Saturday, 26 October 2013


This is a hard post toos write.  As a word of warning, it is going to be bloated, unedited, self-indulgent, whiny, probably the longest thing I’ve ever put up on the old blog. But it fucken sends a cunt fuming does it not, toos hear that The Manosphere are a bunch of racist, misogynist, pin dicked fucktards who couldn’t catch the clap in a Mexican whorehouse. Screw it. I’m going to be the open, bald faced, devil’s advocate to the Fat Fuck Futrelles of this world. If it wasn’t for this dark, deep, dank underbelly of the internet, more than likely Is would be locked up somewhere with a straitjacket thinking Is be a giant Indian cunt, chain smoking, on Ritalin, haven the fucken spoony ride of my life. Rome wasn’t built in a day ken. It wasn’t destroyed in a day either.

To be honest, I don't really know where to start with this one. My childhood, well ok, my teenagehood, the whole shebomb, was a twisted, sickly mess. I can’t remember a goddamn thing about it, I would have to sit down and really think about it to be honest. It’s a sort of fuzzy melancholy blur, or perhaps I’m repressing, pushing a lot of shite deep down, compressed, having a mouth yet not being able toos scream, not being cognizant of it. I was bullied a lot. Schools these days tend to be like bullying mills, conveyor belts where a cunt transitions from a boisterous wee bairn, to a co-dependent, sheltered milquetoast shitsandwich who self-medicates on cans of cheap Bavaria and pornography during the weekends. I was bored incessantly with school. I never had anything well and truly traumatic happen to me, but of course, yous put a frog in some water and cunt dinnae know that the water is boiling until far too late in the process and then just like that, food for cheese eating stink monkeys. This is what makes me angry, vitriolic, when yous have a Boomer goings on about “how well off” we are and “how we have digital watches now” and all that shite talk because only connect, lol it dinnae exist theres anymore, it’s a dream, its nothing more than masturbation. The worst thing about it wasn’t the bullying, the self-loathing, the gamma tendencies that were manifesting themselves, it was the crippling loneliness, hating yourself over ad over. That idealized childhood of the kid cycling around in the okie doke neighbourhood, first kiss, connection, messing around, projects, skills, dreams, challenges, learning to drive, sandwiches, summer job, bookkeep, emotion, yeah hahaha. I spent it all inside ken, getting lonelier and more depressed, darks fading slowly. I never left the house ken, and I got scared of leaving the house on top of all of that. I knew I was a freak, so I used to make up friends so that people would shut the fuck up when they asked me who I hung around with and what I did on the weekend. Videogames were a common past-time, so was pornography.  RPGs were a big one, I had a big thing for RPGs, put this cunt on mastermind and the topic is “Final Fantasy”, I’d come out ace of spades, pure cunthammers! And it continued on and on like this. More lies, more trying to protect my ego that I was so smart and wonderful, I was an awful human being, but moreso, I was in a way, never called out on my shit or given good advice.
Only dumb muscleheads go to the gym and lift weights.

Working with your hands is for retards.

Be a nice guy and you’ll get yourself a nice lassie.

Just be yourself.

Just be yourself.
Just be yourself.

Hey, take this test, you might have fucken aspergers! You’re a freak now!

Oh yeah…

Just be yourself.

Like I said, it wasn’t evil world against me. My parents are the loveliest people yous will ever meet.  I was an awful person and brought it on myself, no doubt about that. But the school, the teachers, goals and aspirations, all of it. Advice. Everywhere I turned, more awful shitty advice from awful shitty people makes one an awful shitty person.

There are two kinds of suffering in this world. The first type is antifragile. This is the suffering you get by lifting weights, by hurting your brain over a maths problem, by fasting, by approaching a lassie.  This is the kind of thing that makes you stronger, more powerful, a better human being. The second type is fragile. This is the horrific tragic event, M3’s 12 years of celibacy, the lassie being raped, the injury, the sickness, the disease, the dying, the death, the cancer at stage four metastasis. And the more I went on, the worse it got. Just be yourself, they said as I smoked another joint, stopped caring, and tried to defeat another Dark Aeon in Final Fantasy (what a woeful game, seven is the best game imo) 10.  I bullshitted through school. I got skinny fat. I thought of joining the army a lot but then remembered that one time when I went for a run and threw up on the sidewalk, so you know, fuck basic training when that shit happens. But then I’s ended up in de university, not really knowing what the hell I was doing in there. Still don’t know ken.

The loneliness got worse. Yous end up in classes with hundreds of people, and the filth, the nightmares get worse. I drank way too much. I self-harmed with cigarettes, stopped sleeping, stopped eating, lived on microwavable rice and packs of sweets. I withdrew into myself into a big way. Then there was, ok, call her Julia. She was an eastern European lassie, older than me, who was in a bit of a way herself. So wes got talking. We talked and talked, got closer and closer, she had a boyfriend, a herby PHD in something shite, some useless humanities degree. That’s when the cracks started to appear in the whole thing. I had no problem accepting any of the ideas behind game, or any of Roissy when I found him first after this whole debacle, cause Roissy answered just about every question, every uncertainty I had with women. Suddenly it all made sense. Suddenly fucking Jane Austen novels made sense. The big one, the watershed of watersheds for me, was that women that liked to be dominated.  One day, as the lassie was getting ready, I found a book of some of Julia’s fiction, essentially a fifty shades of grey ripoff, only with yours truly playing the role as Mr Grey. So, that was that and a cunt concocted a plan. Six beers later and I’m spanking her, dominating her, pulling her hair, tying her up. Not long later and I’ve a lassie eight years older than me head over heels with Well Hung Franco ™.

She was a lovely person, all things considered and I still think about her. But the second she said she was in love in me, the train derailed on my part. It really disturbed me at the time, not just the fact that there was another human being who felt something for me, who actually gave a shit, but her coldness towards her boyfriend. That was a scary feeling. He left the country for a few months. We fucked; we used his house, his car, his office, her office, fields, toilets, everywhere ken. It was like he never existed. Even though she cooked for me, dressed really well, bought me drinks, books, weed, cigarettes, at a gut level, it was a trainwreck.

A lot of lads get super soppy and get scared of losing the lassie. The idea of being loved like this was so weird, so foreign, so scary; I broke it off with her, just as I told her the same thing. Was I? Not really sure ken. But she was damaged in her own way ken. And the age gap would have eaten things up in the end. But shit went to pieces after that. I had no friends apart from her, she be in a similar boat, some shitty office job with accounts. Like I said, strange lassie. On one hand, she was uber feminine, but one the other hand she was a huge geek as well, a real introverted lad’s fantasy. Then I dropped all of it and fucked myself sober. That fucken abyss ken. Scared of intimacy. You fucked up, you fucking nazi whore. Gold dust lassies ken, and there be a lot of thirsty cunts out there.

So shite got worse. The degree was rough; I was talking to lads who had masters in the shite and getting “lucky” with drab office jobs.  Having to live in a school, in an office in a school, in a school, a perpetual nightmare ken. That’s roughly around the time I stumbled across the manosphere. I remember reading In Mala Fide, Roosh, thought it was interesting, but it didn’t click, not properly anyway.

You have to have the “moment” for it to click.

I got in a fistfight outside a bar. It was a stupid, petty little thing, and for some people that be like, what the fuck, but remember, this be overprotected Franco we be talking about here. I pass the cunt, he mutters something under his breath, sneers at me and I take the bait, all grabs and hands and shite. I remember two big things that came out of it actually, both equally important. The first and most disturbing thing was that I really enjoyed it. Call me a sick fuck or a psycho, but it was strangely fun. I abhor violence, but being in a proper fight like that was a combination of “you fucking loser” and “that was something else right? “Hell, even the guy I had the fight with, after we calmed down, apologized, we made up and that was that. But it was important for two reasons. Just like that beautiful lassie who loved it when I spanked her, I had done something that I told was obviously stupid, obviously wrong, like obviously cause the world works in black and white and shit by everyone, yet I had won. I had felt something, not anhedonia, actually felt something stir, to use some faggy, flowery language. I wanted to fight again. I wanted someone to fight with me. I went back to my flat, drank some more, blacked out and woke up with a piece of paper that scrawled across it I wrote: “sort shit out”. So I went back to the internet, I took a look at Roissy, and more importantly, Captain Capitalism’s blog. Suffice toos say, if this cunt ever makes it big, Clarey is going to wake up with a very generous donation to his blog.
More reading of the manosphere. I emptied my fridge and started eating paleo. I started lifting. Fucking lost, with that little barbell with no weight on it. I got rid of my hair and shaved it down to a blade two. I began to delve into Roissy’s archive, books on psychology, body language, all of it. People around me started acting differently. You’ll get sick, eat more pasta they said! You’ll end up with a small dick from lifting weights! I grew stronger, put on muscle. Anyone who has put on a little bit of muscle will tell you about how people talk to yous while bulked up a bit. What was once quite poor social skills have become something a lot more polished, a lot more refined? I’m angry, I’m not the most “have it together” guy, I appreciate that. But there are no quick solutions to any of this, you have to understand. You don’t undo damage to your body, both physical and mental, just like that. You don’t undo years of loneliness and videogame, pornography use, just like that. There’s probably always going to be some angry, repressed part of Franco, trying to deal with this shite. Take it slow ken. Shit’s hitting the fan. Yeah, that is happening right now and I’s be a floundering fuckamajimbo, I’m just looking to get out of this, to finish this once and for all, and head home for a few cans and watch the footy.

I’m not joking. Some of the bloggers here told me what I needed to hear. Blunt advice, but words, ideas, concepts a cunt really needs to hear all the same. This is the age without fathers, the age where ideas are thrown up in the air and all of them are equal no, filtering them out takes some time and effort well and truly. But how much can yous do ken? I’ve got cousins heading for the spinstercatville. One of my cousins is in the same boat I was.

Perhaps there’s also a comfort in that I’m never properly going to fit into any place anymore, kinda like what Forney has said. My old area is kebab and cash for gold shops now anyway so…It’s kind of a tightrope, yous can be angry, but if yous let it consume you…there’s been a negative correlation between self-improvement and misanthropy in my case, haha shite.  But if these blogs didn’t exist, I don’t know where I’d be. So, despite the cynicism, this post, the past couple of years, this has been a well and truly thank you for everyone out there.  Thanks lads.  This is the evil of the left, men are not let be men cause letting them be men brings the whole house of cards come crumbling down.
Advice. Healthy relations. This be the key. People are drowning in bad advice and Western Civilization is the result. Every group has its fringy retards, its pissy little MRAs or its racist scum White nationalists, yeah sure, I agree with all of these criticisms and complaints. That has nothing to do with it. The fact of the matter is that there is an increasingly lost generation that you are subjecting a lot of shite to. That is the manosphere in a nutshell. Self improvement, but more than that nay, the paradigm for self improvement itself, rather than some vague, hipster, new age bullshit that the modern age loves so much. It’s a tunnel out of the prison, and it’s a lonely tunnel as well.

Yous had a monopoly on power and information, but now, with the internet, we can do all the work you can for little to no cost. If I had been told all of this before, perhaps I wouldn’t be as angry, as fucked up as I was and to an extent am and always will be. I’m working on it, I’ll be fine though, use every single setback to work on yourself, you stagnate and you die. Game gives you a little bit of power; I’ve wasted it on one night stands with slutty lassies. Too weak for too long ken. It’s simple. The damage has been done. Spiritual atrophy. Perhaps not the coolest cunt right now, but there’s a long time to improve. You’ll see. It’s a long time, it be a long life, I can wait. I’ll bide my time. I’ll build my own gang, cause a gang means real, not just the supplementation of life to some pixels on a screen. That's when the fun starts.
Don’t know about you cunts, but this is a game that I very much intend to win.


  1. You'll win it for sure.

    FF 7 was the best. But its still not as good as fighting, fucking, and iron.

    1. Aye. Videogames are fine and whatnot, but when yous can answer literally the most, pointless, nerdy trivia on it, yous probably have to reconsider your life, truth be told.

  2. Fuck Yes!
    The first pussy to be slain must be the one within.

    1. Yeah, defo, but it takes a long time, and it be hard going, no? Still, it will be worth it for many a cunt in the end, but yous need to know where you are going with it!

  3. "She was a lovely person, all things considered and I still think about her. But the second she said she was in love in me, the train derailed on my part."

    I know, right?

    "It really disturbed me at the time, not just the fact that there was another human being who felt something for me, who actually gave a shit, but her coldness towards her boyfriend. That was a scary feeling. "


    Holy shit, I've run into this, and it hit me much the way it hit you. It was just that massive sense of disconnect, where your brain is struggling to come up with "Why in the world would she say she loves me? We're having good sex, there's nothing romantic about this shit at all." And the kicker is, you and I both believed she meant what she said, that she wasn't just saying it to get another romp or to make us feel good. She was too clearly caught up in her own emotions to do that.

    The coldness to her boyfriend too...

    Only after then did I start to truly realize just how alien women are to me.

    On another note, is your Da still alive? I think he'd probably appreciate deeply hearing you're turning yourself around after your childhood.

    1. Alive and well. The thing is, when it came to a lot of advice say, what advice was given to your parents worked, because the economy was better, lassies were better, a university degree was far more powerful than now, etc. Times have changed so much, so if yous have had parents giving out this sort of advice, wouldn't be their fault en aw.

      Yeah, that's the thing. If it wasn't for Julia, I would have come across this stuff and been more on the game denier/nutjob side of things. But everything Roissy said, I stumbled across with my own eyes, and for about a year too. It make everything crystal clear. But yous knows yourself how much of a sobering experience something like that can be.

      But I think it was more than that. I was just shocked that I had an impact on a person like this, and seeing the boyfriend being messed around by me, how badly this can go to pieces, unless your game is ok. I've done some pretty awful things ken, but that was a pretty bad one...

  4. " Clarey is going to wake up with a very generous donation to his blog." funny ba*****t haha. oh your right on the money ken. what im struggling with is why your still hanging around dublin. Name all the sucessful irish people you can, they knew to leave, you have to for your own sanity. Look i love my country too, i cried for two hours on the flight out but you will begin to comprehend that the limits this will have on your future growth. you can always visit 2/3/7 times a year when you've made it....

    1. Oh yeah, I'm planning to get the fuck out. But that's going to take another bit of money saving and work. This time next year though, I hope to be arriving somewhere, but not here anyway,

  5. You know, I don't read many manosphere blogs, but I subscribe to yours. Posts like this are why: this is some fucking inspirational shit.

    In exchange, here's an inspirational poem:

    Out of the night that covers me,
    Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
    I thank whatever gods may be
    For my unconquerable soul.

    In the fell clutch of circumstance
    I have not winced nor cried aloud.
    Under the bludgeonings of chance
    My head is bloody, but unbowed.

    Beyond this place of wrath and tears
    Looms but the Horror of the shade,
    And yet the menace of the years
    Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

    It matters not how strait the gate,
    How charged with punishments the scroll.
    I am the master of my fate:
    I am the captain of my soul.

    And here's an inspirational thought: your story is very similar to my own. And, no doubt, similar to many of your commenters. And many other people in the manosphere, or the reactosphere, and countless more outside any fucking sphere who nevertheless have found little slivers of the truth.

    So answer this: how special do you feel? My guess is that like me, you feel a bit special, but not that special. 1-in-a-1000, maybe, but not 1-in-a-million. And not being that special is a good thing, because if neither your nature or nurture is unusual: there must be others like you.

    The Anglo-saxon gene pool, which gave birth to Shakespeare, Newton, Darwin, Churchill cannot have completely degenerated in a few generations; the DNA of great men must still be there, if a little dispersed. And if blue-pill society, mass media consumerism and state education can still somehow produce someone like you (in the same way that Marx said capitalism produces the proletarian revolutionary), how many more do you think it has created?

    1. [I know you're Irish, but the two peoples must have interbred so much throughout history they must be pretty close genetically].

    2. Not really special at all, I just like to write ken. I got unlucky or lucky, depending on how exactly you look at all of this. That's the funny thing about all of this. You, them, can only cover this up for so long before we start to see cracks appearing and then the truth starts coming out for what it is. It has created a fuckload more people. The major blogs shut down? Meh. They'll be more, more disenfranchised lads and lassies asking questions and finding something close to a proper answer.

      That's an extremely flattering comment, thank you for that man.

  6. If you'd like an alternative to casually flirting with girls and trying to figure out the right thing to say...

    If you'd rather have women pick YOU, instead of spending your nights prowling around in noisy bars and night clubs...

    Then I encourage you to watch this eye-opening video to unveil a strong little secret that has the power to get you your personal harem of beautiful women: