A Twisted Entitlement

Russia. Russia, Russia, Russia!!!

I've always been had a great deal of skepticism regarding the so-called high-quality of Russian women. I never really explained why in depth, and I won't. I'll just provide a few glimpses from my perspective here in New Zealand:

* a pair of young Czechoslovakian girls over on a "foreign exchange program" (you can guess what they were exchanging - as a twosome)
* a Russian slut in a bar who sent up a shitload of red flags that set aaaaall the alarm-bells ringing
* a friend whose second wife was a Russian slut who took him to the cleaners
* the above friend is currently on his third wife/second Russian slut, who is sucking the life outta him (and I don't mean via his dick - it didn't take her long to get started)

In timely fashion, Didact puts up a piece about a few facts that were missing from an article on RoK. (Okay it was almost a month ago. It's taken a while for me to get around to completing this post. What the hell.)

Many times I have mentioned a video about Western men looking for girls in the Ukraine (hello Roosh, you sure know what process you started there - the quicker sluttification of teh localz - be proud). The video is by Journeyman Pictures and is titled: The Desperate Western Men Hunting For Wives In Ukraine.

Here it is again, and it's now time to rip apart the obvious entitled mental processes of these entitled whores - welcome to Odessa:

The opening scene is in a bar. These are bar girls. To be more precise: many of these girls are the local sluts (women of "loose morals") looking for a husband who doesn't know what they're like. The economy is down the shitter, alcoholism is widespread, women outnumber men almost 5 to 4, and girls as young as 18 are signing up in their hundreds to "russian bride" websites in a desperate search for a husband aka slave.

Take me away from this place, this hellhole, rich western man. I will show off my sexy body to you, take lots of provocative poses, make you believe that you can have me, even actually give myself to you, only take me away from here.

One is a 27yo divorced mommy. Hmm. Interesting. She thinks that she can compete with her younger sisters, also desperate, while she has a rugrat in tow. She tells the story of the destruction of her marriage...she's already too old for the local men...oh dear. Poor little darling. Poor, poor, pitiful me...Lord have mercy can't you see...poor, poor, pitiful me...

Go ahead. Play that sympathy card to the camera for all it's worth.

One of the local men, talking about how hard it is to find a girlfriend. "They want everything, while at the same time, give nothing in return." My, my, where have we heard that before?

These internet sites also organize "romance tours". I will say it: sex tourism. Tell these lovely young things that you're looking for a wife, though of course you have to try the merchandise first...lo...she parts her legs for you. Who is desperate here? Check out the catalog, Russian-speaking tour reps will arrange dates for them. (Hold on tight, we're not 5 minutes into the video yet!)

I particularly like 65yo Arthur: "It's like purchasing a very nice, used Cadillac. It's nice, but it's used. I tell them I need to drive it before I make a decision about taking it home and putting it in my garage. If she was a virgin that'd be different, but I don't think they make them any more. So I need to test-drive 'em. And as I tell them, they need to test-drive me - I'm an old man and might not do the job for 'em."

What does this army of waiting women seek?

Woman: "I want to meet a handsome young man."

So long as he makes six figures - which he must, if he's spending $3,500 on a romance sex tour.

Woman: "I just want to use every opportunity I get to try and meet the right person."

Playin' the field.

Mother: "Men in Nikolaev like drinking too much. Beer flows like a river in Nikolaev. They like fighting and when they marry sometimes they hit their wives. That's why girls like foreigners because they are kind and attentive."

Daughter: "Well, I think that mum's right, but all the same...I don't know. I guess there are decent men in Nikolaev. But it is very difficult to find a boyfriend there because mum's right when she says there are more girls than men in Nikolaev. To be honest, I'm probably too young to really understand everything that's going on here."

Narrator: "Have you ever had a serious relationship?"

Daughter: "No."

Even so - I'll bet that she opened her legs to several men. Looking for a kind, gentle man...who she can be a parasite on.

Music too loud for conversation - go up and dance girls! Just look at that body...just look at that body...

And now, we get to the entitled bitch having a whine (at 25:10):

For me it was very unpleasant. Sitting down and a man walks past with a beer glass in his hands and examines all the girls. Standing opposite the table and examining each girl in turn. It's very unpleasant. It seems to me it's just bad manners. Or maybe it's because they see there are a lot of beautiful girls and that it's okay.

In actual fact it's not. It's not okay and it's very unpleasant. It seems to me that the majority came here not for a wife, but for sex tourism. It's obvious. Very poor city. They think we are all poor, so unhappy that we will agree to anything. But that's not the case.

I feel upset for our girls because, as I've already said, not the best men come. It's very upsetting when an intelligent, beautiful and independent girl cannot find a man here and has no alternative but to look for men at these kind of events.

Of course, there's a percentage that do find their man here, but it's a very small number.

How hard is it to dissect that lot? Seriously:

* she found it unpleasant = want some blue cheese to go with that whine?
* she figures it's for sex tourism = hello Captain Obvious!
* she figures the men are only there because it's a very poor city = yep, girls with real options don't even think about chasing foreign men
* not the best men come = likewise men with real options don't bother going there for a wife, just some nookie cookie
* intelligent, beautiful and independent girl = is there a reason why someone would want a foreign version of a western woman?
* there's a percentage that do find their men here = she's upset because she's not one of them

The twisted entitlement of the female mind - the same everywhere you go.

What more did you expect?

Comments From Married Men

I keep meaning to put this up, and keep forgetting. It's from the MGTOW website:

Comments from Married Men

Everything there, in a nutshell, no frills. A big thank-you to the Men at /r/MGTOW for reminding me of it.

I also need to re-read Nietzsche, with my current mindset and outlook and experiences of life. I have very vague thoughts that we MGTOW are Men in the midst of the second stage of becoming Ubermensch - of learning to say "No".

Unmoved

Over on Dalrock's place, he has a post up about a woman who lost her best friend:

On Saturday new commenter Constance left a heartbreaking comment on a post I wrote back in 2010:

My ex husband and I had a mutual divorce 5 years ago and I’m still not over it. It hurts every single day. There was no cheating, just a long period of separation and drifting apart. I suffer from depression, so that also contributed. Now, he has moved on, but I can’t and don’t know if I ever will. I still love and miss him. Always will. I deeply regret the divorce and I feel like I had amnesia and trying to find my life back. But, the wall is thick and tall. Feels like a living nightmare that is inescapable. I dream of trying to find him, but he can’t be reached. I can’t find any peace in my life. Drowning with sorrow and anger. Angry at my depression. Angry at the demise of a marriage to the only man I will ever love.

The eternal paean whine of the predator who mindlessly let the best thing she ever had...go. Dalrock continues his post:

Constance, the former blogger referenced above, and millions of other divorced women with similar heartbreaking stories show the absolute cruelty of those who either directly sell divorce or sell the benefit of threats of divorce to unhappy wives.

I will admit, this makes my head ache.

Why?

She did it to herself.

Now she whines about it.

Now she gains sympathy from the readers of her story.

Now Dalrock puts up a post about her. Her, specifically.

"Heartbreaking." Twice. "Heartbreaking."

She is validated. She has attention. She has been gifted with sympathy - hallelujah! - her existence now has meaning! For a brief and sparkling moment the shooting star flares...

...before the ash-grey depression sets in again. (Supposedly 1 in 4 American women take antidepressants. That's just the ones who are diagnosed and who can afford them. Perhaps this one was missed?)

Why, Dalrock? I'm not trying to give you shit about it. I simply wonder: why give her your attention?

Why give her your sympathy?

I know you've been writing about those who prey upon the unthinkingly and dully bored women who apathetically destroy their marriages at the prodding of the greedy. In my view those greedy pieces of shit should be put in the stocks and rotten eggs thrown at them. Hung, drawn and quartered. Beheaded.

They are parasites upon the parasites, encouraging worse and worse behavior for their own profit. Never mind the destruction of society that their siren lure of Feminism's hope - "you can have it all!" - brings to this world.

Yet. Still. I am forcefully reminded of Florence Nightingale (from the Wikipedia entry):

In one sense, I do believe I am "like a man," as Parthe [the writer's sister] says. But how? In having sympathy. … Women crave for being loved, not for loving. They scream out at you for sympathy all day long, they are incapable of giving any in return, for they cannot remember your affairs long enough to do so. [Emphasis mine. - BPS] … They cannot state a fact accurately to another, nor can that other attend to it accurately enough for it to become information. Now is not all this the result of want of sympathy?

Letter to Madame Mohl (13 December 1861)

This is no world for men. In women's minds, all men are disposable.

We exist only to give her what she wants in the moment.

"Listen to me. Give me your sympathy. Poor, poor, pitiful me..."

At the best, they are pleasant diversions - at the worst, very unpleasant distractions. Because the world doesn't run on her feeeelings: it runs on blood, sweat and diesel.

Mine. Yours. Other men's. This is where the Crap Colored Glasses™ came from. Hear the yap-yap-yap long enough...hear variation upon variation of the same old greedy and unthinking story...until finally you snap...

"ENOUGH, WOMAN!!!"

You know the lies, the manipulations, the spin, the self-seeking, the narcissism, the inane, the insane. We all do, in this wretched wasteland of the interwebs.

We're not soulless. We're not heartless.

We've simply heard it before. Endlessly, endlessly...

Cut, razored, flayed, over and over and over.

We become a mass of keloid tissue. Stripe on slice over cut, crosshatched with scars, calluses that you couldn't hammer a nail through.

Until we are unmoved.

Heartbreaking? The only thing that is heartbreaking about this situation is that we Men were foolish enough to gift these women with a rope by which to hang themselves until dead.

Their death is ours.

And we cannot take that rope back.

Broken

One of my girlfriends, once upon a time:

Her: Do you think you'll ever fall in love again?

Me: No. That part seems to be broken.

Her: Can you fix that?

Me: I don't know how.

Not completely heartless and soulless.

And Now For Something Completely Different

Guaranteed to enrage feminists, leftists, manginas, SJW/GamerGate pussies, and other assorted White Knighting motherfuckers. Hold on to your nuts.

Every now and then FaceCrap actually comes up with something truly humorous. In this case, a link to an auction running on TradeMe. I fully-expect this guy's FaceCrap feed to be deleted over this, and his TradeMe account as well. Fuck it, it's brilliant.

First the title and pictures:

Highlights include:

* Wimmin! Never marry anything else

* The Kitchen Version

* And no, you cannot edit their boobs in the player editor. That would be just sexist.

* The dog-shit

Now the blurb:

In your face, Electronic Arts!

'Allo Bruce, 'ow the fuck areya?

Now the three pictures:

I don't think I'll ever get tired of that bit about not being able to edit their boobs in the player editor. Fucking-aye I'm juvenile.

This game is The Shit.

Was that why you sold your soul to Electronic Arts? Too bad, so sad, never fuckin' mind.

There you have it, tonight's black humor. Ain't it refreshing to know that there are still Men out there?

Neil Strauss Latest Update

So it seems that Neil Strauss of "The Game" fame is also busy reinventing himself. Hello Roosh, you got some competition in your quest to make "better" men to man-up for teh wimminz. I'm still curious about where you expect the worthwhile women for these men to come from.

As I've written before, PUA Is Broken. Nothing has changed my mind about that. In fact, if anything, the entire anti-MGTOW brouhaha just reinforces it: yanking out the feminist boilerplate shaming language shows the feminine-oriented mindset behind those who open their mouths and take a blast at the MGTOW. Dick In Pussy is still the end-all be-all validation that they seek.

So lets go see what Neil Strauss is up to, in his quest to "reinvent" himself. This is an interview in The Guardian:

While waiting for his drink, Strauss falls into conversation with a group that includes two middle-aged tourists and a young woman. The woman is in her 20s – tanned, blond, wearing denim short-shorts. Game-klaxon! I watch to see how Strauss will react to her, only he doesn’t. He chats with the tourists, about nothing much. Then he chats with her, about nothing much. And then he walks away.

“The old me would have been performing everything for her attraction,” Strauss says when we’re out of earshot. “Thinking of sex with her. Or how to lure her away from her boyfriend, what have you. Even in, like, a work meeting – if there was a woman in that meeting, everything I said was for her, to get her phone number afterwards.”

And now?

“I’m attracted to people, sometimes. But I think that part of my brain was trained for years. Constantly, wherever I went, whenever I walked into a room, these little lights would go on on a switchboard in my head.” The switchboard is still there, he says, only now anyone can illuminate it; anyone interesting. “I can relate to people on a human level.”

So it seems like he's gone from "robotic skirt-chaser" to "semi-aware human being". I'll provisionally accept that, with a kilo or two of healthy skepticism. So here we have the first time he went into rehab:

Around 2010, he met and fell in love with a Mexican-born model named Ingrid De La O. She was perfect, Strauss thought, their relationship together “the best I’d ever had”. Yet he found he couldn’t stop pursuing other women and cheating on Ingrid. When she learned about the cruellest of his infidelities (her best friend, a church car park), Ingrid agreed to forgive Strauss only on the condition he be treated for sex addiction. So he entered rehab for three months. Here his problems really began.

By opening up his psyche to trained therapists for the first time, Strauss learned he had quite an assortment of mental and emotional conditions. In short order, he was diagnosed with anxiety syndrome, depressive disorder, two forms of sexual disorder and attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. “It was like a hammer hitting me on the head,” he says. “I really thought I was normal.”

Hmm. No duh. So it looks like The Rawness was 100% accurate in his assessment of Neil Strauss and Mystery and PUAs in general. It's very interesting to know that. Let's now look at the second time he went into rehab (an excerpt from his book "The Truth"):

The day I went to sex therapy: an extract from The Truth, by Neil Strauss

"What are you here for?" the nurse asks me.

"Cheating."

She says nothing. I think about that word. It sounds lame. I’m in a hospital because I couldn’t say no. So I add the other reason I’m there: "And, I guess, to learn how to have a healthy relationship."

I think of Ingrid, whose heart I broke, whose friends threatened to kill me. The nurse looks up. It is the first time she’s made eye contact. She smiles sympathetically and continues looking through my intake folder. I ask if she thinks I’m really an addict. "I’m not an addiction specialist," she says. "But if you’re cheating on your relationship, if you’re visiting porn sites, or if you’re masturbating, that’s sex addiction."

She opens a drawer, removes a red square of paper, and writes my first name and last initial on it in black marker. Then she slips it into a small plastic sleeve and loops a long piece of white string through it. "You’re in red two," she says. "You’re required to wear your badge at all times."

"What does red two mean?"

"The tags are colour-coded. Red is for sex addicts. And the red two group is in therapy with Joan." She then picks up a large poster board from the floor and holds it on top of the desk, facing me. There are eight huge words on it: Joy, Pain, Love, Anger, Passion, Fear, Guilt, Shame.

"This is called a check-in," she says. "You’ll be required to check in four times a day and report which emotions you’re feeling. Which ones are you experiencing right now?"
I scan the display for crawling dread, for utter worthlessness, for total confusion, for intense regret, for rule-hating frustration. "Anger." She types it into my file. I am now officially institutionalised.

I feel another emotion coming on. "What’s the difference between guilt and shame?" I ask.

"Guilt is just about your behaviour. Shame is about who you are."

She leads me back to the reception desk, where I see a woman with her arm in a blue fibreglass cast being led out of a nursing station: another new arrival. She has pasty skin, blue-black hair, lots of piercings and the look of a vampire. I’m instantly attracted.

From the other direction, a woman with long blond hair pouring out of a pink baseball cap saunters to the reception desk. I think what I always think, what every man always thinks: what was puberty for if not to think these thoughts?

"What are you here for?" I ask the blonde. Her tag is blue. "Love addiction," she replies.

Perfect. I ask if she wants to get dinner.

Check-in emotion: guilt. Also, passion.

Well, well, well. Three holes in the ground.

She says nothing. I think about that word. It sounds lame. I’m in a hospital because I couldn’t say no. So I add the other reason I’m there: "And, I guess, to learn how to have a healthy relationship."

Weakness exposed. This is not any form of Alpha as espoused by the PUA section of the manosphere. This is someone amplifying and explaining - excusing! - himself. To a woman.

Nothing quite sells like public abasement of the famous, does it? Though maybe that's just my cynicism speaking. Still, it's a good start to rake in more $$$$. We'll leave it at that and see what happens - though admittedly it looks very much like Strauss has manned-up and swallowed the entire spectrum of mainstream "women can do no wrong" philosophy.
-------------------------------------------------------
Addendum:

"I’m not an addiction specialist," she says. "But if you’re cheating on your relationship, if you’re visiting porn sites, or if you’re masturbating, that’s sex addiction."

Now, I sincerely wonder if a professional nurse would say something like that. It's not her place to casually toss out such value-judgements. Leave it to the specialists.

However, if she had actually said that - it speaks volumes. Volumes to her sense of feeling entitled to pass on such value judgements. Especially when she's not a specialist in the area involved. She's merely throwing out a personal opinion, in a way potentially damaging to a patient.

Deeply unprofessional.

To dissect this more, reaching deep into the feminine-centric viewpoint which (this admittedly anecdotal nurse) exposes:

* if you're cheating on your relationship
* if you're visiting porn sites
* if you're masturbating

These three things are considered sex-addiction.

Why?

If you're cheating on your relationship, that's not a "sex addiction". That's just cheating on your relationship. The most that you could say is that it's morally reprehensible for both sexes, if you've effectively gotten married. (Ignoring the whole "Marriage 2.0 is no longer enforceable" and "it's okay for women to cheat but not men" blah blah that many of us in the manosphere know starkly.)

If you're visiting porn sites, that's not a "sex addiction". That's just being horny and wanting some mental stimulation. Again, the most that you could say is that it's morally reprehensible for both sexes. (Assuming that you buy in to the bushwah about "this is your brain, this is your brain on porn, any questions?" crapola going on out there.)

If you're masturbating, that's not a "sex addiction". That's just taking care of a momentarily-overwhelming physical urge. (The whole hookup culture is just mutual masturbation with another person's body.)

Take any or all to extremes? In conjunction? I would buy that. However, that was not mentioned. The impression is that it was merely thrown out as an "all of these things are automatically bad", whether individually and to whatever degree.

So why did this (anecdotal nurse) label these as "sex addiction"?

Might it be because they bypass anything involving the actual emotional and physical support of a woman?

And there's the feminine-centric outlook.

I might be really reaching - extrapolating way too far - yet I get the subtext from this little bit of writing of what this (anecdotal nurse) said: "(All men should be utterly sexless. (Except the ones who turn me on.))"

Are you willing to become someone's sexless slave?

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Women's Whinging Starts Early

This is something that mankind has known for some time (thousands upon thousands of years):

* women are never happy
* women always want more
* women think the world revolves around them
* women always whinge until they get what they want (for the moment)

Unfortunately we men have recently (over the last two-three generations) been brainwashed out of understanding these basic and easily-observable truths. These truths have been replaced with such things as:

* sugar and spice...
* happy wife, happy life...
* she's the better half...
* she can do no wrong...

Blah, blah, ad fucking nauseum. Replacing the "politically incorrect" aka truth that paints women in a bad light (you misogynist pig!) with the "politically correct" aka ten tons of bullshit that allow her to get away with murder (literally...but she's so cuuuuute!).

Thankfully it doesn't take too much kicking in the balls for men to start realizing the lies that they've been told. (Hopefully not too much, anyway.) After you've had your name splattered with lying mud multiple times, been dragged through the rape-court/domestic abuse court/divorce court - you generally start getting a fuckin' clue.

That's assuming that you're not a hopeless case. Which some men really are that fuckin' clueless. That's another story though, and a sad case by itself.

Any rate, sometimes you get to see just how early these little parasites start their whining. Case in point today: early teens.

Teenage twat: Whinge whine whinge shopping whinge whine whinge...

Mother twat: It's not my fault that there wasn't anything you wanted to buy.

Teenage twat: Whinge whine whinge shopping whinge whine whinge...

Thankfully they then passed out of earshot.

One instructive thing about it though: women are just as susceptible to women's whinging. Case in point, mommy twat's response: defensive, blah blah blah. The correct response is: "Shut your whining mouth."

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PostSecret Poison #8

Once more into the cesspool dear friends, once more into the cesspool (apologies to Lawrence of Arabia):

I can't figure if a guy pining for the wife, or a girl pining for the husband. Either way, someone has unresolved issues. AKA is fucked in the head/emotions pretty damn bad.

Drug money, stripper money, whore money - alla same and all destructive.

Sand-crotch spinster.

Creepy cutters.

This is why you fail, woman.

Lap up that fuckin' pap psychology.

My fists are itching. Why are my fists itching?

The milk of Christian kindness is rancid in this one.

A woman in lust. Not uncommon.

Another creepy cutter.

A typical woman's complaining. Easier to whine and wait for some moron to sweep her off her feet, than to go do something herself.

That is one creepy-ass picture.

More pap psychology for someone filled with the rancid milk of Christian kindness.

Alpha widow or zeta male?

Men (or boys) are disposable and need not apply.

Too late, you already wasted your life on a stupid and pretentious degree. Just as Worthless™ as you and your life will be from now until death.

Pretend fantasies or pretend submission? Go read My Secret Garden and keep on submitting.

And women never cry rape? Like the Boy Who (Never) Cried Wolf?

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Symptoms of Social Decline

So, a couple days ago I'm walking into the local Countdown (a grocery store in NZ). Just your standard shopping-trip. What do I see walking in front of me?

Pleasingly slim shape. Decent clothing. Hair with the "just washed" look that is either gaining traction again or I dunno fuckin' what - maybe she was just being a slob and had just washed it.

Barefoot.

Instant thought: "Skank."

Yeah, you definitely want to put a ring on that slob.

During the past winter: people letting their kids run around barefoot. Rain, crap on the ground, never mind kid - go running around barefoot.

Go walking into the grocery store in your onesies. Dressing gown with slippers and shit. The "people of Wal-Mart" theme got nothing on these fuckers - unbe-fucking-lievable. Unbelievable. Whole family wandering in. Sloppy as fuck every one.

Yeah, you definitely want to put a ring on that slob.

Speaking of putting a ring on it, I have written before about various dancers. In particular one who:

* on at least two occasions tried the "I got pregnant and miscarried and it's all his fault" theme
* put spyware on her boyfriend's phone
* got a restraining order against him for "beating her up"
* who later confessed to all her friends that she had been lying
* who still got full support from her friends

Some desperate fuckwit put a ring on that. Seriously, a big ole diamond ring, probably worth a good ten grand. She's been flashing it around everywhere, out on an expensive wedding trip overseas, flash-flash-flashflashflash. Livin' the dream of livin' life large.

Fuck you are desperate mate. Heheh.

So much shit in this world. So much fuckin' stupidity. While the zombies go walkin' around, unaware of the idiocy goin' on around them and in their heads.

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