Archive for the ‘Ridiculousness’ Category

It’s that time of year. Secularized America’s new number one holiday demands your careful consideration. As a man, you have one job every Halloween: dress in a costume that tells the world an alpha male is hiding underneath.

Rule #1: Don’t do “couples costumes”. Actually, that’s the only rule. Not only are couples costumes betatizing, they’re dorkifying. If you insist on doing a couples costume, make sure it’s a) something totally demeaning to polite company:

or b) something super sexy that leaves you with a semi all night:

In the above couples costume scenario, you’d be the guy holding the scissors to a piece of her tape. “hold this thread as i walk away… as i walk awaaay!…”

If the very limited selection of acceptable couples costumes isn’t your thing, you can go the conventional alpha male costume route:

Or, for you renegade alphas who love to both follow orders and break rules:

But the best alpha male costume is one I saw many years ago, if by “alpha male costume” we mean a costume that attracts battalions of beautiful babies. That is, after all, what alpha male is supposed to signify, right? A man of irresistible allure to women. Or, in this specific case, a costume that imbues a man with irresistible allure. Drumroll please….


Yeah, that’s it above. The most alpha male costume I ever saw, judging by the number of giggling women gathered round to admire and caress him, was a muscular guy wearing nothing but an over-sized diaper and baby bonnet, holding a rattle.

Talk about baby balls.

WARNING: Do NOT try this if you’re a soft, pasty, herbaceous manboob. It only works if there’s a contrast between the baby costume and your natural virile masculinity. This means if you look like John Scalzi, wearing a diaper will freak people out who might mistake you for some weird sexual pervert who strayed from his masturbatorium. Yes, even on Halloween.

Since we’re on the subject of diapers, it would be a tremendous alpha male coup if you could manage to dress up as the Engineer from Prometheus.

CH: “No body suit required.” :wink:

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Sperglord, or Master Meta-Troll, Bryan “the moral and utilitarian thing to do is open the border to my rectum to any undersexed homosexuals so that Gross Domestic Penis is increased” Caplan is hosting an Open Borders Logo Contest. Naturally, the site was infiltrated with mischievous pranksters (Leroy Krune!). My favorite so far:

I think the funniest thing about the pranksters is how oblivious Team Autist appeared to be to their pet project getting tooled so blatantly. One of the Team Autist members, Rojas, “Liked” Krune’s obvious trolls multiple times.

If I were to design an Open Borders Logo, it would pack a little more visceral punch.


Here’s the Immigration Restrictionist Logo:

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The modest Lion of the Blogosphere tirelessly works to alert the citizenry to the threat of death by cow, but there is another evil that lurks in our nation’s parks and quiet retreats: death by tree.

This is not the first time a rogue tree has snuffed out a life. Four years ago, a woman was killed and a man put into a coma by falling tree limbs. Three years ago, a man walking through Central Park minding his own business was taken out by a psychopathic tree limb. Witnesses heard someone yelling “This is for Treevon”, which news outlets were slow to divulge.

The number of casualties and severity of the crimes tell the story: Trees are more dangerous than cows.

My suggestion is to remove your headphones when walking through areas known to be populated by aggressive, killer trees with low future time orientation. You need to be aware of your surroundings so that you can move out of the way when you hear the crack of a giant limb about to hurtle to the ground. Another suggestion is to reduce immigration of less competent people.

Delligatti and other people who live nearby told Fox 5 they were not surprised by the falling tree. They say many of the trees in Kissena Park appear to be in bad condition.

“They need another program where competent people, tree people, [sic] to come around and assess which trees should be taken down, because it’s a mess,” said Delligatti.

The demographic future of America is on track to be comprised of many more incompetent people than we have now, so expect these sorts of “mishaps” to occur more regularly. It’s time to plan your daily life around the reality that there is a big, intrusive government which claims it will take care of you but actually does a bad job of taking care of you.

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I’m a stay-at-home dad to twin 4-year-old girls who are already smarter than me, and my wife is a brilliant doctor who kicks ass and saves lives every day.

From an article by a nominal man who feebly spurts many words onto Slate’s page describing how much his penis scares him.

Congratulations, Mr. Andy Takes-It-In-The-Hinds, your utterance is event horizon manboobery.

The manboobs have been emerging from their micropeen dens in force lately, poking their cock thimbles into the daylight for a breath of fresh air. There is no depth of self-degradation which they will not entertain to relieve themselves of the burden of being born male.

It’s enough nauseating masochism and putrid suck-uppery to make one wonder if the whole thing, written on the Slate halls and the Salon walls, is one giant schtick. Performance parody art that has somehow gelled organically to coax the mischievous participation of male simulacra from across the media landscape.

If only it were so. But no, the likelihood is that these loathsome creatures are sincere. Blame it on estrogen in the water, the lack of a cleansing apocalypse, or feminist shrikes lashing fat nerds with their six inch clits, the fact is that the sack of America is shrinking and her bitch tits are filling up with ululating manboobs.

Some readers may wonder, if this guy is such a grotesquerie in spirit and mind, how did he manage to get a wife? Well, quality matters. If you’re fishing around the dregs of womanhood, it’s not hard to wife up. The orcas and pasty frumps and stubbly manjaws will practically throw themselves at you. Another thing to keep in mind is that just because a guy can claim married status doesn’t necessarily mean he’s enjoying the marital fruits, if’n ya know what I mean.


A charitable reader suggests that this manboob is actually engaged in a form of psychological passive-aggressive warfare with an intended audience of one: His breadwinner wife. He wants his ballbusting, careerist Asian wife to know he has options, or at least that he has been thinking about having options, and the manbooby way to deliver this message is by puling about how ashamed he is of his lustful thoughts for all the hotties he sees every day. Of course, he wouldn’t have to put on this circus if he wasn’t a stay-at-home castrati married to a Tiger doctor. But he is, and so he finds himself using a warped variant of Dread Game to keep his wife interested.

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Behold your modern White man of the West. Honored descendant of great warriors:

…brilliant thinkers:

… and sturdy yeomen:

Fatter, wimpier, more pathetic. Bequeathed a noble heritage that perhaps surpasses every other culture’s heritage come before or since, the modern Western White man disgraces his forebears in all manner, by every measure. His disgrace and capitulation to pampered weakness is so complete, the great men of his lineage would scarcely recognize him as human, let alone as a child of their righteous loins.

He submits to the raping of his countries’ largesse by invading foreigners and citizen subversives. He excuses the actions of those who would sooner wipe him from the face of the earth, and whips himself into a fervid masochistic spectacle for imagined sins purged on the altar of social standing. He spits on his brothers for a pittance and he salts the soil from which his dwindling posterity must grow. He amuses himself with parlor games and slick sophistry, while he hypocritically runs from the very heart of his words to outpost gardens that shelter his sermonizing from scrutiny. He has let his women run wild, appeasing their last whim, and in return has been rewarded with their total disrespect for his pleasure, for his dignity, for his presumption. He indulges in stupefying drugs of the belly and the mind, concentrated by his soft-pedal puppeteers for maximum potency, and loses himself in petty pop culture distractions so perfectly crafted to sedate any spark of fighting spirit or any glimmer of awareness at his decrepit prospects. He licks the boots of his self-assumed betters and endures their debt-propped credentialist servitude in hopes of a place at the shrinking table, or he denies betterment and retreats to a spiteful underculture of crass gluttony and exhilarating dysfunction. He dutifully mouths ruling class slogans as he bristles incoherently within a maze of diverse strangeness and under the gaze of cold surveillance. He wars with his masculine essence, surrendering to caricature or to simulated castration.

He farms gold, he uploads, he downloads, he pants loads, he MGTOWs, he cube codes, he Insta-chodes, he’s friendzoned, he faps alone, he dates low, he marries old, he’s sorta ‘mo (he’s proud to show), he cornholes, he corn sows, he’s a cuddle pro, he tucks a micro, he’s equality yo, he’s a harmless bro, he fucks slow (first licks her hole), no means no (as he well knows), he’s wow just wow (brash scares him so), he’s status quo, he’s a quota goat, his girlfriend’s gross (he won’t tell her though), he nuzzles cows, he scrapes and bows, he’s a cog-to-go, he luvs a ho, his titties grow, he’s GIRL YOU GO!, his ex-wife’s boyfriend spends his dough, his girlfriend fucked an asshole…

…he knows no home to call his own.

The modern Western White man is one fat fold away from watching forlornly as his scepter and orbs of manly pride dip below a tragic horizon, forever out of sight.

But, hey, those smartphones are nifty, right? You can use them to call for help when another fat feminist or ingrate racial huckster shits in your face for fun and profit.

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Over at GLPiggy’s, a discussion has ensued about an article written by a white man describing his experience growing up in a predominantly black neighborhood in Philadelphia. It’s the heartwarming story of a good white liberal daring to confront his deepest, darkest thoughts on the subject of race and what we in the sanity industry call “reality”.

Normally, good white liberal forays into the topic of urban real estate require a handy dandy translator service if you aren’t up to speed with the encryption used to guard the moral boundaries that separate crimethink (what we in the candor industry call “realtalk”) from cocktail party sophistry. That pulpit isn’t going to draw the flocks of finger-waggers if you can’t maintain the plausible deniability of the self-righteous neo-Puritan thundering against the boogeyman of Southron witches.

Good White Liberal Translation Dictionary

“dangerous” = black
“bad” = black
“sketchy” = black
“marginal” = black
“touch and go” = black
“rough” = black
“crime prone” = black
“inconvenient” = no cabs = black
“gun free zone” = black, as translated from the MSM-ese
“no-go” = 100% black
“ghetto” = archaic, so black has become unacceptable as a euphemism
“teen gangs” = the blackest of black
“seedy” = black + street walkers
“scary” = witnessed a black committing a crime there
“tricky” = black, with some mestizos
“crazy” = more trannies than blacks
“edgy” = African immigrant blacks with jobs + overpaid gay web designers
“borderline” = black, but saw some white faces and exhaled with relief
“decent” = less black
“up and coming” = even less black
“expensive” = non-black
“yuppie” = been non-black so long forgot how bad black was
“boring” = asian

This translation dictionary is a valuable companion on your sojourns through the land of clever silly SPWLs. Good luck trying to get a high verbal IQ SWPL to admit to what they’re actually saying. You may as well try to squeeze blood from a lawyerchick. But now you don’t have to do the impossible; with this dictionary, you’ll be able to suffer through semantic legerdemain while nodding knowingly and hoisting a craft brew in tacit tribal affiliation.

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“It’s inexpensive, if you think about it. You’ll pay two-hundred and fifty for a Michael Kors. For something only half as cute.”

If this facade were to burn tomorrow, I wouldn’t shed a tear for its loss.

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