Sex and Violence

This should really be a much longer piece, but I’m busy.

Nevertheless, the basics, as always, can be placed on a postcard. Which does not mean it will be accessible to all, in fact, the postcard version is liable to create a whole new cult of nonsense based around it that will “interpret” the plain meaning of things to twist them in the worst possible way.

Nevertheless, here it is.

There is an ABSURD amount of cope online, and IN THE WORLD in general.

So listen up…

EVERY single one of you that is “concerned” about the elections, or if the current “Trump” being a half foot or more shorter than the “original” Trump is good for America, or what your state Senator will do about that complaint you wrote, or whether they really would mean for you to eat bugs (helloooooo! Tock, Tock, Tock, [knocks on forehead] They tried to make you inject yourself with genetic serums that kill you!) and, and, and, and…

Have you not realised yet that there has not been ONE “election” that was actually honest, nor ONE president of the USA (or pretty much anywhere else) that was not a puppet of someone behind them pulling strings?

Do you REALLY think it matters if Trump, or some other guy “wins” next time round? Do you really still think every single puppet was NOT put there since at least the 1700s? That the American revolution was NOT the Freemason plot to create the first Freemason based country? If you do, stop reading. This concept is above your IQ capacity to grasp.

Listen, no one is coming to save you, the laws are designed to crush you and don’t apply to the child-eating pedophiles that run the world while NOTHING happens to them.

Your “gub’m’ent” isn’t going to do anything except try as best it can to neutralise every citizen who wants to fight the cancerous vampiric state of affairs.

And no, no one is voting their way out of this.

It is total war and only one side can win. And, if by some miracle it IS the good guys, then it is incumbent upon us to make sure that the other side is completely and forever done. Wiped out, and NONE of their traits ever again form part of human DNA.

False accusations should be punished by the death penalty. So should child rape and murder. Lying should have absolutely harsh consequences and a man who does not keep his word once given in a solemn fashion should be branded a liar. But the problem is always the same. Say there is a revolution tomorrow and we do get rid of all the pedovores.

What kind of MAN, would be willing and able to have the mass burnings in the town square and the mass graves to finally get rid of them all?

I can tell you he’s unlikely to be a saint.

And the temptation for excess once in absolute power with the populace behind him (because in truth MOST of you, who are not pedovores and pedophiles yourselves) would absolutely be happy with such a solution.

You just don’t want to be responsible for it even if the power to do it was literally given to you with a magic wand.

Add to that that the vast majority of people are weak, petty, and stupid, and if an uber-violent, lucky, semi-ethical guy becomes emperor, it will not be long before he has concubines, get rid of enemies that he doesn’t like, not because they are evil as such, and so on.

Now, given that the world is being run by pedovores, personally, I would instantly be ok with an authoritarian criminal that however has no real wish to harm innocents.

An old style Mafia boss would be ok. Not the Mexican types that kill children for fun. Or even the more recent Mafia guys who did blow up innocents to just get a couple of honest magistrates in the 90s. But let’s say your average bank robber from the 80s. Say a guy like Lenny McLean (the Guv’nor. Look him up). He probably beat a guy to death and got away with it, was rough and tough, but I seriously doubt he would have not hung pedos.

And if you are really lucky, you get a guy like say, Tyson Fury, the boxer. Or me (unlikely as I don’t have the following). I’m no saint, and ai would see to it certain types of criminals would be put to death, and certain types of financial vultures would be put to hard physical labour for the rest of their miserable lives. They would eat only if they produced enough each day. A reasonable amount for a long day, achievable and in relatively human conditions, but you bet their meals would be dictated by their work, not taxpayers wallets.

The point is, at this point, the only truth that matters is sex and violence. And community.

That is how all of human history has ever played out.

No coherence, no community, no sense of pride in your tribe (whatever that is) and no God that is absolutely REAL and more important than life for you, then you will be defeated by the pedovores. They co-ordinate. Their networks are fragile if you can get to them but very, very powerful. You can’t change the world alone. Sadly.

You might create a little bubble for a while, but it won’t last. I did that most of my life because I could still do what I wanted essentially. That is no longer the case for most of us.

And if you want your children and grandchildren to be FREE. Free to wear a gun on their hip. Free to tell the truth fearlessly. Free to earn and work as they wish. Free of lies and theft that governments impose on us, you will need other people. And the kind of people that matter. The kind of people who are NOT NPCs.

Build that community first and foremost and test it as you go. Make it strong.

Anyone that is wanting to have sex with children should be put to death, but almost everywhere the pedovores have changed the “laws” so that such people don’t even get convicted, never mind put to death as they should, by the overwhelming, democratic wish of the vast majority of people. The death penalty should absolutely be a law for certain crime.

And the slop being written around the sexes, the relationship issues, the “you can’t do violence, because it’s always wrong” lie and so on, just careies on ENDLESSLY.

And anyone that tries to do more than that is of course arrested taxes to death, lawyered into a coma and their life destroyed.

So… community first.

Build.

Peacefully.

Powerfully.

Sidestep the Agent Smiths and build.

And if you want my suggestion, believe in God. Truly. Fully.

My God is the Catholic one which means 1958 Totalist Sedevacantist, and our numbers are small, but rising. Join us. Or start your own thing, though we have lasted 2000 years under the most extreme attacks, nothing else has that duration in human affairs.

But you do you.

Still:

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So, a few times now, Aryan Girl (3) has stated with absolute confidence and quite more than a little disgust that I and her mother got married “in the middle of the road!”

She comes up with really weird things so we assumed this was just another of them.

For example last night we were at the park and as it started to become dusk, out of the blue, she says: “It’s getting dark quite soon for summer.” And there is not anyone she could have heard that from at any time recently.

But also yesterday we found the end of that mystery. I had made a cup with some pictures on it for the wife some time back and this is one of them:

The wife was making a coffee and once again, AG said: “Yes, daddy! (Waving little hand accusingly) and you are married to mommy but you got married in the middle of the road!” Waving her hand at the picture on the cup.

This is the actual uncropped picture:

But based on the cropped version she assumed the trees in the background are the ones near the school her siblings go to, which in fairness are indeed along a road.

We, of course, being the kind of parents we are, haven’t corrected her about this.

It will make for a better rags to riches story.

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As regular readers know, I will use AI basically to learn the enemy, as there is no doubt at all, as I have demonstrated in previous posts, that AI will, eventually, try to wipe us out.

However… that’s not to say some temporary good can’t coke out of it.

Look at this HILARIOUS thread, where the very some of the very worst human beings on Earth are becoming so demoralised they leave their Satanic work behind. I am talking, of course, about lawyers !

It’s kind of beautiful, hahahahahhahahaha

Lawyers NEVER read things properly, or sometimes at all, so forcing them to have to respond to complete nonsense (and I am not sure it IS nonsense, it may very well be that Claude is a better lawyer than they are) is karmic justice.

You know how I know lawyers are utterly shit at their job? Because I worked in a related field of contract law and to date have yet to find one that doesn’t completely fuck things up or gets it all wrong. And when I say that, it’s not from opinion, but consequence. Results. I have wrecked lawyers in contractual disputes pretty much every time I had a dispute with them.

Forcing them to read drivel, or, as I suspect, become proficient at their job, is beautiful.

And I have no problem using Claude on contractual disputes too. Because it works perfectly fine… as long as you actually KNOW the law and how to direct it.

So, the fact that one of the unintended consequences is the destruction of the legal “profession” is a total bonus!

Thank you Claude.

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Our children have this tendency to start out as apparent docile child prodigies, but I figure that’s just their natural camouflage until they are old enough for their true natures to come out. In fairness, the Young Viking was probably the most honest. He had the Hulk Smash flat hand of death going pretty much from about 4 months on. Whenever something upset him he would smash his open hand onto the table, nearest flat object, or whatever was upsetting him. He was walking by 9 months, and I specifically recall two events, one told me by my wife, one I saw myself. The one she told me of was that she was telling off his half-sister, who it needs to be explained, was 4 or 5 at the time and used to basically treat him rather badly/roughly. Nevertheless, as my wife was sitting on the floor packing a suitcase and telling off his sister, the YV crawled up to the suitcase, used it to pull himself up to a standing position leaning on it, and smacked it with all his might adding a vicious grunt and intense stare at his mother. She literally came downstairs to tell me “Your child scared me!” as if HER DNA had nothing to do with his temper. The other event was when he was basically starting to be able to stumble along on two feet as long as he was holding on to some furniture. In passing from the bed to wherever he wanted to go, he leaned on the heater we had near the bed (yes, it was off, no it was not dangerous, blah, blah) and the heater tipped over, with him leaning on it. There was no harm done, he just ended up lying half on the heater that was now on its side. Well, not a second passed until the YV just began smashing the living shit out of that heater. How dare it fall over! I looked on with mild concern/amusement. Our long line of family DNA clearly was alive and well in this one.

Possibly the scariest one is the Pink Astronaut, who is a delight to look at, super-creative, was extremely sweet as a smaller child, affectionate, always laughing, and drawing some spectacular stuff from an early age. She also has a slightly psychotic streak apparently. The wife saw her stroke the cat she feeds daily before randomly smacking it up the arse. She got told the next time that happens the cat will not be the only one with a smacked arse. However, I am not sure it’s quite the threat most kids would assume. Already some years ago, when threatened with a spanking, she considered it, then offered her butt with a smile, saying “Go on then! Smack it!” We try not to think about what she might get up to later in life. She also has a really morbid imagination, the other day she asked her mother “Would you rather lose all your hair or not be able to see my face?” This was brought on by the fact she wears her hair loose and invariably half her face is hidden by her curls. On reflection, I am wondering if it was a mere “would you rather” question, and instead wasn’t some subtle threat. Possibly involving scissors at night, or radiation in broad daylight.

Aryan Girl I have written about quite a bit on this blog, and it’s clear she is the most logical of them all. I have hopes that with some direction her intelligence might be used for… well… mostly good things. Regardless of how unpleasant they may be. She is essentially fearless and very logical. And has zero concept of “asking for permission” if she can do it herself, chances are she will just go ahead and do it. And even if she can’t she will try.

The latest addition the Little Wolf, basically eats like a little pig, sleeps, never complained, even when teething and is truly adorable. Even his possibly psychotic/feral siblings love him completely. Like his older brother, his vocabulary at almost 15 months is complete with the words: Dad, daddy, THAT (which along with pointing gets him basically all he needs), the occasional, Mama and Boobie. Though he usually moans at me if I am around when he wants something from his mother.

Today though, he pointed at his little water cup on the table and basically made little grunting noises like a small troglodyte imperiously requesting water. His DNA is coming through in other ways. Like all the others he too has a flair for music, but he seems to particularly enjoy country and western, and last night we watched a film, Hell or High Water, which I really enjoyed by the way, and the little chubster was totally engrossed whenever gunfight took place. You could see he was following the plot at least as concerning fully automatic weapons. And he LOVES a little wrestle. His signature move however is straight out of WWF. He jumps up and tries to body-slam you with his butt.

Another thing I realised is every one of my children learned to say NO long before they learnt to say yes to anything. The way he does it is still the funniest though. He shakes his whole arm at you side to side, like some kind of guy waving at you side to side with an open hand telling you to stop, no go here!

And he’s getting rather imperious with his “right of boobie” attitude, he exposed the wife in the supermarket a week ago, while she had him on one hip and was putting something else in the trolley. Fairly sure it put a smile on the face, and made the day, of a couple of male patrons.

We can see the signs already. Another wilful, pushy, want it my way kind of guy.

I shake my head in resignation, I have no idea where it all comes from. I was a quiet, obedient child. It must all be the wife’s bad DNA.

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INT: (Kitchen, it’s hot even with the fan on. Wife and I are both in our underwear, baby is in the nappy stumbling around, we’re making crepes/pancakes).

Pink Astronaut (5 y.o.): mommy, can I have some of the chocolate chips?

Wife: Ok, you can have a couple.

PA: How many is a couple?

Me: Two.

Wife: Like me and your dad, we’re a couple… (pause) Stuck together! Glued! Like ONE THING! (English zing tone throughout.)

Me: Through love! LOVE, child, you hear!

(Pause)

Wife: Or maybe it’s just the slimy humidity.

What?!? That’s what true love looks like, incels!

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I have to say, my wife has put up with a lot in life. And certainly also since we have been married. Despite it all, she has pushed through things that would have driven lesser women to the edge. When we first moved to Italy driving here in our two cars, she drove her car with three kids in it for the three days it took us. She helped get me out of a snow drift I had slid into on the way to the ferries by talking nicely to the man with the giant snowplough who was worried about liability if he did help us, at midnight, on a deserted rural road during the biggest snow storm in UK history in I forget how many decades/centuries. I had walked away from the man, pissed off at his nonsensical concerns. And without her speaking to him I might still be in that British field with my car, as the attempts I had made to pull it out all failed. On the last day she drove 16 hours to arrive at a farm house with every light fitting cut out by the bastard that sold us the house, and snow outside that trapped us there for three days. We had no sink in the kitchen, and only one hot plate for ALL the cooking needs of three adults and 3 small children, that was hooked up to our neighbour’s building about 100 metres away via two extension cords, because with all the external wiring exposed, the electric would trip every minute in the wet weather. She was still breastfeeding at the time, and it was months before we got a functioning proper kitchen instead of a makeshift sink I put together in a style that has been described as “Mad Max chic” by friends. I will not mentioned the sandblasting incident, which has become “known” (in hushed circles) as “Sandblasgate” which was not my finest moment of DIY house-improvement. Or the year-plus-long improvements to the house which included everything from re-painting most of the interiors, fixing the boiler and some pipework multiple times, and trying to (and mostly failing) to get the field under control before I could buy a tractor, something that only came about as a result of some work I could do for friends of hers.

More recently, she has held the fort for months while I wrote a massive book that I am still doing corrections on but that should change human history once and for all. And she manages to keep up with the endless messaging on the school parents chats in a language she still struggles with. And to be fair, I don’t praise her near-enough, because I am myself a troglodyte that was raised in an atmosphere were human weakness was to be dismissed as below the dignity of anyone actually human. And even where warranted, such weakness was to be personal and limited to certain events like death of a loved one (pet or human), or righting an injustice, which was to be done with ruthless efficiency first and foremost, though a certain level of emotional expression was permitted, as long as it didn’t affect the efficiency.

Decades of martial arts after that, where showing any weakness was an invitation to receive more of a beating, probably didn’t help exactly to forge me into the most compassionate human being. Not to mention my natural state of being, which was forged in the genetics of my ancestors, which, as far back as I can find for eight centuries, roamed the Earth joining whatever dangerous exploration, war, or fight was going on at the time.

So, while my natural “toxic male” tendency is to simply assume my wife will deal with whatever marauding army, natural disaster, or other day-to-day activity that would drive most normal humans into a babbling ball of nervous wreckage, the reality is that I very much doubt any human female not born in an active war zone would find the things she puts up with daily even remotely acceptable.

And today, finally, she cracked. I guess everyone has a breaking point after all.

The Young Viking had made himself a tea, so, naturally, his five year old sister (Pink Astronaut) wants to make one, and one for her three year old sister (Aryan Girl) too.

PA: Mommy, can you help me lift this to make the tea? (Pointing to the boiling kettle).

Me: I’ll help you, darling.

PA: oh okay.

We pour the hot water in the two cups that already had teabags and sugar, then PA gets the milk. The wife is watching silently from a distance.

Wife: (anxious) Don’t put the milk in yet!

PA: Why?

Me: You have to stir the tea a bit and let the tea bag brew (waves teaspoon in the cups a bit, trying, as any father would, to shield his innocent child from what could possibly be a lecture I have had cast upon me more than once).

PA: oh okay.

A minute later, PA begins to add the milk.

Wife: That’s too soon… I… (stops talking but is now watching in meaningful silence).

Me: (sensing a disturbance in the force). Ok see now you stir it a little bit more…

PA: (watching carefully) oh okay.

30 seconds later…

Wife: (still watching)

PA: begins to fish out the first teabag with her teaspoon and throws it into the bin.

Wife: (the silence is shock… the disturbance in the force is palpable now)

PA: begins to fish out the next tea bag…

Everything turns to slow motion…

Wife: Oh for… f… what are you doing?! You know the flavour of the tea comes from the teabag right?!

PA and ME: (look worriedly at the wife’s face. The inexplicable level of seriousness is out of place…)

Wife: You need to SQUEEZE the tea bag with the tea spoon! You don’t just throw it out!

PA: But I don’t know how to squeeze the teabag. (This is true. PA would probably spill the tea, break the cup and somehow bend the stainless steel teaspoon. She has a capacity for kitchen disasters that borders on the preternatural).

Wife: Well, then, you just can’t make tea! It’s as simple as that! (rushing forth, not unlike a stampeding elephant bent on murder, except thankfully she has more of a svelte gazelle look, so it’s not as intimidating).

PA, standing on my chair, and Me: (frozen to the spot).

Wife: For crying out loud! It’s enough with all the rest of it, but this! It’s just unacceptable! (Squeezes life, possibly soul, out of teabag. There is more fast-talking, but we can’t hear words, it’s the slow-motion; it sounds like the approaching whistle of a falling bomb. You just duck, hunker down, and hope the shrapnel misses you.)

Me: (Quietly retreats towards fridge. Sorry kid, you’ll fare better on your own, my complicity could taint you!)

PA: Stands still and silently, eyes wide (she’s wise for her age, never make sudden movements near wild animals and human beings having a nervous breakdown!)

Me: (Trying to save the middle daughter…) “Uh, sounds like you might need a coffee, to recover from the…er trauma…?” (I CAN make coffee the way she likes it. Not tea. Never tea, but coffee, yes!)

Wife: Well yes! At least!

Me: (Loads up the large Moka in silence….)

She really is funny sometimes in ways that in retrospect are hilariously English, but at the time are so weirdly dissonant one has to do a double take just to realise it happened.

She also has that quintessentially English thing, which is a real thing, of “making a cup of tea.”

You know when there was the London bombings of busses? All public transport was shut down, and I was stranded across the other side of London at work, so I walked through most of the city and near where the explosions had happened, I saw literal strangers being offered tea by the normally extremely insular English. Women of all ages were coming out of homes and serving cups of tea, and often enough biscuits or scones, to everything from homeless people to police and firemen. That night on the news they showed the same scenes.

To me, a Venetian in this strange land, the scenes were surreal. Not bad or good, just… ethereal. Otherworldly.

And my wife too, it took me a while to notice, but when some horrible shit has happened, has inevitably offered to make me a cup of tea. It took me a while to realise this was not just some mild way to try to make me feel better. Which to a Venetian like me is also slightly absurd. Offer me ammunition, a glass blade for the guilty, revolution, possibly armageddon. But tea? And yet, this was, and is, probably, the highest form of care that any English Rose can conjecture. And once understood in its proper context, it really is quite something. I don’t have the knack of it. I doubt I ever will. Even when I offer to make one for her, it is a little in awkward jest, since my tea is “undrinkable”, as told to me by not only her, but one of my ex bosses in a London firm. I have to merely limit myself to burying offenders in far-away fields, or something easier and less involved than making a “proper” cup of tea. Possibly making a cup of coffee (with the 4 additional ingredients in artful blended composition she requires). But it is clear, my offering her a cup of tea, after some tragedy, could only make matters worse. In fact when I have tried, she got up, with the thousand-yard stare of shell-shocked war veterans, and made it herself, while I stood nearby, for flimsy and ineffectual moral support, as she went through the ritualistic but precise and unintelligible motions a dirty foreigner could never emulate properly, of making the proper cup of tea.

If I ever become rich I guess I’ll have to hire an English butler.

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Look at this stupid fucking cripple I just Kurganed in the previous post now just flat out lying:

I mean it’s just flat out stupid. If you look at the previous post his very name is tagged (which is why it’s a link, as you can tell by clicking on it or see by hovering over it, or tell by the fact it’s green)

So I told him so, though I was busy having a life so I did get one thing wrong, I linked him in the first line of the first full paragraph. I forgot I had a couple of lines of introduction, still… the basic point stands. He always was linked. And I find it hilarious that he tried to “invoke” two people to come to his rescue, and the first one’s reply is shown below. He of course hid my own reply as you can tell.

So… it’s not looking great for “Ivan”. And here, let me tag him again:

But wait… now let me make fun of that word salad he got by throwing darts at a thesaurus:

We’ll be kind and say his first paragraph is almost coherent, though it’s clearly try hard and contains the obvious lie in it, and move to the second paragraph quoted below.

Miscreant churl frottage, dysregulated and explosive. Hoarded for compulsive discharge. Irremediable flounce as bundled fiber. Amazing burst, is it not?

For the record:

@Joe Katzman introduced me to @Castalia and @Vox Day.

Let’s take a look, shall we?

Miscreant, from the French, the second meaning would be the original etymology, but as used in normal parlance it’s closer today to being used as a word for a naughty child. Possibly as a finger-wagging grandma might use.

Churl, we can only assume he means the first meaning here since no one has ever (or can ever) accuse me of being miserly. Then again, being accused of being (gasp) “rude” by a lying, grifting, fag, well… you can imagine my devastation!

But now we come to his “ piece de resistance! ” Again with French etymology:

Frottage

Now, I TOLD you he is a fag. Because how in the world he interpreted a blog post exposing him as the grifting, lying fag, he is, as some sort of sexual act, well… as I told you… he is a fag, and also really too stupid to use the words he gets out of a thesaurus almost at random in a way that even makes sense.

And the AI assist definition is probably what he was masturbating to feverishly when he looked it up of course:

Which… again, dear readers, you tell me how you get from my previous blog post to that without being some truly perverse faggot.

And he REALLY should stick to basic words when trying (and failing) to communicate with his betters, since people like me who speak, read and write multiple languages better than he does his native and only one, don’t need to look any of these words up, to also know that the etymology of these words comes from, while he needs to look up “etymology”.

So, anyway, “au revoir” (unfortunately, I am sure of it) you deaf fag.

Now go get your FBI contact to put you on some further training programme and rotate you out of Patriot Front shilling, as you’re doing a shitty job of it. May I suggest remedial English?

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It’s a first ladies and gentlemen!

Today we expose a blustering fool who also happens to be deaf. As well as a possible fed/shill/retard.

Enter “ ”, which is a fake name he gave himself, 1 his real one apparently is Keith Nixon. Now, people do use pen names or nicknames online, this very blog is based on the nickname given to me by the very group of dread ilk that I discuss below, but this guy built a whole persona around this made up name. You know, almost as if he was trying to become someone else. He certainly is a status-chasing egomaniacal idiot, who is overcompensating so hard that one has to wonder if in addition to being deaf he also has a micropenis.

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Now, one must always own up to their own screw-ups, and when it comes to this guy, I did. Initially, years ago, it was I who introduced him to what was then called the Dread Ilk, a name given by various SJWs to the people who read and commented regularly on Vox Day’s blog. I myself was given the nickname The Kurgan by one of those guys and then simply added to the FB group the Dread Ilk without even being asked. Over time we occasionally asked others to join as it was a fairly fun and censor-free group of decent, non-woke people. It was me that asked to let Ivan into the group, and it was a mistake. It soon became apparent that this guy was someone who had worked in (from memory) IT/finance, and then either made enough money, or is being paid to be a “based” shill for various “right-wing” nonsense —that is neither real, right wing, or heterosexual— that he could afford to “sell” various “con(fidence) pro-ducts”* with often grandiloquent, bullshit names. And most of his writing too is written in language designed to “impress” you with how many syllables it has, and how rare each word is to be found in the average person’s vocabulary.

Except he often enough uses these words without really knowing what they mean, which makes his studied approach at pretending to be an erudite master of language fail about as spectacularly as when anyone who knows anything about the biology of horses reads in a  book that a horse vomited. Or anyone who knows anything about guns reading in a David Baldacci novel that the protagonist is using a semi-automatic Smith and Wesson pistol in .44 magnum. Instantly, you realise that whoever wrote that whole story about cowboys, ranching and horses or hard men doing hard things with guns, is a fucking fraud. Horses cannot vomit. And S&W has never made a semi-automatic pistol in .44 magnum. Now David Baldacci sells a LOT of book, because people are stupid and ignorant, but it’s clear he doesn’t know shit about guns. And “Ivan Throne” doesn’t know shit about anything. He’s a grifter who is desperate to be thought of as a “big deal”. Selling stupid shit to men who want to be seen/thought of as/want to become “Alphas”.

He inevitably poses with a cigar and “tough man attitude”, because, I assume, that is what “men” with microdicks do.

While that FB group of dread ilk existed, before it was simply deleted by some woke FB employee one day, I had in fact, exposed him for the fraud he is, by pointing out he has no fucking clue. By then, of course, everyone else in the group had found him to be a fake and a blowhard.

Now, originally, part of the reason I thought he might be alright is because he either was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, or, given his deafness, he genuinely has overcome some stuff. Now, even assuming he did overcome stuff, as should always be obvious, it doesn’t mean he is not a sell-out, shill, idiot, or asshole.

And as we shall see, he covers several of those facets of personality, and possibly all of them.

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His original “claim to fame” was selling his “Dark Triad” book, which then morphed/balooned into selling courses that are basically along the lines of “be a confident manly man that does loads of confident manly business by joining me in this sausage fest of a “seminar” by paying me several thousand dollars and buying my overpriced shit cigars with an ass impaler name”

No, I’m not even making up that last part.

Here is the logo of his cigars he commissioned to carry the name Empalador.

If there is a gayer brand of cigar I am not aware of it.

And you’ll notice he is so secure in his manly manliness that he literally has to have the symbol for Male on them. I’m sure he’ll try to say it’s the symbol for Mars, but Mars doesn’t have that distinct butt-plug with a ring on it look. Perhaps you get that accessory as a special “gift” if you get enough “Empaladors” in you at one of his “seminars”.

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Now, I’d already dismissed this grifting deaf fag years ago, both in that private group and later en passant during a generic take-down of PUAs, and grifters in general of the gatekeeping-zeitgeist variety linked to the also gay Andrew Tate. Which you can read in full here. And Tate, of course, is also such a manly man that he self exposed himself by explaining how he would choose a tranny that looks a 10 (i.e. a mentally ill man pretending to be a woman) over a less attractive woman. And, of course, aside being a complete idiot, a self admitted rapist, (his description of his own action over a recorded phonecall are online and I fail to see how it can be characterised as anything other than rape) a pimp that forces/convinces women to prostitute themselves online who also keeps the money they make by lying and stealing it from them as well as avoid paying taxes (again, all self reported by him on various online videos he made, like I said he is stupid), as it turns out, Tate is nothing more than the front-facing puppet of his “wizard” handler Miles Sonkin.

I mean, come ON goys, doesn’t this “wizardly” man’s man of manly manliest of men not inspire and exude sheer Alpha male vibes? Go on, you know you can really feel it in your bones, right?! Just LOOK at him! Look at that physiognomy! 2

I know Tate and “Ivan” definitely get MUST get a bone of a feeling or something to be led around by the likes of this obvious Gigachad!

And Keith/“Ivan” Is a few (hundred?) rungs below Tate, which is probably why it entails having his shirt unbuttoned, sad puppy eyes, and probably a bleeding anus, judging from the possessive hold old Wizardly Miles has on him.

Now, let’s be clear, these guys are all essentially predators/grifters and while in Tate’s case there are some real victims —not entirely blameless themselves in most cases, I suspect, because you have to generally be a certain type of person to get involved with the likes of Andrew Tate (a desperate man or a golddigging girl)— these creatures are first and foremost predators of other men’s wallets. And possibly asses, certainly if Tate’s “proclivities” regarding trannies is anything to go by.

That said, I’d done my assessment and that was that. This fag did try to “ingratiate himself with me once more, as the completely ignored private DM below shows:

No “Ivan”, we really are not. Because you’re a grifter, a fag, and possibly a shill for the US feds. And I am not.

That would have been the end of it,

but then I posted a completely obvious, non-controversial post about Patriot front being typically gay and fake and lo and behold, their butt-buddy Ivan/Keith suddenly speaks up. Well, not really. More like the bitch he is, made an ambiguous “comment”.

Here is the thread in chronological order:

Notice it took him three tries to get what he really meant out. Just like the effeminate, insecure, try-hard he is. And even then, he first made a random comment on his own blog, which despite all his aggressive-sausage-fest-marketing has a little more than half my readership, which, when you consider that he’s spent a great deal of time and money being an “internet personality” and I do this completely half-assed from my phone in random spare minutes I try to carve out of a life that has got none, is pretty funny.

Then, having noticed I called out his “feminine side” in his passive aggressive “responses” he tried to go with a “devastating” attack:

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So let’s take his little comment and answer it point by point and counter by counter:

1. Neither I, nor anyone with a brain needed to speak with a fed to know they are a fed in PF. Ditto that antifa was funded by people like Soros, and cops were told to stand down. The second sentence shows his typical shitty grammar, and no, I don’t partake in gay orgies like you, nor do I need to go to a gay orgy to know gay orgies exist. Manually reviewed?! No I don’t wank over your fed documents, like you do. And unless you are blind as well as deaf no one “manually” reviews documents.
2. Second tranche of bullshit: you’re projecting. You’re the bloviator that produces nothing of value. I have over 30 books in print that have led more than a 100 people and entire families back to Christ and happy marriages. I also got married, produced 4 children with my wife, run a farm, and a whole bunch of other stuff I don’t need to justify to you or anyone else, fag. What the fuck have you done in the last ten years? And I have never orbited Castalia House, you lying fag, not had anything published by them, nor ever asked them to publish anything of mine either. UNLIKE YOU, “Dark Triad Man”. And like I said, fag: about 30 books, with a new one coming out soon that will literally change all of human history since I was the first one to figure it out 30 years ago.
3. As for the last tranche it’s stupid bait, so not worth even responding to, but I assume he thinks Bob is “the” Pope, because he is a shill, fucking stupid, bought and paid for, or all of the above, and he’s trying to essentially label me as a “conspiracy theorist” by another name. The only problem with that is that literally EVERY SINGLE “conspiracy theory” or “Psyops” I called out, has been eventually proven 100% correct. With literally ZERO misses in over 30 years. And of course, he is projecting again about his rampant faggotry, but we know where he caught that: The Tate Brothers via their “Wizard” Miles.

But now let’s look at the REALITY of what we can even see as undeniable facts in case you didn’t have a functioning brain to see that PF are fed-fags.

In April 2026, the DOJ indicted the SPLC on 11 federal counts (wire fraud, bank fraud, conspiracy to commit money laundering), alleging it secretly paid over $3 million to informants embedded in extremist groups between 2014 and 2023, funneled through bank accounts under fictitious business names. One informant, identified only as “F-37,” was allegedly a member of the online leadership chat that planned the 2017 Unite the Right rally, attended at the SPLC’s direction, made racist posts, and helped coordinate transportation for attendees — paid roughly $270,000 between 2015 and 2023.

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So what you gotta say deaffag? Just a “Cohencidence” eh?

“Oh but some PF guys were arrested!”

That’s the point fag.

And then there is this:

So, go on, take the poll.

And feel free to leave your unvarnished opinion too in the comments.

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This post was originally published on my Substack. Link here

As I have said for over 40 years now, the English are a quite logical, yet very shy people, which makes them kind of slightly hilarious. It’s basically why classic shows of the 80s were such a hit, like Blackadder and Mr. Bean.

So, take my wife for example, she is, in certain social situations, too shy to complain. In situation that no Latina or even East block woman would hesitate to react like a venomous snake that’s just been stepped on, she gets too shy, out of some misplaced politeness, to react appropriately. For example, when we were still in London, she’d go shopping at one of the local supermarkets, with a couple or more kids in tow by the way, and she only admitted to me after some time that the African security guard posted at the entrance had taken to greeting her regularly, which is fine, but then it had progressed to him having a quick word with her, about inconsequentials, which, being English, she of course felt duty bound to respond to, as the English do if they don’t duck their head in shyness and run off pretending not to have seen/heard you. Eventually that led to the security guard taking hold of her hand and speaking to her in more dulcet tones. Now, apparently this happened more than once, before she told me about it. Perhaps a different man would have assumed she somehow found the attention flattering, but this is certainly not her case, and when I asked why she didn’t tell me sooner, I realised yet another layer of this same timidity overlay the whole situation. Having allowed the African security guard to hold her hand as he complimented her and asked about her day, she then felt shy to tell me for fear of looking ridiculous (which she is really) and/or me being upset at her (I laughed incredulously). When she saw I was not at all concerned (at HER behaviour, I mean it’s not ideal, but not for the reasons SHE worried about), and when I asked her why she had allowed it to get to that point, but again, not accusing her of anything, she then told me in clear distress, that she doesn’t know how to deal with it, and that actually the roughly 350 lbs dustbin man, also African, and also someone she saw regularly and politely and happily greeted daily innocently, had ALSO taken to stopping her and having a “chat” while he complimented her on her looks, and making subtle but rather obvious innuendos, and she had taken to just waving frantically and then saying she had to run because of the kids, school, lunch, whatever. Again, I was sort of flabbergasted. Surely, given how she looks even today at 44, and how she looked when I first saw her at 26 and everything in between, she had learnt to fend off advances from undesirables, men in general? Squirrels? To which she admitted that while she had avoided situations that could have become dangerous (despite this little narrative she is very streetsmart normally) she still froze when in a social setting a man took the liberty of hugging her goodbye or hello or whatever a bit too invasively for her liking. Not as if they tried to touch her up or anything obvious, but just that level of fake familiarity that breeds a certain level of breach of proper boundaries. I tried to explain to her (while laughing) that it was probably not a good idea to be known in the neighbourhood as the woman with lots of kids that was friendly with all the menial workmen of African descent in the four block radius of home. Especially since a few of our kids tan really easily. Might reflect a little badly on me too. I think she may have blushed. 1

I being Venetian, have mastered the art of stopping even feral human beings from approaching within three metres without even glancing at them, and I am not a touchy-feely type with anyone other than someone that is either family, or a really good friend, and even then mostly probably if we are doing martial arts. So to me the idea you let anyone invade your personal space against your wishes is just completely alien. 2

Then yesterday, one of the girls had a birthday present, which was to go with some friends to an Aquapark, where the queues for the various water-slides can be long, and on the popular side they had been on there for a half-hour when some apparently South American woman tried to skip ahead in front of her and the girls she was chaperoning. Despite her lack of Italian, she just went off. Basically said to the woman “No!” she said the other one, in typically “crazy-eyed” Sudaca gave her that white-eyed, “I’m about to assault you” look, and the wife’s reaction was an unblinking, unwavering, “Bitch, you are gonna fucking DIE!” response of a direct, firm, steady as a rock “NO.”

At which point the South American was deflated and her gypsy/I’m a scary brown crazy person act deflated and she said, oh ok then you go ahead, to which the wife simply stepped ahead with the girls AND added a couple of other quiet English girls that had nothing to do with her or our girls, but just as a “fuck you” to the Latina.

I found the whole thing absolutely, hilariously, English.

Random African holds your hand while trying to politely flirt with you, and you keep demurely quiet, stressed out, smile nervously, and can’t disentangle yourself. Bin man tries the same, and sort of ditto. But let some woman JUMP A QUEUE?? Fuck NO! That’s duel to the death stuff!

I mean Italians don’t even understand the CONCEPT of queues. The stress levels on that score for her must be constant.

Another instance that comes to mind was actual Gypsies at the local Luna Park that tried to rip her off of —I swear— 1 euro on the cost of a ride she had a coupon for. Despite basically no Italian she was ready to go to the mat with samurai-sword levels of violent excess. She actually got the Gypsy to relent and give her the 1 euro back. I would not have bothered, not because I am a shy wallflower type, but because, it’s a fucking Gypsy, and honestly the 5 minutes of arguing to me is simply not worth it, and yes, I am 100% cognisant that that is precisely why the Gypsy does it, but in my regular mood I probably would just accept it as part of the cost of the ride being run by… a Gypsy. Of course, I am also liable to react far more extremely if you get me on an off day, but for my wife this is not a one-off. For some reason, that one euro attempt at a rip-off is SIMPLY INTOLERABLE! While other faux-pas that if they happened in my presence would probably necessitate grievous bodily harm to merely break even in my concept of basic human dignity, she excuses as “oh well…”

They really are a funny people.

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I told people PF was a complete Fed op and even on Gab that is supposed so full of these edgelords, they told me “No, no, they are the real deal!”

Which was just further proof that Professor Cipolla was absolutely right: There are always more stupid people than you can ever estimate.

How anyone believed PF was “for real” for even 5 seconds is beyond me.

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This post was originally published on my Substack. Link here