Fuck bitchez. Get money.
And enjoy yourself.It occurs to me that many people look at us in the Manosphere and could actually be forgiven for thinking that we are nothing more than little bitches of neckbeards living in our momma's fuckin' basement, gobbling down cheetos, and whining on the fuckin' internet.
See, most of us don't want to show *everything* about ourselves. It would be too much personally identifiable information, and if (like me) you have serious corporate $$$ coming in, you're not going to intentionally doxx yourselves.
This makes us appear very one-dimensional.
Didact has a couple of recent posts that address this very thing:
To Hell and Back
This one is about Terrence Popp, his life and all. If all you watch is Redonkulas you probably get a very limited view of Popp and Blake - and that's probably as a coupla clowns slaggin' off women. You watch the Live from the Lair series though, you get a helluva lot more.
Watch Through Fingers
This one is about your stereotypical maggot man who hasn't done squat beyond making money. Being a sad'n'lonely fuck he goes and gets himself a Russian bride, who proceeds to rip his guts out through his asshole. As Didact states at the end: "But, no matter what, never stop improving yourself as a man. The price for slacking off or, worse, never starting in the first place, is severe."
Now, when we say things like enjoy yourself - Enjoy the Decline - we don't mean that you should go snort a mile of coke, drink a tanker of alcohol, be a Banzai Runner, and generally fuck up your body and life. If that's what you seriously want to do, more power to you. Live fast, die young, leave a beautiful corpse. Or find yourself sittin' in a cell, gettin' your ass eye'd up by Bubba.
Personally, I like to enjoy the long term. That way I can experience a little bit, very often, for a long time.
This post is a sample of how I'm not wholly one-dimensional (some of it I've already mentioned in past posts) and how you can choose not to be as well. (No, you shouldn't do anything that I do. Do your own shit. Just enjoy yourself. This is how I enjoy myself.)
For starters, understand: I'm not a minimalist (though I like being minimal in many ways). At the end of my divorce I was left with a 4-bedroom house that I rattle around in, and part of a business. The business is now shut down (bitch ain't gettin' nothin' of my ongoin' biz-sweat) and I work as a wage-slave. Honestly, it's a helluva lot easier on my mind too - don't have to do 10 rounds with the fuckin' IRD every year (IRS for you Americans). I can also take holidays.
I've let it be known that I like taking day-trips around New Zealand, travel, some tramping and some hill-climbing (Mt Egmont is one helluva hill to climb). I take photographs of the stuff that I do. Fairly soon I'm going to get a couple of big photographs printed for the walls (I think 0.5 x 1 meters, or 2 x 3 yards for you Americans).
In my home I have an office-slash-computer room. Filing cabinets full of paper junk that I have to keep for 7-8 years in case the IRD wants to ream my ass retroactively. There's a waterproof/fireproof case for documents that I absolutely must not lose (passport, birth certificate, insurance, backups, will, etc).
And there's a PC on a height-adjustable corner desk with a couple of monitors, NAS, networking, everything properly cable-managed and the like. The only thing that hits the floor is the UPS and the internet connection. The desk even has an RGB LED light-strip in aluminium channeling (aluminum to you Americans) - for when I really feel like being geek-silly. (Enjoy yourself.)
I use it for photography stuff. I still do some programming.
Down in my basement, I'm slowly putting together a workshop. This was something that I always wanted to do, only never had the money or time for. (Women. Massive money- and time-sink. I have more spare cash now with my single reduced income, than when that crazy hoe was working. Ditto time. I've also done more overseas holidays.)
I do gym, trying to get stronger and fitter. In the past I've done semi-professional dance. There's a park nearby where I run wind-sprints. I wander down the beach. In the past I've done bowhunting. I've thought of getting a license and getting guns - at this point though, my time is fairly chokka. I'd also have to figure somewhere to put in a gun-safe: not insurmountable, just a pain in the ass at the moment.
Strangely, like Popp, I have a "lair". The whole house! There's a sword above the fireplace in the living room. I don't bother watching TV any more, and movies very rarely (generally classic stuff like Monty Python). There's a computer in there, bridged via wifi to my internet - it's for watching youtube videos, mostly documentaries and how-to stuff.
One of the rooms is a semi-library. In it, in addition to books, there is furniture (I restore antique furniture occasionally as a semi-hobby) and antique knick-knacks - and antique weapons. Including some Japanese samurai stuff (I'm talking real deal handmade samurai sword stuff, 250+ years old - there's nothing quite like feeling an old rayskin grip in your hand).
There's other stuff. Coins. Spears. Cavalry swords, including a Russian one. Antique silver. Even a couple pieces of ivory, which makes your typical leftist motherfucker blow their stack right out their ass (you'd think that I'd slaughtered the elephant myself HAH).
All of this stuff (especially the real deal samurai weaponry) costs several fuck-tons to buy in New Zealand, us being at the ass-end of the world. All of this was bought after my divorce. See remarks above regarding spare cash and etc. (Fuck bitchez. Get money. Just don't give the bitchez your money. Ideally, don't even let the bitchez know you *have* money.)
That's not everything that I do. I'm damn sure that Popp doesn't show everything that *he* does in his Live from the Lair series.
So as you can see, there is nothing one dimensional about anybody out here in the Manosphere. We all have different stuff going on. We don't have to tell everyone everything - or anything - and bloody-well shouldn't, either. None'a'ya fuckin' beeswax.
So if some self-righteous cunt or prick wants to throw monkey-poo at us, on the internet or in real life, it just goes to show how much of a narrow-minded fuckin' loser they are.
As in, too fuckin' stupid to live type of narrow-minded retarded fuckin' loser.
Which, come to think of it, is every damn moronic leftist on the fuckin' planet.
So, in the end: ignore the fucktards. Just enjoy yourself.
Hell, if you are heavily into computer-geekery, go do something that is heavily computer-geekly. Design and build extreme PCs for the high-end crowd. I'm talkin' overclocked AMD Ryzen Threadripper territory, those cases with the glass walls and all the glowing LED's inside, twin-loop hardline water-cooling including multiple graphics cards, quad 4k screens, glowing fans, and other custom mod stuff. Do custom EL panel logo's on the sides. Sign the things with your name.
Do it with anything and everything. Custom surfboards. Custom guns. Custom bikes. Custom cars. Custom fuckin' whatever.
Go completely fuckin' hardcore.
If you should actually happen to be that stereotypical sad neckbeard in the fuckin' basement, chomping down cheetos while whining on the fuckin' internet.
Pick yourself up. Go outside. Walk (or run).
Enjoy yourself. Go your own way.