Answering Deti and Opus

Down below, Deti writes…

I’d be honored to be one of your scumbag friends in the legal profession.

As a scumbag academic, I think we’re both at about the same level of respectability. I’d bet you make a bit more money than I do, though my job is probably easier. Both of us are several strata beneath the average used-car salesman in terms of respectability. I can accept this, and it appears you can too; which is good, because I don’t want to give undue offense.

This is my cue to say that I am not qualified to give legal advice, do not have a law degree of any sort, have never been admitted to practice. Of course, I don’t know Deti personally, but I believe that he is a part of the profession (why would he lie about that?).

My personal interest began when I was a member of a forum called Happy Bachelors, and a casual reader of The Spearhead. I had never been married (though I came close once), and wanted to know just how bad things were. The guys who wrote articles on these sites told such terrible stories, and they seemed to mirror my father’s story. At the time, I was still working my way through a graduate program, at a bank. My hours were long, and my days off were valuable. At one point, around 2010, I bit the bullet. I made the excuse of a dentist’s appointment, wandered on down to the big courthouse downtown, rode the elevator up to the third floor, and sat through a few hours of the so-called “family courts.”

What I ended up seeing was so much worse than anything I had expected, that I left completely nonplussed. Not only could I not write about the things I had seen transpire, I couldn’t even speak or think too deeply about them.

I do take issue at least a little bit with the availability of court testimony. You can’t always look up trial testimony in a routine humdrum divorce on the internet, in fact most of the time you can’t do it. You would have to know one of the lawyers involved and get a copy of the trial transcript, or get it from the court by physically walking to the courthouse and getting the hard file out. Or if online, you have to subscribe to a service. And even then the testimony isn’t always transcribed, even if it is audio recorded or a court reporter takes it down.

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Here is the name of a poor fellow who was added to the abstract of a divorce proceeding. I know he wasn’t a police officer or an attorney, because at the end of his name you’d see (LEO) or (ATY) if he were. I have no idea why he was a witness in a divorce trial, and this is a random trial I looked up and found in about ten minutes. To get the screenshot, I went back to the same county that gave me such a wonderful education (mentioned above) in 2010. I don’t live there any longer, but during that time I got fairly familiar with the court viewer. I don’t have any reason to disbelieve Deti if he tells me this is not the norm, but I ain’t lying about it being a possibility. I would be able to read this guy’s testimony if I mailed a letter, with the court case number on it, to the county in question. It would cost me very little (they suggest sending a blank check, inscribed with “not more than twenty dollars” to pay the copy fees).

I guess my point is that banging a married chick carries the potential for a lot of long-term consequences.

Then Brother Opus writes:

I thought Boxer, that no-fault, no-questions-asked divorce was now universal throughout the American states.

My understanding (I hope Deti will correct me if I’m wrong) is that the divorce will be granted regardless of what happens. However (and this is the detail which houses the devil) the amount of easy money that skank-ho princess will receive in the settlement is partly at the judge’s discretion. This makes divorce attorneys a lot of money, as they like to get the couple to air all the dirty laundry they possibly can in the process (while racking up billable hours). In theory, an innocent woman who had to deal with an unstable, violent, drunk of a husband will come out financially much better off, than a skank-ho wimminz, who put a nice man through hell. Of course, the paramour who had a good time with said wimminz will be called by both parties and their counsel, as he will be presented as instigator and witness to her depravity, in turn.

 

 

Married Hoez: Always a Terrible Bargain

From Dalrock, an interesting mini-article by our nigga Trust (here). In the first place, he seems to be suggesting that he made a successful transition from the playa lifestyle to a monogamous marriage. For this miracle, he credits his faith. I have no reason to disbelieve him. However he did it, my hat is off.

He then writes some interesting stuff about being ensnared by the worst sort of hook-up, the married ho’. I have never discussed this in detail, but it is something the young bros need to watch out for.

married.hoez

Trust states:

a couple of my partners turned out to be married, unbeknownst to me, and I found out that they did things with me in a brief encounter that their husbands never experienced with them…

There’s a lot in the subtext here, and a natural thing to wonder is how our brother has the knowledge of what said ho’ did or didn’t do with her husband. Either she admitted it after the fact, in which case he can’t really claim the “unbeknownst to me” part, or he is personal friends with these men, who are married to these hoez, and they all discuss their sex lives together. That’s all peripheral, though.

Young brothers need to get some understanding about the true dangers of banging a married ho’. The comeuppance they face will almost never be violence (though that is a non-trivial possibility) from the spurned husband. It will, however, often be in the form of a subpoena, to the divorce trial, often delivered months after the deed is done. Go down to the divorce courts on any given Tuesday and you are not unlikely to see some poor playa, sweating under the hot lights, as the husband and wife’s attorneys ask some very uncomfortable questions, which he will be compelled to answer if he doesn’t want to sit in jail for contempt.

“Yes, sir, I did do that sex act with the respondent, usually described by a two-digit number”

“Yes, sir, she did tell me she was married, after the fact”

“Yes sir, I did continue to see her for sex. I don’t remember how many times.”

I am told by my scumbag friends in the legal profession that this is a favorite tactic of both parties in the divorce action, as the petitioner (i.e. husband who asks for divorce) wants to demonstrate what a piece of shit he married, and the respondent (i.e. married ho’ you banged) wants to project the blame for the affair on you.

After this humiliating spectacle is over, you will be released from the witness box, but the fun is just beginning for you. Everything you’ve talked about has been transcribed and recorded. You can be found on the internet as a witness, by anyone who searches. A quick request to the courts will vomit up your entire testimony, written down, to be used against you for years to come. If the ho’  you bang (or her family) is high-profile enough, you might even make the morning edition of the regional papers, at any time in the near or distant future, and you’ll get to relive your embarrassment anew, each time either party makes the news.

How about your father. Will he be proud to read the transcript of your testimony in this action? What if you meet a nice young girl like our Brother Trust did, and want to settle down into a blissful life of monogamy. Would she find you a good insurance risk, knowing your history? Will your boss’ wife read of your exploits, before the company dinner party? Will she be impressed?

So, some hot new bitch is coming on hard to you. What to do? I always assume any woman who comes on strong is married. Unmarried women approach differently (and specifically, they’re much more subtle). First I check her facebook and instagram profiles. Then I start asking a series of questions. Most importantly, I don’t fuck someone in the first fifteen minutes of meeting her. That’s something I learned long ago.

Aside from getting your ass kicked by her husband, or getting embarrassed in court, fucking a married ho’ is pathetic. The fact that you are so desperate as to sniff around for sexual scraps that falls off a married man’s table signifies your low status among both women and men.

There’s also a distinctly homosexual dimension to fucking married women. You can’t escape that the pussy you’re fucking hosted her husband’s schlong, just days (possibly moments) before you dived into it. Those lips you’re kissing just sucked him off. How does his dick taste?

In short, A married ho’ is always a terrible bargain. Just don’t do it.

 

Post Your Lifts!

A bit of motivation from Brother Scott over at American Dad. Unlike the rest of us, he’s not using the holidays to become even more of a fatass. A couple of weeks ago, he decided to get into better shape. I think I had that thought around the same time. Unlike ya boy Boxer, he’s actually doing it.

Motivation (posted 09 Nov.) (here)

When Life Gets In The Way (posted 30 Nov.) (here)

Now, this will cue up the usual suspects (Cane Caldo, SirHamster) to call me a faggot, but Scott’s open about his real life, and he’s posted pics that are interesting. Check out the improvement in his biceps, in the span of about three weeks.

Most of Scott’s blog is now password protected. I think this is wise. Wiser still would be for him to start a separate blog, authored under some sort of pseudonym like “Luigi Montecassino” or some shit, and post his antifeminist stuff there. These posts are not (yet) password protected, so, check them out while you can.

The bottom line is that here is an older bro who (again, unlike me) is self-motivated, with no personal trainer, and who is improving himself with diet and exercise. This is a masculine pursuit which ought to be inspirational.

Happy Holidays

Every part of the good earth has it’s pleasant season… that time of year when it’s dry, fair, and the weather is good for walking. Where I live, that season is now.

It’s also American Thanksgiving. Hail our God Emperor, President Trump, for his beneficence and mercy.

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I won’t be around much for the next week or so. This is the case with many blogs. If you must be on the internet, then pre-approved commenters should feel free to discuss stuff here; as their favorite blogs get thrown into moderation. Otherwise, go on a hike, have a snowball fight, watch some homosexual sportsball, and enjoy the day with your families.

Our celebrations foreshadow the great victory we will someday enjoy over our feminist enemies, and the return to normalcy in our societies.

As an aside, this blog is apparently four years old…

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Thanks for riding with Boxer!

Our Leader’s Children

One of the things that can be said about Donald Trump (and I’m not completely a fan) is that his children are not boozy bar sluts (like the Bush girls) or out of control party skanks (like at least one of the Obama kids) or hideously ugly nerds (like the Clinton kid). This says something important about him, both as a man and as a father.

exempli gratia:

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This is a young lady whose father was, for a while, the chief executive of the United States. However, she saw him in those private moments, when he was being berated and cut down by his own wife. She internalized her mother’s obvious lack of respect, and felt that she had no boundaries on her behavior. Today, as a young woman, she is completely bereft of the security of such behavioral checks, and she acts out accordingly.

There was a report I heard, at some point around 2009, in which Michelle Obama angrily berated her husband at a state dinner. The story went on to say that he just stayed quiet while his wife was castigating him in public. Was this report true? I don’t have a source, but I believe it was. Imagine, if you will, being the most powerful man in the world, and being completely unable to tell your own bitch wife to shut her trap, when she’s distracting other important people from doing business. Moreover, imagine what these incidents of public humiliation will teach your children.

Today, Malia Obama is at Harvard, with other children of privilege. She’s got a secret service retinue, and enough money to do whatever she wants. How does she act? Exactly like a trashy teenager in the trailer park, with a stranger’s tongue down her throat, and his hand on her ass… desperately trying to piss off daddy.

Read more at the (ever classy) TMZ (here).