Most everyone in the manosphere was surprised by ABC’s sudden hit piece on us the other day, paired with a 20/20 episode that will air tonight. You’ll notice that I haven’t been commenting on it like other folks. There’s a reason for this.
I was one of the interview subjects for the 20/20 story.
This is a guest post by Zampano.
Inner game is a frustrating topic to write about because it is a frustrating topic to talk about and a frustrating topic to learn about. Inner game, that mystical beast that we have all heard about, but most people don’t really understand. Inner game, the unicorn of game culture.
Camp One says, “Fuck inner game. Just smash bishes. It’ll work itself out.”
Camp Two says, “Fuck outer game. Just learn the ancient art of not giving a fuck and say whatever shit comes into your head and you’ll get laid.”
So what’s a little boy to do?
This is a guest post by William Rome.
Great men of the past daring and bold,
Great men made from a superior mold:
Warriors fighting on harsh field of war,
Thinkers changing all that was thought before,
Lovers making ladies come back for me;
Inspire and strengthen me in this Age
Filling me with a fierce hatred and rage
For all its victims and their special “rights,”
A disgusting spectacle of such heights
No court jester could have devised
A comedy of laughs this highly prized. Continue reading
A couple days ago, amid all the manospambots wailing and gnashing over the fall of one of their paper alphas, a man who has exerted an enormous influence on all of us—so enormous that most don’t even notice him, in the same way that most people don’t notice the air they breathe—hung up his spurs and went home. Rob Fedders, one of the most important progenitors of the manosphere, is no more:
It was a good death.
It’s better to burn out than fade away!
He is survived by no-one as he was a free man who never married and had no children.
In Rob’s last will and testament he requested that in lieu of flowers, you give women the husbands they deserve: None!
Rest In Peace, Rob.
This news wasn’t wholly unexpected, to me anyway. A while back, Rob told me that after he finished one last project—a free e-book on the philosophy of MGTOW—he was going to call it quits. He’d had enough of the Internet and was ready to spread his wings.
Still, does knowing that one of your relatives is going to eventually die from cancer make it any less sad when they finally pass away?
This post stands a good chance of wiping out my readership. I don’t care. I’ve turned my guns on my own readers so often over the years I’m shocked that I have any left.
The manoblogs are all a-twitter with righteous outrage. Mark Minter is a fraud! A liar! A hypocrite! How could a guy who railed against marriage, called it an institution for “pussies,” go back on his words? With a single mother no doubt? Why did he lie about the fact that he’s a penniless bum who’s been living with his sister for the past few years?
Why? Why? WHY?
Last week, I was interviewed by a major news outlet who is working on a story about the manosphere. It went better than I expected, but midway through, the reporter asked me about the level of “hatred” and “vitriol” in the manosphere and what I think of it. My answer ran along the lines of the Private Man’s recent arguments that masculine anger is a necessary and transitional aspect of the manosphere; men who have been screwed over in more ways than one over the course of their lives have every right to be angry, and that with the exception of the MRA/MGTOW permavirgins, men get over their anger eventually and move on.
But from a more practical standpoint, what do men have to lose from being angry and confrontational?
The answer is nothing, because in the past three decades, any man who so much as deviates from the accepted script of eternal female victimhood and eternal male oppression is tarred and feathered as a irredeemable misogynist. It doesn’t matter how conciliatory or polite they are, how carefully they phrase their arguments so as not to offend anyone, or even how much legitimate work they’ve done on behalf of women’s rights: they are automatically kicked out of the club.
This is a guest post by Ruxman.
I sat at the travel agentʼs desk. It was the third and final time I would need to see him before I left for a solo trip through America. I built a rapport with him after I learned he too was a skateboarder. He mentioned some cheap plane tickets to Hong Kong that he acquired for himself and a friend.
Me: Cool, you gonna bring your board? I heard Hong Kong has a solid nightlife too.
Travel Agent: Nah, only going for 10 days, thereʼs meant to be some really good food in Hong Kong though, food is a big deal to me.
I was surprised at my contempt when he told me this, I didn’t have anything against food or dining out, but his trip no longer sounded exciting. For a guy like myself who is always on the lookout for new experiences, I often weigh potential experiences with their ability to orchestrate adventure, challenges and girls. Eating, like sleeping, sustains your carcass to function optimally for the day. One could argue that the need for food and sex are both primal drivers for a man, and a holiday based on food consumption has no less substance than one based on relationships and sex. However, the main difference is that food can be easily bought, but a holiday where sex is a driver has themes of risk, independence and fortitude.
I posted this over at Roosh’s forum a few days ago, but I thought it was too good to let languish there, so I’m republishing it here. Enjoy! (Click here for the post’s inspiration.)
I awoke with a pounding headache, last night’s drunken revelry calling my body’s tab. I drowsily smacked the Snooze button on my alarm clock, pulled the crusty sock off of my post-slumber erection, and groggily trudged over to the bathroom to prepare for my shift at Starbucks.
Angry at failing yet again to lay one of the hypergamous bitches of my hometown of Buffalo, New York, I arrived at work unshaven and irritated. My boss, the chain-smoking whore, chided me for being five minutes late. I fantasized about the entire city evaporating in a mushroom cloud as I walked over to the espresso machine.
This is a guest post by Adiaforon.
Read First: On Male Friendships: Part Three
In my very first guest post here, I mentioned an article by Alex Williams, which came out last year, on why it seems to be so hard to make friends after the age of 30. As a still-burgeoning member of the manosphere, I’m very interested in this subject because it highlights my own lack of friendships, especially male. Try as I might, I haven’t been very successful in making lasting male friendships. There are a host of reasons, and I quoted some very good points that Williams made in his article.
Then I stumbled upon this article by Melanie Pinola earlier this morning. It’s from Lifehacker, which I read often during my typical week. Though written by a woman—and, by extension, somewhat suspect—she does make some good points, the most salient being this:
Making friends is no longer a survival requirement.
This is where I think she hits the nail on the head, especially for someone in my predicament.
Today marks the release date of my next book, Trolling for a Living. Here’s what you’ll find inside this 230-page title:
- Why “shaming language” is justified
- The real definition of “manning up”
- An insider’s look at the North Dakota oil patch
- What a bitch is and why they’re problematic
- How feminists and men’s rights activists are two sides of the same coin
- Why voting is a waste of time
- Why people on the Internet are retarded
- Why “real” men support fat acceptance
- And more!