On Mary, Joseph, and “Francesca”

Feminists are, at their core, hollow beings. Female feminists are obsessed with envy of masculinity. Male feminists are obsessed with rebellion against the primal father. In both cases, the subject’s libidinal feelings are recursive. Rather than a healthy desire to commune with the other, the subject of the neurotic obsession is the self.

It’s all about meeeeeeeeee….

And so we meet “Francesca,” the author of Saint Joseph, Terror of The Cult of Masculinity (link), an article which was published a week ago, at my favorite feminist magazine: Patheos.

Everything that keeps the red pill poppers and alt-right windbags up at night was Saint Joseph’s life. He raised a child that was not his. His marriage was celibate, and he was chaste…

If we are to take the literal as historical, and accept that the text of the New Testament reflects stories of actual events, then we must concede in the first instance that Francesca is technically correct. Joseph was a man who raised up a son who was actually fathered by God himself.

In making this association, what “Francesca” attempts is an analogy. Every skank-ho single mom, she implicitly argues, partakes in the greatness and heroism which is the life of Mary, as recorded. This is silly and actually quite disrespectful to the literary (cum historical) character.

In the second instance, if we are to believe “Francesca”‘s claim that Joseph’s “marriage was celibate, and he was chaste…” then we are stuck with an obvious contradiction. In Mark 6:3, we read:

Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary, the brother of James, and Joses, and of Juda, and Simon? and are not his sisters here with us? And they were offended at him.

(link)

Taking “Francesca” seriously opens up a number of interesting possibilities.

  1. Perhaps James, Joses, Juda, Simon and various unnamed sisters are also the physical children of God and Mary. If that were the case, then their own magic tricks and miracles would get equal billing in the text. We never read about Simon raising the dead, nor about Juda turning water into wine, nor about the sisters walking on the surface of various lakes and rivers. So this seems impossible.
  2. Perhaps these other people are half-brothers of Jesus through God, with different mothers. Aside from points already raised, we must then wonder where the heroic stories of the virgin births through Jane, Sarah, Trixie, Sally and Bertha might be recorded. Again, this seems impossible.
  3. Perhaps “Francesca” has it right, that St. Joseph was celibate throughout his marriage, and he was the chaste husband of the single mom Mary, who banged Joe, Bill, Bob, etc. and had all these children through one or more different mortal fathers. It’s funny how the text makes absolutely no mention of such things, especially when pointing out such carnal shortcomings is a major theme of the entire corpus.

In fact, the only reasonable way to understand this idiotic article is to acknowledge that feminists are generally ignorant of the things they are wont to lecture on. “Francesca” has never read the New Testament, doesn’t know what the life of the Jesus character entails, and has no idea as to the deeper meanings of his story. Moreover: The only sensible way to interpret this nonsense is through Freud’s 1914 work On Narcissism, where we read that such people spend their lives warping great metanarratives in service of their own neurotic desires, to garner attention for themselves.

People like “Francesca” can not be helped, because any attempt to discuss their own motivations for these horrific misinterpretations is met with ego-defensive rage and more dishonest spinning. All we can really do is to point out their lunacy, scoff at them, and hold them up as examples to younger people as how not to turn out.

A screenshot of “Francesca”‘s original article reproduced here, under Fair Use.

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On Jeremy Meeks

Over on BDMG blog (visit that site), we read about my nigga Jeremy Meeks, a man who was so goodlookin’ that women swooned at his mugshot photo.

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Apparently, Meeks is now out of jail, living in a mansion, driving a fancy car, and paying for all of it with modeling/talent gigs (nypost dot com). Kudos to him for beating the odds. Unlike the vast majority of idiots that volunteer for neck tattoos, he isn’t working a crap job for minimum wage, after all.

Meeks is also married, to a woman named Melissa. According to his twitter account, he recently celebrated his 8-year anniversary. Kudos to him in that regard, too. Here’s an archive photo of the happy couple.

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The author at BDMG explains that Meeks’ windfall is largely due to wimminz’ idealization of the thug archetype.

Most women dream of capturing such a specimen, and through the power of their uniquely powerful and empowered vaginae, they titillate themselves with the notion that they might tame and domesticate such a badboy. I can’t really argue with the appeal of this. It’s the same delusion that powerfully powers and empowers the readers of crapola like Fifty Shades of Grey, and Twilight. The reduction of a previously untamable man, to one’s own personal dog, is the female version of the male fantasy of building a rocketship in one’s back yard, and flying it to the moon. Sure, it might happen, but it’s not very likely.

BDMG continues, and here’s where he goes wildly wrong…

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I have no idea what originally attracted Melissa to Jeremy. This might have been a one-in-a-million true love story, where a nice girl meets a good-looking but troubled young man, and through the empowering power of her magic vagina, straightens him out. I don’t find that very likely, given that he was still mired in legal problems, resulting from being convicted of various violent crimes, just a couple of years ago.

I find it infinitely more likely that Melissa was a club skank, who started banging a good-looking but troubled young man, and who decided to keep him around not because she loved him, but because he was a weak and degenerate fellow, and was thus easily controllable. Melissa is more likely the type of woman who is attracted to weak men, who she can control and manipulate.

Anyone who runs hoez knows exactly the type of woman I’m talking about.

Melissa “stayed with” Jeremy, during his imprisonment, but I doubt she was a faithful, doting wife, who spent all her time writing letters to the parole board, or preparing to make the bus trip for visitation. She probably liked the fact that he was gone to the clink. It added drama to her life, gave her something to complain about to her bitch friends, and allowed her to go out carousing whenever she wanted, without having to justify her behavior to a spouse.

The fact that Jeremy is blowing all his money on rental payments for mansions and fancy cars is another bit of circumstantial evidence that bolsters my suspicions about the true nature of his relationship. He won’t be a sexy young thug for ever. If he were wiser, or if he had the counsel of a father or grandfather, he’d be living in a modest home, driving a Toyota, and investing in a trade school education. Instead, he’s temporarily making some moderately big money, and spending every dime of it on the whims of some woman, who feels that she absolutely must have a fine house and a Maserati.

BDMG continues:

“And by the way, don’t expect him to get cleaned out in divorce court, because there is no way that his wife is going to leave him.  Women only do that when they want to get the money away from the unsexy guy; conversely, this woman stayed with him in poverty because he was the sexiest man alive.”

Last I checked, the “sexiest man alive” was Brad Pitt.

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Jeremy, if you read this, you need to divorce that bitch, pronto, and start looking out for yourself.

 

Direct Action

che-guevara-9322774-1-402Over on Dalrock, there is a treasure-trove of religious exegesis. The author is a protestant, but he’s very tolerant. As a result, a large community of Protestants, Catholics and Jews can be found in the comment section, where they constantly complain about their looney pro-feminist congregations.

I don’t believe in any God, or gods, and as a result it often seems like I’m out of place when I occasionally show up. The reality is that conservative religious people are simultaneously some of the most annoying and persistent people pushing feminism, poz and degeneracy, all under the cloak of religious tolerance. I hate your feminist preachers at least as much as you. Fortunately I am not required by a wife or tradition to attend if I don’t want to.

Recently, in one of the gripe-fests, it was suggested that one or more of the dudes start his own church. This would be a worthwhile development for a number of reasons. I countered by suggesting that if anyone were already on the board of an established church, he could very easily rig a couple of elections to stack the body with redpill brothers. Once a plurality was reached, the board could fire the feminist preacher, and replace him with someone decent.

Some of these pozzed out churches have big money at their disposal. Taking control of one would open up all sorts of new doors.

If you, dear reader, aren’t on the board of your church, and if your preacher is a radical feminist nutjob who is destabilizing your family, I have some ideas as to how you can fight the power. Just in time for father’s day, when preachers around the country are typically insulting every father in their congregation.

Naturally, I would never advise anyone to actually do any of these things. In some areas, there are laws. There’s also the social fallout if you’re caught sabotaging a church function. This is just brainstorming, for my own amusement. What follows is strictly for entertainment purposes.

Roadkill

Dead animals are a useful tool in any guerrilla’s arsenal. They’re ubiquitous, on the side of every road, and free for the taking. Even better for our purposes are whole fish, bought from the butcher’s section of the supermarket. Hiding such things in a building will surely stink the place up. Some medium sized flounder, stuffed into a ventilation shaft, should do the trick. Toss some more onto a high shelf in a utility closet. Make sure to lock up before leaving.

Placing some dead animals in theatrical positions will spook people who find them. Consider a hideous looking skinned sheep/goat head (available in most butcher shops) with the eyeballs bulging out and the tongue lolling. Wouldn’t that look great on the altar? Bonus points if the priest has a teenage kid who will be the natural suspect.

Note: to get into and out of a place undiscovered, freeze your stink-bomb overnight.

Disinformation

Sometimes an individual priest is so damaging to the lives of his flock, that directly illustrating his character defects is the only thing that will truly bring justice to those he’s ruined. Take, for example, our brother Iowa Slim (read his story), who has had his divorce and loss of custody facilitated, directly, by the couple who runs his fake-christian church.

This preacher, and/or his wife, obviously needs a good screwing. In such cases, classified ads in Craigslist can be a big help. Soliciting sex partners is always good. For example:

MWM 35 seeks black woman 18+ for BSDM domination role-play. Cum to my plantation! I’ll be master, you be my slave girl. Prefer you have very large buttocks. My wife doesn’t know, so must be discreet. Be comfortable with scat and water sports. Call Joe at 213-555-1212

Note, do not use your pastor’s real name on the ad, but do list his personal mobile telephone number. He should be getting a lot of weird calls directly after the ad is submitted. He’ll assume it’ll be a wrong number, but it’ll still amuse you to know about it.

You could then print out some hard copies of the ad itself, and mail them around to various friends, neighbors and business associates of Pastor Feminist. If you’re feeling creative, enclose an anonymous letter, id’ing the phone number, denouncing the target, and asking how the addressee could associate with this degenerate. Encourage the receiver to pray for Pastor Feminist, as he’s clearly very troubled. Use random return addresses on the envelopes, or use one belonging to a troublemaker in the congregation.

A variation on this theme is to pick up some of the weird gay/lesbian print publications that exist in every town. You find these in hipster coffee shops and they’re always given out for free. Aside from the personals, these bizarro pieces of literature always feature “coming out” sections. Use your imagination and file a story that resembles your pastor, but does not include his name. If it’s printed, you can scan this, put it on the internet, and anonymously make the association. I bet the very conservative old people at church didn’t know his marriage was just for show, and that he was actually into twinks and trannies.

The variations on this same theme are infinite, and you’re only limited by your own creativity. Fake (but convincing) tinder/pof/okc/grindr profiles, tacked up bulletin board ads on little 3×5 flash cards, and other such stuff are your media.

Vandalism

No matter what sort of building your Sunday morning manbasher parade is held in, it almost certainly has a lock on the exterior doors. Liquid Solder and Super Glue are excellent additions to such orifices.

Coaxial cable is ruined, and the signal disrupted, by discreetly pushing a sewing needle through the center of the cable at any point. Be inconspicuous, so that it takes a good long time to find the sabotage. If you do this well enough, and the building will need to be rewired entirely.

Bending a paperclip into a U-shape, and jamming each end (carefully) into an outlet is sure to set off sparks. It won’t start a fire or cause any permanent damage, but it will almost certainly blow the breaker, cutting power to the entire room. It might also shock you. Wear rubber gloves to pull this off, and see if you can’t black the place out during the sermon.

If your church has industrial clothes dryers, automatic dishwashers or some similar piece of equipment, then the introduction of a jar of all-natural peanut butter, before turning it on for a cycle, is an excellent way to ruin it.

Chewed bubble gum makes a fine addition to any carpet.

One can get a cheap safety hasp and padlock for about ten bucks. It takes about ten minutes to install one of these with a screwdriver. Wouldn’t it be great to secure some rooms… from the inside? You can’t be too careful, these days. Just make sure you’ve got a window to climb out of, and go to work.

Heavy Shit

Hiding a gram of cocaine in someone’s car would be a terrible thing to do. Of course, you’d want to tip off the local cops if you decided to go this route. If you have the connections to do this, you can add baking powder to a gram of decent quality cocaine, and theoretically make it ten grams of crap, which will still come up as cocaine when tested. Only a serious drug dealer would have that much on him… Right?

Falsely creating some financial documents, suggesting that your target came into a huge amount of money, and mailing these to the IRS… that would be terrible too.

If you have your preacher’s info, you could always pose as him over the phone. Call to make an appointment to “turn yourself in” to the IRS or FBI. When you call either of these agencies, be vague. If they ask what you’ve done, tell them that you need to get documents together, and you’ll make a full confession once you come down to the station. Assure the investigator that you’ll come with your checkbook and be prepared to make a settlement on the spot, including all fees and penalties.

Of course, when no one ever shows up for the appointment, it’s doubtful that the conversation will just be forgotten…

Conclusion

Obviously I would never do anything like this. It’s immoral. Some of it is illegal, also. Of course, unlike Iowa Slim, I’ve never had a pastor who has volunteered to fund and testify in a divorce action, so that I can’t see my own kids. If that happened to me, I don’t know what I’d do. If that happened to you, my advice is to forget it. But if you decide to get some payback, I’d never blame you…

Happy Father’s Day!

Wimminz Are An Unsolved Mystery

It’s summer, and I have some time off. I’ve been burning time watching old episodes of Unsolved Mysteries on Amazoid Prime. This is a show I remember enjoying in childhood. Robert Stack narrates, and there’s a spooky atmosphere about it that has not diminished with age. I find that it echoes the aesthetic of older series, namely Twilight Zone and Alfred Hitchcock Presents, though the stories depict real events.

What’s amazing about this series is just how badly women end up being depicted. Nearly every single episode, watched by a woke brother, will reveal that women cause about 80 percent of horrible problems that happen to men. Almost always, the troublemaker is some woman that’s fucking the victim, though it’s not unheard of that it’s a mother or sister who does the evil deed.

When a woman is depicted as protagonist, it is always due to the extremely poor judgment and behavior of either her or another wimminz.

In order to demonstrate, I picked one episode at random (there are over 100 available) and decided to describe the stories broadcast here.

Season 1, Episode 16

July 11, 1988. Walnut Creek CA: A vice cop, Lester Garnier, was found by a groundskeeper in a parking lot. He appeared to be sleeping at first, inside his parked Camaro. A closer examination revealed that he had a couple of bullets in his dome. There was very little physical evidence at the scene, and colleagues declared there was no obvious motive for his execution.

920x920The narrator makes a point to note that on his off hours, Lester enjoyed picking up women and made a hobby of running hoez he met (not unlike my own bad self – and most of my readers).

One of the downsides of this series is the blue-pill tone and endless reframings of tragedies like this, though it’s shocking to see the producers edge toward blaming the victim of a murder. I suppose this was the culture in the gay 90s, when feminism was ascendant.

The night before poor Lester was discovered, with his wig peeled back, witnesses described hearing gunshots. A carpet cleaner came forward to tell investigators that he saw two wimminz lurking around the parking lot after hearing the pop-pop-pop.

A google search on later developments reveal that at some point after the episode aired, cops matched fingerprints on the car to a wimminz named (appropriately) Katherine Kuntz. Mizz Cunt Ms. Kuntz clammed up when questioned, and was subsequently deported to Europe (sorry to you guys across the pond – I doubt this was the Kuntz last hit).

One can read more about this sad state of affairs at the San Francisco Chronicle.

Update. Florida: In an earlier broadcast, some unidentified wimminz (her face is shadowed – lol) was depicted as the victim of a scam artist named Arthur Frankfort. Apparently the anonymous wimminz met Frankfort at a dance, and two days later invited him to move in with her. He stayed at her pad for a couple of weeks — just long enough to learn what she had and how to get it — then skipped town with all her money and jewelry.

I’m tempted to indulge in pure mocking and scoffing here, though if we’re honest we can all likely name at least one blue pill chump who, just days after getting a decent piece of tail, opens up his life so that some wimminz can rob him blind. The crucial difference here is that when wimminz are the victims of such nonsense, they’re treated with kid gloves and given endless amounts of sympathy. In a healthier world we’d treat them exactly like we treat their male counterparts: specifically as thirsty simps who should have known better.

In any event, this Frankfort asshole was almost immediately fingered by his own brother (fuck’n lol) after the segment aired. He was arrested in Kentucky, and cops found out his real name was Harry Donaldson. He was a lifelong parasite and was already wanted for a number of similar shenanigans, including check fraud, armed robbery, and auto theft. Curiously, I couldn’t find any credible media sources detailing his eventual disposition. Various homemade web sites declare that he ended up dying in a Florida prison. Yeah, I hope so.

July 23, 1987. Las Vegas: 15-year old Kathy Hobbs, who lived in a sleazy, dangerous, North Las Vegas neighborhood, decided to walk to a supermarket to buy a romance novel at some point after 11 pm. Her skank-ho single mom had no problem with this. In fact, when Kathy left, she asked skank-ho single mom to give her a hug good-bye. Skank-ho mommy describes telling her “Why? I’ll be up when you get back…”

Katherine_hobbs1Kathy replied “No, after I go to the grocery store, I’m going to go out and hang out with some kids…”

Apparently skank-ho mommy had no problem with her little girl staying out all night, in drug/crime infested North Las Vegas.

As an aside, Brother Boxer is familiar with the ‘hood this young girl lived in. Las Vegas is a Mormon community, and I’ve been there many times. Just by looking at young Kathy, I’d guess she was a member of the tribe. I wouldn’t dare walk around there at 11 pm myself, and it has been cleaned up and gentrified a very great deal since the 1980s.

The narrator’s voiceover breaks in to explain that “Kathy had gone out late at night many times, so Kathy’s mother was not concerned with her safety.” The narration continues to describe skank-ho mommy going to bed after midnight, not worried about a thing.

It will surprise no one to learn that Kathy disappeared after leaving the house. Days later her body was found by a hiker, near Lake Mead (Lake Mead is south of Las Vegas on I-15). She had been brutally raped and beaten to death.

Despite the endless spin of this segment, a bit of realtalk gets through the filter. Later in the episode, one of the detectives who investigated the crime describes his own relationship with his own little girl. He expresses astonishment in the segment, aghast that any parent who would let a girl like Kathy go cavorting around late at night, unsupervised in Las Vegas.

It’s safe to say that if this girl had a father around, she’d be alive today. She also wouldn’t have been reading trashy romance novels.

A google search suggests that the questions surrounding young Kathy’s murder have never been conclusively answered, though a piece of human trash named Michael Lee Lockhart is the guy who probably did the deed. Lockhart is a serial killer who was executed around the turn of the 21st century. Good riddance.

Update. Europe: A little girl in Europe was searching for an American soldier named Philip, who fed her family his own rations when they were starving during the occupation of German territories in World War II. Philip Pelletier was found in the American State of Maine. It’s a refreshing little bit of normalcy in a depressing episode, featuring a decent American boy and a grateful little girl with her daddy telling him thank you.

1934. New Hampshire: A guy named Bill searches for his siblings, after his irresponsible parents left them home alone as children, and social workers intervened to keep them all from starving. All the kids were subsequently farmed out to orphanages and foster homes.

Granted, this tragedy isn’t entirely due to wimminz misbehavior, and it’s the depression era. Little kids are likely better off in an orphanage than alone.

Even so, the show lets slip that his mother eventually divorced his father and ran away to San Francisco, which caused the kids to be put up for adoption, rather than returned as a family. Bill apparently found two of his siblings, but a sister, Jackie Purinton, is still missing.

There is much more to this episode, but I trust my point is made. Wimminz tend to go through life using very bad judgment. They really aren’t fit to raise children by themselves, nor should any intelligent man blindly take orders from one.

You Have Been Trolled (by @redsteeze)

Recently, a conservative journalist named Stephen Miller decided to blackpill Alamo Draft House, and attend one of the “women only” screenings of Wonder Woman.

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Karol Markowicz’ comment was included on purpose, because I found it humorous.

While Karol feigns surprise, anyone who has read Brother Boxer for any length of time would have predicted this outcome. Women (including and especially feminists) love men who laugh at their prescriptions and prohibitions. If a woman says she would never tolerate x, and you do x immediately afterward, it’s likely to make that same woman interested in you.

Brother Stephen may have been in danger of being mobbed by desperate, wall-hitting feminists who wanted his phone number, but he was too wise in the ways of women to worry that his presence would cause angry meltdowns or violent attacks.

Not to be outdone, scores of women (like Rachel Leishman) are now raging on twitter, begging Stephen for the D, and expressing outrage that they weren’t in attendance to garner some of this alpha-male’s real-world attentions.

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