No, not herpes. I mean twitter. Here’s more of the story of everyone’s favorite blushing bride, who we met last week, thanks to our favorite antifeminist social media network.

Go back and read that shit, if you didn’t get it the first time, then sit back as her own cousin flames her on facebook.

Apparently, the entitled cunt’s name is Susan. Hopefully she’s “finding herself” on her South American fucking hiking trip, right now. I’d hate to imagine the cringe of her coming to her senses and reading some of this shit in real-time.

Remember, boys: If you object to this sort of behavior, it’s because you’re a pathetic Peter Pan slacker. A “real man” would have done what it took to get her that Aruba wedding.

This weekend we met the Smith family, and we witnessed the consequences of trusting a single mother. Let’s see if we can deconstruct Jenny’s story, in order to fully grasp all the important points, from the perspective of the man in such a relationship.

Down in the comments, Jew613 brings up a most important point, which I would have missed. He writes:

The guy was made into a fool, so he wants a clean break, maybe its not the kindest decision in the world but its perfectly understandable. Plus if he is truly bipolar then he was really taken advantage of, people with that condition tend to make extreme and rash decisions. Cutting off Susie is probably just another one of those.

In the first place, I share Brother Jew’s sentiments. If you are in an untenable situation, and you find it necessary to sever ties with one or more of your children, I won’t fault you for it.

Why, Boxer? Here are a few of the factors that lead me to this conclusion:

• Tablet IV, of the ancient patriarchal Roman laws, provide for the absolute right of a father to take a child in adoption, and likewise the absolute right of a father to disinherit a child, whether adoptive or natural. This concept was called paterfamilias – and it desperately needs to be revived.
• Contemporary precedent, set by men like AfOR, who justified his own decision in detail, too many times to count.
• The present legal structure, which allows for a man’s children to be held hostage by the feminist state, at the whim of ex-wives, social workers, or faggot divorce-court judges. If your children were “yours” to begin with, none of this nonsense would be possible.
• The ease of life at present. It is currently impossible for a child to starve in any western country. If anything, children today are too well-fed, and many die early due to diabetes, heart failure, and general overeating combined with zero exercise.

There are other reasons, but these are a few.

Earl writes:

Sounds like he’s back to being the alpha male of some slut’s dreams.

Brother Earl has taken a machete to the text-jungle with this sentence. In my opinion, the climax of Jenny’s dumb tale was her reference to her husband’s affair of three years, with a woman I’ve never heard of, who we called Janice.

No doubt Janice is the “younger, hotter, tighter,” which often swoops in, all buzzard-like, to feast on the dying corpse of a collapsed marriage. If Old Joe Smith had the self-awareness to learn from his mistakes, he’d fight for his freedom, but he’s given over to one bitch already. It’s no surprise that he’s repeating all his same mistakes.

Recall that Jenny wrote, about her husband:

its a control thing… he can’t control me anymore so he is doing this…

This is nothing, if not displacement. Joe lost control the minute he walked down the aisle. It is actually Jenny, who has lost control of her slave. The punk bitch who paid her bills for the last decade is now (at least partly) free to take Janice out to dinner. This drives the bitch so crazy that she has to send unsolicited texts, pages and pages long, to strangers at 01:30 her time, bitching and moaning.

And now, for what is arguably the most important point, Sharkly writes:

…all the relatives seem to be taking sides and weighing in with the mom and child, like that does any good, after the fact. It seems that the grandparents are the only ones that sound like they’re doing the right things for the child. What a mess!

When my own mother kidnapped my sister and I, and took us, illegally, across an international border, without my father’s permission or knowledge, she did so with financial and moral support from my own father’s parents.

If you are married to a treacherous bitch, learn this lesson well. Your parents, your siblings, your aunties and uncles, will all generally side with your skank-ho wife. You will have no one in your corner.

They will do this, for no other reason than the absolute primacy that wimminz wield in the divorce courts. Your parents will want to continue to see their grandchildren, and they will stay in the good graces of your skank-ho ex-wife to do so. That is what the law requires, and that is exactly what they will do.

And now, for the postscript, which was broadcast directly to Casa Boxer, only hours ago…

Jenny’s husband came by, and she called the police on him. That much I believe. Whether the rest is true, or not, is beyond my ken. I lean toward it being a setup, if only because the RCMP is generally eager to book any suspected husband for even the slightest insult to his wife. Either way, he continues to pay the price for his goodness, love, kindness and decency.

Let this be a lesson to us all.

We will remember John McCain for a number of incredible, real-world achievements. Many people are not familiar with some of these amazing accomplishments, so in the interest of history, I’ll record a few of them here.

The first thing we’ll review is John McCain’s recklessness as a pilot, which is reported to have resulted in over 100 young men burning to death. Here’s an excerpt from Lew Rockwell…

McCain, when a Lieutenant Commander in the U.S. Navy was a Navy pilot (they call themselves aviators). July 29, 1967 while on the deck and in his plane on the carrier U.S.S. Forrestal he managed to screw up procedures (officially denied and covered up by him and the Navy and also even promoted on Wikipedia if you care to look–reason to follow). He did a smart ass punk attention getting trick by doing a “wet start” up of his jet.

When a pilot wants to be a wise ass or show off, this type of engine start creates a large startling flame and lots of surprise noise from the rear of a jet engine on start up–this was no accident. This and the large subsequent electrical surge and apparent (incorrect and against policy) weapon arming (by the pilot) caused the launching of a powerful Zuni rocket across the carrier’s deck hitting other parked planes (photo below) that were packing 1,000 high-explosive pound bombs. The subsequent massive explosions, fire and destruction went several decks below and nearly sunk this major 82,000 ton U.S. aircraft carrier.

This stunt and aftermath caused the death of 134 sailors and seriously injured (blew off arms and legs, caused blindness and burns) to another 161 sailors McCain took the ship off the battle line for extensive repairs. Any other Navy pilot causing this type of death and destruction the Navy would have raped him and he would probably still be in the brig. Why not McCain? Well, first with many powerful connections this “little infraction” was covered up by the Navy (our most politically involved/connected service by the way).

You see his grandfather was a famous FOUR STAR Navy admiral and his dad was at the time of the incident was a powerful Navy FOUR STAR admiral and McCain graduated from the Navy Academy. So the old boy Navy tradition cover his ass network went into high gear immediately; and make no mistake, it does exist and it did for him.

(Lew Rockwell)

An ordinary pilot who fucked up this hard would have spent many years in a labor camp. McCain was related to several bigshots in the bureaucracy, and corruption is his family tradition…

No worries, right? It was “a joke.”

Less than two years later, McCain destroyed another plane, ditching it in North Vietnam, where he was rescued by enemy combatants. His eagerness to cooperate with his captors earned him first-class rations and a funny nickname. Can you guess what he was called by the NVA?

(Military Corruption)

If you want to hear this traitor praise his new friends, and condemn his own comrades, you can listen in to his propaganda broadcasts, beamed worldwide thanks to Radio Moscow.

Other prisoners, who honorably refused to cooperate with the enemy, were beaten, starved and killed. Not “the songbird,” though. He was treated very well. Here is eyewitness testimony from one of his classmates at the naval academy, who became one of the other prisoners who was unfortunate enough to be incarcerated with him.

Doctors reported that John McCain actually gained weight while in the North Vietnamese prison camp.

John McCain was pardoned by President Richard M. Nixon for these capital offenses. Shortly after his disgraceful return to the U.S.A., he learned the fate of his own wife.

His wife: not Cindy, but his first wife, Carol.

The short version is that John McCain had married Carol before he was deployed to the ‘nam. When she saw him off, he said good bye to a stunningly beautiful swimsuit model. The very next winter, she suffered a horrible automobile accident. She spent over a year in rehab, while “songbird” was sucking the cocks of the North Vietnamese.

The Carol McCain that Johnboy saw on his return was disfigured, and in a wheelchair.

Like the trash-person he is, he immediately broke his most important promise, and began fucking the woman who is always put forward as Mrs. McCain: Cindy. He banged Cindy on the side for a while, and then frivolously divorced Carol, when it became convenient.

(yournewswire.com)

It is actually a matter of debate as to whether John’s divorce from Carol was final, when he wed Cindy. I can’t really condemn him for bigamy, given my own family history, but if true, this is just another example of the sort of chaos John McCain brought to everyone around him.

What sort of man was John McCain? He was a man who betrayed the enlisted boys under his command, running away like a bitch as they all burned to death in horrible agony, due to his recklessness. He then betrayed his country encouraging his captors to torture and kill more loyal prisoners, while he aided the enemy in creating propaganda. He finally betrayed the one person who ought to be more important than any of these other people, already killed and harmed: his own spouse.

There are people who have a legitimate reason to mourn this man’s death…

But I’m not among them, and you probably aren’t, either.

If we counted up all the people who died in Libya, in Iraq, in Vietnam, and in the United States, thanks to the hard work of this demon, we’d surely find that he was more destructive than Osama bin-Laden.

May the traitor be rapidly forgotten. May he remain unburied. May his grandchildren piss on his bones.

And, may his evil confederates meet the same just fate.

My daddy taught me many things, and one of his most enduring lessons was an appreciation for single-malt Scotch whiskey. Whiskey, he used to tell me, is a man’s drink. Thanks to him, I’ve never been caught in public, with a fruity concoction sporting an umbrella.

Whiskey used to be called aqua vitae: the water of life. These spirits originate with barley, a grain which was originally used to feed livestock. Human beings didn’t like it, until they figured out how to distill it. Now we love it.

Single malt refers to malting the barley, which is the process whereby the kernels are soaked until they germinate. When they are in the perfect stage of sprouting, they’re dried and killed off. The malting of the barley allows for some enzymatic changes in the seeds, which enhance the output of the distillery. Once the barley is malted and dried, the mash is made, and through natural processes, a carbohydrate-rich solution is allowed to ferment. A few months in, a filtering process is completed, and the solution is allowed to continue fermentation in casks made of Spanish Oak. Traditionally, these casks would have previously stored sherry wine.

After a minimum of three years, the casks are vented, and the solution is filtered at least one more time, before bottling. The color and flavor of Scotch is potentially complex, and Scotch aficionados rival wine-tasters for their appreciation.

If you want to embark upon the journey to an appreciation of single malt Scotch, know your definitions. There are “Scotch whiskey” varieties which are blends of single malt with Bourbon or other spirits. Johnny Walker is not single-malt, though it contains some single-malt. Suntory makes an excellent single malt whiskey which is not Scotch, but Japanese.

Beginners often enjoy Glenmorangie’s original. It’s a medium bodied Scotch, with hints of citrus and vanilla. My favorite is Oban 18, for its honey and caramel overtones. If you have expensive tastes, you can’t do better than 30-year old Macallan.

Ain’t she a looker? Here’s another pinup…

Never mind the forehead… How about the facial hair?

And now, an extra-special wedding story, which was originally posted to facebook. This may be the greatest thing I’ve read this month.

Edit: A statement from this bitch’s cousin is now online here.

Two Feminists: Meghan McCain and Her Dad John

One of the cute #TrumpTrain sluts I’m fucking sent me an emergency message, moments ago. Apparently John McCain is dead.

So, you know my opinions on the man and his life. If you’ve got any fond memories of this feminist sack of shit, feel free to post them in the comments.

Really hoping Mitt Romney will be next to contract the brain cancer…

Yesterday we got acquainted with the Smith family, which consists of my childhood pal Jenny, her husband Joseph Smith, and their daughter Susie. I say their daughter because Brother Joe legally adopted Susie, prior to her fourth birthday.

Yes! Joe married a skank-ho single mom, who had been twice divorced. Moreover, Jenny had no idea who the biological father of little Susie was, when Joe met her. She only knew that neither of her husbands had sired her baby. Joe brushed such trivialities aside, and he used his patriarchal right to make an honorable wife of this whore, and to remove the shame of bastardy from her little girl.

We can only speculate as to what motivates a man like Joe to shoulder such a responsibility. I suspect that many such men imagine that their wives will appreciate and respect their willingness to overlook these shortcomings. Such an assumption entails that their wives are self-aware enough to fully realize their own disastrous positions, based upon a lifetime full of poor personal choices. We shall shortly see that this is often a mistake.

So, how did this little experiment work out for Joe? Fast forward to the present day, several years after he met his loving bride at the altar, and we can hear it from Jenny, the lucky lady who (somehow) managed to convince this simp to marry her.

In the spring of this year, Jenny decided to divorce her husband. Her daughter, now a teenager, tried living with both dad and mom, eventually to pack up and go to grandma and grandpa’s house in Mississauga, because she can’t stand either one of these self-centered morons.

Jenny and Joseph now live in apartments, in different suburbs, and are wrangling over who gets the dining set and the patio furniture in endless court hearings.

Jenny decided to text me after midnight, a couple of days ago, and update me on all the trivial details of her life. We will thank her for giving the young brothers yet another warning about the dangers of dealing with a wimminz like her.

Jenny (12:03 AM): I’m up, are you awake?

Boxer: Yes

Jenny: Whatcha up to? Did you have a good day?

Boxer: I got some of my lectures done. Just winding down now.

Jenny: Nice.

Jenny: I’m a little upset…

Jenny (12:06 AM): Actually I’m a lot upset…

Boxer (12:16 AM): Ten full minutes of typing.

Jenny: Joe told Susie today that he is done with her and I. He told her your mom and I are done so I think its time that I move on from being your dad. She called me at 4 something and was crying… he said your mom made her choice… we are divorced… so you and I are done. You’re not a Smith… you’re not my blood… so I am and moving on from being your dad. Susie told him… I have been your daughter since I was a little girl… your saying you don’t want me… he told her… I have to move on with my life I am done. You’re a good girl but I’m not biological your dad. So… I do not want to be your dad anymore. It has been devastating to her… she has cried… Joe’s brother and sister in law actually called me and said how they can’t believe he has said this. She will always be their family! They said Joe isn’t taking his medication and is spiraling out of control. Her Uncle told Susie she has been family since she was 4! To not listen to him. It’s been an awful day. I can say I actually hate him.

Jenny: This is a nightmare

Jenny: I have cried nearly all day. At 4 this afternoon I left work… I cannot believe he can be so cold. His mother who loved and adored her would be devastated by this. She left Susie with her jewelry… her bible… I can’t believe he just did this to her.

Boxer: So, tell me, what would you like him to do?

Jenny: He is an ass

Jenny: He adopted her… he told her I am no longe married to your mom… so I am done. The Smith family is so mad at him. It’s a mess.

Jenny: Her uncle Jimmy went to Mississauga and told her you are and will always be family.

Boxer: So, tell me, what would you like him to do?

Jenny: I will say this has been a nightmare

Jenny: Honestly, I am done and divorced from him. I’m so glad the Smith family has rallied beside her. It just breaks my heart how he treated her. Jimmy said its a control thing… he can’t control you anymore so he is doing this through her. We love her and please know we love her.

Boxer: You still didn’t answer my simple question.

Jenny:I would love for him and her to have the dad and daughter relationship… she always tried to please him and make him proud. I feel so bad for her. She is a good girl.

Boxer: Is there anything in it for him? I mean, he raised her from a baby, and has been dumped, and probably feels like a chump. I must say I feel sorry for him.

Jenny: Seriously… even his own family don’t feel sorry for him. I was treated like a servant.

Boxer: Well, I don’t know the whole story. All I know is what I hear. I’m glad I’m not him. It seems like he has been used and disrespected and thrown away. She is grown now and doesn’t need him any more anyway.

Jenny: His Uncle Demetrio is coming to Mississauga to see Susie she is devastated by all this. I found out for 3 years he had an affair with Janice.

Jenny: She was crying… it was so sad… she loves him so.

Jenny: His mom left Susie all her jewelry and her bible in her will.

Jenny: My sister in law called me and is so mad at Joe. Apparently he hasn’t taken his bipolar meds since I left… he is drinking… he lost his job in CP… he is a mess.

Jenny: It’s a horrible day. Susie is a trouper… she said I am going to Toronto this weekend with Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Janie they told me the truth about you and dad… and doesn’t blame you for getting divorced.

Jenny (12:41 AM): I kept a lot secret from her… anyhow… what a horrible day.

Stay tuned for part 3 of this article, where we deconstruct this scenario to gain some wisdom from this poor man’s misfortune.

Last night I received some oddball text messages, from a strange woman. While I’m currently parsing them, and still debating as to how much of her story I want to post publicly, I thought I’d make some general observations about stories like hers. In order to do that, I have to write a whole post describing the source. Here goes…

Characters: 

1. Jenny, the thirtysomething sender of late-night texts
2. Joe, until recently, husband of Jenny
3. Susie, adopted daughter of Joe, biological daughter of Jenny

Backstory:

When young Boxer was about 14, he met a girl also 14, named Jenny. Jenny was entirely too good for him. She let him know this at every possible opportunity. As both these kids lived in a small town, in the middle of nowhere, they couldn’t escape each other, (try as they did.)

When Boxer was in his mid-20s, and living in Vancouver, BC, Jenny found him on one of the gay social media sites, and quickly connected. Jenny was living in the Toronto ON area, by then, and married to a nice guy named Joe. Boxer was amused to see this bitch again, and the two started conversing, randomly and irregularly. 100% of those interactions were initiated by Jenny.

Some of my own memories of Jenny include the following…

At or about 18 years old, Jenny and a 21-year old returned missionary named Danny announced their engagement. Jenny is the grandchild of converts, while Danny comes from one of the old school Mormon founding families. This is a big deal to my people, and Danny’s ma and pa shitcanned those wedding plans immediately.

As an aside, and this is neither here nor there, Danny is a relative of mine, and he never got married, and is now the same sort of playa I am. I often wonder if ma and pa don’t agonize about that decision, today.

In the interim, having had a wedding date announced, Jenny and Danny started fucking the hell out of each other. Suddenly, when ma and pa pulled the plug, Danny got his ring back, and Jenny was no longer eligible to marry a decent Mormon (i.e. she wasn’t a virgin any longer – this is a dealbreaker for Mormon families.)

With this in mind, Jenny disappears to Calgary, and ya boy Boxer never hears another thing from her, until around 2008, when she appears as a fagbook friend request, and gives the impression of having the perfect life.

Jenny reappears, and she’s changed a bit. She’s converted to Christianity, for one thing. For another, she’s got a kid.

While Jenny publicly wore the persona of perfect wife and devoted mother, she would privately flirt with Boxer, who would generally ignore her. She also asked (and asked, and asked) about Danny. I was a younger man at the time, and wasn’t as practiced at reading skank-ho wimminz, but every man in this post code knows why she was asking, and her original friend request was probably more motivated by the desire to ask me about “the one who got away.”

In late 2015, Jenny started becoming more bold in her flirtatious messages, and would frequently send Boxer unsolicited nudes and talk about fucking him. Boxer continued to ignore this nonsense, sure in his own mind that she was just trying to mess with him, in precisely the same fashion she was wont to do some fifteen years prior.

In 2017, Boxer finally allowed Jenny to open up, in text, and learned her story.

Here we reach the delimiter between my firsthand knowledge, and what she told me when I asked about her life. Here’s the shit she claimed happened to her…

At 18, she left our little town (good for her) and converted to Christianity. My understanding is that both her parents, and her sister, have also converted to Christianity. My people wouldn’t care too much about this, because they were a convert family of only a couple generations anyway… (so long, and thanks for all the fish.)

While in Calgary, she hooked up with a series of random dudes. One of them was a very successful singer, and she went on singing tours backing up this swingin’ dick. Anyway, very shortly after this, she became pregnant. She gave birth to Susie, having no idea who the father of the little girl was.

The lounge singer gave her the brush, and while it may well have been his kid, she didn’t pursue him. At first, like the typical Canadian wimminz, she decided she didn’t need no man, but rapidly realized she couldn’t raise the kid herself.

Jenny married and divorced at least three men, in rapid succession, over the course of not more than two years. The last marriage took, and the lucky winner of Jenny’s used up cunt was Joe: the same man she was (then) pretending to be happily married to on facebook.

When she told me this story, I asked about the two ex-husbands. She (surprise!) described them as assholes, druggies, violent abusers, perverts who would surely have raped her baby, etc., ad infinitvm.

I asked her (as is my general tactic) where these violent headcases were serving their prison sentences. Naturally, neither went to prison, because Jenny was lying, and I assume she was libeling them for the sake of her own ego.

Before I continue, I ought to thank Jenny for giving me the equivalent of a graduate degree in female nature. There are a number of valuable lessons in her story, and while I learned these lessons from Jenny, I really don’t think they’re unique to her. These childish coping mechanisms seem common to most wimminz.

• No man is ever a regular guy. All men are either dreamy, amazing supermen (Virginkiller Danny, the lounge singer, etc.) or they are subhuman scum, unfit to live (the first two husbands, whoever knocked her up, etc..) There simply is no in-between.
• No wimminz ever does anything wrong. Certainly not Jenny. Everything that happened was always the fault of some man. To hear her tell it, the conception of her daughter was some sort of voodoo curse, for which all men are responsible, rather than a natural consequence of her spreading-and-bending for her nightly dose of anonymous semen.
• No favor one does a wimminz is ever appreciated. Two men married this bitch, when she was a single mom, and their reward was paying alimony to the slut, and having themselves libeled as abusive perverts. I’m sure many other men did her favors, over the years, and to date, I’m equally certain that all of them have regretted it, including Joe, her current husband, and the adopted father of Jenny’s daughter. His story is coming this weekend.

Wassily Kandinsky: On White (1923)

Those of us who care about reconstructing a notion of patriarchy spend a lot of time studying the standards extant in healthier cultures. We are motivated by the pragmatic desire to find what works, in order to promote such ideals among our own lost peoples.

Some examples include our own culture, which enjoyed much saner mores, prior to about 1955. Certain other societies provide practical examples. There are also prehistoric accounts, extant in sources like the Hebrew Bible, Talmud, and Epic of Gilgamesh. And then there are notions from classical antiquity.

One static artifact that exists in across times and cultures is the woman’s privilege within her own home. This privilege exists whether the woman owns her own home outright, or whether she lives with her husband, father, or brother.

I pulled this photo off a web page, but it depicts (as I tried to capture) the sex-specific doorknockers on contemporary Iranian homes. I’ll give you the rundown, as I understand it, as a tourist of a few years ago, who wasn’t really paying attention to such important things.

In Iran, if you go knocking at a door, the first thing you do is to use the correct knocker. IIRC, the male doorknocker looks intuitively like a penis, and the female knocker looks like a vagina. You knock on the door with the dick-door-knocker, which sounds distinctly different compared with its female counterpart. You use your left hand, because your right hand is already up, covering your eyes.

You cover your eyes and use the dick-door-knocker, because in Iran, a woman has the right to walk around bare assed and topless in her own home, or in her husband’s home. Her beauty and her body is for her husband’s enjoyment, not for the general public’s amusement.

If a skank-ho wimminz walked around in public naked, in small-town Iran, she’d get a prison sentence, or at least get her ass whipped in front of her neighbors. The burden of modesty is legally inverted in the woman’s home. When you knock at a stranger’s door, it is theoretically possible for a nekkid woman to open up that door, and if you gawk at her, you’re the one who is going to do prison time, or at least get a good beating, by the morality cops, out in the town square. She is held harmless, because she had a reasonable expectation of privacy in her husband’s house.

I haven’t looked for an example of a man getting his ass beat, after looking at a nekkid broad in the doorway, but knowing wimminz the way we do, I wouldn’t be surprised if there were examples of careless dudes who got set up for this. Really, people were so careful to warn me (a dumb Canadian tourist) about it, that it’s safe to assume it to be common knowledge, and I wouldn’t feel too sorry for the chump who did get punished for peeping.

Over on Dalrock, there is a discussion about the Biblical narrative of David and Bathsheba. For those that don’t know the story, here it is, as recounted in 2 Samuel 11:

¹ And it came to pass, after the year was expired, at the time when kings go forth to battle, that David sent Joab, and his servants with him, and all Israel; and they destroyed the children of Ammon, and besieged Rabbah. But David tarried still at Jerusalem.

 

² And it came to pass in an eveningtide, that David arose from off his bed, and walked upon the roof of the king’s house: and from the roof he saw a woman washing herself; and the woman was very beautiful to look upon.

 

³ And David sent and enquired after the woman. And one said, Is not this Bathsheba, the daughter of Eliam, the wife of Uriah the Hittite?

 

⁴ And David sent messengers, and took her; and she came in unto him, and he lay with her; for she was purified from her uncleanness: and she returned unto her house.

 

⁵ And the woman conceived, and sent and told David, and said, I am with child.

 

⁶ And David sent to Joab, saying, Send me Uriah the Hittite. And Joab sent Uriah to David.

 

⁷ And when Uriah was come unto him, David demanded of him how Joab did, and how the people did, and how the war prospered.

 

⁸ And David said to Uriah, Go down to thy house, and wash thy feet. And Uriah departed out of the king’s house, and there followed him a mess of meat from the king.

 

⁹ But Uriah slept at the door of the king’s house with all the servants of his lord, and went not down to his house.

 

¹⁰ And when they had told David, saying, Uriah went not down unto his house, David said unto Uriah, Camest thou not from thy journey? why then didst thou not go down unto thine house?

 

¹¹ And Uriah said unto David, The ark, and Israel, and Judah, abide in tents; and my lord Joab, and the servants of my lord, are encamped in the open fields; shall I then go into mine house, to eat and to drink, and to lie with my wife? as thou livest, and as thy soul liveth, I will not do this thing.

 

¹² And David said to Uriah, Tarry here to day also, and to morrow I will let thee depart. So Uriah abode in Jerusalem that day, and the morrow.

 

¹³ And when David had called him, he did eat and drink before him; and he made him drunk: and at even he went out to lie on his bed with the servants of his lord, but went not down to his house.

 

¹⁴ And it came to pass in the morning, that David wrote a letter to Joab, and sent it by the hand of Uriah.

 

¹⁵ And he wrote in the letter, saying, Set ye Uriah in the forefront of the hottest battle, and retire ye from him, that he may be smitten, and die.

 

¹⁶ And it came to pass, when Joab observed the city, that he assigned Uriah unto a place where he knew that valiant men were.

 

¹⁷ And the men of the city went out, and fought with Joab: and there fell some of the people of the servants of David; and Uriah the Hittite died also.

So, we’ve got a man who climbs up onto his roof to peep at his neighbor’s wife. He decides he likes her enough to get her to come on over and fuck him. Once she becomes pregnant, our man decides to kill her husband. Incidentally, that husband is depicted as being unwaveringly loyal, both to his boss, and to his men.

As a misogynist, I enjoy blaming wimminz for their crap behavior. Even so, I can’t find fault with this wimminz initially. People on Dalrock disagree, yet, none of them can make a very convincing argument with the text.

Bathsheba can certainly be blamed for jumping the fence, and catting around with her husband’s boss. But, can she be blamed for bathing in her own home? A careful reading of patriarchal mores would suggest she was harmless, before the sexy time.

And in case you’re worried that I’m being selective, and applying contemporary Iranian mores to the Bible, I’ve got other sources that give us the same verdict. Cicero’s Letters paint a very clear picture of this female privilege, as it was enjoyed by his wife, Terentia. So, the custom existed in Rome. It also existed in the American State of Washington, as it is encoded in RCW 9A.44.115.

This general notion is not limited to Ancient Rome, or people in Seattle. Laws against peeping exist in every state and province in North America, suggesting that a healthier society inverts the imperative to modesty when a female is in her own house.

NEW YORK CITY – Dozens of simps compete for one mediocre skank.

The following story originated with mysha (@bvdhai) on twitter. Our man Honeycomb found a third-party retelling of it in the comments.

I should probably add text inline, and in order to do so, I’m breaking up the original thread. Let’s see what Brother Mysha can teach us.

Aspiring playaz, take note. This is how you handle a flighty bitch. The only thing I can fault my man for was the overly wordy response. When it happens to me, I generally reply like so:

Her: “Actually, I have this huge presentation I’m workin on for my job… blah blah blah… would it be OK if I text you in a couple months? You’re so hot and I wanna smash, but I’m just so busy fucking other men working and stuff… blah blah blah… would that be OK?”

Me: “cool”

Remember that the wimminz like you better when you acknowledge their worthlessness. One-word is all a bitch usually deserves even in good times.

At this point I would be suspicious, and while our bro doesn’t say so out loud, there is a tangible unease in his tone. Tinder sluts don’t generally keep a man waiting, unless they’re playing games.

Remember that Tinder is the contemporary equivalent of that whorehouse, hidden out on the Alberta prairie. People don’t walk in to that building unless they want to fuck, and it’s for quick fucking, not for goofing off for weeks at a time.

Never trust a bitch who draws things out to this extent.

If a bitch texts me “hey I’m running a little late…” I tune out. Of course this is a personal thing, but my time is valuable. I make a point to be on time to all my meetings, and I’ve left meet-ups, one minute after the appointed hour of meeting, ignoring a bitch frantically calling and texting with excuses.

And that is the moment when every one of those fucking simps should have followed Brother Mysha out of Union Square, and moved on to the next bitch.

Did they do so? Please…

Every man who read this far should scroll back up to the top, and get a good view of all these pathetic chumps. Every one of those men is a total failure. They should each go home and curse their fathers for ever bringing their simp asses into the world.

Slavery is the natural state of man. Truth to fuck’n tell.