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

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.