Over on Dalrock, Gary Eden comments about Dr. Jordan Peterson:

But I’m not as sure about his proscriptions and would like to hear a thoughtful critique of him from you. As you hint, his core message isn’t different than what we criticism of others (man up, marry the sluts, and load yourself up with burdens for societies sake); he just delivers it with love and promise of respect.

Men who want to critique Peterson are men I find commenting on blogs like Dalrock. Not to be rude to this guy, but I am pretty sure he has close to zero contact with young teenage and twenty-something men.

Gen X and older men who have developed psychic lives, careers, homes and families don’t need Peterson’s message, and they inevitably find his points dull, repetitive, superfluous and tedious. This is sad, because we have become the “boomer” generation to these young brothers, coming up now. Everything the boomers did to us? We’re doing it to them. We enjoyed relatively good and peaceful times, and passed the bill down to these kids. They resent us for it, and they should. I’m surprised we have yet to be rounded up and bulldozed, alive, into mass graves, for our crimes against them. Thank heavens for their apathy.

My day job entails daily interaction with exactly those children who are receptive to Peterson’s message — which is not a coincidence, since I do the same general day job that Peterson does. The situation for most of these young brothers is far, far worse than anything these hipster faggots can imagine. Most of these young men have been raised in broken homes, by single mothers. Many were subject to physical and sexual abuse, at various times, in their childhoods. Most have no chance to marry and form a stable family, because the women their age are such untrustworthy skanks.

So, if you’re a married family man, with two cars and a wife, then of course you want to pick apart Peterson’s message. You’re the same type of dolt who will occasionally show up here and make fun of me. I care as much as Dr. Peterson does, about your opinion, to be sure.

Jordan Peterson isn’t writing or speaking to Gary Eden, on Dalrock. He’s speaking to the 20-year old who lives in his mom’s basement, who eats microwaveable snacks for meals, who is addicted to internet pornography and video games. Dr. Peterson’s message is helping these young brothers quit being faggots, and inspiring them to get up, make their beds, and go out into the world and enjoy life. These are the same young men who will someday treat Gary Eden’s broken hip, and pay his pension. Thank them later, you entitled cunts.

On St. Valentine’s Day of this year, Nikolas Cruz allegedly murdered seventeen people at his high school. CNN gives an interesting bio of Cruz, who was adopted as a baby. Death took his adopted father in 2004, leaving him in the care of a single mother, Lynda Cruz.

It should be noted that Lynda is not a skank-ho single-mom divorcée. By all accounts she did her very best to raise Nikolas as well as she could. Even so, like so many other young men in this troubled society, Nikolas was left without a stable masculine role-model. This would be a tragedy in any age, but in our era, where the Boy Scouts are welcoming faggots to lead trannies and girls, fatherless young men have no healthy alternatives. Lynda herself died some months ago, which may have been a factor in the spree-killing; but, it is not the only possible contributor.

A woman named Emma González admitted that she and her peers “bullied” and “ostracized” Cruz, from a young age. This is not surprising (kids are assholes? you don’t say…) and the only real news in the story is that a woman is the one who is admitting that she behaved badly. It also leads us to a reasonable conclusion. Nikolas, the fatherless boy who was bullied growing up, was likely an incel.

If was Nikolas an incel, why? Only the young skank-hoez in training at his school know for certain. Women generally ignore the shy and studious kids in favor of chasing thugs, nazi skinheads, and druggies. Which makes the following story so illuminating.

South Florida’s Sun Sentinel newspaper is reporting that there has been a sudden boost in young Nikolas’ status. He is no longer the loner that everyone pushed around. Now he is a mass-murderer. Wimminz far and near have re-evaluated his status, and found that he would suddenly make an excellent husband and father of their children.

A teenager wrote on March 15: “I’m 18-years-old. I’m a senior in high school. When I saw your picture on the television, something attracted me to you.”

The letter was mailed from Texas and tucked inside an envelope covered with hand-drawn hearts and happy faces. “Your eyes are beautiful and the freckles on your face make you so handsome.” She goes on to describe herself as white with big, brown eyes. “I’m really skinny and have 34C sized breasts.” She ends the letter with three preschool-rated jokes about gummy bears and peanut butter.

Much more here.

The Nikolas Cruz case raises a general question: why do wimminz choose to mate with scum, while ignoring decent men?

I have told a story that bears repeating here. Years ago, a black dude was hired to teach a class at the college I was working at. Given that I like black chicks, and given that said black dude and I started casually socializing, I figured I would take him to one of the few places in my mostly-white town where he could get some play.

The same black skanks who had fucked and sucked me in every possible position, only days and weeks before, had absolutely no interest in my pal. The reason wasn’t due to race. It was because my pal had too much dignity to play the scumbag to get with any of the gash I had enjoyed. It was surreal to watch these skanks. The minute he opened his mouth, these filthy wimminz’ eyes glazed over, they mumbled excuses, and made a beeline for the other end of the club.

The wimminz liked ya’ boy Boxer, because Boxer was willing to play the thug. They had zero interest in a newly minted Ph.D., who just landed a job as a professor of statistics. That guy had far too much dignity to playact in my fashion.

If you ask a wimminz about this, they will spin some romantic yarn about “redemption.” Every wimminz likes to think that the power of her magic vagina can change a trashy, violent man into a good citizen. This is pure ego defense.

I believe that wimminz choose trashy and violent men, and reject decent brothers, for a more simple and straightforward reason. Like attracts like. Wimminz know that they are weak and scummy creatures. Therefore they must find someone who they can look down upon. A decent, strong, courageous man would never fit the bill. A spree-shooter who is in prison, now that’s more like the type any wimminz wants. Unlike nearly every other man, Nikolas Cruz has proven himself weaker and more pathetic than the average wimminz, and thus the wimminz can feel superior to the object of her interest, without ever having to work on improving herself.

Game gurus will handwave this away by saying that wimminz are attracted to risk-takers generally. This is obviously untrue. In fact, the opposite is more often the case. Talk to the average elite soldier in the Special Forces sometime. No one takes more risks than they do, with all their slack-rappel moves out of helicopters, airborne training, and deployment to the hottest combat zones. Whenever I have met one of these men, I rapidly find that if the soldier was fool enough to have ever married, he will already be divorced, and will usually have a horrible story, involving his skank-ho wife fucking a drug dealer, while he was off doing his duty in some dangerous war-ravaged hellhole.

It seems counterintuitive that wimminz would be attracted to men who are ex-convicts, who are registered sex offenders, who are nazi skinheads or street-gang members; but, this is the reality on the ground today. We live in a world where Nikolas Cruz gets more female attention than he can handle, and all of society’s builders and thinkers are generally ignored.

Wimminz. You can’t live with them.

I have a new, hate-filled, misogynist post ready to go; but, I’m going to hold off out of respect for Mary Magdalene (and the other Mary).

In the end of the sabbath, as it began to dawn toward the first day of the week, came Mary Magdalene and the other Mary to see the sepulchre.

And, behold, there was a great earthquake: for the angel of the Lord descended from heaven, and came and rolled back the stone from the door, and sat upon it.

His countenance was like lightning, and his raiment white as snow:

And for fear of him the keepers did shake, and became as dead men.

And the angel answered and said unto the women, Fear not ye: for I know that ye seek Jesus, which was crucified.

He is not here: for he is risen…

(Matthew 28)

Granted, I take it as myth and not history, but I think it’s telling that two solid sisters (women, not skank-ho wimminz) were the first to welcome the hero back to take command of the world.

Happy Holiday to all my Christian brothers. Come on back on Monday, and we’ll see what shit I can come up with.

Those of us who aren’t completely autistic come to realize the benefits of the golden mean. This is a peripatetic term which describes the sensibility and desirability of avoiding extremes.

Down below in the comments, Derek attempts to insult me by noting that:

“Men concern themselves with the future”, says the man who won’t be marriageable material, marry the right type of women, and have children. I suppose you can take the Darwinian approach that those who don’t reproduce are ultimately doing everyone a favor by removing themselves from the gene pool.

If I wanted to be even more of an asshole than I already am, I could become extreme. I could, for example, condemn all the married men I encounter. I could also start gaming and fucking their wives. I could post long hamster-wheel rationalizations about what I was doing was normal and healthy, and I’d probably poach quite a few fans from people like Roosh V and Heartiste in the process.

Of course, I could also veer off to the other extreme, and marry some woman. In the spatiotemporal location where this marriage is to occur, that marriage would entail becoming that woman’s servant. I would have to come when she calls, sit when she commands, and shell out the cash for whatever frivolity she orders up, from one moment to the next. I could construct an elaborate ego-defense, in order to justify all this, by pretending to be the only real man in the world, and condemning every other man for not showing females enough respect. If I were successful enough in that regard, Dalrock would end up mocking some of my essays on his blog, as he does with similar cretins.

Rather than following either of these extreme paths, I have chosen to adopt a certain set of ethical standards for myself. I do not expect anyone else to follow these standards, as they’re entirely self contained. This is in line with my general interpretation of MGTOW, given that my “way” is mine alone, and it isn’t necessarily going to be the way of anyone else. There is also a political precedent. During the cold war, the anti-Soviet communist revolutionary Josep Broz Tito formed the Non-Aligned movement. Like individuals, societies also want to forge their own paths, rather than obeying the orders of foreign ideologues.

Brother Derek can imply that I don’t think of the future when I make the conscious decision not to replicate my genes. In fact, like many of his other contentions, the opposite is true. In the first place, I have tons of genetic relatives, and “my” genes will be shared well into the future. In fact, my genes will likely outlive most of y’all’s, simply because my ethnic group is much more successful than the mean in North America, in encouraging reproduction.

In the second place, Derek is buying into the masculine mystique promoted by people like Roosh and Heartiste, who will tell you that men can cat around almost indefinitely, without ever damaging their own psychological states. Such people are liars, and I have argued this extensively, for years. Being promiscuous may produce a different sort of damage in the male psyche than in the female one, but the damage is done. I usually answer people like Derek with a challenge to introduce me to his sister or daughter, and perhaps I’ll marry that woman. The reality is that men like me would make very lousy husbands. Within a year, I’ll be fucking my wife’s friends and colleagues. Within five years, I’ll be divorced, and unlike most of the poor saps I talk to on Dalrock, I’ll deserve my run through the family courts.

I am, in fact, thinking of the future, when I consciously refuse to become the unfaithful husband of a decent woman. I am thinking of the future when I refuse to sire a divorce-bastard by such a woman. I am thinking of the future when I refuse to give one of the unmarriagable sluts I slum around with the baby that she’d love to have. I don’t want any of my offspring tortured or killed by such a woman.

I like to have sex, and I’m currently in a world where sluts and playas are encouraged. What I do is minimize my risk of catching a communicable disease, minimize my risk of a false-accusation of misconduct, and minimize the possibility of a pregnancy occurring. I do this in a number of different ways. For example, I let google and apple log my location. I (as smoothly as possible) document a memorandum-of-understanding before sex, and an acknowledgement of consensual and fun behavior after. I don’t fuck married women. I don’t fuck anyone I work with or have social or professional authority over.

There is another variation of third positionality, and that would be the one adopted by Earl. Earl doesn’t seem to be interested in discussing it in detail, but guys like him offer a young brother another valid alternative to slavery or PUAdom. I’ve often wondered if he’d object to me collecting some of his comments and writing a post of them in his honor. Time will tell.

Wimminz have many delusions, as a combined result of social engineering and biological inclinations. One of the more profound delusions they have is that they are the choosers, and you, if you’re lucky, will be grateful for being chosen. You will remain grateful for as long as any one wimminz uses you as her own personal sex toy, and you will not whine or complain when she replaces you with Chad, Brad or Madeline, as the whim might strike her at any moment.

One of the many laughable unintended consequences of feminism is guys like us, who do not whine or beg like dogs to be chosen. Counterintuitively, this makes us more attractive to peanut-brained wimminz who see us as stronger of mind and body than the average simp they are used to. Unfortunately for them, our indifference is usually genuine, and catalyzed by a will to conquer even when they think they have us on the ropes.

Rejecting a wimminz usually leads to some amusing reactions, such as the one above. As the feminists are constantly telling us, the world is full of gender-based double standards, and the female inability to exit with grace and dignity is one. The bitch above is bitching, despite the fact that I’m essentially doing her a favor, being honest with her, not ghosting, and freeing her up to find someone better than ya boy Boxer. Such ingratitude! Such is the norm.

As y’all know, y’r friend and humble narrator has been notoriously unconcerned with his gaff of late. Squatters have started to move in. I care not. Our brother, and fellow autiste, Jason, has the beginnings of a fantastic blog. He’s a better man than I, and a better writer too… Posting proof so as to support my contention…

California is a vanishing dream, a hot mirage on the freeways, back dropped by golden hills and a hot brassy-blue sky. It’s my adopted home. Sooner than later, I will have spent more of my life living in California than that of my native New York State. I will shortly be able to call myself a “Californian”.

It’s not a bad a place to live but I see a slow lumbering beast crawling back to its cave to die, and its death will be slow and painful. I don’t pine or pray for this, but I see it as inevitable. Sometime, somewhere as the fires of the late 1990’s died down I came to the conclusion that in California (if not the rest of the nation) that we were at that point when the “red light” comes on in the pilots’ cockpit of a plane. The light means that “you don’t have enough fuel to make it back to your original destination; for better or worse the flight must press on to its destination…” Which is Airstrip One.

Read more here.

The furniture business is a racket full of shady underdealings, always approved credit, employees paid in cash, and probably a front for some other shady dealings (snuff films, meth running or some sort of money laundering).

Kind of like the men who sell, talk about and preach “Game”. It’s never too late for you! You will be approved! You just have to learn and apply! Come on in and we’ll tell you what you need to hear! Our customers approve! Testimonies! Step right up! We’ll talk down to you. Shame you……and then proverbily slap you because you came back asking for more information or help. The ironic thing is that there is a huge market for this, and it doesn’t seem to be letting up. Like that furniture store……..no returns, no exchanges. They don’t remember you if you happen to come back.

Much more here.

So, wordpress is only forwarding about half the e-mail messages which get sent to me, to the e-mail address I provided as a destination. I have no idea why this is so.

If you have recently contributed a guest article or a meme, and it didn’t show up, please feel free to resubmit directly.

v5k2c2@androsphere.net

[Editor: previously to box210 at protonmail dot com]

Apologies in advance for the inconvenience. I have no idea what is going on, but future communications ought to always go directly to the address above.

Part of the fun of online dating is trolling outspoken feminists, be they progressive or conservative. Dolores here was especially funny. Her profile and photos suggested she was on the young side (22-23). She’s a student, majoring in, of all things, wimminz studies.

“Just looking for friends” says Dolores, as she flashed everything but the nips on PoF. I found that funny enough to text the number she gave me.

Dolores “would love to be mine.” For those of you older, chaste, Christian brothers, what Dolores is saying in the above message is that she wants to have sex. At this point I imagined that this was straight up prostitution, and ignored her for a few hours. In that span, she convinced me that she lived alone, on the other side of town, and that she could “be mine” without a straightforward monetary exchange, but that she would like to meet me at a restaurant first, the next morning.

I guess the old saying about feminism ending when the bill comes has some truth to it. I respond directly, in this message, by telling her that a 15 dollar pancake special breakfast, at the end of a half-hour commute, is too high a price to pay for Dolores’ cunt. Despite her age, her pics give her a hard look, and I’m sure there’s about ten years of wear-and-tear on that thing.

Needless to say, Dolores didn’t text back after this, so I moved on to Tinder, where the pickings are always entertaining…

I know lots of you brothers would like a shot of this prize-catch of a himminz. Zhir’s waiting for you.

And what the fuck do you think you’re doing here, you stupid bitch?

It’s one thing to have no pride in yourself, but another to embarrass your husband, kid and dog. Could someone please call this poor sucker and tell him what his wife is up to? Thanks in advance.

About a year ago, I published a piece encouraging the young brothers to “always be closing.” It’s good to revisit certain concepts from time to time.

The notion of keeping one’s options open is counterintuitive to men, who find success in most areas of life by naming a goal, and working relentlessly for that goal. Sociobiology has engineered women to exploit male qualities, and this one has an inherent weakness. Men who go all-in for one single woman are at a competitive disadvantage, as women generally have more options than men.

In short, the game is rigged. In the game of sex, whoever cares most, loses.

Patriarchy re-balanced the scales with social sanction for sluts and playas, but patriarchy is gone. If you like having sex (I do) then you must learn the rules, as your feral mistresses have set them. The rules dictate that if you want to be successful, then you should always be closing. As it happens, I have an example, which occurred less than 24 hours ago.

I knew Dana (not her real name, of course) was a flake when I first sexed her, but she hadn’t flaked on me until yesterday. Let’s check out her work…

We had made these plans several days ago. Every day, Dana would send me a “good morning” text, telling me she was excited to meet me yesterday. Wouldn’t you know it… less than an hour before our rendezvous, she decided to make some excuses and cancel.

As I said in my original article, my standard practice is a one-word answer. Dana is probably used to desperate guys who beg to reschedule. I don’t do that. I merely move on to the next girl in line. We’ll call her Marie.

I had earlier told Marie that I had some vague shit to do yesterday. Once I got Dana’s cancellation, I told Marie I was free. I was out with a woman at 2 pm, and it wasn’t Dana.

Marie is not only cuter and nicer than Dana, she also drove across town, picked me up, took me on a hike at her favorite local park, and later she bought me dinner at a great little Chinese place she knew. This was all before I took her back to my place.

Oh, and Dana?

“Dana” might be telling the truth. She might have made her excuse up so that she could get horizontal with some other sucker. I don’t care either way. When it happens to you, it will make no difference. Your time is valuable, and you should always have backup plans when the primary ghosts out. In this case, Marie was younger, hotter, tighter and (most importantly) more compliant than Dana.

What is also guaranteed is that it will be a matter of weeks before Marie pulls some shit like this herself. On that day, the next girl in line will take her place. Rinse and repeat.

Today, Dana didn’t send me a good morning text. I don’t miss her. You shouldn’t miss your Danas either.

Always be closing.

Sorge is either a Heideggerian or presocratic term, depending upon whether you love or hate Heidegger. (And there are only two ways to feel about that particular thinker.) Either way, sorge implies a general love for the world, a concern for society, or a similar general care. I think wimminz’ bad choices are indicative of a lack of it in the general female population.

Down below, Caspar writes:

Black Pill’s articles are almost always solid, so I have to hope that he’ll follow up his Space-Travel as Ghosting piece by expounding on these sentiments. Either way, he has so far missed his chance to talk about wimminz as they have historically existed: as the primary ecological pillagers. This facet of wimminz (mis)behavior transcends race, temporality or culture.

It is not that wimminz are uncaring. It is that they are actively engaging in sabotage of the environment, seemingly for its own sake.

It is not merely their tendency to overpopulate the immediate area (with devastating results), but also their infantile obsession with disposable consumer goods, and their wasteful refusal of monogamy. All of these female traits became apparent in the late 19th century, and became dominant cultural aspects in the 20th.

Sheppard’s work is really quite good, and you guys ought to give the first release a look. The paperback is difficult to find, but the kindle version is easily accessible and cheap.

All About Women: What Big Sister Doesn’t Want You to Know