Category Archives: precious bodily fluids

MGTOWer complains: By 18, women are “either dating 30 year old millionaires or (if less attractive) f***ing the football team.”

Every Man Going His Own Way's favorite fantasy

Every Man Going His Own Way’s favorite fantasy

In case anyone was wondering, the Men Going Their Own Way movement has managed to survive the implosion of MGTOWforums.com that I wrote about a little while ago. Yep, the regulars from there have moved on to several new forums where they continue to celebrate their independence from the women of the world by happily discussing such manly hobbies as video games, model trains, taxidermy and knitting.

Oh, who am I kidding? They don’t talk about any of that stuff. Basically they continue to nurse their grudges against the women who wouldn’t date them in high school, somehow convincing themselves that the best way to be “free” of women is to obsess about them every minute of every day.

Take the charming fella who calls himself ManWithAPlan, who has managed to win himself nearly 1900 “likes” from his comrades on the MGTOW HQ message boards with comments like the following:

I hate [women] because most of them acted like stuck up cunts when they were young and hot. Then they hit 30+ and decide to settle down, and when there are no men to settle down, they start shaming men. This is where most of my hate/negativity comes from, the fact that these women feel entitled to “good” men after having spent the last 15-20 years telling guys “just because you bought me a drink/dinner doesn’t mean I owe you sex”.

And every woman acts this way. Oh you want to slut it up? Sure go ahead and be a cum rag, but I would never date a cum rag. And how would they react to that? “Oh well that’s your preference and you’re entitled to it”. Yeah right, they’d flip their shit and go into shaming language ahoy.

The reason I derive so much pleasure from this is because for the first time in their lives women are being held accountable for their actions. And they don’t fucking like it. Remember when some girl/woman got you in trouble for just crying while you weren’t in the wrong? This is fucking payback.

(Emphasis mine.)

This may sound a little harsh, but you need to remember that for most young women, life is just an endless VIP party:

Women are born with their so called value. By 15 or whatever they have the looks and power to attract most men. By 18, depending on how attractive they are, they’re either dating 30 year old millionaires or (if less attractive) fucking the football team. And they retain this value until at some point into their 30′s, sometimes 40′s. Men get nothing. We are born invisible. We have to claw, work and suffer for 2-3 decades before we get any recognition. And by that point, we no longer have the energy or fast metabolism we had in our youth. So that means double time for us.

Women are handed the world on a silver platter, men have to fight for it.

Is the MGTOW movement the least successful “independence” movement ever? They’re like someone who breaks up with you, angrily marches out the front door, slams it behind them — and then spends the next five years on your front porch peering in the window.

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Caulking in Her Cock Vault: A New and Improved Chateau Heartiste Crib Sheet of Game

Don't let anyone see you checking your notes!

Don’t let anyone see you checking your notes!

So our dear friend Heartiste, the white-supremacist woman-botherer, has assembled a little “Chateau Heartiste Crib Sheet of Game,” a compilation of some of his best pickup advice, boiled down to a few handy tips and clever one-liners that wannabe alpha males can use on the ladies during conversation in order to get their ginas tingling. (Sorry, that’s the way these guys talk.)

Looking at Heartiste’s list of “lines” I was struck by how generic and, well, frankly unoriginal most of them were, from standard issue negs like “nice shoes. Those are really popular now” and “is she always like this?” to old-school PUA cliches like “I don’t buy girls drinks but you can buy me one” and  “what else do you have going for you besides your looks?” both of which come straight from peacocking PUA pioneer Mystery, the guy with the fuzzy hat and the long-ago-cancelled VH1 show.

Indeed, a lot of Heartiste’s “lines” are as old and stale as he is:

Don’t get clingy

Miss me already?

Hey, hands off the merchandise

If i didn’t know any better i’d say you were trying to pick me up

So I thought I’d do Heartiste a little favor and write up some new lines for him and his fans that are both more original and a bit more honest. Next time you’re in “da club,” Heartiste, why don’t you try some of these out? Some of these I made up myself; some are taken, or adapted, from things you yourself wrote.

Hi, I spend most of my life on the internet trying to figure out how to manipulate drunk women half my age into bed.

People on the internet know me as Heartiste. No, not Fartiste. With an H. No, it’s not a joke. I thought it up myself.

I like to call black people “darkies.” No, not to their face. Anonymously, on the internet.

I’m an alluringly savvy man self-assuredly parrying the clit-hardened jousts of intrigued women.

Too much outbreeding decreases charitable kin-feeling and incentivizes a decadent ennui that severs the citizen’s sense of obligation to his nation and co-ethnics.

A gentlemanly selectiveness honed by years of experience and psychological nimbleness has proved adequate at filtering out women likely to lay like dead fish in my roiling sea of sperm.

If anyone can usurp the lawyercunt in cuntishness, it’s the Twittercunt.

The walls are closing in on the lords of lies and their feels army of emotabots.

Whether our ruling class knows it or they bumble along like drug addicts seeking the next pleasurable injection of power at any cost, their sex-swapping project will turn the West into matricentric, female forager Africa.

Every time we had sex over the following weeks, it ended with her tucking her knees under her chin naked on the bed to quietly cry into the wrapped bubble of her body.

The only bond that matters in a woman’s heart is the one you caulk in her cock vault.

The ruling elites despise whites, despise the concept of whiteness, and despise especially the idea that the territory and nation and culture from which they parasitically suck the lifeblood was created and sustained primarily by white men.

The id of the Like Me Generation is a furry suit wrapping a toddler.

Women should avoid trying to be funny altogether and stick to maximizing the return on their authentically valuable assets. That would be your tits, ass, face and pussy, in case you were wondering.

That last bit was pure Heartiste. (As were the previous ten.) Like the women of the world, I can’t hope to attain such pinnacles of wit.

Sperm Banks: Prelude to male enslavement?

Not a real sperm bank

Not a real sperm bank

So manosphere dudes have a theory of sorts about young women that they frequently boil down to the handy catchphrase “alpha fucks, beta bucks.” The idea is that women — oh, you evil women! — have an insatiable desire to mate with and capture the sperm of hot but unreliable alpha males, and an equally innate tendency to try to con some hard-working beta schlub into paying the bills, with his beta bucks, for the resulting alpha spawn.

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The “Tell Her Her Soul Is Dog Sh*t” dude declares that I’m a “misogyny pimp.”

If Jason Gregory were this adorable, it would be hard to stay mad at him

If Jason Gregory were this adorable kitty, it would be hard to stay mad at him

Hey, everybody!

So you remember that post a couple of days ago, that one in which I quoted Jason Gregory’s most peculiar dating advice for angry men? You know, the one in which he suggested that men rebuff women who are interested in them with a long and rather nasty assortment of misogynistic insults? You know, like these:

Tell her that she isn’t interesting, that her soul is dog-shit and that she has nothing to offer other than boobs and booty, that she is a piece of shit and a total failure as a human being, that you don’t find her attractive and that she isn’t even good enough to be a cum-bucket.

And he went on like that for several more sentences. You can read the whole quote in my original piece, or in his original post on A Voice for Men.

Well, it turns out I totally misinterpreted Jason Gregory’s post, according to an unbiased and neutral outside observer named Jason Gregory, no relation to the original Jason Gregory, who’s written a post about it on his blog.

Hold on, I’m being told that this second Jason Gregory is in fact also the first Jason Gregory.

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Become a total Alpha Male sex god by spitting in women’s mouths

Always practics safe saliva sex

Always practice safe saliva sex

Hey ladies! Better not read today’s post, as it’s only for ALPHA DUDES and would-be ALPHA DUDES. For while I was out looking for Man Boobz material I happened to run across some excellent and not-at-all ridiculous advice from a dude called FISTO on how ALPHA DUDES can use sex to totally control the ladies.

This advice is so totally ALPHA I feel I can only dispense it in small doses, so here are a few tips. Only after you have totally mastered these tips to totally master the ladies should you even consider reading the rest of the post I got them from.  (Also, to be serious for a moment, it’s also fucked up and possibly triggery, so you may not even want to read my post.)

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“Whilst my canteen of a d*ck wast roaming her cavern” and other bon mots from the worst short story ever written

2010-Roosevelt-Dime

I think I may have discovered the worst piece of short fiction ever written. It’s on a manosphere/pickup-artist blog called Colonel Crimson (slogan: “The Colonel of Truth”).

Here’s how it starts:

So I’m in bed with a dime and she says to me, “Willis, what are your goals in life?”

“Simple, Adime,” I respond with my larynx. “To explore the caverns of dimes throughout the world.”

And it only gets worse from there. I would quote the worst bits, but then I’d have to quote the whole thing. Pretty much everything is a worst bit.

There’s some domestic violence, some utterly horrifying descriptions of sex, a lot of mansplaining, and even a sammich joke. There’s an element of self-parody to it — or at least I hope that’s what I’m seeing there — but the author seems to actually believe all the things he’s gently satirizing. You should of course go and read the whole thing immediately.

If you’re hesitating, here’s another sample:

I remind her of her last gentleman suitor. Average height, median weight. Put the schlub in the word schlub. “Do you remember when he strapped on his kneepads and proposed marriage to you?”

“Unfortunately I do.”

“And do you have any recollection of how the beaver felt in that moment?”

“Dry.”

Oh, and in case you were wondering, a “dime” is a Hot Babe 10. Either that or the dude is having hallucinations about talking currency.

A Voice for Men doubles down: how dishwashers, TV dinners, and marital rape laws are rendering women obsolete. Also, the apocalypse.

Not the apology that Clint Carpentier is looking for.

Not the apology that Clint Carpentier is looking for.

We met new A Voice for Men writer Clint Carpentier earlier this week, when we took a look at a recent post of his waxing nostalgic about the good old days before marital rape laws, when wives couldn’t say “no” to their husbands and expect the law to take this no any more seriously than a husband intent on rape.

In a second posting, he’s doubled down on the whole marital rape thing and incorporated into a vast and fantastical vision of the past and future of humankind that bears so little resemblance to reality that it’s worth quoting in detail as a sort of case study in Men Going Their Own Way delusions.

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Christopher in Oregon “Deconstructs the Female” and Her Allegedly Very Stinky You-Know-What [UPDATE: Now With Dramatic Reading!]

Georgia O'Keefe: Probably Not Christopher in Oregon's favorite painter

Georgia O’Keeffe: Probably Not Christopher in Oregon’s favorite painter

It’s time for another visit into the fertile mind of Christopher in Oregon, perhaps the most viscerally misogynistic boob I’ve ever written about on this site. Most of the misogynists I write about here like to pretend that they’re not misogynists, or to dress up their misogyny in pseudoscientific terms, talking about the evils of female “hypergamy” or citing dubious evo psych to back up their reprehensible views.

Not old Chris. He’s an old-school, women are bad because their vaginas are stinky, woman-hater. And his 2007 manifesto “Deconstruct the Female,” which I recently found reposted on MarkyMark’s blog, may well be his masterpiece.

Let’s take a look at some of the highlights.

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My Seed Is Gold: A Saruman-esque Dramatic Reading

Saruman contemplating his Holy Yogurt

Saruman contemplating his Holy Yogurt

The dude who reads ridiculous man rants on the Internet in a voice vaguely resembling that of legendary actor Christopher Lee as Saruman has brought us all a little gift this morning: A nearly ten-minute dramatic reading of “My Seed is Liquid Fucking Gold” by LaidNYC.

Now all we need to do is to convince the dude who does those True Facts videos to do one.

Pickup artist: “My seed is liquid gold and I don’t give it out like its god damn tap water.”

LaidInNYC has definitely been here.

LaidInNYC has definitely been here.

Our friend LaidNYC — the “Don’t Marry Women Over 25“ guy — is back with another amazing post. In this one, he expounds at length on the worth of his sperm. Which is apparently ALOT.

ALOT

Sorry. A LOT.

Let’s let him explain:

I don’t give a shit about sex.  Any broad can spread her legs.

You know what I do care about?  Holding girls to a higher standard.

Why?  Because my seed is liquid fucking gold and I don’t give it out like its god damn tap water.

And … I’ve already lost my appetite for dinner.

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