If It Ain’t Broke…

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And now, just for independence day, here is a heartwarming story of independence from women, gleaned from the internet.

There are two first-person blog posts here, written by an anonymous feminist heroine, who is just trying to ‘have it all’. In part one of our story, the protagonist describes meeting a man who keeps his financial life private. This man is subsequently dumped by this gold-digging ho’, who assumes that he is broke.

She finds out later he’s a multimillionaire who chooses a lifestyle of simplicity and mobility.

Part 1 – Summer 2014

*TL;DR – My boyfriend kept his wealth a secret from me throughout our entire relationship. I ended the relationship on the pretext that he wasn’t money/career motivated, he didn’t say anything to the contrary. *

I [F26] have been dating Will [M27] for most of 2014; I met him on New Years Eve, we exchanged numbers, scheduled a coffee date and have been seeing each other ever since. He’s tall and shy, with long thick hair like Eddie Vedder. He lives in an older house by himself and drives a 1997 Toyota. He dresses very casually – I don’t think he even owns a collared shirt – and all his clothes are minimum 1-2 years old. For income, he told me he “ran a few websites” and picked up piece-work as a ‘session guitarist’. He is also very frugal. He never took me out for fancy dinners or anything. In the beginning it was always coffee dates, walks, hikes, etc. If we go out, he insists on ‘pre-drinking’ and refuses to buy drinks at a bar. Most nights he was content staying in, watching Netflix and playing his guitar.

I never outright asked how much money he made, but given his lifestyle, clothes, furnishings, etc. plus the fact that he rarely worked, I assumed it wasn’t much. I would lightly prod him with questions about the future, if he had any career goals – he would say that he “saw me in his future”, but also he was “happy the way things were”.

I have Facebook and am on it every day, usually when work is slow. Lately my newsfeed has been filled with my peers getting married, buying houses, having babies, and other various accolades. I can’t help but feel jealous by this; it seems like everyone but me is making significant gains in their lives and relationships. Three weeks ago, after seeing a girl I knew from high school buy her 3rd property with her husband, it felt like my relationship with Will was juvenile and had no future.

The next time I was over at Will’s (after he served me potato soup for dinner and was torrenting a documentary for us to watch later) I ended the relationship. I was perfectly honest about everything – he was a great guy, I loved him and his personality, but I felt he lacked career/life ambition and we wanted different things for the future. He sat and listened to everything, seemingly unmoved by it. When I finished talking, he said “fine by me” and asked me to leave. I went to hug him on my way out, instead he just guided me out the door and slammed it shut behind him.

With prior boyfriends, we’d still talk or text a bit after we’d be broken up. Sometimes we’d even still hook up. I dunno, I’ve just never had a ‘bad break-up’ and always try to remain on good terms. I haven’t heard a fucking word from Will, even after texting him multiple times and calling him once.

I saw two of Wills friends at the gym today. I went over and made small talk, asked how he was, etc. I tried to explain myself, saying he was a great guy but our views on money and the future didn’t seem to mesh. To this, one friend chuckled to himself and walked away. I asked the other friend WTF that’s about it, and he says “Yeah, we heard. The thing is, Will’s loaded. He inherited his grandpas land which is leased to oil and gas companies. I’ve seen the quarterly checks he gets and they’re more than my yearly salary. Good luck getting him to spend it, though. He has a ‘if it aint broke, dont fix it’ type mentality. Just look at that piece of shit he drives!”

This has completely baffled and upset me. I dated him for 10 months when I thought he was penniless, proof I’m not a fucking gold-digger. I am a 26 year old woman who needs to be pragmatic, I can’t just indefinitely date someone with the future being so uncertain. He could’ve said something, ANYTHING during our break up when I was explaining my doubts about our relationship. Instead he said nothing, and now he refuses to talk to me. It makes absolutely no sense.

I just feel so low right now. If a man with disposable income meets a woman he likes, doesn’t he want to treat her? He said he “saw me in his future”, why didn’t he care enough to share these things with me? He could have easily kept our relationship alive by being forthcoming. Someone please help me make sense of this situation.

This is a perfect example of the sort of manipulative nonsense I’ve detailed on this blog for the younger brothers. Every time a woman has sat me down to announce her reasons to break up with me, she has always had some other telos that didn’t actually involve separation. She wanted me to be exclusive with her, or she wanted me to get engaged with her, or something else. It never ceases to amuse and entertain a brother to savor the shock on a ho’s stupid face when she gets her bluff called.

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Her: You aren’t doing x, y, z for me, so I think we need to break up…

You: OK. Take care of yourself.

Her: (with a frozen panicked expression) What? Huh? Don’t you want to work this out?

Of course, when a ho’ runs this script on you, you should not want to work things out. You should discern that she is a manipulative little freak, who is more trouble than she’s worth, and you should take the opportunity to move on.

Our nigga Will has done the best and most sensible thing, by refusing to negotiate, and letting his bitch end the relationship. But, our story is not over. The feminist protagonist recently revisited her old flame, and immediately went online to whine about it.

Part 2 – January 2017

In 2014 I went through a pretty bad break-up. I met Will at a NYE party hosted by a friend-of-a-friend and we dated for 10ish months. I loved him – it was probably the best relationship I’d had on a ‘personal connection’ level – but he had been dishonest about some things (not infidelity – ‘life’ things) and it led to us breaking up. I couldn’t come to terms with his lying by omission – it seemed like he threw away our relationship over nothing.

I was pretty unhappy for a while, not gonna lie. Went on a few dates, had a few Tinder flings, but nothing serious. Around summer 2015 is when things started to turn around and I felt I was in a good place. Happy with my job, happy with my body, happy with my social circle – just all-around happy and patiently waiting for Mr. Right to come along.

My friends and I were invited to the same NYE party this year, hosted by the same person. I knew there was a chance my ex would be there, but I didn’t care – I was over him. Seeing him and being cordial shouldn’t have been a problem. He was pretty icy when the relationship ended, so even if he was there, I didn’t expect him to say all that much to me.

So my girls and I are there early, having a few cocktails and everything is going great… then Will walks through the door. He saw me, smiled, walked directly over and gave me a big hug. With his arms wrapped around me, smelling his cologne… I just melted. In that moment, whatever bad feelings I had about our relationship were completely gone. I just genuinely missed him.

I got through 15 minutes of small talk with him, my heart racing the entire time. He remembered all these little details about me, my friends and my family – I couldn’t believe it. When I told him about my job, my new apartment, etc. he seemed happy for me. When the conversation ended, he gave me another quick hug and then left toward the kitchen.

My friends could tell that seeing him had affected me. They took me to a more private area of the house to talk it out; they reminded me to not get ahead of myself, he’s still the same guy who lied to you, etc.

When we went to rejoin the party, he was on his phone giving directions to someone. After a minute of eavesdropping it became clear that he was talking to his girlfriend. Fuck.

I should’ve left then and there, but I didn’t want it to seem like him having a new girlfriend affected me. Like I hadn’t gotten on with my fucking life after 14 months apart. And so I stayed.

She arrived about 10 minutes later and Will introduced her to everyone. She seemed nice enough, but seeing them together made me sick to my stomach. I swear she was being all touchy-feely with him just to spite me. I did my best to avoid them throughout the night. I found out through a friend that they’d been dating for 2 or 3 months. The party ended, I got into a car with my friends and just started sobbing uncontrollably. They tried to comfort me but I was too far gone. They dropped me off and I cried for while longer alone in my apartment.

This was supposed to be a fun weekend with my girls, we had all sorts of stuff planned, but I ended up staying home by myself last night. No one questioned it, they all knew. I must’ve wrote 100 different texts to Will last night but didn’t end up sending a single one. I’m going to stay in tonight as well.

I want him back so bad, I just don’t know what to do 😦

My readers will note a couple of things. In the first place, she has rewritten the breakup from ‘he ain’t got enough money’ to ‘he’s a dishonest liar’. She then goes on to describe the end of the affair as initiated by him (!), stating that Will ‘threw our relationship away over nothing’.

What can we learn from our brother Will? Always be closing, never beg, and if a ho’ wants to ho’ then let her go.

Happy Revolution Day

Public domain image, royalty free stock photo from www.public-domain-image.com

I’m currently on holiday, but wanted to pop online and wish my readers (all five of them) a happy season. I am, on paper at least, a Canadian, so we’ll roll Canada Day and Independence day into one glorious week of subversive anti-feminist celebrations. Whether you are going to go do as your forefathers did, and topple some infrastructure, or whether you’re just going to get drunk poolside, I trust you’ll make it memorable.

And now to some business. Earlier I wrote about Ariana Gonzalez (here), and while I thought I had an accurate picture of her argument, it’s now clear that I unfairly impugned an innocent woman. This is an apology and retraction to Mrs. Gonzalez, who is not a single mom, but is, in fact, married to a nice fellow, who fathered her youngest child.

While we don’t know the whole story, ya boy Boxer read the “pregnant at 15” part and assumed the usual, which wasn’t the case.

Mrs. Gonzalez is an example of the type of turnaround an individual can do, if one wants to work hard, quit acting like an idiot, and start living a meaningful life. I do wish she’d quit shilling for the abortion clinic on national media, but I suppose we can’t have everything.

Credit to Richard P., who did the fact checking that I was too lazy to do. I owe him a case of beer, payable on demand.

 

(Another) Male Feminist Arrested

Over on Dalrock, there’s a participant named ‘Anon’ who often points out the correlation between male feminists and scroungy behavior. This phenomenon is undertheorized.

ug_z60RKOne can see examples such as Hugo Schwyzer, the famous wimminz studies professor who made a career out of desperately groping and assaulting his hot female students. Schwyzer was well-known as a guy who traded on shock value and cheap theatrics, at one point sadly confessing that he had attempted to murder an ex-girlfriend (he was probably lying, but who knows?) (link). On another occasion, Schwyzer advocated men give up normal sexual intercourse, in favor of allowing their female partners to don a strap-on dildo and “peg” them with it. (link)

Screen Shot 2017-06-30 at 13.20.13As though anyone needed another illustration, we have this creature. While not as well-known as Schwyzer, our feminist hero appears to be cut from similar cloth, making a name for himself with outrageous internet theatrics condemning normal couples for doing normal stuff, all while behaving privately like a total degenerate.

Thirty-two-year-old Christopher John Goldberg, who went by the name “Amir0x” on social media, was a male feminist who often took to Twitter to express his hatred at “sexists” and Trump supporters, in vocal support of the Women’s March. He was active during the GamerGate debacle that took the gaming world by storm in 2014, taking the side of feminists.

The Tobyhanna, Penn. man was charged this Wednesday with 64 counts of child porn possession and one count of criminally using a computer to download the illicit materials. Goldberg told police that he believed the pictures were not illegal if they didn’t depict sexual acts, but the police didn’t buy his excuse and issued the charges against him.

Props to Age of Shitlords (link) for this summary. One can also read more at Pocono Record (link).

Where Do Babies Come From?

NOTE: This hastily written nonsense contains serious clickbait inaccuracies, that are nobody’s fault but mine. It remains up as a reminder to not believe everything you read (whether it’s ya boy Boxer or CNN who writes it). Credit to Richard P. for fact checking. A full retraction is contained (here).

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Ariana Gonzalez, a skank-ho single mom, with two children, each by different fathers, is blaming the lack of an abortion clinic for her pregnancies. Teenage skanks are apparently ignorant of the simple facts of life… like one’s unwanted pregnancy being caused by her own irresponsible sexual behavior.

I found this story on CNN. I am going to link to it, because it accomplishes a number of different things. In the first place, it illustrates the entitled stupidity of contemporary females, and in the second, it is a good example of the wild spin on such propaganda emanating from the corporate media.

Before Planned Parenthood opened in the Imperial Valley two years ago, she became pregnant when she didn’t want to, and then later she couldn’t get pregnant when she did want to.

Read more (here)

Seduction 101

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Somewhere over the rainbow, a starry-eyed romantic writes…

My purpose for dating was for us to get to know each other, seek an emotional connection, build on that connection, leading to love, and finally marriage. Sex being only part of marriage, and not the most important part.

This sort of sentiment, plucked out of a 19th century novel, would be cute if it weren’t so dangerous. It’s also a mystery to behold a man, who has been exposed to 30 years of pop culture, which tells him in every song, theatrical performance, and Hollywood crap film, what the score is, yet he stubbornly continues in his delusions.

Let’s get this out of the way. Dating is not about meeting a nice girl for a soda after the dance. Dating is about having sex.

Before the date is the meeting. You meet women every day, in nearly every scenario. I have only a couple of rules restricting the domain of all the women I meet to women who I can have sex with. I don’t date (i.e. have sex with) anyone I work with. I teach, so I don’t have sex with other teachers at my institution, and I don’t have sex with any of my students. I also don’t have sex with chicks who are obviously married. Of course, I’ve probably had lots of sex with married chicks, but if I did, the ho’s hid their status well enough to fool me.

That’s it. Every woman I meet, in every other context, is fair game.

When I was younger, I used to go out clubbing to pick up women, but I always noted that there were gifts that just dropped into my lap in other contexts. At some point, without consciously planning it, I just started maximizing the productivity of these chance encounters. I’m at the point now that I often go months without going out to find cunt. I also don’t have active profiles on the dating sites.

I’ve had sex with women I met in the aisle at the grocery store. I’ve had sex with women I met in the laundromat (a surprisingly productive place to find sex partners, weirdly enough.) I’ve had sex with women I met in the waiting room at the dentist’s office.

You meet women every day, same as me. If a woman is talking to you, she’s likely down to fuck you.

The Meeting

We go through life interacting with people. Endless opportunities open up, even for dorky introverts like me. People are so shitty, these days, that just being a decent person is enough to make many women interested in you. About ten percent of the dates I go on are initiated by the woman, who invites me out. I instinctively respond with “are you buying?” If she balks or even hesitates, I know she’s fucking with me, and the date would have gone nowhere. Take such propositions as the jokes that they are. If she responds in the affirmative, you’re basically guaranteed sex if you want it.

The other ninety percent of dates I go on are dates that I initiate.

There is a certain look that women get in their faces when they want to fuck me. It’s very difficult to properly communicate exactly what this entails. I can only say that it’s nothing like any look that your mother ever gave you. Their eyes squint slightly as they smile, and these ho’s almost have a predatory look in their eyes. This look means they are down for whatever — including a quickie in the nearest public toilet. Making this face means you’re basically guaranteed sex if you want it.

If it’s convenient, and your standards are low enough, you can usually get sex in the nearest public toilet with such women. These ho’s are scandalous.

The Date

Repeat the mantra: dating is about sex. The only reason you are taking a woman out is to see if she qualifies to host your cock in one of her holes. That’s it.

About half the time I invite a ho’ to “meet for coffee”. The date proceeds exactly as I described, with no deviation. I bring stuff to read and work on, and show up at the coffee shop a half hour before the date is scheduled to begin.

Exactly three minutes after the specified time, if the ho’ isn’t there, I leave. This is not infrequent. I ignore the excuses these bitches send me via voicemail and text message. If a ho’ wanted to meet me, she would have been punctual.

When she does show up, I already have my coffee, and I’m working. I let her compete with my laptop for my attention. This gives the ho’ the illusion that I’m someone important (ho’s like to think they can land someone who has other interests) and inspires her to work a bit for my affection.

The other half of the time, I invite the ho’ to eat. I only do this when I would have gone out to eat on my own, anyway. I never invite a ho’ for anything fancier than a 20 dollar plate at a mom and pop restaurant, and I make the destination clear up front.

Now that this is out of the way, you have your date at your table, and you should be in the proper frame of mind to screen for nutcases. I can’t tell you what your own “fitness tests” should consist of, but I can share some of mine.

  • Get her talking about her family. If she talks shit about her mother or father, or is overly disrespectful to anyone else, I eject.
  • I eject if the ho’ is rude or condescending to the wait staff.
  • I eject if the ho’ is loud, curses in public, or is just overly coarse.

Your shit-tests will be based on your own whims and hangups, and they won’t necessarily intersect with mine. If you have screened your date well, you probably won’t have to eject before sex. Even so, it does happen.

I recently had a wall-hitting attorney across the table from me (i.e. someone who makes money stealing from better people). She made a big production of sneering at the waitress. It was amazing to see a human parasite look down her nose at a much hotter woman, who is working a productive job.

I pointed as much out to the ho’, before I beat feet out of Applebees and left her to pay her own bill. I tipped the waitress twenty dollars on the way out the door, and asked her to say good-bye to the ho’ for me. The look on her face was priceless.

Sex

I consider it a structural advantage to invite wimminz to my house. Again, this is my preference, which may or may not coincide with anyone else’s. When I’m at my house, I know where everything is. It also leaves no ambiguity in the ho’s mind as to what the next step is. If she comes to my house, she’s getting fucked, and if she doesn’t like that, then she can get the hell out.

I have a futon that I fuck women on. I roll it out on my living room floor. It does a number on bitches to tell them that my bedroom is off-limits.

The bedroom is for girlfriends, you’re just a common slut.

It also keeps the bitch from nesting, with the idea that she’s going to be spending the night snoring in my ear. I like to sleep alone.

That’s all, folks

In conclusion, I’d advise ignoring both incels and tradcons who bemoan the state of the sexual marketplace. It’s strange to note that the whiners on sites like Dalrock are functionally identical to the ones on Omega Virgin Revolt. All of them are wrong. Sex is easy to get. I’m a broke-ass schoolteacher with a pinky sized penis, and I seem to be able to win at this game on a consistent basis. You can too, once you know the rules.