Thursday, 28 February 2013

Finding A Purpose


Something's changed in de Roosh V as of late. Posting a video in corollary to his hanging up de boots The Beginning of The End piece, Roosh talks about having the complex, the drive, that obsession with just getting laid, his ego, his worth as a man, tied up with how many notches he managed to amass over his life. Is all of this a sort of augery? That the drive, the complex, it, the spark, the cigarette light in the dark room, is extinguished, rivers dries up as time goes on? It is a fascinating concept all the same, certainly makes a cunt ponder and wander and gasp in awe as the formerly timorous fiend has flowered, risen from the ashes and ended up as a sort of social paladin.

I guess this post is a sort of response to the question that Roosh posted in the video. Give me a complex, the lad asks. Well, ok then. Here's me, grasping the impetus of the situation. With great power comes de responsibility en aw. Roosh, in light of being quite propitious in his life, has sort of become one of the unofficial leaders of this side of the interwebz. This is not because anyone and everyone wants to be a fucken player or anything, but because Roosh and the forum linked with his website, is the equivalent of the Age of Enlightenment coffee shops where skeptical lads and lassies bang noggins together. Moreso, Roosh and whatnot provide, and  do a good job at it as well, many of the tools required to traverse the modern sexual market place. Essentially, game is the Achilles Heel of this whole house of cards. If Roosh wants a complex, a cause, here it fucking well is. Work towards destroying and ending feminism, completely. Work towards eviscerating those who advocate no fault divorce, dumbed down education, egalitarianism, degeneracy, the whole fucking lot. Work towards those who are the embodiment of what it is like to be a man. Work towards creating sheer bloody pandemonium. The west is finished, we are dancing on its rotting corpse. Whoever controls the past controls the future.

Time decays en fucken aw. Suddenly, Lincoln wasn't such a fucking bad guy and all and BAZOOM, hey hoe, history is siphoned through a funnel and the revisionist narrative is complete. We know that. We need this fucking bitch to hit rock bottom, we know this as well. But we need advice. We need a fight club. We need to give people the tools to accelerate and improve on The West. This. Sheer. Bloody moorder which can be fun as well, yes yes. It's great to milk the decline for what it is worth, and fuck even I'm doing that meself. But it will only last so long. In short, anything that feeds into the antiuniversity is to be welcomed and encouraged. This is a race against time. When shit hits the fan, we've got two paths. One, is the antiuniversity. The other, is a bastardized, socialist dystopia. 

So what will it be ken? Shit bro, we need plans. Ideas. Action. Meatspace. Bring out de fucken flaming decks and lay out your hand. Go for a few scoops in between. We need to get into The Cathedrals, and throw their beliefs in de fire, and hope the thing starts to spread.. This is my recommendation.

Speaking of finding a purpose, a brief aside and all:  I've always admired that about people, yous know, those utterly determined cunts who will pour all their energy into this one task, this one drive. Free Northerner had a post about this, and fucken hell, this really resonated with yours truly. For the most part, I've been a complete coaster, whether it be in the de schooldwork, fitness, earning moolah, university, or anything akin to that. I have little to no drive or feel or ambition in anyway, in any aspect of my life. The advantage of all of this is that I've been better at not losing the rag when shit be hitting de fan, but that is more due toos a strange kind of indifference, hollowing out than anything else. Perhaps the complex is something that only comes to a certain kind of person, a special kind of person, one with the potential to thrive as a master, can ever come to possess.

I have a hypothesis: that the internet is a sort of ersatz for many an activity for the complex, for the persona of man in sorts. Instead of making friends, the socially maladjusted cunt gets his buzz off of de Facebook. Instead of goals, problems to be solved, you have mindless entertainment, listening to more music, comedy, keeping up with the fucking Jonses etc. Instead of writing a novel, you write blog posts to get the writing bug expunged from de system. So, the hypothesis is that the motivation to kick arse all over the shop, to expiate the process, is to take the internet out of the equation so you go cold turkey, and thus, are forced toos fucken pursue your goals and whatnot.

Or maybe I'm talking lock stock and smoking shite and Roosh is asking a question there is no answer to.

Monday, 25 February 2013

A Day in the Life


Choose a family. Choose a beta provider sap of a father and a strong empowered woman for a mother. Choose school. Choose being introverted. Choose a dumbed down feminazi education. Choose crippling shyness and being bullied to an inch of your life. Choose cutting your wrists to feel something, anhedonia en aw. Choose smoking weed in the toilets and blowing it out through the vents. Choose loosing your virginity to a fatty. Choose unremarkable grades. Choose university. Choose a degree which fills your head full of feminist fluff. Choose obstreperous lassies, cheap Chinese takeway, foods with high glycemic indexes. Choose hating the gym rat who fucks while you buck you shitty little gamma you. Choose insulin insensitivity and diabetes. Choose shitty friends who pick the same table in the same pub and never approach any lassie any day. Choose lesbian porn. Choose wasting your nights on facebook. going through lassie's pictures and dreaming of getting your hole. Choose cheap action flicks filled with men who you'll never look as good as, and women who are so beautiful, it brings to mind Borat's sister. Choose a shitty job working far below your creative and mental potential. Choose degeneracy. Choose a supplement, Rogaine, Viagra, Xanex, SSRIS that ensure you retain water and cause you to fart a lot. Choose living the dream. Choose team conferences. Choose cheap vodka. Choose the IKEA furniture set, the curtains, the washing machine and dryer, the annoying flatmate that plays jungle music at three o clock in the morning. Choose Coppers on Friday nights. Choose Labour in the next election. Choose formicating up and down city streets in the freezing cold. Choose a 32 year old call centre girl with saggy tits and a flabby ass. Choose gossip in a whirlwind of shit.Choose a kid with Down Syndrome. Choose another kid, name him Alan, unremarkable and twatty cunt who eats glue and worms. Choose counseling. Choose watching films like Lost In Translation over and over again and imagine tapping dat ass everytime you frequent the shower. Choose your dear lassie falling out of love with you and proceeding to wank off a man more than a decade younger than her in the back seat of your car and filing for divorce thereafter. Choose seeing the kids on Thursdays, maybe Fridays if the judge likes your cut. Choose an ever expanding waistline. Choose being perpetually in debt. Choose going over all the dreams that you had since your childhood and regret not acting on them. Choose sitting on a bar stool watching yet another Rugby game in your local. Choose getting old. Choose seeing your kids moving away, solipsistic little brats en aw, and only calling you on Tuesdays. Choose sitting on your porch, head chocked full of doomsday porn. Choose The Guardian and The New York Times, and talking about the latest government proposals to your pasty faced friends. Choose losing your mobility. Choose breaking your hip and falling on the floor. Choose the white van, taking you toos sunny meadows where you sit in a chair and listen to failed fucken cabaret singers sing Frank Sinatra tunes to you while you pass in and out of consciousness before one big final s-h-i-t and you find yourself chucked in with all the other lawyers, scumbags, criminals and rapists and all because you made fun of The Amish. Congrats. You fucken did it man. We couldn't be any prouder of you.

Choose life.

Saturday, 23 February 2013

Leftist Bullies


A fine couple of days for free speech on de internet. Matt Forney, writer at mattforney.com, excavatingeden.com and thealternativeright.com, kicked up a fierce racket with an article he wrote on rape. The article was clearly satirical, over the top, funny, but with a number of important points to it, shit some people were way too fucking dumb to see. First, rapes are grossly over exaggerated in public discourse. Posters of one in four being put up in Irish campuses. This sort of statistical nastiness, its point to propel an undeserving cohort into a position of unwarranted power. Anyone who has read Steven Pinker's new book on violence will know that rapes occur at around 50 in 100000 women. Think about that. That is still a shocking figure, and rape is a vile cruel barbaric act no doubt, but, when you put out numbers like one in four, you make out every male out there to be a brute, a piece of lassie abusing shit, family obliterating scumbucket stuff well and truly. This metamorphoses into a sort of masculine guilt, that we are all fucken rapists en aw, even though, literally according to these numbers, 99.9 percent arnae going toos be doing that thing. Second, false rape claims are wrong, a serious and heinous crime, because they make a mockery of the actual victims, and make it harder for them to recover from such an event in the long run, alongside destroying a man's reputation.

But that's all timmy tangent stuff. The point is is that Matt Forney issued an apology today for his post, and proceeded to take the rape article down down. Taking a look at the RooshV forum (I wouldn't be posting this if it wasn't there), it turns out Forney made an enemy out of fucken Anonymous, of all the cunts to do that like, personal details were dug up and rightly so, Forney decided that dragging his family into the gaping jaws of imperious political correctness, polished off by Anonymous of all the fiends, wasnae fucken worth it in the end.

Next, we have Zack Nold. College kid, English major, writing for his university paper. Kid seems sharp, fresh. Is this somebody who actually sees what is going on, or is he one of us, someone who stumbled upon the alt right, secretly, looking to cause a little bit of chaos and sheer bloody moorder? Well anyway, the article "Feminism Hurts Modern Day Relationships" is well, what exactly the bloody fuck it says on the tin. Of course, instead of people addressing his point, the comment section is stuffed with slags, insults, and ad hominums. He's got fucking stones this lad. It's really fucken funny when you think about it. He's part of the triangle shit right, and he's fucking telling them that they have an isosceles instead of a right angle. Zack might get into serious trouble for this. Shit me a brick, even that fat piece of shit Lindy West has written an article about it, with sentences in capital letters because she wants to fucking show you HOW ANGRY SHE IS.  Step off the pathway and you're an outsider ken.

Zach, honey, from one English major to another, it's important that you actually read the books. The great literature in which you're about to have your degree is full of narratives of oppression and facilitated empathy and invitations to challenge your own ingrained notions of how the world works. Just try. 

Lol. You know, if Lord Byron was alive today, I have no doubt he would be writing on The Manosphere. What makes this paragraph the more disturbing, more palatable is that it is clear to see that the great works are being used to distort thought. Orwell was worried about throwing a big pile of books in the fire. Postmodernism has found a better weapon. It gets the books with the most accurate depictions of men and women to exist, and changes our interpretation of them so our interpretation of people changes as well. We don't see great men, we see privileged men. Your dick will thank you by not signing up for English Literature nonsense ken.

That be the thing,roysh. Forney writes a satirical argue and gets Anonymous on his ass. Zach raises a few good questions and is one of the most hated men on campus now. But that's ok, that's all in the name of tolerance, amirite folks? And as the world gets more shot to pieces, more tolerance is injected in, to seal the vacuum of leftist love nice and tight. Major respect to Forney and Zach btw. The only thing I fear is that there is worse to come, canary in the mine kind of stuff. What about cunts like Aurini, Roosh, Clarey? This side o the interwebs might get shit nasty sooner then we all think. Or not ken. Thank de good lord for cans of Dutch and Lucky Strike cigarettes.

Friday, 22 February 2013

Dublin Nightlife: Drinking Fighting Schmoking Away...


Coppers again. Dem fucking cunts. Always fucken Coppers. The meat in the room's sandwich, imbibed peoples formicating to and fro de fucking bar. It's too fucken tumultuous in here. When there is a crowd, paradoxically I become more cognizant of my own self, in other words, I always end up thinking, "Dis be Franco and he is standing in Coppers drinking some whiskey while some voluptuous beures waddle by to the tables where dere sackless men are waiting jovially. I look around. I count. 27 peoples directly in front of me. 18 are male. 9 are women. 3 of those women are horizontally challenged.

Bigger fucken sausagefest than a Polish butchers.

So let us try another place. Maybe the stench isn't so bad, the room not so stifling.

No such luck.

Bernard Shaws=SAUSAGE.

Doyles=SAUSAGE.

Soon toos be gone Ovie=SAUSAGE.

Sigh.

Night game is enormously difficult in de Big Smoke. For every lassie who wants to play Debbie Does Dublin, we have three laddies wanting their fucking hole like mad so they do. The game is changing. We sweep a nightclub and some fucking knobjob thinks 21's is a good idea. Besides the assortment of beta men with hawaiian t-shites and beer shields all away tucked in the corner, there is the little problem of asymmetric information.

Picture this.

A group of ugly Irish lassies, wearing ostentatious clothing purchased in de Dundrum shopping centre, clowing themselves up and hitting Dublin streets and piling into a bar. Two of them. Cockteasos. Their plan for the night? This is what I'd like to call the Facebook Effect. Basically what you see is small groups of lassies done up, cleavage exposed, grabbing men's asses all that stuff, and once they have the attention of all the lads, start fucking taking pictures of themselves. Remember the incredible time when we did the same thing as we did every fucken Friday? Damn right! And fair fucks to these lassies, it works everytime. Because Irish women are ugly as well, it is common to see two fives being lavished with attention from a group, say, six, seven, sycophantic betas. If a lassie takes out the camera, forget it. The Facebook effect. She just be having you on man, and when she gets her hands on de Facebook, the whole world will know of her snowflakiness. This is of course, the age of narcissism, an epoch where women (and men) would rather spend their time masquerading as celebrity shrills, ironic poses, obstreperous facial expressions, and of course, asking the fucker with the shaved head and the massive fuck yous big bushy beard to have their photos taken with him. Of course, Franco dinnae do that shit for free does he.

Excess supply of men. You fucken idiots, you're distorting the sex ratio and making it worse for the rest of us. You're also encouraging pretty shitty behavior and letting the fatties off hook free. So we're just going to get more narcissism now. Of course, obesity makes everything better. But it is ridiculous as well if you think about it. If a lassie is engaging in de Facebook Effect to a egregious degree, then she's going to be one solipsistic piece of bum, and that's not exactly relationship material by any stretch. If a lassie is sleeping with you right there after the first night, then you can simply forget about all of these guff. That's why the situation is so utterly fucked up for beta males. Not only are they cursed with excess competition, asymmetric information and whatnot, the lassies they be looking to pull are completely unbloodyrelationshipable, and that is what beta males, more than say alphas are content to do. They don't know they're sleeping with poison ivy. Lonely, loathsome cat pyknic ladies purr unequivocally. I'm not against a bit of slutdom either, but it is clearly the wrong way to go after them conjugal bells. The answer to this is what kind of lassies would be in the good, sound out, feminine category? Well, bookish lassies. Day game. Truly daunting shite without the veneer of mild inebriation to ameliorate your social skills and the settings surrounding it. Lassies for relationships are the oasis in the desert at this stage of the game.

And just so you know, I'm not letting the older ones off either, once a slut always a slut en aw. Talking to this early 30s lassie out with her friends in the smoking area. Good looking, tall, witchy lassie. Here on a fucking hen party thing and wanted to get away from it all. Ask her a few questions, just fucking stood there literally and we have liftoff. A few hours later, she's giving me a handjob, after having spent the three previous hours taking about her darling husband and how she loves him and how so like, she likes travelling sooooooooooooooooooooo much. To think that this man's probably at home sitting in his stuffed armchair, reading the newspaper, while his aging wife is wanking off a man a decade her junior in the back seat of a car, makes one look at the whole thing with fucking disgust and apathy and just outright distrust for long term relationships. The baby seat and cookie crumbs in the back made for extra emotional fun. Handjob for Franco, hubbie finds it, divorce, kids lives fucked. Heh, it doesn't feel as bad as it should. Once you've slipped into the darkside ken, there's no turning back for any of us, you're there and you're never getting out. You think Roosh will be able to form a stable one on one relationship without the itch? Fuck that. The masses were never ever meant to see the abyss in this form. God is dead, and we are paying for this fucking shit dearly ken.

Tuesday, 19 February 2013

Edenism and The New Anthropology: The Fall of the Thal and The Rise of the Cro Mag


If yous have been floating around the manosphere for the past while en a bit, yous may have, serendipity calling en aw, came across Vault Co and Koanic Soul. Being in de red pill wonderland, it is of course, quite fortuitous to discuss topics that are taboo in polite discourse, whether it be HBD, economics, or the temperament of the lassie after de buttsex. If you think you've read some crazy shit already, well this Edenism/New Anthropology stuff will drive you up the wall and completely fucken bananas altogether. The bare bone idea is as follows: Human beings are made up of different hybrids, and this hybrids have different facial characteristics. By looking at the depth of a lad or lassies eye sockets, or by looking at the shape of the skull, both the front and the back, one can have a feel, a grasp, some good intuition, a decent proxy of that person's personality. Historically speaking therefore, according to all of this Edenism hullabuloo there are mainly, (we'll leave out Starchildren for the time being), three types of human beings.

First, you have the Neanderthals, gentle honest introverted types, made for small groups, are k selected and lived in a matriarchal society. You have the Melonheads, fuckers with massive craniums who were believed to have a civilization that was almost the parallel of ours in someways. Those bible stories, Gilgamesh en aw? Supposedly slightly warped, distorted tellings of actual history. Finally, there are the Cro Mag types. These are the masses, the degenerates, the r selected types, apparently bred to exterminate the Neanderthals. But, when this be done and the fuckos head on their way, they find out that, holy fucking shit, these Neanderthal women are rides, and as a result, we have rape, and then somehow, later along the line, they take down de Melonheads and thus, we, humanity, are descendents of this bish bosch of dna.

Crazy fucking shite right? Absolutely. No proof? Apart from some weird skulls found around the world, not much to go by yeah. So, why is it that I find Edenism so fucking interesting?

This is going to sound weird, but it feels right. It makes sense in an intrinsic sort of way, even though it doesn't mean squat, in the real world.

I need to break this down a bit more.

There have always been some things, my reactions to human beings that have always confused me, and Edenism, whereas it might not explain it completely, it feels like it is saying something very important. It feels like it makes sense. For example, I'm at a bar. There are three women of around equal looks, wearing the same kind of clothes, makeup, whathaveyou. Nothing really stands out one from the other, my rationalizing brain tells me this. But why is it, despite the fact that we've got three lassies in front of me, I am really drawn, and have a strong desire towards one lassie in particular? Why is it that some plainer girls stand out more to me and make me hornier than objectively hotter girls on first sight? Why is it that with a certain kind of person, I can get on like a house on fire, talk for hours on end, have a bloody great time in the pub with, and for other types, struggle to talk about what the bloody fuck I did for my weekend, and come across as a social cripple? Why is it that an awful lot of people just end up randomly opening up to me about really personal things, (how many people have had a man talking about being abused as a kid, after only knowing said person for an hour?) and will act quite cold after? This is irrespective of skin color and of race for me, this seems to be irrespective of looks (in the good looking sense, but this applies more to men than women), of hygiene and appearance, even to a certain extent, gender as well, and nay cunt cannot discount age as well. The best relationships I've had with the fairer sex, have been with lassies with Neanderthal traits, come to think of it. Bookworms, some forms of depression always there, highly intelligent, both incredibly feminine and not at the same time, it's hard to explain. The other important component of this is that, and this is the main reason why I think it is worth looking into is that, even though I am appalling at reading people's faces (in meatspace, I find it really hard to understand sarcasm for example), and have to sit down at it and take my time, there is a definite correlation going on here, even if it is the correlation not causation shite and whatnot. So, if I flick through my facebook page and look at all the introverted, socially inept people I know, and if I look at people around me doing de STEM shite, there is no doubt, an extremely strong correlation between Thal traits, and skull type and personality. Even if this stuff is complete and utter horseshit, it is a very effective way of getting into someone's head, making a first impression and getting a handle on their personality, at least in my experience. If there's someone in a pub or a lecture with Neanderthal traits, I can often strike up a good conversation with them, and more often than not, we can get along reasonably well. Cutting out all de fluff ken. Dat be what you do.

Just be careful with this shite, my hearty recommendation. In the Edensphere, some of de Vault Co comments, I've seen a bit of a tendency for people to go, "oh evil fucken Cro Mags dipshit fucking Thals over" blah blah fucken victimization, can't do anything because I'm a Thal, purple monkey dishwasher, which is of course ludicrous. Franco himself is a TT with a big fucken occipital bun on the back, and up until a couple a years ago, was quite socially dysfunctional, kind of Aspergery OCD cunty beebee, a regular fucken member of The Big Bang Theory, wheras now, thanks to reading shite like Dale C, Simon Cohen's face stuff and just general experience, has been promoted to the normal but slightly odd kind of lad for most people. It's hard, but you can do it, improve on it some little bit. Humans do respond to similar social cues, both men and women. They can be learned and they can be improved on. This is what bothers me about nerds. I don't even remotely mind them, like them a lot, but it's this, wahhh the lassie won't look at me stuff, which is fucking crap, obviously. I was never Sheldon Cooper, but it is there definitely and will probably never goes away. Basically what I'm saying is, don't use this kind of stuff as an excuse for what you really want to do. Dr Illusion has a post up recently on a condition he has. He seems to be doing fine for himself, and he's got a really tough starting point. So again, what be your excuse ye cunt?

Slightly rambly post, but an interesting topic and worth a few posts in the future.

Sunday, 17 February 2013

Inner Game

 
The Soul is Not a Bloody Fucken Smithy, as we're so fond of saying in this corner of the web. Subconscious, revolving emotional trash, your reptilian brain tells you, fires you up, system one allows you to make split second decisions and all those things lurking underneath. Maybe it just be me, but, in relation to approaching life in general, inner game is king, queen and jack o de pack. Now, I be far from an egalitarian, and things such as looks, intelligence, willpower are enormously important and pivotal in relation to a happy, salubrious life. But, the big one, the head honcho is inner game. You have to nail this fucker and do this as quickly as possible. Otherwise you are nothing than an emotional manchild, forever in limbo, forever lost at sea.

By Inner Game, I'm extending the word, the term to include how comfortable in your skin you are. This extends out to many a spectrum of your life. Every goddamn thing. From raising a family, to chasing lassies, to your relationships with oher people, you must have your shit together and then some. So, we must beggar the question, what exactky are the kind of things am I talking about here? We're talking failings, your failings, feelings, we're talking traumatic events, bad luck, and anything emotionally crippling. You need to make peace with yourself, accept yourself and take that plunge. This sounds like a lot of pseudo hippy wank, and admittedly it is one of this things that escapes the cocoon of language, and perhaps we're not helping in writing this way. I guess the classic example that a lot of people would be familiar with is a man coming out of de closet, admitting to himself that he is homosexual. This is you, what you are, and perhaps it isn't ideal, but it is not a separate segment of you, it is not a separate part of you which you dont want to confront, in otherwords you are not Bob the homosexual. You are Bob, and as far as your personality goes, you are a man, who is many things, and your personality incorporates this, rather than keeps it separate and tied up in a little black box somewhere.

You were an omega failure in your childhood? Make peace with it. Your parents were puerile narcissists? Accept it, even embrace it and forgive them for what they did to you. Hopefully I'm expressing this properly and reasonably articulately. Most of us have demons, our souls aren't entirely clean and more than likely never will be, and of course, jaded cynicism can creep in as life drifts on by. Do I know how to go about this entirely?

Not really no. Read psychology maybe? Novels? Notice the ugliness of others in yourself? It is of course, no surprise that consumerism, manipulation, even seduction according to Robert Greene, thrives on the insecure lad or lassie. The cunt who has his shit together will always be able to circumvent any threat to his authority or ego and thus, will not be easily manipulated. Picture the lassie head over heels in love with a man. She is impossible to seduce. He completes her, he makes her feel good about herself, dominace makes a woman feel complete. Shit can be so much simpler for the lassie sometimes. Possibly visit a psychologist ken? Gamma males are notorious for this kind of crippling emotional baggage are they not? Even Vox Day, a man of considerable intellect and wisdom, has shown a plethora of gamma male traits in relation to this McRapey shit flinging stuff. So I don't know. Suffer onwards lads.

Sigma, not giving a fuck, is ideal, but en revanche, nay cunt wants to be the Aspergery fucktard. Sit down, work on your inner game, get rid of your insecurities to the best of your ability, however embarassing they are. No judgement from me ken, just so as long as you are on the road to redemption. This post steps outside language because it is quite strenous to depict what I'm actually thinking and saying here. This is the field left for metaphors, authors and the meticulous construction of the prose and the sentence, which only a few men can claim to have.

Your suffering is perfect, don't forget that.

Friday, 15 February 2013

Generation Zero: How to Smile as The End of History Approaches


What was once convivial, a bit of craic, peregrinations one can take, biweekly get out of de house, settling down in the local drinking establishment ones, knocking back a few pints and clumsily coming across any lassie daft enough to enter the vicinity of the glasser cunt, his name be Begbie like, is turning into something a bit darker, sinister and sad. Why is this depressing, a drizzly, damp stupor of a thing that has permeated the minds of the zeros? Well, you know lads and lassies, despite the kind of person I am, misantropic mildly en aw, and despite the fact that there be more often than not, days where I want to spend time with a little bit of reading and wouldn't mind chattin to a single soul, I see all of yous, and christ on a bike like, there are some truly fine lads and lassies out there with so much potential, but withheld, hands tied behind the back, depressed, lack of job opportunities, and given ugly, wrong, not even remotely reflecting reality advice, for the lads a lack of good women out there, for the lassies, whiny beta males which wouldn't know masculinity even if they read a Homer poem.

We certainly got the arse end of the stick in a lot of ways. No employer will touch you without getting that piece of paper that shows you were able to dive into large quantities of useless, flotsam and jetsam junk information, and when you get there you are earning a pittance and everybody is a Voice watching HR gobshite. You're not going to be start a business either any time soon, high taxes combined with low efficiency (you won't be beating out Tesco any time soon kid) and a banking sector that is reluctant to make loans to you certainly doesn't help.  Unless you were born into wealth, get lucky, or have a 130+ IQ and are heading to Silicon Valley, you are not going to be rich. Ever.

So, what be the point of this Franco tirade? The point of it is that a lot of people my age seem to be spiritless, cadaverous wanderers, feeling guilty and sad for the position that they are in, feeling that it was their fault. The point is, you shouldn't feel bad, you really shouldnt. This is not your fault, you shouldnae feel bad about it, and it, all of this, is mostly outside your control. Does that mean you should give up? That you should be a defeatist? FUCKITY FUCK no way be Franco saying that shit! You want to start that business, start that business. You want to be the next Schwarzenegger, then you are a better man than most. You want to get married and have children, fucking go for it kid! You want something so badly that it causes you to lose sleep, tossing and turning ad nauseum, your day to day existence now fucken phantasmagorical, then yeah man, you should be the fucking trailblazing cunt, especially in this epoch of crass degenerate culture and ersatz liberal values. You have my support in every way. Also, dinnae be a narcissistic cunt who goes around blaming your parents for your own failings or any shit like that. Let go, and embrace what you can actually control, because as you fuckos know, it can be lonely out there. But no more so than the perfume of loneliness of the over the hill lassie with her rabbit dildo. Women need men more than men need women en aw.

There are more important things to do. Your friends and family, the lassie with the tight ass, becoming a person of good moral character and of strength. Becoming a man, not a pussy and not a fucking bastardized extreme muscleman caricature. Five to ten years shit will hit the fan methinks. People piss around about slacker fellas on de dole, and well, I think the system is so broken, you might as well milk the bloody thing for all its worth, the more you be doing the better. The social contract is in tatters, and there is absolutely no reason for you to hold up your end of the bargain. Be a slacker boi, then go for it. I hope tae fuck I'm wrong. If you find yourself fucking sneaking around de place a la Chris Dorner, then so be it, there is nothing we will be able to do about that. All of us will be poorer, Generation 0 and Generation 1 and beyond, and there ain't a damn thing we cunts can do about it. But that does not mean we cannot kneel before the altar of virtue and make something of ourselves. Suffering unites like very little else, the Spartans, Romans, even university frat houses know this. At the very least, we will be the the ones, or can be the ones, the potential to put the world back together. Don't get dragged down by the bullshit of socialism, feminism, impending doom, or what The Cathedral tells you and you'll be smiling when all the bombs go off and you'd be holding Marla's hand.

I recommend you read this whole fucken post with Where Is My Mind by the Pixies playing btw. For extra awesomness. Fucking tune.

Tuesday, 12 February 2013

Women Need Men More Than Men Need Women


Bookstores. The smell of freshly printed paper in the new releases section in H Figgis in Dawson Street on a mild Dublin afternoon. Romance fiction, self help claptrap, the ROCK, ledge, cliched Man Booker Prize novels about gay African babies. The decline of culture. Etc, et fucken cetera. . This is the kind of shite that learned, well read Guardian reading chumps read. Shit sells well. You know why awful books like To Kill A Mockingbird are considered classics? It is because they are emotionally manipulative. You feel good about yourself because you are good. Because you are a good person because you LIKE Atticus Finch. The Boomers turned fiction into feelings porn, but without the wisdom of Shakespeare of Cervantes to bolster the work. Shame. But then one book in particular stands out to me, as I proceed to scan the shelves for a good read. A book by this ugly heffalump feminist type called Hanna Rosin titled quite bluntly, The End of Men. No doubt the book is a silly, misandrist text chocked full of logically fallacious arguments and gross misinterpretations of simple statistics that would make a 101 this is what a fucken T stat is university freshman sick in his cup, but it got the old noggin whirring at the very least. The book won. I got a copy of Casanova's biography instead.

Hanna Rosin is completely wrong, obviously, poor lass is hanging in the wire dontcha know. If anything, we are seeing the end of the lassie, and while that is certainly a stretch, it isnae a completely bonkers thing toos say, such is the nature of men and the nature of women.

Being the narcissistic twat, I'm going to use myself as an example to document my point. First, we can take a look at the jobs and skills men have, especially when compared to women. There are more engineers, more economists, more statisticians, more welders, more plumbers out there on the men side than the lassie side. This is simple, objective truth. Get asking around with the lassies you know? The ones that are my age are looking pretty, daycare, nursing (nursing is an exception though, it is a useful degree) and a whole manner of stifling HR occupations. We're gonna need that engineering cunt to rebuild that bridge. Economy gets worse, he's still going to be ok. But dat HR fatcat....ehhhhhh. Fook off with yes. Sans a big war and the left side of the tail men, we'll get the job dontcha knows, you won't. Of course the lassie could just marry a beta provider when she is young and do what has been done in nearly every single civil society since humans came about, but that won't happen. For the good ones, well no. That alpha, oh I dunno, he was so passionate and aloof, it just fucken happened!

Men need women and women need men. But this is becoming increasingly less so. We don't like fatties, sorry, we really don't, and a lot of us dinnae want to bear the socially ostracized cross that comes from fucking little miss piggy up the smeller. We're eating shit fucken food and our testosterone is way too low, far lower than our Grandfathers, so we can't be bothered to chase you and pursue you. Oh well. Porn will fool our brains and give us that nice squirt of dopamine, so there's that. We also have dem sexbots soon to be rattling out of the warehouse in the next while. We're scared/wise enough not to get married to yous because we don't want our children ruined through divorce, and we have, my generation, grown up in broken households. We don't want, to go, through that pain, ever ever again. So screw the kids. This means, fuck all is required to live, pecuniary wise. With minimum wage money, I can live like a king. Captain Capitalism said he can live off 17-18000 dollars a year. With no children, no responsibilities, a STEM degree will see you with more money than sense. Even now, I can go out twice a week, I can eat healthily and I can read/watch/download anything on any topic I want. If I want a project, better myself, I can get advice online and carve my own path. Men, even in their worst, have their hobbies, their projects, their abstractions to distract us. Women don't have this, never ever had this to the same degree. Their hobby is people, social etiquette, the family, gossip, and that is eroded more and more day by day. There might be something lacking in a man's life, such as love or relationships that aren't superficial, and it isn't ideal, but he can certainly bear it in de way that de lassie can't.

Moreso. because every wee thing under the sun is now relative, there is no shame to any of this anymore. We don't care when The Boomers harangue on about the declining economy, even though it is their fault, we don't care about having to be told to man up and marry them bitches. The left shame shaming itself. With that barrier removed, Francis Begbie is going to be earning just enough to live like Aaron Cleary say, but all that remaining economic surplus that comes from overtime, etc? Gone. Poof. I don't need the cash. Seriously people. You can live like a fucking king for such a small amount of money. Just don't get into debt, don't buy that Ikea furniture set, don't buy a piece of capital like a house. Don't be fucken stupid, and you'll be more than ok.

There is almost like fucken Shakespearean dramatic irony shite like. Why? Because women want this and much more, they want their cake and tae fucken gorge on it, but won't say it out loud, much to the detriment of society as a whole. The reason shows like The Walking Dead are so popular is because they establish gender roles, ie men as builders/protectors and women as nurturers. The Danger? Well, everyone likes a little bit of danger ken. A sign of the decline is the lack of a taste for de danger and lunacy. We used to have the free market to engage in this, but not anymore. Still, there are other ways to act dangerously.

There are a few outcomes I see for the lassie. First, they can get real jobs with real skills in real occupations. This way, they can live without men when the thing collapses. Possible, but unlikely. Besides, most jobs that a lassie can do (bar shit like hedge fund managers and taking care of children) a man can do just as well, if not better. Second, they do what they've done for thousands of years and get with a beta provider. But, this will not work. The thirty year old accountant with a big nose and an even bigger apartment is gone out the window at this stage.

The third option is the darkest, the most destructive, and the most hilarious, hilarious in that one of the most beautiful examples of irony imaginable is that feminism will prove so self destructive that it will rapidly decrease women's freedom to an extent never seen before. The answer to this is that alphas build up a harem, betas are left holding their dicks, and but so we revert back to a sort of state of nature polluted with a bit of superstimuli and everything burns up in a great r selected conflagration. The average lassie compared to me. I'll be fine ken don't be worried about me, she be the one in trouble. End of men my arse. Who will take care of mrs cat lady? Honest question.

But Rosin's fucken response would just be like:  wow, just wow.

Bitch should just shut up and make me a sandwich, preferably with pickles innit.