Self-Sacrifice as Virtue

Martyrdom is only a powerful force in society if the narrative of a martyr is promoted as heroic or religious myth. In the case of the RMS Titanic disaster, a much celebrated myth with no connection to maritime law arose:

Women and children first.

Perhaps this myth was promoted for public relations purposes by the passenger ships.

In other maritime disasters, women tended to fare poorly. According to a study by Mikael Elinder and Oscar Erixson of Uppsala University, a more accurate cliché is the following:

Every man for himself.

This just goes to show that for most men, women and children are a luxury to be enjoyed during good times rather than a life necessity beyond the mere sexual.

Hence, self-sacrifice among men is generally framed as a duty under State, Church, or ideology, with such duty often enforced at the barrel of a gun. In addition, there might be a reward by way of payment for services, or the possibility of social advancement through glory, assuming that one survives the experience; or payment to the survivors if not.

Alternatively, civilian life might offer so few rewards that the adventure itself is the reward.

Who then is to promote self-sacrifice among women as virtue when even the slightest limit on a woman’s choices is framed as “Patriarchy?” Other women is who.

Essentially, women police other women to ensure that the social behaviors of the particular circle are maintained as a standard. Men will also police other men.

Meanwhile, martyrdom of women being severely psychologically wounded (that is raped and degraded) at the hands of Jihadists is surely beginning to penetrate popular consciousness. However actual deaths at the hands of Jihadists are surely higher on men. Besides, paradoxically, women tend to distance themselves from female victims except to promote convenient political narratives.

In a sense, withstanding the advances of these rapefugees is being framed as necessary civilian sacrifice in service to the noble objective of “compassion”.

Exploitation of women by the narratives promoted by other women well exceeds anything that non-Islamic heterosexual men can devise.

I am one of the few voices so far who dares to include within Jihad the largely overlapping movements of La Raza and Black Lives Matter. Given that we have a Catholic Pope who is an Islamic appeaser, as well as the reality that oil producing nations in Latin America are politically subordinate in terms of oil economics to Mideast interests, La Raza becomes a weapon of Jihad whether by default or design. Drug economics also play a role in terms of the rise of Hispanic gangs in the U.S. and throughout Latin America, along with cooperation with Islamic-based drug trafficking.

Myriad pressures of rival gang activity to include outright genocide, the flood of drugs themselves, and lack of entry-level jobs for citizens together put a terrible pressure on the Black American community to convert to Islam, and for lower class Whites to adopt the mantle of the supposed menace of White male fraternal societies. All directed rage on the part of Whites creates the boogieman with which all grievance politics dance.

In addition, a fair amount of both funding and personnel in Black Lives Matter has an Islamic flavor, with cop killers thus far being overwhelmingly Islamic influenced. A lot of that conversion occurs in prison.

Similarly, Communist/Socialist elements to include Feminism and LGBT advocacy by default or design serve Islamic creep by hamstringing competitive interests such as Fundamentalist Christianity.

Meanwhile, other Christian and Jewish organizations are receiving funding from multiple sources in order to relocate Islamic “refugees” into the West.

It would almost seem that the rhetoric of these advocacy groups is incidental toward an Islamic objective or “creep” throughout society. Even Atheism or the supposed religious neutrality of Western governments is being used to disproportionately elevate Islam into protected status.

Anti-Smoking and other Healthism serves an Islamic creep objective by eliminating ways for non-Islamic male-dominated socialization to occur. This rhetorical imposition of silence and submission onto non-Islamic men effectively forces a rhetorical martyrdom upon them, right along with a very real economic marginalization, until learned helplessness and suicide together accomplish a slow genocide.

A society that provides no limits in female choice, whether in consumerism, sexuality, commitment, political power, spiritual beliefs, or loyalty vs. conciliation with rival interests basically makes that society ever more vulnerable to invasion. Therefore, bestowing unlimited choice among females of a particular society is effective martyrdom of the entire society.

Assuming women are even capable of making choices that even benefit themselves or society at large is a projection based on myth, consumerism, and Democracy.

Ironically, women through their own professed sexual fantasies and erotica geared toward them, desire to be subjugated sexually and every other way by powerful men. However these desires compete with what they are told that they want by major media and advertising. Moreover, the myth that rebellious hoodlums are preferred by self-proclaimed “sluts” over gentlemen, ignores the reality that “the third option”, that is a strict patriarchal leader, is infinitely more arousing to the majority of women, all rhetoric to the contrary. However, such a creature is increasingly rare.

Those who are not already as busy as they can handle are being driven out of The West, sacrificed, or forced into hiding.

In the face of the strong irrational desires which guide most women, attempts to appeal to women using rationality with regard to the creeping threat of Islamification are bound to fail. Simply promoting Christianity and societies and governments created under it as being “more respectful” toward women than Islam is not going to be effective. Rather, the very fear mongering with regard to the supposed criminality of Christian Patriarchy is its own pornography. Therefore rationalizations are almost counterproductive or even self-fulfilling prophecy. Furthermore, if the “moral” arguments for according special status to Islam comes with the threat of marginalization for all who disobey, then women, who depend more on society’s approval than men do, are going to reject countering arguments outright, regardless of how reasonable they might be, unless they come from authority.

An example of such a rationalization:

(My comment.)

Harems are inevitable without large scale female martyrdom. Are they to be government harems or Islamic harems? Men are going to assign outcomes to women, and not likely through mere rhetoric. Rather, the most aggressive are going to win out over the gentlemanly reasonable. In a sense, authority represents the most aggressive viewpoint even if the official rhetoric is mere “tolerance” for that aggression.

How many women would prefer to be able to choose both non-Islamic and non-Feminist servitude rather than be conquered by Islam? My guess is that, paradoxically, those most likely to speak up on behalf of their own desires have the least amount of both rationality and humility. A woman such as myself, for instance, has very few romantic chances in the way of incentive to promote my own humility. I therefore speak my mind. It is my own way of self-sacrifice for a greater good.

I doubt that I will achieve either glory or reward for this…on Earth.




Give Me Liberty or Give Me Death

Remembering Patrick Henry:

I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided, and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of the future but by the past. And judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been in the conduct of the British ministry for the last ten years to justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves and the House. Is it that insidious smile with which our petition has been lately received? Trust it not, sir; it will prove a snare to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our petition comports with those warlike preparations which cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled that force must be called in to win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the implements of war and subjugation; the last arguments to which kings resort. I ask gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array, if its purpose be not to force us to submission? Can gentlemen assign any other possible motive for it? Has Great Britain any enemy, in this quarter of the world, to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies? No, sir, she has none. They are meant for us: they can be meant for no other. They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains which the British ministry have been so long forging. And what have we to oppose to them? Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been trying that for the last ten years. Have we anything new to offer upon the subject? Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light of which it is capable; but it has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication? What terms shall we find which have not been already exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves. Sir, we have done everything that could be done to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned; we have remonstrated; we have supplicated; we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and Parliament. Our petitions have been slighted; our remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult; our supplications have been disregarded; and we have been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the throne! In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room for hope. If we wish to be free– if we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges for which we have been so long contending–if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained–we must fight! I repeat it, sir, we must fight! An appeal to arms and to the God of hosts is all that is left us!

Give Me Liberty Or Give Me Death

When tyranny is a woman, what then?

It is no wonder that it is primarily women who are opposed to legal arms, for guns in The West are more often used in suicide than murder.

It is no wonder that it is primarily women who under the guise of MADD (Mothers Against Drunk Driving) instituted a police state of random stops, blockades, “Papers Please,” and bureaucracy to prevent men from enjoying themselves among themselves without a schoolmarm present to police their speech.

It is no wonder that it is primarily women who engage in smoking cessation propaganda dissemination and other tobacco elimination tactics, while curiously resistant to the math of a bureaucracy which depends on taxation of the very vice that swells its coffers.

The U.S. Civil War was funded by liquor taxes. Were Unionist women jealous of Confederate women for having a field of men who appeared to serve them? (Only the tiniest minority of Confederate women, by the way.)

It would seem that any energy expended in something that does not directly benefit the Feminocracy must be outlawed under pain of incessant nagging. Surely war would seem to be a preferable outcome to their husbands.

It is no wonder that it is primarily women who engage in Health Nannyism of all sorts to prevent the possibility that somewhere a man is enjoying his food rather than catering to the Feminocracy in dull, dour, or “rabbit diet” austerity.

At what point will women cease this relentless drive to enslave men and all women who appeal to men’s rebellious and independently-driven natures?

When women and men are segregated from each other into government harems and cannon fodder, respectively, in the quest for a Globalist Socialist Caliphate? Only the most ruthless in each camp will survive. Then what?


My Boyfriend Wants a Threesome! What Should I do?

Every once in a while I subject myself to the crap that most young women are reading to the detriment of society. I do this in order to keep my finger on the pulse of this pathetic trajectory.

This article inspires me: What Men REALLY Want When They Ask For A “THREESOME”

Here’s a taste:

For a guy who’s spoken for, threesomes seem like a relatively accessible form of sexual adventure, says Carol Queen, Ph.D., staff sexologist for Good Vibrations. He gets to double up on all the things he loves to do between the sheets, while also doubling up on his favorite fantasies: sex with two women and girl-on-girl action. Threesomes are basically the dude version of walking in a new pair of Jimmy Choos while eating cake.

Stop the world. I want to get off. Wearing impossibly expensive shoes that likely won’t survive a year while stuffing one’s face with flour, sugar, eggs, water, and baking powder, frosted with more sugar with perhaps a little plastic blended in for smoothness? This is what young women think is “sexual adventure”?

How repulsive.

Now it is time for a different and probably illegal counterpoint.

First of all, I’ve lost count as to how many threesomes I’ve participated in, with the majority being two females, one male. The very best ones I’ve participated in were driven by me and a girlfriend, that is, we discovered it was pretty fun to essentially take a man by surprise, assuming he was receptive, which was the case by definition.

Us two girls were pretty good friends, both pretty strange, and pretty hot. She had curly strawberry blonde hair and more toward “curvy” in the sexy rather than modern sense of the word, plus freckles, whereas I played up more of the tanned, straight blonde hair, “Amazon” thing. We had a lot of fun until various life events tore us apart.

I have no regrets with that last. Like most females of my past, she expected me to be the one to shoulder responsibility for outcomes as well as lead us into adventures, that is, she like so many women today, punished me for my leadership without following my direction when it counted. No one forced her to follow me and furthermore I never submitted myself to her leadership. To the women of my generation, it’s all egalitarianism all the time or nothing. No thanks.

Anywho, although I have zero interest in any more lesbian experiences with females, I know that a lot of men like it, and so I would do it, for the right guy, as an exercise in exhibitionism and submission. However, if the point of such an exchange is that us two females are to somehow form a household together? I would just assume not. I can share just fine without having sex with another woman. How about you two go play without me? Invite one of her girlfriends to join you!

That would be way better than being burned by yet another woman and having to stomach either servicing her or her trying to get me into a vulnerable position. That’s just how it is. Besides, I really could go for the rest of my life without receiving any more cunnilingus. I’d submit to it, again, as an exercise in exhibitionism and submission, for the right guy. If I have anything to say about it however, I would just assume that if cunnilingus is going to happen it is by ‘him’ not yet some other ‘her’ with an agenda. If I were to submit to it, it would be for his benefit, rather than my own. As to whether or not I would be able to orgasm, that would depend on whether my anatomy responds to his technique. Period. So, enjoy the taste, Sir, if that’s what you want, and if you’d like to learn what works and what doesn’t, please try not to hurt me non-erotically in the process. Thanks.

So, back to the article. Say he wants a threesome, and is capable of seducing two women himself in order to realize this experience for himself. I say, “Go for it.” I’ll take that night off to wax my legs or something. If I am in a serious relationship with him it is because I trust his judgment. Otherwise, we would not be in such a relationship.

Say he wants a threesome, and wants me to be a part of it. I am going to have learn what his objectives and fantasy are, that is, whether if I am to be an actor for purposes of demonstrating my submission to him while engaging my exhibitionistic side for him? Or whether this is a step toward some sort of more permanent three-way relationship.

Say he wants a threesome, and wants me to find the other woman. Yeah right. That’s just not going to happen. Can it be done? I wouldn’t know as it is impossible to prove a negative only that my insight into the female mind has been proven to be highly inaccurate. Would I give it a shot as an exercise in submission and exhibitionism? Sure. I’ve done it before, however, my record is somewhere on the level of one out of a hundred times? Chances are, if the man and I are in a relationship, his own success level with women would well exceed mine. Most of the females with whom I have partaken some sort of sexual activity volunteered for it, and I went along.

As for what goes on in other womens’ minds? I can’t speak for them, and would really prefer these days not to have to find out personally. The media geared toward women is repulsive enough for me.



Shit Tested

After over a week of shit-testing (in the original sense rather than PUA-eeze) my brains have been too scrambled to write well. I expect a recovery eventually. Meanwhile, I’ve been on a tight schedule which all shit-tested facets of my personality have to perform simultaneously.

Try it. See if you do it faster and I’ll wait while you count facets.

When I ask people how they think I’ve managed my world travels? The answer is usually contextual. Do you, Dear Reader, imagine that I’m the “tour group” type? PuhLEEZ.

When one is walking through a new, rough, neighborhood such as say a ghetto or barrio, one has to quickly adopt the local lingo:

“Once I get off your block, Big Daddy, I do not mean to traffic with y’all. All yo hos are without my competition. I ain’t hookin’ on dis street. You da Big Daddy in town, Baby!”

Just kidding. I would never talk that way to a street pimp! That could be suicidal!

Just like a scene from Kill Bill or Coffy, the pimp big timers cherish a conversation with a woman who doesn’t work for either him, his compatriots, or his competition in some capacity.

I once got picked up hitch-hiking in Detroit by a right-hand-driving Rolls Royce with “pimp archetype” at the wheel. The gentleman merely wanted to converse with me and give me a ride for that conversation, because, as everyone from my era knows it’s:

Ass, Gas, or Grass. Nobody rides for free.

I am paying today in interest for all my free rides in life, because conversation is completely worthless to most people today. Living a fully developed life entirely online is way safer.

My Detroit pimp ride occurred years before the film, Doctor Detroit came out—and by the way, I’ve race-walked—and so an important man in my life with a great sense of humor went positively nuts when I told him this story. Why? It was fucking hilarious but he was afraid to laugh. Most Western Women can’t handle being laughed at, it would seem.

What are the odds that along would come a woman into his life who once was picked up hitch-hiking on the loop in Detroit by a flamboyant pimp? Mine was Black. Dan Akroyd is White. I wasn’t race-walking at the time because walking fast backwards with one’s arm into traffic with the thumb out is difficult enough without thrusting one’s hips back and forth. I’m sure that would make a great movie too except that somebody would try it.

I’m not saying that the Black, beplumed driver that picked me up hitch-hiking would have thrown me out if I started taking off my clothes, only that he was very gentlemanly. Otherwise, I probably wouldn’t have gotten into his car. Besides, this particular Rolls did not have a roof. I figured if I had to I could just jump out.

The place where I had been dropped off by my previous ride, a semi-tractor-trailer, was dicey, in heavy traffic, and otherwise safer to exit the loop quickly rather than hang out like a sitting duck for purse snatchers, violent psychotics, and con jobs of all sorts. Like I said, he was gentlemanly and so I got in. My heart was pounding but otherwise it was a nice conversation. This was a very long time ago.

The aforementioned audience of my telling of this Detroit Pimp Ride story started calling me ‘Doctor Detroit’ once I finished telling it. Not for very long, fortunately. Hardly anyone gets the joke, but those who do, want to guffaw in the worst say. I wonder if holding all that pressure inside hurts.

Yes, I do own some tight red shorts which are a little too short.

I stopped hitch-hiking after the various psycho killer stories started coming out in the news. Realistically, my odds of getting killed by a psycho killer were not significant, except as a self-fulfilling prophecy or juggernaut which starts out with ordinary garden-variety wackos taking the opportunity to take pot shots at me until a crowd of them gather to watch and learn how easy it is; while meanwhile, nice people are too terrified to pick up hitch-hikers, and so I was a sitting duck. A good time to stop hitch-hiking.

As this trend develops, one has sort of a “broken window syndrome,” except that it isn’t just a city scape which is affected, but rather everyone who watches television news worldwide.

Character degrades when everyone is considered “fair game” because after all psycho killers are doing it on television, and therefore there must be a psycho killer on every corner, so here’s my big chance to be the first psycho killer on this block. This could be my lucky day. Look! It’s a female tourist with a purse! Lottery! Jackpot! This purse will change my life!

Once a violence spree reaches the public’s consciousness, the idea that not everyone would be terrified of such a prospect doesn’t occur to the average Joe. Those who are not terrified must be beyond fear in some way. Most people who are beyond fear are desperate; ergo, a female hitch-hiker must be desperate to even risk the slightest inconvenience never mind being stored live in a coffin under a bed upon which a couple sleeps for about a decade, floating with limbs and head hacked off in a body of water trussed up like a turkey, Shanghaied into a cult that smears blood on rival drug-dealer’s walls while pretending that it’s a race war, killed and then stuck in a wooden chest until the fluids start to ooze through the floorboards by a “Go” fanatic, made into a chained sex-slave, or worse, squeezed into the backseat of a car holding four men in dark suits while being forced to pick out horses on a racing form or risk groans of displeasure (true!).

Don’t try this with me. I warn you guys. I have an unbroken streak of picking out losers. Don’t be fooled by the golden hair. I lay eggs rather than say hop about on craps tables, but if you cut me open, there won’t be a clutch of golden eggs. I’m old! Cooking also doesn’t help. The only thing that helps is Grey Goose martinis, with olives, as that loosens my lips with actual useful information rather than say a kaleidoscope of alter egos moving seamlessly in and out of metaphor.

I’ve had loads of contacts with pimps in my life, but only three “pure” archetypes of pimp, that is the Black Dude with The Hat, with a big old feather in it, matching coat, and otherwise standing out like a sore thumb. It is dangerous to stand out like a sore thumb.

Standing out like a sore thumb is not a good plan for the type who has an inability to manage self-risk, such as passive sick persons, or anyone who takes a handful of prescriptions daily in order to keep their nice insurance companies, the bureaucracy, or both in business.

Soft and fluffy infants ought not to try living my life even if it looks like great fun to wear a funny hat and then strut down the street of a neighborhood you don’t hardly know while wearing hardly anything. Yay! It’s Halloween every day! Lots of treats!

Uh. No.

When I do it, that is, walk through some new marginal neighborhood where I’m uncertain whether I’ll be able to understand the accent, I adjust my approach intuitively, whether to look as if I have nothing to lose or whether an assailant might assume that it is foolhardy to mess with me. Most criminals go for the easy target, but, there’s also such a thing as too easy.

Just like a scene from the movie, Men in Black, what’s that little blonde doing with the heavy books walking through this neighborhood at night? This is too easy. Or as Blanche Dubois says:

I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.

Nobody expects a mere tourist to be carrying a gun or hand-grenade. Few tourists expect to understand what a gang of small children can do, with the most trifling of “weapons”. I do.

Each television into a poor person’s home represents a window to opportunity, to grab the brass or gold ring as one just happens to deliver itself to The Hood, express service. Better yet, send the kids to go get it.

Even the laugh track builds tension, then releases it, tension, then release. The television is its own Shit Test, with the eventual outcomes being either stupor, cynicism, or rage, given enough exposure such as would occur when one is locked in a room with it while under the influence of strong anti-psychotics delivered at the maximum prescribed dose by a doctor with a sadistic streak.

I’m just talking here about ordinary television. As for extraordinary television with built-in infrared lasers, why that’s ridiculous. It’s preposterous. Who would have heard of such a fantastic thing? Impossible. Improbable. No such thing. Almost like saying that hypnosis can ever be used non-therapeutically or against the patient’s will or that mosquito drones exist. All human beings have free will. There are no mosquito drones! Fairy tales!

Some people avoid street cameras and others look for them. Some people are capable of clouding men’s minds so that they cannot be seen by them even on camera. ‘Where? Where is she? Oh there! How did you get by me?’


I’ve spent a fair amount of time in the company of magicians. One time, I was supposed to be in one place in Chicago but was actually in another watching musicians do car tricks,  I mean card tricks, along with a colleague who had lent me her dress which fit like a glove. That’s when I realized that my body best fit into Black womens’ dresses and the real bargains in that regard were in the worst sorts of neighborhoods. That was a long time ago. Another time, it was impossible that I should be in Chicago, but I was.

I was supposed to be in San Mateo! At the No-Tell Mitel, I mean motel. Don’t be ridiculous, preposterous. What kind of a girl do you think I am?

As far as I can remember, I’ve only been in Chicago three times. A certain “pimp-like” Chicago Seven veteran thought I was pretty hot one of those times. He tried a line on me that I’m sure worked on thin young Blonde girls at least some of the time.

It’s all a matter of the numbers. If one approach works, say, one out of ten times, it’s at least as good a risk as wearing a lucky hat, buying a few of them, and then giving some of them away to random strangers who bear a slight resemblance.





Excess Guilt

When unmarried women “of a certain age” outnumber available men, it would seem that a peculiar psychological effect occurs. This, to me, would be the widespread social expectation of guilt for the straits of these “ladies”. It’s an anti-sexual, emasculating effect which affects everyone, including persons belonging to other demographics. I believe that it is the primary driving force behind Feminism, to include “rape culture”.

While certainly greedy persons not belonging to this demographic may choose to encourage, fan, foster, and exploit it, it is a case of the truism: for every excess biomass there exists a predator. (Paraphrased from memory from Against the Grain: How Agriculture Has Hijacked Civilization by Richard Manning.)

Fortunately, there are a few generous men who make it their business to service this demographic, and by “business” I don’t necessarily mean monetarily although of course that’s the case as well. For Axel, it was more like “a hobby”.

Since I am in good physical health, apparently still attractive to men, and am in the upper echelon of measurable intelligence, I too am supposed to feel guilty for utterances which do not take into account the surplus of victims of all sorts in my midst. At the least, I am frequently admonished of this. Since I am a white female, I am assumed to be privileged by extension unless I am physically deformed, stupid, or gay. Well, those privileges ran out some time ago and therefore if I were to pretend to “virtue-signal” it is likely to come out hollow. That doesn’t stop the ironically “paternal” admonishments that I should start to do so. I wonder if any of these busybodies will even notice if I end up homeless in a ditch due to lack of opportunities for my less-than-capable-of-farming-pity self.

Of course, men have it worse.

At least there are still a few men who make it their business to cater to the likes of me, sometimes to obscene degree, and then wonder why their fawning obsequiousness doesn’t result in my sexual arousal. Does excessive flattery work on other women?

As for the prevailing abundance of gigolos, I’m just not interested, even if I could afford them. I’ve had it too good already to settle for anything less than stellar besides.

Since most people don’t have the attention span to bother to probe beneath the top layer of an archetype, represented by appearance, class, and origin, I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised that various local men are starting to get up their courage to give me a shot. After repeated casual exposure I must look like a reasonable prospect.

It doubtless does not even occur to them that I have led the broad and exotic life that I’ve led and therefore merit a degree of caution. I find that men who are not in the least bit cautious about me earn my disdain. There is every reason to be cautious of anyone with my broad experiences. The big question is, of the pool of men willing to take the plunge and who exhibit the proper caution, how many of them are off the scale in terms of Dark Triad characteristics?

Are these not the very men who have developed resistance to the prevailing climate of guilt? I don’t doubt that enslaving men outright is next on the agenda. The idea that their “mistresses” will be either wise or capable is ludicrous. Should the tables be turned, I hope that I am either found to be of use or quietly put out of my misery.



The Insidious Clitoris

If you’ve been reading my blog and still haven’t gotten seriously pissed off at me then this piece ought to do it.

Since Dr. Alfred Kinsey, and further hammered into our heads by Masters and Johnson, and all the opportunistic imitators they inspired, Science Hath Determined that the only way for a woman to orgasm is by direct or indirect stimulation of the clitoris.

Specifically, Sigmund Freud, a cigar smoker and a Jew, was wrong:

According to Freud, “Elimination of clitoral sexuality is a necessary precondition for the development of femininity, since it is immature and masculine in its nature.”[141] Freud postulated the concept of “vaginal orgasm” as separate from clitoral orgasm, achieved by external stimulation of the clitoris. In 1905, he stated that clitoral orgasms are purely an adolescent phenomenon and that, upon reaching puberty, the proper response of mature women is a change-over to vaginal orgasms, meaning orgasms without any clitoral stimulation. This theory has been criticized on the grounds that Freud provided no evidence for this basic assumption, and because it made many women feel inadequate when they could not achieve orgasm via vaginal intercourse alone.[142][143][144][145]

Anyone so evil as to make women feel inadequate ought to be gassed at the least!

Kinsey, on the other hand, was a pedophile who hired convicted sex criminals to fondle infants.

Source: Kinsey was a fraud

Women are superior in every way therefore to make women feel inadequate is a sin!

At the least it is a curse from God.

So there you have it.

Any orgasm that does not involve direct or indirect stimulation of the clitoris is not a real orgasm and therefore a woman who orgasms in the non-State-approved manner could not possibly be a real woman.

To the rescue:

Orgasmic new trend sees women paying £147 to have their vaginas rubbed by strangers

I have something to confess here and that is that I didn’t like it. Because I didn’t like it, the practitioner thought I ought to see a psychiatrist. Mind you, having PTSD on my part wasn’t a problem for him. My problem is that I didn’t like his “treatment” (as perfectly described in the above link).

Perhaps since I didn’t pay for it, I didn’t fully buy into it. Well, that’s not exactly right. I did pay but not in the usual way.

Payment for treatment, by the way, represents the Freud model of psychoanalysis, that is, if you are not paying for it then you are not fully buying into it.

Nowadays, all sorts of charitable and taxpayer-supported organizations offer free psychotherapy.

Excessive stimulation of the clitoris, like any excessive stimulation, can become addictive. I resist becoming such an addict.

Can State-Sanctioned Psychoanalysis Become Addictive?

Of course it can.

Lighting up.

Roosh Falsely Accused

It is not only women who make false accusations. Sometimes it is anonymously run websites like this one:

Sometimes it is a BBS puff piece where the narrator repeatedly tells us that Roosh is a bad person, without establishing why:

And sometimes it is men’s rights activists:

Media creates phony narrative to dub RooshV an “MRA” #GamerGate #ReturnOfKings #MRA #MRAs

Men’s right’s activists and anyone else fighting against Feminism are perfectly entitled to distance themselves from Roosh for any reason, but calling him a “confessed rapist” doesn’t make sense to me.

Here’s some of the “confessed rapes” within the anonymous website that the above article links to:

(Painstakingly transcribed from a “Social Media” screen capture that cannot be selected from: Few of the atrocious rapes that RooshV admits to )

“Her tiny size really hit me when she took off her heels. I asked her how much she weighed. “Thirty-five kilograms” (77 pounds). Besides her surprisingly round ass, she had the body of a gymnast who didn’t quite make it past puberty. I got down her bra and panties, but she kept saying “No! No!”

I was so turned on by her beauty and petite figure that I told myself she’s not walking out my door without getting fucked. At that moment I accepted the idea of getting locked up in a Polish prison to make it happen.

I put her on her stomach and I went deep, pounding her pussy like a pedophile.”

Roosh V – Bang Poland

“It took four hours and at least thirty repetitions of “No, Roosh, No!” until my penis entered her vagina.

The sex was painful for her. I was only the second guy she’s ever had sex with… She whimpered like a wounded puppy dog the entire time, but I really wanted to have an orgasm, so I was “almost there” for about ten minutes. After sex she sobbed for a good while, talking about how this was a sin in the eyes of God.” Roosh V – Bank Poland

“While walking to my place, I realized how dead drunk she was.

In America, having sex with her would have been rape, since she legally couldn’t give her consent. I was sober, but I can’t say I cared or even hesitated.

I won’t rationalize my actions, but having sex is what I do.” Roosh V. – Bang Iceland

“6 Qualities Of A Good Rape

I just saw the movie 200, which had an awful rape scene–it didn’t arouse me at all.

Here is what makes a good rape. The key to a good rape is seeing the girl change from hating it to loving it. She has to want to be raped again.

I did not get aroused during that scene, like I normally do when watching rape.”

by Roosh V – from his blog

Three more admissions of rapes done by Daryush Roosh Valizadeh

OK. Let’s hear them. Where are they?

The above incidents this blog chose to feature are not rape. Let me explain.

“Her tiny size really hit me when she took off her heels. I asked her how much she weighed. “Thirty-five kilograms” (77 pounds).

Mighty conversational isn’t she? What other questions did Roosh ask and she voluntarily answered?

Besides her surprisingly round ass, she had the body of a gymnast who didn’t quite make it past puberty.

He is aroused by her body like any normal heterosexual male. In her case, because her body is so undeveloped, his arousal has a taste of “the forbidden”. That makes it hotter. It is not a crime for a man to be so aroused. To a Feminist however it is a thought crime.

I got down her bra and panties, but she kept saying “No! No!”

How did Roosh get her bra and panties down? What was the woman thinking as he removed them? What was Roosh thinking as he removed them? We don’t know. Did she wiggle around such as to make it easier? more difficult? We don’t know.

When a woman says, “No! No!” this is not universally known as non-consent. It has only been painted this way by modern U.S. and Western European Feminists, and the whole “Yes Means Yes” movement. What is she saying “No” to? Let’s find out.

I was so turned on by her beauty and petite figure that I told myself she’s not walking out my door without getting fucked. At that moment I accepted the idea of getting locked up in a Polish prison to make it happen.

Roosh is aroused and is giving himself a pep talk using hyperbole. This is, we know, a difficult concept for Feminists to grasp in that every thought a heterosexual man has about sex where he dominates the female is considered rape to a Feminist. Basically, to a Feminist, domination by a man of a woman, but not of a woman of a man, or a woman by a woman is considered “rape” even when the woman voluntarily, animalistically, submits, even while her Super Ego is telling her that this is a bad thing to do.

To a feminist, domination of a man by a man is also considered rape, unless they are both flaming egalitarian queers. In other words, during sex, only egalitarian or female superiority thoughts are correct. Male authority or male sexual domination is the enemy to Feminists, unless accompanied by State-Approved “Yes Means Yes,” verbiage and thoughts or is merely masturbatory play-acting such as represented in BDSM erotica. In Feminist-approved BDSM, the submissive is effectively both in charge and an agent of the state, or the scene is entirely play-acting or fictional.

Male authority is rape to a Feminist.

I put her on her stomach and I went deep, pounding her pussy like a pedophile.”

Roosh is using descriptive language to describe the position he put her in, given that he is presumably capable of moving her body into position using his masculine strength, and then how he thrusted into her. Hot! “…like a pedophile” can be translated to “I was looking at her body and noticing how undeveloped it was and imagined that she was much younger than she was while I fucked her.”

Manhandling during sex and sexual fantasies by a dominant man are “rape” to a Feminist.

“It took four hours and at least thirty repetitions of “No, Roosh, No!” until my penis entered her vagina.

It took four hours before Roosh was able to overpower a 77 pound woman? What took so long? Perhaps it was because Roosh was persuading her, not overpowering her. Is persuasion by a heterosexual man rape?

Why did it take her so long to be persuaded?

The sex was painful for her. I was only the second guy she’s ever had sex with… She whimpered like a wounded puppy dog the entire time…

Pain during sex is rape to a Feminist, because BDSM doesn’t exist to a Feminist unless it is under the Feminist aegis. The very sounds a woman makes must be pre-approved by the Feminist Hive Mind.

…but I really wanted to have an orgasm, so I was “almost there” for about ten minutes.

Roosh’s desires are verboten to a Feminist. Thought crime! Only the woman’s pleasure matters to a Feminist.

After sex she sobbed for a good while, talking about how this was a sin in the eyes of God.” Roosh V – Bank Poland

Oh! So that’s why it took Roosh so long to persuade her. She had feelings of ambivalence or a conflict between her desire and her guilt.

Not rape.

“While walking to my place, I realized how dead drunk she was.

In America, having sex with her would have been rape, since she legally couldn’t give her consent. I was sober, but I can’t say I cared or even hesitated.

American Feminists insist on universal laws of consent. This is a paternalistic or even imperialistic mindset adopted by Feminists! Fortunately, for Roosh, he was not in America. In Iceland, women are allowed to make their own decisions as to whether they can allow themselves to get drunk and then be seduced or put into a position where they will hopefully be seduced, but if not, then, there are numerous ways to make one’s stealthy escape. I should know! I don’t get dead drunk unless I do not want to have agency. If I’m drinking but unsure as to the company I’m keeping, I am capable of managing my own intake well enough to keep my wits about me such as to retain the level of agency I desire in myself.

To American Feminists, are all women alcoholics or otherwise incapable of managing their own intake and where to be when they drink? It would seem so.

American Feminist sadly don’t have the abilities expected of mature women in the rest of the world. They’re like children. Calling all pedophile fantasists! Come to America where you can fuck women who think that they are children!

Icelandic women have their own agency without getting permission from the Feminist Hive Mind. At least for now. Drink up and fuck, ladies, if that’s your thing, while you can!

Not rape.

“6 Qualities Of A Good Rape

I just saw the movie 200, which had an awful rape scene–it didn’t arouse me at all.

Here is what makes a good rape. The key to a good rape is seeing the girl change from hating it to loving it. She has to want to be raped again.

I did not get aroused during that scene, like I normally do when watching rape.”

by Roosh V – from his blog

It’s a movie. He’s talking about a movie. He was not aroused because the actress did not appear to be enjoying it. Not a rape. Not a rapist. Rapists don’t necessarily have such standards. Roosh’s standard for his own enjoyment is that the actress appears to be enjoying the movie rape.

Movies aren’t real. This is a difficult concept for a Feminist. To a Feminist, a rape fantasy is a thought crime, but only when it is a man who is having the fantasy.

Three more admissions of rapes done by Daryush Roosh Valizadeh

Really? Let’s see them.














The Hateful Slut

I’ve long been a Quentin Tarantino fan. Right up until his last. I thought Inglorious Basterds was a brilliant wartime propaganda film parody to include its obvious tribute to Mel Brooks’ To Be or Not to Be. I was even rooting for Denzel Washington (Edit: Jamie Foxx because somebody cared enough to say something—thanks—see comments) in Django Unchained as a brilliant parody of an anti-slave propaganda film. I like Samuel Jackson particularly as a villain. I don’t want to do him I just admire his craft even if I appreciate it all the more when he gets himself shot.

Jackie Brown is one of my favorite movies of all time such that I credit this movie greatly for assisting me in developing the mindset and courage for my final escape from Venezuela. I didn’t have a gun but just about everyone else did. I needed to motivate myself and I had a DVD and a place to watch it. And so I did whenever I had a spare moment unobserved.

Sometimes a gal has to trick a whole lot of good boys and bad boys, all at the same time.

I used to have the serious hots for Kurt Russell as Snake Plisskin and other roles, however, I have a hard time watching him now. For one, he’s hideous and otherwise sports the facial deformities I am currently seeing among Leftists of all races. For two, I don’t quite understand how financially desperate he must be in order to typecast himself as a sadistic misogynist killer (Tarantino’s Death Proof comes to mind). (Unless of course, Goldie and her kids are really that craven, which of course is entirely possible.) How this typecasting could be framed as somehow redeemable when operating as an independent contractor for the Federalism agenda, such as in Hateful Eight, boggles the mind. For three, I am sympathetic to the views of this guy.

I am not a White Supremacist even if I recognize that what I enjoy about Europe is because of White Christians, and believe that Europe and White Christians go together. Encouraging self-immolation and masochism among White Christian men is a multi-factored issue, and I don’t believe that a single conspirator is responsible. Of course there are and were conspiracies. A whole lot of them.

It isn’t just The Jews. It isn’t just The Fabians et al. It isn’t just the Saudi Royal Family. The Quakers, Presbyterians, and even The Shakers all had or have a role. Even the Japanese and the Chinese want a piece of the action. So does The Vatican. Big Oil. The Bush/Walkers. The Clintons. Everyone wants a piece.

Telling women want they want and then giving it to them is a problem. This problem is not going to be solved definitively for all womankind. There are too many impure agendas muddying the field. However, each local, geographic coordinate, intersected with time, genetics, resources, generational memory, microbes, demographics, and everything else that creates a universe, is going to have to come up with their own solutions adequate for their time, and those solutions must be continuously readdressed when it comes to the competing ideologies and forces determined to crush these efforts.

It is not going to be easy. It is in God’s hands.

One of the necessary things that men are going to have to learn to do is to protect their women. If the grotesque cult of Universalism is to succeed in crushing all independent thought, then violent men will need to be recruited to disarm and kill the protectors of women who are loyal to men. Other violent men disarm these loyal women of their beauty, wiles, and arms, and are immune to their words. In my view, Hateful Eight is an instructional video on how to do just that in terms of the archetypes to recruit as mercenaries, and how to motivate them. If there is anything redeeming about the film, it is that weak decent men are sacrificed right along with the “hateful” ones, and thereby the martyr concept may inspire more women to be loyal; however such women are to be the obvious targets of these Federal and Universalist mercenaries, once their men are completely castrated.

Making a “hero” out of Samuel Jackson is eerily similar to allowing the Black male characters of Do The Right Thing to triumph. This movie eerily preceded the L.A. Riot, as if it was a training video. Note that “the rioters” who were overwhelmingly just looters required assistance from trained operatives in order to effect real damage such as blowing up gas stations. Since these operatives wore ski masks, they could have been White. Yes. I was there.

I don’t know about you, Dear Reader, but the only National Guard who I saw in L.A. at the time were White. Anyone see any Black National Guard? Just curious.

The Black characters of Do The Right Thing are not sympathetic by all reasonable metrics except that they were underclass and Black. Whereas Samuel Jackson’s character has military revenge to motivate —him and a great big “Johnson”. In other words, he’s a “hero” to Black underclass women, on both the Federalist and Anti-Federalist side, for not falling for the dubious charms of the villainess who is about as sympathetic as the slut Nicole Simpson. He is a rapist in the manner of a prison inmate, the last bastion of legal slavery.

Is he going to be the Jamie Foxx hero to Black female prison inmates? Sorry ladies but probably not. His taste it would seem is more toward the Quentin Tarantino physical archetype. Eat your hearts out girls. Quentin often appears in his movies a la Alfred Hitchcock. I didn’t get a close look at the man Samuel Jackson “raped…” but Craig Stark barely has a presence on the internet, and behind that beard, who knows, it could have been Quentin. Prove to me it wasn’t.

If it inflames Black/White racial tensions, so much the better, because, in my view the Universalist agenda is to advance Feminism by means of breaking the hearts of men, and encouraging catfighting among women. In my view Hateful Eight promotes the notion that Universalism is the cure for catfighting such that only women who are loyal to their men catfight. However, the movie itself is a catfight using violent men as the proxy.

Offstage, however, I have no doubt that Quentin Tarantino is getting treated to all the dark and lovely ladies’ feet he desires with his particular preference happening to be that of Dark Asian women. Sorry Black American Women. He’s just not that into you.

Come on Quentin, you know it’s true. Perhaps if you’re extra good though, the real Samuel Jackson will let you suck his big black Johnson before you die of exposure. I just exposed you. Now, get down on your knees, slut.


Oedipus and Rape

While we all know that most women have rape fantasies, feminists have “rape culture” fantasies, Islam promotes rape as Jihad, rape may well be an act of war or invasion, and both rape and false rape accusations exist, from men to women, women to men, men to men, and women to women, with the actual numbers being highly subject to bias, and even the definition of “rape” and “consent” being subject to bias, lately, I’ve been thinking about Oedipus, the man and the complex.

I’ve been reading up on the Oedipus Myth lately, not the least because Axel was born with horribly deformed and swollen feet and ankles, and this strikes me as an odd synchronicity. Like Oedipus, Axel was a brilliant and heroic individual with both brains and brawn made of legends.

Kissing and massaging those feet, shopping for just the right socks, and clipping those toenails were some of my great joys in life.

As described in the myth in the link above, “rape” is also subject to statutory deception, bad luck, and the intervention of ill-meaning and well-meaning parties. Cheating death is its own paradox especially when it is a rapist to have done so, temporarily.

As far as I know, Axel’s father never raped any princes, I’m positively certain Axel neither killed his father nor had sex with his mother. Axel had both of his crystal blue eyes intact.

However, Axel’s mother seemed to have no compunctions about dragging Axel under the bus for her own ambitions, and Axel had come closer to killing his own father than most people I have known, twice.

Perhaps Axel’s mother had some sort of misdirected Jocasta Complex.

Perhaps it was Axel’s paternal grandmother who had it.

Axel was practically plagued by women throwing themselves at him desiring some form of sexual or spiritual attention from him. According to Axel, as a boy, he treated females with caution and suspicion, and this caused the exact opposite behavior in them than he expected. His first sexual experience wasn’t entirely because he desired it, and might even be called rape. She was persistent and somewhat overwhelmed him. He didn’t tell anyone but was determined to have the upper hand in these sorts of exchanges thereafter.

He also successfully fought off a male sexual assailant when he was a boy—a policeman in fact.

As far as I know, the only false rape accusation ever promoted by rumor about him was for purposes of extorting money from some of the exotic dancers who worked at his club, but not for long.

There was a woman, another dancer, who would recruit dancers into the club under her aegis, and for a percentage of their proceeds, as a means of “protecting” them from Axel who she asserted required sexual favors from all dancers except for those under her “protection” (and thereby delivering Axel’s cut of their proceeds as a bundle, subject to her own representation, of course). That lie began to fall apart when dancers who rejected her agency complained that Axel wasn’t trying to obtain sexual favors from them in exchange for allowing them to dance! I mean come on! Weren’t they sexy enough? What’s a girl have to do to get strong-armed into sexual favors around here? There were tears!

“You can try making him lunch…” is what I would have suggested. This all happened before my time, but yes, that worked!

The first woman, the agent, was thereby rejected by all of her stable, took her act on the road, and must have tried to fool the wrong person, because she ended up in a dumpster.

Axel didn’t go around bullying or supplicating, when he would look at a woman, he wouldn’t disguise it but wouldn’t go into a trance either, unless he was watching porn (safer). If he happened to slap a girl on the ass, she would giggle and smile, like she had been touched by an angel—rather than say an infant who wants to nurse, wants a sammich, wants a this, wants a that…Waaaaa. When he did want a sandwich, they would fight it out between them who would have the honor of obtaining and delivering it. Other homemade treats of one kind and another were brought to work like apples for the teacher.

Other men called him the “luckiest man in the world.”

He would look at them and shake his head. It wasn’t all roses, of course. Ever try to break up a catfight?

I’ve put together this story not just from Axel’s accounts, but from my own observations, and the reminiscences of some of his friends.

It wasn’t a joke, roll play, or game, and yet the only fear Axel invoked was fear of not being sufficiently pleasing to him and thereby not being asked to serve again. Sorry. No “rape”. “Rape” wasn’t a scene he liked to enact or role play especially. So, he didn’t. Not as a game. If he were to act out some sort of entrapment it was done psychologically, with her enthusiastic consent that she was to be putty in his hands beforehand.

When it comes to challenging scenarios between adults, I do believe that enthusiastic consent is better form, which is not to say that it is “rape” without it. Rather all men are to be expected to have to go through some sort of learning curve in terms of how to make a woman want them, or to at least be a good sport about the whole thing. As for getting women to crave them, well, I think I just answered that in terms of one possible method.

Speaking of men undergoing a learning curve with regard to women. Please listen up: I’m not interested in being anyone’s “bitch” or “whore”.

Apparently some women are, or otherwise, these ploys wouldn’t be tried on me so frequently, I assume, by men of means no less.

What sort of whores and bitches are ruining these men? Is it the Jocasta complex?

A “bitch” in my view, in this context, is a dog who shakes off her teething puppies because she’s had enough! That would be withholding Jocasta. Or it could be a cougar who’s had her fill.

A “whore” in my view, in this context, pretends to enjoy hamhanded, infantile sex, for purposes of getting money. That would be compliant Jocasta. Or she might like the humiliation, and I get that, but for me that’s not accurate. I’m a lousy whore. I’m not even all that excited about things like flowers and jewelry.

As for me, I’m just trying to find a man who doesn’t expect me to be Jocasta or to submit to her.

Lately, I have been in some discussions with regard to certain rapes I managed to avoid, but decline to neutralize those defensive scenarios by promoting them here. Suffice it to say, I determine intuitively which brand of Oedipus Complex the aspiring rapist is harboring and counteract it intuitively according to my own means and opportunity. Just like sex is all in the mind and thereby doesn’t require a playbook or recipe except for the hopelessly obsessive fetishist, foiling the playbook of a rapist and thereby making it “not fun,” can cause infantile frustration and confusion. Sometimes, strangely however, my diversion from his plan results in the assailant snapping out of his trance. 

It’s like fooling a cat. Careful, but, it can be done.

I wonder how many rapists were merely poorly weaned?

Since my own maternal impulses as pertains toward strangers or near-strangers are sorely lacking, this sort of thing comes naturally to me. I don’t care whether a near-rapist likes me afterward. (He ought to as I have just improved his chances at improving his own character but I won’t stick around for whatever expression of gratitude he might have in mind.)

The new thing however which surprises me lately is just how quickly men are willing to reveal to me their “tells”. To me, that’s a sign of some form of hypnosis which I am inadvertently triggering with my mere presence. I know better than to get so shit-faced as to be defenseless when certain and rare monstrous men react when it turns out they don’t get a cookie or even a pat on the head from me. Part of that learning came the hard way.

Most, however, thankfully, are “Good boys”.

Neither bad boys nor good boys do it for me.