pres.trumpMost of our enemies were raised by single mothers. While this is a disaster for society at large, it’s great for us, as it makes them easy to beat in any confrontation. I consider the nature of my enemies to be one of the great blessings of Elohim. They’re emotionally unstable, they’re hormonal, they’re confused, and they’re easily controlled.

I’ve been in bar fights, and I’ve been in ideological squabbles. The bar fights are more dangerous, with legal problems and physical injury a real possibility. The debates may not be life threatening, but I argue they are just as important. It is through expression that we have the power to shape public opinion, in a small but notable way. We do this by appealing not to our ideological opponent, but to all the observers, who look to us for entertainment. That’s the first rule, and I’ll explain immediately…

In any ideological argument, there are going to be three general factions.

SET A is a small minority, ~15% of the general public, who will never take your side. These are the skank-ho single moms, the radical bulldyke feminists, the simps who submissively supplicate to filthy wimminz, and all their hangers on. We can speculate about the motivations behind this atypical dysfunctional behavior, but it doesn’t matter. They don’t matter themselves. They are life’s failures, and none of our energy should be spent trying to reason with them. They are to be crushed and utterly humiliated.

SET B is another small minority, ~15% of the general public, who will always take your side. These are the men who have emotional problems, men who have an unhealthy hatred or obsession with wimminz, men with mother issues, men who had a bad divorce, etc. These men may agree with you, but they’re too damaged (at least temporarily) to be reliable. They’re also prone to make you look ridiculous. We don’t want to associate with them if we can help it.

SET C is the vast majority of onlookers. The kids on 4Chan call them “normies,” and while that’s pejorative, it’s not a bad term for the sake of its etymology. These are the men and women who are interested, but decidedly disinterested in the arguments.

Your target is any and all the members of SET A. Your goal is to convince any and all of the members of SET C to join your side.

SET A and SET C have no intersect space. No one is a member of both C and A.

You do not appeal to any member of A, you humiliate her. Through the spectacle, you appeal to members of C.

Members of C are not convinced by reason, logic or proof. Members of C are swayed by humor, charisma and mastery.

Recently, a disaffected Marxist (of the Frankfurt School variety) decided to troll whining liberals. He put a colorful sticker into an elevator on the campus of a large university, just in time for a scheduled Anti-Trump rally. The shitlibs kooked out, and I imagine that fellow had a few laughs, as he watched the meltdown from the sidelines. Whoever he was, he must have had inside knowledge of the placement of the elevator’s camera, because defacing an elevator with a sticker might be construed as vandalism.


Check out the design and syntax of the message.

Our man successfully hijacked the terms that are usually mangled by the neoliberal left, and made a number of salient points, all while he robbed the protestors of their ability to use Marxist terms to forward their capitalist agenda. He wrapped it all up in a colorful 1960s retro package, to shiv the boomers who remember campus protests from that era. When the usual suspects started crying and whining, they revealed themselves for who they were, to all the observers in C. The whole amusing spectacle cost our brother about a dollar, and ten seconds for installation.

Never aim to get our enemies in A on our side. They’re not worth the effort, and they’ll never join, anyway. Always aim to convince passersby in C, by using our enemies in A as an example of stupidity, dishonesty and incompetence.

Our Enemy, The Simp

justin.t.layneJustin T. Layne, seen at right, is now sitting in jail, accused of murdering a baby.

To be clear, Justin isn’t an abortionist. In our society, those types of baby-murderers don’t get arrested. They are celebrated heroes. The baby Justin killed was born, alive and healthy, to a skank-ho single mom.

Justin’s journey through the criminal justice system began when he started dating a woman, Valerie, who was already pregnant by another man. After childbirth, Valerie needed a babysitter, and Justin was the natural choice.

On 25 November of last year, Valerie got home from work to find her baby’s skull crushed. She took the baby to the hospital. After four days of agony, the child finally passed away. In the interim, hospital staff found the injuries suspicious, and they phoned the cops.

The state ordered an autopsy, and began investigating the surrounding circumstances. Justin and Valerie weren’t shook, though. They applied for a marriage license, only five days after the baby kacked it. Justin subsequently got on social media, presenting himself as the grieving father of the child.


Sister Cassie tells it straight.

The simp also has a public instagram account. It’s more of the same.

I have to be somewhat careful here, and I begin my deconstruction by noting that Valerie Perry-Layne has not been charged with a crime.

In reading the media hype, we note that while the feminist pseudojournalists have not overtly labeled Justin as the baby’s father, they also have been very careful to write the actual father out of the story.

The baby’s surname (Perry) is identical to the surname of his mother. This suggests that the baby was sired by a man with an unknown surname. Where is that man? No one seems interested enough to ask.

Multiple scenarios seem reasonable.

  • Valerie had anonymous, no-strings sex with so many men that she didn’t know who the baby’s father could be.
  • Valerie had a sexual relationship with one or more candidates, despite never knowing their names.
  • Valerie made the life of the father such a hell that he committed suicide, or absconded from the area.
  • Valerie consciously decided to deprive her baby of a relationship with his father, and obscured his existence.

While we don’t know exactly where the father is, we do sympathize with him. We also won’t forget that it was feminists, in media and government, who separated the baby from this, the only man who would have selflessly looked after the baby’s interests. They are largely responsible for this baby’s death, in that their official policies evicted the father, and enabled and encouraged the child’s mother to move violent killers into the baby’s proximity.

What can we learn from this tragedy? There are multiple lessons.

The single mother views marriage quite differently than the simps who chase after them, and this is an excellent illustration of that disparity.

Marriage, to such a woman, is not about creating a healthy environment, in which she might bear and raise her children. It’s mainly about an ego boost. Once married, the single mother can boast that she has finally attracted and captured a man. Secondarily, it is about obtaining a piece of paper, which legally entitles her to a man’s resources, despite her bad behavior.

A single mom has proven, by her history and her actions, that she doesn’t care about her own children. The simp will conclude that, for some reason, she will care about him. This is his first mistake. The single mom will never care about her simp. A simp is merely a tool — a hybrid farm-animal and piece-of-furniture — that the single mother will use and discard.

The simp will often assume that the single mom will be grateful to him for saving her. He probably gets his own ego boost, as he mounts his white horse, and tips his hat to his lady. This assumption is also baseless. The single mother will resent her simp, as his foolishness is a daily reminder of her own inadequacy.

Valerie’s choice to have a baby out of wedlock, and the lack of a father’s name on the child’s birth record, paints her as exactly the sort of conniving, scheming, mercenary wimminz that we enjoy scoffing at. Such females are regularly celebrated by mass media, and fêted by social services agencies. They are used as object lessons, to suggest that fathers are inherently dangerous.

Right now, some idiot in a wimminz studies department is citing the story of Justin and Valerie in a pseudointellectual paper. Justin is being dishonestly portrayed as the baby’s father, when he is merely a simp. These sorts of slanted articles will be used to cover for irresponsible hucksters, like Valerie, as the victims of bad men. They’ll also be used to pass more laws against fathers, and garner more monies for the purposes of breaking up families.

Without the help of their simps, the feminists would be unable to achieve much of anything. The simp is an essential part of the status quo, which is why you (and I) need to put an end to this nonsense.

Chaos: Mother of Order

Rothko: UntitledBeing the slacker that I am, I didn’t get around to the mailbox until today, and I found a month’s worth of messages. Ya boy Boxer loves each and every one of you, and if he doesn’t reply, it’s not that he was busy, it’s that he was lazy.

Last month, a reader was good enough to write in and warn us all about the dangers of dating a single mother. I figured it was worth discussing, long after receipt.

besser spät als nie

Our brother, we’ll call him Jim, hails from an American town on the southern border with Mexico. Jim’s kin are native to the area, and the troublemaking skank-ho is a recent arrival, from way out east. Here’s the story, in all its gruesome glory.


So, what are the high points of Jim’s interaction with this wimminz? Here’s how I see it…

  1. Jim did not beg or cry when the slut ghosted out.
  2. Jim did not take the wandering slut back when she reappeared.
  3. Jim must have called the slut out for disappearing, since…
  4. Jim correctly deconstructed the slut’s flimsy excuse for disappearing.

These are the hallmarks of excellent gamesmanship. It’s not absolutely imperative that a brother reject a returning ho’, but allowing a skank to re-enter orbit without penalty will mark him as a chump. The wimminz will correctly perceive him as someone she can cat around on without consequence.

If you do decide to resume banging a wayward slut, always make sure she knows that her potential for commitment went from low to zero, the minute she decided to chase another man’s dick.

Now, lets go through the mistakes Jim clearly made, that we might all become better playaz.

In the first place, Brother Jim admits he met this ho’ online, and that he set up a date with her in his dusty little border town, where everyone knows everyone, and nobody can keep her mouth shut. This is a recipe for disaster.

Within a day’s ride of my grandfather’s little Mormon town, out in the middle of nowhere, there was, way back in the day, a house of prostitution. None of the old boys in Mormonville would ever admit to having gone there, but the cathouse seemed to prosper nonetheless, and the wimminz inside seemed to magically produce an income that kept them in fine clothes and accoutrements.

My grandfather may have had occasion to sample the wares there, but if he did so, no one ever talked about it. Distance, discretion, and the gentleman’s pact kept such visits secret.

Your online dating app is the contemporary equivalent of the low-price whorehouse of yesteryear. If you are going to patronize the hoez therein, do so out of sight of those friends and neighbors, upon whom your reputation depends.

In the next place, Jim caught feelings for this skank, after banging her a couple of times. He also bought her dinner on the first date.

None of this is inexcusable, but all of it is dangerous.

Feelings of affection are a mark of commitment, and they are properly meted out to the deserving. Your mother, grandmother, sister, daughter and wife deserve such feelings, provided they are not overtly unworthy. Skank-ho sluts you meet on Tinder merit nothing.

You can buy a skank dinner if you want; but doing so tends to place you in the role of worshipful supplicant, and gives her an unearned ego-boost.

I would argue that single mothers are especially undeserving of any sort of gift. Free meals, flowers, and favors are misspent on such wimminz.

The typical single mom is a wimminz who is not to be trusted. She ran a man through the divorce courts, and stole all his money. In reality, she should be buying you dinner.

Third is the issue of her leeching off her daughter and son-in-law, who is depicted as being in some sort of military or law-enforcement job. That is the man to whom this woman rightly belongs. Under the old rules of patriarchy, you should probably approach her son-in-law for permission to date her.

Under those old rules, her being in his house would necessitate her doing something to earn her keep. She’d be required to mend his socks, make his bed, and cook his meals. The fact that she’s skanking around on Tinder, when she should be supporting the man’s house, shows you just how serious a woman she is.

Fourth and most serious is the fact that this wimminz has been asked to leave her son-in-law’s house. We can easily come up with a plausible reason, given what we already know. She was on Tinder, when she should have been tending house. She probably brought some strange men to her son-in-law’s home to fuck. Even if she didn’t, it sounds like she now has a reputation. No doubt the mechanics of the small-town gossip machine suitably embarrassed this man, and he no longer feels like paying her way, while she lives without working.

Given what we know, I’d say that skanky ought to be thanking her son-in-law for his hospitality, rather than whining and playing the victim to strangers like Jim. Moreover, Jim should be grateful that he didn’t get entangled with this filthy wimminz. The mother-in-law joke is not for nothing. It’s not inconceivable for her to be such a meddlesome cunt that a career soldier wouldn’t go out to the garage, get his AK-47, and solve the troublemaker’s problem in a permanent fashion. Anyone connected to her might also vanish.


While I’m the whitest mofo you’ve ever seen, this blog is not directed at people of any race, religion or ethnicity. This is a survival guide for men, and all men are welcome here.

On this same topic, one can detect an air of worship of the white wimminz, emanating from our brother’s darkly visage. There is an inversion of this in white dudes who idealize Latinas and Asian chicks.

I have fucked plenty of bronze colored Latina chicks, of Jim’s basic hue, and I can attest to the fact that white wimminz are not any better than his own. The brutal truth is that all wimminz are the same. The black wimminz might want fancy weave and nails, while the white wimminz will likely want Gucci and Prada clothes. The common denominator is that they want you to open up your wallet, and foot the bill for all this shit. They want you to pay, despite the fact that they have endlessly agitated for rights to vote, rights to social services that are unavailable to men, and preferences in employment. They want you to pay despite the fact that they do nothing to earn such rewards.

After living as a parasite on the back of her son-in-law, this wimminz wants to move in with Jim, and make his life hell. Jim is right in declining this wimminz’ generous offer. We should follow his lead, and remember to always say “no” to the ho’.


Screen Shot 2018-07-08 at 16.26.44
Uncle Fred reminds us that sometimes we have to fight monsters, and that while there are many ways to do such things, some methods are better than others.

…and if thou gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will also gaze into thee.

Whenever I see that overused quote, I assume that Nietzsche is taking an Aristotelian position on teleology, and I think both of those guys would suggest that we deliberate at length on matters of strategy, before acting decisively. This bit of wisdom may evoke a number of avatars — from Joseph Smith to George Washington —  depending upon one’s own history and experience. For me, the living embodiment of decisiveness is Captain Kirk.

While Spock agonizes about his mixed-race background, and Sulu sweats bullets about being outed for the homo that he is, Kirk boldly swaggers around the ship he captains, completely secure in his captainness. Captain Kirk doesn’t worry about things he can’t change, and Captain Kirk pays no mind to empty threats, even when they’re shouted theatrically by Ricardo Montalban over the subspace communicator. Captain Kirk goes where he wants, when he wants, and often he goes where no man has gone before. Like all the rest of us, the men on the Enterprise occasionally seem deeply unsure of themselves. As the living embodiment of masculinity, Captain Kirk exists to mirror our best selves, and inspire us to act accordingly.

Recently, I rigged up a new twitter account, with the help of a throwaway Google Voice phone number. I originally reappeared on the platform to watch people troll an idiot named Sheila, but I also caught wind of Captain Kirk, who was in the process of being attacked by feminists. Why were the feminists swarming?

Apparently, this shit happened:

Screen Shot 2018-07-08 at 16.58.51

Kirk was brazen enough to express a sensible opinion about the matter: namely, that the denunciation of a long-dead author is a stupid and shallow thing to do. Suddenly, all manner of feminist nitwits started doing their usual dogpile.

Their main point was that Kirk should “stay in his lane” because they had Ph.D.s, and sheeit.

Was Captain Kirk shaken? Not in the slightest.


Captain Kirk rightly sees academics for what we are: self-important preeners. That goes double for those of us who append letters to the end of our signature, or adopt “Doctor” as our first names.


After a loud-and-proud feminist wimminz called Captain Kirk a racist old white dude, he retweeted her accusation to the dean of her department.


She shut the fuck up after that — as well she should. Academic wimminz had best get hip to the fact that their degrees don’t impress the guy who commands the Enterprise.


He’s got your tenure, right here…

Whereas lesser men would be cowed by a gaggle of wealthy wimminz from first world countries, who make careers out of denouncing upstarts for their “privilege,” Kirk flips the bird at such creeps. They hear him scoff as his hand emerges, from the window of his starfleet cruiser, as he whips past at warp 43.


How dare you disagree? Don’t you realize who we are? 

Suddenly, other academic wimminz jump in to accuse Captain Kirk of “harassment”. Captain Kirk responds in his typical Kirkly fashion, always exuding an air of amused mastery.


While academics take great pride in the fact that they get published to journals, Captain Kirk reminds us that our papers are generally read by about twenty people, worldwide, and that everyone finds our work boring. In contrast, Captain Kirk has a nine-figure audience, and everyone loves him.


Now at the end of their rope, the feminist wimminz of academia beat a hasty retreat, and forward come their replacements of the male-auxiliary, tone-policing and condemning as expected. Kirk sets phasers to stun, and laughs derisively as he puts simp after simp into a coma.

I don’t know if Captain Kirk has seen one of my favorite youtube videos, but I want to suspect this reference was more than circumstantial. Press play to pay proper respects to the wimminz of academia. (Warning: NSFW)

Kirk mocks you, as you call him a “sexist.” Such cheap theatrics don’t work on the man who tongue-kissed Uhura, the same day he banged out the green alien chick.


Kirk also wants you to know that he loves Pepe the Frog, 4Chan and spicy memes. He takes comfort in your faux outrage, and doesn’t give a shit about your meaningless virtue signaling. As though he hadn’t sufficiently proven his greatness, he also takes a swipe at journalists.


It surprises no one that Captain Kirk emerges, in cyberspace as in meatspace and outer space, completely victorious. He takes a moment to reiterate, just in case three days of humiliation weren’t enough for you.


And he ends, as all master trolls will, with the coup de grace. For days people painted Kirk as an illiterate hillbilly. He used that pretense to make light of all his detractors. And now the turn: As Captain Kirk is a much greater person than his critics, so too are his credentials superior to theirs.


Dr. Captain Kirk, Litt.D. (McGill University) also earned the Order of Canada, along with a lifetime of professional awards for acting, authoring, and captaining. Apparently the self-important PhD/MA/MFA crowd doesn’t know how to open up the encyclopedia and grab his bio. No one is surprised.

To Kirk, these honors are not a big deal. Kirk is supremely accomplished, it’s true; but, above all things, Kirk is a normal guy, which is why he doesn’t legally change his first name to “Doctor.” It’s also the reason that so many people can stand to hang out with him on the recreation deck.

And this is really the point I hoped to drive home. Captain Kirk is the pinnacle of manhood, in large part because he wears his pudgy physique and his weird grin in the same way Nietzsche wore his mustache: with utter confidence. Characters like Socrates and Jesus are ideals we can, at best, attempt to approach. Nobody can be Socrates or Jesus, except for Socrates and Jesus. All of us can be Captain Kirk. We just have to act like the men that we are.


γνῶθι σεαυτόν

Hypergamy Believes in You!


Down below, Derek takes issue with my advice to young brothers.

I tell marriage minded young men to wait on the wedding, until they are psychologically ready, sexually disciplined, and financially stable. Derek disagrees. He encourages young men to marry as early as they can, regardless of their immaturity, and despite a lack of money. Derek writes:

You know that a man of 25 has worse odds of achieving marriage than a man of 20. That’s just basic probability. It’s false to claim otherwise.

Derek clearly doesn’t believe in hypergamy. It makes no difference. Hypergamy is a social reality. Hypergamy is the reason that guys like Derek show off their “trophy” wives at parties. The unspoken assumption is that he must be somebody important, given that he bagged a girl who looked like all that.

Let’s return to our scenario, and compare the two men postulated above. Let’s assume that our brothers are both broadminded, and each will accept a woman a full year older than he is. In that scenario, the young man of 25 has a pool of all the unmarried women, aged 18-26, available to choose from. A young man at 20 has a pool of all the unmarried women, aged 18-21, to choose from. The 25-year old has a much larger pool of eligible females to work with. Thus the “basic probability” of finding a suitable mate is easy to estimate for each, with the 25-year old having a much greater likelihood of successful coupling.

Let’s put this aside for a moment, and talk about another important reason that a man should wait to marry, until he is at least 25. That reason is hypergamy.

Hypergamy is an overused word in the sphere, but it is well-defined as the practice of women seeking to “marry up.” The hypergamous nature of human females is incredibly consistent. In every human society, from the beginning of recorded history, there has always been a general, instinctive drive by women to mate with someone in an equal or greater dominance-caste.

I figured out a way to host pdf files on this shithole, and here’s my first attempt. This is a very accessible primer on hypergamy:

Elizabeth Cashdan, Women’s Mating Strategies

If you are a male who is seen as successful, then the probability that you will have mating opportunities is exceptionally high. Accelerated social status (i.e. a good wage and a degree) is an incredibly good predictor of one’s ability to find a suitable mate.

Now, when I was 18-19, I saw hypergamy up close, and I won’t forget it. While I occasionally got with chicks who were my age, it became clear that these girls were using me as a sexual stop-gap. I was useful, until the hot 26-year old guy with the law degree got serious.

I was a dumb little fucker, and I made a habit of getting attached to these girls, who dumped my ass the minute they got commitment from the older guy who was a good earner.

It’s quite possible that the 26-year old guy had an even smaller penis than I did. It was certainly true that most of them were shorter than I was. Many of them had visible physical flaws. It didn’t matter. They all had something I didn’t: resources.

While 19-year old me occasionally got the substandard outliers of the 19-year old female population, that kid never, ever got a hot 24-year old to pay him any attention. Those were the women that he lusted after. They didn’t even talk to him.

Protip: I still lust after the hot 24-year olds, and today I fuck them with regularity.

Now, if I could go back in time, I probably wouldn’t. Those years of dejection made me a much sharper player. Even so, if I did go back in time, and talked to my younger self, I’d have sat down with little me, and forced him (at knifepoint, probably) to read Dr. Cashdan’s paper. I’d have then told him to do exactly what he ended up doing anyway, which was to be cool, get as much education as he could, and quit crying tears over the endless string of skanks who were fucking and chucking him. At some point, that guy became 27 himself, and many of the same skanks who spat on him at 19 suddenly reappeared, once he bought his first house and had some disposable income.

I realized, at about that time, how lucky I was that I had been dumped by all these hoez. A large minority of them had already been married and divorced, and a few of them had bastard kids that their ex-husbands were paying for. That could have been me. If it were, I’d never have achieved my educational and career goals, and would surely be living in poverty today.

Not only did I have the opportunity to fuck many of the same sluts who didn’t look at me, when I was a few years younger. I also had their fresher, hotter 24-year old sisters on offer. Those girls were stupid, flatchested little kids when I was 19. When I turned 27, they were ripe and ready to go.

If you are a dejected 19-year old today, you need to quit worrying about the sluts who ghost out on you. Many of them will ride your dick for a while, and a large number of these will try to fill your head up with lies about how much they love you. Take the sex, but don’t sweat the ones who switch seats on the carousel. Instead, focus on learning about the men they reject you for. In every case you’ll see men who have college degrees, and the potential for good earnings. You need to pour all the energy you previously spent on Skanky Stacie into a concerted effort in becoming like that guy.

If you want to get married, you’ll be much more likely to find a marriageable woman at 27, than you were at 19. Hypergamy dictates as much. Be patient and focused, and say “no” to the ho’!


When The Cunt Pass Fails


The whining trick ho’ seen above is Diana Lovejoy, age 45. Skanky Diana was married to an unfortunate man named Greg, and together they had a little boy in San Diego, California.

About a year ago, Skank-ho Diana decided she “wasn’t happy” as a wife and mother, and started fucking random strangers. One of these men was Weldon McDavid, a weak-minded 50-year old shooting instructor.

Diana convinced Weldon that he ought to murder her husband, Greg. For some reason, Weldon thought this was a passable idea, provided Skank-ho Diana paid him the princely sum of two thousand dollars. She went and withdrew the money and the deal was done.


Diana Lovejoy (Skank) and Weldon McDavid Jr. (Simp)

Despite a career in the United States Marine Corps, a job teaching pistol marksmanship, and a financial incentive that equalled about a week’s pay at a paper-shuffler job, Weldon was completely incompetent as a hired killer. Greg lived to finger his attacker, and the simp subsequently spilled his guts to the cops at his first opportunity.

What Diana probably intended to do was to lure a weak-minded man into committing this crime, and then dispose of him after-the-fact. I believe that Weldon’s arrest probably saved his life. Take a look at this bitch, and ask yourself if she’d have any moral problem sticking an icepick into the back of ol’ Weldon’s skull…

Once jailed, Diana fell back on the tired strategy of all good feminist wimminz: pretending that she was an innocent victim, and claiming that Weldon had thought the whole thing up himself.

Unfortunately, Diana couldn’t provide any motive for Weldon to want her husband dead. The two had never met, and I assume that Diana seduced Weldon by pretending to be single. The motive for Skank-ho Diana was obvious. She’d save 200,000 dollars in property and legal fees during the divorce she initiated, and she’d get to keep primary custody of her son.

The jury didn’t buy her weepy excuses, and a few months ago, she was duly convicted. She clearly thought that as a wimminz, the American justice system would give her a pass on trying to kill her husband. This was not to be.

As a typical feminist, she decided to put on some theatrics as the verdict was read out. Laughable and pathetic, this looney spectacle is Skanky Diana’s most notable achievement. I doubt Greg found it worth the trouble, but I found it funny.

I tell boys not to fuck married wimminz, and this is the reason. These bitches simply aren’t worth your time, dick or consideration.