Glenn Stanton’s Gospel of Wimminz Supremacy

Glenn Stanton is the director of “family formation studies” at Focus On The Family, a powerful nonprofit that has raised about half a billion dollars in the last five years. He is also the author of numerous books, including Loving My LGBT Neighbor (2014), and the director/producer of a feature film. As such, he joins other Christian hucksters like Joel Osteen and Mark Driscoll who have made fabulous wealth by fleecing the flock, peddling a duplicitous feminist message all the while.

Stanton’s latest article “Why Man and Woman Are Not Equal” is a fair example of his work.

American Dad: The Blog

No, this isn’t related to the ridiculous television program of the same name. This is the work of a true cultural subversive, spreading the countersocial meme that (gasp) fathers are necessary, and ought to be respected.

From the about page:

In the interest of egalitarianism, the philosophies of the past 100 years have created a disordered, chaotic dystopia. This site represents one of many lines of effort to fight back the decline.

Visit this example of hateful cisgender-patriarchy here.

Pope Francis Brings the Pain

Pope Francis dared to say something sensible: namely that children don’t need to be exposed to a bunch of weird tranny theatrics while they’re learning to read and count. Once he made realtalk safe, a gaggle of pediatricians timidly supported him.

Naturally, the degenerates are outraged. As we all know, they enjoy being outraged, so we may as well speak freely, and let the chips fall where they may.

While the internet has allowed for the existence of new social pathways, evidence mounts that it has also inflated the potential for dysfunction. Studies and popular articles suggest marked differences in the behavior of human subjects online, compared to behavior in traditional social interaction.

We’ve all probably known someone like Tamerlame, a self-described “manosphere content creator”. I’ll put up a link to his work (it’s objectively pretty good from a technical standpoint) if he gives me permission. I doubt he will, because he seems to be very upset at me presently.

Tamerlame is a regular commenter on Omega Virgin Revolt. Also known as Black Pill, the site’s content regularly criticizes both mainstream narratives and manosphere alternatives. As such, it provides a useful service to free-thinkers and is a bulwark against the sorts of echo chambers I enjoy scoffing at. Tamerlame seemed to become enamored with Brother Boxer after y’r humble narrator was featured on Black Pill, about a year ago.

I always try to be gracious and I enjoy talking to new people, so I gave Tamerlame my email address. He subsequently added me to a google plus group, and sent me regular (fawning) emails, inviting me to facetime with him (both personally, and as part of a larger group of manosphere critics). I always declined these invitations politely. It is flattering, of course, to be held in high esteem by strangers, but I didn’t know what sort of commitment these people wanted, and my time is valuable.

Fast forward to the present day. Brother Boxer decided to pop into Black Pill and leave a comment.

While Freud does not appear to be mentioned in Black Pill’s rules, quoting Uncle Sig is apparently against Tamerlame’s rules of internet association.

This is incredibly odd behavior, and it didn’t stop there.

I did pen a quick response to Tamerlame, which was unusually rude, but necessary.

One can read the rest of these exchanges here and here. The original articles are worth reading also.

In the context of an online interaction, what does such behavior suggest? I would argue that not only is Tamerlame a lonely person, but he also fears loneliness. Despite never having met Brother Boxer, he feels betrayed when the object of his affections disagrees with him online. Despite never having spoken to Boxer, he feels that Boxer is a trusted friend who has abandoned him.

The fear of being abandoned by a friend is a reasonable fear, rooted in the childhood fear of abandonment; but, it’s only reasonable when it corresponds to the reality of the definition.

People tend to have very few friends, and the people who qualify as friends are the same people that one interacts with, on the regular, face to face. This is the first thing that Tamerlame ought to absorb.

No one that I meet online is my friend. At best, they’re people to bounce ideas off of. My friends appear in my everyday life, physically. They’re the people who have helped me move house. They’re the people I go to dinner with. They’re folks who are welcome to personally stop by my humble abode, all unannounced, at two a.m..

That’s rough, but that’s reality.

The internet isn’t a place for friends. It’s a place for ideas. The internet is a place where people argue. You’re supposed to argue with people on the internet. If you’re doing it right, the people with whom you argue are teaching you something.

If you feel slighted because some stranger disagreed with you on the internet, then your energies are being massively misplaced. That’s another ugly truth. Thank me later, Tamerlame.

So what can we do to help folks like this? It’s difficult, but resources are available. Fortunately, a discussion of loneliness, and the fear of it, is extant in Sigmund Freud’s work. Tamerlame, and those like him, will be helped by a more thorough study of the topic, but the master is always a good place to start.

In his lectures on anxiety, 1916-1917, [in Introductory Lectures on Psychoanalysis (London: WW Norton, 1989)] we meet a little boy who is consumed with night terrors. He is afraid of the dark “except when [his] auntie speaks to [him]” … The subject went on to explain that when his auntie spoke, the room “got lighter” (398.)

The Dr. extrapolates this fear of loneliness to reliving of the trauma of separation from the original object of affection: the mother. People with such mother issues often never get over this existential terror. This is recast in adult life as the angst, related to what Heidegger called being-toward-death, and what Sartre called Nausea. It is the knowledge that one is individuated, which carries the seed of the knowledge that one’s time on earth is finite.

Ironically, this sort of anxiety leads a well-grounded person toward meaningful change and independence. At the same time, it tends to lead a man with (what we might call) mother issues toward an increased fear of abandonment and loneliness. Such a person enters into a neurotic state, feeling terrified of any form of abandonment, and never seeing himself as a separate, unique, worthwhile person.

Liran Razinsky [in Freud, Psychoanalysis and Death (New York: Cambridge, 2013)] explains:

“As anxiety proceeds, realistic anxiety falls out of view, becomes negligible, neuroticized… and its essence is deemed a repetition of an earlier form of anxiety. Finally, it loses its realistic aspect, its primacy in face of the situation (it is not a “natural response”) and becomes, in the discussion, completely neurotic” (106.)

The internet, useful for most things, is not really a sufficient substitute for healthy social interaction. People tend to become much more emotional online, and as such, the social bonds (if they even exist) that are formed there are much more fragile. Moreover, as the online world provides a simulacrum of social interaction, the people who tend to spend the most time online are the least socially adept, which creates a strange sort of infinite feedback loop

So what can a man like Tamerlame do to change his situation? The first (and perhaps most obvious) answer is to turn off the computer and reconnect with the actual world. Every community college in America provides free (or nearly free) courses in all manner of interesting disciplines, through which a fella can meet other people. Taking ballroom dancing or public speaking will ground a man in more a more healthy social praxis; but, really, anything in meatspace is good.

The fear of loneliness is a natural fear that is usually overcome in childhood, though it is often conquered later. Once one accepts himself, being alone is no longer frightening. Brother Boxer has been alone most of the day. Tonight, he will go out and eat dinner at a restaurant, probably with a friend, but maybe not. If he wants, he will have sex with someone. He will surely go back home, to his sanctuary on the fourth floor, where he will end the day in peace, without a nagging woman to bother him. There is nothing frightening about this. A man’s life as a bachelor is the most wonderful life (and I’ve had live-in girlfriends before, and have many married friends, and I know whereof I speak.) It’s the life I wish for all my brothers, online or off, whether or not they agree with me about 20th century psychoanalysis.

Brother Boxer occasionally gets into a worthwhile exchange elsewhere that deserves its own thread in my ‘hood. Such a thing happened recently here.

boydoesntmeetgirl writes:

Here’s the deal: having more teeth, better hygiene and no criminal record means that you meet certain standards that those smelly thugs in bars don’t; these standards are probably really important when it comes to certain things like getting a job, but not when it comes to women. That stuff is completely irrelevant when it comes to attracting women.

If I disagree with this brother, it’s only in his conservative estimate. Not only is he pushing in the right direction (with respect to who women are attracted to) but he doesn’t go far enough. Not only is hygiene, dentistry and a productive life irrelevant to women… I believe it often makes a man less attractive. My evidence for this is admittedly anecdotal, but here it is anyway…

I have a long-time friend I’ll call Bob. Bob was a black dude in a nearly all-white town, who accepted a position with my employer. As Bob was unmarried and at about my own level in our shared profession, we rapidly started socializing after hours.

At one point, I suggested that Bob should go out with me to run ho’s. He was down, so we went to a local place where I assumed he’d be well received the following weekend. The town’s few black single women were always in attendance, as were white women who I knew to be down with dating black dudes.

The most interesting thing happened when he approached these sluts. They liked him, until he started speaking to them. Once they realized that Bob was not a thug, they had no more use for him. He became invisible within an hour.

Brother Boxer is, beneath the facade, a white trash piece of shit, who can play the part of the thug, but Bob had too much dignity.

Seeing this farce play out was a great epiphany. I realized at that moment that women do not really want a strong or successful man. The thugs they regularly go home with, who wear pants four sizes too big, who need dental work, and who are perpetually unemployed: these men aren’t attractive for their strengths (as most of the people in the manosphere will assert) but for their weakness.

Women don’t want a man who is in good physical shape, has a good education and a good income. They don’t want an articulate man who is in control of his emotions and who knows how to mix with the higher stratum. They don’t want an alpha male.

Women want a weak man, who they can control and manipulate.

Here’s the only way to know who has that “key” and who doesn’t: history and trajectory. If you have some guy who has a long history of no luck with women, and you don’t see anything changing, even slowly, then he doesn’t have that key, period. When you hit certain age milestones, like 25, 30, 40, etc. and you haven’t hit certain sexual milestones, the writing on the wall cannot be clearer. Some may think that you can play catch-up, but you can’t really. No 5-step plan is going to undo what you have become.

I know as I get older, I have progressively less tolerance for women’s shit. When I was a teenager, I would take any amount of nonsense off a ho’ just to get them drawers. Part of it is surely hormonal (once you hit 30, you aren’t quite as hot) but a part of it is surely being jaded. I’ve seen all sorts of women, and no matter how promising they’ve appeared at first, they eventually bore/anger/tire me to the point where I can’t stand the sight of them.

Furthermore, if a guy like that ends up “meeting someone” later in life, the odds of it turning out not to be what it seemed, blowing up in his face and cleaning him out like a fish are extremely high. “Too good to be true” is the rule in these things. Luck doesn’t turn around like that, because (bad) luck can’t explain decades of incel. By the time you get over 30, if you already had “that key”, you would have had a woman fall out of a tree and land on your dick at least once every two years on average (that’s an exaggeration but you see my point).

Maybe it’s just that you have standards?

Another fallacy that many in the manosphere promote is the idea that “women can get sex on demand.” Of course, that’s true, but then, so can men. The problem is that the sex a 30+ year old woman can get at a moment’s notice is closer to blowing a wino down at the bus station, than to a night with a hunky millionaire.

Just the same, I can get sex within 24-hours, but it will be with a skank (probably only moderately attractive) who probably has herpes. I could probably get sex within 4-hour window with a fattie.

I’m inclined to think that the main difference between my peer group and the incel crowd is that the inches refuse to stoop to slumming around with the types of women that the rest of us make do with.

The thing that everyone fails to understand is how easy it is for normal people to get sex and relationships compared to guys who, for no obvious reason, have absolutely no magnetism, attraction or hope — the “key” as we’ve been calling it. Once you realize how big the discrepancy is, you’ll know that it’s a problem you can’t fix — even if you knew what the problem was, that knowledge wouldn’t do you any good.

You want sex?
Prostitution.
That’s the end of the story.

Bro, they are all prostitutes. I’ve never had a straight pay-for-play experience, and yet, they’ve all cost me far more (in time and energy, if not money) than they were worth.

What’s more, it can be almost impossible to be rid of them.

…on Craigslist.

I guess if you’re in Plano, TX and you don’t mind the fact that your date was born a man, you can have a shot at this prize catch. Tell him that Brother Boxer sent you.

This is a very difficult day for many people in our deracinated society, where child-support  is the standard model of fatherhood. For all of y’all — fathers or sons — who feel sad, please consider me your father or son for the day (I’m at the age now where I can plausibly play both) and take comfort. May we turn our pain and anger into resolve which will allow for the total destruction of feminism.

I just met Michael Walsh here. Naturally, he didn’t approve my comment, so I’ll post it below.

I don’t know who this RuPaul faggot is, but he’s apparently a different character from Matt Walsh. It makes me start to suspect a genetic component to male-feminism.

I don’t know Sara Jensen; but, I’m glad she’s not my wife or girlfriend.

As (if?) we all need one more reason not to date single mothers, nor to get involved in a fatherly way with their bastard offspring, there arose today a(nother) cautionary tale from an anonymous “step-father,” currently viralizing on the internet. It is presented here verbatim. Any spelling/grammar mishaps are minor and probably the result of the poor sod typing away his series of confessions on his iphone. Take it away, “dad”:

My step-daughter will be getting married on November 3rd. The wedding planning has consumed most of her and her mother’s life (I say her mother because we aren’t married, though we’ve lived together for 10 years) for the past six months.

 

My step-daughter graduated last December from University. I paid for her to go to college, though it was a state school, it still ran $40K. She does not have a job and has been living with us for the duration of her college career and since her graduation. I also bought her a car to get back and forth from school when she finished high school.

 

This led to a pretty big fight with my GF, as I found out that NONE of my list of twenty “made the cut” for the final guest list because “250 people is very tight.” I was pissed, but not a hell of a lot I could do because the important people in my life had already been offended. My GF said “if some people didn’t rsvp yes, I might be able to get a couple people in.” But that is an ultimate slap in the face in my opinion. So, I was boiling on Saturday.

 

Yesterday, we had a Sunday dinner with the future in-law’s family and us and a surprise guest, the “Real Dad.” At this little dinner my step-daughter announced that her “Real Dad” was going to be able to make it to her wedding and that now he’d be able to give her away. This was greeted with a chorus of “Oh how great” and “How wonderful”s.

 

Is this selfish? I’m supposed to shell out 40 – 50 grand for a wedding that I can’t invite anyone to? That I am not a part of? I’m so done with this crap. I’m done with my step-daughter, I’m done with my GF. I transferred the money out of our joint account last night. (she has not had a job since she moved in with me) This morning I called all the vendors I had written checks to for deposits to refund my money. At present it looks like I’ll lose around 1500, for the venue, but the other vendors have been great about refunding.

 

From time to time her deadbeat father would pop into her life and she would fawn all over him. Although he has not contributed a cent to her education or paid any child support, though that is my girlfriend’s fault as c.s. was not part of the settlement, she still loves him and wants him in her life. He stays long enough to break her heart by skipping town and breaking some promise that he made her.

 

The wedding venue holds 250 people max. I gave them a list of 20 people that I wanted invited, you know, since I was paying for everything. They told me that was no problem and they’d take care of it. So I let these people know they’d be getting an invite and they should save the date. Saturday, I saw one of my friends on this list at the golf course and asked if he was coming. He told me that he wasn’t invited. He told me that he got an announcement, but not an invitation. He had it in his back seat (along with probably six months of mail) and showed it to me. Sure enough, it was just an announcement, and my name was nowhere on it. It had her dad’s name and her mom’s name and not mine.

 

I don’t think I have ever felt so angry and so disrespected. I was shaking. I took a few seconds to gather my composure, because I honestly wasn’t sure if I would cry or start throwing punches or both. Once I was sure I’d be able to speak I got up from my chair and said I’d like to make a toast. I can’t remember exactly what I said but the gist of it was this:

 

“I’d like to make a toast.” The sound of spoons against glasses ring in my ears. “It has been my great pleasure to be a part of this family for the past ten years.” Awe, how sweet. “At this point in my life I feel I owe a debt of gratitude to bride and groom, because they have opened my eyes to something very important.” Confident smiles exchanged. “They have showed me that my position in this family is not what I once thought it was” And now a glimmer of confusion and shock begins to spread on the faces in the room. “Though I once thought of myself as the patriarch or godfather of the family, commanding great respect and sought out for help in times of need, it seems instead that I hold the position of an ATM, good for a stream of money, but not much else. As I have been replaced as host, both on the invitations and in the ceremony, I am resigning my financial duties as host to my successor, Real Dad. So cheers to the happy couple and the path they have chosen.” I finished my drink. “You all can let yourselves out.”

For the sake of six children, I only hope that this blog is some sort of clickbait spew. Either way, we should remember that the world is filled with ridiculous people. The authoress is one.

Credit to Rob J over on Dalrock