We Don’t Give A Shit About You

While I write in what’s colloquially considered the ‘manosphere’ or the ‘alt-right sphere’, I’m not a brilliant reactionary like Mencius Moldbug, or an expert pussy-slayer like Roosh. Shit, I’m not even that fussed about working for men’s rights, like the guys over at the Spearhead.

 

I like to think of myself as just one amazingly average motherfucker. In some ways, I’m an awesome representative of the lazy beta dude, a guy who gets laid reasonably often – has enough charm to get a girl into bed on occasion, but not enough to pull one every night, a guy who likes playing video games more than the idea of being rich, and just genuinely not giving a shit enough to keep the girls I pull.

 

Keep in mind here that I prefer to use Vox Day’s awesome classification system (which only falls down because every single sad piece of shit who wants to feel better about themselves is going to declare that they’re a Sigma), and in it, I do okay. I’m a dude who’s mostly satisfied, and so rarely feel the need to try and amp my game up to crazy levels, but I’m sure as hell not an alpha.

 

So that really brings me to my main point. A few days ago, a cruise ship sank, and the captain told the men women and children should go first. The men aboard basically said ‘fuck off, we’re getting on the lifeboats’. Now, regardless of what stupid shit you might or might not believe about chivalry, it doesn’t really matter. We’re at the point where someone says ‘guys, it’s time to put yourselves in the line of fire for women’, and the guys laugh, tell the speaker to eat a bag of dicks, and go back to playing Halo.

 

That’s what people need to understand. Men of my generation, who weren’t brought up in religious households, or by parents with fucking amazingly powerful moral values are not going to give a shit. That is our religion, our code, our three-hundred page dissertation on ethics. We care for our bros, and then for our family, and maybe a bit for the women in our lives.

 

You see, we’ve been brought up in a world which tells us to be good, to help others, to be ‘nice’ above all else, and then savagely punishes those who follow its commandments. If we’ve been taught anything, it’s that ideals are just a way for other people to fuck you.

 

And so all men reacted in their own way to this crazy, fucked-up world. Tradcons like the guys over at Traditional Christianity try and restore the world to what they see to be something sane. Of course, most guys my age won’t join in on this because even  if religion were true, it seems like the equivalent of shoving your dick into a motorized pencil sharpener – it’s controlled, run by, and run for women, and the idea of sacrificing yourself for fat girls with the personal charm of a twelve-foot spiked dildo is fucking ridiculous.

So even if there are parts of religion that offer a better vision for men, we’re going to avoid it on principle.

Gamesters like Roosh didn’t get laid, so they decided to balance the scales by getting laid endlessly. Most guys like me won’t become good at game, not because the idea of getting laid all the time isn’t appealing, but simply because getting good is hard, and we just don’t give enough of a shit. Still, this is one of the most common paths, simply because it’s not ridiculous – game tells you that it can get you more girls or better girls compared to how you’re doing now, and if you’re going to work for something, that’s just about the best fucking thing you can work for.

 

MRAs, on the other hand, are guys who have been intimately acquainted with the spiked dildo of female-centric law, and they sure as hell didn’t become subs while they were strapped to the bed. The only real problem is that becoming an MRA requires you to get up close and personal with the law, and with laws the way they are regarding hate speech, nobody my age wants to risk their comfortable lives just to redress the balance.

 

You see, if you ask the average dude about any of these three positions, you’ll probably find he sympathises with all three. Sure,  life was probably better back when we had strong morality and nuclear families – any man who never knew his dad, or who’s parents got divorced will agree with that one quick fucking smart.

And hell yes, we’d like to get laid more. Every guy knows what game is, at least in the abstract. He might  not have any fucking idea what exactly it entails, but he knows that there are guys out there who look just like him and can cause panties to fill to brimming and fall off with a glance. Of course, most guys who can do that don’t look like him, but still.

Shit, most guys, whether in university or not, agree men get a shitty deal in general. Of course, nobody will admit this one in public – after all, nobody wants to get reamed out for saying it, but talk to just about any guy one-on-one, and he’ll agree. Shit, even the SWPL boys who profess to being practicing feminists and love to talk about how we need to fight rape as men (though whenever those guys get laid they’re about as rough as cotton candy, and just about as sexual) will grudgingly admit that, once they’re no longer being watched over by the chubby chick who’s pants they think they have a chance of getting into.

 

But because of these opinions, a lot of women, especially feminists, tend to assume that men of my generation hate women, or that we’re bitter about women forcing their way into every institution of power, every fountain of wealth without giving a shit about what that might do to society.

 

Thing is, we’re not. Women want power? Fine, they can have it. If they can enforce the rule of law without us, go fucking crazy, women. If women want the high-paying, 50-hour a week jobs, feel free to take that shit, women. We’ve learnt that we don’t need any of that shit. We’ll be able to find a cute girl who’ll blow us regardless of what you do, and even the guys who can’t can see that the path to pussy isn’t paved with money, it’s paved with panty-dropping ballsiness.

We don’t work hard, not because we hate society, but because society has told us it doesn’t need us. And really, we’re okay with that. A society where we’re not needed is a society where we’re free to play video games, go to the bar, and do as little as is practically possible for people who aren’t our family or friends. It might not be an ideal life, but it sure as hell beats spending all our time fighting for change, or

 

So when you’re getting mugged, or you’re trying to get onto a lifeboat, or even if you’re just struggling to carry something, we don’t look over and think ‘Ha! Stupid fucking woman, deal with equality now, you whorebitch slutcunt!’.

We just look over, see a problem we have no fucking interest in dealing with, and get on with our own shit. Is it sad that a woman might die if I don’t give her my place in the lifeboat? Sure, but it’d be sadder if I died. Is it bad that a chick walking down the street gets mugged? Sure, but if I interfere, I might get stabbed.

Ladies, the majority of men who think like the manosphere does don’t hate you. We just don’t give a shit about you, just like we don’t give a shit about damn near everyone else.

 

 

 

 

 

If Someone Doesn’t Believe In Evidence, Hit Them In The Face

One of the most common objections to an evidence-based viewpoint is that there’s no evidence for an evidence-based viewpoint. After all, aren’t all axioms equally faith-based? Aren’t we all believing in something, whether we believe in the existence of God, the existence of Mother Gaia, or the fact that our thoughts have any relation to reality whatsoever?

 

Perhaps.

 

So if someone tells you that all axioms are equal, that an evidence-based viewpoint is equal to one based on any axiom they happen to stumble over and enjoy using, feel free to give them a sharp smack. Maybe break something they own, or clog their toilet. If they complain, why, aren’t all axioms equal? Don’t all metaphysical positions share the same stature due to the fact that they can’t help but arise from nothing?

 

Because if someone tells you they don’t believe in evidence, feel free to fuck with them to your heart’s content. After all, there’s no evidence you’re doing it, right? And if their argument is logically consistent, they shouldn’t care that you just took a huge deuce in their sink. They can just pick another axiom.

July to November

I recently read through some of the In Mala Fide archives, and discovered this post. In short, a ranking of where the various manosphere blogs sat. Alexa ranks aren’t perfect, but no doubt some interesting inferences can be made by the changes in Alexa ranks.

 

Chateau Heartiste: 56,625, previously 38,264

Roosh V: 58,611, previously 80,133

Taki’s Magazine: 87,600, previously 134,079

Vox Popoli: 115,935, previously 155,294

A Voice for Men: 135,013, previously 136,182

Hooking Up Smart: 153,799, previously 253,287

The Spearhead: 164,176, previously 126,111

In Mala Fide: 211,691, previously 175,287

Roissy is still the centre of the alt-right sphere, though he’s barely more popular than Roosh now. Taki’s Magazine has become much more popular, and well-deservedly so, as it gives an alt-right message with a polish the majority of the manosphere lacks. More interesting is the pre-eminence of A Voice For Men among MRAs, eclipsing the once more-popular Spearhead. Ferd likely lost popularity by going on holiday, which makes sense.

 

In general, however, it seems the manosphere has lost traffic (and possibly traction) in the last few months. Only a passing note for now – I’ll look in again at these figures in another four months or so, and see if this is a passing phase or a general trend.

 

 

Betas vs Sluts

Beta: At sixteen, you want to fuck every hot girl you see. You go after ten of them, they all laugh at you. The last one to reject you mocks you relentlessly behind your back for the entire year, making your sexual prospects null.

Slut: At sixteen, you sleep with the cute eighteen-year old who was funny, tall, handsome, and masculine. You don’t remember Nerd. D. Nerdamus who asked you out twice.

Beta: At eighteen, you travel to college. A rumoured world of pussy and hot chicks awaits you. You sleep with a girl freshman week, she’s kind of chubby and annoying, but hey, pussy is pussy.

Slut: At eighteen, you go to college. You promise to stay together with your boyfriend, but after two weeks you hook up with a twenty-one year old guy. You break it off with your boyfriend after several weeks of agonizing, rationalizing that ‘he’s probably doing the same’.

Beta: At twenty-one, you finish your college degree. You managed to hook up with six or seven girls in your time there, two of whom were actually hot. You had one girlfriend for a year, but she broke it off for some unspecified reason.

Slut: At twenty-one, you finish your college degree. You sleep around a fair bit, getting a name as one of the sluts. Of course, you don’t think so – you feel very strongly for each one of the guys who fucked you, even if they never called you again.

Beta: At twenty-five, you’re four years into a shitty career you really couldn’t give a dick about. You sleep with cute girls on occasion, but spend most of your time playing guitar and Halo.

Slut: At twenty-five, you’re working in the HR department of the local office of Business Guys in Suits. There are a lot of hot dudes there, but you’re not in college anymore – hooking up at random is not what you do. You do sleep with four guys that year, but since only the ugly kind of dude. The last one tells you that you’ve got a name as the office slut. You tell him you’re never talking to him again. He laughs and walks out. Two weeks later you’re messaging him, asking him to come over.

Beta: You turn thirty-two, and for your birthday a buddy buys you a copy of Magic Bullets, and links you to Roissy and Roosh. You devour this voraciously, and become a little better at playing the field.

Slut: You turn thirty-two, and some smartarse sends you a link to Hooking Up Smart. You sit there in shock as someone tells you you’re actually getting less attractive as time goes on, even though you’ve felt male attention lessen over the years. You decide to throw yourself into finding a husband.

Beta: At forty, you’ve never really mastered game, but you’ve got a good mindset, and while you still have trouble meeting women in the street, the ones you do get, you manage well. You decide to marry, and pick a cute thirty-two year old.

Slut: At forty, you marry a man who’s been laid once, and that by a fat drunk seacow. He earns decent money, and you cheat on him twice. You have one child, who has a hideously large forehead.

Beta: At fifty, your wife is less attractive, but what you’re read still serves you well, and your two kids are doing okay. Your son is eight, and while he’s not the cheekiest little bugger out there, he’s not afraid of his own shadow.

Slut: At fifty, you’ve divorced your ex-husband, and live off his earnings. On your fiftieth birthday, he sends you a letter announcing he’s been laid off, and he can’t afford to support you anymore. You sue him and get him sent to prison, but this doesn’t help your money situation. Where you once had eighty thousand tax-free dollars a year, you now have zero. You decide to start dating again, but no man will come inside you, let alone call you back.

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A beta has a long time to turn his life around. A slut has ten or so years at most.

Whenever we pity men who are terrible with women, and get pissed at sluts, remember that she’s spending the only coin she’ll ever have. He, on the other hand, can always dip into the Game piggybank if he’s willing to do so.

The Sociosexual Glass Ceiling

A big topic in the manosphere is women hitting The Wall, and those same 35+ year-old women assuming they can still score a hot husband. A lot of bitterness and resentment in the manosphere stems from women attempting to have their cake and eat it too, seeking to ride cock after cock in their twenties before settling down with a chump in their thirties, this process being termed by romantic comedies ‘growing up’.

 

Women project like all fuck, this is well-known. What the manosphere doesn’t often acknowledge is that men also project, and one of our projections is in the sphere of sexuality. If I had the ability to hook up upon desire that any of the hot girls I’ve known in university had, there’d be no player in the world who could even come close to matching me. When it comes to casual sex, it’s a seller’s market, and women have a monopoly.

 

For a moment, let’s couple the commitment market with the sexual market. The two are pretty damn closely related, after all – sex tends to buy commitment and commitment buys sex, at least for the vast majority of people. If a man’s commitment is very easy to get, he has nothing of value to offer in order to get sex. If a woman’s sexuality is very easy to get, she has nothing of value to offer in order to get commitment.

But the big winners – and the big losers – in both markets are men. Like in all arenas of life, men constitute the majority of the abject failures and the magnificent winners. The simple matter of the fact is that a man who fucks a hundred girls hurts his long-term relationship prospects only mildly. A woman who rides a hundred cocks lies about it or gets dumped.

A man can win big in the sexual market and the commitment market. A man can play through his twenties, fuck fifty-six girls, and move on to marry a twenty-year old hottie.

But a man can also lose big. Few women are virgins by anything but choice. I know a number of guys (not an exceptional number, but enough to worry me) who live in colleges and simply can’t get laid. These aren’t 1s, by the by. One of them stands two-thirds of a foot taller than me, and while he’s not charming and suave, he’s got one hell of a dry wit and an incisive way of looking at things that makes him a great guy to hang out with.

Now, this man just can’t close the deal with chubsters with vaguely pretty faces, and I know other men who are better-looking than me (almost universally, as I have a forgettable face and I stand below average height) who cannot get it on.

There are men who might want to get married and commit, but they’re not able to win in either the commitment or the sexuality markets. The number of women who suffer from this condition are vanishingly small.

 

This is the world we live in. Like everywhere else, there’s a glass ceiling, but there’s also a glass floor. A man can fuck like a champ and swim out of the pussy ocean to meet a hot girl he can marry, but a woman can’t do the same thing. When we feel angry at women for trying to jump off the cock carousel and into an attractive husband, remember that.

As a man, your default state might be much worse off than the average woman’s, but you can climb to the top of the fucking world if you’re willing to bleed for it.

 

 

On Fatherlessness

I’m curious as to how many people in the alt-right blogosphere grew up in traditional nuclear families, as opposed to those who grew up raised by single mums or divorced parents.

I don’t know many bleeding-heart liberals who grew up in poverty or in single-parent homes. The same sort of people who agitate for the state to support (and thereby increase the numbers of) single mothers and poor households are rarely the people who’ve suffered the consequences of these things.

Which is a damn shame, because those are the sorts of people who deserve to suffer the consequences of those things. They’re the people who assume a single-parent home can’t be all that bad because they grew up in a perfectly nice middle-to-upper-class suburban home with parents who made sure they did well at school and went on to college, where they obediently swallowed the orthodoxy preached there and went on to vomit it all over the West.

People who agitate for fatherlessness always seem to have fathers, in the same way that people who agitate for increased immigration never seem to live in suburbs which are filled to the brim with immigrants.

If you’re one of those people (though you most certainly aren’t), let me tell you this. Fatherlessness is crippling. I don’t mean that in some bullshit emotional sense where I’ve been destroyed in terms of confidence and self-esteem and self-worth and self-image and  sheer balls-out arrogance for the rest of my life. I’m not here to whine about how bad this makes me feel.

When I say crippling, I mean it in the very simple sense that a boy without a father is a boy without the necessary skills to go confront life. I’ve lost almost every fight I’ve ever been in, and when it came to going camping or going to a shop class at school, I was functionally illiterate. I spent years learning the very rudiments of game and how to pick up women, and I’m still not a tenth as far along the way as men I’ve known who got a few lessons at sixteen from their dad.

Now, I’m a self-motivated man who couldn’t give a shit that I’m terrible at most things other guys can do with ease, because I know that a late start doesn’t mean you’re going to lose the race, so long as you’re running long-distance. This is uncommon, however.

Your average fatherless kid doesn’t pull himself together and succeed. He crumples. Me, I used to be that kid. I didn’t know how to interact with other boys, and I was functionally terrified of damn near everyone around me. Instead of being told to hit a bully in the chin when someone stole my bag or decided to have a bit of fun with me, I was told that violence was wrong and that returning violence for violence would only make me as bad as them.

I believed that. One of the most pernicious lies in the fucking world, and I ate it up like a good little doggy. After awhile, I started to hit back, but even then I’d tell my teachers (and parents) that I did it. I assumed that people of authority were inherently on my side. I mean, they said so, right?

After I got suspended from school a few times I started to question that one. But it took a hell of a long time. You see, the ability to see through bullshit is one imparted by the father.

These are the kids being raised today. They either believe blindly, like the fatherless nerds, or believe nothing, like the fatherless bullies. At the school I went to, every single person who got in the top ten percent statewide lived with both their parents.

This is simply a question. How many men in the alt-right/manosphere/Roissysphere/redpill community were brought up without fathers, and how many were brought up with strong, loving, close ones? I can’t help but think that the feeling of betrayal we all seem to have comes in part because many of us were made fatherless by an ideology that continues to spit on us day by day.

Let Them Find Another Word

Many women describe themselves as feminists, but then quickly add on ‘but I don’t hate men’, or ‘but feminism is about equality!’. Women who are simply in favour of their right to vote and pay taxes aren’t our natural enemies, though some men might claim they are.

Those women are, in effect, the sane fringe of feminism. Nonetheless, the manosphere must attack them as viciously and as virulently as we do the people who genuinely attack and loathe us. By making no distinction between feminists who hold that an eighteen-year man should be jailed for sleeping with a sixteen-year old girl, and those who hold merely equalist positions, we force the two to separate.

Leftists, feminists, and multicults of all stripes use this strategy with tremendous success in everyday discourse. Take for instance the case of Anders Breivik. Leftists in Australia have tried to link Breivik’s actions by comparing him to the Australian mainstream right, insinuating that down the path of anti-immigration lies rivers of blood – that  anyone who shares any of Anders’ views, or is closer to his views than they are are somewhat culpable for his actions.

I feel that it’s sensible to adopt a similar strategy as a group. If a woman (or a man, I suppose) wants to gain respect from a red-pill kinda guy while retaining her belief in the equality of men and women, she should use another word. Feminist is done and dusted. Any woman who describes herself as a feminist earns my contempt, just as anyone who describes themselves as a Stalinist earns my contempt. We don’t care what you want the word to mean any more. If you’re willing to contribute to the power of radfems who believe in birth rape, then you deserve to be treated as one.