My boss’ car was dirty and someone scrawled on it, ‘Equatorial Guinea for Equatorial Guineans’. Ha. That little Immigration Patriot will receive nothing but virulent support from me. If he’d similarly like to get all the Equatorial Guineans, and other Africans, to leave the West and go back to their own violent and poverty-stricken homelands, so much the better. Perhaps he might start by calling around his overseas cousins, of whom I’m sure he has stacks. In keeping Equatorial Guinea Equatorial Guinean, keeping the Equatorians in is the main challenge. Keeping foreigners out is the easy part. There are hardly any here. Jesus, I know most of them personally. Don’t worry, mate: foreigners don’t want to live here any more than you lot do. Because of what you’ve done to it since the Spanish left.
But one can’t argue with an anonymous window scrawler. I very much doubt he reads this blog.
I’ve lived overseas most of my life, and my experiences of racism have been Read More
On a post about the success of African adaptation, Comrade Luisman commented:
Isn’t it funny that a European invented the term Evolution, but to this day the Europeans don’t understand it. Africans have usually no clue about the theory of Evolution, but they intuitively understand it. Fuck, make babies, get at least two of them to adulthood. Let them fuck, make babies, etc.pp.
I’ve been turning this over in my mind. Upon consideration, our maladaptive behaviour (invade the world, invite the world, turn sex roles upside down and inside out, and bear no children) is not unique. One does not have to look far to find other cases of societies that have, from an evolutionary point of view, gone mad.
We open our scene in a seedy pub in a disreputable south-east Asian city. I’m not the kind guy who just sits around and drinks all day but for two or three days that’s what I’ve been doing, justifying myself on the grounds that I’m meeting some interesting people, and that I feel like it.
This long-haired ginga yank comes in and we get talking, he’s ex-marine, was in Iraq II but eventually quit that life, moved abroad, got himself a foreign bride and some halfie kids and now lives on less that 15 grand a year out in the burbs. Not a dirty old man like most of them there, just my age. Maybe even a bit younger.
He seems pretty cool and I ask him what I’m wondering, which is: how do you feel about that whole war now, in hindsight?
People often do runners from my workplace. This is most common for locals. There’s a weekend, or a holiday, and when we come back there’s someone missing. Usually they’ve been long planning it and have pissed off over the border the moment they sensed an opportunity.
Good luck to them.
It used to happen a lot with foreigners, too. After a break one would often be missing. I know that feeling. When the time comes to board the plane for the return flight, I Read More
At some point the Vikings settled an uninhabited Iceland and were seemingly unperturbed by how freaky that place is. They immediately set to work doing what Vikings did best – farming, sailing around Europe on raids, fighting endless feuds with each other and writing epics about it.
This is such an epic.
In a land without a state monopoly on violence – that is, barbarism – a master morality reigns, with free men living and thriving upon their own reputation for ferocity, and that of their extended family. A tiny incident like a comment about a daughter or a wife’s sharp tongue about a neighbor can lead to decades-long tit-for-tat killing between childhood friends or even relatives.
In such a world it pays to be reasonable, honourable, and dependable, and known to be so. Nevertheless, marriage to a troublemaking lady will soon land you right back in the thick of it. If a court finds in your favour at the Thing, you’ll only receive that justice if you’re prepared to dish it out yourself. Anyone who blinks is considered weak and thereafter will be pushed around, robbed and humiliated by everyone.
Wimps like me would not last a minute. You can see why people had surnames like ‘Bloodaxe’.
The plot, apparently based on true events, is far too convoluted to relate in full, but it begins with Hrut needing to go and fight for his inheritance, but then a powerful lady calls Gunnhillda invites him over. He is told that if he goes to her she will look after the whole dispute for him (in return for certain entertainments provided on his part), while refusal would mean he and his family would be driven from their land. So off he goes.
Various feuds break about between multifarious parties, and as one hero dies on the dueling island, another emerges to continue the story. The body count reaches hundreds. Finally Christianity arrives in the brutal little island, via the conversion of the King of Norway. Does this calm things down? Well, the ones who refuse to convert thereby create new feuds and are murdered by the freshly-minted Bible-bashers. Viking’s gunna Viking. And in the end a bunch of them turn up in Constantinople as guardians of Christianity.
Guess they were all gone by the time the Turks rocked up.
Oh, and Njal gets burnt.
‘Hard times beget strong men.’ But at what cost? Pre-civilized society is one long battle of all against all, with the average man often dying in a duel or skirmish or raid. Anyone not prepared to live such a life becomes a slave or is treated with contempt by everyone. Modern women would love to live in such a world, stirring up their menfolk against each other and sexually favouring the victors – look at their passion for the non-politically correct TV shows they twiddle their little beans to, like Game of Thrones, Mad Menet al.
But would any modern man want to go back to such a time? Perhaps the criminally-inclined might, they being a type that has presumably declined over the centuries as civilization gradually hung and beheaded that sort of fellow. The type who want to join Isis or bikie gangs.
As for us normies, we’d rather just eat pizza, drink beer and watch X-Videos.
Civilization makes life so much more peaceful and content for the ordinary man. But, at what cost? Look at the Scandinavian countries today. Vikings no longer, they are led by women, sit down to piss, and soon they’ll be fully colonized by the same Islamic civilization (?) that overthrew the Byzantine empire.
Such is life: short and brutish or long and feeble. But in this Viking saga there is contained a warning: we of Northern stock were once quite different from how we are today, and we could return to that state in the future.
But it is not as simple as ‘civilized = weak, barbaric = strong’. There are twists and roundabouts in this story.
Ancient Rome triumphed over many barbaric tribes because, being civilized, they were larger, better armed and more organized. Civilized government allows a state to exist on a massive scale. That is, I guess, the point.
On the other hand, when Rome finally let in too many Goths all at once, the newcomers found that the Romans had grown weak after having the state protect them from criminals for so long, and that if they strode into Romans towns they could take what they wanted without meeting any resistance. So they did, and the empire collapsed.
A millennium later European civilization recovered and was easily able to sweep away primitive cultures wherever in the world they found them.
And today, civilization’s strength is again waning, with both East and West suffering unsustainably low birthrates and staring down the barrel of disappearance or replacement. It seems that it is barbarity’s turn again.
Charles Murray warned long ago that the New Left, puritanical as it is about anything remotely touching upon race, sex and that sort of thing, might one day break its cognitive dissonance in an extreme and dangerous over-correction. Perhaps it is from that side, not the hard right, that our people might again plunge into savagery.
Personally, I’d rather just stick with civilization. But suit yourselves.
Well, there have been some developments. Some changes in my circumstances, some changes in my thinking – in short, my life has changed dramatically. For the better.
I thought at first that I should start this post with the explanation, then the news, such that it would be easier for my beloved readers to absorb. But, no – you can take it. So here it is.
We previously looked at Menken’s withering attacks on US involvement in WWI, the lack of protest against wartime curbs on Constitutional freedoms, sheep-like political views and Prohibition.
In Prejudices, Menken goes into some of the underlying human traits that prompt such cruelty and stupidity. On the over-the-top violence committed against olde-time sinners – “saloon keepers, prostitutes, . . . believers in the Darwinian hypothesis, . . . adulterers”, he says: Read More
For the last time. See you on the glorious other side, in around four months, when I will have completed my sentence. If nothing goes wrang in the meantime.
I mean, *wrong*.
Funny, that’s the first thing that’s ever gone wrong.
Things are tough: we’ve had no water for a month and it looks like I may get no more for the rest of my time there. Internet has stopped completely. Other things have happened that I cannot share at this time.
But I’m now so close to freedom that I can smell it.
I know that you think you’re all independent-minded and free-thinking and open to new evidence and all that. Don’t you?
But you’re not.
At most, during your lifetime, your views will only modify a little bit. Switch from Democrats to Republicans? Whoop-di-doo. Become more free-market, then less so? Like those mites that live on your eyelids, this move is too small to see without a microscope.
I know you still don’t believe me. You’re thinking, this guy’s full of shit. And while you’re reading this you’re going to have a mental debate with me, thinking you’ll win.
You’ll lose.
Okay, ready? Climb aboard the Real World Express! Toot-toot! No hanging your arms out the side or you’ll lose them and have to eke out a living doing gay amputee porn.
Let’s start with a few questions about your existing beliefs. Please play along. No sneaky skipping forward. If you jump ahead, I will know. And I will be very disappointed in you.
As usual I am late to the party. In January 2019, there was a big brouhaha about Gillette’s ad campaign. And by the time I’m out of the jungle and can post this response you’ll have forgotten all about it.
It seems Gillette’s PR team needs a bit of help. What else am I here for but to offer unsolicited advice and make the world a better place? So here we go: alternative Gillette TV ad campaigns that could help to repair the damage caused by the last one.
A Red Indian is banging his drum in the face of an adolescent boy in a Maga cap. The boy nonchalantly takes out a Gillette razor and begins to shave his teenage fluff, much to the consternation of the old Indian who cannot grow facial hair.
Jingle: “Gillette – the best a man can Kek.”
A bunch of mostly ugly women and soy-boys are staging some kind of attention-seeking Slut Walk. A young man watches them in undisguised disgust. Suddenly among the crowd he spots an attractive lady – except for her obligatory underarm hair. Their eyes meet and they have a moment – all the sounds and background images fade and there is nothing in the frame except those two. The skanky-but-hot girl reaches his position and he hands her a Gillette razor. She takes it with a submissive and grateful smile. Their eyes are locked throughout. Ugly girls and low-T men around them look on with intense jealousy.
Jingle: “Gillette – the best for girls you can’t forget.”
Vladimir Putin is hunting in Siberia alone and bare-chested. His manboobs and muffin-top are digitally minimised in this shot. He reaches a rugged outcropping of rock, spots a bear, and aims his rifle at it. Then he changes his mind, puts down the gun, strides over to the bear and punches it out. He takes out his Gillette razor, the package of which boasts it could ‘shave a bear’. He tries it curiously on the beast’s flank and finds that it does, indeed, do the job. He nods approvingly and then the unconscious bear comes around and they nod approvingly at the amazing razor together.
Jingle: “Gillette – the best for every man’s pet.”
There’s a high, bling wall stretching across the desert as far as the eye can see it, with giant Trump-faces carved into it like those big statue things in Lord of the Rings, you know the ones I mean. A bunch of hairy, greasy Mexicans in ponchos and sombreros turn up to a gate. The ICE official looks them up and down and shakes his head. The Mexicans go behind a clump of cactus, have a brief siesta, bath with their drinking water, shave with Gillette razors, put tequila on as aftershave, take out nice suits from their bags and put them on, then go back to the ICE official and present him with their visa documents and advanced degrees in robotic engineering. The ICE official smiles and beckons them in.
Jingle: “Gillette – the best for every wet(back).”
In a German city, a crazy, big-bearded Muslim with wild eyes and wearing traditional garb is driving a large truck towards a mall decorated for Christmas. He is cackling insanely and as he draws closer he speeds up and heads directly towards the terrified pedestrians in his path and screams “Allahu akbar!” A German man boldly steps in front of the truck. He is dressed in lederhosen and a helmet with a spike on the top. He glares at the driver and holds up a Gillette razor in one hand and a can of Gillette shaving cream in the other. The terrorist gasps in horror and slams on the brakes, jumps from the truck and runs away in terror as the German advances with his shaving implements. The crowd cheers and chants pro-German but not quite Nazi slogans.
Jingle: “Gillette – the best ISIS will regret.”
In Bangkok, backstage of a ladyboy cabaret show, one of the performers looks in the mirror and realizes she has a long, thick, black hair sprouting from her chin. Her friend looks at her and gasps melodramatically. (The following is spoken in Thai and appears in English subtitles).
“Nan, that is disgusting!” (Makes comically camp hand gestures).
“Oh no, what shall I do? The show starts in one minute!”
“Here, quick, use this!” The friend hands Nan a Gillette razor and the errant hair comes right off. They rush onto the stage just in time and the show is fabulous. A handsome, well-dressed Western man in the crowd admires Nan, and in a montage we see him meet her after the show, they return to a flash hotel together, and then they travel off together in a yacht into the sunset, cuddling and smooching in silhouette.
There was a girl I knew from a perfectly bourgeois, conventional family in the suburbs. The mother was a high-school teacher. The father sold computers. One day her middle-aged parents, after years of dreaming about it, set off on a trip to America to visit Disneyland. Unfortunately, they were denied entry to the United States as the father was recorded in US security files as being ‘anti-American’.
It wasn’t a complete misunderstanding – turns out he’d Read More
Have you ever had one of days when you thought your life would be improved by a nuclear holocaust? I sometimes get them when a customer explains to me, like I’m a retarded child, just how I ought to do my job. Or when the water’s off for no reason whatsoever. Or when I don’t get to have sex, which I guess is every day.
Delicious Tacos, of the eponymous blog, has days like that, too. So many, it seems, that he wrote a book about it. He takes his real life, known to many of us intimately through his long-running blog, hurls some really big bombs into it, and sees what happens.
The results are quite impressive.
Mr. Tacos has a very strange problem with women – they only want him for Read More
When I was young, innocent and avowedly stupid I used to think that the best cure for racism was getting to know other peoples, and that aside from multiculturalism, travel was the ideal way of doing this.
Then I traveled.
In a country with a skilled migration program like Australia, you only see a small sliver of a country’s population. I knew Indians all my life. To me they were brainy classmates, engineers, restaurateurs, business men and assorted other respectable types. I had noted a touch of arrogance about them, but generally acknowledged their industrious and talented nature.
I never knew a single stupid Indian until I traveled to India. There, one just needs to look out the window to see Read More
At what point do you stop respecting a communist? Some people set an upper age limit, say, twenty. Others go by an educative event such as the Hungarian Uprising of 1956. And some let it pass all the way up to 1991, arguing that it seemed like a good idea at the time and who knew how badly it would all go.
I’ve decided I’ll forgive Lu Xun his communism because Read More
Just in case you’re new to this side of things, let me explain what a ‘beta orbiter’ is. If you already know, skip the next paragraph.
A pretty young lady will have a boyfriend or random guys who shag her, and these are often bad boys who don’t return her messages or pay her enough attention etc. etc. So she gets her emotional needs met by male friends, ones who hang around and talk about feelings and stuff, and do date things the real boyfriend won’t do. If straight, he does this for the remote possibility he might one day get a shag. This is a beta orbiter. In addition to the sterile warm and cuddlies, the girl keeps these orbiters around as an unconscious backup in case the bad boys fail to commit and she finds herself single and childless (or knocked up!) in her thirties.
Strange things can happen to a red pill man when a girl tries to make him an orbiter and he knows what’s going on. That’s what happened to me and this is how it went down.
The lady was a colleague. Quite attractive. Perhaps there had been other girls who had tried to put me into orbit – I’m not sure – but this one was different. She wouldn’t give up.
I have written before about the problem with libertarianism – stupid people ruin it for everyone else.
Here, I offer a potential solution.
Certain people, certifiably accomplished, might be offered a special license to do things others are not allowed to do. Yes, it’s a little like the ChiCom’s social credit system, but less fascist as it provides people with special privileges rather than disallowing rascals from buying train tickets.
To get the license, you should prove that you are Read More
Am I still Australian? People say my accent has gone funny. Foreigners tell me they normally can’t understand Australians but they can understand me. Perhaps living abroad for so long has planed off the rough edges of my speech, slowed it down, standardized it. I worry it has done the same to my mind.
This is my dozenth year spent overseas. Australia to me now is mostly a Read More
by Fernando Pessoa.
by General Smedley D. Butler
by unknown Icelanders
by H.L. Menken
by H.L. Menken.
by Delicious Tacos.
by Lu Xun.