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Aryan Girl, being a good little Nazi I mean, sweet blonde girl with striking blue eyes, when I tell her:

“Would you like to go and ask your sister if she wants to finish this yoghurt?”

AG: “No.”

Me: (Momentarily stuck in British thinking mode, I have been editing the final stages of a very long book)… “Uhh… hmm… ok, do you want to ask Pink Astronaut if she wants to finish this yoghurt?”

AG: (With little open hand movement to display frustration) “No!”

Me: “I don’t care! Go ask your sister if she wants to finish the damned yoghurt!”

AG: (Perfectly calm and reasonable as she starts to head off to look for her sister.) “Oh. Well you asked if I wanted to go and do that, so I said, no, as I don’t feel like it, but if you wanted me to go and ask her, you should just have said so.”

No animosity, no irritation, just a very Germanic way of putting it.

Me: (slight silence, possibly tightened lips on my face into a straight line) “Fair enough. You have a point. You’re right.”

She nods as she heads off to look for her sister.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is how dialectic thinking works. In fairness it is my own preferred mode of thinking and probably why I understand the Young Viking and Aryan Girl the most. The Little Wolf also seems as if he will be pretty direct in delivery. But the Pink Astronaut is mostly rhetoric. Along with a quite brilliant imagination. Earlier today she wanted an apple and I asked her to get her mom to give a slice of it to the Little Wolf, but for her to stay near him as he ate it, as apple can be a bit dangerous as a chocking hazard.

She came back with an apple with a slice cut out of it and two “eyes” so it looked like pac-man. She had asked her mom to do it that way.

This morning however, she gave the best explanation of a dialectic point using physical rhetoric.

Her mother, as I may have noted at other times, is English.

These primitive people, who still lived in trees when my Roman ancestors conquered them with a couple of slaps and a loud voice, have remained far behind in many technological respects compared even to the now defunct Roman Empire’s technological advancements of a few thousand. years ago.

For my wife, the tragic lacunae of understanding appears to be the concept of time. Like many primitive people of the jungles of the Amazon, probably the inhabitants of Sentinel Island and so on, the idea of minutes, hours, days, just blends into a mysterious fog of “time” which is essentially always NOW and also, always NEVER. A kind of superposition of quantistic behaviour where the only constant is the impossibility of being on time.

So when Pink Astronaut asks the wife to play with her, or teach her to read, or build a tower, the wife, promises to get to it in “just a second/minute” which, due to her primitive nature, can be anything from 75 minutes to never. And Pink Astronaut has suffered these indignities with quiet stoicism. Possibly the occasional frustrated tear. The Young Viking, possibly due to having a stronger percentage of my DNA, will instead repeatedly harass his mother, at increasingly shorter intervals of time, when she told him something “almost definitely” would happen; until she breaks down and gets to it. What can I say, the boy learns from observation, obviously!

But not the Pink Astronaut, so this morning, she made her point…

PA: “Mom, can you read that book with me now?”

Wife: “Yes darling, let me just finish breakfast (she was eating) and then I’ll clear up and come down to you.”

PA: (looks at her mother, who is now distracted by the little Wolf trying to pull food off her plate, and/or climb on her/her chair, and I see the gears turning in PA’s pretty head. She starts talking even as her mother is basically oblivious to the words being said to her, as she tries to wrestle the little wolf, eat her breakfast, and knowing her, probably thinking about three other things, totally unrelated to anything going on here.) “Mom, you always say that and then it doesn’t happen…”

Wife: (Still deep in her pinball-like internal thought processes)…

PA: “…and I feel like this: I say… “I’m not going to slap you in the boobie”… (pauses a couple of seconds, then…) smacks the wife’s left breast (not hard at all, just enough to make someone pay attention) then stands there with a satisfied little face, waiting for a reaction.

Me and the YV burst out into laughter, the wife is partially shocked and doesn’t even know what happened. I literally had to tell her what PA had just said so she understood what had just happened.

Wife: (Sheepishly) “Ok, you made your point, Pink Astronaut.”

And that ladies and gentlemen, is how you talk to people who can’t process dialectical facts by the use of rhetoric. Aristotle would be proud.

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This post was originally published on my Substack. Link here

Let me ask you a hypothetical.

Say you meet a guy who in the natural course of some conversation you realise believes 2+2=5. He appears to be otherwise fairly normal, but on further investigation you realise he’s not joking and this is in fact a firm belief of his.

You might try to show him basic proofs of his error and so on, but he is absolutely resistant to all of it. He ignores every reality placed before him and continues to argue for a demonstrable and obvious falsity any educated 5 year old can see plainly as being false.

Not only that, but he also assumes a position of superiority, authority, and “ridicule” towards those “believers in 4”. In essence trying to reverse reality as if his position was the factual one, despite all absolute clarity to the contrary.

Now, let me ask you the question:

Would you respect such a character? Would you, in short, find his intellect worthy of engaging when this is his unalterable position?

Please consider that question fully now as there are a couple of other points related to it coming up, but it’s important for your own intellectual integrity that you first answer this question for yourself internally first.

Also note I am not asking whether he has a right to life, whether his soul is any less loved by God, or anything like that. I am merely asking if you would/could continue to have any respect for his intellect, both specifically relating to math, as well as relating to everything else that has anything to do with logic and reason. Of course, he might be a brilliant painter for example, one could respect his ability in that field, but I for one, would put near-enough zero validity in ANY theory he might have concerning the WHY his paintings are brilliant; especially if his explanations involved anything to do with mathematics. He may have an instinctive talent at mixing colours, which would be noted, but given his 2+2=5 there is no way possible that if he were to try and tell me about the colour-mixing ratios, that he would be correct other than by coincidental chance, since he is completely off about the entire field of mathematics.

So, on having clarified that, I ask again:

Could you respect the intellect, reasoning capacity, ability to do logic, of such a person?

Answered for yourself? Good.

Now here is a follow-up question.

What if alongside him, 90% of the people that live in your city agreed with him and also had the same attitude/approach, governed by the same arrogance, lack of capacity to demonstrate the “validity” of their view, and ignored the fact that physical reality made it clear their “model” cannot work nor predict anything?

Could you respect THEIR intellects? Would the fact you are in the minority change anything for you?

What if of the remaining 10%, 9% of them were “agnostic”, meaning they say things like “oh I don’t know, it’s not really important/my thing/something I think about, why don’t you just ignore it and have fun?”

Would you respect their intellect?

These are genuine questions.

Got your answer? Good.

If your answer was “No.” Pretty much throughout, welcome! Now you know what it’s like being a Sedevacantist (aka Catholic) surrounded by Novus Ordo “Catholics”.

In a subsequent post I will explain Catholicism for dummies 101, so even if you know NOTHING about Catholicism, you can at least understand the basics and verify them for yourself in just a few minutes.

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This post was originally published on my Substack. Link here

A comment I responded to in a substack got me thinking about shame. And then, as I do, the thoughts spread further afield. I hope this post will be of valuable practical use to both men and women but probably it might be more useful to women, especially towards the end of the post.

This was the comment that set it off:

The post it was on was arguing that sex does not create intimacy in essence. It is a bit more nuanced than that and couched in Christian ethics, but that is the jist of it, which, is, of course, absolute nonsense.

That said, I DO need to clarify that it is nonsense assuming you actually know how to do sex properly.

And what I mean by that is not easy to transmit to people who don’t have the experience of it, plus it is further confused (deeply) by various factors, like culture, upbringing, and any sexual abuse or trauma suffered.

Which is why it makes the topic so complicated and difficult for people to talk or learn about without them talking past each other and getting some core aspects wrong.

So… I expect many of you will misunderstand some aspect of what I am about to try to explain. That is probably unavoidable, but hey, if I didn’t enjoy tilting at windmills we wouldn’t have this blog.

So… here are some axioms that are generally true:

• Puritanical perceptions of sex are essentially unnatural and unhealthy and cause more problems than they solve. The result is invariably dysgenic and overcompensation. The link between this and Protestantism is clear and obvious, and stems from the various Calvinistic nonsense of that perversion of Christianity. Inevitably it leads to societies that malfunction. Be it on drink, drugs, sex, or anything else. Because the “forbidden!” Or “forbidden until 18!” Inevitably causes a psychological break. The fetishisation of sex in many forms comes primarily from this repression. And it’s also why Protestant Anglo countries have a far larger problem of alcoholism and drug use than ex Catholic ones (but of course as protestantism spreads in all it forms (ie Novus Ordo fake “Catholicism”) even the ex Catholic countries are catching up.)
• Matriarchal societies (none exist, but let’s say more gynocentric ones like the UK) will have far more sexual degeneracy than patriarchal ones. Neither extreme is good. English women for example have been considered some of the loosest and easiest to bed in all of Europe. And have been thought of that way since forever. There are literally documents from centuries ago detailing how they are slatterns to a degree that continental Europe could not fathom. And again, while globalism is spreading that too, it is still relatively the case if you compare the average English woman with the average Italian woman. Yes, yes, of course there are exceptions, always, but try to remember: generalisations are still facts.

Now, in that context, shame is of two types:

1. Social
2. Personal

Social shame is if/when your personal behaviour/life/action/belief clashes with what is socially acceptable in your environment.

I don’t really consider this as being actual shame. For example, I went through a period of time in my past, where I literally had a different woman in my bed every few days. No doubt, many people would see that as shameful even in modern society. I certainly have been called a fuckboi, a pussy hunter, a manwhore, and quite a bit beside, sometimes with envy, (more often than not) sometimes with curiosity (mostly from women) and sometimes with disgust (which often was in my opinion just more envy/jealousy). But even if it was unacceptable to society at large, say even if it was an absolute no-no entirely, it was never anything that gave me any personal shame.

Society can certainly punish you for doing things it considers shameful, there can certainly be real consequences, but that doesn’t say anything about whether a person actually feels any shame internally.

That is, personal shame.

And my contention is that personal shame can only occur if and when people either don’t know themselves, or in fact actively lie to themselves about who they really are. Women especially are very prone to this, and it is mostly related to the aspect of social shame, which takes on two versions:

1. What the ACTUAL social cost is of any specific behaviour. And surely there CAN be one, but almost invariably, the cost (especailly in the West) is FAR less than the imagined cost. Which brings us to the second version:
2. The IMAGINED COST. Women tend to live in a fantasy land of their own imagination that models reality far less accurately than they imagine. As most men can attest. To some extent we probably all do this, but in women especially, because their survival pressure has ALWAYS been other women and social perception, —rather than the objective universe and the weather, as it has been for men— the ghosts they imagine haunt their reality are often absent in today’s world.

So where does this leave us?

As a man, the concept of both social and personal shame is trivially simple. Which is not to say most men know this, but that’s because most humans are idiots (don’t blame me, it’s science, read Professor Cipolla’s 5 laws. It’s absolutely true, scientific, and hilarious).

Social shame for a man is simply the cost he is willing to put up with for doing, acting, being, himself, whatever that is. And each man must judge that for himself. Personally, my limits there are fairly extreme and beyond most people’s. Essentially being limited to TRY to avoid murderous mobs, jail, or complete ostracism from literally everyone. However, since I am not a pedophile, whom in my opinion deserve death and rightly so, my own quirks of personality, life as I have led it etcetera, has been essentially comfortable enough, even though that has, in fact, meant I literally did face down a mob with violent intent a couple of times and at least twice had people try to kill me (still not sure on one of them why), but, as the saying goes, you don’t need good manners if you have fast reflexes. And even then it’s not really that I am rude as such. Just willing to tell the unvarnished truth as it is. Which tends to get people killed quite a lot more than you think.

But my point here is that personally, social shame for me is irrelevant. I don’t care enough at all what people think of me to alter my behaviour for it other than for the purposes of avoiding jail, being obnoxious to innocent people, and so on. Besides, when you don’t care, people tend to quickly sort themselves out by staying away or not as suits them, which suits me just fine.

So to recap, as a man, social shame is merely your capacity for handling social conflict.

As for personal shame, that is a mere function of you knowing yourself.

Enter the oracle at Delphi, who stated as the pivotal and fundamental thing:

Man Know Thyself

And rightly so. I explain this concept in more depth in my book on Systema .

But the point is, if you truly know yourself, you are unlikely to behave in ways that cause you shame.

If, for example, (and taking an extreme one as it always tends to make things more obvious) you know very well you are disgusted by the very idea of having a homosexual experience, you are unlikely to indulge in one. Conversely, if let’s say you are unwilling to pay the social cost of having a homosexual experience but are secretly homosexual, if/when discovered you would certainly undergo social shame (feel exposed, ruined, have various social negative reactions from friends, family, work colleagues, whatever) but on a personal level, intrinsically, you would not be ashamed in and of itself.

Now there are elements of personal shame that can affect even a man that knows himself well, but they are in essence limited to two types, and both are generally related to age. For a man to know himself well, generally it means he has tested himself by choice, or been tested by fate. Usually both. And while he is finding out about himself, he may try things out that he later realises were not for him. So that’s one way, the other is as he evolves and behaviour he did in the past no longer is part of who he is now.

Continuing on with the previous example, maybe convinced by society that “love is love” he does try to have a homosexual experience and he discovers to his horror that it’s really not for him. Again, I am making an extreme example for clarity, but I can somewhat relate.

Now whoa your horses there, I have never had a homosexual experience, but during a time when I was going through a different woman every couple of days, I got a little despondent on how their brains worked. I was still developing my Caveman Theory then and basically the main reason I went through as many women as I did was because at the first sign of their illogical and solipsistic behaviour that was hypocritical, I would instantly next them. Not bitterly. In fact mostly with some resignation approaching sadness. I essentially felt like “oh man, no way I can put up with that bullshit for the rest of my days. In fact I can’t even tolerate it for a week.” I began to wonder if the female brain was just completely incompatible with reality, or at least me. At the time I was online dating and the phone was never short of potential candidates. One of them looked a bit foreign, and apparently quite pretty, but when I read the profile it stated first and foremost in capitals that this person was a full op transexual. That is, a man, that had had a full operation to have an artificial vagina as well as fake breasts etc constructed.

Now, I never had any homosexual leanings, but I also always believed that ultimately all human beings are really souls and even the bad people probably have one (I have since modified this belief somewhat) I wondered at the kind of person that felt so different they would go to that extent, and then wondered if their mind was still “male” or was it “female”.

Curiosity being one of my flaws, I started to chat with this person by text. And I was respectful but extremely direct, asking permission first but then asking all the curious questions I had. They were direct in their reply too, explained they wanted a real lasting relationship, not just sex, and that a lot of men fetishised them but would not commit, and so on. Honestly the conversation was reasonable and made sense and was very open in a way I appreciated. At which point the person said I could call if I wanted to talk more on the phone. It’s faster and seemed like a sensible suggestion. Now, I wasn’t at this time imagining a relationship with this person, or even sex, I was just curious about their inner world, how difficult life for them must be, and so on. In truth I felt some empathy for them. So I called. And the very first second I heard their voice, which despite the attempt at masking was clearly male, every cell in my body reacted pretty much as when you see a cartoon of Wile E. Coyote trying to backpedal from falling off a cliff.

I politely said thanks for answering my questions and said goodbye. The experience did not make me feel shame as such, but it was instructive. The distance created by text, over hearing a live voice, allowed a level of communication I would otherwise never have engaged in. Unlike many men, in person, even at a distance, I have always clocked a tranny as a man. I learnt later in life I have what they say is a natural talent for spotting micro-cues, something that helps with hypnosis of course, but that I had naturally and higher than people who train for it.

The point of telling that story is that, thanks to that experience, I have zero doubt that I would be constitutionally incapable of having any kind of homosexual relationship. Just the fact I was having a conversation of an intimate nature with what ultimately was a man was enough to make my skin crawl as soon as that realisation became solidified by hearing the voice. I guess a guy who is not as self-knowledgeable, or self-composed, who maybe gets drunk and ends up in bed with a tranny, on waking the next day could feel high levels of personal shame.

That would fall under the category of experimenting to find out more about yourself, but in all honesty, that story is about as close as I ever came to experiencing “experimental shame” I genuinely can’t think of another instance, and again, even then, I didn’t experience shame per se, I just became aware of how someone that was less self-aware could end up in a situation where they did do something they would later be ashamed of.

The other thing is if you evolve beyond where you once were. I for example was quite the asshole to my younger brother growing up. At the time it didn’t feel that way, but looking back, yes, I am ashamed of some of the behaviour I did at him. But that is retroactive shame, not in the moment.

I have been drunk exactly ONCE in my life, and on purpose. Precisely to experience it, and I recall all of it despite violent vomiting etc. So I can’t relate to people who get or got drunk regularly and then felt ashamed of whatever they did at the time. Also because, if you do it when drunk… it’s in there somewhere. It’s not as if drunk you is another person. It’s just the same person with the self-lies removed. And totally drunk me did not, in fact, act any differently from sober me.

The epidemic of rape accusations by girls who got drunk and then had sex with some guy they normally would not, is a case in point regarding the whole “who you really are”. The truth is that with the self-deception of who you think you are removed, you ARE the kind of girl that fucks THAT guy.

Now… if a girl is unconscious drunk and a guy she didn’t even know or really interact with in that way rapes her that IS rape. But if a girl is drunk and actively, in a waking state, has sex with a guy, (and/or falls asleep half-way through it) sorry, that is NOT rape. That is you letting your true nature out and because you don’t know yourself you feel ashamed the next day when you wake up. Or maybe not even that, but the social stigma of having fucked THAT guy has a (perceived) cost that is too high or at least higher for you than saying he raped you.

And here you see the difference.

Shame for men is easy:

1. Social – how much conflict are you comfortable with.
2. Personal – know yourself and it’s almost completely avoidable.

For women it’s far more complicated, because:

1. While most humans don’t really know themselves very well, for women the issue is much, much, much, worse. Like 1000 times worse at least. They are, to a certain extent, biologically incapable of knowing themselves as deeply as a man can. A woman will tend to follow a man in ideology, beliefs and so on, over time. It is their very nature to be solipsistic, hypocritical in their behaviours compared to their stated beliefs, wants and needs, and so on. They are, literally, to some degree, more of a blank slate and who and what can paint on it is a far larger pool than who and what can paint on a man’s slate.
2. Their sense of shame is not really anchored in who they really are deep down, but rather in the circumstances of their current situation, belief system, social response, personal trauma, current trauma, or specific event of any given day.

You know that saying that feminists hate that “all women are whores”?

Well, you know who told me that in a way that undeniably confirmed what I had already surmised for myself? A woman.

I had an interesting life and met and spoke with lots of interesting people, including murderers, cops, soldiers, and prostitutes. And, generally speaking, the prostitutes were really quite interesting. As there was no “business” between us, the conversations were simple and unencumbered by any financial incentives and so on, so were more generally honest and real than most conversations. During one such encounter, I was sitting at a coffee shop having a coffee in a train station with a woman that was a professional escort. She was not ashamed about it and was quite open about it. As we sat there, a group of women that were clearly friends going on a trip, sat a few tables away from us. They were happy, laughing and exited about their trip. We both saw them, and the escort lady smiled turned back to me and said: “It’s true you know. We are all whores. All of us.”

I smiled. I knew what she meant and she was not saying it in an envious way, rather a calm reassured way. I asked her how she meant it.

She said “every woman, in the right situation, can become a whore. And not just for money or because they are desperate… but because they like it. Because they like the sex.”

Now, of course, there are women who absolutely would be disgusted at the idea of sex with lots of men. But the point is that it is a personality veneer. It can be really strongly attached, but it’s still not the core being. Of course, it’s a good thing we have these veneers. I myself would have a spectacular body count if not for that veneer of civility. And I mean dead bodies, not women I had sex with, I already have that one.

But to get back to the original point, shame is a function of either society (what I call social or fake shame, because you don’t want to pay the cost, not because you’re actually ashamed) or personal ethics or etiquette.

Knowing your REAL point of shame as a man is relatively easy (it’s mystifying to me how hard most men think this is though, so your milage may vary).

As a woman, it’s a lot harder.

Part of the general whore-itisation of Westerndom, is purely the result of removing social consequences for supposedly “bad behaviour” and certainly, if one compares a properly Catholic society with our current dystopia, it’s hard to justify the removal of social shame.

But… as a thought experiment… take it to the extreme, but let’s (for sanity’s sake) limit it to the sexual aspects between consenting adults.

In this thought experiment, no one FLAUNTS their sexual proclivities, but anything goes.

The homosexuals hold hands in the street but don’t parade in pride marches. The swingers go home with each other’s wives, the polyamorous all hang together and it’s not a secret that Jane has three “husbands” or Bob two “wives”. But no one makes that the central point of every conversation. Everyone just goes about their business.

What society develops from that?

It’s a completely dysgenic and ultimately destructive one. Even without any intention to do any harm, such a society has no moral anchors. At best it would devolve into what SF writer Walter Jon Williams called Condecologies. Mini cities where a set of “homeowners association” listed the rules, religions, sexual practices and so on that were permitted or banned in that giant condominium complex.

It’s a fractured society by default.

And the result of that is the removal of social shame.

Now, if you have been paying attention, you will note that I seem to be advocating for something I myself have little regard or need for: social shame.

Keep that in mind while we look at another point: human nature.

Humans being humans, there will ALWAYS be the divergent. The homosexual, the slutty girl or fuckboi man and so on. In fact, while in the old Protestant societies such things were penalised in a maximal fashion, the result is even worse underground perversions. In Catholic societies the same sins of promiscuity or excess are somewhat “excused” by turning somewhat of a “blind eye to it”. The concept is hypocritical from a Protestant (Calvinistic, and therefore binary) perspective, but not as much so from a Catholic one. The perspective for Protestants is:

You fucked around! Gasp! You dirty whore! You’re going to Hell because that is what the rule is.

for Catholics:

You fucked around. Eh, that’s bad. You should try not to be a big whore. I’d chastise you a lot more but I am filthy sinner myself. I don’t fuck around but I drink, I have a short temper and I beat my dog. Let’s both try not to be such filthy humans.

The point here being that usual paradox of reality:

Humans need rules.

Humans need pressure release valves.

Sure, you can make the pressure release valves healthier and more wholesome, but the fact is there will always be freaks.

I read a book long ago called Ami , about this boy who goes on a trip in a UFO and learns about the alien society. It’s a bit of boomer free love aspect in some ways but also has some truth in it concerning a hunter possibly being more spiritually evolved than a vegan even though the aliens are all vegetarians for moral reasons. Anyway, one aspect of the alien planet is that people are in committed relationships to raise kids and make families and so on but are free to go off and have sex with other people as time and circumstance allows. And no one is jealous or gets upset about it.

The premise in the book is relatively smart because the utopia there is based on the fact that the aliens have all reached a sufficiently high level of spiritual evolution that the very concept of jealousy or envy is ridiculous to them. Sex with others is just seen as way to enjoy a different pleasant experience. As one might enjoy playing tennis with different people for different reasons.

In theory, if it were possible in human terms, it does sound quite nice. If literally EVERYONE was fully self-aware and as such therefore also fully self-confident, the differences that we measure so much here would lose meaning.

In such a utopic society, the primary couple would chose each other on the basis of spiritual compatibility, which would have the highest and most important aspect of the relationship. The sex with others who could or would have attributes you lack (bigger dick, better in bed, better looking tits, nicer way to kiss, whatever) would become not a threat but a source of enjoyment where one could be happy that their primary partner can experience such a difference and enjoy it.

I suspect many people reading this right now are uncomfortable, which is to some extent a sign of how self-assured you are, or rather, are not. So let me make a more digestible analogy.

Say your wife or husband likes marmite, or chocolate chip ice cream, and you really don’t, and prefer jam on your toast and vanilla ice cream. Would you forbid them from eating what they prefer? Crazy right? Now, yes, I can hear all the objections and so on, but again, keep in mind this was a utopic idea in a book.

The problem, as I see it, is not so much “the thing” itself, but rather how YOU perceive it, and how the rest of the world around you perceives it, and how YOU IMAGINE they perceive it.

Now, in order to be comfortable, it would help if you:

1. Realised consciously who you REALLY are deep down.
2. Become more realistic about the fact that the rest of the world really doesn’t think about you anywhere near as much as you imagine they do. And even if they do think about you, that reality is almost entirely inconsequential for you most of the time.
3. Counterintuitively, although YOU may not care, and even if you realise most EVERYONE ELSE will not care, you SHOULD STILL make the effort to behave in a way that is publicly, socially, acceptable to the degree that generally applies to the idea of not causing other people harm, and essentially not being a disruptive, self-centred, dickhead. Because that is how societies work best.

If you happen to be a hardcore S&M swinger, your baker doesn’t need to know. If you like shoving golf balls up your arse every Friday night, the other members of the golf club don’t want to know. If you’re into having “sex” with the exhaust pipe of your car, no one wants to see that. Use the privacy of your closed and shut garage.

Does this mean you are a terrible hypocrite and so on? Well, only YOU can decide that for yourself. If you truly believe that doing X is wrong, then stop doing it. Of course some things ARE objectively wrong. If you want to rape kids, torture animals, steal from old ladies etc etc, you are evil and the rest of humanity should certainly punish you.

In essence, this is why, I say that from my Catholic perspective, Romans 14:14 is one of the most important passages in the Bible.

NOT as a cop-out or loophole to do whatever you want, but rather, as a true barometer, based on your deep knowledge of yourself, of what is and is not acceptable to you and your conscience.

To return to the original comment that prompted this post, there was a follow up to it, where I tried to encapsulate this topic in a few words.

It is a fact that Anglos tend to avoid knowing themselves very deeply at all, which is why their drunken behaviours are often so divergent (and therefore later shameful to themselves) from their sober ones.

The average drunk Southern European is nowhere near as divergent from his sober state as the Anglosaxons are.

And I believe that is the result of centuries of Protestantism. If you read the works of England when it was still Catholic, the depth of the language, the depth of the human experience it details, are astonishingly far more interesting, full, and spiritually evolved than pretty much anything written in the last hundred years.

Take The Cloud of Unknowing as an example.

My point here ultimately is that the general zeitgeist of modernity is continually racing toward the limited, mechanistic, materialistic, and binary modes that are the hallmark of Protestantism. And even if you disagree with me on your (erroneous and inferior) theological grounds, you can hardly deny that Anglosaxon family structure is all but exploded when compared to Southern European ones. Yes we are catching up, but that’s the point, you had to destroy the Catholic Church 70 years ago and we’re STILL better off.

The point is that the “casual sex” I had before I became baptised, was never “casual” in the same way that it is “casual” for the Protestant zeitgeist people.

I have had sexual encounters that lasted one night only where the woman in question cried tears of healing and release and thanked me profusely for having given them what they needed in that moment. This was not unusual. And at least one or two were supposed “feminists” that after that night had a radical shift in their belief systems. I also had relationships that were based purely on sexual comfort with each other and we were both perfectly aware our lives were on different paths and we would, and did, part ways in a soft, friendly, comfortable way when it came time to go on our own path.

There was no sense of shame in any of these encounters, not from me and not from them.

And there were times too when despite a strong physical and even intellectual attraction, neither me nor the woman took it forward, because we also sensed some deeper spiritual incompatibility.

My point ultimately is that as far as I am concerned, it is impossible to have sex without being intimate. At least if you’re any good at it, anyway.

And in a marriage, therefore, sex IS pivotal. That aspect of relationship has never changed for me from when I was a heathen to today.

Sex may not be the MOST important thing in a relationship, but if you don’t have good sex in it, then you don’t have a relationship.

And sex IS intimate and it does create intimacy. Of course it does. How could it not? You’d have to be terrible at it for it not to. Then again, from what the women I have known have told me, a lot of men apparently really are not that good at it. And I don’t think it has to do with how many women you have been with. I think it has to do with intent. You could be with only one woman all your life and be perfectly capable in bed. And this is not theory. Before I decided I was not built for a long term relationship, I was with only one woman for 13 years. The women after that were already impressed by my attentiveness in bed. It wasn’t the quantity of women that made me good in bed, but rather the quality of attention I gave to whoever I was with. I think this is a fairly natural way to be for people who have not become jaded or corrupted by modern life.

Part of the reason people are so confused is because they simply refuse to face reality as it is. Life is not that complicated if you just pay attention. Sex is the most intimate act you can do with another person. To pretend that some other intimacy supersedes it is borderline retarded.

The confusion for women is not that sex is not intimate, it’s that they literally don’t know who they are and when they end up having sex with some guy based on false assumptions about themselves , is when they feel bad after.

If you KNOW who you are, the fact a man might be a lying asshole just to get to fuck you, even if he fools you, the fault is his, not yours. if you feel shame at having been fooled, well, again, that is not your fault. Everyone gets fooled about something sometime. He’s the liar, not you. And if you can, certainly learn from it, but the error would be in judging who he was, not in giving yourself to who you thought he was.

Do women need longer to figure out who the man is? Probably. And if so then take your time, but don’t confuse what you do and who you are. If YOU decide to give yourself too soon, to the wrong guy, before marriage, etcetera, you need to evaluate if YOU are okay with doing that. Because regardless of what the other side of the equation does or is, YOU need to take responsibility for what YOU do.

I know, taking responsibility for your own choices, right or wrong as those choices may have been, is akin to cruel an unusual punishment to subject women to, but ladies, trust me, YOU doing it is a LOT easier and more useful. The alternative is that eventually life will do it for you, and absolutely kick you in the face down the line until you realise it. Often far too late to do anything about it.

At any rate, I hope it is of some use to you all, to consider shame and its place in your life.

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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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