To The Men

Gentlemen, it's time for your beating, so that morale may improve.

Look, I KNOW that you’re all tired of being told to man-up, or worse the boomer refrain of “pulling yourself up from your bootstraps” and so on.

Look, I do get it. Life pretty much sucks and as a young guy you have a raw deal. But you see… you really need to stop being a pussy.

Because life ALWAYS sucked for men. You think you have it tough because you don’t get laid enough and you MIGHT get divorce-raped by a gold-digger? Well read some history of ANYONE worthwhile and you’ll find you are soft-skinned, weak, whiny, and fully homosexual to a degree that would make a woman blush compared to pretty much the entirety of male human history.

Read this, or this, or this, or this, or a thousand other books about pretty much any period of history before the 1960s and tremble at the very idea of having been born in one of those times with the attitude to life you have now.

So let’s first of all face that UNCOMFORTABLE FACT.

You are a gay weakling.

As the Japanese say, you can’t fix a problem until you at least first consciously become aware of it.

Now, about taking that dildo out your butt, and trying to see what you can do about actually manning up, what it actually means and how to avoid jail while doing so.

Let me give you a couple of pointers, this is from a conversation I had with a young man recently that with brutal honesty has faced that very reality:

So, I was hyper loyal from a young age, especially to my mother who was always very nurturing and caring. She would often complain about men; her bad childhood under her father, constant fights with her brother, and then obsessively complaining about my dad after he failed her (yes I do mean failed, too because he was also a weak, effeminate man). I remember my mum complaining about men from a very young age (as early as 5) and it only intensified through their divorce (from the age of 7 or so onwards).

During the formative period, my mother drilled into me, daily, that my dad was the epitome of evil. This then spilled-out into “all men” and then “anything characteristically male.” Therefore, if I ever acted like a man, that was slapped down with “you’re just like your father” (ergo, just like evil incarnate). Around all of her female friends I always heard the same conversation: “men are evil” (and then, as a side-note, noticing I was in the room: “oh, except for you”).

This lasted at least a decade.

To add insult to injury, both of my sisters were also failed (literally abused) by their father and then both divorced their respective first husbands.

At this point, I don’t begrudge the women in my family because they really were failed by the men in their lives and I don’t think they were really conscious of what they were doing (just solipsistic because, hey, women). But still, that entire perception has soaked into levels that I’m still trying to dig out.

Now, this guy is NOT the classical Gen-Z or Millennial weakling. He has managed to carve out quite a decent life for himself that allows him to essentially live where he wants without too much trouble, he likes to travel and experience different cultures, and has a good work ethic and has contributed heavily to his (hardcore) Catholic (sedevacantist) faith within his community.

Yet he never had a real male role model.

I by contrast grew up essentially feral in Africa during my formative years, then a couple of years with my grandparents in mostly rural Italy (and Italy in general is still quite human, as opposed to essentially all Anglo-Saxon cultures, whose extent of “ferality” is limited to getting drunk and fighting/fucking when drunk, which is really more of an extreme cope than actual feral/natural/wild-but-sane human behaviour).

If my brother or I came home from a fist-fight, with another kid, at most we would get asked if we won or lost, or fought honourably. My father once admonished me and my brother, at age 4 and 2 or so, because when an older African kid (maybe 6?) had made my brother cry and I went to fight him, my incensed brother tried to help me. According to my boomer dad this was unacceptable, as I should have fought the boy on my own.¹ On a previous occasion with a different Italian boy aged 7 who was also harassing my 2 year old brother, I had taken the older boy on by myself, at agee 4 and about half his size. He grabbed me by the hair and shook me for all he was worth. It hurt badly and my eyes teared up, so I couldn’t see properly, but I carried on punching even if effectively blind, and crying, and eventually one landed, splashed his nose and made the bigger boy let go of me and run off crying to his parent with his nose bleeding. My father shouted at me and sent me off to his room as punishment. My mother later came to explain to me that in reality my dad was proud but couldn’t say so in front of the other kid’s parents. I, reasonably enough, asked my mother, first of all why she was the one telling me that and not him. And secondly why he hadn’t done so when they left. Nor did he tell me so later.

Injuries were essentially ignored unless really serious. And you’d be told you were an idiot for getting injured in the first place anyway.

And we were roaming the African bush with pellet guns in places that had cobras, black mambas (which occasionally entered the house) warthogs, and so on, with no way to know if something had happened to us until we returned home. We also got motorbikes when I was 16 and my brother 14 in a place where fatalities by random drivers, drunk-drivers, and so on were a weekly occurrence.

Now, if you grew up as I did, having fired a handgun at age 2 the first time and a shotgun held up (for the weight, not the recoil) by my dad at age 4, and being allowed to go hunting with a .30-06 or a .375 with sometimes little supervision at age 11-13, it will tend to make you think that any “man” that whines about pretty much anything except maybe missing limb after an accident, is kind of a fag. And why is he whining instead of applying a tourniquet anyway, and walking himself to the nearest hospital? Fag.

And I am not the only one to see it that way. A friend I made here who grew up in rural Italy, had to drive the tractor since age 8, Including switching out attachments to it, and served clients in his parent’s bar when he wasn’t working the field, and, like me, doesn’t seem to accept/understand the very idea that something can’t be fixed somehow by simply getting some tools out and having a go. So you don’t have to grow up like Conan the Barbarian to not be a weakling.

But let me highlight it a bit more with a current Substack example from a guy that (laughably) calls himself Illimitable Man.

Does that sound smart, tough, or practical to you?

Because to me, as soon as I read it, I felt a visceral disgust, and imagined what a slimy cowardly nothing the guy is. I would be completely UNSURPRISED if he turned out to be a Pakistani farming clicks.

Here, try this:

Do you think Charlemagne would say that?

Bohemond?

Leonidas?

Julius Ceasar?

Fuck, how about the average soldier in WWI or WWII?

Any Roman soldier? Any Samurai?

Any normal Cowboy from 1875?

I mean, look, if you agree with that faggot, fuck it, it’s no skin off my nose, but seriously, if you plan to ever be a father, have children, or even just NOT be a completely irrelevant NPC in life, please, for the love of God, don’t be like that “Illimitable” faggot.

And if you think life is tough, so what? It is.

So gold-digging whores might blow your life up if you pick the wrong one? So what? I’m twice divorced, and still standing.

Try to not marry a vampire-narcissist gold-digger. And hey, if you fuck-up… because you like sticking your dick in crazy, when you KNOW it’s a bad idea (but they DO fuck better, so you see the dilemma) survive it. Change name, move to the Cambodian forest, whatever.

Yes life is hard, no one will hand you out freebies, and no one is coming to save you.

Maybe you had a fag dad. Maybe no dad. Maybe you are LITERALLY a fag. Regardless, try to man up. Yes even the actual fags. It CAN be done.

Find some role models. Read about them in books, or if you are illiterate try to find some videos while you learn how to FUCKING READ, because MEN do know how to read. And actually read. Books. Real paper ones.

Learn a martial art. Learn to shoot guns. Learn to fix an old car that doesn’t run on GPS-controlled Indian-built software in a black box computer.

Use cash and say no to digital cash.

Leave your phone at home at times and deal with the PTSD/Anxiety you get from not checking your faceborg/instagram/whatever every 15 seconds.

Go hiking. Without a phone.

Plan a revolution. Dig a trench. Buy some land and build a house in the woods.

In short… DO SHIT.

Get fit. Eat better. And hit on pretty girls. You will get rejected, so what? Learn and find a better way to say “Hello,” and start a conversation. Eventually one will talk with you. And eventually one will kiss you. And so on.

What else you got to do before you die an old man?

Doom-scroll yourself into a catatonic masturbation session while you wish you had enough money to buy a Japanese sex robot instead of a Waifu blow-up doll?

Yes the world is against you and probably hates you, and things are stacked against you. So what? They always were. But your ancestors weren’t fags who just got bent over and rammed without reproducing. That’s why you are here.

Honour them.

1. I by contrast teach my kids that if anyone fucks with one of them unjustly, not only are they perfectly entitled to gang up on whoever it is and not to worry about consequences in the moment, they are expected to. Because fuck those strangers doing bullshit first. They also do get told to not START any shit with anyone, though.