriage (through laws like VAWA), and since wimminz have been lured into the ideological delusion that they have the right-to-choose, we take advantage of extant cultural practices, such as the one in which it is stated that men have the obligation to pursue, and we apply them in our own favor.

Our counter-strategy is to pursue as many wimminz as we deem necessary for sex to be constantly on offer.

Our enemies vastly outnumber and outweigh us. They can crush us in any head-on confrontation. If you don’t believe this, just try to tell a wimminz not to go out to the club on Friday night, and see how the police treat you, minutes later.

Thus men fight and win unconventionally, by using social praxis to their own advantage. While our enemies are strong, they are also bureaucratic, inefficient, stupid and slow. While we are weak, we are also mobile, quick, and able to think-on-the-fly.

In our culture, men do the pursuing, and women choose. Our culture happens to produce wimminz who are so fucked-in-the-head that only a few men are pursuing them at any one time. This leaves a surplus of wimminz available for you to pursue. It also leaves you to creatively pursue as many wimminz as you may want to pursue.

By “pursue,” I do not mean to spend all day tending to a wimminz needs. I mean merely to say “good morning” at some point between 9 and 12 am, via text message, every couple of days. Sending a random photo once in a while is enough. Most of these damaged wimminz respond better to this sort of neglectful, minimalist form of pursuit, than they do to traditional courtship anyhow. In this regard, the single brother can “pursue” 10-20 wimminz easily, at any one time.

Of those 10-20 wimminz, five will be getting their holes filled by someone else on any particular night. That, as the legendary AfOR will tell you, is fine and dandy. You should not feel put-out by this fact, any more than you should feel offended that someone else has used one of the parking spaces in the lot of the shopping-center you like to buy bagged salads at. It is of no consequence, since there are hundreds of other parking spaces available.

The “right-to-choose” ideology is just that: ideology, when a man approaches the situation realistically, as Uncle Che would tell him to. Out of the dozen available women who “choose” you on any particular day, you have the actual “right-to-choose.”

Down below, my man Earl posted a very interesting interview. Exactly in the fashion of Brad Pitt, the star of Magic Mike, Channing Tatum is getting divorced. As the narrator notes: “If Channing Tatum isn’t alpha enough to keep a woman, then you won’t be either.”’

https://youtu.be/IpdiSgy3S1Q

Thanks to earl, we have a fun illustration of women in different scenarios.

Which of these women are most attractive?

Example A:

Woman making you (her beloved husband) a tasty batch of cookies.

or

Wimminz making a piping hot bowl o’ oatmeal, for her drug-dealer boyfriend, after a night of hot sex, in the kitchen her ex-husband is still busting ass to pay for.

Example B:

Woman holding the baby you conceived together, on your wedding night.

or

Skank-ho single mom with bastard, as she appears on PoF. He’s “her world” and will “always come first,” but she might allow you to amuse her with your dick if you give her enough attention and buy Junior some new clothes.

Example C:

CONservative wimminz who thinks your job is to pay her bills, until she decides to run you, head-first, through the divorce courts.

or

Masculinized cougar who likes guns, knives and radical feminism. Hope you’re a light sleeper!

Earl is right. At least in scenarios A and B, there are attractive delusions available. I can’t interpret C in any fashion that’s attractive, charming or feminine.

When I was a younger man, AfOR mentored me in the way of wimminz. Whether the man behind the AfOR name died, or whether the character he was playing was retired by his handler, he is now riding Harleys with Lemmy in Valhalla, and I owe him much. I pay my debts.

When the penny dropped, and I realized that AfOR may not be returning, the first thing I did (within moments of notice) was to download the entire contents of wimminz with an app called sitesucker (available for OS X on the app store). I expect that site might disappear in the future, and it’ll immediately reappear if someone tries to snuff it on my watch.

After that was done, I contemplated a memorial. I did write a quick notice below, and figured that was enough said. In hindsight, I think my decision was sound. He was happiest as a nameless dispenser of MGTOW realtalk, and he always made it clear that he neither wanted acclaim, money, or fame — the ‘A’ in his moniker means ‘Anonymous’ for a reason…

Down below, d. beguiled felt the need to post a detailed eulogy. He did it better than I could have, and it’s worth the front page.

Press play to pay respects, and read on…

Thank you Boxer for taking some time to honor the Vantablack pill geezer himself. I have seen you in his comments, and in the MGTOW forum AfOR (anonymous for obvious reasons) set up for a while there to shame those who demanded cash to run men’s hangouts, so I know you are one of the old salts in the men’s internet game.

 

Man oh man I owe so much to that dude, coming across his comments on the Spearhead taking down females and manginas, and just the righteous fire of the formerly falsely accused of rape and abuse, man he had a way of cutting through all the bullshit and laying it out.

 

I discovered him coming off my own harsh breakup that I didn’t understand, and to hear another man just lay it out in the starkest, bleakest possible terms was bracing. I am finding myself somewhat in mourning over the loss of this dude I never met, this dude who I interacted with civilly at times, and at other times knowing he thought I just didn’t get it.

 

If I had my way there would be tributes from men’s sites like mad, pouring in, even from his enemies whose arguments he sharpened, but no, only Boxer giving credit where it is due.

So much I wish I knew about the dude. Did he ever get to meet his grown boys? Will they somehow have access to his blog when the time comes?

 

Anyway, thanks Boxer for being to one to do it. I admit the sheer blackness of his pill made me wax and wane as a reader over the years, but you could always go back and hear a witty curt rant on the wimminz, or read some abstract convoluted metaphor only an engineer could get or love. He just seemed like one of the dudes who would outlive us all.

 

I feel, as many others do, as if he was a sort of a mentor, and in going back from the beginning and reading over his blog, I am also noticing all the expressions and style points I picked up from him, the turns of phrase like rubber hitting road and skin in the game and core competence.

 

He was talking about things in 2010 that people are thinking they are discovering now, and some of his conceits, like rejiggering the monetary system in terms of energy used are unsung and mostly unremembered brilliance.

 

I see his influence in your writing too, so, thank god for righteous role models. Hope any of the other cunts I got used to seeing in his comments section take the time to pay some sort of tribute to the guy whose last act, checking himself out of a hospital whose general sanitary condition mirrored how he always said fat chicks’ breath smelled, was, sad as it was, so perfect a representation.

 

So his girl is interacting a bit in the comments over there. I hope he made arrangements about all his writing, all his computers, but who knows? Fuck it, you figure it out might have been his plan as well.

 

Part of me is still hoping this is a hoax.

 

RIP

Wimminz are not very good for much of anything practical. Even so, some diversity does exist. Some wimminz are stupid, while others are even more stupid. Some wimminz are sluts, while others are professional prostitutes.

One thing wimminz are objectively good at is remembering nonsensical events, and holding stupid grudges over them. In my early years, I wondered from whence this talent springs. My tutor instructed me in the origin, many years ago.

There is an old manosphere trope, which originated somewhere on the now deceased AfOR’s blog. I can’t find it on short notice, but will retell it second hand, because the wisdom bears repeating.

AfOR was an old geezer, and he grew up in the U.K., where school dances were apparently a thing. The school dances began, as he recalled, with men and women completely segregated. The men lined one wall of the gymnasium, and the women lined the opposite wall. When the music started, the athletes, the outgoing and the wealthy were the first across the floor. They had their pick of the local girls. Naturally, they didn’t pick any fatties, uglies, or skank-ho wimminz. They went for the brightest, cutest, and best-behaved girls. After the ice was broken, then the broad masses of men would wander across the floor. Like the men that went before, they discriminated on the basis of looks, behavior, femininity and social status (likely in that order).

There were always about ten percent of the females, who were left standing against the wall. The most mediocre boys would forego dancing immediately, preferring to queue up to get the next dance with an acceptable mate, rather than debase themselves with a pig, or be seen among their peers as touching a filthy skank-ho wimminz.

Thank you for visiting V5K2C2: A progressive, gay-friendly, feminist blog!

The wimminz who were left standing on the wall kept score between their ears. As life’s failures, they had to find a way to salvage their feminine ego, and keeping an invisible scoreboard is the way to go. Picture Darla, the ugly fattie, and what goes through her mind as she watches her peers having a great time…

Jenny got asked to dance by the star football player, so she scores 10. 

Martha got asked to dance by the hunky lead in the school play, so she scores 9.

I’m left on the wall. My score is 0!!

Occasionally, some fool would wander over and ask Darla to dance. Sometimes, the boy would be doing it to have a laugh at her expense among his friends. Other times, he’ll be a silly but sincere fellow who sees some value beneath the blubber.

Not only will Darla not accept this fool’s invitation, but she’ll inevitably reject him in a creatively humiliating way.

Ha! I have rejected Johnny in front of the whole school! Now I score 200! Game over, cunts!

In reality, Darla is the feminist in embryo. Look at the typical feminist, and you will find one of life’s failures, who makes a big production about refusing to play the game, because she knows she can’t win. She hates men. She hates successful and beautiful women. Her goal in life is dragging everyone else down to her pathetic level, distributing her own misery far and wide, in the process.

Oh, and once Darla is 29, and finally ready to consent to walk down the aisle with someone? Even then she won’t be grateful.

During the final hours of your marriage, the predatory female reviles you over all the real or imaginary affronts she has held you accountable for over the years. You will be chastised for even the most insignificant or questionable slights, some you can’t remember, dating back prior to the wedding. She may exhibit genuine hatred as she berates you for what she has “had to put up with.” The predatory female works hard to preserve all these self-defined offenses and ceremoniously dumps them on you as the marriage collapses.

Shannon, L. The Predatory Female (Reno: Banner, 1985): p. 101

We’ve all seen that meme, haven’t we? That disgusting friend-of-a-friend BBW rhino posts it all the time, over on facebook. It usually features a photograph of Marylin Monroe (who, despite all her other flaws, was not fat, and was not a feminist), and reads something like:

If you can’t handle me at my worst, you don’t deserve me at my best!

The disconnect comes when you meet one of the disgusting wimminz who actually pushes this delusional meme. Should you be silly enough to attempt to have a relationship with such a wimminz, you shall rapidly realize that there is no “her” at her “best.” There is only a long downhill slide into ever more loathsome behavior. During this interval, the “best” will be promised, and referred to, and held out as a mythical reward, to appear at some future date; but, it will remain on the horizon.

Recreational drugs of all sorts –including alcohol– often involve intense feelings of pleasure and euphoria at first use. In the specific case of alcohol, inhibitions are lowered, and ordinarily shy and timid characters find themselves freed up to be more outgoing. With repeated use, the neurological machinery of the human brain downregulates for transmission. Neurotransmitters which signal pleasure, like dopamine, monoamine oxidase, and serotonin, may be manufactured in smaller quantities. The receptors to which they bind may begin also dying off. The human brain is malleable, and it resists modification.

The result is simple. The same wimminz who once consumed a glass of wine, to reach a novelty level of 1, will soon need a bottle of wine to reach that level. Shortly after this, she’ll need a bottle of liquor, merely to reach 0.5. The same sober wimminz, who originally sat at a 0 during her unenhanced hours, will come to have a novelty level of -2. At this point, she’ll be a regular boozer, and the pig will consume copious quantities of alcohol merely to feel “normal.”

The analogy I’m using here is alcohol, because alcoholism among wimminz is at historic levels; but, nearly any repetitive behavior will substitute. The epidemic of wimminz who are morbidly obese is another example. Eating food is necessary to human survival, and a good meal will entail the release of some of these neurotransmitters. It’s easy to see why this was adaptively advantageous in our early history as a species. Nature endowed us with a chemical reward, in order to encourage us to eat when we could. Now that society has ensured food to be on offer, the porkers just will not stop eating, often dying from obesity-related causes, after a lifetime of gluttony.

Another example is a side-effect of male technical competence. The last ten years has seen facebook become almost universally popular. Facebook has devolved from its original purpose: an online directory, containing a couple of photos and the contact information of its subscribers, into an arena with the specific telos of turning the average wimminz into a pathetic attention-whore. If you have a facebook account (and I did, until quite recently) take a look at the behavior of wimminz. Chances are excellent that even your own mother and sister are using facebook to garner the attention of strange men.

The commodity on facebook is male attention. Men give this commodity to facebook, for free, where it is repackaged and sold to wimminz. Facebook benefits monetarily by providing these wimminz as potential customers to large corporations. Everyone gets a cut, except the men who are exploited.

Getting back to the point, who wants a wimminz? Specifically, who wants a wimminz at her worst? At her worst she’ll fuck other men, get so drunk that she vomits in public, get arrested for shoplifting, and get fired from her job. You, as her “handler” will be expected to tolerate and foot the bill for all this.

Moreover, she’ll never, ever look like Marilyn Monroe.

Reports are in that AfOR (the author of wimminz) has passed away, after a brief battle with heart problems.

My teacher, my brother, my friend. Rest in peace…

Boxer

An anonymous commenter recently sent me a video. I’ll include it below; but first, I’d like to examine the nature of the simp.

I have no idea where I heard this word. I imagine it was from Hotep Twitter, or perhaps Tommy Sotomayor. I know members of both those aggregations use the term to describe the henpecked, the pussywhipped: the male auxiliary of the Society for Cutting Up Men. I don’t know its etymology. If I had to speculate, I’d say “simpleton” is a good candidate for its origin. Simps are men who refuse to accept reality, and they resist learning from their mistakes.

The psychological origin of the simp, as I see it, is twofold. Many simps idealize the female. This foolish notion, often implanted from a young age, by pop culture and a single mom, allows for such men to deny the reality of wimminz misbehavior while offloading all the consequences of same onto men.

The second origin of the simp follows naturally from the first, and is a function of his general unavailability to women. He rarely sees women in their natural state, because women don’t find him attractive, and he doesn’t have many dates (and often, doesn’t have much sexual intercourse, either). Idealization springs naturally out of ignorance.

The end result is all around us: men who think they are “incomplete” if they’re not being exploited and used by a filthy wimminz. This is a fair example.

Lyrics:

Bright Lights, Fancy Restaurants
Everything in this world that a man could want
I got a bank account bigger than the law should allow
Still I’m lonely now
Pretty Faces from the covers of a magazine
From their covers to my covers want to lay with me
Fame and Fortune still can’t find, just a grown man runnin’ out of time

Even though it seems I have everything
I don’t want to be a lonely fool
All of the women, all the expensive cars, all the money don’t amount to you
So I can make believe I have everything, but I can’t pretend that I don’t see
That without you girl my life is incomplete
Without you girl my life is incomplete

Listen
Your perfume, your sexy lingerie
Girl I remember it just like it was on yesterday
A Thursday you told me you had fallen in love, I wasn’t sure that I was
It’s been a year Winter, Summer, Spring and Fall
But being without you just ain’t livin’ ain’t livin’at all
If I could travel back in time, I’d relive the days you were mine

Even though it seems I have everything
I don’t want to be a lonely fool
All of the women, all the expensive cars, all of the money don’t amount to you
I can make believe I have everything, but I can’t pretend that I don’t see
That without you girl my life is incomplete
That without you girl

I just can’t help lovin’ you
But I loved you much too late
I’d give anything and everything to hear you say, that you’ll stay

Even though it seems I have everything
I don’t want to be a lonely fool
All of the women, all of the expensive cars, all of the money don’t amount to you
(you can have it all) I can make believe I have everything,
but I can’t pretend that I don’t see (Just give me my baby)
That without you girl my life is incomplete

Even though it seems I have everything
I don’t want to be a lonely fool
All of the women, all the expensive cars, all the money don’t amount to you
So I can make believe I have everything, but I can’t pretend that I don’t see
That without you girl my life is incomplete
Without you girl
Without you girl
Without you girl you girl my life is incomplete
Without you girl you girl my life is incomplete
Oh yeah
My life is incomplete
Oh yeah, yeah