Frame control is a funny thing. Often times it’s so conceptually fundamental that it eludes palpability, but any non-superficial understanding of social dynamics provides a simple truth: frame control is the singular source of social power. In general terms, frame is purely an individualistic interpretation of reality as a whole, and implicit therein is the existence of an objective reality. Meaning: things are what they are, but a given frame is the particular manner in which that reality (or subset of reality) is perceived. Take, for example, global warming. In objective terms, either the earth is progressively witnessing an increase in surface temperature, or it’s not. That’s it. The politics of it, from corporate energy taxes to school recycling programs to oil prices, are borne out of a frame that perceives global warming as either an imminent threat to human civilization or a farcical cultural concoction. All of that, at the end of the day, remains frivolous. To really examine the issue requires grasping the underlying objective reality.

As I’ve grown to dissect modern human social dynamics layer by painstaking layer, the lone certainty I’ve discovered is the simultaneous universality and invisibility of frame. That is, frame does not identify itself nor does it preface an argument; it simply assumes. One of the most frustrating aspects of Western feminism, for example, is the blanket assumption that men (really speaking, boys ages 5 and up) exist solely and exclusively for the service of the females that surround them. It is upon this frame that the tower of modern female psychology rests–and any man who dares to question it finds himself the victim of the screeching hordes.

Imagine my surprise, then, at the treatment of the Brittney Griner story by the mainstream cultural behemoth. We have a male NBA owner who finds himself genuinely impressed with the physical talents of a female college basketball player–and, indeed, at 6’8″ and 208 pounds, its not outlandish to imagine that she may very well have what it takes. Now, given what we know of a starkly feminist media that jumps on any opportunity to propagate an anti-male frame, we expect this story to absolutely blow up. A woman invading male professional sports? This is socially and culturally revolutionary, mind you. When an eight year old girl beats her male peers at kiddie football, it goes to far as to make the news ticker on CNN, ABC, ESPN and NFL Network. So you can understand my shock at the relatively quick dissolution of the Britney Griner story. Where were the screeching cunts forcing Griner to be drafted with the No. 1 overall pick in the 2013 NBA draft? Where were the old spinsters who repeated the story day after day, week after week, until it was pounded into our collective heads and Griner finally put on an official NBA jersey?

Ewwww, you smell!

Are Baylor’s female athletes secretly jealous of us?

Not only were nearly all feminist vaginas taped shut on this issue, but lo and behold they yelled angrily in protest of it! Watch how carefully Jemele Hill re-frames the argument: “What I don’t like about Cuban’s comments is that it perpetuates the dangerous idea that great female athletes need to validate themselves by competing against men.” My jaw dropped in abject disbelief at the magnitude of this re-frame*. It is a pure, utterly shameless 180 degree turn. The decade long cries for egalitarianism between male and female athletics, the very same cultural ideologies behind Title IX and the banning of wrestling from the Olympics, are abruptly defenestrated, only to be replaced by the notion that ‘women must be appreciated within their own sphere’. Note that the fact that such an idea contradicts the very foundations of feminist doctrine is unimportant–what’s important is the only the desired result. And in Britney Griner’s case, what is  the outcome our feminist cunt-masses secretly and desperately yearn for? That Griner not come close to the playing in the NBA.

Women like Jemele Hill re-frame the issue to accuse men yet again, only this time from the standpoint that we fail to appreciate women unless they happen to be competing at the same standards as men. What she really wants, like all feminists, is the secret to be kept under wraps. Listen. I know this as well as you, my readers, do. Professional sports is not a game. They involve men, primarily from 25 to 35 years of age, competing in grueling physical wars to earn a livelihood. It is a cutthroat business, where a single injury can mean the loss of years of future earnings, or a single failure to perform can result in the end of the a career. Were Griner to play in the NBA (and she certainly is enthusiastic about it), these men would not treat her differently. She is an opponent, an on-court enemy that stands in the way of victory, financial security, children’s college funds, and the whole she-bang. But even that fails to cover the real crux of the situation.

You see, I played Division I college ball, in pursuit of a boyhood dream to one-day play in the NBA. [Personal Disclaimer: even at my best I was relegated to the bench: at 6’4″ and 190 pounds, I was too slow to play the point, and too small to play shooting guard. In the offseason prior to my junior year, I suffered a knee injury that effectively ended my playing days.] What feminists secretly witness is that when men are on the court playing, the inner alpha male is inevitable unleashed. What do I mean? The world goes blank–you don’t see the stands, you don’t think about your friends and family, scholarships and prizes, or even the consequences of winning and losing. You just want to dominate the men standing across from you. You want to win yes, but more importantly you want to beat them. It’s an animalistic fire, fueled by rage, brotherhood, and an almost primal do-or-die attitude. The rules go out the window. In the heat of the game, you don’t care about integrity or playing fair or respecting the opposition. You want to win, bad. And find yourself willing and eager to do whatever the hell is necessary to beat the other guy into submission and walk away victorious–a defeat isn’t just an L on the record, but in big way a hit to your pride. This is an environment which no women can ever comprehend, let alone function within. It is a fire in which the most mild-mannered men metamorphose into competitive killers, fouling, shoving, hitting, elbowing, bleeding–all to get a single W.

This precisely is the unspoken reason why women’s sports, at whatever level, are banal, uninteresting and tedious. There is simply no life-or-death investment, both emotionally and physically. Brittney Griner, irrespective of her supposedly freakish body and athleticism, would be eaten alive. Does anyone seriously think feminists want Griner to suffer an old-school hard foul, and for the whole bag of lies to be laid bare? Do you doubt that once men realize en masse that the emperor indeed has no clothes on, they will tolerate the oppressive bullshit behind Title IX? Behind Olympic sports banned for failing to be effectively involve both genders? For tennis players of both genders to be paid the same? The lie must be kept under-wraps, and in order to do that the frame must be shifted. The fact that is involves a serious contradiction to everything else feminism has preached in the past is superfluous.

* Even the manginas and strap-on takers, the male counterparts to seventy-year old cat hording spinsters desperately trying to justify their failed lives to themselves,  spread their sans-testicle groins and scream “Let Brittney play!”. So yes, imagine my disbelief.

One of my favorite bloggers, Dannyfrom504, posted the following video of Crazy-Girl ® on his blog:

Oh my gosh, girls like her are so fucking freaky in bed it’s a godsend. “Rough sex” is such a gross understatement it’s almost criminal. I had the exquiste pleasure/pain of dating a batshit crazy girl (nicknamed her Ms. Flower-of-Death) like the one in this video just last year — and I’m talking the whole shebang: Bipolar Type II, anger-management, fear-of-abandonment, Daddy Issues galore, Borderline Personality Disorder, ADD, ADHD, ex-Juvie (non-violent, she did a short stint in high school for shoplifting) and…is there a word limit to these posts? I stayed with her for a little over eight months, but by-god they were eight months of the sweetest hell I’ve ever lived in.

And the sex. Oh, the sex. Sweet Lord Almighty, the FUCKING SEX. I would often go into work on Monday’s with enough ‘love-making’ bruises to put Rambo to shame. Among my most memorable sexual exploits with Ms. Flower-of-Death were: rape role-plays of the most scrumptiously violent sort (ski masks, accent and all); once tied her up for an entire weekend (room reeked of puss, ahem…vaginal fluids, for a month); choked her so hard she actually passed out one time; had sex in her sister’s house (sis off to work) and literally broke her living room table in half.

My biggest problem turned out to be that any sex after her became instantaneously bland and boring. Chris Rock said in one of his major comedy specials that “men can’t go backwards sexually, women can’t go backwards in lifestyle.” And man-o-man is that shit true. Old school missionary doesn’t cut it anymore. I mean, yeah, I’ll still get hard and bust a nut on her tits, but it’s not even close to the same emotional and sexual high as crazy-girl sex. But trying to break up with this chick almost got me killed, no joke. That story’s coming up, stay tuned for my next post…

Personally, I prefer hair-pulling when I ride doggy. Choking is much better reserved for tied-up missionary.

For quite a while I was decidedly convinced that the frontlines of military combat were a socio-political frontier that the anus of modern feminism would leave untouched. How possibly could twenty-first century women–the most solipsistic creatures in the history of human civilization–even consider risking their own lives for the safety of their compatriots?

But how dearly mistaken and naive I was. My fallacy? Gullibly assigning the exclusively masculine trait of sincerity to the doughnut-fed bloated feminist beast that calls herself ‘Modern Woman’. no, No, No, No Killer Instinct. They don’t want to actually fight in wars! They want men to keep dying by the thousands but be able to take the credit! They want to shove ‘female military accomplishments’ down the throats of the next generation of grade-school boys–to use blatantly inconspicuous hypocrisy to destroy the self-esteem and mental energies of young men across the globe.

Feminists don’t intend to fight just as they never intended to actually participate in competitive collegiate sports. Yet Title IX was passed with the fervor of the 13th Amendment and each year there’s progressively more clamor from shrill, man-jawed ‘fe’-males for federal funding.

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Why do I get the feeling this creature would rather be on her knees fellating my black staff long into the night than fight Afghani terrorists in the secluded caves of Kabul?

 

But everything I’ve written so far is utterly irrelevant; it’s coming from a man after all. The ‘Modern Woman’ must be admired for the contents of her vapid brain and massive stores of excess adipose tissue. Don’t worry, it’s not as contradictory as you may think. Just watch this video, and trust me, it’ll all make sense:

 

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If you haven’t heard as of yet, Hope Solo, mannish US women’s soccer player (I know, I didn’t think it was a real sport either) recently got her ass kicked by husband Jerramy Stevens (no, his parents weren’t good at spelling), an NFL tight end with an enormous history of smacking his bitches if they ever got annoying. I suppose precious Miss Solo was expecting the 250 pound lineman to suddenly metamorphose into an angelic embodiment of love and gentleness in response to her feminine guiles and heaving man-jaw. Sadly, something a bit different happened. He beat her ass like he’s done to every other one of his past girlfriends (excuse me, I think the precise term Mr. Stevens uses for them are ‘hoes’). What is Miss Solo’s response to Stevens? To be a ‘strong, independent’ woman and exact some revenge by manipulating the court system and media to get him in jail for life? Oh, hell naw! Not even close. This is what she does.

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Apparently, she’s ‘blessed to have found True Love,’ and would defend Stevens to the grave. Wonderful. I’m curious though if her love is to the man, or rather to the action itself. Does she crave him or the violence? Experience suggests the latter — she is aroused by, addicted to, desperately hungry for — wait for it — his fist. It’s a psychological need not unlike masochism itself, but a bit less nuanced. She needs to be dominated in the most direct, emphatic and aggressive form. She is specifically attracted to men known for their violent predilections, and the blood that drips from her face or arm after he’s finished yet another episode only serves to bolster the attraction. It is a craving as deep, as urgent, as any man’s need to fuck. Women like Solo will go to the ends of the earth, turning down ‘less attractive’ suitors, to find and embrace men like Jerramy Stevens. And to think that the modern West is filled with chumps willing to grovel at her feet, to meet her every demand, to serve her till death no matter the consequence. No, she will never have a man like that. She cannot. Her most basic, primal psycho-sexual makeup demands dominance of the strongest sort.

For the sake of full disclosure, I love women like Hope Solo. In fact, if she ever got some chin readjustment done, I think I’d call her. God knows smacking a hoe is the best kind of therapy.

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For those who may not know, I’m a huge NBA fan (call it genes — I honestly haven’t found a single black or partially black guy who isn’t) and have been for as long as I can remember. I watched Jordan win his last few rings, make a fool of himself with the Wizards, and go on to manage a playoff franchise into the ground (see: Charlotte Bobcats). I saw Kobe falsely accused of rape, try to beg his wife not to commit divorce theft with a two million dollar bribe ring, and play out an entire season with the speculation of divorce and lifetime alimony on his head.

Suffice to say I’ve never really been a fan of any of the star players the NBA has to offer; my love affair has always been with the game itself and with my hometown team (Golden State Warriors, for the curious). Indeed, I’ve had much more fun laughing at the utter stupidity of players both on and off the court than I ever spent admiring or respecting their athletic talent. And if any of you are fans of any major American sport yourselves, you know exactly what I’m talking about. Athlete behavior vacillates between, “that was a terrible lapse of judgement” to “this man is straight retarded,” usually leaning heavily on the latter end of the spectrum. It is difficult to admire men who, whether through the supposed weight of celebrity or ridiculous amount of earnings, appear notably dumber than the viewer.

Which takes me to the case of one Mr. Lebron James.

When Lebron entered the league as an eighteen-year-old prodigy extraordinaire in 2003, he was purported to be the next Magic, the next Jordan, the next Bird, and, to be completely frank, rightfully so. The kid was ridiculously athletic (see: Bo Jackson), highly coach-able, and had a sort of on-court intuition that I’d never seen before. Unfortunately  though he spent the next seven years of his career dominating the sport at higher and higher levels, I saw the same boring athletic persona I always had: same nice-guy-to-the-media attitude, fake-tough-guy arrogance on the court, and lavish but unoriginal party plus alcohol lifestyle off the court. Nothing interesting. Indeed, I imagined I would never respect him for anything beyond his athletic feats, that Lebron James The Personality would fall into the landfill along with most of the other all-stars that preceded him. That all changed one fateful Thursday evening on July 8, 2010.

For those who may live in a cave, take a minute to catch up. A quick summary of what Lebron did in so called “Decision” special: The dude bought out an hour of national television (airing his own shoe commercials during the breaks, lest you naive kiddos think otherwise), held out double middle fingers to his hometown of Akron, home state of Ohio, and essentially yelled “I’m out bitches! Fuck Cleveland! South Beach hoes, get ready to spread your legs!” In the course of the five seconds it took him to utter his “Decision”, Lebron James went from the most beloved, hyped, and lauded athlete in American sports, to its most hated embodiment of everything wrong with civilization itself. It was in this moment that I, for the first time ever, became a fan — not just of Lebron, but of any single professional athlete ever…(to be continued)

Resurrection

November 25, 2012 — 3 Comments

The blog was dormant for quite a while in part due to the explosion of Manosphere blogs that seemed to have sprouted up last year. I was doing so much interesting reading, in fact, that my leisure time left no space for any actual writing. Curiously, though, in the course of the past several months, men’s blogs have been dying off like Native Americans exposed to smallpox. Now, while conspiracy theories loom suspiciously over the phenomenon, sensibility suggests that time constraints, lack of readership, or personal issues were the cause. In any case, the Manosphere is no gotten significantly sparser here in 2012, and I don’t intend to contribute to any thinning of ideas and conversation. As feminists add heavy censorship to their calculatedly gynocentric agenda, I find it damn near a moral imperative to continue writing, spreading, expanding. The minds of young and old men alike are at stake, and if, heaven forbid, feminists implement their end game — a Clockwork Orange slash 1984 punitive system that enforces ‘retraining’ for all who fail to think in accordance with their doctrine of male hatred and disregard — all will truly be lost. As a consequence, I intend to post at least once a week, and if for some reason I fail to do so, the invitation is open to message me till my inbox bursts. Remember, we are all in this thing together, and the battle is won first and foremost in our minds. The more intelligent we can make ourselves about game, female nature, feminist doctrine and politics, the better we are capable of defending against indoctrination and slavery.

So. Here’s to the last stand. God Bless.

In the meantime, here’s something to chew on: 

The Plight of the Nerd

July 18, 2011 — 6 Comments

Nerds are a particularly interesting group of social specimens, due mainly to the fact they combine the theoretically contradictory qualities of intelligence and betatude (i.e. low confidence, meekness, fear, etc). The natural inclination would be to consider any man of relatively high intelligence a shoo-in alpha—-brimming with self-confidence, and strutting with a pride-driven swagger. The intelligent man should have nothing to fear, for he has been genetically granted the most important of all human traits: the ability to analyze and ponder, to yield logic for purposes of personal gain. Make mo mistake about it, aptitude with logic and reason are not just the basis of wealth and power, but the root of all human achievement.

In any contest, the man of superior intelligence is a good bet for victory. From athletic events, to corporate assignments, to political revolutions, men of intelligence are nearly always at the top.  How, then, do we account for the existence of a large population of American men who have as much, if not more, god-given intelligence as these alpha males in power, but never achieve any heights of wealth, power, or sexual success? Why is it that these talented individuals live stagnantly, failing to reach their potentials?

The answers may be obvious to many of you. We have all had numerous experiences involving nerds, and I would hardly be surprised if some of the readership of this blog actually identified themselves as such. Nevertheless, the ‘nerd phenomenon’ has always perplexed me. Intelligence is a trait and talent that supersedes all others; whatever your shortcomings may be, the proper use of the intellect all but guarantees a solution. Having low success with the opposite sex? Well, think, understand social dynamics and game, learn how to trigger attraction in women. Not making enough money? Learn a new skill or trade, switch jobs, go to school and get a higher degree. Too short to play in the NBA? Learn how to pass, read plays, be a solid role-player. This applies to every aspect of life. Intelligence is that fundamental to human success.

Why can’t nerd be alphas? What prevents them from using some of that intellectual ability to change their attitudes or discover social game? The same thing that prevents anyone from anything: fear. Fear of violating cultural norms, fear of taking risk, fear of disapproval or condemnation, and fear of independence. Intelligence grants us, as human beings, nearly everything in life, with one exception: control over our own mechanisms. Fear is a prime example of this. It is your own interpretation of a particular situation; we alone are responsible for experiencing that emotion at any given moment. Intelligence does not offer control over this kind of thing.

The self-understanding we get from reason must be coupled with a willingness to push ourselves into new territory. We must never be comfortable with our current state, both externally (e.g. wealth) and internally (level of emotional mastery), striving instead towards self-expansion. The nerd never nears his potential, despite tremendous natural gifts, because he does not wish to venture into that new territory—–to test and to expand himself in various ways. Never be satisfied with what you have and who you are inside. Seek greater wealth, greater power and influence, sex with more beautiful women, greater emotional control, more knowledge, and better health. Love yourself, have confidence in your abilities, but never stagnate; complacency and familiarity are the realm of the weak and old.