Saturday, 26 October 2013

Confessions

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.

Sunday, 20 October 2013

Linkage is Good for You: ABC 20/20 Edition


Because of the mendacious, fraudulent, dishonest, Rock Bottomlike writing practices of ABC and 20/20, the fraudulent journalism of Alyssa Pry, Sarah Figalora and Alexa Valiente, I have decided to post a set of links to various bloggers that have discussed the issue, but only bloggers who have dissected it honestly, fairly, and with sound logic. Here are the links:

"ABC, 20/20 and the Manosphere: The Real Story"
"Are Alyssa Pry and Alexa Valiente Guilty of Journalistic Fraud?"
"Is Sarah Figalora Guilty of Journalistic Fraud?"
This is the Girl Who Did the ABC 20/20 Hit Piece on the Manosphere
AVfM on 20/20 Update
Hello, ABC 20/20 Manosphere Readers and Viewers
Manosphere, ABC and 20/20
Well, the 20/20 Piece on the ‘Manosphere’ is Obviously Going to Be a Trainwreck
ABC 20/20 — ‘Manosphere’
Pry, Valiente & ABC: A Study in Corrupt Journalistic Ethics

If you have written a blog post on this topic, please let me know and I will update this post.

Saturday, 19 October 2013

In Which Francis Begbie Proves With Mathemathics that Feminism is a Crock of Shite


Ok, so any stats lads among yous will be able to find holes in this thing like the smelly swiss cheese that those stink monkey fells love so much, it's a rudimentary ols model corrected with heteroskedasdicity and whatnot, so it be flawed en aw, but I believe, in a few simple numbers and comments, we can show, empirically, the effects feminism is having on marriage and that not be a good thing for the lad or lassie no?

Notice the appalling appalling adjusted r-squared and the fucken constant, man what a shitheap. Causality, correlation not causation etc and whatnot, blah blah blah. It passes the jointly significant f test and blech, it's fucking shite, but I might do a proper comprehensive polished up regression in the next bit. Plus, we are talking about 6000 lassies here.


So, lets explain the table. We're testing here the effect of five x variables have on the chances of your marriage ending in divorce. First, we have lifepartners. To put it simply, this variable is statistically significant, and the more men a woman fucks, the more likely the marriage be on the rocks. Next up is if the woman reports that she is religious. Look at that atheistkulty aspergery fuckbutt! Less divorces! Happier families! But christians are fucked in the head no? They so irrational! Variable three is de race. Put it simply, black lassies divorce more than whites and hispanics. Cause I'm a racist ken. Variable five has to do with family happiness and coherence, a mishmash of variables I created with a buttcrumbles algorithim where essentially, the more a lassie reports good relations with her parents, the more likely she will stay happily married. Finally, work1 is a little variable I chucked in for all the empowered women out there. Yous can have it all, am I right lassies? No, ho ho! It looks like yous be putting that strain on your marriage by the looks of things! More hours worked means more time in divorce courts!

Another couple of pointers. Pointer one is that the life partners coefficient is probably far more significant than it is presented here, for the sole reason that a one night stand gets eaten by the hamster and turned intae a peck on the cheek. Pointer two is that yous can definitely make inferences about the population at large and interpret shit accordingly. Pointer three, if yous cunts are interested, I can do more detailed, proper regressions with proper variables. I be a confident cunt though I'd get similar results, and it would be a fuckton bit of work, but yeah, let de Franco know lads!

What have we learned class? Marry a religious lassie who doesn't work much, gets on well with her family, is religious and is close to being a virgin! But of course, yous didn't need maths and data to tell yous that right?

It's numbers like these that make a cunt glad he be enjoying the decline! Meanwhile, you can find the data I used here. 

Edit: I forgot to scale up the variable on life partners. Hence the low coefficient. My bad lads! It should be 6.483 percent. 

Friday, 18 October 2013

20/20


We don't control the controls.

I'm assuming that you cunts and cuntesses have heard about this 20/20 Paul Elam stuff. It's been summed up quite succinctly by many another poster round these parts, but nevertheless, this shit be very very important, and worth looking over meticulously, fine tooth comb kind of bollox ken. We have them ken. They're terrified of us. The neo-reactionaries, the manosphere writers, the men's rights activists, the hot lass with the nice ass in class, we have them timorous cuntage quaking in their boots. It's a hatchet job of an article of course, but the fact that they brought it up, is all the more fascinating. Yous think they care about Mr Fatty Fatty Toad White Supremacist Boy an iota? Nay ken. The bastards are running with their tails between their legs, shit is getting all Pete Tong, and a cunt can't help but smile, tip your hat and sit on your deckchair with a lassie in one hand and a Hennessy in the other.

In the first period, there will be shame ken. Watch out for the new movie about the serial killer who learned Game, or Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory dressing up as mystery. We well be mocked, ridiculed, laughed at, but don't let it keep a cunt down. For now, we are just the whipping boys. So what do we do? Well, not rocket science be it not. We don't play along. How sad, the traditionalist is that most recalcitrant of creatures, swimming around with the sharks at high mast, with a stuffed football and jellyfish toos keep you company. Don't play along. Or, when you play along, realize wes be the demons. Get your message out there. People are sick to shite with liberalism, with having idiotic, poorly thought out social and economic policies shoved down their throats. Men want to be men, and women want to be women.

Because here's the thing, it's the mainstream media that are the intolerant ones, not us. Genuine misogyny and homophobia are shitty things that I oppose and that sicken me, but calling out a woman for not taking responsibility by drinking copiously (god forbid you grows up and become an adult), or calling out degenerate faggot culture for what it is, that is not misogyny and that is not homophobia. The finest, most beautiful of mathematical concepts, the law of large numbers, tells us that demographics be destiny ken, race realism be vital and raw. Give me 1000 people and only tell me what their IQs are, and I can give you decent percentages/probabilities back on their body types, their relationships, their job types. Maths makes a cunt believe in God ken. A good person is a good person, irrespective of sexual orientation. You don't get special treatment cause yous be black or a woman or whatever. You did it, because you were a man or woman of character, a person of true soul. This petty, shitty, antsy little cult of what cunt be the biggest victim of all needs to die, bloody, cornered, eviscerated.

I'm still worried that the MRM might lead to, as Rob Fedders has alluded to, a pretty fucked up system where the courts both give "equal custody" to men and women and then, just like that, woop de bup, vertiginous, what the bloody fuck just happened, the wee kid is gone and just like that, we have The Terror consuming many a cunt, hunting that white whale for ever and ever, boots stamping down on faces again and again. Nevertheless, that is the way the cookie has crumbled for the time being. Paul Elam has my support ken.

This be the project mayhem, only it will be bolstered, delivered by the internet ken. In my real life, I've become more Francoish, so to speak. More and more, even if I do have a long way to go, I'm speaking out on this stuff, gregarious mofo for sho. Confidence ken, more assertive, stronger, hold your frame cunt, and look these lads straight in the eye and say what yous think. Thanking The Manosphere for this, well and truly. Start a blog, fuckbutt. Comment. Yous be a normal cunt, right?Then they can't get you can they? They can't get the well off, smart, successful, good looking cunt. Theys are like chickens without heads. They sent a couple of fucken kids to lambast men and women who carry a lot more weight, a lot more punch, in this, weird, silly, funny, but vital stituation. But that be gravy. Every hobbit has his day. Keep them coming, pile it up and turn it on. Ireland bes finished. I'm in this ride for the long run with all of yous, irrespective of whether this blog still stays up, or whether it gather dust in a dark, dank part of the internet, schmokin, drinking fighting away.

I think we need to do two things. One, promotion. Pure unadulterated cultural guerrila warfare ken, riding that beautiful bitch to the ultimate sin. This is a war of culture and it is ubiquitous, yous are going to get sucked in, whethers yous want to or not. A different kind of war, but no less important. Two, we need to set up a sort of Academy. Something akin to Khan Academy in red pill form. Yous can be surprised what one cunt can doos with a bit of data on his side. Three is game ken. Game is the key. The Cathedral got itself a cancer ken, and it won't be going down without a fight.

Saturday, 12 October 2013

Fat Girls and The Decline of Western Civilization (In Honor of Fat Shaming Week)


Now, it be true that many a cunt here loves to make fun of de Sally Sausage, voluptuous, rotund, big boned lassies with a bone to pick, especially with the whole thin privilege thing going on, but at the heart of darkness, beneath the pounds of cheesy poof flab, fat chicks, well, toos put it bluntly, they are doing enormous damage to everything around them. Sure, it be all happy days to see the fatties slip on banana skins, but at the heart of it, the exponential decline of de West has a lot to do with fat apes and, well, dysgenic practices, toos say the least. Let's start with it, shall we? Plus, it be fat shaming week, arguably the coolest, most fun holiday since love day, so a cunt has to write something, no?

First, we have good old biology. Consider the lobster: fat fucken cunts of women give birth to fat fucken cunts of children. Fat children tend to be unhealthier, more prone to depression, probability wise more likely to get a Jackie Chan fuck off disease, and of course, dumber, 5 to 10 IQ points lower. That not be good ken. Using a bit of rudimentary mathematics, a cunt can come to the conclusion that a drop in intelligence may continue in the near future, and will catch up on a cunt quicker than you might think. This of course, leads to a bastardized, sloppy Idiocracy, where people chug a chicken to Ow My Balls, while, lackadaisical, lumpy children in yellow piping jumpsuits eat frosty frosts for breakfast and everyone's looking at each other through dim, ugly lenses, university educations where advanced maths courses dinnae teach that fucken group theory shite anymore. Jesus wept ken. 

Next, we have the relations between the sexes. Economics 101: Supply and demand graph. Once upon a time, skinny lassies were as common as muck, and lad one lines up with lassie one, and all be well. Now, obesity has skewed the ranks, and what was once a garden variety six is now a cherished, pussy on a greek pedestal. This comes with it a plethora of problems. When every lassie is a landwhale, yous have a lot of thirsty lads. This in turn leads to a decline in quality, robust male friendships as every lad fights it out for table scraps and passable, on the wall lassies who landed themselves a herby twat of a boyfriend. Hot lassies get more attention, this leads to higher bitch shields. The male psyche is damaged as well. Yous all know it of course. The lad with the whale. The sad, defeated look on his face as the waddling walrus with the short haircut yells at him for ordering the wrong drink at the bar. Sad, so sad.

The male sex drive meanwhile, inhibited by declining testosterone levels and aesthetically unappealing lassies, will drown in pornography. There will be an increase in cases of erectile dysfunction, HOCD, and other, sad, twisted, sick behavior. This is going to be so much fun ken!  If I was a betting man, the viagra industry is going to boom in the next decade or so. Finally, we have game, and all that neg shite that comes with it. If The Futurist is correct that only about 20 percent of men in terms of intelligence have the ability to grasp and use game, and these are the guys you need for trades/STEM shit, an economy that functions properly and all that, then what do yous think they are going to do when the doors are blown open on this fellow?

Yous might laugh, but things like Fat Shaming are not just "fucken fat chicks" stuff. It's absolutely essential that fatties are shamed, ridiculed, mocked, abhorred and despised, laughed out of town, scurrying  out, hams of legs, drenched in sweat and smelly pants. And before some shrieking Skrillex harpass femcunt comes in with what about men, well a couple of answers. First, the health of a baby depends more on the mother than the father. Second, men like looks, women, not to the same degree. Even fat men should be shamed, believe it or not. But of course, everyone is a victim. Everyone is a walking mistake. Everyone is a martyr these days. I wasn't born with an IQ of 140 looking like Brad Pitt! Waaahhhhhhhh. Shut up king kong cunt.


How can we shame fat people, a lad might ask? Well, that be an interesting one. I guess wes can do stuff like promote a paleoish way of eating, for one thing. Or, wes can go full blown Al Bundy on their gargantuan hides, whether it be the lassies themselves, or the men, well, theys be masquerading as men anyway, who dumpster dive, feeding the ego, feeding the hamster ken.

If yous are a feminine, girly lassie, then congrats, yous be helping de civilization and deserve a pat on the bum. Because despite my problems with it, I kind of like, you know, not having to fend for my life every fucken day, thank yous very much.

Happy Fat Shaming Week ken! Celebrate it! Ask a fattie when's the baby due! Then get the .7 hourglass lassie, smile, laugh, and throw sticks of butter like a good cunt should!

Wednesday, 9 October 2013

Love/Hate


Bolloxed is thy name, and fucken 2 euro pints on Diceys* is where the fun starts. Got talking to this lad, completely on the fritz, musta got himself some fine arse Charlie, happiest, most vivacious cunt in the room. He's vertically challenged toos quote de Cultural Marxist cuntflaps, shit, I looks like a right old slumbering giant compared to this lad. An old saying of me mate's da: never trust a midget. I sigh. But then I remember. That man once got punched in the face by a circus clown.

So anyway, this cunt teaches English abroad. He's as white and as amorphous as dough (strange lad) and he's talking about how he taught to these rich cunt teenager lads in one of the istan countries. Yous all know the type. The Borat countries, the ones nay a cunt knows a goddamn thing about. He's been toos Russia as well (now that is an interesting one) and a Chechen wedding, which literally sounds like the most, deranged, pure unadulterated pandemonium kind of event on the planet, but Is be digressing here. So anyway, he's back on talking about teaching in this area of the stans, and especially, more so than some of the other countries he has been to, he talks about this sort of detachment, nay aeolist this cunt be. He talks about being in but not off, a foreign agent attacked by white blood cells, not part of the community, he's the oil, and these cunts are the water. It goes on an on. He talks about some lassie he be riding, he points up, fucken shite Diceys garden, and he points out. Dublin, the lad says, like that old grey mare, she ain't what she used tae be. He goes to the bathroom, rude cunt. He's back and he's running on fucken Duracell max. Cunt.

Dublin's a funny city. A mishmash, a conglomeration of lowest common denominator Westernized eat this shite and yous be happy, buy this pair of puffy pants and a cunt be smiling all the way to the bank, diluted, refined grains of de culture, alongside a true, genuine sense of pride, and a true sense of being Irish. Take a walk from Trinity College, where the cunts drink fancy ass Italian coffees and indulge in the most opulent shite imaginable, to Dorset Street, up de north, where a cunt meets Cash 4 Gold shops, kebab shops, lots and lots of them, lassies with pyjama bottoms in de local spar, dirty filthy gorgeous dirt faced cunt, the contrast is defo contrasty. Shit ken. The rest retreat intae there nice little subbos in de South, such a bewildering, messy, clash. This is Dublin. This is Ireland. I've been here a long time, too long. Yous are who you are and I be an Irish cunt.

This is, I believe, some of the worst evil that leftism has done.

"I wish they'd swoop down in a country lane, late at night when I'm driving, take me on board their beautiful ship...."

Roosh V is a sort of nomad ken. He's in and out of other countries, elusive, couchspot.com walking, walking walking...yous are who you are. You can stay in another country, learn the language, ride chicks up their hole with Well Hung Franco (TM) and immerse yourself in the culture, yet, yous be not the salubrious cunt that yous thought you would be. The soul atrophies. You're not of there. And that's fine too in a sense. Black people have their own culture. Asians have their own culture. Irish people have their own culture. It's being eroded though, at an exponential rate. What is Irish? A hard enough question ken, especially when yous have a number of extraneous, gays, whites, evil, men fucking women, privilege etc, components attached. Yous want to do something about it. Yet yous can't reclaim it. It's dying off ken. The west is fucken dying ken, and the place yous see looks less and less like home everyday. Not necessarily in the sense of multiculturalism, but just general Irishness. We won't get a cultural revival, like in the 1880s. Right now, it's just fucken Guardian shite with a fucken leprechaun hat.

Having said that, this cunt plans to get the fuck out in the next while. Post tae follow.

*

There's a show on RTE airing right now called Love/Hate, roysh. It's about gangland Dublin, with the most recent season doing a Wire on it, trying to bring in the police into what is going on and all that shebang. Suffice to say, it's an extremely watchable show, and has become quite popular over here as of late. RamzPaul had a good video on why Breaking Bad is so good and compares it to Fight Club. I wouldn't say that is necessarily the case with Love/Hate, but suffice to say, it feels unique, it feels well and truly Irish, from the words, to the colloquiums to the characters themselves. King Nidge King Weasel, couldn't have come out of any other country ken. It's the way fucken Tommy asks for fizzy soda, or the whole thing with de IRA lads, fuck it wes did something here did we not? What people think is Irish is westernized and vice versa. That's the saddest thing about it all en aw.

People feel this ken, and that's why paradoxically, they want to get out. Put de blinkers on and pretend that somewhere out there, it's only a rock in the middle of the deep blue death. the open set of the silky sea.

*fucken savage burgers as well