The Biggest Lie of All

Women really are the biggest victims

Please read this through, especially if you are a woman. The conclusions may be quite different from what you expect.

In the “Red Pill Manosphere” and pretty much in the minds of most normal men, but more-so the younger ones, if they have not been completely brainwashed from a young age, and/or had their testicles surgically removed and placed in a jar on the bedside next to “their bride”, the overall sense is that they had enough of women’s bullshit.

This is the general vibe of the male internet and increasingly of men in real life too.

And that “other guy” is increasingly “every guy”. And even the really pretty women are starting to get impacted by it (though at a small fraction what their less attractive and disproportionally entitled peers are experiencing.)

Don’t get me wrong, I understand. In fact I understood at least some of it, a looooooooooong, long, long, time ago.

Keep in mind that at age 16 or so I came up with this:

Q. You know what Paradise is like?

A. It’s exactly the same as here on Earth, the only difference is that there the women’s brains work just like men’s.

and also this at around the same time:

Men have already improved from being possibly brutish brutes, to being “more sensitive” selves, with the tragic consequence of a vast increase in “metrosexuals” (i.e. faggotry in general) but (as usual) women are lagging behind, because if there is to be a “next step” in human evolution, it needs to be women learning to do logic a whole lot better than they do now.

and I hadn’t even got a proper full time girlfriend at that age, what with being stuck in the equivalent of Tatooine, without so much as a broken down X-Wing to hyperspace to better planets.

And of curse, online is the worst place to find the worst videos, chats, “debates” and general de-evolution of both the female and male species, so I absolutely get why so many young men are utterly despondent, depressed, find “dating” to be an almost pointless and hopeless endeavour which feels more like a jockeying for position at a degenerate Wall Street old-style shouting and bartering match, to throw your hard-won savings at the most glamorous temple prostitute you can afford.

Modern “dating”

However, the older I get, and the more absolutely obvious it becomes that two things are true.

The first even many women are starting to acknowledge, and men have known since before it started, and it is this:

Feminism has been terrible for everyone, but more-so for women overall, and for children most of all.

Of course, the slimy gammas, the metrosexuals, the deep betas that can’t laid in a whore-house with a fistful of cash, those creatures, are not actually men, they are the run-off of the male species after they had a violent bout of stomach cramps; and those creatures certainly pushed for, and helped along, feminism at every turn. In the vain hope it would get them laid. It still doesn’t but they aren’t to know, being what they are.

I am not going to waste any time “proving” that. It’s a big internet, go read some statistics on single parent families raised by women vs men, etc, etc, etc.

The second, is less well known, and still gets spoken of more in whispers, mostly for the fear of cancellation, ostracisation, being labelled a “creep” misogynist, woman hater, toxic male, blah, blah, blah. And because of it, it gets articulated less well overall.

It is this second, deeper, more meaningful truth this post is about, and yes, it will take a little more than a sentence to unpack, but if you had to reduce it to a single sentence, it would be this:

Me Tarzan. You Jane.

Yes, picture is related

In essence, at its base, the relationship between a man and a woman is not adversarial but complementary, and as long as men and women know, understand, and fully embody and embrace the very healthy, normal, and actually relatively EASY principle of sticking to their own lane, things really can be quite blissful between them.

Women are not rational creature. I explained this in autistic detail in this post, with actual scientific information you will not find in any journal of medicine (much less the pseudo-charlatanism that is psychology today) but that you can actually verify for yourself both in medicine and in everyday experiences of life.

Certainly, when compared to men, women behave in distinctly different and at least generally predictable ways. I do go into a lot more detail on this in my book, Caveman Theory, but to boil it down to a general principle, you can say they are more “emotional” than men, and it’s true, but it hardly explains to you how to deal with it, and even more importantly, there is no one around that is really telling you that the fact women are more emotional, is not just:

• A biological imperative, which means you will NEVER change it. My 16 year old wish for the utopia of women becoming more logical might, inch along at a couple of IQ points in that general direction per century, but women, as long as they are human females, will never statistically approach the capacity for raw logic and objective observation men have. And no, lady, your specific solipsistic special case exception does not change the general rule.

• An irritant, that probably ultimately drives a lot of the discord between couples, from arguments, through to divorce and even murder. I mean, make no mistake, their solipsism, hypocrisy, dodging of taking any responsibility for their own actions to extents that would make the average male narcissist blush in shame, and so on, all ARE irritating as hell, but they are far more-so when you see absolutely no benefit to or for how, and why their brains work as they do.

And the REASON we don’t understand, see, appreciate, or even know about from stories anymore, that there are MASSIVE benefits to how women’s brains work, is because we have gradually, but now almost totally, been removed from natural living conditions.

If you are reading this, you likely live in an air-conditioned home of some sort, commute to work in a tube of metal sitting quietly next to other zombies, or your own individual metal capsule, until you get to your place of work where any human interaction is for the most part governed by the same sort of subroutines that a robotic arm in a factory might have been programmed with long before AI was a thing of any kind.

Sure, we have striped toothpaste, penicillin, and no sabre-tooth tigers hunting us, but we also have digital everything. You can’t scream at the top of your voice in a forest just because; and God forbid you try to strike up a conversation with a stranger. And so on and so forth, in our ever darker dystopia.

So, what’s the answer? Well, sure, go rural, look for a woman that has at least an inkling of a clue of an idea of how tough trying to be a self-sufficient off-grid type that also wants a bunch of kids, is, and for all that is good and holy, PLEASE have a fucking plan, lest you end up like Harrison Ford in Mosquito Coast.

But even if you live surrounded by concrete and office cubicles, the point is, the natural ways of man, have been as disrupted, lied about and perverted almost as much as the natural ways of women.

Here some use of imagination is helpful.

Imagine Tarzan, or indeed a cowboy from your favourite cowboy film, or a pirate from a decent pirate movie, or a space captain from any SF film of the 1950s or so.

How “upset” thrown by, bamboozled, distraught and so on do they get at the average female dramatising drama for drama’s sake, emotional outbursts, vicious verbal attacks, and so on? For the most part they look on slightly amused, tip their hat and say something like: “You have a nice day ma’am.” Or if at the end of their tether they say something curt and leave. And in a more extreme case...

Gasp! VIOLENCE!

Calm down. No, I am not advocating for beating your wife/girlfriend/etc.

Let me share however, a short episode from my own life pre-my Christianity.

I had various relationships with women, that were certainly far from any kind of Christian ideal, but in one such, the dynamic was very much female (i.e. crazy) from her. And I have always been me. It quickly became obvious that the silliest little thing could set her off, and it was equally obvious that I have never been the type to take needless shit, but even less so when really there is no need for it at all.

One day, before it escalated, half-jokingly, I grabbed her, put her over my knee, and spanked her. Not hard enough to really hurt, but enough she felt a little sting. She struggled initially, but immediately after the three quick slaps to her butt, I felt her physically relax on my knees. She stopped struggling. Stopped talking, and I could see from her face that she was going through some kind of emotionally complex event in her head. Being rather empathetic, I sensed what was happening inside her, to a decent extent, so I caught the moment and said something like:

“And what do you say now?”

She was hesitant… but her attention was almost entirely focussed inward, she was more talking to herself than me, as she tentatively replied:

“I… am… sorry…?”

From then my replies were instinctive, I didn’t have to think about them.

“Yes, you should be. Because you’ve been a very rude girl, haven’t you?”

“…”

“And you don’t want to be a rude girl… not yet anyway… right? You want to be a good girl, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Good girl,” and with a gentle stroke of her backside this time I asked the final question before I let her up:

“And what do you say to me for helping correct your behaviour?”

“Thank you!”

Needles to say, she practically mauled me seconds later, but in the kind of way you like.

After that, we experimented with this kind of dynamic, and for the few weeks or so it lasted, our relationship (such as it was) was definitely better. And it wasn’t really a sexual thing either. Not really, not always, certainly. A few times she literally thanked me in cold blood after a short spanking. She literally felt it was making her a better woman, and it really was. There were other dynamics that were completely skewed and off-the charts so that relationship was never anything other than a ticking time bomb,¹ but that’s beside the point.

The point is that —though it’s probably seen as “extreme”, or even “abusive” probably by many men and women today, the reality of it is that even a woman that was (truly, trust me on this) shall we say “more volatile” than a coked up howler monkey, was thankful for a (literal in this case) firm hand. And please believe me when I say the spankings were essentially symbolic.²

Now, please, you gamma-retard types, do NOT go home and spank your wife or girlfriend out of the blue thinking it will lead to great sex instead of probably a punch in the nose and possibly assault charges. I’m just a guy on the internet, you are the only person responsible for whatever you do in your life, got it? Good.

The point is that of all the various analogies of men-woman relationships in the “manosphere”, most are really bad. The “captain and first officer” doesn’t work because women are not military officers. The “white knight and damsel in distress”" even less so, as anyone who might have read Homer would know, because women are vicious and sanguine monsters when the mood takes them, and more likely a succubus than ever a damsel in distress. But if you are to simplify things to the extreme, Tarzan and Jane, does work.

As long as you read the original Tarzan and have also read Homer’s Illiad and Odyssey.

Because… in the comic books, pulp magazines, and so on, they only show Jane as being a very loyal, smart, sexy, well-put together woman.

They don’t tell you that the real Jane, even if she is all those things, might get it on with the local gorilla, or sexy poacher if Tarzan is away too long (and he too might also partake of a sexy looking chimp, or bored lady accompanying her poacher husband).

They don’t show that she will stab Tarzan in the neck in his sleep is she ever finds out he was entertaining the poacher’s wife (regardless of the fact she was doing the same with the poacher himself at the time).

And that when the poacher, thinking he has finally got Jane —in that interim while Tarzan stitches up his own nicked jugular with some cat gut— reaches out for her meaningfully, Jane will shoot that poacher right in the face with his own revolver before returning to Tarzan and helping him stem the gushing blood.

Though she still won’t speak to him for a week.

Nor do they tell you that Tarzan kills a bunch of things daily, to survive, feed himself and Jane, and so on.

Because men are men, and women are women.

Is it really bliss if you both remember that?

Well… no. What with the stabbings, the blood, the bodies, and the unfortunate cat, where the cat-gut comes from, and so on.

But it’s a far more sustainable, eco-friendly, and natural way of living.

I mean… what are you, some kind of nature-hater?

And all that “craziness” woman have? It has a powerful, real, important, in fact, PIVOTAL point for humanity.

It’s what makes a mother feed her baby 15 times through the night, and still try to not murder the other 5 children all saying “mommy, mommy, mommy” or her husband when he asks her where his car keys are.

It’s what keeps her (mostly) sane by being able to be distracted by minutiae and taking pleasure in little events (if she only nags and whines all the time, again, it’s not the PC thing to say, but… she’s obviously not happy in the bedroom).³

A woman that returns to herself and being a woman, with all the femininity that entails, both good and bad, comes up with the very kind of insanity that sees to it that after our 6th child, which due to our ages, life in general, the size of the house, money, and all the other 10,000 “good” reasons that she has absolutely, definitely, decided, we will have no more children (just like she said after number 4. And again after number 5.) barely a month after she gave birth to him, says: “Well, I mean… if… you know… I had nannies and maids, and… I mean… I do love having babies so much. They are so cute. And I do like being pregnant…”

And if you are a man, and you see her eyes and feel her emotions when she says this, knowing also full well that it’s quite possible 5 minutes later she may wish death and destruction upon you, the world, and the weather, you start planning how to do a successful bank heist.

Because maids or not, there just might end up being baby number 7 coming along in due course.

Now, is that an easy life? Nah.

But who the hell wants a boring, easy, run-of-the-mill life?

My ancestors were Vikings that converted to Christianity, went and fought in the Crusades, returned, and fought and ended feuds in the South of Italy that had been ongoing for 200 years. Then they took up and went North fighting for Venice. And I am supposed to tremble before the idea of some German pervert telling me I am going to get “vaccinated” and eat bugs?

I am supposed to be “afraid” if child number 7 comes along?

Because what? I’ll have less time to binge-watch the latest Netflix globohomo narrative? Or I may need to work like a mule all day and watch and see my children playing and fighting and living in our little piece of forest or with some friends in the village square? That’s the “hardship” I have to face?

Making enough of that fake money to be able to survive and give them a decent enough life is my hardship?

Yeah, I would probably take a small war instead too, but imagine being at sea, or over-seas, for months, years, no comms at all with the people you left behind. You might return to a missing wife, dead children, who knows.

And we tremble in fear of “women are all gold-digging whores” today? And,

“Aw may GAWD, it might end in divorce, I better stay in and play on my X-box!”

Is that who you are?

Because if so, good fucking riddance, no one needs those genes being passed on.

This is your hardship and terror!

And women are not all gold-digging whores. I assure you.

They have been lied to and manipulated and brainwashed, and indoctrinated about 10 times more than you have. Because they are women. And because they are weaker to that sort of manipulation. And it is your job to help just one. The right one (and sure, that is hard to do, pick the right one), to veer her away from the light that is a zapper for bugs, and steer her towards the soft glow of starlight far away, as you build and plan and create a small city of two, then populate it with as many offspring as you can. And surround yourself by others like that too.

Life has never been easy.

Choose your own hard, and choose it well.

And live it.

1. Eh… what can I say? Except… we curious few, we ignorers of the warning “don’t stick your dick in crazy”, we survivors of degeneracy, we lucky, lucky, few…

2. Which was quite different from the psychologist (I shit you not) who requested spankings that left her butt bruised. I am a pretty flexible guy, but honestly that made me uncomfortable. She seemed a very nice lady otherwise, and quite kind and decent, maybe because she worked as a psychologist and had to stick to a governmental produced narrative of what is “healthy” and what is “not” it caused her to want to be spanked really hard for reasons that were (and remain) beyond my wish to fully grasp, yet it really did seem to make her happy, and of course Noblesse Oblige, but yeah, not really my thing at all.

3. My wife very occasionally complains that I think almost all of women’s complaints can pretty much be solved by an adequate delivery of good sex by their significant other. Apparently it also takes deep emotional connections, empathy, this thing they themselves never do that they learnt is called “listening” and so on. But it’s a rare complaint, which is why we have six children.