Samantha Sally: American Traitor

Credit to our brother Oscar for finding this gem of a wimminz. Let’s see what her story is…


Bitch grows up in a nice family in Indiana, then decides to join ISIS and wage war on Americans. We all know that women are more moral and ethical than men are, so I’m sure her bad decision is all some man’s fault.


Yes, of course. It’s her husband’s fault. (It’s always the husband’s fault, isn’t it?) Her husband took her to Morocco, and somehow they ended up on the Syrian border. This happens to me all the time. I start out with one destination, and then end up in an entirely different one, thousands of kilometres away from where I should be.

She has a son, an ex-husband (apparently a loyal American veteran) who is her son’s father, and a family in America. Betraying her people and nation was “the only way to protect her daughter…” We all believe that. Poor dear.


And this is as close to the story of her little boy’s father gets. Her son, who was beaten into compliance, and made to perform in ISIS propaganda videos, does not get to see his father, even after all this time.

Read the rest of the story of this disgusting traitor here.


Bond, Brodie Bond…


In this episode of Father Knows Best, we meet skank-ho wimminz Brodie Bond. Bond is becoming famous, at least in Australia, for behaving even worse than the average wimminz.

Death comes for us all. Some years ago (we don’t know exactly when), Brodie’s father kacked it. Dad’s will directed his estate to be divided between his heirs. Brodie’s father knew, better than anyone else, that she was a useless cunt, and as such he specifically left her nothing, in hopes that she would clean herself up, and quit playing the jackass.


As an empowered feminist wimminz, Brodie had no plans to take advice from the patriarchy. She secured a pro bono lawyer, and tied the estate up for years, until the rest of the family were finally so sick of her that they gave her a payout, in the amount of 220,000 AUD.

How did Brodie Bond spend her inheritance? We’ll let her tell you, herself…


When she finally received the money in June 2016, Ms Bond says she celebrated with a slab of Jack Daniel’s and vodka shots during a drug-fuelled night with a friend. She said: ‘Why not? It’s not everyday you get that much money.’


Mizz Bond went on to squander every last dime of her inheritance, and is now back on the dole. She is, of course, a real stunner, so it’ll be easy for her to find a man to foot the bill for her frivolities, for the rest of her life.


Admit it, boys: You’d love the opportunity to curl up to this looker.


Dating as Unconventional Warfare

guevara.smIndividual wimminz often do stupid things, and thus it is no surprise that when they get together, wimminz will collectively be even more ridiculous. This is easily predictable, as any group tends to be led by its loudest and most power-hungry nutters, who seize control at the first opportunity. An individual wimminz will complain about her thug boyfriend, who gave her Chlamydia, but collectively, wimminz will come up with shit like #metoo, which guarantee that decent men stay the hell away from them in increasing numbers. This translates to a smaller pool of men to choose from, and one which is heavily slanted toward containing a greater proportion of Chlamydia-riddled thugs.

Wimminz have proven themselves the enemy of men. One is thus forced to approach dating as one would strategize any encounter with an enemy. Fortunately, wimminz tend to be short-sighted and quite stupid (as the #metoo movement amply demonstrates), and thus a properly-motivated man can come up with counter-strategies to maximize the returns and minimize the risks of any encounter.

The wimminz strategy has been to collect social and political power, in the form of legislation and orbiters, to enforce her “right to choose” who she fucks. She has, of course, been aided by ruling-class men in this regard. They were motivated by the desire to fuck the wives and daughters of working-class men without consequence.

Since the wealthy have abolished monogamy and marriage (through laws like VAWA), and since wimminz have been lured into the ideological delusion that they have the right-to-choose, we take advantage of extant cultural practices, such as the one in which it is stated that men have the obligation to pursue, and we apply them in our own favor.

Our counter-strategy is to pursue as many wimminz as we deem necessary for sex to be constantly on offer.

Our enemies vastly outnumber and outweigh us. They can crush us in any head-on confrontation. If you don’t believe this, just try to tell a wimminz not to go out to the club on Friday night, and see how the police treat you, minutes later.

Thus men fight and win unconventionally, by using social praxis to their own advantage. While our enemies are strong, they are also bureaucratic, inefficient, stupid and slow. While we are weak, we are also mobile, quick, and able to think-on-the-fly.

In our culture, men do the pursuing, and women choose. Our culture happens to produce wimminz who are so fucked-in-the-head that only a few men are pursuing them at any one time. This leaves a surplus of wimminz available for you to pursue. It also leaves you to creatively pursue as many wimminz as you may want to pursue.

By “pursue,” I do not mean to spend all day tending to a wimminz needs. I mean merely to say “good morning” at some point between 9 and 12 am, via text message, every couple of days. Sending a random photo once in a while is enough. Most of these damaged wimminz respond better to this sort of neglectful, minimalist form of pursuit, than they do to traditional courtship anyhow. In this regard, the single brother can “pursue” 10-20 wimminz easily, at any one time.

Of those 10-20 wimminz, five will be getting their holes filled by someone else on any particular night. That, as the legendary AfOR will tell you, is fine and dandy. You should not feel put-out by this fact, any more than you should feel offended that someone else has used one of the parking spaces in the lot of the shopping-center you like to buy bagged salads at. It is of no consequence, since there are hundreds of other parking spaces available.

The “right-to-choose” ideology is just that: ideology, when a man approaches the situation realistically, as Uncle Che would tell him to. Out of the dozen available women who “choose” you on any particular day, you have the actual “right-to-choose.”


Make Your Choice…

Thanks to earl, we have a fun illustration of women in different scenarios.

Which of these women are most attractive?

Screen Shot 2018-04-11 at 09.00.47

Example A:

Woman making you (her beloved husband) a tasty batch of cookies.


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.


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.


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.

In Memoriam: AfOR


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.



Keeping Score

fatassWimminz 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.soyboy26

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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