Aryan Invasion Theory – The Truth

Something to piss off the Aryans, 1950’s “traditionalists,” and everyone else for whom history began in the Twentieth Century. A bit of Indian humor.

PT Barnum - Patron Saint Of Propaganda

'Then, once you discover what it is you are searching for, just type it into the search engine.' (Cartoon by Mike Baldwin).

Ever since my propaganda guru, PT Barnum was canonized by the Pope and became St.PT Barnum, he has become very busy. Needless to point out, no one, has ever been made into a Saint,  while still alive.

Envious people have started a rumor that my guru PT Barnum, died may decades ago. If he died how could he have started a blog of his own? He even has a few hundred followers on Twitter also. But, a humble man that he is, he has always given me time, to clear my doubts on various issues. I recently spoke to him about the Aryan Invasion Theory.

As usual he shed new light – and revealed facts, hither to unknown. Read on.

Q. Saintji, please tell me about the birth of Indian languages.

St.PTBarnum – While blond Aryan invaders, with White skins with blue eyes were conquering India, massacring the…

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Thought Crimes of a Race Traitor

I’ve written before about my experiences with forced multiculturalism and how they made me into the person I am today. For some reason, lately, I seem to be attracting the attention of white-pride/Christian-pride sorts of persons, and otherwise being introduced to both positive and negative aspects of this phenomenon in terms of their feelings about me. Some seem to believe that I am one of them and others seem to believe that I am their enemy. Neither view is correct. I support the notions of “freedom of association,” and “freedom from association,” and am not qualified to make these sorts of decisions for another person—only for myself.

I’m going to relay here a story about my past that may perhaps shed light on the sort of person I am. I have relayed it privately before. Since it is my story, however, I own it and shall reproduce it here:

I was on a date with a television producer. We stopped to pick up another couple–a young man in the music business who lived in a brand new mansion followed by his date on the other side of town who wore a giraffe-print fun fur, front-zip jumpsuit and had a body that could stop traffic. I was probably wearing a nondescript little black dress with a nondescript but well-tailored all-season black jacket because that was my usual uniform.

We went to a restaurant in Brentwood I believe that did not have a sign outside. We walked through the restaurant to a private room. Inside were a group of men (12 maybe) in business suits. There were no prices on the menu handed me.

My date, loudly, asked me, “So, what is your opinion of the Mafia?” It was not the first time the gentleman had asked me the question during our brief association. Everyone stopped talking.

I said, “I don’t hold them to a different standard than I do corporate America.”

Everyone roared with laughter. Another bottle of Cristal was produced largely for benefit of the same bodacious lady next to me who I believe had gulped down most of the previous. After only a glass of it, however, our dates took us outside and we talked while the men smoked cigars. Then we all went back inside and had an Italian dinner beyond description.

My date didn’t get a goodnight kiss and that’s the last I saw of him. Thus ended my short-lived aspiration at being a television script reader. I have no regrets however because today I do not watch television except for occasional streaming and I would have to live with the pain of supporting yet another degraded enterprise.

The point I would like to make with this story is that nepotism and cronyism are not going to go away any time soon. I’m not opposed to it for in fact depending on the state to make one’s decisions as to whom to associate with and whom not to associate with implies that the state actually cares about its citizens. Personally, I will associate with any person I like or remove association with them for any reason unless a person who cares about me requests otherwise. I have even entertained extremely restrictive rules of association for I understand the circumstances under which such a restriction may be necessary and at other times wholly submit to certain authorities—one in particular.

On the other hand, I have had rich and informative experiences with persons who are our Western versions of “untouchables.” I might take extraordinary precautions with certain of these individuals but I will not submit to an ideology or authority which does not care about me in terms of restricting those associations. If the reader’s mind is racing at this moment wondering what sort of “untouchable” I am referring, please forgive my coy refusal to elaborate for it is my experience that naming this sort of person, tends to conjure him.

I find nepotism and cronyism to be far more enduring among humanity and other creatures than either feminism or racism or even Christianity, Judaism, or Islam. We shall always have stronger positive feelings toward those who we find to be familiar. It is easier to tell if someone from a similar background as our own is lying, for instance, and thereby a betrayal on that level is more devastating than betrayal by a relative exotic. Taking a chance in trusting someone who is outside of our sphere of experience or influence is a courageous act. However, making such a thing mandatory by law is obscene as it puts particular pressure on the most vulnerable members of society. The persons who have the strongest motivation to protect the most vulnerable members of society are those persons who care about them, love them, and have a personal and material investment in their happiness.

In some cases, such persons are members of the same class. In some cases, such persons are members of the same race. In some cases, such persons are members of the same sex or gender. Perhaps they come from the same hometown or enjoy the same food. Perhaps they have secrets in common that make them each vulnerable to each other such as to ensure loyalty. Perhaps they have known each other for a long time. Perhaps there is an emotional component to their connection. Perhaps they perceive areas of commonality which are merely illusory. In some cases, however, such persons are courageous social outliers or persons not belonging to anything familiar except maybe rhetoric, etiquette, smell, or even perhaps that which is not perceivable by our senses. In some cases, such persons might not even be persons.

I am a person and a woman and use my own photo with deliberate distortions to assist my ability to move about the real world with anonymity. I don’t have any particular identification with my own genes except when I explore backward in time and find personalities of my phenotype which resonate with me. Can I be trusted? I can’t answer that question. The reader can only answer that question for his or herself. Meeting me however requires mutual trust for there would be mutual risk. Persons who desire to throw rhetorical barbs in my direction who do not have the courage to actually come to Los Angeles to meet me do not have a great impact upon my life. The fact is, I will not limit my own associations based on any sort of ideological criteria because my “religion” is my own and it is a work in progress. Rather, I make snap judgments on terms of the persons I wish to associate with and do not bother to explain or justify them to ideological bigots. This approach to life has not made me rich materially, for in fact, I’m a lousy prostitute, which, should not be considered evidence of my feelings toward prostitutes of whom some have been my friends. Meanwhile, the slightest threat to me in terms of my person or income with regard to my thoughts causes in me an allergic reaction. If my actions do not inspire trust in a person, then I do not trust that person. I expect to be tested and similarly reserve the right to test before I trust a person. The tests that one person uses are not adequate for another person’s purposes for they are in fact irrational tests brought about by life experience, which is unique.

Meanwhile, for purposes of both survival and advancement throughout life, we need to be able to make alliances with persons who share our values. The extent of such an alliance may be “business only,” “personal,” or “sexual.” We all have different criteria as to who shall be admitted into these sorts of alliances, and what shall take place within them. Certain ideologies hold themselves as the de facto moral standard of these values and some are quite punitive against anyone who is disloyal to the ideology.

Punishment might include violence.

So, as a person without much in the way of “family,” or “culture,” or even “hometown,” what exactly are my values? Well, if you read my writing, you’re probably going to get a pretty good idea of them. As for whether I will submit myself to the interrogation of ideological authorities who perhaps wish to impose their values on me? The answer is: Only at my pleasure and probably not on the first date.

“Marital Rape” is an Oxymoron

The following is my response (edited for clarity) to an invitation to post why a woman, such as myself, might be against Feminism. I certainly can’t speak for all women, however, of course, I couldn’t resist:

I have some friends who are feminists and they’re not all bad. They’re just sort of easily swayed and confused. They’re adorable, really. Just please, don’t put them in charge of anything. Might I suggest handicrafts?

For example, it is really fun to get together with a bunch of women and instead of competing with each other, find common ground. There’s always singing, making a quilt, marching, bashing men…

It turns out however that women are so different that there is hardly any actual common ground unless we’re talking identical quintuplets raised together in the same little town all their lives. However nowadays, they’d probably all insinuate that one had more wrinkles than another or that one had perhaps gained a bit of weight or other reflections on moral weakness. Pathetic.

For example, some women think that women have been historically oppressed that is by not being permitted by law to walk around naked when in some societies in the world, there are men walking around naked or nearly so. They fail to realize that biology doesn’t magically respond to diktat. Of course, if you put someone in a room and repeat slogans to him or her constantly, while applying electricity to the genitals, well, anything is possible. Feminism is like one long sustained torture campaign to minimize biology and instead cause a mass psychosis.

While men easily form hierarchies and get stuff done, women tend to “minimize differences” in terms of a “we’re all equal” mentality in order to attempt to tone down the catfighting.

Catfighting is a sign that there are in fact perceived differences!

So, let’s pretend that they don’t exist.

o/~ All women are beautiful.
Whatever they do or don’t do.
Whatever they say or don’t say.
Whatever they buy or don’t buy.
They are all special and wonderful and honest and true and special and beautiful and did I say, beautiful too? ~/o

And it is so true.

After being gone from the U.S. for only six years I noticed that now all retail salespersons call me “Miss”.

Instead of being almost 53, In the world of retail, I am only 15, an ingenue, with peak sexual market value but no experience in the world. (The truth is, I had more experience in the world at 15 than most Western Women in their 50’s.)

Feminists are also confused! They want to be protected for their fair, frail, and delicate natures but yet want to be called “equal” and “empowered”. They demand equal pay for equal work but yet expect more time off and fewer working hours and lower standards and requirements!

In my perfect utopia (LOL), there would be strict gender differentiation on a legal, social, and civic level; however, every 20 years or so citizens would have the option to switch genders regardless of equipment with a few caveats:

1. Men are not allowed to get pregnant. If you want to be a “Man” you’ll require mandatory, monitored implanted birth control unless you can prove that you don’t need it.

2. Women cannot vote or hold elected office. Sorry. I realize that there are plenty of qualified exceptions but fail to see on balance that letting every little girl get on the happy/equal/homogenized bandwagon is best for society.

3. Men are eligible for the draft.

4. Ladies first. Unless there’s some sort of war or emergency where this is not practical, all gentlemen should allow a lady to pass first.

5. There is no longer such a thing as “marital rape”.

And so on.

This silly post, predictably, triggered a transwoman who was apparently traumatized by stories within her family about husbands raping wives to the extent that she is now a walking bundle of misandry. Read that sentence again.

Of all the things to seize on, the only point on my list of rules that caught her attention was that in my little utopia (and if you read any more of my blog you’ll probably pick out the irony in that notion) a married woman would not be empowered to march over to the civic and legal authorities (subsidized by taxpayers and private enterprise) and have her husband arrested for raping her. By “rape” I am referring to sex that is not consented to at the time that it occurs. I am not referring to violent injury which is covered by other laws.

The simple reason for this is that in order to power the survival of any community, young men need to be motivated to exercise their productivity for benefit of that community with the overriding motivation for that exercise (all rhetoric to the contrary) to be the hope that they too might start their own little dynasty which of course starts with a woman willing to merge her reproductivity with his productivity.

Under Feminism however, the overriding motivation of all productivity is to avoid penalty of law because the women are not only unbearably obnoxious but have all sexual rights enforced by the state. This is the stick approach, rather than the carrot.

The transwoman who was triggered by my own ideas of utopia (which of course are not in the least unique to me) rejected her own masculinity by having her body altered in some way in order to become a female staff member at a rape crisis center, whereupon she can now police marriages and all sexual and romantic relationships to ensure that no sex is going on that doesn’t meet her approval. This is her entire modus operandi. I find that particular irony so hilarious I would have been speechless, had she not gone after a male defender of my notion with the “lady” using very specific “rapey” language, which I won’t reproduce here but let’s just say it was threatening and graphic. I’ll reproduce my own responses to her comments here, edited for clarity:

Feminists like to juxtapose themselves against traditionalist or trad/con women whose values were born in the 1950’s, which, of course is a really long time ago, back when dinosaurs roamed the earth. However, when convenient, they’ll jump right into political bed with them, for in fact, their origins are the same—gynocentrism meets B.F. Skinner.

I am opposed to forcible matrimony. Marital rape, however, is an oxymoron. I can see however where you (the transwoman) get your misandric views. One bad man = all men are bad and therefore all men (and women) must have their sexuality policed by the state to make sure that they are doing it right.

Thanks to Feminism, a woman is unable to make a contract with a man bartering her “excess reproductivity” and sexual market value for his “excess productivity” (Karen Straughan’s terms) and call it “marriage.”

Only Female sexual dominance in a relationship is considered “Politically Correct” by the “tolerant” set.

It is a shame but unavoidable that men generally put a higher value on sexual inexperience in a woman with whom they contract. However, that attitude often backfires. Both sexes, in my view, are capable of “The Old Double Standard”, commonly known as “Madonna/Whore” or “Alpha Fucks/Beta Bucks” (therationalmale.com) a.k.a. “Hypergamy.” However, in my view, that is an immature attitude emblematic of the extended adolescence encouraged by Skinner’s Behaviorism in school, popular culture, and monotheistic religions. Rather, my interpretation of Carl Jung’s notion of sanity with regard to archetypes is to avoid becoming too obsessively specialized, that is, to balance one’s inner life/unconscious/irrational rather than to become a parody of a human being.

Feminism is great for homosexuals and transgenderism but not so great for heterosexuality, which, in my view, betrays its origins: “Rats-in-a-cage” eugenics by way of extended adolescence and thereby no sense of managing one’s own destiny resulting in eventual extinction, but with a possible intervening stage where the human genome is effectively split: a well-nourished Master race, and an expendable slave race, with tiers of scientifically engineered castes, and thereby no hope for ever reshuffling the deck, a.k.a., “the end of history.”

In terms of cultural survival, and wage preservation, I think that there’s plenty of rationale for at least majority sex role differentiation with room (and there has always been room) for some exceptions and some outliers, depending on how besieged or prosperous the culture. The notion of “equality” however is an intoxicant of the privileged. In nature, there are winners and then there are losers, with the latter being the bulk of us.

Every Fetus is a Future Nobel Laureate

I think I’m getting the hang of the Pro-Life movement, a movement which arose about the time when it became increasingly safe and possible for a woman to obtain an abortion without a whole lot of outside permissions involved.

I believe it works like this:

  1. Most women love babies. Those who do not love babies are probably evil or something else is wrong with them.
  2. All babies are born in the image of our Creator and are thereby perfect—none of that “original sin” business. Rather, evil only arises when they gain consciousness and a sense of identity separate from their caregivers.
  3. It is a sin “to kill” (a person) unless one is a soldier, defending one’s life or the life of another, or is called upon by God to sacrifice that person.
  4. A fetus is a person only better because God never calls upon anyone to kill or sacrifice a fetus except maybe if the mother’s life is in danger.
  5. Abortion and adoption are the only manners of ridding oneself of any unwanted live baby since forever. When God kills or miscarries or stillbirths a fetus, that’s God’s business and no one else’s.

Let’s address these points one at a time.

  1. I love babies just fine especially when I get to hand them back to their mothers. Given that my own parental role models were disasters, it is no wonder that I have (and had) zero confidence in my ability to do right by a child. I was hoping I might get to be an instant grandma one day (by marrying a grandpa), but, that hasn’t worked out. C’est la vie. Meanwhile, I have complete confidence that the world is better for not having any of my progeny to worry about.
  2. The only reason that fetuses have no capacity for evil is that they have no consciousness and I call “consciousness” the difference between a hunk of biological matter and a person.
  3. I distrust the whole Ten Commandments thing as I see them as more administrative rules designed to perpetuate a society rather than particularly divine. My reason for this belief is that apparently government authority figures are empowered to disobey them at certain times but ordinary citizens are not. That would make them laws or guidelines rather than moral absolutes. It doesn’t help that these rules are not in fact universal to all monotheistic denominations meaning that they have important differences between the various subdivisions. On another note, I remember reading some “rules to live by” written by Lao Tse, and they made more sense to me. I recall seeing them in the Asian Art Museum in San Francisco many years ago. If anyone wants to reproduce them for me here, I’d appreciate it.
  4. God or whatever higher authority compels my own morality helped me to make the decision to abort two fetuses in my lifetime. In both cases, it was the right decision and I haven’t regretted either for a moment. In fact, I was recently aware of a human being who struck me as being awfully like how I would imagine a son of mine to act and I was truly horrified and grateful at the same time that he wasn’t that son. Perhaps one day, in a fit of pique, I’ll tell him, at which point he’ll probably wish me dead. It will be quite the magic moment. Meanwhile, since I’m confident that the reader truly wants to know why I had my abortions, I’ll tell you, in just a moment.
  5. Prior to the advent of safe, legal abortions, there were myriad ways of ridding oneself of any form of baby that one didn’t want. I shall describe the process herewith.

Two major factors of increased lifespan in modern humans are a huge decrease in both infant mortality and death in childbirth. Those two factors account for more of our modern long lifespan than anything else for in fact, persons of privilege have had long lives throughout the history of civilization, due to lack of exposure to infectious agents and superior nutrition brought about by wealth.

I submit to you without bothering to cite evidence that some of those infant mortalities were by design. It was one of the jobs of midwives. There was no contract or anything to implicate said midwife, but the practice occurred because sometimes it was necessary for a host of reasons. Naturally, this is just one more reason for the megalomaniacal fathers of the modern accredited medical school, John D. Rockefeller and Abraham Flexner, to demonize midwives. Speaking of these two, I venture that they have more to do with modern sense of American “morals” than any church or “divine authority” for they were masters of propaganda. Rockefellers of all persuasions funded feminists and suffragettes of all persuasions as well. Was this some sort of altruistic endeavor? I doubt it. Rather, it was all about enlarging the wealth and power of the Rockefellers by deflating wages as well as the hopes of ordinary people. Hopeless people are more easily administered. People saddled with unwanted children who they have trouble feeding are tremendously easy to administer.

Meanwhile, the possibility that a child would live to see one year of age was so remote in so many civilizations that the practice of Christening or naming a child tends to occur after the child has reached that first milestone. In other words, the child wasn’t quite a person until it was one year old; therefore, infanticide was common especially in times of resource scarcity relative to population. In other words, our human ancestors were better at math than most people are today.

Now on to my two abortions. The first pregnancy occurred during an important Summer for me in Washington D.C. Specifically, there was a NORML smoke-in, an ERA march, and a Native American protest. There was also, in my sphere, a fair amount of hallucinogenics. Somewhere along the way, I managed to lose my sandals and therefore took to the streets of Washington D.C. barefoot. Naturally, I managed to cut my foot and get a shard of colored glass embedded in it that was to remain there for the next 10 years whereupon I had it surgically removed.

Meanwhile, although I am uncertain as to which of the dashing and exciting young men of that month were the father, deep in my heart, I know. He was the guy who decided that not only was he to physically carry me on his back from place to place given my injured foot, but that this service entitled him to my body. Seemed like a good deal to me. In fact it was downright romantic for me. I don’t remember his name but yet I still think of him as the father. I was never to see him again. I’m not sure how it all ended. It was a wild time. I recall that I was coupled with yet another young man shortly after the father left who gave me a necklace which I managed to hold onto for over a decade and then lost.

In any case, at my age, with all my big plans ahead of me which at the time were to go to a top notch university and establish a brilliant career of some sort, clearly a child would not fit into either my life or my parents’ lives as I happened to be a minor. My parents barely took care of me! Therefore, the choice was easy and I had the abortion. My mother even drove me to the appointment. Although the exercise was clearly uncomfortable for her no words were spoken. This woman hadn’t even bothered to give me a sex education much less dating advice of any sort. She delegated all of these duties to my father who fulfilled them and then some in wholly dysfunctional fashion.

Three years after this abortion, I was living with a man who declared that he was “sterile”. It turns out not only had he lied but my pregnancy was deliberate—he tricked me! That alone was  reason enough for me to abort. The fact that I had just barely started my career after just completing computer school was also a factor but by no means the overriding one. Trickery is not a good reason in my view to be a parent. This event causes me to sympathize all the more with men who are tricked into fatherhood. I find the whole notion of being tricked into parenthood morally repugnant. That’s right—even more repugnant than terminating a life without consciousness known as a fetus.

Several years later, I got my tubes tied.

Do I advocate abortions? Hardly. I simply can’t countenance the modern Pro-Life movement. I would like to ask some of the more strident opponents of abortion whether they would prefer infanticide–the traditional method–of eliminating unwanted children. Of course, I probably won’t. I understand that people get highly emotional about this issue. However, the notion that the state has any right to control a woman’s reproductive choices is a notion I find repugnant. Similarly, I find it repugnant when a women forces a man into fatherhood. I hope that these issues are solved to most people’s reasonable satisfaction in my lifetime. Realistically however I doubt that our politicians will ever relinquish such a handy hot button.

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Fred Singer, A Boogeyman I’d love to Meet

Fred Singer is a tobacco-defender, CFC-defender, and CO2-defender; i.e., a real boogeyman for the social justice warriors:

http://junkscience.com/2012/03/19/singer-on-ozone-d…

Fred Singer makes a few points about the ozone depletion alarm sounded by Sherwood Rowland, who passed away last week.

Singer writes in an e-mail:

Rowland’s seminal paper in Nature 1974 cannot explain the Antarctic ozone hole (AOH), yet the serendipitous discovery of the AOH led to the panic (i.e., remember the dying Southern oceans, the blind sheep in Patagonia, etc.), the 1987 Montreal Protocol (when scientific evidence was lacking), and the Nobel Prize (for prodding “for the salvation of mankind.” according to the citation).

So what has been the cumulative effect of the CFCs? According to the official report of the World Meteorological Organization: a 5% depletion of stratospheric ozone (about the same as the solar-cycle variation), which stopped around 1992; no detectable increase in solar UV-B at the Earth’s surface; industry profits from CFC replacements; and international corruption — providing a “blueprint” for the Kyoto Protocol.

http://www.americanthinker.com/2014/09/does_busines…

September 26, 2014
Does Business Risk Facing a ‘Climate Crash’?
By S. Fred Singer

With the publication of their report on climate risk, three multi-billionaires have started a campaign to frighten the public about global-warming “calamities” and to persuade business leaders to become worried about “climate risk” — all in support of the White House’s misguided efforts to treat carbon dioxide, a natural constituent of the atmosphere and a blessing to successful agriculture, as a dangerous pollutant.

I think that Singer is being generous in the use of the word “misguided” for if one simply follows the money, these sort of policies (the removal of leaded gas is another) have a whole lot more hysteria and feel-good-unbridled-spending than real-world results.

Caprizchka’s recommendations:

  1. If you’re worried about the sun, check your cholesterol levels. You want at least total cholesterol of 220 if you are under age 50…higher if you are over age 50. The skin is supposed to softly glow like fine leather. If it doesn’t, consider applying a commercial moisturizer containing cholesterol. Meanwhile, reduce all intake of polyunsaturated oils whether hydrogenated or liquid, and that includes “corn-fed” meats and dairy and all cosmetic ingredients. Polycarbonates tend to crack in the sun and under oxidative stress.
  2. If you’re worried about tobacco, ensure that you are consuming substantial amounts of saturated fat in order to protect your lungs from the particulates of the modern age with the particulates of tobacco being considerably less harmful and more beneficial than the majority of non-organic particulates such as are found in commercial air fresheners (don’t use them–your nose will thank you).
  3. If you’re worried that CO2 is going to cause the earth to warm, check the temperature data and observe that there has been no warming in 18 years but go ahead and plant a garden because that garden is just going to love that CO2 you’re worried about.

Letter to a Young Atheist Missionary

Dear Random Collection of Biological Matter, having properties similar to other collections that are located within the biosphere of the planet known as “Earth”, with some unique properties albeit at a non-statistically significant level:

I have just gotten off the phone with Sir Richard Dawkins, and he emphatically insists that although you are neither an authorized, certified, nor “real” missionary of Atheism, your efforts shall not go unnoticed nor unrewarded. He has informed me that he fervently hopes that you receive in the here and now the providence of 18 Atheist Virgins, all of whom have received a worldly education strictly limited to the breathless repetition of your name. So be it.

He has requested of me a favor—and since he asked nicely, I’ve agreed—which is to transmit to you an important message, which he has strongly assured comes from the very highest levels. Although I do not personally recognize the language of this message, I have reason to believe it is Atheist-Latin, and Dick has assured me that you will be able to understand it. I herewith faithfully render that message:

Illkay atthay itchbay, Aprizchkacay

Football! Yeah! Rah Rah! Oh Shut Up

This article reminds me of why I despise football. http://takimag.com/article/the_nfls_bashed_in_moral_compass_taki/

Make no mistake there are plenty of wonderful men who watch it and thank goodness for football because that’s my cue to take a break and even make sandwiches. The truth is I hate television in general but football just gets to me. It’s personal.

On the very first day I entered High School in New Jersey it happened to coincide with the very first day that Title IX was implemented. On that first day, I had gym class, and it was co-ed! Woot! Woot!

I had been in co-ed gym classes before—usually when one or more gym instructors were sick or on vacation. The two classes would be combined and instead of the girls picking on me mercilessly (I attended nine different school systems) the boys would flirt with me. In other words, it was a welcome reprieve. Instead of team sports, we would do something like a relay race or calisthenics, or run around a track, and I was great at all of those things.

But this class was different. As we all stood outside in the sun on the football field (“sun, you say? why that’s illegal today. We all know sun is dangerous! Oh. Blah Blah. What do you know? I have always loved the sun and the sun loves me.) the coach a.k.a. boy’s gym teacher made an announcement:

“We’re supposed to treat boys and girls exactly the same. Since I usually start the boys with football, that’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to play football.”

Inside I was terrified. Here’s something that is important to know about me. I have always been tall for my age, and strong, and muscular. I have been climbing, running, bicycling, swimming, and so on, most of my life. Here’s another thing that is important to know about me. I am lousy at team sports as it seems that I had an undiagnosed vision condition until I was aged 30, corrected by therapy. Specifically, instead of seeing life with binocular vision, I had been unconsciously alternating between my eyes. I had no sense of distance even if I didn’t know that I didn’t. I would merely panic in close quarters with lots of little females running around. I was afraid that I might hurt them! As for catching a ball, forget it. Naturally, this condition led to no end of teasing, humiliation, ostracization, etc., as it would seem that team sports are or were essential for popularity in schools. The fact that I would instantly become the academic star wherever I was positioned didn’t help at all. Worse yet, even the nerds were afraid of me.

Generally speaking, to make things worse, each time my family moved to a different school system, the demographic changed, such that, as soon as I got the hang of blending in with one culture, the culture would change.

On the first day of High School however, it was, uncharacteristically for my life, a lily-white suburban school. In other words, my effective peers. What’s more, on this day, some of the boys were actually taller than me.

Some of them were way taller. In fact, at this particular legendary gym class, grades 9 and 10 were combined. Let that sink in. I was about to play football with actual Sophomore Male Football Players!

By the way, football was never on the television in my home growing up. I didn’t even know how one played football. I had no inkling to the rules, etc. I therefore did what just came naturally to me: I stood off to the side, over by the trees, and tried to become one with the trees. Perhaps if I didn’t move a muscle, I wouldn’t be required to humiliate myself. Naturally, I didn’t even watch the game but rather daydreamed as if I was born to do just that.

Suddenly, the coach’s voice woke me from my reverie:

“Has everyone had a chance to be quarterback?”

“She hasn’t.”

“Not her.”

“That girl over there.”

“The tall blonde girl over there.”

“Her.”

At least twelve boys fingered me! No. Not that way.

Two boys walked toward me. They were going to bring me into the game!

“What do I do?” I asked. This was going to be dreadful.

“Take the ball,” said a Sophomore boy into my ear gently, “and run with it.”

“I can run,” I announced quietly yet hopefully. “When?”

“I’ll tell you,” he said, kindly.

My football career consisted of the following:

“Now!”

I ran as hard as I could straight into another male Sophomore football player, who had merely stepped in front of me.

About 5 seconds.

It was like running into an oak tree.

I fell back on to my sacroiliac and it has never been the same. I am now susceptible to piriformis syndrome such that I dare not even ride a bicycle. It is like sciatica. There is no worse pain I imagine other than say having brain surgery with no anesthetic.

Thank you Title IX!

My Cigars Saved Me!

Hooray!

I almost had a date recently. He was a very handsome and charismatic stranger who I actually met in person. I do believe he wanted to fuck my brains out. That’s an awfully nice offer at my age. I was even willing to excuse the silly cock selfie he texted me. I understood that he hadn’t actually done the research on me to realize that I’m not particularly interested in submissive men presenting anatomical offerings for my consumption. Like I said, he was really hot, with a wicked smile. I could have jumped him right then and there if we hadn’t been in public at the time.

So, I asked him, “Are cigars welcome at your establishment?”

“No.”

And that’s the last I’ve heard from him.

Whew. That was a close one.

Nothing worse than having one’s brains fucked out by a Health Nazi.

I feel so dirty and used just thinking about it. I might even have been stranded at his remote domain, far from civilization, wondering how long I’m going to have to play nice in order to safely and diplomatically make my escape. Fortunately, that didn’t happen even if the notion of being trapped in a remote location with a sexually voracious man actually makes my knees weak. It is best not to let one’s fantasy lead one into less than hospitable surroundings. Honestly, I don’t know how high class prostitutes do such things. What an adrenaline rush that profession must be.

In addition to avoiding being trapped with a Health Nazi, I also feel fortunate that, at this moment, I do not have to shower thoroughly, soothe my delicate tissues from their latex exposure by applying aloe vera, gargle with Listerine, nor worry about STD’s for six months while I wait for the hook-up-artist’s germs to “culture”.

My life might even have been saved!

On second thought, maybe he was CIA, but he wasn’t properly briefed. Ooops!

“So, all I have to do is fuck her brains out and the cock crazy bitch will reveal her sources? Sure, I can do that. Wait! You didn’t say anything about the cigars! No way. I’m out.”

They just don’t make men like they used to. Pussy.

I would prefer to never have sexual intercourse again than to deal with such brainless male bimbos. I would rather spend the evening with a man so old, so debauched, and so used up that the only way he could bring me to orgasm would be by mere words. Oh I love that! I love creative use of words and male energy. I love that even more than I love cock. Besides, there’s always my wonderful tempered glass dildo if the situation demands it. Not only is it perfect, always hard, and available upon demand, it washes spotlessly clean.

Tempered Glass Dildo

A three-inch ruler is included for perspective.

Female Programming

I am a walking library of alternative and self-administered remedies. I don’t write about them. First of all, practicing medicine without a license is illegal. Secondly, “everyone” already knows “everything” about health, medicine, and nutrition. This last goes double for self-righteous, selfish, ugly, fat people. They know that their problem is their “genes” and has nothing to do with their sense of entitlement borne out of obedience to authority and apple-polishing.

The notion that someone like me would ever marry a doctor is ludicrous. But, that’s what I did. I had thought that given that he was not just an M.D. but a PhD, and was from an entirely different background, culture, and nation would compensate for that choice. In the end, he taught me many things. However, on balance, not only did I teach him more and give him more, he will probably live longer than me as a result. I console myself that at least I still know how to love and came out with my character nearly intact. The funny thing about character is that given a choice between survival and character, most people will choose survival. As for me, I chose the survival of creatures I loved but that backfired horribly.

Nevertheless, sometimes I weigh all the pros and cons and crunch the numbers and otherwise determine that I need to compromise on my own principles. What I mean by that is that occasionally I patronize the mainstream medical establishment. The level of establishment varies but I even sometimes find myself patronizing professionals who are part of medical groups, accept insurance, and who otherwise follow standard protocols with regard to the patronization of testing laboratories. Those doctors who continuously bend the rules may find themselves being ratted out by those same laboratories. Any lack of conformity is grounds for marginalization. I try to be sensitive to that fact when I patronize such a practitioner.

First, however, there tends to be a gauntlet of forms, personal interactions, magazines, and television.

Daytime television it would appear consists of women sitting around talking to each other complimenting each other on fussy hairstyles, clothing, and manicures; and complaining about men. Their inane banter is interspersed with frightening news items, and soothing commercials.

Survival for poor women consists of being “saddled” with babies and not being able to work while spending an inordinate amount of time fussing over hair, clothing, and fingernails. Failure to conform to this stereotype would result in marginalization from both income and social acceptance among their peers.

I advise men who are not rich (and even those who are) to learn to eschew women who are overly fussy with those three things. If you want to change the world, however, I would suggest corresponding with your favorite pornography producers and ask them to start showing women who are similarly modest in appearance. Once you find a woman who you believe is capable of love over mere self-interest, ask her to give up two things for you: 1) The approval and acceptance of her peers; 2) Her television.

Just my suggestions.

Fembots In The News

I’m keeping an eye on Elizabeth Smart. I think that would be smart. I suspect that she is the latest model of Fembot—broken and then put back together as a perfect machine. Would you trust your kids to Elizabeth Smart? I wouldn’t. Asking Elizabeth Smart to teach kids how to avoid sexual predators is like asking Squeaky Fromme to give them marksmanship lessons: http://www.wowktv.com/story/26739022/elizabeth-smart-world-renowned-child-advocate-joins-modern-day-abolitionists-to-fight-child-sex-slavery

I’m thinking of going to the above described event tonight just to see what the ladies are wearing as they mount their next victim-as-leader crusade. I wonder how many plastic surgeons have their work represented in this cult of “beauty” pimped by Feminists. When did growing old become a crime?

Of course sex slavery is bad and little blonde girls are good, right? Not everything is as it seems and some crimes are performed in plain sight.

Was Brigitte Bardot another? Just seeing the pain in her eyes as she holds that fur trapper’s trap tells me that she is. (I don’t condemn the practice entirely but would prefer a more humane method.) If I link the photo, the photo bearer may object. Google her. Just reading the writing of the infamous Simone de Beauvoir on the subject, confirms my suspicions: http://bookzz.org/book/845313/0a2cf3

Here is a brave first person account of a Fembot I found on the internet. This isn’t the only one, it just particularly resonates with me (I would love to meet her): http://www.reflectionsinthenight.com/walpurgisnacht_baby.htm

Blonde Fembots, all of them, albeit those aren’t the only brands available, just the “Made in the U.S.A.” brand. The “Made in Juárez”, Mexico brand has a different market. There are many others. I wonder how long it will take before the “Made in the U.S.A.” brand of Fembot elicits more rage than trust. Neither emotion however applies. Watch your feelings when you listen to The Mighty Wurlitzer. The most effective agents are unwitting of their purpose and make small-time crooks like Anita Sarkeesian look like saints.

“How do you know which product to buy?” my mother asks me plaintively, as usual looking for youth and beauty advice, desperately trying to play the victim from her new, larger, finer home.

Perhaps I should stop dying my hair. I would and I have permission to stop, but, it helps me to feel “pretty” and that is important in terms of my duties even if arousing envy has become foolhardy in my immediate environs. I have a neighbor who epitomizes the “hot/crazy” of this video who has decided that I am a threat. She is like a peacock—beautiful to look at as she primps and poses but with a screech that takes my breath away, and formidable talons.

Pages on the internet come and go. Those which are allowed to survive are either those most easily discredited to a vapid and gullible public or are allowed to exist as a warning to anyone thinking of defecting or spilling unauthorized secrets.

For the record, I wouldn’t trust me with your kids either. I am not a role model, never mind the education, poise, sparkly hair, etc. I am yet another broken doll all put back together except this time the man who put me back together is neither a narcissist, megalomaniac, or one who desires to live forever. I owe him everything. I am glad to live long enough to know him.

My writing however is entirely my own assuming that which is inside me is now finally me—a work in progress.