We are all just children who need big government to look out for us.

The Honest Courtesan

This essay first appeared in Cliterati on December 7th; I have modified it slightly for time references and to fit the format of this blog.

British readers, enjoy this website while you can.

Queen VictoriaIn the year 2015, less than half a human generation past the end of a century which saw advances in sexual freedom (both practical and legal) unprecedented in human history, we are now well into an attempt by the powerful to roll it all back to the Victorian Era.  But while the Victorians were largely concerned about appearances and tolerated considerable debauchery in the back-streets, neo-Victorians pretend that “sin” should be eradicated everywhere for everyone, and modern surveillance methods (not to mention the erosion of the presumption of innocence) have made it easy for police and prosecutors to destroy anyone’s life with an accusation of sexcrime, even if they have to manufacture it. …

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A Feminist Sailing Story

It has been almost two years since I was generously given the gift of attendance at a women’s sailing convention. I enjoy sailing and appreciate it; however, I’m not likely to captain a yacht any time soon. Therefore, I decided to sign up for classes on cooking on a long or short voyage, navigation, and recognizing light patterns at night. I figured that skills such as these might make me a better asset on a sailing vessel if I’m not the fastest “first mate” out there.

More importantly, I appreciated the opportunity to get to know my new female friend better and to enjoy a break from my usual house frau duties.

I received a phone call from the stalwart organizer of the convention urging me to take more challenging courses. It was important to her that I be a bit more gung ho and to actually get out on the hands-on sailing class on a boat with a bunch of women. Perish the thought! I didn’t want to tell her that when I want to learn something, generally speaking, I prefer my lessons from a man. This revelation would likely have caused her to despise me and perhaps even sabotage my experience! I kept my trap shut. Then I remembered that I had motorsailed up the California coast with my ex-husband. If I have survived that, I hardly needed to have a bunch of women “gently guide me” into a sport I can’t afford. I told her the first part but held my tongue on the second.

So I learned a few things and I had fun.

The convention capped off with a dinner in which speakers spoke and awards were given. I noted that a fair number of awards were given to “women” who were born with testicles. That seemed odd to me but I kept my trap shut. If the whole point of the convention was to give more sailing opportunities to women, however, the awards were actually well-placed because this year’s key awardee was dedicated to doing just that—introducing cis women to sailing.

Apparently there are plenty of women who find being taught sailing by a man “oppressive”. Not me! However, I confess to being taken aback by lesbians who would want to “teach me” anything, to include transwomen lesbians. Thanks but no thanks.

The keynote speaker was some famous female sailor who had arms like she meant it. Impressive!

She was apparently a part of some presidential task force to teach Arab women how to sail. Naturally, we are talking about Arab countries who are warm to the prospect of lowering their birthrate (the usual objective of teaching Third World women how to do something other than make babies).

The sailor talked about the challenges of such a mission. In particular, she noticed that the Arab women didn’t seem to have enough strength for some of the activities and so she asked them what they ate. She told them that they needed to eat more protein to include meat in order to build muscles and strength. It turns out that in the households of these Arab women, the men would eat first, and whatever was left was consumed by the women, namely, meat.

This revelation caused a collective gasp among the yacht-owning ladies who lunch.

It also caused a thought to jump into my head that wouldn’t stand down and it was all I could do not to voice it. Therefore, I sensibly decided to hold my peace and simply drink more. I am voicing it now. Here it goes:

Will there now be more meat in the household so that the women will get more meat to eat? Where will this meat come from? Will the government give it to them? If not, will the men simply be expected to eat less?

If the latter, then, I guess we’ll be seeing plummeting birth rates soon what with extra-muscular Arab women and protein-starved men. That should work out well.

My generous friend and I are no longer speaking. She can’t understand how I allow myself to be so abused as to live with, serve, and love my Dominant. It probably goes without saying but I do indeed give him the choicest morsels to eat. His health and vigor is more important to our joint well-being than mine.

In most societies, the health, strength, and vigor of men are more important to keeping their society going than for the women. It is all about economizing resources not some sort of creative economics that somehow magically results in more of everything for everyone.

Feminists seem to have difficulty with math.

Feminism and History

I am inspired by a brilliant piece of writing:

I wish I could figure out how to subscribe to it. Am I an idiot or what?

“Jim” talks about feral female behavior which has somehow become the symbol of “empowerment” among feminists. Also reminds me of Simone de Beauvior’s take on Bridget Bardot’s carefully crafted persona–crafted by a man perhaps but no matter (Brigitte Bardot and the Lolita Syndrome by Simone de Beauvoir, 1962). Encouraging feral (perpetually immature) behavior among women is all part of the Cultural Marxist agenda.

In my view, feminism results “naturally” as a result of a surplus of unmarriageable women. These women might “hate men” or more likely “hate women who love men” and otherwise have created a culture where their own social loserism is considered superior. Because that’s what people do.

In short, less paternalism a.k.a. “Patriarchy” results in more feminism, demanding a rooster in every pot from a paternalistic government, as a proxy for men who actually love and care for women (and keep them in line!).

After the Civil War, WW I, WW II, a whole lot more men than women died and meanwhile advances in prenatal and postnatal care decreased death in childbirth. This resulted in a surplus of spinsters. All of them wanted a pony! They marched and got one, suffrage, when universal suffrage for men had only just been achieved in the West, as compensation for the draft. The women, however, were given no such obligation. In addition, the rights to the proceeds of their own children were granted to women, with the obligation to support said children remaining with the men. Similarly, birth control—invented by men—became “the right” of women (thanks to the effort of men) with men having no similar right. Girls just wanna have fun.

However any situation where there are more people than resources will also result in some form of feminism–it’s a population control mechanism in the end because it reduces fertility. Another population control mechanism is war wherein surplus males are basically sent off to kill each other. However, a society can hold together with just a few men and a surplus of women for the benefit of an elite class which controls most of the resources. In fact, the fewer men, the less likely there is to be a rebellion or revolution. An invasion by barbarians (males) is about all such a despot has to worry about.

Feminism therefore is also a product of megalomanical utopian schemes on the part of (usually) men. However, there’s no telling just how much their materialist, power-hungry wives drive the carefully crafted propaganda process.

Feminism also mimics livestock practices, namely, a select group of males is segregated from the females except for purposes of breeding. A large supply of breeding females creates the stock with the remainder kept for purpose of meat (along with the excess males). Within the female hierarchy, “alpha females” hold sway, beating down all other females until their age catches up to them. If they can poison upstart females against males, all the better as that further cements the alpha females’ positions of power.

Meanwhile, those men who willfully and deliberately marry feminists because they see it as a way of distributing income production tend to get their just deserts. I sympathize with such men–really–but, a mea culpa for your part in perpetuating the dysfunction would be welcome. Behind every miserable society-destroying feminist is a pussy-whipped man letting her have her way. Stop doing that!

Goodbye California — Hello Florida

When people ask me where I’m from, I usually say, “California,” as I have lived in that state more than any other and by choice, three times (twice as an adult and once as a runaway).

However, all that said, much of California turned out to be a disappointment.

For starters, I lived way too many years in the San Francisco Bay Area before discovering that Los Angeles is so much more to my liking in terms of the people, climate, sensibility, and space. Whereas San Francisco could be considered one big parking fine trap unless one takes the mythical “Number One in America” transit system (number one in delays? mechanical malfunctions? microbes? I’m at a loss). Between Progressives, the homeless, anorexics, diabetic amputees, LGBT etceteras, metrosexuals, indifferent landlords, academics, swingers, and assaulters, I can’t say who I miss more. Of course there’s also the city weather which is apparently perfect for cockroaches, Boston Ivy, and not much else. I’ve also lived in the suburbs which were irredeemable except for their weather.

When I moved back to The Bay Area from Los Angeles with my now ex-husband it was under the pretense that it would be different this time and better because I was a) married and b) well-off.

So I went back to work in The Silicon Valley and more than doubled my Los Angeles salary in the space of two years. Four years later we sold our home in The Berkeley Hills at the peak of the market and moved to Venezuela.

When I came back to the U.S. and found love, the only place left in the U.S. that seemed like home to me was Los Angeles and so we moved there.

However, after my thirteen years of being essentially in isolation or abroad, everything had changed. The biggest changes were probably a result of the smoking ban, feminism, and September 11 taken to their logical sociological conclusions. There was now nowhere to go in order to have conversations with a variety of people without being pulled into spouting the party line on health and nutrition advice. Rather, groups would tend to go out together in order to socialize with each other. Non-smokers aren’t terribly outgoing or risk-accepting when it comes to talking to strangers except at the bus stop. Men and women are now justifiably terrified of each other.

Bars are populated with nonsmokers whose only drugs left are alcohol and “hook-ups” which, as a latecomer to disco, hippie, and free love culture who made up for lost time, I can’t condemn them but, count me out, please.

I can’t believe that Los Angeles went from Richard Riordan to Gil Garcetti’s son as mayor while I’ve been gone. While I was in Los Angeles the first time around, the following events occurred:

The Rodney King Riots

The Northridge Earthquake

The O.J. Simpson trials

The Menedez Brothers trial

Circumstances have arisen wherein my Dominant and I are moving to Florida. Already there are a number of metrics that I find to be more to my liking than California; however, since I’m not in the real estate business, I don’t feel any particular compunction to elaborate except to say that cigar culture is a notable improvement. It’s also nicer to be a tad closer to Europe. If I play my cards right, I could be resuming my annual trip there one day. My passport is still good (it’s one of those older ones without the chip).

The area where we’ll be living reminds me a bit of Hawaii but without the scummy sections. At my age it cannot hurt to live a bit safer than I’ve been.

The other day I saw a rally in support of police officers. If people were to do something like that in Los Angeles they could be arrested.

My Sister-in-Common

I’ve never had a sister-in-law. My ex-husband’s sister had died long before I met him (tragic story). My Dominant, however, has a sister who has taken an interest in me.

Although she isn’t aware of the extent of our negotiated, consensual power-exchange dynamic, she has come to the conclusion that her brother is “a Neanderthal!” because I don’t work outside the home. However, being that he finally found a woman who he loves and decided to commit to (in a fashion), my sister-in-common has great hopes for me in terms of my powers to “whip him into shape.”

Moreover, she expects that I’ll act as her agent in that manner in terms of putting pressure on my Dominant to be a different person, behave in ways that add to her comfort level, and otherwise become her proxy as the mothering agent. When their mother died several years ago, she became the matriarch of the family. However, according to my Dominant, she’s always been this way.

I believe that her problem (and it is a problem in that she often appears anxious and stressed) is that she, like so many women, was told as a child that she was “intelligent” for no other reason than that she was obedient and dutifully remembered and believed what the teacher and textbooks told her. A girl like that is likely to continue her “education,” with women’s magazines and television, and to absorb all “lessons” she encounters therein. It is obvious to me, that the major lesson then as now (we’re both in our fifties) is that women are smarter than men and men are just little boys who need their mommies to tell them what to do. What they need to do is to pursue “The American Dream,” regardless of how unfulfilling that may be. A woman, on the other hand, who fails to “whip her man into shape,” is pitied by her meddling, nagging, haranguing, schoolmarm-like “sisters”.

Some of her discoveries lately are as follows:

  1. I do not know his location at all times.
  2. I don’t like to bother him when he’s working.
  3. I do what he tells me to do because he is “right” 99% of the time, and takes responsibility for his errors the other 1% of the time.
  4. I don’t persuade him to pursue “The American Dream,” and would rather live in some version of “poverty” and uncertainty than to be saddled with the responsibilities therein.
  5. I am not her agent even if her intentions are the best, that is, to lengthen his life by reducing his acceptance of risk. I would never want to “castrate” him at any time even if he were to supposedly live longer as a result. (In my view, it would just seem longer.)

Testosterone increases tolerance of risk. I understand that I may have high testosterone for a woman. Submitting to a man who runs his life his own way in maverick fashion might be more of a risk than most women want to shoulder. Most Western men and women in fact seem to value conformity and longevity over living an authentic, original life. I understand how parenthood can shape that equation, which, in my view, is the reason why ordinary citizens are pressured by religious and other types of thought leaders to “be fruitful and multiply” as opposed to “reproduce responsibly.” The presence of children clips the wings of most mavericks.

I’m sure it is difficult for her as she discovers that my presence in her brother’s life is not particularly moderating or taming. Rather, my major contributions to his life are to feed, nurture, comfort, entertain, and obey him. In my view, that beats “The American Dream,” by a long shot.

I suspect that another reason for her anxiety is that she is taking estrogen. She—like so many women—has been sold the pack of lies that estrogen is somehow “good” or “youth-promoting.” As far as I can tell in my research, the only thing “youthful” about estrogen is menstruation and mood swings. Estrogen readies the female body for pregnancy as part of the menstrual cycle, which causes weight gain and mood swings. However, faulty studies have “proven” that estrogen lowers cholesterol (and the myth is that cholesterol contributes to heart disease—it doesn’t) and therefore estrogen is one of the treatments that are given to both men and women with heart disease under the mistaken notion that artificially lowering cholesterol is healthy. Estrogen is supposed to maintain healthy bones; however, androgens are far more useful in maintaining bones which is why fewer men than women get osteoporosis. Estrogen is also supposed to maintain healthy vaginal tissue, and there’s some truth to that in that by preparing the body for pregnancy, estrogen increases tissue; however, so does testosterone and human growth hormone but without the mood side effects.

Rather than taking estrogen, I recommend to post-menopausal women to explore the benefits of testosterone and progesterone. By the way, there’s several ways for a woman in a loving heterosexual relationship to get a dose of testosterone however, to describe them might reveal just how “abused” (or rather lucky) I am.

Charlie Hebdo: Lowering The Bar For Humanity.

I don’t think that any of us should be required to “like” any particular ideology however attacking it only makes sense when both parties are on the same playing field, and thereby allowing rebuttal in kind. Of course, rebuttal in kind, attacking Judaism rhetorically, or even questioning anything about The Holocaust narrative is illegal in France, even if the speaker is an adherent of Judaism him or herself.

Stealing the “baby Jesus” from the Vatican is more of the same. Two religions are apparently ripe for parody and derision and other acts of “free speech”, and one isn’t.

Of course, insulting any religion is poor taste. Denying persons their purpose and meaning in life is an act of war and should be expected to bring on retaliation whether one is cloaked in “victim garb” or bare-chested. It is only certain types of Christians who “turn the other cheek,” and otherwise insist on remaining blissfully ignorant of certain facts of life.

In addition, I expect that weapons, surveillance, and protection technology stock benefited from this event, while citizen privacy expectations just took a nosedive. I expect that this event may also cause France to reconsider their stance in not purchasing street-surveillance technology; i.e., a camera on every street corner. When events such as these unfold, I think, “Qui Bono?” and wonder whether Hebdo just committed suicide on purpose–yet another suicide bomber martyr with a payoff to survivors. How was his health at the time? It’s a rhetorical question.

Actionable Adventures!

In a race to the bottom, *Charlie Hebdo and his murderers pave the way.  In the next five minutes, I’ll tell you how.  

*Charlie Hebdo is a magazine composed of many people.   Instead of naming one, I use the name as an all-encompassing term for the writers and staff there.



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An Appeal to the Taliban

It has indeed all been a great big lie.

Frank Davis

I’ve been thinking about antismokers a bit today. And thinking that they’re all a bit naive and simpleminded and suffering from groupthink.

I think anyone who thinks they can tell other people how to live their lives is a bit naive and simpleminded. You don’t have to read very much history to discover that doing that kind of thing is not very much appreciated. For instance, Catholics don’t much like being told what they should believe by Protestants. And vice versa. Same with Jews and Muslims. Same with communists and capitalists. Same with more or less anything that people believe or don’t believe about more or less anything at all.

But antismokers somehow seem to think that they can walk into everybody’s life and declare through a megaphone:

‘Listen everybody! You must stop smoking! And you must stop smoking now! Apart from that, please carry on as before.’

In what…

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This is my way of smudging my blog in my attempt to repel the do-gooder, rhetoric-regurgitating, health nazis:

Frank Davis

Richard White, author of Smoke Screens, replies point by point to Chris Snowdon (CATCH-1).

The Case for the Defence.

The points raised by Hill are all valid, but that doesn’t necessarily mean the smoking studies are valid.

1. Strength: Hill gave the example of chimney sweeps and scrotal cancer which found a relative risk (RR) of 200 (ie. they were 200 times more likely to get this rare disease). Such a relative risk was so large that it required no epidemiological study. It was observable to the naked eye, as it were?as obvious as finding the association between mining and coughing, or being a woman and enjoying Sex in the City. The lung cancer-smoking link (from hereafter “the smoking theory” just to wind up any ASH supporters) is not quite as large as that?hardly any are?but it is generally in the region of 5 to 20, always greater…

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The Little Red Riding Hoods

[Another reprint from my other blog.]

Once upon a time there were three little girls. There was Shirley, the eldest; Trixie, the youngest; and Maude in the middle. They were beautiful, smart, and successful. One day, they were sitting around Maude’s apartment wondering what to do with themselves, when suddenly Maude had an idea:

“I know. Let’s all get dressed up and go visit my Granny. She tells great stories. She also bakes these fantastic cookies. She’ll be delighted to see us,” she said.

“How will we get there?” asked Shirley.

“We can walk through the woods together,” said Maude.

“But aren’t there wolves in the woods?” asked Trixie.

“Not to worry,” answered Maude. “We can walk together. The three of us will be invincible.”

“OK,” said Trixie. “What shall we wear?”

“Let’s all wear those new red capes we bought!” piped Shirley.

“Excellent!” cried Trixie.

“OK,” agreed Maude.

So the ladies got themselves all dressed up to go out. Shirley wore a pretty pink tutu with lovely pink ballet shoes. Maude wore a tight leather mini skirt with stiletto heels and a tight blouse with a push-up bra. Trixie put on a micro mini dress made out of some new synthetic fabric that hugged her in all the right places and a perfect pair of designer pumps with four inch heels.

They admired themselves together in the mirror. Shirley started to cry:

“Does this pink tutu make me look fat?” she asked.

“Oh no! You’re perfect!” said Maude.

Trixie just laughed to herself.

“Here, Shirley,” she said. “Try it with your cape.”

The three little girls all put on their capes and Shirley felt a little better. Off they went.

The woods was deep and dark. The little girls were just a bit nervous walking.

However, little did they know, three handsome princes saw them set off and decided to follow them at a distance. After all, you never know what trouble three little girls can get into.

They were: Jim, the eldest; Jack, the youngest; and Joe, in the middle.

“Let’s take my Porsche,” offered Jim.

After some time, the girls came upon Grandma’s trailer, nestled in the woods. The three little girls noted that it was a bit shabby, but clean.

“I smell cookies!” squealed Trixie.

Suddenly, Maude froze in her tracks.

“Oh no!” she cried.

The other girls looked to see what Maude saw. There was a big old rusty pickup truck parked outside. The truck was marked in big block letters: “Wolf General Construction.”

“What shall we do?” asked Shirley.

“We’ll rescue Grandma!” cried Maude.

“How will we do that?” asked Trixie.

“We’ll barge right in there and SHAME that wolf,” cried Maude. And in they barged.

There in the trailer was a most gruesome site. The first thing the little girls noticed was Grandma, tied to the bed, covered in bleeding red welts, a huge ball gag in her mouth, spread-eagled, with some vile liquid oozing from her open snatch.

And then they saw the wolf. He was HUGE, covered in black fur, with a gigantic pulsing erection.

“You are a rapist!” screamed Maude.

The wolf growled.

“You haven’t been properly educated!” cried Trixie.

“You’re too old for this!” screeched Shirley.

Just then, in burst the three handsome princes.

“Oh my God!” said Joe, and quickly fell to his knees.

“Me first!” cried Jack and pulled down his pants.

“Out of my way, you bitches!” cried Jim, pursing his lips and mincing.

Seeing that the wolf was distracted, Maude worked quickly to free Grandma from her bonds. Grandma’s face was all red, she had to move fast. Finally, she removed the ball gag.

“Get the fuck out of here!” cried Grandma. “You were supposed to come tomorrow!”

Meanwhile, the wolf looked down at the three men, who were trying so hard to appear enticing to him and here is what he said:


Copyright 2013 Caprizchka