Toxic Masculinity

Just wanted to give this some attention: the American Psychological Association releases guidelines on dealing with Toxic Masculinity in boys and men, of which the main thrust is… Well, as they themselves say:

“The main thrust of the subsequent research is that traditional masculinity—marked by stoicism, competitiveness, dominance and aggression—is, on the whole, harmful.”

This valuable information will be taught to university psychology girls around the West, for which they only need to pay a huge sack of debt. In return our gals get to preach to beta men that their wives left them because they weren’t nice enough, as well as possibly getting fucked by criminal men who laugh at their their clown world theory.

Such a strange world.

Anyway. Time for a joke.

Jordan Peterson, Nicolas Taleb and a male SJW are sitting in bar.

‘Have you heard about this new legislation?’ says the SJW. ‘Toxic Masculinity is now an official disorder.’

‘Yes it’s ridiculous’ responds Jordan Peterson. ‘Absolutely ridiculous. Let boys be boys, I say. That is of course, unless they flirt with women. Flirting is absolutely forbidden because it could be mis-interpreted as sexual assault and every woman’s story of sexual assault should be believed. But otherwise, ridiculous!’

‘Nonsense!’ says Nassim Taleb. ‘The legislation is ridiculous but for completely different reasons. You see, ‘masculinity’ is actually a pseudoscientific swindle which at best only explains 13% of men’s behavior. How can you base policy on something you can’t measure!’

‘You’re both wrong’, says the male SJW. ‘In fact you’re both obviously toxic men and you will be shot by death squad at dawn, as will the teller of this joke, for assuming my gender.’

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How to git gud wit men

Alf I ain’t no gay why should I read advice on dealing with men?

Because you need friends. Listen up.

While I used to be of the opinion that I was a lone ranger, a Wolverine, I have come around to the fact that men are a lot more powerful in groups than they are alone. You stand alone, you stand weak, which is exactly why they want you atomized.

We are social creatures.

So, how do you deal with men, e.g. make friends?

Friendships can either be 1-on-1 or in the context of the group. 1-on-1 is rare, in the sense that both friends need to have something exclusive in common that cannot be found outside that friendship. Group dynamics are very healthy in curing weird male ego things. Think of it as social proof: in a 1-on-1 relation the other person is apt to make himself more important than he actually is in relation to you, while in a group he will often be reminded of his actual place in the hierarchy. Therefore, to have a good intimate friendship without group dynamic, both friends must have healthy ego and share a natural connection.

But here my focus is mainly on men in groups, where the greatest power lies. Groups of men get wonderful stuff done that no one else can, like building a civilization or putting a man on the moon or getting VR porn to work. Being part of a group of men can be a very satisfying feeling, a hard to describe, top-of-the-world feeling. Jim sometimes says that we overestimate the power of the government, and with a group of friends it does at times feel like you are your own powerhouse, that the government has no say over you, that your group decides what is just in the world. Such feelings especially arise after you do manly things with your friends such as to building a street fire on New Year’s Eve and drinking a beer around it. Such events raise the testosterone of all the men involved and increase the love of all wives watching. They are functional mini-societies.

So, how to deal with men in groups?

First and foremost, men in group test each other’s strength. As women love to remark, men in groups are one ‘who has the biggest penis’ contest, where biggest penis is a metaphor for… ‘winner’, I guess. Who is the biggest winner. A fluid hierarchy is built from biggest winner to biggest loser, and that’s about it. So, the easiest trick in getting along with men is to be a winner, to build and display strength. People love the strong horse.

It used to be hip to call a group of friends ‘Männerbunds’, but I think I’d rather call it a group of friends. After all, such a group presupposes that only men are in it, since any group of friends which includes women is no group of friends, just a disaster waiting to happen. Therefore, if you want your group of friends to last, put the women in their place. This requires some tact, not in putting women in their place (if you know how to deal with women this is actually the easy part), but in putting white knights in their place. Any group will have white knights. Pick on the biggest white knight in the group, ridicule him for his stupid behavior with women. Such things work great.

Similarly, must ridicule leftist behavior, e.g. the guys who behave like women themselves. Personally I do not believe in pre-emptively throwing leftists out of the group; I think it is unjust and unpractical. Better to let them throw in their own glasses by doing what leftists always do, namely stupid shit that ruins their reputation. Either their reputation will drop to the point where they leave out of own volition, or they drop a healthy few spots in the hierarchy but remain a net positive for the group.

Now, building a group of friends is different from building a corporate career. Many traits that serve your corporate career (ass-licking, dishonesty, disloyalty) will undermine the building of a group of friends, which is more free-flowing, honest… honor-based. In business you win by screwing over the right guy at the right time, in a group of friends you win by being cool. Sometimes they overlap, often they don’t.

Different people have different talents. Some people are leaders, some people are jokers, some people have ideas, some people are connectors, etc etc. Since the rules of power always apply, it tends to be useless to peg people in different categories. Instead, what tends to work is to amass power for yourself and use that to the best of your abilities. Enlightened egotism always works better than any kind of masterplan, since any kind of masterplan is apt to map poorly on reality.

Cooperation is key. People tend to be poor at cooperation, because they are poor at putting themselves in the shoes of other people. I find that what works well is not that I get along amazingly with person B, C and D, but that I can cooperate with all of them. For instance, perhaps person B gets along with person C much better than me, but person B can not get along with person D at all. Then, even if person C likes person B better than me, he sees that I can cooperate with person D, while person B can not, and consequently my status rises. Such situations happen more often than you’d think.

Cooperation also means the ability to make decisions. The ability to make decisions necessitates the ability to follow. This is always a hang-up, because every guy thinks he knows better than every other guy. But again, after initial storming men always settle on a hierarchy and the hierarchy is what allows the group decision-making, is what allows them cooperation. This means that no decision is ever made from weakness; very rarely does the virgin who raises his hand and tepidly says ‘hey guys perhaps we should do this?’ get his idea through. instead the Chad who loudly says ‘hey guys lets do this!’ gets his idea through, and 9 times out of 10 Chad indeed had the better idea.

Goodbye to the giant whose shoulder I stood on

Nick B Steves has put an indefinite end to his infamous This Week in Reaction series.

Now it happens to be a well-kept secret that I have acted as Nick’s minion for TWiR for a while, and by ‘a while’ I mean for about three weeks, tops.

I don’t know how it came about, likely a random comment here and there, but I do remember asking Nick instructions on how to assist him. ‘Here’s a list’ he replied and he sent me this Excel list with, I kid you not, upwards of 200 blog links. ‘Just see whats newsworthy and summarize it’ he helpfully added. I spent an evening plowing through the list; a quarter was defunct, a quarter had not been updated in a year, another quarter was unintelligible and not newsworthy, and the final quarter might be intelligible, might be newsworthy, but damn did it take a lot of time to make that decision. I must’ve spent about 2 hours on sorting links for just one week after I realized I’d only gotten through the first 50 links or so. Nick does this every week?

So, in short, I do not blame Nick in the slightest from taking a break, though I will definitely miss my free promotion. No doubt that the disappearance of TWiR leaves a gap in the spread of anti-establishment propaganda, but what’re you gonna do. Maybe publish a monthly magazine with only cool people writing in it? Say you’d have a roster of guys like Spandrel, Jim, Steve Sailer, Weev and BAP writing for one magazine. Wouldn’t that be cool? Perhaps. Just an idea.

Back to the imitable Nick B Steves: thank you for all the work you put in. All the best.

How to git gud wit women

‘Life’s Game’ will soon be for sale. As I’m putting on the last touches I realize there is still some extra content to write. This is some of that content.

As time goes by, my charisma with women increases. Part is that women like older men, part is me racking up experience with my girl. Then again, plenty of men age with girlfriends, yet their charisma only decreases over time.

Often there’s things outside interacting with women that may increase men’s charisma, like increasing their happiness, strength or testosterone. But, if you want to be a good golfer, your main focus should be to practice golf. So it is with women.

There’s 2 big secrets to gittin gud wit women.

The first is, quite stupidly, to look at women with nonjudgmental eyes. Observe women as they are, not as you think they are. This is the number 1 mistake men make: they have an idealized image of how a women should be and never change this, instead forcing women to fit their image. CRIMESTOP plays an important role in this. For instance, I have long accepted that women purposely misbehave and yearn to be corrected, if need be with open palm. Similarly, I have accepted that women need love from unapologetic men, love for which no permission is asked, which is given without explanation because you sense it makes women happy.

CRIMESTOP prevents men from accepting these simple truths; they will tell themselves all kinds of nonsense such as ‘my girl is not like that’ or ‘only damaged women are like that’, which is opposite from the truth because their girl is like that and they are damaging their girl by wanting her to be someone she is not. Of course, with open eyes truth can always be steadily observed and so we see these men are inevitably rewarded with unhappy women and no sex.

CRIMESTOP indoctrinates men to think it is normal and healthy when their women is away for 50-hour workweeks, just as CRIMESTOP indoctrinates their women to think babies will kill them, in spite of overwhelming evidence to the contrary. In order to git gud wit women, must drop the CRIMESTOP filter, must trust your own eyes and learn to see what is in front of you.

Second is passing shit-tests. Wait I had a meme for this…

shit-tests-shit-tests-everywhere
there it is

Women are wired to cause trouble. It’s just what they do. But the beautiful thing is that women cause trouble because they want you to solve it, and indeed will love you if you solve it. They are causing trouble to test you. Hence, shit-tests.

There is no quick guide to mastering shit-tests. Passing them is a matter of open eyes and practice; shit-tests are valuable lessons about life. The best secret I can give about shit-tests is that they are the easiest to pass if you follow the Fight Club rule: only when you are prepared to let everything go, are you free to do anything.

Women are experts in designing shit-tests, as well as in hiding the nature of their shit-tests. Even I am sometimes still surprised by a sneaky shit-test. But, with practice, the majority of shit-tests can easily be recognized.  Markers tend to be:

  • she suddenly changes her opinion (several times)
    • you fail the test if you change your opinion every time she changes hers. Stick to your guns and you will pass.
  • her mood suddenly changes (e.g. she is angry out of nowhere)
    • you fail the test if you try to appease her. Ask yourself: is there a good reason for her mood change, or is she acting like a child? If she is acting like a child, which she is apt to do, tell her so, and you will pass. 
  • she makes a decision she knows is yours to make, not hers
    • you fail the test if you go along and say ‘of course honey’, especially if the decision is different from what you originally wanted to do. If you decide differently, do so and tell her. She will cause a ruckus (women love the occasional fight, give it to them) but stick to your guns and in the end you will pass. 

That kind of stuff. It’s really all around us. It’s of course also the main reason women in the work office tend to be insufferable, for they will set up shit-tests that are impossible to pass: in your house you are the biggest alpha, in the office there is always a bigger alpha she’ll run to. But, in your house you can be the biggest alpha.

Every playa knows the easiest way to seduce a woman is to solicit her shit-tests and pass them. Hence peacocking: attract attention, attract shit-tests. Pass the shit-tests, observe legs opening. It’s a simple, effective formula. That’s why loud and obnoxious guys tend to do well with women: they attract shit-tests.

Of course the shit-testing doesn’t stop after seduction. Your woman will test you ’til death do you apart. I think of it as my girl’s way to keep me sharp.

Carol’s Christmas (final part)

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Previous

Then, the house started shaking. Cupboards shook open and plates fell on the floor. The light flickered on and off. Yet Carol knew this was not an ordinary earthquake. In front of her, black smoke appeared intermingled with dancing shadows, and from it, a pale woman stepped out of the shadows, so decrepit and boney she might as well have been a skeleton. Pitch-black eyes gazed upon Amy from above a pointed nose. Carol was taken aback by this ghost’s appearance. ‘Are you… the ghost of Christmas Future?’ she asked.

The ghost merely nodded and extended its hand, comprised of long clawed nails. With some hesitation, Carol took them. Around them smoke and shadows appeared in loud, crackling waves, surrounding them in blackness.

The blackness rolled back and they were sort of standing in the house Carol was supposed to be that evening: her mom’s. But it was not like Carol was physically there; it was like she was watching a dark red movie with twists of smoke erupting from everything on the screen. Perhaps there was something about the uncertainty of the future that made everything so blurred? She could vaguely make out the company at the table: her mom, her sister, Eric, her uncle and his wife… And Carol in the near future, looking as stunning in the cocktail dress as Carol had hoped. She couldn’t make out the conversation, just shreds of it…
… So good to see you, how ARE you?…
….So the intern says: 500 mg of Eplerenone right? So I say: exactly right… If you want to kill him that is!’…
… *laughter*…
… More wine please…
… Isn’t Mason growing up fast!…
… Haven’t you had enough wine?…

Black waves engulfed the scene, then subsided again. They were in their mother’s bathroom. Eric had just flushed the toilet and was clumsily washing his hands. The door opened. Carol entered. She locked the door behind her. A vague sound in the distance: I don’t know if we should… Then, the sound of kissing, moaning. The sound of a zipper. A groan.

Eric appeared in the living room, hands in front of him, red lipstick on his pants. Then, the dinner table with its guests: shocked, in denial. Back to blackness.

Where were they? Must be Amy’s house… She could Eric and Amy… Amy was shouting… ‘how COULD you? With my sister for god’s sake!’… The sound of breaking plates… ‘Honey I don’t know I was drunk it happened so fast I really had no intention to’… ‘NO I’M SURE YOU JUST TRIPPED AND OOPS YOUR DICK FELL IN HER MOUTH FOR FUCK’S SAKE HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO US’…. More breaking plates…

…Amy sitting on the toilet, head in her hands. She is crying. In her right hand lies a pregnancy test. It is positive…

… Eric leaves the house with suitcases. Before entering the cab he turns back one last time… ‘how could you be such an idiot’ he mutters to himself…

Now where was she…? Oh she recognized this place al right; Saint Jude’s Hospital, in her medical office…. Future Carol sits behind her desk. Patients come and go in a blur, years fly by, Carol never leaves. Carol sits, listens, prescribes medication, all with a cold gaze in her face. Years go by in seconds, wrinkles appear in her face, her beauty fades and is replaced with an emotionless stare… Carol is now in a wheelchair. She is now in a nursing home. And next to her stands present time Carol, with red lipstick still on her lips.

And suddenly there was no more smokey red blurriness. Everything was in full color and sharp image; Carol was physically in the nursery home. It was so… Quiet and peaceful. Sunlight shone through the big glass windows. Birds tsjirped. Carol was standing in front of… Herself. Her old self, in a wheelchair. Old, wrinkled Carol. Young Carol hesitatingly dropped to her knees. She waved her hand in front of Old Carol. No sign of response. Then, Old Carol coughed, looked young Carol in the face and with venom in her eyes cracked: ‘whatdo you think you’re doing? Leave me alone you hag!’
– ‘I… I didn’t mean to…’
‘I don’t care what you mean, get lost, whore!’
Shocked, Carol stepped back, but just as she was about to turn around and run she felt a hand on her shoulders. It was a nurse.
‘Don’t worry about it, Ms. Andrews is quite the personality!’
– ‘Ye… Yes, I guess she is.’
‘Don’t fret yourself, it’s nothing personal. She’s like that to everyone.’
– ‘Is she?’
‘Afraid so…’ The nurse’s voice dropped to a hush: ‘life has a way of turning some people bitter and angry. Ms. Andrews is a prime example.’ She smiled. ‘Don’t worry though, we take good care of her! Are you related?’
– ‘Something like that, yeah…’
‘How nice. She hasn’t had a visitor in a long while! Last time was over a year ago, I think it was some patient whose life she’d saved, but he left in a rush after she started shouting at him. Such a shame.’
– ‘Yeah… A shame…’
The nurse observed Carol closely. ‘Well it seems you have a lot on your mind, I’ll leave you alone for now. If you need anything I’ll be at the counter.’
-‘Ok…’

Back came the shadows, eating up the nursery home. They receded to reveal a cemetery. Carol now stood in front of a gravestone. On that gravestone was etched: here lies Carol Andrews. Nothing else. No beloved daughteror beloved sisteror beloved mother.

Why would there? She was none of those. She had only brought pain to those around her.

And as Carol fell to her knees, everything she had been through finally caught up with her: she cried. She cried like a baby, her entire body shaking, until all her carefully applied make-up was irreversibly ruined and she had no more tears left.

Next to her the ghost of Christmas future silently watched. Carol looked up to her and pleaded: ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I want to make things right. Please tell me I can still make things right.’ The ghost said nothing, but extended her hand. Carol took it. The cemetery disappeared. Carol found herself back in her bedroom. No sign of any ghost. On her make-up table lay the lipstick. She picked it up and took a long look at it. Then, she looked at her run-out face in the mirror. She laughed. She laughed louder and heartier than she had in a long time. There is still time to make things right.But I can’t show up looking like this! Carol rushed into the shower cabin.

Amy curiously inspected the pan with poaching pears. ‘Looks good mom!’ Mother lighted up. ‘They do, don’t they? We’re almost ready for the first dish!’
Amy looked around. ‘Yes, once Carol has arrived. It’s nothing like her to be late.’
– ‘Don’t worry, I’m sure she’s just around the corner.’ The bell rang. ‘Ah’, said mother, ‘if you’re talking about the devil…’
Amy opened the door and there was her sister, dressed in jeans and a green Christmas sweater with built-in lights. ‘Oh my god Amy it’s so good to see you’ Carol blurted out, and Amy was given a long hug she had not expected. ‘Yeah it’s good to see you too sis’ she meekly replied.
When Carol entered the living room she was all smiles and warmness. ‘Hey Eric, hello uncle Will, hey mom, heeey little Mason how are you doing big man!’ Amy was very surprised; her sister had never taken an interest in their son but now she was kneeling next to him, playing with him! Amy joined them. ‘… Is everything okay sis?’ she asked.
Carol giggled. ‘yes everything is great actually. I think I realized that my priorities in life have been slightly off… I want to spend more time with the people I love.’ Amy was stunned. ‘… Has… Has something happened at work?’
– ‘Let’s not talk about work. Work is overrated anyway. I work way too much. I’m going to work less. Let’s talk about fun stuff!’
‘Who are you and what have you done with my sister??’ Amy demanded.
Carol laughed. ‘Come here sis, I want to give you a hug’ and she pulled Amy close. As their upper bodies were interlocked, Carol said: ‘I’m sorry sis.’
– ‘sorry for what?’
‘For everything… For not being there for you, for being a bitch… I’m sorry.’
– ‘…’ Amy’s eyes teared up. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘It’s okay.’ Carol closed her eyes. It was only after a minute or so that they separated. ‘By the way’ said Carol in a conspiratory tone, ‘I have a feeling Mason won’t be only child for much longer…’
– ‘What?? What makes you think that?’
‘I don’t know… Call it feminine intuition.’ Carol winked.
Their mother’s voice sounded throughout the room: ‘everyone, to the table, first course is served!’ Happily, everyone acquiesced.

And so it was that the family Andrews, for the first time in a very long while, spent Christmas eve together in laughter, joy and love.

The end

Carol’s Christmas (part 2)

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As Max was enthusiastically munching away, Carol made a mug of tea and absentmindedly sipped on it. Her thoughts were with that Christmas eve so many years ago. Looking at that evening, so many years later, she had to admit she was being a bit of a bitch, even if she had all the reason in the world. But then again, that was such a long time ago… And besides, whose to say that that ghost wasn’t making her misremember things? Whose to say the ghost was real anyway?? She took a sip of her tea when, suddenly, the cabinet doors started to shake and the kitchen lights flashed. While Max continued eating as if nothing was happening, Carol, terrified, dropped her mug on the floor where it broke into ceramic pieces. In the middle of the kitchen a black hole formed and grew until it turned into a human form: a beautiful blonde woman in a white dress showing only the slightest hint of transparency. And of course, there was the fact that she was floating above the kitchen floor. Carol blinked.
‘I’m sorry my dear’ the apparition said, ‘I didn’t mean to scare you. My predecessor told you I would come, right?’
– ‘… R-right.’
‘Ah good to hear! Shame about the shards on the floor, but you can clean them when we return. I am the ghost of Christmas present. Come dear, we have places to go.’
The ghost of Christmas present took Carol’s hand and suddenly Carol felt light as a feather, in fact she was shocked to find that they were rising up in the air. Her dog did not seem to mind a bit and before Carol could say goodbye to him they flew throughthe ceiling into her (never used) guest room, and again through the roof into the open air. Strangely, Carol did not feel cold.

 Higher and higher they soared and Carol gazed with wonder at the city lights below; how beautiful and small everything was from up here! Even the skyscrapers looked like Lego blocks from up here.
‘Where are you taking me?’ Carol asked.
– ‘You’ll see.’

They soon left the city and followed a road far beneath them, which, lighted up by car headlights, reminded Carol of a yellow writhing snake. She marveled at the scenery, with its green pastures, tiny houses and intertwining roads. Soon enough they lowered altitude to arrive at a village. Lower and lower they went, and as the houses regained their normal size Carol realized their destination: ‘this is where my sister lives!’ she cried.

‘Indeed it is’ the ghost of Christmas Present said. They landed on the front lawn of Amy’s house. ‘Let’s see what your sister is up to, shall we?’ she said as she opened the front door. ‘Don’t worry, they can’t see us.’

Carol entered the living room, which was decorated with lights and garland and evergreen foliage. Next to the gas fueled fireplace stood a beautiful Christmas tree. Carol’s own house had no decorations at all – not that she had the time for such frivolities anyway. Yet she couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy at the coziness she saw here. Mason sat in front of the TV, watching some children’s Christmas special. From upstairs she could here muffled voices. They sounded angry. This, Carol wanted to investigate.

 As she walked up the stairs, she distinctly heard Amy’s voice:
‘… and you bet we’ll have to discuss her ‘blooming career’ as a cardiologist for hours on end!’
they were talking about her!
– ‘honey I’m sure it won’t be that bad’ responded Eric.
‘of course it will! It’ll just be hours of her telling stories about this patient she saved and that patient she cared sooo much about. Like she’s an archangel. She does it every year!’ Amy was aggressively sorting the laundry.
– ‘well maybe a bit, but her career is kind of impressive…’
‘And you know what’s the worst about it? I don’t think she even likes her career!’
– ‘well honey I think that’s a bit…’
‘No really! I know my sister. I know when she’s happy and when she’s unhappy. The way she talks about her career, I think she hates it. But she won’t admit it, nooo no. Instead she’ll just talk about it evenmore, like she’s trying to convince herself she really does like what she’s doing. And mom loves having a doctor in the family, so she won’t say anything.’
– ‘Hmmm, I don’t know, we shouldn’t jump to hasty conclusions.’
‘But you know, I could get passed all that’ Amy huffed, ‘I really could, if it weren’t for the fact that every year she so obviously flirts with you.’
Eric turned red. ‘Ho-honey, I don’t know what you’re talking about. She’s just being friendly.’ Amy turned around, her eyes fire: ‘just like she’s been ‘friendly’ with every ex she’s ever been with.’
– ‘Babe you’re overreacting. Really, there’s nothing going on. You’re acting crazy!’
Amy lowered her eyes and shoulders. ‘I dunno. Maybe I am. I just… I want us to be a happy family…’ She walked up to Eric and rested her head on his chest. ‘I just want to love my sister. Why does she have to make things so difficult?’
Erik stroked her hair, overcoming his confusion. ‘Hey hey, I’m sure things will be fine.’
‘OK,’ repeated Amy, ‘I’m sure things will be fine.’

Carol witnessed the exchange in silence, but inside she was screaming. How dareher sister talk about her in that way? How dareAmy suggest that she didn’t like her job? Was her sister thathateful? After all, Amy was only a receptionist while she saved lives. Yeah, that probably was it…
‘But willthings be fine?’ The voice of the ghost of Christmas present shook Carol out of her thoughts. ‘What?’ she stammered.
‘What I just said: will things be fine?’
– ‘Well… Yes… Of course. Although I am disappointed of how jealous she apparently is of my career.’
‘Oh, she’sthe one being jealous? What about her accusation of you flirting with her husband?’
– ‘She’s exaggerating. I’m a natural flirt is all.’
‘I see… Well, we’ll be heading back home. The final ghost will be visiting you soon.’ She took Amy’s hand and soon enough they were flying miles high, back to the city. Amy said nothing.

Back in her own kitchen, Amy absentmindedly swept together the mug shards while Max sniffed the floor besides her. The ghost of Christmas present had disappeared, but her remarks lingered. Was she the one who envied her sister? Who would want to be a receptionist anyway! Or perhaps that wasn’t what the ghost meant… But whatever the ghost did mean, Amy was unable to put it into words. Perhaps… Perhaps her sister was not as lonely than she was. Perhaps there was some truth in that. But a successful career demanded sacrifices, and it wasn’t like those sacrifices were a problem for anyone but her, were they?

Next

Carol’s Christmas (part 1)

‘T was the day of Christmas and Carol Andrews was sitting in front of the mirror, applying her favorite red lipstick. She was going to spend her evening with her family, and for reasons known yet unknown to Carol, she wanted to look her utmost best. The make-up on her face was exquisite and the cocktail dress hanging from the coat hanger would surely put her at the center of attention. Carol was by no means the prettiest girl in the world, but she’d always be one of the prettier ones.

Now it was usually the case that Carol did not have time to make herself as pretty as she was doing this snowy Christmas day. After all, Carol had a busy job as a cardiologist at Saint Jude’s hospital. Besides, she had learned soon enough that looking pretty only distracted people from taking her serious as a doctor.

But today was different. Carol had taken hours to prepare for the family dinner. So immersed she was in her task that she had even neglected to feed Max, her dog, who was now scratching the bedroom door and making crying sounds, indicating he was hungry. But Carol did not hear him, so fixated was she on her image in the mirror.

‘Aren’t I pretty?’ Carol asked aloud. To her bewilderment, a child’s voice answered: ‘yes you are.’ With a shock she turned away from the mirror and saw a young girl in long robes standing behind her in the bedroom. ‘how did you get in here!?’ Carol cried.
– ‘I’ve been standing here for a while’ the girl promptly declared. ‘You just didn’t notice me.’
‘What? No, I mean how did you get in my house?’
The girl shrugged. ‘I enter any house I want to.’ Angry, Carol stood up and grabbed the girl by her shoulder. That would be, if there was any shoulder to grab, for Carol’s hand went straight through the girl as if there was only air. ‘OHMYGOD’ she yelled.
‘Please don’t shout,’ said the girl. ‘I know, I’m not human. I am the ghost of Christmas past. Nice to meet you!’ The girl made a slight knee bow while she held her robes.
Carol stared in disbelief. ‘I… I.. Did not… know… ghosts are real?’ The girl giggled. ‘Of course we are!’
– ‘We?’
‘Yea silly, I’m only the first of three Christmas ghosts who will visit you today. Come, I’ve got something to show you!’ The girl grabbed Carol’s hand (which suddenly felt as fleshy and real as any hand) and immediately the room started to spin, dizzying Carol.

When spinning stopped, they were no longer in Carol’s bedroom, but instead stood in a living room Carol immediately recognized. ‘But… This is mom’s old house!’ she said. ‘With her furniture!’ Amazed, Carol walked around and touched everything she thought was but a distant memory. ‘It even smells like it used to!’ She turned to the girl. ‘What’s going on?’ But just as the ghost was about to answer, two girls came running in the living room screaming.
‘GIVE ME BACK MY DIARY CARRY OR I’LL KICK THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF YOU’
– ‘NOOOO YOU CAN’T HAVE IT YOU CAN’T HAVE IT’
From the kitchen sounded a loud woman’s voice: ‘BE NICE GIRLS.’
‘BUT MOOOOM CAROL TOOK MY DIARY AND SHE WON’T GIVE IT BACK.’
Mother’s head appeared in the doorway: ‘Carol you will give your sister back her diary right NOW if you know what’s good for you. It’s Christmas eve for god’s sake…’
With a pout young Carol gave her sister back the diary, while old Carol stared at the scene in disbelief. ‘But… that’s me! Teenage me! And teenage Amy! And my mother!’
‘Yep’ said the ghost of Christmas past. ‘They can’t see you though!’ Carol nonetheless crouched and waved her hand in front of younger Carol’s face, who had now royally installed herself on the couch. But young Carol continued as if adult Carol was invisible indeed.
‘I don’t need to read your stupid diary,’ she said, ‘I know what’s in it anyway.’
-‘Nu uh.’
‘Uh huh. It’s about Eeeric.’
Amy didn’t say anything but turned red like Rudolf’s nose.
‘Aaah I knew it I knew it. Amy and Eric sitting in a tree K I S S I N G!’
– ‘Shut up! You’re doing the same thing with Jackson!’
Young Carol shook her head. ‘Nah, I broke up with him. The long distance thing wouldn’t have worked out anyway. Besides, who wants to be tied down when you can par-TAY?’
-‘ohmygod but he is so cool!’
Carol shrugged. ‘So? It’s not like he’s the only guy in the world. Besides, he wants to stay here his whole life. How boring isthat!’
– ‘your guy standard is way too high’
‘and yours too low. I mean, Eric, really? He’s as boring as watching needles fall out of a pine tree.’
– ‘take that back!’
‘Nu uh.’
Amy jumped on her sister but was quickly overpowered and started screaming as Carol pulled her hair. Their mother rushed in the room and pulled them apart. ‘Ladies, we are having a PEACEFUL Christmas family dinner and I won’t have you two tearing into each other, are we clear?’
– ‘it’s not family dinner, dad’s not here’ Carol spit out.
‘You’ll have dinner with dad tomorrow. Today it’s just the three of us.’
– ‘I don’t wanna have dinner with you losers.’
‘ExCUSE me?’
– ‘You heard me.’ Carol stood up. ‘I HATE you and I don’t want to have dinner with you.’ She ran off to her room. Amy started to tear up, and her mother hugged her. ‘There there.’ ‘Why does she have to be like that?’ Amy sobbed. Mother sighed. ‘Your sister has taken it all a bit harder than you have. I’m sure she’ll be fine. I’ll talk to her in a bit. You go watch the stew, make sure it’s not overcooking, okay sweetie?’
Amy nodded.

Adult Carol had watched everything with big eyes. ‘I remember this’ she said to the ghost. ‘This was the first Christmas after mom and dad split. God I hated my family.’
The ghost turned her head slightly sideways. ‘Hated, as in past tense?’
– ‘Well, I mean… We never really talked about it, I guess. Every Christmas since has been awkward. Like, only slightly preferable to staying at home alone. I guess it’s better to be alone together than alone… alone.’
The ghost turned her head sideways. ‘Your sister seems nice!’
– ‘Yeah, she is, isn’t she… Always so god damn perfect.’
‘Seemed to me she was envious of you.’
– ‘Yeah… I guess she was… Funny how times change.’
‘Teehee!’ The ghost girl twirled on her feet. ‘Well it’s time for us to go back! Soon my friend will visit you!’ Again she grabbed Carol’s hand, the room spun, and when the spinning stopped Carol was back in her bedroom.
‘Goodbye Carol, it was nice to meet you!’ the ghost waved her hands as she faded into nothingness.

 Carol watched curiously as the ghost disappeared and stood motionless, sunken in her thoughts. What had just happened? Am I hallucinating? Did what I think happen really happen? She turned to the mirror and examined her face. She touched her lips. Red lipstick stuck on her fingers. What was I doing here in the first place? A loud cry from her dog tore her out of her thoughts. Ohmigod, Max!Carol realized she had totally forgotten about him. She rushed to open the door and gave him a big hug. ‘Who’s a good boy, you’re a good boy, yes you’re my good boy!’ Whatever just happened could wait, she had to feed Max.

Next

Unveiling the secret project

Time to unveil the project I’ve been beavering on for a while now…

I have assembled an e-book! Yes, alf will turn into an e-book merchant.

Blogging has been awesome at sorting out thoughts, but at this point I’ve sorted out most of them. We figured we needed a new religion, I’ve done my part in creating that religion, and that’s about it.

So, I want to try different things. For one I need money. Since I like writing and I like my alf identity, selling e-books is the next logical step. I’m still figuring out how to do it with anonymity and all. I’d love to sell real books but that’s something for later. Also, I’ll probably start selling my e-book with cryptocurrency only, maybe that also changes later, dunno.

What’s the book about you ask?

Well, let me show you the first draft of the cover:

cover life's game

Too busy maybe? Dunno. I love the idea of a meme book cover. I have a 992 MB meme collection so these are by no means the final memes.

As for its content, it’s a selection and director’s cut of my old blog posts on the topics of women, self-development and men. It is titled ‘Life’s Game’. I’m currently sitting on about 60.000 words. A third of that is comprised of Dutch posts (everything in the first 2 years on this blog I wrote in my native language) which I’ve faithfully translated to English. Another third is English posts you might have already read. The final third is my commentary on both older and recent posts, including incidental comments from the comment section.

If anyone wants to proofread the version I am currently sitting on, let me know in the comments and I’ll send you what I have.

2018: Not tired of winning

Welp, it’s that time of the year again, where I flex on all the haters and show you some juicy statistics.

2018 has been very kind to me. Here’s the short of it:

Schermafbeelding 2018-12-22 om 17.06.22

I honestly thought post-Trump 2017 was the biggest growth spurt, but in 2018 AlfaNL has gotten more traffic than all the previous years combined. Not bad.

How come?

Well, traffic has increased roughly 80% increase since May of this year:

Schermafbeelding 2018-12-22 om 17.11.44

My explanation: Jim adding me to his blogroll. Thank you Jim!

As for the location of dearest readers:

Schermafbeelding 2018-12-22 om 17.15.31

Apt to summarize that AlfaNL is read by people in ‘the West’. And Lalit.

Referrer make-up has not changed so much.

The top 3 most popular posts are interesting:

Schermafbeelding 2018-12-22 om 17.21.27

Let’s start with the Robert Mueller. Last year I was rejoiced to see that, when you perform a Google search for ‘is Robert Mueller Jewish’ that post came up as the 2nd hit. However, this year my position on the first page has disappeared. I am now at the bottom of the 3rd page:

Schermafbeelding 2018-12-22 om 17.25.27

What makes this peculiar is that none of the page 1 hits actually answer the question whether Robert Mueller is Jewish or not, while my post did answer that question. What makes it all the more peculiar is that, when you perform the same search on DuckDuckGo, guess whose post is the 2nd hit?

Schermafbeelding 2018-12-22 om 17.28.23

Seems obvious that Google has been tampering with search results for this humble blog. I wear it as a badge of honor.

Number 2 most popular post is a hit piece I wrote on Heartiste. Not much to be said there, except that it’s true. I still hope that Heartiste stops pretending that he is too cool for the dark enlightenment bois. At least he is not speaking out against Jim like some of his fanboys.

And of course, at number 1: a hit piece on infamous pick-up artist Owen Cook! I am particularly proud of this one, because for a whole year it has been and still is the number 2 hit on Google for ‘Owen Cook’, surpassed only by his instagram.

Schermafbeelding 2018-12-22 om 17.33.32

Clearly, Google does not care about Owen as much as they do about Robert.

Not much else to say about this one, except that it’s the final proof that purple pill prophets like Owen are all smoke and mirrors.

That’s all for blog statistics. It’s good to, how you say, put in perspective the amount of traffic blogs receive: 50.000 clicks all year is about 1% of what a daily Pewdiepie video gets. Blogging is the small unknown sibling of the social media family and it never will be as big as the others. But, what can I say, I’m enjoying life on this side of the pond.

leocaprio
Merry Christmas and a happy new year!

Meme Society

Don’t mind me just thinking aloud…

Been trying to piece some together some thoughts on the Meme Society.

What is Meme Society?

It is the meme highway, the plug that connects with the back of your head and uploads memes. It is the amalgam of the internet, social media, the newspapers, the tv, the gaming-, clothing- and music industry. It is the way fashion spreads.

It is of course, controlled by our enemies. We are out of power, looking for ways to gain power, but the same Meme Society we seek to overtake will prevent us from doing so with every last bit of its dying breath.

As I have said before, content is downstream from power. All of the biggest meme spreading nodes are controlled and checked by that power. Since that power forbids the speaking of truth, it is impossible to grow a channel on any major platform by speaking truth. You are shut out.

So everyone big on those channels has to some extent cut a deal with the devil, otherwise they wouldn’t be allowed on the platform. Thus even Pewdiepie, who is hated by every self-respecting leftist because of his Aryan physiognomy, will not save us. Pewds has made his deal with the devil, for he is at best purple pilled on the woman question. I could tell you that know this because I’ve watched videos of him saying that he is in favor of women empowerment, but I’ll tell you I know this for sure for another reason, namely that his girlfriend is covered in more than 20 tattoos:

She is a beautiful girl, but under the guise of anonymous internet honesty I will simply say: the tattoos are like a turd on an apple pie. It drops her looks by a solid 2 points.

If your woman tells you she wants tattoos, she is shit-testing you. You are supposed to tell her no, you can not have tattoos because it will make you ugly. If you are really feeling generous, maybe 1 tiny tattoo on her ankle or on the back of her neck, where it is usually covered, or perhaps she can tattoo your name on her ass. But as a rule of thumb: no tattoos. It is a sign of bad ownership.

I don’t care how much Pewdiepie will say he likes her tattoos, that she is expressing herself artistically. He lies. Tattoos make a woman ugly and both men and women know it. Hence, when she tells you she wants tattoos, she is testing to see if you stop her from getting them, and if you fail to acquiesce you fail her shit-test.

Now Pewdiepie is a cool guy otherwise and really, plenty of men fail women’s shit-tests so no reason to be too hard. But one of the most important memes we want to push is how to pass women’s shit-tests. Pewdiepie does not pass women’s shit-tests, hence allowed to stay on YouTube, hence not really /ourguy/. And of course, for the parts that he actually is /ourguy/, he is policed heavily.

This kind of policing, either by power or by content creator himself, is endemic in all of Meme Society. It is simply impossible to inject truthful memes into a mass audience, as I’m sure even Vox Day or Roosh have discovered. Of course the truth tends to get out on its own just by merit of being cool, which for example is why a song has gone viral in which Mia Khalifa, who otherwise pretends to be too cool to smell her own farts, is called exactly what she is: a lowlife whore.

But after the song is over, YouTube autoplay will continue with a rap song from a Jew and a black guy. So, even if truth in meme society is not crushed, it is contained.

Yet we of the dark enlightenment are seeking ways to spread our memes. If meme society is really shut off to us, how do we accomplish that?

Our grandest short-term plan is of course for Trump to stage a coup. Not looking so good. Even here in Europe it feels like the winds are slowly turning against the God-Emperor. I light a candle for him every night, but whether it helps remains to be seen.

Our grandest long-term plan is, contrary to leftist spinsters, to have children and populate the earth. When I met Spandrell (yeah that guy with 2.5k followers on twitter, not that I’m counting, we hang, sometimes he gets a bit clingy, but we cool), it struck me how quickly he’d assess people. When discussing men, I felt like he’d rapidly categorize them according to 3 value markers: how much money does he make, how hot is his wife, how many children does he have?

And I still think that is the most accurate, reactionary way to assess someone’s status. So opposed to leftists seeking status in the most stupid self-destructive ways, we seek status by having money, women and children. It is a much better long-term plan; even by having 2 kids you are already ahead of the average white fertility curve. So, that’s our long game.

But only playing the great-great-grandchildren game and nothing else seems weak. Can’t leave it all to them. Need to fight ourselves. That’s what we want to do, anyway. But, blocked out of Meme Society. How we fight?

I don’t have the answers, just some ideas. Good memes spread regardless of a dying breed of leftist elites stopping them. If traffic to this site, which I’ll show in the next post, are an indicator, interest is increasing. Frogtwitter seems to be doing good as well.

But is it enough? We are still far from hitting peak memetic infection rates. We need modes of entry, need ways to show people that our ways are high status and infinitely more cool than our enemies’ ways, which are old and senile and low status. To overtake Meme Society, must infect Meme Society.