Friday, 27 September 2019

Big Country Back Again, Catching Up

Big Country is back out and blogging again, it's good to see. I strongly suggest that you check'm out, I'm gonna catch up over the next few days.

That said, some of his story is up in Charlie Mike Comix. I read a sneak preview of the first one before it was released. Powerful, powerful stuff. He has links to others over on his blog, check them out too.

This is real-world stuff. It's important. It's where real people bleed and die. Not the pap and horseshit that the general drama-maggot's and lefties and "newspaper hacks" seem to think is important.


I've been talking to people and learning stories. I can't post 'em all up - way too revealing - however I can boil down a couple of them. Should get them into shape over the next week or so.

It still surprises me sometimes, just how fucked up and stupid people can be. It's no wonder that I'm generally anti-fuckin'-social and all.


The Prime Stupid aka Jacinda Adern is really screwing things up around here. While heading off to the UN and delivering a 5-minute "stirring speech", according to the local leftist rags. (Highly important.)

Guns, guns, guns - hand in the guns you non-violent gun-owners, so that the violent mofo's who want to keep their guns can pull 'em outta the ground in a few years and shoot someone. Jesus. Some lunatics shoot a bunch of people and all the sane ones who have zero intent on murder, who are extremely serious gun owners (full E-Cat licence and all) have to hand in their AK's and similar.

Good, all-around weapons, buh-bye - we'll pay you less'n they're worth, if you don't like it we'll take 'em anyway and put you in jail. You non-criminal scum.

The sad thing is: legit gun collectors are getting shafted too. If you have a WWI or WWII collector's item that qualifies as "illegal" here in NZ, you gotta hand it over. Of course, you can get it disabled (ugh) - which completely wrecks their value, because part of the true value of a real collector's piece is that it needs to be pristine and usable (double-ugh).

Poor bastards. Can't import, can't export, and if you could export - nobody would want'm 'cause they've been disabled, they're now stuffed. You might as well melt'm down for the steel, they're worth more as that than as a collection piece.


Yes, I've been busy. A lot. (Way too much damn work...PC crapped itself...stuff to fix around the house...ah well, fix'r'up and have another sip of Grand Marnier...)

Speaking of fixing stuff, I've been doing some general work around the house. Mostly bricklaying, old recycled bricks into some rough paths and steps. It's been decades since I've done it - the skills are still there, even if rusty as fuck.

Have a had a helluva cold-weather snap this week. Desert Road (in NZ) closed 'cause of snow. Early spring I guess, not that usual though.

So, a warm fire - a gutful of curry - and a glass of Grand Marnier for you-all. It's time to go read.

Friday, 12 July 2019

Pissed Her Life Away

Soooo, here in Kiwi-land we have the usual suspects.

The Prime Twat has to be seen to be doing something about shootings. Solution: Change the law so that people have to hand in their guns. Which criminals and potential nutcase shooters sure as fuck ain't gonna be doing.

Ebola. Ebola. Ebola. Holy shit. Someone trying to cull the herd or something?

I haven't worried too much about things recently. Work tries to Pile it Higher and Deeper (PhD). Just nod, smile, and laugh inside as others drag the chain on shit. Close to six months of dealing with governmental slowness and stupidity - someone is milking the system big-time.

Me, I can't be bothered pushing on a rope.

Every Friday we get together for a lunch, it's very cool. Best is when there is no wimminz around - the real talk happens instead of the fluffy dogshit that teh wimminz lurv lurv lurv to talk about.

Today's was a beaut. Just the two of us. We got to comparing ex-wives situations with our own. Fucking awesome eye-opener.

Him, weeeeell, he's got his mortgage back. His finances under control. Adding to his collection of motorbikes. Him and his lawyer went through everything, about all he has is an older car - everything else is owned by a Trust. On paper, he's a fucking pauper.

Her, she's got a house and mortgage. She's had to rent part of it out to her boyfriend and his teenage girl kids - which is fucking weird by itself. The boyfriend has nothing, two teenager girls tearing the place up. A beat-up car belonging to the boyfriend is on the lawn, her car is broken down and on the lawn. Looks like trailer-trash central.

The difference between my mate and his ex: he can go out and do shit, she's living hand-to-mouth and fucking her live-in rent-paying boyfriend who has two teenage girls - one of which is not his.

Very similar situation in comparison with me and my ex-wife. Fuckin' striking.

Retirement-wise, he was originally planning to retire around 55 - now it'll be 60-odd. Me, I was originally planning to retire around 50 - now it'll be 60-65. Unfortunate.

Then we look at what the exes are doing. Ho-lee-fuck. If they'd stuck with us:

* his wife would have been on easy-street instead of hand-to-mouth pauperdom

* my wife would have been retired at 38 and traveling the world with me, instead of hand-to-mouth pauperdom

Thinking about it, my brother and his ex-wife are much the same. He's doing damn well. She's living hand-to-mouth.

These women have simply pissed their lives away.

Basically fucked themselves and their lives beyond repair. ('Cause there aren't many 50 Shades of Shit millionaires to "rescue" their shitty asses from their bad choices.)

Gentlemen. If you happen to become divorced - hold on tight. Because within 10 years, you will almost certainly be back on track.

And she will still be fucked.

On a cold winter evening, in front of a fire, I raise a glass of warmed Grand Marnier to you, my brothers. Live well!

Saturday, 30 March 2019

TGI Friday - "You're not fucking listening!" Edition

Normally it's women getting pissed at men for not listening.

Turnabout's a bitch!

One of the guys at our regular TGIF - reasonably red-pilled man, though he doesn't think directly in those terms - had himself a little "situation" with his woman recently. He was pissed off enough to tell it to us at lunch.

Note: "his woman" - he sneers at the term "girlfriend" ("we ain't teenagers") or "partner" ("pathetic neutral bullshit"). She's his woman, he's her man, even if they aren't married - which isn't looking likely.

He got sick for a couple days ("dodgy vindaloo").

Well, his woman got all concerned about this - even though he's telling her that he's okay. See, he's one of the types who just want to be left alone when sick. He knows he'll be alright. He has it under control. Just "hi, yes I'll be right, seeya" type of man.

She got so worried ("concerned") about him that she stepped well over the line of what he considers acceptable behavior towards him. I'm not going into details - though I laughed my ass off when I heard. When he's sick, he sure as fuck don't want to be bothered by anyone. I'm surprised he even talked to her - must like her a lot.

Any rate, when she realized what she'd done (stomped all over his boundaries) she got all contrite and teary: "I'm sorry! Please forgive me honey!" And shit like that.

When I heard that I laughed and said to him: "I'm surprised. It's usually men who have to come out all apologetic and shit like that. Once it happens the bitch'll never let you live it down, either." The whole lot of us laughed 'cause it's so true.

As he said though: he got really pissed because she wasn't listening. Not listening and respecting her man.

Which is ironic, because it's usually women bitching about men not listening and respecting them. Of course, as per above, in her case she'll remember it until your deathbed. Assuming she stays that long.

Any rate, he's basically turned the same behavior as women back on her. Accidental dread game, turnabout is fair play. He reckons that she's sure as shit very contrite at the moment.

Even he says though: that's a pretty good red flag right there, someone stomping right the fuck over all your very-clearly-put boundaries.

Stomping all over another mans' boundaries is excuse for a severe ass-kicking. (These days, more likely to be legal action - or if it's pathetically small "just take it like a wuss".)

When a wimminz feels her boundaries are stomped all over, she gets bitchy and whiny about it for forever, and she tells everyone socially about it too. You are mud, mud, mud forever and a day.

Well, the same for a wimminz who stomps the fuck all over your boundaries - it's time for a severe ass-kicking bitch. (Literal or metaphorical, your choice. Though as we know, a literal ass-kicking can get you into jail a fuckton faster than your nightmares - so metaphorical is best, and be prepared to walk away too. Or maybe just walk away, it might be easier.)

To you my man, I raise a glass of Grand Marnier. May you live long and well! And the same to all of you, my brothers!

Wednesday, 13 March 2019

Me! Me! Me! Me! Me!

"What about me?"

Eh what?

"It isn't fair!"

Who the fuck are you and why should I care?

"I did what I was taught!"

You mean told, 'cause you followed someone else's script.

"I should have gotten X!"

Let me laugh at you for believing the con-man.

"Whyyyyyy...." <crying>


<more crying>

Meh. Fuckwit.

"I'm going to do more!"


"Why don't you care?!"


"I want to be married."

Tats. Piercing. Tits sagging to the floor. Fucked weird hair. Giving everyone the finger. Taken it up the ass. Several threesome/foursomes. Had a gangbang. All checks out - you're exactly everything I want to be with.

"Why don't you pay attention to me?"

Who are you.

"I want a baby."


"You should pay for my IVF."

Of course.

"Whyyyyyyy am I all alone...!"

Fuck that's shrill.

"You're selfish!"

Pot. Kettle. Black.

"Listen to meeeee...!"

I'm'a go do something interesting and meaningful and worthwhile.

"Me me me mememeeee...!"

<disappearing into the distance>

Wednesday, 28 November 2018

Forget Why

Why is irrelevant.

Do you get that? Completely irrelevant.

There is no rational why.

I remember back to the ending "conversation" with my last girl, must be close to three years ago now. ("Conversation" hah! She turned up at an awkward time of night, barged in, and was basically being a self-centered bitch on the whole instead of leaving me alone when I made it clear that I wasn't interested any more.)

I got her the hell out of my home in the guise of "dropping her off to her hotel". She asks if she'll be seeing me again.

Me: No.

Her: Why not?

Me: I don't want to.

Her: Finish that sentence! (A quite loud'n'clear self-centered "I am entitled to know why!")

Me: I don't want to see you again. (Yeah, it's a total lack of interest, now stay the fuck away.)

Her face scrunches up and she heads away to her room, probably because I shattered her heart'n'soul. I leave, not caring at all.

Yes, teh wimminz would call me a fuckin' psychopath. Given what she did to me, there was no interest left on my side. That is my "why" for treating her like that.

Yet still. There is no "why" in life.

There is only: I want to X/I don't want to X.

I want to see you again. I don't want to see you again.

I want to fuck you again. I don't want to fuck you again.

I want to read that book again. I don't want to read that book again.

I want to see that movie again. I don't want to see that movie again.

I want to continue hanging around those people. I don't want to continue hanging around those people.

Why? I can come up with a million "reasons" for "why". They're not relevant. Not really. The "why" is just the brain attempting to provide a rational reason of some type. A rational reason for an internal emotional reaction.

Essentially it boils down to: I want to / I don't want to. The rest of the palaver is just social self-justification and face-saving.

In the guts of it, the want-to/don't-want-to is an emotional inner reaction, not something intellectually reasoned out. Not in the guts of it.

She wants to fuck you. She doesn't want to fuck you.

She wants to fuck you again. She doesn't want to fuck you again.

Why do you care why? Why do you want to know why?

Forget why. There is no why. There is only a gut-basic reaction, a feeling, of: "I want to / I don't want to".

She wants a boyfriend. She doesn't want a boyfriend.

She wants to be married. She doesn't want to be married.

She wants to be married to you. She doesn't want to be married to you.

She wants to part her legs for you. She doesn't want to part her legs for you.

Even when the basic "I don't want to" shatters her/your soul. And you, or her, start going down down down the rabbit-hole of emotional turmoil and horseshit.

>>>> Why?!?!?!!!! <<<< Add insistent whiny brat emotional crap as appropriate. You and/or her both.

There is no why. Down at the core, it just fucking is.

Make me want to, rather than not want to. Teh wimminz, leftists, femiwhores, the unwashed mass of generally shitty people on the whole, will never truly grasp that. Make me want to, rather than not want to.

Being a complete cunt is not making me want to X. It makes me not want to X. Fill in the X with whatever is appropriate.

Summertime in New Zealand. I'm starting to do more outdoor stuff.

Why? I want to. There may be many "reasons". They all boil down to: I want to.

Deep down in the guts of it. It's an emotional thing. There's no real reason as such for it. That's why.

Sunday, 4 November 2018

You Talk Too Much - TGI Friday Edition

Most times something interesting comes out of our TGI Friday. (Guns, wimminz, hunting, customers, archery, bikes, camping, surfing, life - all sorts of stuff that I don't share on here). We had a goodie this Friday though: guy finally got (aka paid) his ex the fuck out of his home (it took 3-4 years?!?!?! and cost you how much in the end?!?!?! fuck me...)

When she's out of his life, last few bits of driving her shit around, just to make sure it's the fuck out and etc. She starts jawing and jabbering about her family shit. "So and so brother's, sister's, husband's, second cousin..." blah blah fucking blah.

He had a moment of sanity. As he said to us: "Hey. You walked the fuck away from me. I don't know why you want to tell me this crap. This is no longer relevant to me. Not interested."

Object lesson right there on getting her the fuck out of yours ASAP when things go south. Otherwise you're still wasting time, energy, life on someone who has basically said "I don't want you between my legs, piss off..." yet she is quite happy to suck the rest of everything out of you.

The actual words and excuses she used don't matter. They are meaningless. She still wants out of your life...

...and you're still wasting your time, energy, life on that. Until you realize.

You ain't related to it.

You ain't married to it.

You ain't best buddies with it. (Fucking aye you ain't best buddies with it! What, you nuts?)

You shouldn't have it in your life any more. It's just another leech on you.

Literally a leech. Still sucking down your time, energy, life.

When what you really want to do is what he's doing. Makes his dinner in the skillet. Eats out of the skillet. Cleans up and puts it in the rack. Life is simple, life is great.

Nice, simple, easy, not 15 separate pots per meal for something that really tastes only mediocre. Then she bitches about how long a day she's had etc. That doesn't actually matter. Not to you. You just want a decent, filling, tasty meal. Here she's put 15 separate pots into the sink, is bitching about cleanup (trying to get you to do it), and she asks the loaded question: "What'd you think of dinner?"

You can be the tactless "complete asshole" and say "it was okay". Because that's all it was. It was an okay meal.

You learn not to do that if you're married. You *know* what she'll be like for the next month - and intermittently for the rest of your life, whenever she feels like being a bitch.

So you grit your teeth, praise the meal to the skies, then go over to her and hug and kiss her and guide her to the couch and sit her down and clean the goddamn 15 pots that she messed up. Funny, this one looks like all she did with it was boil water. Better not mention that.

Yet hang on man.

She doesn't want you between her legs. Piss off.

By all means, be as stupid as you want. I'll continue to laugh at you for bein' a fuckin' dipshit.

The longer it takes you to wake up, the harder I'll be laughing at you once you get it together.

Yes, I know that's crushing your soul. So? Do you really have any actual, valid reason for being such a completely stupid idiot?

I didn't think so.

Do I *actually* enjoy your pain? Fuck no!

I am gonna laugh at you though. The more that my laughter hurts you, the harsher the lesson. Which is really all that I can honestly do for you. Drive that lesson home into your heart, rub salt into it, and make you hurt so badly that you will never forget that hurt which was done to you.

By me? You know better. You did it to yourself. You let *her* do it to you. You're just too chickenshit to admit it to yourself.

Back to him. He's been dating around. As I guess many do, when divorce hits us. Conditioned to have a wimminz in our lives, come hell or high water...

...except that these wimminz are expecting to go out. All the time. "What are we going to do this Friday night?" she asks him. "Eh. The weather's not that great. I think I'll have myself a nice bourbon on lemon ice, sit in front of the fire with a book, relax and read for the night." Sounds good to me. To her though: "What what what what what?"

And she completely cannot understand it. The concept of actually stopping, relaxing, doing something quietly - it means nothing to her. It's meaningless. She has to be *out there*, *being seen*, *doing something* - all that social shit that in her mind means "a good time".

As he says: he'd rather sit in front of a nice fire, sipping bourbon, reading a good book. The drama and insanity can stay out of his door. He's got his shelter, warmth, a good-tasting drink, and some interesting and thoughtful mental stimulation.

He's starting to realize the joys of personal peace and quiet.

Not hanging around with someone who talks too fuckin' much. Especially about utterly meaningless drivel.

Brother, have a bourbon. You've earned it. Good on you for starting to realize what life actually *is* to you, versus what other people *think life is* and *think your life should be*.

Wednesday, 31 October 2018

In Your Face

A few weeks ago I noticed some younger bloke driving a car with a number plate that essentially stated: No fucks given.

While I applaud the sentiment, something about it has nagged me. Quite a bit. My brain being slow at times, it has taken a while to figure out what was bugging me.

Actually, he does give a fuck. It's straight there in the "in your face" attitude that he's displaying to the world. Which is all cool and all, that's his thing. At least he's up front about it.

It occurs to me though: a true "no fucks given" attitude doesn't feel the need to slam it out in the world's face. A true no fucks given attitude just goes off and does what it wants. It doesn't require telling others about it (essentially, angrily giving the world the finger).

It just buggers off and does what it wants. If you don't like it, so what? You're not relevant. Certainly not to me. Stop poking your nose into my business, my life, my thoughts. Just leave me be and we'll get along swimmingly.

Which is I believe what the disappearing types of MGTOW do. They're doing their own thing. They don't have the urge to tell others what they're up to. They don't care about those others - the others are simply not relevant to them.

Which is an interesting thought when it comes to much of the Manosphere community and MGTOW. I've noticed it over the last three-four years. Some people become...

...less communicative...

...and eventually disappear.

They're slowly growing to the true point of no fucks given. While they might have philosophical thoughts about the subject, there is no urge to pass those thoughts on. It's just internalised and acted upon in the way they see fit.

I've noticed it with Hawaiian Libertarian. He's off doing his own thing, there's almost no interest in letting others know. (I applaud that by the by. I hope that he's doing well.)

I see Aaron Clary, Captain Capitalism, still putting up examples and the like of social stupidity. There is still much anger and frustration in him, in many of us. Somehow, I think that if he starts changing to a true viewpoint of no fucks given, he will slowly and quietly disappear from the scene. Good luck to you, Aaron.

I've noticed it a bit myself since my holiday in America. Something about the silence and being away by myself for a month has seeped into me. Maybe lodged itself into my soul, for want of a better metaphor.

A slow point of reassessment? I am unsure.

The stupidities of the world, society, and people are still there. I still look at them and marvel at times.

In the end though ... No real fucks are given. It's too big, it's too stupid, it's too sheeplike, it's too self-destructive. I refuse to stand in the front of the stampede, screaming warnings, only to be crushed into a bloody pulp.

Ghosting? No. I like many things about the world. There are many places to visit, many people who are actually worthwhile to meet (damn it, I missed out talking with Big Country in person - there is a Man with a fuck-ton of life and experiences!), many things that I find interesting.

Just not the damn social lemmings charging headlong over the cliff. Dull, uninteresting, bland. The sooner they are over that cliff and gone, the better.

I don't really have much of a point to this post. I suppose that it's a kind of explanation and apology of why I've not been around much.

I do strongly suggest, though: get yourself some camping gear and go bush for a while, even if it's just driving around the tourist traps and staying in hotels and camping grounds. Try to keep interacting with people to a minimum.

Talking and yap-yap with the useless types can be your enemy these days. Seek the more interesting people who have actually lived and have stories to tell. Especially the older people. Even if you have nothing to tell in exchange, they are giving you the gift of experience to listen and learn from.

Something about doing that changes your mindset. You start to realize what actually is relevant, what is needed, what is useful, and what is pure garbage.

Then you can work on purging the garbage.

I am still around and do check back fairly often. Just not huge on the talking at the moment. Maybe the urge will come back, not sure.

Be well, Brothers.

Tuesday, 16 October 2018

Class, Dignity, Respect

Class, dignity, and respect.

Three things that this laughable excuse of a Western society loves to shit on. Especially that of Men, of course.

Why is this?

Let's start a trip down this little rabbit-hole and see where it leads us.

Looking at teh wimminz in general with a skeptical eye, a good number enjoy mucking men around. It helps them weed the Men from the boys, soyboys, pathetics, pussy-panderers, etc. For certain types of wimminz this of course is great from an entertainment point of view, plus lets them know who they can soak for $$$$ and favours.

Teh feminazis and similarly inclined ilk - who have no real power, so they scream until we throw them a bone to shut them the fuck up - get their feelz of empowerment from the process. Winner winner chicken dinner for them.

Looking at the Left, these wiperags love doing it as a power-trip. It makes them feel personally strong and empowered to tear others down. Bonus points for successful trolling aka getting someone to lose their shit. The more public the anger/humiliation reaction the better. PJEAR MAH IMPORTANTS!!!

In common, all three are doing it for the ego/power feelz.

In common, all three appear to be running on emotional highs.

In common, all three are essentially powerless.

So effectively, this behaviour is the powerless screaming and thrashing and throwing monkey-poo at everything in sight in an effort to gain the power that they lack.

So what can we Men do about this behaviour?

Unfortunately not much - directly. There are a lot of them and few of us. Further, we Men appear to have a lone-wolf mentality when things go wrong for us. We go and lick our wounds, heal, learn from the experience, and come back stronger. Determined to not let that, or similar, happen to us again. Assuming that we survive, of course.

We also don't oppose this type of warped herd behaviour as such very well, which when you think about it makes some sense. When a stampede is heading your way you don't stand in front of it, shouting and trying to get it to stop. You'll get stomped into a bloody mess. You get the fuck out of the way and let it go run over the cliff like the lemmings they are, sucks to be them.

The social herd is sure as hell in full-on-stupidity-stampede mode. The damn lemmings are heading straight for the cliff's edge, hell-for-leather and damn the bloody torpedos.

Out of self-preservation, we need to get the hell out of the way and leave them to it. Realistically it's all we can do. Once the stampede is done - and it's going to be a long time - if we're lucky, we can pick up the pieces once the dust clears. If we're very lucky, we'll have managed to keep our nearest and dearest safe.

Good luck out there.

Sunday, 2 September 2018

Generational Bad Decisions

A few days ago I got to yakking with an older woman working as cashier and food-maker in a bakery. (She is an excellent endorsement for Feminaziism. Early 40's in a dead-end job, with less personal enjoyment than if she was making lunches for her family. You go girl! Meh.)

Note that I don't yak with her 'cause she's pretty. She ain't. At early-40's she's used up and gone, it's time she was dropped in the rubbish bin like a used kleenex. Which ironically isn't far from what effectively happened to her recently.

So let us talk a short walk, following this girl's family line down the "path 'o doom".

It seems that she was born of a woman back when, one of the early single mommy types (like my mother, joy joy joy! bah). Her mother obviously made bad decisions and ended up having to raise her daughter by herself. We could refer to her mother as "bad decision generation #1".

Now she, she has just broken up with her "latest partner" of 6 years. (That ole 7-year itch strikes again! Yes, she broke up with him. Why? Reasons undefined...) So a partner of 6 years, she breaks up with her latest. Obviously there was earlier partners, at least one - probably more, considering that she has a daughter just turning 20 years old.

She's never mentioned if she was divorced. I didn't ask. So I could go 50/50 for divorce or single-mommy-dom. Either way, we can refer to her as "bad decision generation #2".

So her daughter just turned 20-odd. Said daughter has just gotten pregnant to a man who "is utterly unsuitable". (BWAHAHAAHAHAHHHHH!!!! The level of dipshit unawareness is fuckin' breathtaking. Especially considering her personal history.) Sad to say, I must now refer to the daughter as "bad decision generation #3".

Some sweet thoughts. Three generations of fucking the wrong man (or wrong type of man) (or more accurately, being fucked by or parting their legs for the wrong type of men). Great stuff, yes?

It gets better. She's just lost out a bunch of money on a trip to some island that she'd arranged for her daughter's 20th birthday - because the island has Zika Virus on it. Ooooops. Can't have bubsy getting zapped by Zika Virus! But she's now out some money...she's agonizing over it, 'cause she's single and works in the hospitality industry 'cause in her early 40's she's single once more and too fuckin' useless for anything else...

Wait wait wait. Let's back up a bit here.

Her momma made massive bad decisions in her life. She made massive bad decisions in her life. Her daughter has made massive bad decisions in her life.


Can't have the baby getting hurt. That baby must be supported. And it's *important* to send dipshit daughter on a 20th birthday holiday, even though dipshit daughter's mum basically lives hand-to-mouth in the hospitality industry, and now dipshit daughter cannot go because dipshit daughter is pregnant and now she's out some money...

My mind is utterly blown by the levels of stupidity, idiocy, and doublethink exhibited.

No, no! Dipshit daughter and bubsy are important!

If that baby is another daughter, will we be referring to her as "bad decision generation #4" sometime down the line? Should we start now?

Round and round and round it goes, as we flush everything sane and sensible so far as society should be concerned with, down the shitter...

...because the completely stupid are encouraged and rewarded for having sex randomly, because they are not actively penalized for breeding indiscriminately with "totally unsuitable" mates, because the more suitable mates are then browbeaten and brainwashed into caring for other people's shit results (man up and marry that slutty single mommy with a half-dozen STDs!), because the more suitable mates are are treated like crap no matter what they do to try and support single mumsy and bubsy... it any wonder that Men look at this horseshit and mentally/emotionally check out?

Friday, 24 August 2018

Bleed in Private

No, the title of this post is not referencing me or my life - I have simply been very, very busy in my personal life for the last couple of months. It suddenly occurred to me tonight that I've been bloody remiss about saying hello to people and keeping in touch in general.

This post is about the "sensitive new age guy", aka doormat, aka soyboy, et-fucking-cetera. (™) Specifically, their bloody propensity to go and bleed emotionally in public for the delectation of all and sundry.

Of course, wimminz love it when a man goes and bleeds in public. He lets his hair down, snivels and cries, etc etc ad goddamn nauseum.

Wimminz love this behavior because she immediately knows: I can push this pussy around.

Wrap him around her finger, make him dance for her, a source of endless amusement and entertainment. Pointing him out to her friends: "Hey, lookit this pussy! Watch me push him around! Ain't that cuuuuute?!"

Enough to make your balls shrink with some fucked-up sense of sympathy.

Men, we need to harden up. There's no need to bleed in public for all and sundry.

Your brother or a buddy gets killed in a car crash, or dies from cancer, or something. A friend asks us out, we might say: "Nah, a brother/mate of mine died. Gonna have a drink in private to remember him by." (Or maybe: "Me and some of his mates are getting together to drink and remember him by." Or whatever you-all decide to do. He loves hunting? Go hunting to remember him by.)

To other Men, it's immediately understood.

Nothing more is needed.

In such situations, we just need a little time to deal with things.

To teh wimminz: "Oh! Oh! That's terrible! Do you need to talk about it?" Bleat, bleat, fuckin' bleat, in the most senseless and demeaning manner possible.

I sometimes wonder if they deliberately cheapen such situations (because y'know, men are insensitive brutes and akerchully have no feelings and the fuckin' like) or they're just completely clueless (same non-reasoning applies).

(Maybe a good one will understand like another Man does. I've not met this personally, though I will admit to the possibility of 1% actually being capable of some sensitivity and sense and decorum and the like. If you know of one like that, the chances are they're family or a friend of the buddy and going through all this also.)

This is why it's always good to do your bleeding in private. Other Men (especially the ones who matter) will respect you for it. The few Men who you might open up to about such things, will understand the deep gift that they have been given. (They may not have anything to actually say, 'cause it's an awkward thing, yet they will understand.)

Best of all, you don't get your deepest and most painful situations shat on thoughtlessly and meaninglessly by the attack-bunnies and retards which abound in this decaying excuse of a civilization.

My brothers, I raise to you all a glass of Grand Marnier. May your lives be blessed with strong Men who you are proud to walk alongside. Maybe, even occasionally, bleed beside.