Aging Urban Broads: The Manliest Of Women

Yet another churlish, resentful SWPL broad is on the warpath against game, armed with the same primitive stone tools all the other anti-game broads wield.

Reading the half-baked hate, I can’t help but get the impression of a very nervous woman. A woman apprehensive that men are gaining power in the sexual market and perhaps appalled that she is not any longer the primary target of that invigorated male sexual power. I can imagine her speaking truth to her indignation by assuming the role of the wise SWPL lady to a generation of younger women, admonishing them to never settle and scolding men to grow up.

But, you know, the times they change. The cock has no interest in your feeble hate. It doesn’t believe in synthesis, or syllogism, or in any absolute. What does it believe in? Pussy. And whatever it takes to get it. It’s self-evident.

The hater, McArdle, read an article by S.G. Belknap in The Point Magazine about pickup artists and seduction technology. McArdle sneers that men who learn game to attract women are “girly”.

I find it hilarious that the pick-up artists think of themselves as especially manly.  When I read this piece, what they sound like to me is girls–specifically, girls in the 14-17 age group.

The “learning seduction is girly” sneer is one of the most tedious repressed neoVictorian sniffs at game. It’s almost as if McArdle reads the comments here and sent a private shout out (and a pizza) to a bunch of my haters (hi, spoogen!) to agree on what they thought would be the most cutting sort of jab with which to poke the PUAs.

Spending all of your time thinking about how to attract the opposite sex?  Check.  Practicing poses in the mirror to figure out which ones are most attractive?  Check. Talking about it endlessly with your friends who only seem to care about the same, one, thing?  Check. Increasingly elaborate strategems for getting attention?  check.  Eventual evolution of said strategems into rituals as mechanical as playing the opening levels of an old-style video game?  Check.  If I close my eyes, I can still smell the bubble-gum scented lip gloss . . .

Worried that all that strategizing works? Check. Worried that all that strategizing will help men date younger, hotter, tighter women? Check. Doubly worried her lip gloss not be poppin’ anymore? Check.

For a supposedly rational liberdroid, McArdle seems oddly afflicted by the effervescent romantic idealism of the “just be yourself” and the “it should happen naturally” schools of nonthought. I’ve got news for her: courtship, attraction, and seduction ARE biomechanical processes that can be extracted from the misty ether and reduced to their core components. From such knowledge, generalizations can be made about the sexes. Does this fact bother many women? Sure it does. And I explained why in this post:

Generalizations offend women in a way they do not offend men because they breach the perimeter ego defense and strike right at a woman’s core self-conception — her belief in herself as Princess On A Cloud Carried Aloft By Admiring Suitors. If it’s true that her genes account for nearly all her success or failure with the men she wants, then there isn’t much she can do to improve her chances to fulfill her deepest desires. If it’s true (and it is) that men value beauty above all else, then it is logically inescapable that she is, to an unsettling degree, interchangeable with any women who are at or above her level of physical attractiveness.

Game, by stripping the seduction process into a flowchart for ease of learning and applying in the field, offends women’s sense of mystery and prerogative to act on intuition. Things better left shrouded in the unknown is the working preference of most women, not because they are more romantic than men (just the opposite is true), but because women are constitutionally wired to abhor the thought that men can exert calculated influence on women’s sexual desires and choices. Women want total and untrammeled choice in the dating market, and they want to prohibit men from enjoying the same extraordinary power. Game brings balance to the force, and that is highly threatening to women, particularly aging women for whom options are rapidly running out. (Reminder: Maxim #98: Marriage is no escape from the sexual market and the possibility that you may be outbid by a competitor with higher value.)

Ultimately, women hate the thought of game, (not game itself; that they love), because they want their alpha male – beta male distinctions predigested and unsullied by interference from proactive men intent on bringing chaos to the male hierarchy. This is why women love royalty and kings and princes so much; in that world, the alphas are identified and known. There is little churn. The women have only to concern themselves with competing with other women for the cocka of the top dog. But in a world of game, where the status of men is in a constant state of flux, ever-shifting and spoiling the tidiness of the women’s preferred caste systemed zero sum sexual market, there are additional stresses and concerns. Now the women have to figure out who among the millions of men trundling through their gleaming anonymous urban jungles tingling ginas left and right are the alpha males of their dreams and expectations. By muddying the waters, game makes this filtering process more difficult for women. More exhilarating, too.

McArdle imitates a snarky lip curl:

Do they send out for pizza while they talk, or would that just make Erik cry because he looks so fat in his new jeans?

Projection, it’s what’s for dinner!

She continues:

Who–over the age of 25–believes that investing most of your time and energy in attracting another person means that you’re gaining power over them?  At least the little girls eventually learn that sex and flirting are supposed to be fun.  And very few full time jobs are fun.

First, a man invests time and energy in attracting women in almost anything he does. Directly, he does this through courtship and game. Indirectly, he does this through status increasing activities which his genes have programmed him to do because it is an effective way to attract a lot of fertile age women. How does that Chris Rock joke go? If a man could get blowjobs with no effort, he’d be satisfied living in a cardboard box. That one method is considered less noble than the other and frowned upon by polite PC company is not a man’s moral crisis.

Second, in what warped fembot universe is successfully attracting women so that they have sex with you a sign of powerlessness? Is McArdle unaware of men’s ultimate goal? Hint: insert penis into vagina.

I’ve previously responded to the hackneyed hate from the likes of McArdle and her sisterhood of the traveling prigs. See this classic post. It’s nothing new. On the subject of “girly” male seducers:

12. Fallacy of Misdirected Obsession Hate

Hater: A guy who spends his life obsessing over how to get women is a loser.

A guy who spends his life obsessing over climbing the corporate ladder to get more attention from women is a loser.
A guy who spends his life obsessing over mastering guitar and playing in a rock band to get more attention from women is a loser.
A guy who spends his life obsessing over pursuing financial rewards and acquiring resources to get more attention from women is a loser.
A guy who….. ah, you get the point.

[…]

16. Dancing Monkey Hate

Hater: Men who run game are just doing the bidding of women. Alphas don’t entertain women.

If you want success with women, you are going to have to entertain them… one way or the other. The same is true of women. Once a woman stops entertaining men with her body, her femininity, and her commitment worthiness by getting fat, old, ugly, bitchy, or single mom-y, she stops having success with men. We are all doing the bidding of our biomechanical overlord, and on our knees to his will we surrender, by force or by choice. You fool yourself if you believe you have some plenary indulgence from this stark reality.
Or: If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

According to McArdle’s impeccable logic, I suppose the billions of women who studiously do their hair, dress in the latest fashions, wear makeup, tone their glutes, play hard to get, and consume everything from herbal elixirs to plastic surgery in order to turn back the hands of time are acting manly. Yes, I find it hilarious that all these women think of themselves as feminine.

There is also something to be said for the power of contrast. A man who displays dominant body language (learned or inherited) can strengthen and speed the seduction of women by handicapping himself with feminine flash. This flash can be expressed either through peacocking (exaggerated male fashion) or by running vulnerability game. Women are very attuned to male status, and a man can signal high status by refusing to play by the rules or fall in line with the norm. Defying a woman’s expectations is an effective seduction strategy.

Allow me to get personal for a moment. (double heh) This “men who learn the science of seduction are girly” meme has been spreading like a dumpy middle-aged ass among the cackling witch crowd lately. Perhaps a little of the old remote psychological diagnosis is in order. I wonder if these yuppie broads are projecting their deepest unmet desire for a sexy man who can properly seduce them after they daydream their way through another tepid rutting session with their pasty, doting, domestic chore-splitting beta provider husbands and boyfriends. Ya know, too much relationship exactness and complementarity is sand in the gears of the female soul.

(Note: Regular commenter Thursday has a number of insightful comments over at McArdle’s blog. Go check them out.)

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Hank Moody: Chump

Our TV shows, movies and music give us hints about America as she is and where she is heading, at least as filtered through the eyes of a certain cultural or ethnic niche.

A friend told me I must watch Californication. He said the Hank Moody character closely resembled my life. Michael Blowhard, formerly of 2blowhards, also suggested I check out the show for its excellent portrayal of a man who knows how to game girls. Naturally, I was curious, so I watched all three seasons. I could see the resemblance. Spoilers below, so if you haven’t yet seen the show go whack off to cuteoverload.com.

The show is a blast. Smartly written, funny, and bawdy, with just the right amount of emotional gravitas to leaven the barrage of casual sex, cheating, whoring, drinking and coke snorting. I won’t look at Kathleen “tush toot” Turner the same way again.

Hank Moody is the oversexed main character (played effortlessly by a youthful looking David Duchovny — he was in his late 40s when filming began. One wonders just how much supposed sex addict Duchovny channeled his real life for this character). Moody (get it?) is a charming asshole given to bouts of despondency and a penchant for self-sabotage. He’s a writer with writer’s block who moves to LA from New York. His craving for fresh pussy (and his ability to get it) puts him on a crash course with his desire to fully reunite with his one true love, Karen, and their daughter Becca. You might think of the show in these terms: Hank’s multitudinous lovers are his id, Karen is his ego, and Becca a manifestation of his superego. I think the writers of the show added Becca to ground Hank lest he float away on an endless puffy cloud shaped like a mons pubis.

Any man interested in game should watch this show. Hank Moody practically delivers a clinic on how to properly seduce chicks in nearly every episode. He is the consummate cocky funny jerk women can’t help but love. For example, here is a scene where Hank is flirting with a woman he does not yet know is a prostitute (she later genuinely falls for Hank and offers pro bono services):

Hank: Come on, how come I don’t know your name?

Trixie: You haven’t asked.

Hank: Well, let’s not stand on ceremony. [He hand motions for her to say her name.]

Trixie: Trixie.

Hank: Trixie! That is a terrific name… if you’re a hooker!

Beautiful neg, said with a smile. How many of you guys reading right now would have the balls to pull off that kind of neg on a girl in a bar? You need to get those balls, because that is the kind of edgy, teasing game that fires a woman’s loins.

There are plenty more examples in the show of the right frame to hold with women. For that alone, it is worth watching. But somewhere in the middle of the first season, something began to bother me about the underlying message the show was sending. Finally, after Hank gets into yet another fistfight with a random dude who slighted some random woman, it hits me.

Hank Moody is a white knighting chump. A feminist’s dream. The alpha male who will spill the blood of other men and sacrifice his own self-interest to protect the honor of the lying whores and skanky sluts he bangs whose supposed deep-seated decency Hank can’t stop extolling, even when all evidence points to the contrary.

Think about it for a minute. What is the perfect man in a feminist’s eyes? He is first and foremost that charming cad who gets them wet. We all know the tingle is the necessary ingredient on the way to female fulfillment. Second, he is utterly nonjudgmental, no matter how badly the women in his life behave. Everything, ultimately, is his own fault, and he feels deeply sorry for “hurting” women, even when he can’t help but continue “hurting” them. Third, he will defend a woman’s honor at risk to his own well-being, health and reputation, even when the woman in question has little objective honor worth defending. Fourth, he will forgive everything bad women do to him, absolve them of all their sins (they know not what they do, lord, for they have mere vaginas), and fight those who would disagree.

An egregious example of Hank’s knee-jerk white knighting is in his relationship with the character Mia. Mia is an underage sexpot who seduces Hank in a bookstore and fucks him without telling him her age, then adds insult to injury by punching him in the face, hard, during sex. Later, she steals his newest manuscript (the only one he has written. no copies. what a maroon!), reads it, and passes it off as her own, going so far as to show up at Hank’s agent’s office to pitch her “new book” to a roomful of cackling skank-ho broads who, naturally, love this “new voice”. Throughout the later episodes, there is a constant undercurrent of impending doom awaiting Hank as Mia hints at spilling the beans about Hank’s statutory rape if he should ever decide to reveal she is not the author of his book. In fact, the statutory rape specter is the leaden apparition that haunts the entire show, and infuses it with the drama necessary to propel the plotline forward.

And all through this, Hank barely registers the slightest bit of anger or resentment toward Mia. If anything, he is protective of her, like a father, at one point explaining that she’s “not malicious, just mischievous”.

Hank, you silly stupid fuck, you douchebrained fool. Any sane person would agree that a woman duping a man into a possible statutory rape charge, stealing his labor of love manuscript, passing it off as her own, receiving the financial and social rewards of that book while depriving the true author of same, threatening to scream rape should the aggrieved man reveal the truth, and finally having the man’s ass thrown in jail on rape charges…

is a grade A 100% malicious bitch.

And yet, the writers felt it necessary to infantilize Mia and demonize the men who would treat Mia as the calculating succubus she is.

Is there anything more puke-inducing than unthinking white knighting? If his backasswards behavior in the face of such treachery is supposed to humanize Hank Moody, it doesn’t. It just makes him look like a chump. A fun, sexy chump, to be sure, but a chump just the same. Let’s see if the upcoming season four corrects his doleful trajectory and knocks some sense into his hyperchivalrous melon.

My point of all this is that the underlying message in Californication is not pro-male, or even pro-lothario. It is yet another shot across the bow of dignified, bold manhood, whether that manhood is exemplified in the form of the hapless but successful beta provider character played by Dean Coontz, or in the wanderlusting lothario of Hank Moody. It is not different than the message of any other TV show of the past twenty years churned out by Hollywood —

Men are stupid malcontents, and women are paragons of unassailable virtue.

The writers took the easy way out, which is too bad, because this show could have been more than merely entertaining. It could have been a cultural touchstone.

Which brings me to a larger issue. What the fuck is up with statutory rape? It’s a joke law made up by joke legislators without a scintilla of real world experience with women. Am I supposed to request age identification from every full-bodied young woman who comes onto me? There are 13 year olds out there who look like grown women. At the borderline of 16 to 18 years old, many women could easily pass for mid to late 20s. It is well known by neuroscientists and psychologists studying these things that women mature faster than men. Women’s brains gel into adult-shaped contours sooner. A full breasted and wide-hipped 17 year old hottie who flirts with me knows exactly what she is doing and what she wants. She is no child to be coddled. And yet, I could be thrown in jail if I slept with her assuming she was an older girl, even if it was something we both consensually desired.

This is abject bullshit. The law makes it a necessity to demand age identification with every young woman a man might want to fuck who could conceivably pass for a teenager. This means background checks on women in their 20s. And what about women who lie? They exist, lots of them. Is a statutory rape charge for the man the just response — the *fair* response — to a lying woman who wanted the sex as much as he?

It’s time to end the charade of statutory rape. If the “underage” woman is physically developed, and she consents to the sex, there is no rape charge, period. For chrissakes, there are 14 year olds in parts of the world getting married off and pumping out children of their own.

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The End Of Beta Providers

Hanna Rosin wrote a stream of consciousness diatribe against men in The Atlantic recently called “The End of Men“. As with most of these articles written by foot soldiers of the femborg collective lamenting — or celebrating, if the tone is any indication — the regression of men into second and third class status in American society, evidence for certain assertions is woefully lacking, and where the authors uncover something truthful about the condition of modern men, they only paint half a picture because of their refusal, out of ignorance or deceptiveness, to confront the full reality of the sexual market; in particular, female hypergamy. Without grasping the very different compulsions that animate men’s and women’s sexual drives, one will never have a clear understanding of male-female relations and cultural trends. Because ultimately, all culture, all markets, spring from the fundamental sexual market.

In the ’90s, when Ericsson looked into the numbers for the two dozen or so [fertility] clinics that use his process, he discovered, to his surprise, that couples were requesting more girls than boys, a gap that has persisted, even though Ericsson advertises the method as more effective for producing boys. In some clinics, Ericsson has said, the ratio is now as high as 2 to 1. Polling data on American sex preference is sparse, and does not show a clear preference for girls. But the picture from the doctor’s office unambiguously does. A newer method for sperm selection, called MicroSort, is currently completing Food and Drug Administration clinical trials. The girl requests for that method run at about 75 percent.

Leaving aside the possibility of selection bias in the couples who make gender requests at fertility clinics, a trend toward proactively favoring girls over boys would be expected and predicted by evolutionary psychologists in a culture where an individual woman had an increasingly better chance of reproducing in adulthood than an individual man. As women are the limiting reproductive variable, and as men’s provider value is decreasing at the same time they are falling behind in the resource acquisition race relative to women, it makes far more sense for parents who, subconsciously, want children who can grow up to give them lots of grandchildren, to favor daughters over sons when a choice is available. It’s a reasonable bet hedge.

Even more unsettling for Ericsson, it has become clear that in choosing the sex of the next generation, he is no longer the boss. “It’s the women who are driving all the decisions,” he says—a change the MicroSort spokespeople I met with also mentioned. At first, Ericsson says, women who called his clinics would apologize and shyly explain that they already had two boys. “Now they just call and [say] outright, ‘I want a girl.’ These mothers look at their lives and think their daughters will have a bright future their mother and grandmother didn’t have, brighter than their sons, even, so why wouldn’t you choose a girl?”

That’s one reason. The other reason is that young girls are simply easier to raise than young boys. I have little nieces and nephews, and it’s easy to observe how much louder, rambunctious, temperamental, and ill-behaved the boys are compared to the girls. This is not an excuse to drug them; that same whirling dervish quality also imparts boys with the innate ability to invent, improve, and build civilizations from the ground up… and fight and screw like champs. For dual earning, self-absorbed parents on the go go go, better behaved daughters who don’t demand so much of their attention are a welcome relief.

Up to a point, the reasons behind this shift are obvious. As thinking and communicating have come to eclipse physical strength and stamina as the keys to economic success, those societies that take advantage of the talents of all their adults, not just half of them, have pulled away from the rest.

“Thinking”? I can see an innate advantage in communicating, as women are generally more extraverted and verbally adept than men, but in the thinking department men have the edge. Not only do more men occupy the far right tail of genius on the IQ bell curve, they also have a higher mean IQ than women.

And because geopolitics and global culture are, ultimately, Darwinian, other societies either follow suit or end up marginalized.

There is agreement among the commentariat that societies with emancipated and economically empowered women outperform societies with traditional sex roles, and that it is assumed this performance differential will hold up for eternity.  But things change, the center cannot hold. Who’s to say gender egalitarian societies don’t contain within themselves the seed of their destruction? Or: this ride ain’t over yet.

What if the modern, postindustrial economy is simply more congenial to women than to men?

Conscientious application to menial desk jockey multitasks is what women’s brains are best at. Our society exists at a strange moment of economic limbo between two worlds — the past manufacturing based world and the future transhuman world — a limbo where paper pushing, legalistic gear grinding, government welfare administration, and service with a smile has infested like a toxic mold almost every tier of vertical and horizontal economic productivity. It is the kind of work, in substance and in psychological reward, that is soul-crushing to men but fulfilling to women. And it is the kind of work for which colleges, with their mile wide but inch deep liberal arts programs and their empty-headed women’s studies classes, are preparing with perfect precision their students for the female-majority workforce of the anticipated future.

The postindustrial economy is indifferent to men’s size and strength. The attributes that are most valuable today—social intelligence, open communication, the ability to sit still and focus—are, at a minimum, not predominantly male.

As I’ve written before, all that female-oriented yapping, organizing, and paper shuffling means nothing if you don’t have the male-dominated engineers and scientists to produce the products that yappers huddle about to sell.

Yes, the U.S. still has a wage gap, one that can be convincingly explained—at least in part—by discrimination.

Unlike articles written by respected authors in respectable magazines with a national exposure read by millions, we here at this little internet outpost must abide the truth. And the truth is that little to none of the sex wage gap has to do with discrimination. It is instead a result of differences in occupational choice, (mediated by women’s natural biological proclivity to prefer pursuing careers in lower paying nurturing jobs), and by women’s decisions to take time off work for family reasons.

I’d say pwned, but I think Hanna RosinPlotzinDingleheimerSchmidt would enjoy that.

Yes, women still do most of the child care.

Because Rosin doesn’t confront the existence of female hypergamy and status whoring, she does not reflect on the fact that men who do play kitchen bitch and contribute half or more of the child care and domestic duties quickly betatize themselves straight into sexless purgatory. Women can bitch all they want about unhelpful men in the home, but when push comes to shove, those women stop pushing into the crotches of their enlightened domesticated partners. Smart men know this, so they learn to ignore the bitching in favor of getting their dicks wet.

It may be happening slowly and unevenly, but it’s unmistakably happening: in the long view, the modern economy is becoming a place where women hold the cards.

One of the commenters absolutely schooled Rosin about some of her assumptions of a female-dominated economy. You can read that comment here.

The list of growing jobs is heavy on nurturing professions, in which women, ironically, seem to benefit from old stereotypes and habits.

Stereotypes don’t materialize out of thin air. They usually have a very large kernel of truth.

Theoretically, there is no reason men should not be qualified. But they have proved remarkably unable to adapt.

This is the new talking point you’re going to hear from feminists now. “Men are not adapting.” Funny, when men were 80%+ of the workforce 50 years ago those feminists weren’t sorrowfully noting that women weren’t adapting. They were banging the mutlicult, West-loathing, equalist drums of Zion against the eeeeeevils of discrimination.

Nursing schools have tried hard to recruit men in the past few years, with minimal success.

If a high rate of female participation puts men off from working in certain fields, then it stands to reason gay marriage will put men off from marrying, if we follow feminist logic down rich avenues of discussion. Damn logic… you scary!

There is probably some truth to that, but the bigger reason is likely biological; men don’t enjoy working in nurturing jobs because men don’t like nurturing people. It doesn’t give us a scrotal tingle. Now smashing shit up… that’s fun!

But even the way this issue is now framed reveals that men’s hold on power in elite circles may be loosening. In business circles, the lack of women at the top is described as a “brain drain” and a crisis of “talent retention.”

Serious question: how much of a free market economy is positive sum? Is it not inconceivable that adding twice as many workers to the job market would displace a bunch of men already working into unemployment or underemployment, instead of adding to overall growth? Why is “brain drain” the default assumption, instead of “brain rearrange”?

Even around the delicate question of working mothers, the terms of the conversation are shifting. Last year, in a story about breast-feeding, I complained about how the early years of child rearing keep women out of power positions.

Poor fembot! Suck it up.

For recent college graduates of both sexes, flexible arrangements are at the top of the list of workplace demands, according to a study published last year in the Harvard Business Review. And companies eager to attract and retain talented workers and managers are responding.

Single moms like to talk about how they do things on their own, and they “don’t need a man”. But in fact, flex time and related corporate incentives *are* a form of substitute husband and father. That money for flex time has to come from somewhere, usually in higher prices for the company’s products or in lowered salaries for its employees. It is private welfare, but welfare just the same. Now companies can choose to offer this to their heart’s content; after all, no one is forcing me to buy their products or work there and thus subsidize the lifestyles of a bunch of single moms and harried working moms. But my advice to men who want to maximize their earning potential — work for companies that don’t offer generous payoffs in an effort to recruit working moms. It is likely you will command a higher salary with more patriarchal companies.

Researchers have started looking into the relationship between testosterone and excessive risk, and wondering if groups of men, in some basic hormonal way, spur each other to make reckless decisions. The picture emerging is a mirror image of the traditional gender map: men and markets on the side of the irrational and overemotional, and women on the side of the cool and levelheaded.

That same testosterone that causes men to make risky stock market decisions also causes them to risk building gleaming civilizations and all the creature comforts therein that you ingrate feminists couldn’t live without.

Most important, women earn almost 60 percent of all bachelor’s degrees—the minimum requirement, in most cases, for an affluent life.

Only about 1/5th to a quarter of Americans are genetically capable of succeeding at undergraduate college. So is Rosin here suggesting that 4/5ths of Americans are doomed to a long eternal struggle to make ends meet? And, in light of this, what is her opinion on the importation of millions of peasant class Mexicans?

In a stark reversal since the 1970s, men are now more likely than women to hold only a high-school diploma. “One would think that if men were acting in a rational way, they would be getting the education they need to get along out there,” says Tom Mortenson, a senior scholar at the Pell Institute for the Study of Opportunity in Higher Education. “But they are just failing to adapt.”

There’s that word rational again. And that word adapt. Here’s a scary thought for the platitude spouters to chew on: Perhaps men *are* acting in a rational way. Perhaps they are adapting to the new culture, aka sexual market ver. 2.0. When in the past men could reliably attract women with a decent middle class job working in a dreary corporate office or along a clattering assembly line, they put in the effort needed to get those jobs and paychecks. But now, in a mating landscape where women work and earn almost as much as men and, consequently, have devalued the traditional currency of barter in the mating market and shrunk their dating pool, men are responding to this disincentive to bust their balls for diminished sexual reward by dropping out (omegas), doping out (video gaming and porn consuming betas), and cadding about (alphas and practitioners of game).

Maybe men see the matrix better than Rosin thinks. If the economic empowerment of women means men have to work three times harder just to get the same old, now rapidly fattening, pussy they got in the past for less effort, then maybe they’ve figured out that the system is rigged against them. Maybe they’ve made a very rational decision to get access to this pussy by other means. And let it be said that there is more than one way to stroke a kitty. Remember, women don’t get wet for a paycheck; they get wet for the alpha demeanor that a man who is good at collecting paychecks exudes. And as any reader of this site knows, that alpha demeanor can be learned and applied.

When financially self-sufficient women turn away from beta providers as a source of sexual arousal, they substitute other alpha male qualities in its place. That is why Rosin’s article would have been better titled “The End of Beta Providers”. It’s a brave new world, and the answer is more game, more players, more sexual healing. It’s win-win for everyone… except modern society.

Victoria is a biology major and wants to be a surgeon; soon she’ll apply to a bunch of medical schools. She doesn’t want kids for a while, because she knows she’ll “be at the hospital, like, 100 hours a week,”

Do you want a girl who talks like this operating on you?

…and when she does have kids, well, she’ll “be the hotshot surgeon, and he”—a nameless he—“will be at home playing with the kiddies.”

Translation: she’ll be the subpar surgeon, and he will be at home masturbating furiously to teen porn while she’s out getting creampied by the biker patient with the sleeve tattoo who knows how to press her submissiveness buttons.

And yet, for all the hand-wringing over the lonely spinster, the real loser in society—the only one to have made just slight financial gains since the 1970s—is the single man, whether poor or rich, college-educated or not. Hens rejoice; it’s the bachelor party that’s over.

I’ve never seen such an obvious case of cunty projection. I’m here to report, Mizz RosinFluffinHack, that no marriage, no kids, lotsa sex is a bachelor party without end. Far from being over, it’s in full swing.

Still, they are in charge. “The family changes over the past four decades have been bad for men and bad for kids, but it’s not clear they are bad for women,” says W. Bradford Wilcox, the head of the University of Virginia’s National Marriage Project.

Bad for men who don’t have game or other compensatory alpha traits to secure sex. Definitely bad for kids. Good for women? Questionable. While women may think they are getting what they want right now, in the long term those fatherless kids are more likely to grow up into sluts and juvenile delinquents. And then the pendulum will swing back with an unstoppable force slicing and dicing the illusion of material comfort and free choice into a million little gelatinous bits. Single moms are literally breeding their undoing.

At the same time, a new kind of alpha female has appeared, stirring up anxiety and, occasionally, fear.

Fear and anxiety and intimidation, oh my! The classic femcunt squid ink to complicate the very simple truth that men don’t find afeminine, go-getting, ball-busting alpha tankgrrls sexually attractive. Well, unless they’re really hot, in which case refusing a pump and dump would be… uncivilized.

The cougar trope started out as a joke about desperate older women. Now it’s gone mainstream, even in Hollywood, home to the 50-something producer with a starlet on his arm. Susan Sarandon and Demi Moore have boy toys, and Aaron Johnson, the 19-year-old star of Kick-Ass, is a proud boy toy for a woman 24 years his senior.

For every cougar dating a younger man, there are 100 older men dating younger women.

A character played by George Clooney is called too old to be attractive by his younger female colleague and is later rejected by an older woman whom he falls in love with after she sleeps with him—and who turns out to be married. George Clooney! If the sexiest man alive can get twice rejected (and sexually played) in a movie, what hope is there for anyone else?

Yo, Hanna Montana, it’s a movie. You’re not making the point you think you’re making here. In real life, aging George Clooney smartly avoids marriage and boffs a steady stream of hot young babes.

In fact, the more women dominate, the more they behave, fittingly, like the dominant sex. Rates of violence committed by middle-aged women have skyrocketed since the 1980s, and no one knows why.

This is one of those claims that I’m just sure is being massaged into a teetering steaming shitpile, but I’m too lazy to go digging for the relevant studies confirming or denying.

Then the commercial abruptly cuts to the fantasy, a Dodge Charger vrooming toward the camera punctuated by bold all caps: MAN’S LAST STAND. But the motto is unconvincing. After that display of muteness and passivity, you can only imagine a woman—one with shiny lips—steering the beast.

Mrs., or is it Ms.?, Hanna Rosin had her kids named RosinPlotz, after her last name and her husband’s last name. I wonder what their wedding vows were?

“I, Hanna’s grateful half, take you, Hanna, to be my lawfully wedded spousal partner, in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, and in joy as well as sorrow. I promise to love you unconditionally, to allow you to love whomever whenever and not complain when you are self-actualizing, to support you in your goals, sexual or otherwise, to honor and respect you and the man you will eventually shack up with when you tire of my honoring and respecting, to laugh with you at me and to cry with myself on the day you so choose to expand your horizons and capacity for love to others, and to cherish you for so long as you choose to let me keep my money, house, and quality time with our kids.”

“I, Hanna, accept your marital terms, and promise to append your surname to the ass end of my surname for our kids, so that they may always know who is in charge.”

Man’s last stand, indeed.

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The Most Obnoxious Woman In The World?

I wander the scorched wastelands of the human psyche, explore the depths of the musty ideologies hidden within, and drag them kicking and screaming to the oasis of cleansing truth so that you may be entertained from the comfort of your Barcalounger. My crusade over the past three years finding and eviscerating the hated enemies of beauty and truth has finally brought me face to face with perhaps the most execrable creature to stalk the consciousness of the Holy Hedonist Empire.

I hesitate to write this post because the horror you will find within is nearly beyond comprehension. I risk credibility if it turns out the entire article was a put-on, an act to stimulate an immunological response from a healthy psyche. I accept that risk, because the greater risk is in allowing a genuine abomination to go unridiculed.

From a Washington City Paper interview (hat tip: reader Mike), pay your shilling and enter the tent to feast your eyes upon Jaclyn Friedman, AKA “Fucking While Feminist”:

Jaclyn Friedman is, in short, a feminist rock star. She is the executive director of  WAM!: Women, Action & the Media. She edited the incredible Yes Means Yes!: Visions of Female Sexual Power and a World Without Rape, and continues the work of dismantling rape culture in her weekly pro-sex column. She writes as compellingly about taking off her shirt for fun as she does her college sexual assault. And she has been fucking under these conditions for nearly 20 years.

What is the difference between sex with a pro-sex feminist and sex with a pro-sex normal woman? Earplugs.

Fucking while feminist presents a peculiar set of challenges for the pro-sex single. How do you talk rape culture on a first date while still managing to get laid once in a while? How do you find the feminist guy who won’t self-flagellate to the point of unfuckability? How do you avoid dying alone, basically?

I’ll answer those questions for the City Paper interviewer.

“How do you talk rape culture on a first date while still managing to get laid once in a while?”

You don’t if you want to date men who aren’t afraid of their own penises.

“How do you find the feminist guy who won’t self-flagellate to the point of unfuckability?”

Such a man doesn’t exist. If he does, he is lying to you. Or gay.

“How do you avoid dying alone, basically?”

Cat cryogenics.

J[aclyn] F[riedman]: The way I hope it will work is that they ask these initial questions [about my rape culture books] before we meet in person. So then they can go offline and collect their thoughts and then respond to me. My profile says I’m a feminist. So a lot of people who would be really scared off by me, we don’t get very far. When the whole Polanski thing was going down, I had this big argument with a guy about Polanski. First date. And last one.

No surprise there. Though I can only read her words, I can vicariously hear her grating voice plucking out my ear hairs one by one, slowly to maximize the pain. Could you imagine going on a date with this shrike? She’s already arguing with you before the first round is ordered. If I get into *one* big argument with a chick within the first three months of dating her, I seriously consider dumping her. But a big argument on the first date is a giant red flag that proudly proclaims “Kneel before my mighty shit test, and pass or be emasculated by the swinging of my serrated clit dick!” Some shit tests are not worth passing. Sometimes it’s just an ugly, gnarled soul staring daggers of challenge at you from across the table.

Do you have any feminist litmus tests?

JF: I would like for there to be a set of feminist litmus tests that I could reference and use to find the right guy. Right now, I feel like I’m in an endless cycle of asking myself, “Am I willing to let this slide?” I’m mostly dating guys right now, which is fairly new for me. From my early 20s to my mid-30s I dated exclusively women and trans men.

Ah, so she’s in her late 30s or 40s now. That would explain the sudden biological urge to merge with sperm-manufacturing normal men. Experimentation is all fun and games until your subjects stop finding you a worthwhile lay.

I’m not romanticizing that, like “it’s so much easier with women”—let me tell you, it’s not. But it’s a different set of questions you have to ask. I don’t feel like I can go in to these dates expecting dudes to know as much about feminism or sexuality studies or rape culture [i.e., lies], the stuff that I live my life talking about and thinking about. I feel like I’m going to die alone if I do that.

Will your slavish adherence to your comforting lies have been worth it?

Here is what’s depressing about dating while feminist. Feminism is what I do with my life, it’s how I spend my days, it’s my job, it’s not just an opinion I have among many other opinions.

The most dogmatic ideologues are always running on the righteous fury of their opinions. They have to, because one stop to take a breath could mean the entire edifice of lies crumbles down on them from forward momentum. They secretly suspect, late at night when the terrifying silence leaves them alone with their innermost thoughts, that everything they believe is a lie. And so they shout hate and fear at the heart of the world. Imagine waking up one day to realize your entire life was a farce? And a deadly farce at that; one which withheld from you some of the greatest joys of life.

If I had a hardcore litmus test, the pool of men I could date would be so tiny.

I’ve got news for you, my cougar child. It’s getting tiny regardless of any litmus test you might impose. Which, ironically, will cause you to impose ever stricter litmus tests. The bruised ego drinks deeply from the chalice of the sour grapewine.

And then when you weeded out men who are gay, the men I don’t find attractive, the men already in monogamous, committed relationships—really, I would never get laid again. So I do feel that I have to try to be flexible out of necessity.

Older women either stiffen into celibacy or become Yogic masters of dating flexibility. As “Feminist While Fucking” seems to possess a man’s libido, she has opted to accept the dreary fact that her waning sexual market value places constraints on what she can, and can no longer, demand from the men she dates.

But if I were to end up with someone—and I do want a long-term, stable relationship with someone at some point—they would have to be feminist on some basic level. They would have to be.

Hey, betas, guess what! You now have your shot at tasting the curdled nectar of an aging radical feminist who has spent her prime years servicing a battalion of men, women, and transsexuals. All you need to do is nod in agreement when she discusses the finer points of the imaginary gender wage gap. Sound like a good deal? And turn off that sexbot when I’m talking to you.

Right now my basic litmus test is this: Is he interested in feminist issues when I bring them up?

Sure. I’ve noticed feminists are quicker to jump into bed than non-feminists.

And can he talk about them in ways that express curiosity and engagement and respect, instead of defensiveness or dismissiveness or attachment to stereotypes?

Feminists have hairy armpits and daddy issues.

If we can talk about this stuff in ways that are interesting and productive, I can work with it most of the time.

A good marriage will have a higher status husband and a better looking wife. Discuss.

[T]he only cisgender man I’ve been in a longterm relationship was a feminist when I met him. We would have feminism arguments where I was educated by him, and vice versa. And I thought, well, how lucky I am to have found a feminist guy! And he ended up being an ass . . . in somewhat unrelated ways.

Disturbed hardcore feminists are attracted to assholes, too. Red alert on Drudge.

Is there anything that men can mention in their dating profiles that tips you off to feminist compatibility?

JF: Well, this is my test: When I look at personal ads, I look at their lists of favorite books, movies, and music, and they have to list women in all of those categories.

Ok, here goes.

Favorite books: Anything by Stephenie Meyer

Favorite movies: Anything by Leni Riefenstahl

Favorite music: T.A.T.U.

Heh.

I also don’t respond to any guy who says they’re looking for a woman who “doesn’t have drama,” not because I have a lot of drama, but because I feel like that is code for women who have opinions.

This is super double secret code for “I will blab endlessly about utter bullshit while you sit and listen with the patience of a saint”.

. . I also have a couple things in my profile that are screeners, that I’m hoping will turn off people I don’t want to be bothered by. I mention feminism. I say I’m a size 16. But I do it all in a flirty way, like, ’size 16 can be sexy,” not in a way that says, “I AM ALL THESE THINGS. DEAL WITH IT.”

Proud feminist, aging spinster, fatty. What’s not to love? Rhetorical.

PS: Size sixteen cannot be sexy. Saying so won’t change the fact that the vast majority of men, particularly desirable men who don’t need to lie to get sex, are repulsed by the rolls of blubber you refer to as “curves”.

So when you tell people that you’re a feminist, do they have assumptions about what the sex is going to be like?

JF: A couple of guys were shocked that I like to play various games in bed, because I’m a feminist. That’s always really interesting to me. I’m always like, ‘Are you kidding me? The feminists I know are the craziest women in bed you can find!”

There’s gotta be an iron law of the land that states the less desirable the woman, the kinkier she is in bed. Compensation in da houze!

So do you meet guys who pass the feminist test but then turn out to be disappointments for other reasons?

JF: Oh God. There is a type of feminist guy who is so eager to fall over himself to be deferential to women and to prove his feminist bona fides and flagellate himself in front of you, to the point that it really turns me off. And it makes me sad, because politically, these are the guys that I should be sleeping with! You know what I’m talking about?

Color me unsurprised that a woman’s gina tingle doesn’t oscillate to a man’s political beliefs.

They haven’t internalized their feminism, so it’s always being externalized. And it places a lot of pressure on the women they’re with. There’s this very self-conscious performance of feminism. And it does sometimes feel like they want a cookie. . . .  OK, I know this is such a delicate conversation to have, but I want those guys to wake up because those are the guys I want to want to sleep with!

You want to want to sleep with men but your abrasive, unfeminine personality attracts eunuchs. Clever eunuchs who tell you what you want to hear in hopes of getting in your XL pants, but eunuchs nonetheless.

I sort of feel that I get cast in these dudes’ narratives as the Hellcat Dream Girl, there to prove how bad-ass they are because they’re dating such a bad-ass woman. They think it’s cute or sexy. But when I use that smart, outspoken bad-assery to challenge their own perspectives, it’s suddenly not sexy at all.

No shit it’s not sexy. What man worth his stones wants to spend time with a woman always pitched in heated battle against every perceived slight to her worldview? Especially when her perspective is a mountain of lies. Men get enough of that from other men. The point of women is that they aren’t men. But maybe we are entering an era of manjaws and art fags.

I feel like the same thing happened with the guy I dated for two years. He liked the idea of being a guy who would be with someone like me, but ultimately it turned out that he wanted someone who wouldn’t challenge him as much, a person who was easier and quicker to sweep away. I got evidence of that when, within three months of breaking up with me, he was dating a 23 year old who lists her political views on Facebook as “moderate.”

😆

I hope this field guide to Americanus afeminoxious was as unpleasant for you as it was for me. But really, there was nothing new here. Guests of the Chateau have all seen these creatures before, in special holding cells, their cries of torment under the lashings of my bulldykewhip striking a dulcet note on weary ears.

The more interesting question is what kind of man would so debase himself to willingly spend time in such a woman’s company? To suffer the tortures of the damned, his ears ringing with the demonic cacophony of femicunt war shrieks? To betray the last, good measure of his manly essence for a pittance of overripe pussy? What kind of man, indeed?

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The Medicalization Of Maleness

Reading the funny articles about Tiger Woods’ romp through a battalion of trashy, deluded babes who thought they would be the next Mrs. Woods, I noticed a theme emerge.

David Smallwood, who has treated a host of celebrities at north London’s Priory clinic, said: “He displays a number of the pointers such as seeking highs from outdoor sex and having many mistresses.

“I would implore him to get help. But I see him as ill, not bad.”

***

“People who have affairs typically do so because something is lacking,” says psychotherapist Stacy Kaiser. “You can be the world’s best golfer, role model and endorsement spokesman and still not feel good inside.”

When that happens, she says, a man tends to “fill that hole with women as a distraction and an escape.”

The opinion of the experts and sexperts is in: If you are a man who is able to satisfy his natural sexual inclination for a variety of women, you have a problem. A big problem, my friend, and you should seek therapy right away to cure yourself of your affliction.

As a valiant avatar of the ugly truths, I’m here to tell the collected wisdom of the armies of psychotherapists swinging their degrees like battle axes: Tiger Woods does not have a problem. What he has is a male sex drive, and a willingness to fulfull it. In so doing, he makes you confront your worst fears about the base instincts of humanity unleashed in glorious wanton hedonism. You shirk not because of what Tiger does, but because you tremble before your fear of what most men would do given the opportunities available to a man with Woods’ high social and material status.

Tiger Woods may not be a model citizen, but neither does he have an emotional or psychological problem. He’s just a man with a strong sex drive who got bored with the same old pussy day in and day out and decided to spice it up with a willing brigade of slutty concubines all too ready to dismiss their own feelings of complicity in the sordid arrangements that will now cost Woods hundreds of millions of dollars. If Woods has a problem, it’s that he got married. Big mistake, chief.

How many typical married men would act like Woods if suddenly blessed with his fame and fortune? Imbue 100 Joe Sixpacks with Woods’ high status, and 99 would run roughshod on their marital vows. Over and over. Gleefully. Guiltlessly. Until they got caught.

I would ask the experts in the human condition: Do Woods’ mistresses have a problem that must be addressed by months of therapy? If not, why not? Aren’t they just as happily and guiltlessly following their own biomechanical directive in hypergamously hooking up with a wealthy uber alpha who happens to be married? How many typical housewives would act like Woods’ skank parade if suddenly blessed with Woods’ attention and desire? Impart 100 Jill Saddlebags with Woods’ sexual flirtations, and 99 would run roughshod on their marital vows. Over and over. Guiltlessly. Orgasmically. And even after they got caught, because they know in the event of divorce they are not going to be the ones coming up short.

We live in a culture where today the natural male sex drive is demonized and the natural female sex drive is glorified. It is an interesting shift of the paradigm, and one I suspect is unsustainable for a modern, first world economy that rests on certain implicit assumptions about how its citizens are to comport themselves if the good of the whole is to thrive. (Nevermind my antics; While good for me, I’m not one to bow before the concept of the good of the whole. I’ll just freeride until I wind up in the same place as all those properly behaved subjects of the industrial kingdom.)

The adamantium foundation of core values that buttresses all other values is the sexual market. The constant flux of sexual energy between men and women is the force multiplier that breathes life into cultures, and infuses societies with everything from salsa to skyscrapers. When you fuck with the workings of that origin value you fuck with everything resting on top of it, ten times over. This is why late 20th century feminism has been such a boon for the haters of beauty and a weapon for the bringers of doom. Given the inherent lag effect in any large scale human value shift, I expect the fruit of our current culture of lies to ripen fully within our lifetimes.

As I see it, a culture can grapple with the reality of the sexual market and its consequences in one of four ways:

I. Shame/demonize/medicalize the male sex drive. Condone/laud/glorify the female sex drive.

II. Shame the male sex drive. Shame the female sex drive.

III. Glorify the male sex drive. Shame the female sex drive.

IV. Glorify the male sex drive. Glorify the female sex drive.

2010 America is currently knee deep in paradigm number I. 1950s America, according to our best sources (the ones who lived through it) was operating under cultural condition number II, with nods and winks toward number III. Speaking of number III, this seems to be the arrangement most prevalent in the Arab cultures. Number IV is the historically rarest configuration, and is seen most often in pagan cultures like Scandinavia and underdeveloped tribal nations like the swath across much of subsaharan Africa. Number IV is emergent in either highly anarchic societies or in highly homogenized societies of small, manageable population sizes.

America has chosen number I, which is probably the worst option to choose for a mature economic powerhouse rapidly morphing into a trifurcated multicultural and multiethnic population of immense size. This is the option that will send most men into either withdrawal or violence, and most women into hypergamous overdrive. No modern economy, built as they almost invariably all are on the sweat of men with an eye toward saving and investing in the future, can survive a long bout with a value system resting squarely in number I and constantly propped up by the likes of elite opinion makers and Oprah.

Personally, I live by construct number IV, as it is the value system that most pleases me, and is likeliest to persuade women to shed their inhibitions in my company. A master seducer at the height of his game will be living his life by the precepts of number IV, whether or not he argues for the abolition on a wider scale of the paradigm that so suits him in his personal quests.

My prediction for the future is that number I eventually will yield, softly or cataclysmically, to number II, with a short temporary stint in number IV. Number IV is really the wildcard here. While number I works its magic slowly and insidiously, number IV has the explosive power to radically alter the cultural landscape in a very short period of time, especially in a culture historically insulated from the hedonistic ravages of number IV.

I think it would be funny if our culture were one where male gigolos are forgiven and invited onto talk shows and cheating wives are forced to cough up half their assets and income, lose custody of their children, and be shamed from polite society. Sounds punitive, doesn’t it? Well, that’s what we have today. Just reverse the genders.

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Cuckoldry Vs. Butt Rape

It seems that my spirited discussion of resolving the ultimate betrayal through mandatory paternity testing made the rounds on the internet. A male commenter at Overcoming Bias had this to say about the CHian contention that cuckoldry is on a par with rape, if not even more psychologically traumatic:

And as to whether it’s worse [for a woman] to be raped or [a man to be] cuckolded – I cannot even begin to understand the trauma or ostracization of the first (which by the way happens to A LOT more than two percent the population) while the second would only hurt because of the dishonesty. It’s a difference of several orders of magnitude!

Oh rilly? I think it’s time to put this assertion to the test with a leetle thought experiment. Imagine two highly unpleasant scenarios.

Scenario 1

You are walking past an alleyway when Big Bad Bubba comes up behind you and drags you into the dark alley, muttering “you look real purty for a grown boy” as he uses his bulk to press you into the damp brick wall, his beefy bear paws yanking your jeans and boxers down to your ankles. You try to resist but his strength is overwhelming. He smashes your face into the wall and sticks a knife to your throat, saying he’ll cut you if you scream. Suddenly, a seering pain shoots up your rectum. You struggle to get away but you are immobilized. The pain continues for what seems an eternity but is in actuality only one minute and 22 seconds. Punctuating his release with a great heaving grunt, Bubba withdraws, spent, and cackles as he walks off, the lingering musky stench of his sweat offending your nostrils. Vomit rises up your throat and you stumble to your knees, your hands grasping at pebbles on the ground. You are sure your innards are spilling out on a torrent of blood from your asshole, but luckily when you arrive at the hospital an hour later the doctors tell you there was no permanent damage to your poopenshaften and you are AIDS free. You go home, go to sleep, and call in sick the following two days. Over the following months you go to the gym more frequently than you used to, working out your shame and anger in the weight room. People compliment your improved physique. You tell no one of your ordeal.

Scenario 2

You are married to the love of your life. In the first year of wedded bliss, your wife gets pregnant. Nine months later an infant pops out. You are filled with so much joy you hardly notice the brief flicker of discomfort you feel when you ponder that the child looks nothing like you, nor do you pay much attention to all your relatives telling you how much the child looks like you. Time passes. You spend countless hours, days, weeks, months, years loving your child, wiping his ass, taking him to the park, strapping him in the car seat and struggling with the belts and clips, working extra long hours to afford a move to a better neighborhood so your child can go to a good school, sacrificing your beloved guitar gig with a local band to spend that newly freed up personal time helping your child with his homework, attending his soccer games, cheering for him when he scores a goal, instructing him how to swing a bat and build a model airplane, teaching him how to defend himself in a fight, disciplining him for a bad grade in english, setting aside a chunk of your income for his college fund, and generally reorganizing your life in almost every conceivable way for your child’s benefit. Then, when your child is age 10, through a series of fateful circumstances you discover he is another man’s biological son. Your gut implodes and your heart crashes. Your mouth has dried into a sticky velcro. You feel as if you have just seen everyone you love die horrible deaths in front of you. Your brain is scorched and the room spins for what seems like an eternity but is in actuality only two hours and 43 minutes. Over the next year you learn that, despite your best efforts at some kind of recompense or at minimum freedom from pain, the law has decided in its infinite wisdom to require you to pay child support for another eight years to the wife you divorced, in the interests of the child. Betrayal eviscerates your sense of self. Besides the obvious lie, you wonder at the cascade of lies in tow. Did your wife whom you loved so much ever really love you? Did anyone else know? Did they think you a fool? Was your dignity worth so little to the people who mattered to you most? You ask these questions already knowing the answers.

Now that you have considered these two vile scenarios I want you to vote which of the two, should you be forced to endure one of them, you would rather have happen to you. This voting is for my male readers only. Ladies, you can take a time out with your purple saguaros.

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Repeal The IMBRA Now

For those of you in the dark, the most evil and discriminatory American statute of the past ten years is the International Marriage Broker Regulation Act of 2005 (IMBRA), signed into law in January 2006 by one of the country’s worst Presidents ever, George W. Bush:

[IMBRA] is a United States federal statute that requires background checks for all marriage visa sponsors and limits serial visa applications. IMBRA also requires background checks before speech or other forms of communication are permitted between American citizens and foreign nationals.

The IMBRA was a pure man-hating power play by feminists and their betaboy abettors. The statute was ostensibly inspired by a couple of mass media sensationalized cases involving American men murdering their foreign brides, but the truth is that the cases and the leftie fembot media coverage of them were nothing but convenient emotoprops for ramming an unjustifiable, anti-free speech and anti-free association misandrist law down the stupidified gullets of a politically lazy American public.

FACT:

There are very few studies comparing domestic violence rates between foreign-born wives and American wives. Any study on domestic violence among immigrant women that does not control for the race and immigrant status of the husband/boyfriend offender is worthless.

FACT:

Foreign brides will often make false claims of domestic violence because under the Violence Against Women Act (VAWA) there is a provision that states a victim of DV can divorce her husband and get a green card.

FACT:

American men who marry foreign women have a lower divorce rate than the nation as a whole.

The IMBRA has nothing to do with sparing immigrant brides the indignity of suffering domestic violence and everything to do with making it more difficult for American men to find, meet, date, fuck and, in some cases, marry beautiful feminine foreign women. Police state fascist background checks are no more justifiable for an American man seeking a foreign bride than they are for an American man seeking an American bride, and they are especially egregious when used against men exercising their free speech to have a simple fucking conversation with a foreign woman.

No, here is the truth about the motivation behind jackheeled grrlstapo laws such as the IMBRA:

American women are deathly afraid of losing market leverage to foreign competition.

That’s it. Plain as day. And American women are right to fear boatloads of hot East European women flooding American shores, for deep down in the pits of their hellbound souls American women know they are a self-absorbed, egotistic, entitled, unfeminine, fatass lot. So they devise superficially plausible laws designed to solidify their stranglehold on power.

With the help of their mincing, ass-slurping, toolboy allies in Congress who also benefit from the status quo, the femcunts are succeeding at their goal of ensuring a sexual market that artificially raises their pussy value and maximizes their ability to play hypergamous empress while minimizing the options available to men and thereby forcing them to heed by rules inimical to their interests.

Here is a list of the small thinkers and anti-First Amendment shitheads who sponsored the IMBRA and snuck it into the reauthorization of the VAWA in the middle of the night, without any serious debate:

IMBRA was reintroduced in September 2005 by Sen. Sam Brownback (R-KS), Sen. Maria Cantwell (D-WA), Rep. Frank Wolf (R-VA), and Rep. Rick Larsen (D-WA)). IMBRA was incorporated into the Violence Against Women Act reauthorization in 2005, and was passed by both houses of Congress in December 2005.

Feel free to email them about the wrongness of their law for its chilling effect on the beautiful Judeo-Christian love between an American man and a foreign woman.

Repeal the IMBRA now. Like most men who aren’t deceiving themselves, when I’m older and still desiring young, slender, lovely female company I want the option of connecting, free of state intrusion, with overseas babes for much cross cultural love. If American cunts and their betaboy bitches are going to stand in my way of doing that, then I’ll leave this once-great, rapidly crap-ifying country and take my taxpayer lootbag with me.

And while we’re at it, repeal the VAWA as well. After all, is violence against women inherently more immoral than violence against men? If so, then permit me to make the claim that political representation for men is inherently more moral than political representation for women. If not, then the VAWA is an unjust law. Finish it off.

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