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Ironsides triggered this post with reflections on ultra-posturing fathers of hotter younger tighter daughters,

Translation of all this huffing and puffing:

“I spoiled my daughter absolutely rotten, giving her an ego-swollen princess syndrome which is almost certain to launch her onto the Carousel with Saturn rocket boosters because she thinks that she’s so Precious and Special that no solid regular guy is worthy of her …

… and realizing my mistake at some level, now venting my futile beta rage by being as obnoxious as possible to young men interested in her, which has the effect of driving off the decent, hard-working betas who would actually care for her and make her happy with a family, while the alpha cads see right through my posturing and pump-and-dump her over and over again, laughing at me as they swagger out the door at 3 AM in search of greener puss-tures.”

Matt King strikes out a lot but when he connects he goes yard. His reply to Ironsides,

… now venting my futile beta rage by being as obnoxious as possible to young men interested in her …

The cuckservatives have queered this meme beyond all usefulness. It’s now nothing more than how to dramatize oneself as the Ultimate White Knight Orbiter to one’s own flesh and blood.

Fatherhood is a kind of game, and just as in game, a little mystery and a lot of ambiguity goes a long long way to getting her to behave the way you want. Putting up a Top Ten list of your intentions, along with the least subtle photo of a threat imaginable, creates the opposite effect. These are unreconstructed dorks who grew older but never left their beta insecurities behind.

To see schlubs fawn over the only alpha female (i.e., their young and attractive daughters) ever obliged to give them attention is one of the most putrid side-effects of the veteran-carouseler-incel-betamale alliance for the creation of one designer baby in wifey’s late thirties. I know how I’ll make pretty girls pay attention to me! I’ll make one!

“Omigod ur so hawt” in college transforms 20 years later into “My daughter is an angel.” Learning curve flat.

Fucking hardcore.

It shouldn’t go beyond most woke men’s notice that beta daddy soyboys, when they manage to convince a veteran cock carouseler to take them under her marital wing at the ripe age of 38 to pop out that one designer baby three years later (and not a baby more!), curiously produce some of the hottest prime nubility daughters this side of Kiev. The Helical Holy Spirit has a sense of humor about these recombinant mysteries, and with a little thought it’s easy to figure that feminine low T daddies shoulder more than their share of the burden of gracing the world with HBdaughters, should they have daughters who inherit daddy’s supple skin and manteats and mommy’s defined triceps and cock hunger.

(The sons of such unions tend to fair poorly in the physiognomy department.)

Thank the Cosmic Overlord that He has seen fit to ensure the sexual appetites are properly redirected to outside the immediate family circle, else these beta daddy orbiters of HBdaughters might wind up nursing a hellacious case of incestual blue balls. As it stands to everyone’s relief, their blue balls are strictly of the emotional, psychological variety. The captured company of hot daughters is likely the best chance daddy orbiters have had to monopolize the attention of the kinds of women who ignored them most of their lives or, worse, toyed with them by dangling effervescent promises of a future hookup in exchange for months and years of sounding board provisioning. It’s no wonder daddy orbiters are gung-ho to shove gun barrels in the faces of any suitor of his daughter-cum-sublimated girlfriend.

Apropos King’s comment and the Roy Moore moral panic of the past week, it’s a good time for this song:

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The Alpha Male Anthem

There have been plenty of cad anthems in the rock and country music pantheons celebrating raw masculine privilege, but the song “I’m a Wanderer”, sung by Guinea-American Dion and released in 1961, is in my factual opinion the greatest alpha male anthem in American history.

Read the lyrics (along with my editorial commentary) and you’ll agree with my judgment of this song’s ZFG ALPHA GLORIFICATION:

Oh, well, I’m the type of guy who will never settle down
Where pretty girls are, well, you know that I’m around
I kiss ’em and I love ’em ’cause to me they’re all the same
I hug ’em and I squeeze ’em they don’t even know my name

Man of Mystery Game plus an attitude of Outcome Independence, aka Zero Fucks Given. The Wanderer knows that the pussy pedestal is a penis prison, and he should fight the urge to idealize women and to succumb to oneitis by treating women as if they were interchangeable.

They call me a wanderer
Yeah, a wanderer
I roam around, around, around, around

Chicks love a hard-to-get man.

Oh, well, there’s Flo on my left and there’s Mary on my right
And Janie is the girl, well, that I’ll be with tonight
And when she asks me, which one I love the best?
I tear open my shirt and I show “Rosie” on my chest

Poon Commandment VII: Keep two in the kitty. Season with a bit of Dread Game and jealousy plotlines.

‘Cause I’m a wanderer
Yeah, a wanderer
I roam around, around, around, around

What’s the opposite of a beta male puppy dog begging for validation? An alpha male lion roaming the veldt for prey!

Oh, well, I roam from town to town
I go through life without a care
And I’m as happy as a clown
I with my two fists of iron and I’m going nowhere

I’m the type of guy that likes to roam around
I’m never in one place, I roam from town to town
And when I find myself fallin’ for some girl
Yeah, I hop right into that car of mine, I drive around the world

Love is The Wanderer’s Achilles’ heel. But instead of allowing himself to swoon straight into tingle-killing domestication, he makes distaff hearts flutter wildly by refusing the nuptial leash.

Yeah I’m a wanderer
Yeah, a wanderer
I roam around, around, around, around

Oh yeah, I’m the type of guy that likes to roam around
I’m never in one place, I roam from town to town
And when I find myself a-fallin’ for some girl
I hop right into that car of mine and drive around the world

Disappearing acts are cunt-nip.

Yeah, ’cause I’m a wanderer
Yeah, a wanderer
I roam around, around, around, around, around, around

‘Cause I’m a wanderer
Yeah, a wanderer
I roam around, around, around

‘Cause I’m a wanderer
Yeah, a wanderer

I doubt a song with this unapologetically caddish message could be released today. Not so much because the arts and entertainment complex is suffused with bitterbitches and gays, but because there aren’t any men left with the requisite high T and heavy balls who’d want to proudly celebrate the male romantic prerogative. We’re in a male feminist world now, and our women are the worse for it.

The theme of this song and its time — 1961 America, right in the heart of the Great Compression when relations between the sexes were at its precious polarity zenith and wage-earning men could still acquire a reasonably pretty and slender wife (and nonWhite Diversity™ had not yet gutted the soul of the nation) — is puzzling when examined in its cultural context. Was it a rebellious sneer against the implicit monogamous restrictions placed on men, or was it a reflection of a sexual market that was perhaps wilder than we assume, or (my personal theory) reflective of the attitude of people at the time who understood the sexes were innately different and that men who make themselves a challenge to women are sexier than men who appease women?

PS On another note, check that handsome 1961 crowd in the video. Not a fatty, bluehair, or soyboy in the mix. America was truly a better country then, and no amount of blathering about BUT MUH IPHAG is gonna change the reality that as a culture, we Americans have devolved into quasi-mutants. Sad!

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A Music Video Idea

Staking claims to a moral high ground doesn’t have to be the sole purview of the Leftoid Equalist gimposium. The Maul-Right can do it too. I had an idea for a music video that would be a great example of recapturing moral ground ceded to the anti-Whites.

If you were an alt-composer of catchy tunes with a flair for the dramatic, you could write a song about censorship as a tool of the establishment Left (gussy it up with lyrical license). In your music video, you croon, ladies swoon, then halfway through, still singing and playing as before, total silence envelops the scene. Your voice is nothing but soundless mouth-moves, your guitar gently sleeps. Suddenly, black tape appears over everyone’s mouth. A Goolag-clad mystery figure is seen pulling the plugs on everyone’s amps in a cutaway. None of the central characters in the video notices, but the silence continues baffling the viewer.

A minute of silence passes, visuals still proceeding as if all was normal, then on the last note the lead singer rips off his black tape, perhaps aware of his silencing, and belts out an E major howl of protest.

I wish there were more artists on the Right, because it’s not like our side is lacking for material, inspiration, or enemies to lampoon. Maybe everyone on the Right needs to suffer a little more under the boot heel of their equalist oppressors before their artistic instinct can flourish.

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After watching this Rammstein video (which PA called the most masculine music video ever produced), I was inspired to write a short list of final exits, sorted by the most common death scenarios for shitlibs and shitlords. Watch the vid first (great song too):

Shitlib final exits:
nursing home staffed by guatemalans
dildo impaction
sofa death, eaten by cats
marathon race collapse

Shitlord final exits:
mountaintop view
coital surrender
surrounded by twenty grandchildren and fifty great-grandchildren
under a personal best squat weight

I welcome commenter contributions to these lists. The ugliest truths are often excavated from the mind shafts of satire that blurs the line between exaggerated humor and unembellished reality.

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On 9/11/01, muslim soldiers for the caliphate, embedded in the US on overstayed visas, attacked and killed 3,000 civilian Americans.

In the fifteen years since, the US, in defiance of all common sense and sanity, opened the border doors even wider to hot-headed vagabonds from the world’s predominately muslim countries.

The following table shows the percentage change in the number of immigrants to the US from the 27 countries whose populations are more than 85% Muslim from the year 2000 to the year 2015:

Country Increase
Somalia 275%
Saudi Arabia 200%
Iraq 100%
Morocco 100%
Sudan 100%
Yemen 100%
Uzbekistan 100%
Bangladesh 90%
Pakistan 50%
Kuwait 50%
Egypt 45%
Syria 40%
Turkey 38%
Palestine 33%
Iran 32%
Afghanistan 20%
Jordan 20%
United Arab Emirates 11%
Tunisia 11%
Libya 0%
Oman 0%
Qatar 0%
Tajikistan 0%
Djibouti 0%
Mauritania 0%
Bahrain 0%
Western Sahara 0%

The number of immigrants to the US has increased from nearly all of these places and has not declined from a single one.

The number of Saudis–the country that supplied 15 of the 19 9/11 hijackers–living in the US has tripled in just 15 years. That’s right–since the worst Muslim terrorist attack in US history, America has nearly quadrupled the number of Somalis, has tripled the number of Saudis, and has doubled the number of Iraqis, Moroccans, Sudanese, Yemenis, and Uzbekistanis living on its soil.

The total population of the US increased 13% from 2000 to 2015. The number of immigrants from these 27 countries to the US increased 60% over the same period of time, from 1.3 million to over 2 million. This truly is astonishing.

Lunacy, it what it is. But of course our lunatic libs wouldn’t get to experience the fullest pleasure of their virtue sniveling if there wasn’t an element of danger attached to it…or rather, attached to the flyover BadWhites who bear the brunt of living side by side with these dirt world detritus resettling in their bucolic Heritage America idylls.

Lunatic libs
I know you’re out there
You’re in high towers
And you hold your meetings
I can hear you schemin’
I know what you’re after
We’re wise to you this time
(da goyim know this time)
We won’t let you kill our homelands

Uh huh
Uh huh
Uh huh

Lunatic libs
In the nation’s last gleaming
This is open season
And you’ve pushed it too far
Cause you gotta be pompous
For your moral delusions
We’re on guard this time
(On guard this time)
Against your tribal solution
Oh no

Uh huh
Uh huh
Uh huh

We can hear you sneerin’
(We can hear you sneerin’)
No, you’re not gonna win this time
(Not gonna win)
We can hear your hatred
(We can hear your hatred)
In your op-eds and gay parades
(coming from the deep state)

Lunatic libs
We all know you’re out there
Can you feel the resistance
Can you feel the thunder

*Aficionados of obscure pop culture references will appreciate the delicious irony in my choosing this particular song by Red Rider to remix as an anti-globalist call to arms.

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This is an observant comment by theng85, about the costs, big and small, that Diversity™ imposes on society.

Also, a shower thought regarding vibrancy and open borders:

You’ve mentioned before that when a country’s border in weak or unstable, more mini-barriers will be opened up within the confines of the border. I’ll never forget walking by a brownstone in Brooklyn that had a “No border wall” sign in the window….A window that had bars over it and a locking gate around the property. What’s good for the goose isn’t good for the gander, I guess.

But there are more boundaries where there’s more vibrancy. My litmus test for whether or not I’m in a bad area is how easily I can access things in something like a gas station or a McDonald’s. If there’s a table with napkins, straws, ketchup, sugar packets, and I can walk into the bathroom and do my business without needing to talk to the staff, then I’m in a good (Read: White) area.

But if the ketchup and napkins are behind the counter, or you need to be buzzed into the bathroom/given a key, or you have to talk to the cashier through a 6 inch sheet of bulletproof glass, then you’re in a bad (Read: Vibrant) area. One of the selling points of my current apartment was that the 24-hour gas station down the street had open access to its bathrooms 24/7. That means I was in a safe neighborhood with little to no vibrancy. And I was right!

tl;dr: Diversity causes instability, instability creates boundaries.

Focusing on nonWhite invader crime grabs headlines, but the mass invasion of tens of millions of economic parasites warps healthy society in ways that brute crime stats don’t capture. It’s all the little annoyances — the locks on bathrooms in fast food joints and coffee shops in vibrant neighborhoods because the vibrancy has a habit of befouling public restrooms — that eat away at social trust and bonhomie, increasing individual stress levels. Welcome to Cortisol Nation.

You’ll have a big beautiful national border wall, or you’ll have a million smaller border walls surrounding all the places you love to visit and which make a nice life worth living. There is no third option. The Wall is inevitable. Choose the Big Wall, or the Million Small Walls. A border-less, Wall-less world is a fantasy that not even shitlibs believe if they are judged by the gated communities and strict zoning laws they avail themselves of to keep out the objects of their Fake Affection.

***

The Mamas & The Pepes sings “You Gotta Go Back” (and provide a helpful link to the ICE phone number and website).

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The Mamas & The Pepes recorded a raw version of my “Globalist Girl” lyrical reinterpretation of the Tom Petty song “American Girl”. Very sing-able! And you’ll enjoy the accompanying slide show.

 

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