Matt Forney hit the nail on the head with his recent post, “You’re Damn Right I’m Shaming You!” Last Thursday, I was victimized by the shrill accusations of “shaming” by a gaggle of whining creepers. It all began with Robert Lindsay kvetching about how everybody treats him like he’s creepy.

He was all like…

The person you are talking to seems to end up with the impression that there is something wrong with me, which is an impression that I just don’t enjoy. And when it comes to say goodbye, they often say it in a not very pleasant or even hostile or way, or else they are friendly but they still act like there is something wrong with me, both of which more or less piss me off.

So I logged into the comments and was all like…

There’s no way to say this without risking offense, but have you considered that you might be the problem? If enough people who are otherwise amicable are giving off vibes that they’re creeped out by you, then perhaps their failing to hide their visceral reaction to you isn’t the root of the problem.

It sounds like you occupy the “uncanny valley” between a complete creeper and a normal human being. You’re too creepy to manufacture the correct vibes, but you’re normal enough to realize that there’s something going wrong. A complete creeper both creeps people out and fails to be cognizant of his doing so.

Rather than scolding the whole world for its reactions, you may be better served by carefully reviewing your actions.

And apparently that struck a nerve, tripping the supposed liberal’s supposedly liberal comment policy…

Oh it’s quite obvious that the problem is me. I’m well aware of that. OTOH, that doesn’t seem to solve the problem. I’ve spent many years trying to come off better, with generally poor results. But of course I keep on trying.

BTW, you’re banned.

Asshole.

And we don’t use words like “creeper” on this blog. That word doesn’t even make much sense to me.

Not only was I banned forever without warning, but the very word “creeper” and a discussion about the word itself were banned forever right there on the spot. In a follow-up post, he confirms that I did more than merely strike a nerve, I drew a spinal tap…

A commenter just used the word “creeper” on the site. He was banned, not just for that, but also for general tone. You can’t use that word on the site. That’s one word that I’m sorry was ever invented. “Creepers” are more or less guys like the ones that have been coming to the incel thread. The incels, the socially awkward, people with social anxiety, anxious or nervous people in general, Asperger’s folks, STEM types, obviously anyone who is truly mentally ill as in schizophrenic, manic-depressive or psychotic. But it’s used for one group more than any other: introverts! Yes, introverts are creepers. We are creepy, weird and all that shit. Anyone who isn’t 100% normal is a creeper.

[...]

Mostly the word is used by young women to mean “any guy who doesn’t turn me on.”

For those of you who aren’t hip to creeperspeak, the “incel community” consists of dudes who are involuntarily celibate. In the comment section, I became the object of their impotent ire…

tulio says…

Your last sentence is spot on. “Creepy” has been the most gratuitously used word to come out of women’s mouths in the last decade.

I always thought creepers described the type of guys who masturbate while looking through someone’s window with a pair of binoculars. But you’re right, now the word is used to describe basically any guy coming on to them that isn’t an alpha male.

Bay Area Guy says…

Absolutely!

Feminists like to complain about “slut shaming/guys are studs girls are sluts” double standard, and yet guys who aren’t alpha males are subjected to a double standard of their own.

Guys may not be called sluts/man whores, but when is the last time you ever heard of a girl being called a pervert or creeper?

My point here isn’t to chortle with self-satisfaction at having accidentally trolled the piss out of an HBD blogosphere celebrity. The point I wish to make is that at the root of the manosphere lies an unresolved contradiction. While we all pretty much agree that contemporary Western gender relations are deeply problematic, and can all pretty much gather together in a reactive spirit to lament its excesses, we each belong to one of three relatively discreet factions: Creepers, Scoundrels, and Fogeys. It’s categorically impossible for us to coalesce into an actual movement, because moving requires going in a direction… and the three groups have very different ideas about which way to go from here.

• Creepers

AKA: liberals, egalitarians, incels, omegas, whiners

This faction of the movement doesn’t merely take Modernity and its ethics for granted, it embraces them. These are the men who lament double-standards, and wish we could all be treated the same regardless of our gender. Since women are instinctively repulsed by this sort of spiritual and social weakness, they’re often incel. Their pathetic lamentation that women use “shaming language” is a mirror of Leftist rhetoric. Their vision for the future is one in which colleges host a Men’s Studies department, GLBTQ drops Lesbians from the initialism and replaces them with Losers, and a period of Affirmative Action is put in place in which women pay for our meals for a few decades to even up the score.

While some of them smile along with HBD research when it confirms their biases, they intuitively believe everything should be fair. They’re the consummate fairmongers,  complaining about how they get no respect from society at large, how women don’t wish to sleep with them, and how other men are somehow playing unfairly. That last one’s critical. A hallmark of whiners crippled by ressentiment is the firm but unconfirmed conviction that the winners are cheating (Yes, this does indeed apply to a subset of racialists and anti-Semites).

• Scoundrels

AKA: Pick-up artists, players, sociopaths

This faction of the movement takes Modernity for granted, but they don’t embrace its ethical framework. In fact, they don’t burden themselves with an ethical framework. From time to time, they’ll half-heartedly prattle on about Ayn Rand’s Objectivism, Paultard libertarianism, Nietzschean existentialism, or some other fanciful rhetorical rationalization for doing what they feel like doing. Unlike the Creepers who run off and cry on the bench when girls bean them on the head at the dodgeball game of life, Scoundrels analyze the system objectively and figure out how to program it to achieve the desired results. When a Creeper learns that women have a natural, instinctive, and adaptive compulsion to get with socially dominant men, he shakes his fist at God and Nature not for making him an introverted coward, but for making women repelled by these things. When a Scoundrel learns this, he patiently and persistently learns how to adapt his behavior to win at the “game.”

• Fogeys

AKA: White knights, traditionalists, pussy-whipped

This is the faction which rejects Modernity altogether, typically in favor of “the good old days”. They’re often Christians and are frequently patriotards, though an idiosyncratic subculture of Young Fogeys have emerged who are quite often not Christian at all and harbor political opinions which are almost comically out of step with current affairs. The ones who are Christian aren’t in step with their neighborhood’s non-denominational mega-church. While the Young Fogeys believe some sort of restoration of the traditional patriarchal approach to gender relations is in order, Old Fogeys expect everybody to just carry on as if patriarchy is still in effect. These are the ones who would throw their coat on a puddle for a man-hating feminist, who insist on pretending that hypergamous skanks are ladies, and frown in the general direction of men who attempt to deal with or even acknowledge the ongoing humiliation and degradation of men.

As the careful reader could probably detect from the biases and angles which bled into my attempt to objectively describe the three groups, I pretty much belong to the “Young Fogey” subset of the fogeys. While I actively loathe “Creepers,” I tend to sympathize with (if disagree with) the “Scoundrels.” I believe the Creepers are engaged in a futile and undesirable project to gain themselves a seat at the diversity-and-fairness table. I believe the Scoundrels are content to merely continue adapting to and exploiting the overarching political and social situation. Why would they want to change anything? We live in a world where it’s easier to get laid than ever before and the majority of men are too brainwashed or cowardly to play the game. Assuredly, there’s a subset of men who abstain from “the game” out of principle without becoming fools or cuckolds in the process, but they’re a rounding error… for now.

In my opinion, the crisis for men in which they’re raised to be submissive, cloying, and dysfunctional is merely one expression of the much larger problem of Modernity. As such, arguing for “men’s rights” with the same language, spirit, and purpose of women’s rights or gay rights is to chug more of the poison that’s killing us. While I’m known in the blogosphere as a “racist” (and I certainly am one!), my embrace of my ethnic identity is, along with an insistence on traditional gender duties and roles, merely one aspect of a Radical Traditionalist worldview. In my analysis, the battle between Modernity and Tradition… between corrupt oligarchies and legitimate stewardship… is most hotly contested at the moment on the front of race and identity. Though, now that the SPLC is beginning to classify manosphere blogs as “hate groups”, I may be forced to reconsider.

Without Sheen, It's Not "Winning"

Up until recently, the chemistry of Two and a Half Men has defied weak writing and a weak cast to remain a relatively popular sitcom because it relied on a solid formula: the juxtaposition of a flamboyant and charismatic alpha and a cloying uninspired beta. It was a decadent pleasure to live vicariously through Charlie Sheen’s bacchanalian indulgence and it was a decadent pleasure to laugh along with Charlie at his pathetic lovelorn brother Alan. Charlie, his rotating harem of angels, and even Alan’s own son joined the synthetic laugh track in heaping schadenfreude on the loser.

While I’m certainly not endorsing the behavior of Charlie Sheen or his Charlie Harper character (a distinction without a difference), the show was a refreshing opportunity to watch a confident White male (close enough) who’s not a pathetic, buffoonish, insecure, and henpecked wimp. He was a tiger among pussies, attracting women with his savoir faire, wavy hair, and impish smirk. While one can be alpha without being a cad, there’s still more to respect (if not necessarily admire) in a modern player than in a modern chump. The show, consistent with reality, depicted the typical lesser beta Alan as every bit as immoral as the star, but too riddled with insecurities, self-consciousness, and reflexive submissiveness to actualize his goals.

The Producers Are Displeased

After years of violating every moral, social, and political taboo conceivable, Charlie finally tripped up and did the one thing you simply don’t do in our society: name the Jew. In the tradition of countless politicians, academics, and businessmen, Sheen called producer Chuck Lorre by his secret Jewish name and found himself out of a job. Charlie’s declaration that he’s also a Jew was too little, too late. As Finkelstein could have warned him, the “But I’m also a Jew!” card doesn’t always work.

Enter Ashton Kutcher, Chaim Levine^H^H^H^H^H^H Chuck Lorre’s attempt to rescue the show by substituting one gigalo for another. This miscalculation was the natural product of Lorre’s inability to discern one from the other. Kutcher’s not manly…he’s merely cute. He’s not a player, either in real life or in the show. He’s handsome and affable enough, but he’s more of a victim of the women exploiting him sexually and financially than an alpha. His Walden Schmidt character is a handsome billionaire whose utility for women is entirely material.

In the tortured mind of a chump, women are money-grubbing materialists who go after other dudes instead of themselves because those other dudes have some tangible advantage that they don’t. The truth is that women gravitate towards strong, dominant, and dynamic men even if they’re ugly and broke. For a chump to acknowledge this, he would have to admit his own weakness, submissiveness, and banality. Ashton is unthreatening, henpecked, and sensitive. The women on the show—as in real life—are driven to him by a conscious calculation of his looks, money, and safeness; not by a subliminal gravitation towards his manly dynamism. If he put on weight and went bankrupt, he would be Alan.

Walden Schmidt: Henpecked Douchebag

The show’s chemistry is now flat, with two and a half chumps shuffling around the mansion while a rotating series of women dominate and humiliate them. These two and a half “men” are more unsympathetic than ever, without the plot device which contrasted them with somebody who transcends the contemporary American charade of impotent weasels. They’re scheming against one another for the time and attention of the sassy goddesses strutting around their sad and stained little couch. The only character I find myself favoring now is Walden’s estranged wife, a serious beady-eyed little woman who can’t tolerate this helpless cloying man-child any longer.

I can’t, either.

Gold: A Healthy Part of a Balanced Survival Strategy

I take umbrage with Simon Rierdon’s latest article about gold being sub-optimal for WTSHTF scenarios. Primarily, I do this because I want more people to buy more gold, driving the value of my investment even higher. He arrives at a pretty balanced assessment, one which includes loading up on a reasonable amount of pirate treasure, but he does it in a sort of roundabout way. It’s not really clear what the next steps are, aside from buying a gun.

Being a White male, one of the things I spend my day doing is feverishly envisioning doomsday scenarios in which my lust for power, esteem, and relevance can finally be fulfilled. I’ve scribbled some notes with my non-dominant hand while doing so. Having never ventured from my climate-controlled incubation chamber of suburban middle-class SWPLdom, this is entirely speculative, but Ferd will almost certainly publish it, anyway…

1. Preparedness is Not Politics

If you—like me—believe it will all burn, then it’s only natural that you would arrive at taking preparedness seriously as an outgrowth of your political worldview. There is; however, nothing really political about taking the necessary steps to assure that you, your loved ones, and your ideals can survive a tempest. Shit happens, and a lot of it’s apolitical. The San Andreas fault line threatens to drop millions into the ocean without a moment’s notice. The New Madrid fault threatens to send the Mississippi River backwards and set the Midwest back to the stone age. The ocean will continue to batter our aging infrastructure with epic hurricanes and godawful tsunamis. And if those don’t get us, the Yellowstone Supercauldron will.

The point is that one should take a very general approach to preparedness, more or less setting their particular political prognostications aside. A tornado may well take out your neighborhood tomorrow, and your gold coin may well empower you to stay at a nice hotel rather than at some seedy homeless shelter. Houses catch on fire, cars break down, shit happens. Epic metapolitical shit also happens from time to time, but the point is that preparedness is about far more than having your powder dry for when the EBT cards run out and Detroit’s inner city ghettos unleash a flood of rampaging gang-bangers.

2. Prepare Your Preparedness Portfolio

If you have an investment portfolio, think of Preparedness as the left tail of your portfolio. You have some safe investments and some more risky investments, right? Well, in light of current events, shouldn’t you consider firming up some even safer investments? Given the insolvency of the government, the volatility of the market, the godawful balance sheets of most blue chip multinational corporations, and the Jewish faith of most of the middle-men between you and your “safe” investment, how safe is it?

A balanced perspective demands that a certain fraction of a comprehensive investment strategy account for authentic doomsday scenarios. After all, wouldn’t it suck to spend all that time getting rich, only to roll snake eyes on your E*Trade account and end up completely hosed? Even if you’re a fool who thinks there’s only a 1% chance of the market suffering a devastating crash, you buckle your seat belt and invite people to finger your anus over similarly minuscule odds of dying in a car accident or developing prostate cancer, don’t you?

In addition to balancing your total portfolio to include preparedness, you should balance your preparedness portfolio to account for a range of potentialities. If you have it all in gold, you’re going to be hosed if the government instigates another round-up of gold. While you may be deft enough to effectively hide it, you’ll be unable to barter it or even dig it up for an indeterminate amount of time. Loading up on firearms alone could leave you starving to death while clasping an AK-47.

Note: If you’re in America, don’t get the simplistic idea that you’ll be able to go out and use your gun to take somebody else’s stuff—most of your potential targets will be packing, too.

A basic balanced preparedness portfolio includes three basic categories:

• Barterables
• Bug-Out Bag
• Weapons

Barterables

Gold is the most obvious barterable, to the point where it’s often synonymous with doomsday exchange. It’s definitely the most reliable way to pack a large investment into a small and durable commodity that’s universally valued. But it’s almost too valuable, in a way. What if you need a meal, but all you have is a krugerrand coin? Judging from the latest spot price, you’re talking about something that will be worth far more than a family meal. In a true doomsday situation, silver’s equally universal but a coin is also nearer to the value of the sorts of basic things one would need to get by. There’s no harm in holding a bit of both, but silver’s probably more practical unless you’re talking about hording obscene amounts of wealth.

Other things (like bullets, for instance) could hypothetically make for convenient barterables. It’s probably sensible to factor in the potential resell value of things you’re stocking up on, but gold and silver are the only items which are virtually guaranteed to hold some sort of value in any conceivable survival context that involves engaging with other human beings. While one would do well to account for a variety of contingencies, a good supply of barterables is what will empower you with the flexibility to bridge the gap between what you’ve planned for and what’s actually happening.

Bug-Out Bag

This is the most important and fun part of preparedness, and my family had a great time taking on this project. Each bug-out bag must necessarily be different, because each person’s location, needs, and perspectives on what’s most likely to happen will be different. Are you urban? Are you rural? Are your winters typically severe? These considerations will affect how the bag gets loaded up. Last—but not least!—you have to take into account the weight of the bag. You negate the whole point of loading it up with all that cool stuff if it’s too heavy to carry a considerable distance.

To jump-start the conversion, I’ll list the items I’ve included in my own bug-out bag. This may prove helpful as a starting point for your own preparedness preparations, and I may be able to crowd-source some ideas from you guys about smarter ways to pack the bag.

• Excedrin – I suffer from debilitating migraines.
• Caffeine pills – That little boost may prove helpful, and will relieve me of having to cope with withdrawal symptoms in the middle of a crisis.
• A roll of rope - This is relatively thin rope, rope which could serve a variety of purposes.
• Portable Aqua – 200 germicidal tablets for drinking non-potable water.
• Lighters – 4 cigarette lighters for starting fires.
• Toilet paper – A roll for when leaves just won’t do.
• Energy bars – 4 big energy bars, for protein.
• Gatorade bottle – Hydration, electrolytes, and a sturdy bottle for.
• Wind-up AM/FM radio – This dandy contraption contains an LED flashlight.
• First aid kit – It’s one of the smaller ones, containing a few band-aids and such.
• Emergency blanket – This is something to lay on the ground so I’m not sleeping directly on the dirt.
• Hooded poncho – This will provide some protection from wind, rain, and snow, and serve as a blanket.
• Hand warmers – Midwestern winters can get pretty cold.
• Socks – Wet feet are a major health concern.
• Whistle compass – Whistles can be handy for making noise across a long distance.
• Duct tape – ‘Nuff said.
• Hatchet – It could make gathering firewood easier, and seemed like a cool thing to add.
• Pocket knife – This is probably redundant considering the Leatherman I keep on me and the hatchet.
• $20 Bill – This will make a useful barterable or extra toilet paper, depending on the situation.
• Laminated map – It’s just of Indiana, but I don’t get out much.

I’m sure many of you out there can think of better ways to pack your own bags. I’ll be watching the comments for suggestions.

Note: If you think I’m stupid for failing to pack Item X but have no bag of your own packed, then you’re the stupid one.

Weapons

Personally, I think people get carried away with this. I really don’t understand why people make a lot of the firearm decisions they make, like getting a CCW and a concealable pistol, then locking it up in the gun safe. If you need to run back to your gun safe before taking on the intruder, you might as well be pulling out a shotgun, right? The whole subject is legally awkward and politically contentious. My general advice is to give self-defense some serious thought, then take the sensible and practical steps necessary to defend yourself from hostiles you may encounter in a survival context.

As for the more elaborate concerns about bands of urban folks sweeping the countryside, I believe they’re overblown. Judging from the response to Hurricane Katrina, they’ll most likely crowd in together and turn on themselves. The ones who start roving around through the suburbs aren’t likely to make it very far, anyway. All but the most well-organized predatory threats are better dealt with by having a humble concealed pistol than they are by having bad-ass assault weapons. I don’t mean to interfere with anybody attempting to rationalize such a purchase…but I’m not feeling it.

3. Preparedness Persuasion

Preparedness items make the perfect gifts for birthdays and holidays. They show your friends and loved ones that you sincerely care about their welfare without loading them up with more consumerist clutter. They also make great conversation starters:

Mom: Why on Earth do I need germicidal tablets?

You: I’m concerned about [insert political hobby horse] and I just want to be sure you’re safe no matter what, mom.

When you either convince or help your friends and family with their preparedness, you’re being magnanimous in a very beneficial way. Not only will it help the people you care about survive the tribulation, but it might get their own imaginations working. Additionally, as things spiral, they’ll be more inclined to turn to your for advice, cooperation, and collaboration.

Too frequently, preparedness aficionados think in exclusively individual terms, failing to appreciate that cultivating a network of trusted cohorts is crucial. Find ways to integrate a conversation about preparedness into whatever social circles you’re already part of. It’s not necessary or even constructive to be too morbid or political about it. After all, the necessity of preparedness is a big excuse to have a lot of fun buying and playing with nifty manly toys. Why not share the fun with your friends?

Continuing Education

I wrote this article with the typical American slacker in mind, and have neither covered everything I recommend nor covered everything I’ve done. There’s always a bit more that can be done, but every bit could help and folks who are considering assembling a bug-out bag shouldn’t be scolded by guys who are living completely off-the-grid on wild bear meat in remote cabins in the Northwestern wilderness. I aspire to be that guy one day. But for now, I’ve taken some practical preparedness steps that work with my current lifestyle and I encourage others to do the same.

Prejection is what happens when you’re rejected before you even proposition a woman. Hapless omegas are painfully familiar with it, their cloying attempts to socialize mistaken for flirtation and brutally shut down. Judging from her blog, SkepChick thinks about quickies quite a bit and jumped to the conclusion that the attendee was making his big move to get into her pants. In typical atheist fashion, she ruled out all possible explanations in favor of the most vulgar and depressing one.

After all, he could have been…

• genuinely interested in her ideas;
• lonely and in need of platonic companionship;
• a white knight, luring the drunk girl to the safe haven of his room;
• a web marketer eager to host ads on her site;
• …just sayin’.

SkepChick has a right to be…skeptical and had every right in the world to reject his offer. She did not, however, have the right to speculate publicly on his motives and shame him. The whole point of these hotel conferences is for folks to network and socialize privately. The attendees paid real money and invested real time to hear what Watson had to say and were thanked for their support with a big hearty helping of rejection, insults, and shaming. Rebecca Watson is worse than wrong—she’s unprofessional. I’ve been in this elevator situation more than once at business and advocacy conferences and have not once—I swear—plotted nor accomplished a sexual conquest. I’m there to network and share ideas and the best ideas do indeed seem to happen over cups of coffee back in the hotel room in the wee hours of the night.

Note: I’m certainly no Roissy. I’m happily married, religious, and know the law well enough to know what an awful idea it is to have intimate relations with women you don’t know and trust.

What SkepChick experienced is “omega panic”, the irrational terror that strikes a woman who fears the potential advance of a sub-optimal suitor. It’s just like “gay panic,” but targeted at straight dudes who are socially awkward. The evolutionary psychology behind “omega panic” seems pretty obvious: A woman’s womb is, after all, a precious asset to be jealously guarded from losers. But prejection and public shaming are abuses of the Female Privilege which society bestows upon her, a privilege she takes for granted because she’s enjoyed it all her life—the privilege of unilaterally getting to dictate the terms of sexual discourse.

It’s the sort of privilege that could even lead one to think it’s appropriate to flaunt and monetize one’s own sexuality shamelessly then turn around and publicly scold a man on the mere possibility that he might join in. Sex and money for me, humiliation and celibacy for thee…

As an inversion, consider for a moment that I’m in an elevator with Jack Donovan. Jack invites me to have coffee in his hotel room. What should I do? Perhaps I would fear that I’m being propositioned by a homosexual on the prowl. I have a right to my own suspicions about what he has in store for me in his room. I might even have an episode of “gay panic” and be terrified about the whole thing. But would it not be rude of me to log on here the next day and publicly shame him for creepin’ on my sexy body? Is it not presumptuous of me to jump to the conclusion that he’s even after that? What would that say about my own psyche if I were so sure that my body was all he could possibly be after?

If we adopt SkepChick’s illogical and deeply credulous leftist worldview/religion, we would also need to charge me with homophobia and insensitivity (not that Jack needs the state’s protection—he’s ripped). This inversion demonstrates the insidious privilege Rebecca Watson exploits in today’s society. At that late hour of the night, in the suffocating confines of the hotel elevator, she knew that she was being hit on, that Elevator Man had only one thing in store for her. She knew that her body was more interesting to him than her mind.

Could Elevator Man have been interested in her ideas? Could he have been interested in her platonic companionship? Could he have seen in her a dynamic human being and not just some quickie?

That’s my personal belief. SkepChick remains skeptical.

Watch Out For That N...arcotic!

Ferd’s An Image All Supporters of the War on Drugs Need to See drove home the gory reality of the contemporary War On Drugs and its consequences. It’s a gross oversimplification to blame this Mexican’s dismemberment on American policy, but a smarter policy would ultimately result in fewer appetite-curbing images. For reasons sketched out in this post’s prequel, “The War on Thugs,” we simply can’t have a smart drug policy right now and probably won’t until there’s a seismic paradigm shift in America’s political plates.

In short, White Americans forfeited the moral high ground to their opponents in the wake of WWII, conceding that it’s immoral to honestly, explicitly, and directly pursue their tribal interests. They didn’t actually stop doing that, mind you, and contemporary America’s mainstream conservative Foxtard fiasco was born: dishonest, implicit, and indirect pursuit of White American tribal interests. In a bungling attempt to deal with the non-White street thug threat, we imagined up one of our moral panics and carried on a witch hunt which (ostensibly by sheer coincidence) ended up rounding up hundreds of thousands of non-White warlocks -along with an acceptable smattering of White drug criminals (collateral damage).

White Panic

For decades, libertarians and potheads (distinction without a difference?) have been arguing against the proponents of the War on Drugs with the presumption that their opponents are being forthright. Their vast armaments of pharmacological and socioeconomic factoids and anecdotes show that drugs simply aren’t that big of a deal, but they’re no match for the real rationale: White Panic. White Panic has only become more acute in the past few years, as the demographic and economic realities of dispossession hover over our heads, patiently waiting to feast on our fat, barren, elderly corpses. White Panic will grow even worse in the coming years, manifesting in increasingly bizarre and delirious ways, as they struggle to suppress their growing anxiety over losing influence, respect, wealth, and control.

Regretfully, our irrational panic is only making the problem worse. Our network of irrational laws have created a market niche which is designed to be filled by a criminal underclass capable of procuring their goods from regions with less reliable law enforcement: enter the Mexican drug cartels. Their country is the perfect place to grow and process the goods. Their border is plenty porous. Our failure to enforce our immigration laws has created a vast underclass of Mexicans who necessarily exist outside the reach of law enforcement, “in the shadows.” White Americans who would want to get in on the action are stuck without a place to grow it, with local law enforcement officers who don’t take bribes, and with friends, family members, and neighbors who are more-or-less law-abiding citizens…a bunch of snitches.

Presuming White Americans grew a pair and started acting like healthy normal adults, they would easily arrive at sensible solutions that limit the impact of drug abuse on their communities at a reasonable expense while minimizing externalities. They could, for example, scale back from active enforcement to reactive enforcement and scale back from hitting offenders with felonies to hitting offenders with misdemeanors. Doing so would save a ton of money, perhaps even generating a revenue stream, without unleashing the decadence and depravity that would result from outright legalization.

But, for now, White Americans are going to continue lying to themselves about the reason for the War on Drugs, and flashing scary pictures of brown people chopping each other up will continue to provoke a perfectly opposite response from the one Ferd intended.

Newsweek has a new article out now intended to ridicule the plight of the “beached white male” or BWM. Having successfully packed females and minorities into the recession-proof bureaucratic anti-economy, our anti-White elites are now pointing and giggling at us White men – men who are overrepresented in the actual value-creating economy – as we bear the brunt of the Great Recession. Or, as they prefer to call it, The Great Humbling.

The purple pill that keeps your food down. The blue pill that keeps another part of your anatomy up. Now you can’t get an effing job? Stuck in your own personal Detroit of the soul, with the grinding stress of enforced idleness. The wife who doesn’t look at you quite the same way. The poignantly forgiving sons. The stain on your masculinity for becoming the bread-loser. The night sweats and dark refuge of Internet porn.

Note how the same people who promoted feminism and female-empowerment are the first to resort to traditional gender norms when they can be used to emasculate men. What do these “career girls” do immediately after breaking through the glass ceiling on the rocket of social engineering programs and double-standards? Well, they look down and sneer at the disempowered men, of course.

“The corporate warrior has begun to cry,” the article teases, wallowing in White male misery like a hog in shit…

Intellectually, women can say, “It’s not his fault, he’s working hard to find a job.” Emotionally, it’s another story. This is a generation caught between two ideas of manhood, says Coontz: “Old enough to have been brought up with a model of male breadwinning. Young enough to feel they shouldn’t be threatened if their wife has a job.”

The unintended takeaway of the article should be no surprise to folks in Ferd’s tree fort. Intellectually, American women claim to want true equality and interchangeability of gender roles. Emotionally, they want a man who’s confident, dominant, and more successful than them. On an instinctive level, they can’t help but resent a man who willingly accepts a submissive role in the relationship. Status is to women what attractiveness is to men, and a jobless herb moping around the house in Scooby Doo pajamas, cowering in her intimidating shadow is nearly impossible for her to respect.

Frankly, I can’t respect this guy, either…

He held the phone out to his wife, Vicki, who had just walked in and was running into the shower, taking a work call on her cell.

“Hey, hon!” Goodell called out, following her into the bathroom, laughing. “I think she’s taking her phone into the shower. Wanna talk to NEWSWEEK?”

You could hear her heels kick off onto the tile, the water turning on.

“No!” she shouted.

“She’s way too busy,” Goodell says.

Or she doesn’t want to talk about it.

She makes more money than me? Well, LA-DEE-FRICKIN-DAH!

Men who buy into the modern myth of interchangeable gender roles get the overbearing harpies and humiliations they deserve. Since these males are craven enablers of the anti-male status quo, they deserve no pity or respect as fellow men. If the deafening chorus of the whole world, including your wife, daughters, and sons laughing at you doesn’t stiffen your spine, then you’re beneath contempt. Set the pajamas on fire and stop waiting for that lofty position you had to come back…it’s probably not coming back. Apply for one of those new jobs at McDonald’s. Give the McMansion back to the bank. Move your family into a mold-rotted trailer. Sell the car and roll up in a beat-up used moped you found on Craigslist. Make whatever material sacrifices you have to make to avoid being dependent on your wife.

If she can and will make good money, good for her. If she walks out when you man up, good for you. If she wants to pull in six figures, invite her to install a redwood deck, buy herself a Lexus, get herself a boob job, or whatever else she wants with her extra money. But, whatever you do, don’t depend on it, because when you accept that money, it’s at the cost of her respect for you, and – eventually – your respect for yourself. Never allow yourself to be “humbled” by this system. Never settle for anything less than being the king of your castle, even if that castle is a van down by the river.

November 4th, 2008

The typical fall day of October 22nd, 1844 came and went, as all days do. Nothing special happened. Thousands of Millerites gathered on hilltops and in churches across America waiting for something special to happen that never happened.

One disillusioned Millerite noted…

I waited all Tuesday [October 22] and dear Jesus did not come;– I waited all the forenoon of Wednesday, and was well in body as I ever was, but after 12 o’clock I began to feel faint, and before dark I needed someone to help me up to my chamber, as my natural strength was leaving me very fast, and I lay prostrate for 2 days without any pain– sick with disappointment.

This unfulfilled prophecy of a second coming is known as The Great Disappointment. For years, these people had reconstructed their entire worldview, their perception of reality, their relationships, and their daily lives around a bald-faced lie. The cognitive dissonance the adherents experienced was staggering, even sickening. They invested their hearts and souls in the emotional equivalent of a market bubble, a bubble of hope and change.

America’s in the beginning stages of a devastating crash. I’m not talking about an economic crash…there will be one of those, too. America is heading for something deeper and more existentially tortuous than that. The entire progressive worldview, that mythology we’ve spent the past century steadily replacing our founding beliefs with, is imploding on impact with reality. Their lies about the innate equality and interchangeability of the sexes, the races, and the individuals are more threadbare with each passing news cycle. Their messianic faith in the technology that enabled their ascent is being undermined by the militant Islamists organizing revolutions with their Twitter-enabled iPhones, dissidents releasing inconvenient reports on the true state of race relations in America through alternative platforms, and young men organizing on the Internet in opposition to progressive emasculation.

They’ve been reduced to “waiting for Superman,” for somebody to close the gaps that their trillions of dollars of investment in social engineering promised to close. Not only is the international community less than eager to join us in our fantasy quest to impose modernity worldwide, some of them actually object to America bombing their communities, toppling their indigenous governments, then constructing Burger King franchises and hosting swimsuit competitions on the ruins. Those who tried to compartmentalize the imperial dimension of American progress as a “neocon” or “Republican” thing have had a rude awakening.

Barack Obama is exhorting us to be more patient, framing the pervasive and irremediable failure of progressivism as a setback and scolding us for being impatient. Like the false prophets of yesteryear, he’s not going to allow facts to get in the way of selling his snake oil. But there are fewer and fewer buyers. We’re burned over. We were told that imposing Affirmative Action and racial quotas would rectify the historical abuses against Blacks and women, only to watch them not only fail at that original goal, but grow to give every population the world over an unfair advantage over us. We were told that the expensive Head Start Program would make kids smarter. It didn’t, but the program won’t be canceled. We were told to invest in Detroit’s “Renaissance,” embrace the New South Africa, and enjoy the high school dance.

We’re at the beginning of a crash, the kind you get after a week-long meth binge. Our politicians wants us to be excited about our future, but who in their right mind could possibly want more of the progressive’s progress? Who in their right mind could be excited about their next round of promises? One by one, as individuals, the hundreds of millions of Americans who gathered on the hilltop of hope and change are snapping out of the trance, leaving in search of a new “progress,” a new “hope,” and a new “change.”

Real Life Superheroes

There’s a thriving community out there of men who prance around in elaborate costumes, living out their superhero fantasies in the streets of our major cities. Most fetish communities abide by a code which assures that children and innocent bystanders don’t have to be exposed to their cosplay. This one’s different. The Real-Life Superhero movement is actually all about children and innocent bystanders, patrolling the street for opportunities to rescue them when they’re in distress. It’s all about bringing the moral clarity and heroism of the comic book to life.

On one level, this is an excellent example of how the Internet enables cranks, bringing together armies of cranks into radical subcultures that reinforce their marginal ideas and embolden individuals to delve deeper into madness than family, friends, and co-workers would be willing to tolerate or enable. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, as many ideas that have been marginalized damn well ought to be taken seriously. The MRA and White Advocacy communities follow this same basic pattern, as well. The notion that contemporary White American males are being emasculated and extorted by the increasingly feminized globalist regime isn’t something that would be tolerated in mainstream discourse by, well…the increasingly feminized globalist regime.

And what’s the harm in grown men dressing up in elaborate costumes with face masks to fight evildoers, anyway? In theory, nothing. In practice, the problem lies in life’s moral ambiguities. Even taking up the cause of hunting down violent rapists has its subtleties and potential for blowback, as America’s original RLSH community learned the hard way…

Earlier this month, I was on the receiving end of this ambiguity when, during a counter-protest in support of Arizona-style immigration legislation, I was met by masked superheroes from Chicago who fancy themselves “anti-fascists“. They didn’t actually do anything to me at the event aside from shouting “He’s a racist!” and burning a cigarette hole in one of our flyers, but this is only because they didn’t have an opportunity. A couple of their blog posts directly threaten us with physical violence and they’ve physically attacked our members in the past. Every bit of it is fueled by the moral clarity that comes with imbibing the moral edict passed down from the multinational corporations and international organizations that White males speaking and thinking as White males are among the world’s foremost villains.

I say “among”, because White Advocates are merely one group defending one aspect of Tradition. Relative to the established order, we on the Alternative Right, whether we be advocates for men’s rights, or authentic White culture, or authentic Black culture, or Traditional Catholicism, or whatever our postmodern heresy, are the villains. Now, I don’t see myself as evil. In fact, I find the status quo that the anti-fascists and RLSH hobbyists are defending to be evil. But I am indeed a “villain” relative to this borderless, cultureless, godless, castrated, consumerist hell. While I wouldn’t flatter myself by purporting to be as big of a threat to the established order as the Southside Chicago Anti-Fascists or Imagine 2050 would have you believe, I am trying as hard as I can.

Topple Their Idols

As you’ll learn rather quickly from reviewing the RLSH sites, they strive to be apolitical, uncontroversial, and non-violent, turning on you if you step out of line. In today’s society, that amounts to volunteering at the hospital and passing out sandwiches to homeless people. You’re not even really supposed to stop violent crimes in progress. But to be apolitical in today’s leftist regime is to be leftist, to be part of the problem. What good is volunteering at the hospital if major demographic changes are being imposed on the community that will turn it into a festering and dysfunctional nightmare with wretches bleeding to death in their Martin Luther King Hospital waiting rooms? What good does feeding a homeless guy a sandwich do if you’re not addressing the reasons why you’ve got a homeless guy standing there waiting for a sandwich? Instead of chasing around thugs who’ve snatched purses, why not create a social and legislative environment that drives thugs out of the community in the first place?

According to this society, taking all the practical steps that would actually preclude the need for a superhero amounts to sheer villainy. Then so be it. Some friends and family members agree with what I’m doing, but fear for my “reputation.” But that’s not how a true villain thinks. I want to be despised by the system politicians, corporate lobbyists, bureaucrats, and preachers of “social justice”. If they don’t see me as a villain, then I’m doing it wrong. A society that topples our Traditional monuments and erects a massive Soviet-style statue of a petty womanizing plagiarizing anti-White hustler is a society that I am honored to be hated by. A society that supports perpetual imperial war and seeks to grind all racial, ethnic, religious, social and cultural distinctions into a meaningless money-grubbing mass of alienated hipsters and libertarian scoundrels  fighting over the scraps of a collapsing civilization is a society that deserves a Real Life Super Villain.

Be Their Villain

Obsidian, Ferd’s Affirmative Action hire, has gotten uppity with his recent screed, The Plight of the Marginal White Male. I hacked my way through all the big words that he probably carefully enunciated in that amusing way that Black men enunciate big words to arrive at his basic thesis: The world has changed in ways that marginalize the subset of White males who are innately incapable of adapting to the new situation. There’s a surface plausibility to what he’s saying, and there’s no argument that a great mass of White males have been imperiled by the rapid changes in the (lowers his voice an octave) “So-shee-oh-sehk-shoe-uhl-die-nam-eeks”.

Enjoy it While it Lasts

Unfortunately for Obsidian, while he’s busy dancing in the evolutionary end zone, we marvelous White males are gradually adapting to the new environment, huddling together and planning our next move. As Obsidian readily notes, the “manosphere” is a largely White male phenomenon. But he contends that we’re innately incapable of competing with his people at “the crimson arts” and that all Roissy’s instructions are wasted on us. Without any solid evidence to support his claim, and ignoring the countless testimonials to the contrary, he asserts that the readers of the game blogs are as lonely as ever.

Like the other players in the anti-White coalition, he frames progress exclusively in terms of White dispossession, dismissing our efforts to adapt to modernity as a futile attempt to “rollback the clock on human progress and accomplishment.” But are we really so helpless and hopeless? Are we really doomed to be dominated and humiliated by our ebony competitors on “the dating and mating Savannah?” Only time will tell, but even our darkest hour, we White males are far from the biggest losers in all this.

The biggest losers are, without a doubt, Black females. While Obsidian and millions of other Black American males are gloating over their success with a subset of White women, Black women are being left behind. The relaxation of the taboo against miscegenation has devastated their value in the sexual marketplace. With the bottom tenth of marriage-age Black males in lock-down and the talented tenth of them chasing White girls, Black women have been completely deprived of the leverage they need to secure marital commitments or raise their offspring. They’re not wasting such a large portion of what little money they have to get weaves because they’re vain and irresponsible – they’re doing it because they’re pitted in an evolutionary race condition, fiercely competing with one another for the dwindling supply of Black males willing and able to court and support them.

White males can, after all, resort to mail-ordering themselves an Asian bride if they’re too inept to court a White girl (This will lead to the death of us all, Black and White Americans alike, if it’s not curbed, but that’s a separate post). Additionally, the White male problems are largely behavioral rather than structural. We can and will adapt, and it’s foolhardy of Obsidian to presume that we won’t. He presumes that we’ll keep being “beta male” providers, “nice guys” who compete to provide resources in a world where women can readily access resources through government jobs, government benefits, or government-enabled extortion of us. But that’s all part of a bursting bubble. What’s being overlooked here is that this environment isn’t some sort of organic “Savannah”. It’s a completely artificial habitat propped up by exploiting the resources created by us White male “Company Men”.

Playing Games and Running Game While Rome Burns

And by all indications, the youngest generation of White males have had it with this mug’s game. Since you can get laid just as easily while living in mom’s basement and playing video games without “manning up“, millions of us are doing just that. We’re dropping out of college. We’re abandoning lucrative careers and professions in favor of a more frugal lifestyle. We’re getting married less often and at older ages. We’re also learning game. Like the capitalist protagonists in Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged, we’re starving the beast, unplugging from the anti-White and anti-male matrix. We’re “manning down”.

Now, I don’t want it to go down like this. I’m a registered “White Knight” who envisions a future in which we White males are once again true men in the most traditional sense of the word. But an intermediate step in that process is the deconstruction of this regime in which “manning up” amounts to shutting up and working overtime at miserable jobs to produce resources that will be redistributed by the government to our “sociosexual” competitors. We’ve been paying men like Obsidian and women like Kay Hymowitz to kick our own asses for long enough. With the Tea Party movement, we’re threatening that redistribution process. With the Alternative Right political movement, we’re restoring our confidence as an identity group. With the MRA movement, we’re getting smart about courtship.

Go ahead and adjourn your asses, but the game ain’t over yet for the Marvelous White Male, one of nature’s most capable and adaptable critters.