Her: Not all girls are the same!
TheXYGhost: Good. I’ll wait until some girl takes me out, buys me dinner, and sweeps me off my feet until she is ready to propose to me with a new car.
Her: That’s never gonna happen.
TheXYGhost: Why? Because there are no girls who will ever take the time, energy, and money to pamper a man?
Her: You got that right!
TheXYGhost: So, what you are telling me is that all girls are the same.
Showing posts with label Stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stories. Show all posts
Monday, January 5, 2026
Sunday, January 4, 2026
Not All Women Are Like That #2
The female collective will constantly repeat this phrase whenever a man speaks about the terrible experience he had with a woman. Let’s explore this.
Women want a man in her life who is:
• Taller than her
• Stronger than her
• Smarter than her
• Faster than her
• Richer than her
• More degrees than her
• More experienced than her
And whenever you speak negatively about women in general, they all speak out in unison.
• “Not ALL women are like that!”
• “You hate women.”
• “Who hurt you?”
• “You just pick the wrong women.”
• “Where do you find these women?”
When you marry the above woman and have kids with her, she will divorce you and make your children fatherless because she imagines that she has surpassed your status. If she wins a lottery, her winnings will determine that your kids do not need you any longer.
Women want a man in her life who is:
• Taller than her
• Stronger than her
• Smarter than her
• Faster than her
• Richer than her
• More degrees than her
• More experienced than her
And whenever you speak negatively about women in general, they all speak out in unison.
• “Not ALL women are like that!”
• “You hate women.”
• “Who hurt you?”
• “You just pick the wrong women.”
• “Where do you find these women?”
When you marry the above woman and have kids with her, she will divorce you and make your children fatherless because she imagines that she has surpassed your status. If she wins a lottery, her winnings will determine that your kids do not need you any longer.
Saturday, January 3, 2026
Not All Women Are Like That #1
If you stand in front of a group of women and proclaim how amazing they all are, not one will interrupt. Say that all women are beautiful, strong, and intelligent, and they will sit there nodding like synchronized dolls. Say that all men are trash, cheaters, abusers, or cowards, and not a single woman will speak out in defense of the opposite sex. They will let that lie slide because it flatters them and feeds the ego.
But the second you expose an ugly truth, that over 80 percent of divorces are initiated by women, that women are walking out of families they built simply because they are unhappy or found some minor flaw in their man, the air changes. Suddenly the silence is broken by an outraged chorus of defense.
“Not ALL women are like that!”
“You must hate women.”
“Who hurt you?”
“You just pick the wrong ones.”
“Where are you meeting these women?”
That instant backlash is not about truth, it’s about loyalty to the hive. Women will defend the collective with religious devotion. Logic dies. Accountability disappears. They don’t care if it is factually accurate or morally wrong, they will attack you before they ever confront each other. Because to criticize one woman is to challenge the entire female narrative, and they will protect that narrative like their lives depend on it.
But the second you expose an ugly truth, that over 80 percent of divorces are initiated by women, that women are walking out of families they built simply because they are unhappy or found some minor flaw in their man, the air changes. Suddenly the silence is broken by an outraged chorus of defense.
“Not ALL women are like that!”
“You must hate women.”
“Who hurt you?”
“You just pick the wrong ones.”
“Where are you meeting these women?”
That instant backlash is not about truth, it’s about loyalty to the hive. Women will defend the collective with religious devotion. Logic dies. Accountability disappears. They don’t care if it is factually accurate or morally wrong, they will attack you before they ever confront each other. Because to criticize one woman is to challenge the entire female narrative, and they will protect that narrative like their lives depend on it.
Friday, January 2, 2026
How and Why Women Pick Their Partners
Women partner with those who elevate their status, either by association or by contrast.
Elevating by association:
Women instinctively reject men they perceive as beneath them in any area they consider a strength.
• If she is strong, she rejects weak men.
• If she is rich, she rejects men who earn less.
• If she has a degree, she rejects men without one.
• If she has two degrees, she rejects men with only one.
• If she is tall, she rejects shorter men.
• If she is a bodybuilder, she rejects men who are not on her level physically.
• If she has a 140 IQ, she rejects anyone intellectually beneath her.She despises men she views as lesser. Once she sees she can overtake a man, she loses all respect and removes him from her life.
Whatever she values in herself, she expects more of in a man, or she walks.And yet, if a poor woman marries a billionaire, she becomes a billionaire by association.
Perception is everything. If she thinks she is smarter but finds out he is smarter, she will leave.
Elevating by contrast:
Now flip the script. A woman deliberately chooses a man beneath her in every category, then uses her strengths as a weapon. She reminds him at every turn that she is better, smarter, stronger, and more successful.
This is why women chase gangsters, thugs, criminals, substance abusers, ex- convicts, gamblers, smooth talkers, liars, cheaters, woman beaters, married men, con artists, lazy fools, and abusive jerks. She feels powerful around them. She gets to be the queen of trash.
The problem is not men,The problem is women.
Women are the ones who choose the men.Women are the ones who file for divorce.
Elevating by association:
Women instinctively reject men they perceive as beneath them in any area they consider a strength.
• If she is strong, she rejects weak men.
• If she is rich, she rejects men who earn less.
• If she has a degree, she rejects men without one.
• If she has two degrees, she rejects men with only one.
• If she is tall, she rejects shorter men.
• If she is a bodybuilder, she rejects men who are not on her level physically.
• If she has a 140 IQ, she rejects anyone intellectually beneath her.She despises men she views as lesser. Once she sees she can overtake a man, she loses all respect and removes him from her life.
Whatever she values in herself, she expects more of in a man, or she walks.And yet, if a poor woman marries a billionaire, she becomes a billionaire by association.
Perception is everything. If she thinks she is smarter but finds out he is smarter, she will leave.
Elevating by contrast:
Now flip the script. A woman deliberately chooses a man beneath her in every category, then uses her strengths as a weapon. She reminds him at every turn that she is better, smarter, stronger, and more successful.
This is why women chase gangsters, thugs, criminals, substance abusers, ex- convicts, gamblers, smooth talkers, liars, cheaters, woman beaters, married men, con artists, lazy fools, and abusive jerks. She feels powerful around them. She gets to be the queen of trash.
The problem is not men,The problem is women.
Women are the ones who choose the men.Women are the ones who file for divorce.
Thursday, January 1, 2026
He’s Only a Provider to Her
Make no mistake. It is not men who choose women, it is women who choose men. A man can chase endlessly, but the final decision is always hers. She selects for use, not for love. If she wants your provisions, she will bait you along. Unless you are rich enough to have women competing for your attention, the power of choice is never yours.
She will select the man who fits her current temporary need. She may want citizenship, so she targets a man she can control. She may want housing or a job, so she hunts for a man who will provide it. She may even marry, not out of loyalty, but to secure her position until the man of her real dreams steps into view.
A woman never refuses provisions. If you hand them over freely, she will take them without shame. What she extracts always outweighs what she returns. Her loyalty is not to you, it is to her survival. The moment you stop providing is the moment she stops pretending. The moment another man offers more is the moment she pivots without hesitation.
Her promises are temporary, her devotion conditional, her respect an illusion. She smiles while she calculates, embraces while she plans, whispers love while her eyes search for the next advantage. A man who forgets this truth sets himself up for betrayal.
What she calls partnership is ownership. She does not want balance; she wants control. The man who provides becomes the man who obeys. The man who obeys becomes the man who is discarded. The cycle never ends because her hunger never ends.
The provider believes he is loved, but he is only tolerated. He believes he is chosen for who he is, but he is chosen for what he gives. She does not fall for the man; she falls for the benefits. And when those benefits fade, so does her loyalty.
The man who understands this refuses to be baited. He does not give blindly. He does not mistake transaction for devotion. He sees her choices for what they are: survival strategies, not love.
Once a man gives his strength away, he ceases to be her man. He becomes her resource, her tool, her stepping stone, he’s only a provider to her.
She will select the man who fits her current temporary need. She may want citizenship, so she targets a man she can control. She may want housing or a job, so she hunts for a man who will provide it. She may even marry, not out of loyalty, but to secure her position until the man of her real dreams steps into view.
A woman never refuses provisions. If you hand them over freely, she will take them without shame. What she extracts always outweighs what she returns. Her loyalty is not to you, it is to her survival. The moment you stop providing is the moment she stops pretending. The moment another man offers more is the moment she pivots without hesitation.
Her promises are temporary, her devotion conditional, her respect an illusion. She smiles while she calculates, embraces while she plans, whispers love while her eyes search for the next advantage. A man who forgets this truth sets himself up for betrayal.
What she calls partnership is ownership. She does not want balance; she wants control. The man who provides becomes the man who obeys. The man who obeys becomes the man who is discarded. The cycle never ends because her hunger never ends.
The provider believes he is loved, but he is only tolerated. He believes he is chosen for who he is, but he is chosen for what he gives. She does not fall for the man; she falls for the benefits. And when those benefits fade, so does her loyalty.
The man who understands this refuses to be baited. He does not give blindly. He does not mistake transaction for devotion. He sees her choices for what they are: survival strategies, not love.
Once a man gives his strength away, he ceases to be her man. He becomes her resource, her tool, her stepping stone, he’s only a provider to her.
Wednesday, December 31, 2025
Kill the Boy, Build the Man
Men are not born, they are made. The boy must die so the man can live. That death is not gentle, it is not merciful, it is violent, it is loud, it is necessary. If you keep the boy alive, you will stay weak forever. The world does not need boys trapped in grown bodies, crying about fairness, thinking with their mother’s emotions, reacting like a child every time life denies them something. Kill the boy. Bury him. Never let him crawl back into you.
Steel is not soft, steel is not born, steel is forged in fire, beaten without mercy, hammered until it cannot break. You will be melted down by pain, hammered by betrayal, quenched in ice when life decides you deserve no warmth, sharpened by failure until you are dangerous to anyone who tries to dull you. Every hardship is a strike of the hammer, every disappointment the anvil, every scar proof you did not run. If you are not being forged, you are rusting.
If you waste your life on distractions, you are already finished. Men rot in front of glowing screens watching strangers chase a ball while their children collapse in school and their bank accounts bleed dry. They drown in headlines about riots in Sweden, migrants in Nigeria, a plane crash in Canada, a train derailment in Mexico — none of it matters, none of it saves them, none of it makes them strong. Distraction is a leash around your neck, and every minute you give to it you are choosing weakness, you are choosing slavery, you are choosing death.
Ignore your boss’s insults. Ignore your parents’ complaints. Ignore the laughter of friends who want you small. Ignore the politicians who promise salvation because history proves they will always lie, always betray, and never save you. Politicians do not love you, they never have, they never will. If you cannot cut off distractions, you will stay chained to them forever. The world is designed to keep you weak, and if you do not resist, you deserve to stay weak.
Reject therapy. It will keep you weak for decades. Stay out of churches. They exist to feed broken women new providers, to replace the men they already used up and discarded. Be your own priest, your own confessor. Stand tall, bleed in silence, fix your own problems. Your pain is yours to master.
If life does not forge you into a man, forge yourself. If life will not break you, break yourself before it’s too late. Comfort is poison, it rots men from the inside until they are soft, weak, useless. Put yourself in the fire on purpose. Go into the gym and lift until your arms shake, until the bar crushes you and you fight to rise again. Run until your lungs are on fire, until your legs collapse under you. Crawl, rise, run again. Hurt, bleed, suffer until nothing is left, then go back and do it again. Self-imposed pain is the only honest teacher.
Become the best person you could ever be or stay worthless. There is no middle ground. Become the best at your job no matter how small it is. Become the best at whatever you touch. If you cannot be physically strong, become mentally strong. Spend hours in study, hours in learning, hours sharpening your mind into a weapon. Master your craft until no one can touch you.
If your job is menial, dominate it. If you flip burgers, flip them perfectly. If you stock shelves, make them shine. You are not working for your boss, you are working to sharpen yourself into a weapon no matter who signs the paycheck. Make yourself precise, relentless, unstoppable. Stop crying. Stop complaining. Stop bitching. Stop moaning. The world does not care. Find ways to improve yourself at work, home or play. Be the man they cannot replace, the man they cannot break, the man they cannot ignore.
Seek pain before pain seeks you. Choose harder roads, heavier weights, greater challenges. Stop chasing easy days, start chasing days that scare you. Burn until you are fireproof. Sweat until you are empty. Look pain in the eye and dare it to do worse. Pain is not your enemy, pain is your test, and every time you survive it you rise stronger.
Learn to fight. Learn when to fight. Not every battle is with fists. Some fights are words, some are silence. Fight rarely. Fight precisely. Fight to win. You are a lion. A barking chihuahua means nothing to you. Ignore insults. Ignore weak attempts to provoke you. They are just noise. Protect your family. Protect yourself. Protect your property. When you must fight, end it fast and end it clean.
A man who avoids the fire is soft metal, brittle and weak, snapping under the first strike. A man who forges himself cannot be broken. No insult can touch him, no betrayal can crush him, no woman can destroy him, no failure can stop him.
You will be unshakable, unmovable, untouchable. A man carved out of fire and iron who does not bend, who does not beg, who does not back down. That is what it takes. That is what is required.
And remember this:
Nobody loves you.
Nobody will ever love you.
Nobody has ever loved you.
Maybe your mother, maybe your father, but that is where it ends.
This is not tragedy.
This is freedom.
Nobody wakes up thinking about you.
Nobody wakes up planning to make your life better.
Nobody is coming to save you.
You are the master of your destiny.
You are the architect of your strength.
You must build the man you want to be with your own hands.
Nobody will do it for you.
Nobody will care for you.
Nobody will ever care for you.
Embrace this.
Harden yourself.
Free yourself.
Stop waiting.
Stop begging.
Stop hoping.
Act.
Build.
Dominate.
Become strong.
Steel is not soft, steel is not born, steel is forged in fire, beaten without mercy, hammered until it cannot break. You will be melted down by pain, hammered by betrayal, quenched in ice when life decides you deserve no warmth, sharpened by failure until you are dangerous to anyone who tries to dull you. Every hardship is a strike of the hammer, every disappointment the anvil, every scar proof you did not run. If you are not being forged, you are rusting.
If you waste your life on distractions, you are already finished. Men rot in front of glowing screens watching strangers chase a ball while their children collapse in school and their bank accounts bleed dry. They drown in headlines about riots in Sweden, migrants in Nigeria, a plane crash in Canada, a train derailment in Mexico — none of it matters, none of it saves them, none of it makes them strong. Distraction is a leash around your neck, and every minute you give to it you are choosing weakness, you are choosing slavery, you are choosing death.
Ignore your boss’s insults. Ignore your parents’ complaints. Ignore the laughter of friends who want you small. Ignore the politicians who promise salvation because history proves they will always lie, always betray, and never save you. Politicians do not love you, they never have, they never will. If you cannot cut off distractions, you will stay chained to them forever. The world is designed to keep you weak, and if you do not resist, you deserve to stay weak.
Reject therapy. It will keep you weak for decades. Stay out of churches. They exist to feed broken women new providers, to replace the men they already used up and discarded. Be your own priest, your own confessor. Stand tall, bleed in silence, fix your own problems. Your pain is yours to master.
If life does not forge you into a man, forge yourself. If life will not break you, break yourself before it’s too late. Comfort is poison, it rots men from the inside until they are soft, weak, useless. Put yourself in the fire on purpose. Go into the gym and lift until your arms shake, until the bar crushes you and you fight to rise again. Run until your lungs are on fire, until your legs collapse under you. Crawl, rise, run again. Hurt, bleed, suffer until nothing is left, then go back and do it again. Self-imposed pain is the only honest teacher.
Become the best person you could ever be or stay worthless. There is no middle ground. Become the best at your job no matter how small it is. Become the best at whatever you touch. If you cannot be physically strong, become mentally strong. Spend hours in study, hours in learning, hours sharpening your mind into a weapon. Master your craft until no one can touch you.
If your job is menial, dominate it. If you flip burgers, flip them perfectly. If you stock shelves, make them shine. You are not working for your boss, you are working to sharpen yourself into a weapon no matter who signs the paycheck. Make yourself precise, relentless, unstoppable. Stop crying. Stop complaining. Stop bitching. Stop moaning. The world does not care. Find ways to improve yourself at work, home or play. Be the man they cannot replace, the man they cannot break, the man they cannot ignore.
Seek pain before pain seeks you. Choose harder roads, heavier weights, greater challenges. Stop chasing easy days, start chasing days that scare you. Burn until you are fireproof. Sweat until you are empty. Look pain in the eye and dare it to do worse. Pain is not your enemy, pain is your test, and every time you survive it you rise stronger.
Learn to fight. Learn when to fight. Not every battle is with fists. Some fights are words, some are silence. Fight rarely. Fight precisely. Fight to win. You are a lion. A barking chihuahua means nothing to you. Ignore insults. Ignore weak attempts to provoke you. They are just noise. Protect your family. Protect yourself. Protect your property. When you must fight, end it fast and end it clean.
A man who avoids the fire is soft metal, brittle and weak, snapping under the first strike. A man who forges himself cannot be broken. No insult can touch him, no betrayal can crush him, no woman can destroy him, no failure can stop him.
You will be unshakable, unmovable, untouchable. A man carved out of fire and iron who does not bend, who does not beg, who does not back down. That is what it takes. That is what is required.
And remember this:
Nobody loves you.
Nobody will ever love you.
Nobody has ever loved you.
Maybe your mother, maybe your father, but that is where it ends.
This is not tragedy.
This is freedom.
Nobody wakes up thinking about you.
Nobody wakes up planning to make your life better.
Nobody is coming to save you.
You are the master of your destiny.
You are the architect of your strength.
You must build the man you want to be with your own hands.
Nobody will do it for you.
Nobody will care for you.
Nobody will ever care for you.
Embrace this.
Harden yourself.
Free yourself.
Stop waiting.
Stop begging.
Stop hoping.
Act.
Build.
Dominate.
Become strong.
Tuesday, December 30, 2025
Think About This
Do you want to waste your time, energy, and money buying expensive dinners, gifts, and entertainment for a creature that believes she is entitled to your resources, just for the slim chance she might grant you the privilege of being her personal servant and financial slave?
Or do you want a woman who is constantly on her toes, working to pamper your life, proving through her actions that she values your presence, and ensuring that when the time comes you will protect her without hesitation?
The choice is simple. One path bleeds you dry while she measures your worth in dollars spent. The other path builds loyalty and respect because she earns her place beside you. Most men chase approval like trained dogs, handing over their wallet for scraps of attention. A man who knows his value will never compete for the chance to serve, he will make her compete for the privilege of being protected.
Or do you want a woman who is constantly on her toes, working to pamper your life, proving through her actions that she values your presence, and ensuring that when the time comes you will protect her without hesitation?
The choice is simple. One path bleeds you dry while she measures your worth in dollars spent. The other path builds loyalty and respect because she earns her place beside you. Most men chase approval like trained dogs, handing over their wallet for scraps of attention. A man who knows his value will never compete for the chance to serve, he will make her compete for the privilege of being protected.
Thursday, December 25, 2025
I Can't Believe What Fabio Told Me
A number of years ago I was sitting at a bar in Caffe Roma in Beverly Hills, California (http://www.cafferomabeverlyhills.com/) waiting for my friends to arrive. They were late, again. After a while of sitting there nursing my drink, a well-dressed man with long blonde hair stood next to me. As it turned out, this gentleman was Fabio, Fabio Lanzoni (http://tinyurl.com/zvbsj5b). You know, the Italian model who graced the covers of countless Harlequin Romance Novels (http://tinyurl.com/j3gq8jw) and starred in the famous I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter ads (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xszIaNpYILY). Yes, that Fabio, the icon of female desire.
We began talking. It was surreal. After a while, I asked him if he was married. A very serious look came over his face, and with a tone I will never forget, he replied,
“Do I look stupid to you?”
Then he added, “Women are crazy.”
Here I was, sitting and talking with a man who could attract any woman he wanted purely by his looks and popularity, yet he kept women at arm’s length and nothing more.
As you can see from his Wikipedia page (http://tinyurl.com/zayz5hm), he has never been married. If a man like him won’t get married, why should you?
By the way, congratulations to Fabio on becoming a U.S. citizen as of March 16, 2016. Welcome to our country, we’re proud to have you.
We began talking. It was surreal. After a while, I asked him if he was married. A very serious look came over his face, and with a tone I will never forget, he replied,
“Do I look stupid to you?”
Then he added, “Women are crazy.”
Here I was, sitting and talking with a man who could attract any woman he wanted purely by his looks and popularity, yet he kept women at arm’s length and nothing more.
As you can see from his Wikipedia page (http://tinyurl.com/zayz5hm), he has never been married. If a man like him won’t get married, why should you?
By the way, congratulations to Fabio on becoming a U.S. citizen as of March 16, 2016. Welcome to our country, we’re proud to have you.
Wednesday, December 24, 2025
Former Feminists Are Still Dictating
There are women out there now calling themselves antifeminists, proudly claiming they were once hardcore feminists before they “saw the light.” They parade themselves as repentant insiders, as if that gives them moral authority to speak against the beast they helped create. Do not be fooled. These are the same women who once thrived on attention, poisoning the culture with their vile demands, pushing the war on men further every year. Now they have simply switched lanes, jumping from the feminist highway to the antifeminist bandwagon, still chasing the same drug, attention.
They loudly denounce their feminist past, the last 60 years of their own ideology, yet they reject any return to proven traditional roles that worked for centuries. They are not looking for stability or balance. They are looking for a new way to control the direction of society without admitting that they were the architects of its destruction. In the past, women like them wanted the world to bend to their demands. Now that their demands have rotted the foundation, they want the world to try a new experiment, undefined, untested, and still under their control.
They will never accept the truth that the most functional society is one where people are left alone to live as they choose, without ideological engineering. That is not good enough for them because it means surrendering their grip on power.
So I ask, where do you want to go? Do you want to take a road planned by someone who has already led you into a ditch and trust them to choose the next route? Do you want to waste decades walking blind into another failed social experiment? As for me, I will not follow them, I will not walk the path of those who destroyed what worked, and I will not dictate where another man should go. I am going my own way, and I will burn every bridge they try to build to pull me back under their control.
They loudly denounce their feminist past, the last 60 years of their own ideology, yet they reject any return to proven traditional roles that worked for centuries. They are not looking for stability or balance. They are looking for a new way to control the direction of society without admitting that they were the architects of its destruction. In the past, women like them wanted the world to bend to their demands. Now that their demands have rotted the foundation, they want the world to try a new experiment, undefined, untested, and still under their control.
They will never accept the truth that the most functional society is one where people are left alone to live as they choose, without ideological engineering. That is not good enough for them because it means surrendering their grip on power.
So I ask, where do you want to go? Do you want to take a road planned by someone who has already led you into a ditch and trust them to choose the next route? Do you want to waste decades walking blind into another failed social experiment? As for me, I will not follow them, I will not walk the path of those who destroyed what worked, and I will not dictate where another man should go. I am going my own way, and I will burn every bridge they try to build to pull me back under their control.
Tuesday, December 23, 2025
You Can't Compromise With Greedy and Selfish Women
Feminism is the art of taking a gift and turning it into a ransom note. A man freely offers an inch out of kindness, and she demands ten miles, or she takes everything outright. If you give in, you are a sucker. If you refuse, you are cheap and stingy. Meanwhile, the weak men around you tell you to compromise, to meet her in the middle, as if there is a middle ground with a parasite.
Never, under any circumstances, offer anything to an ungrateful woman. She will never respect it, she will never appreciate it, and she will always demand more. Gratitude is foreign to her. Entitlement is her native language.
Never, under any circumstances, offer anything to an ungrateful woman. She will never respect it, she will never appreciate it, and she will always demand more. Gratitude is foreign to her. Entitlement is her native language.
Monday, December 22, 2025
A Married Woman and My Brother
It was Halloween night at my dad’s place when the doorbell rang. I figured it was just Trick or Treaters, so I grabbed a bowl of candy and opened the door. Instead of kids in costumes, there stood a woman in her late twenties or early thirties, holding an envelope. No smile, no costume, just standing there like she had a mission.
She said she lived down the road and had a “peace offering” for my son. I told her I had no son, only brothers. Then she admitted she was dating my brother and that their relationship had ended badly. She claimed she wanted to make peace before leaving the country that night. She handed me the envelope, her so-called offering, and asked me to give it to him. I told her I would.
After she left, I texted my brother. I told him some woman had stopped by dad’s place to leave him a card, said she was leaving town, and thought I was his father. He replied, “It is a married woman who is obsessed with me. But thanks man.”
That told me everything. Another married woman chasing excitement outside her vows, another walking disaster ready to drag a man’s life into the gutter. I am thirty two years older than my younger brother, and no one in my family knows about my MGTOW convictions or my alias, AKA John Stone. But it is obvious, he is facing the same type of poison I had to deal with decades ago. Different woman, same game, same script. They never change, only the faces change.
A man does not need to study MGTOW to feel the burn of betrayal or the chaos of a woman who treats loyalty like a temporary arrangement. He only needs to live long enough to see it happen to himself or to someone close to him. And when it does, he understands why a man must go his own way.
She said she lived down the road and had a “peace offering” for my son. I told her I had no son, only brothers. Then she admitted she was dating my brother and that their relationship had ended badly. She claimed she wanted to make peace before leaving the country that night. She handed me the envelope, her so-called offering, and asked me to give it to him. I told her I would.
After she left, I texted my brother. I told him some woman had stopped by dad’s place to leave him a card, said she was leaving town, and thought I was his father. He replied, “It is a married woman who is obsessed with me. But thanks man.”
That told me everything. Another married woman chasing excitement outside her vows, another walking disaster ready to drag a man’s life into the gutter. I am thirty two years older than my younger brother, and no one in my family knows about my MGTOW convictions or my alias, AKA John Stone. But it is obvious, he is facing the same type of poison I had to deal with decades ago. Different woman, same game, same script. They never change, only the faces change.
A man does not need to study MGTOW to feel the burn of betrayal or the chaos of a woman who treats loyalty like a temporary arrangement. He only needs to live long enough to see it happen to himself or to someone close to him. And when it does, he understands why a man must go his own way.
Sunday, December 21, 2025
That Girl Likes You
After my divorce was finalized and several months had passed, I decided to try something different. I thought maybe going to church for the first time might improve my odds of finding a decent woman to share my life with. I picked a church far from my neighborhood, somewhere no one I knew would attend, and I sat quietly through the services without drawing attention to myself.
Before long, a few men approached me and welcomed me warmly. They offered me genuine support and solid, logical advice without trying to preach at me. They invited me to Wednesday night Bible studies, before-and-after sermon discussions, church events, and even welcomed me into their homes for private study sessions. These men opened their hearts to me, and I will always appreciate that.
Then the test came. One Sunday, while I was setting up snacks for an after-sermon lecture, an older woman approached and asked my name. She introduced me to two of her elderly friends, then pulled me aside to quietly ask what kind of work I did. My guard was down. I had no idea she was sizing me up like a cattle buyer at an auction. I told her my occupation. Her eyes lit up and she nearly exploded with excitement, saying, “Oh! Oh! Oh! You’re rich! This girl, Wilma, likes you.”
I told her politely that I was not there for that. Still, the name Wilma stuck in my head. I had never spoken to a Wilma or been introduced to one, and with a name like that I knew I would remember it. All I could think of was Fred Flintstone’s wife from the old cartoon.
A few weeks later, the second woman out of that trio cornered me and asked the same questions. When she finally got to “What do you do for a living?” I told her, already suspicious. Just like the first one, she squealed, “Ooooh! You’re rich! Did you know that Wilma likes you?” It felt like I had stepped into the Twilight Zone. I told her again that I was not there to be set up with anyone and that I was perfectly fine as I was.
The following week, the first woman told me I should pray during the sermon for GOD to introduce me to someone after the service, and that my prayer would be answered. I told her I was not interested. She insisted that I should pray anyway so God’s will could be “revealed” to me.
I will admit, the mystery of who Wilma was kept nagging at me. Over the following weeks I looked for her without asking. I attended different groups, lingered in the hallways, scanning the crowd. Then one day, I saw her. Wilma. A tall, elegant, very attractive black woman.
I walked over and stood near her, waiting for her to say something. After all, two women had told me she liked me. Why would they lie? But she said nothing. She did not even seem to know who I was.
Later, while preparing for a children’s event, the third old woman approached me in front of others and asked what I did for a living. I thought, here we go again. I told her my occupation, and right on cue she said, “Ooooh, you’re rich…” I cut her off before she could continue, saying, “If I had ten times the money of Bill Gates, I would still not be as rich as Jesus Christ.” The three old women exchanged puzzled looks. I was done with their nonsense.
The next Sunday, I sat on the opposite side of the church. At the end of the service, the announcements included the engagement of Wilma and Jacob. I turned to look at the three women. Their faces were sour. My suspicion was clear: they did not approve of Wilma being engaged to a white man. They had been trying to maneuver me into the picture as some sort of “acceptable” match in their eyes. Maybe I was wrong, maybe not. Either way, they never mentioned Wilma again.
This is the lesson. Even in a church, the politics of attraction, money, and social approval are alive and well. They will size you up, assign you value, and try to place you where they think you belong. If you are not careful, you will find yourself playing a part in a script you never agreed to.
In retrospect, I guess I should’ve initially asked them to introduce her.
Before long, a few men approached me and welcomed me warmly. They offered me genuine support and solid, logical advice without trying to preach at me. They invited me to Wednesday night Bible studies, before-and-after sermon discussions, church events, and even welcomed me into their homes for private study sessions. These men opened their hearts to me, and I will always appreciate that.
Then the test came. One Sunday, while I was setting up snacks for an after-sermon lecture, an older woman approached and asked my name. She introduced me to two of her elderly friends, then pulled me aside to quietly ask what kind of work I did. My guard was down. I had no idea she was sizing me up like a cattle buyer at an auction. I told her my occupation. Her eyes lit up and she nearly exploded with excitement, saying, “Oh! Oh! Oh! You’re rich! This girl, Wilma, likes you.”
I told her politely that I was not there for that. Still, the name Wilma stuck in my head. I had never spoken to a Wilma or been introduced to one, and with a name like that I knew I would remember it. All I could think of was Fred Flintstone’s wife from the old cartoon.
A few weeks later, the second woman out of that trio cornered me and asked the same questions. When she finally got to “What do you do for a living?” I told her, already suspicious. Just like the first one, she squealed, “Ooooh! You’re rich! Did you know that Wilma likes you?” It felt like I had stepped into the Twilight Zone. I told her again that I was not there to be set up with anyone and that I was perfectly fine as I was.
The following week, the first woman told me I should pray during the sermon for GOD to introduce me to someone after the service, and that my prayer would be answered. I told her I was not interested. She insisted that I should pray anyway so God’s will could be “revealed” to me.
I will admit, the mystery of who Wilma was kept nagging at me. Over the following weeks I looked for her without asking. I attended different groups, lingered in the hallways, scanning the crowd. Then one day, I saw her. Wilma. A tall, elegant, very attractive black woman.
I walked over and stood near her, waiting for her to say something. After all, two women had told me she liked me. Why would they lie? But she said nothing. She did not even seem to know who I was.
Later, while preparing for a children’s event, the third old woman approached me in front of others and asked what I did for a living. I thought, here we go again. I told her my occupation, and right on cue she said, “Ooooh, you’re rich…” I cut her off before she could continue, saying, “If I had ten times the money of Bill Gates, I would still not be as rich as Jesus Christ.” The three old women exchanged puzzled looks. I was done with their nonsense.
The next Sunday, I sat on the opposite side of the church. At the end of the service, the announcements included the engagement of Wilma and Jacob. I turned to look at the three women. Their faces were sour. My suspicion was clear: they did not approve of Wilma being engaged to a white man. They had been trying to maneuver me into the picture as some sort of “acceptable” match in their eyes. Maybe I was wrong, maybe not. Either way, they never mentioned Wilma again.
This is the lesson. Even in a church, the politics of attraction, money, and social approval are alive and well. They will size you up, assign you value, and try to place you where they think you belong. If you are not careful, you will find yourself playing a part in a script you never agreed to.
In retrospect, I guess I should’ve initially asked them to introduce her.
Saturday, December 20, 2025
Women and Tipping
I have spoken with waiters, waitresses, and cab drivers. They all say the same thing, men tip better than women. In the hospitality industry, the overwhelming majority of tips come from men. I know many New York City cab drivers who will pass over a female passenger and choose a male instead for one simple reason, men pay better and they know it.
The only time I have ever seen a woman tip well is if she has worked as a waitress herself. That is the rare exception. Most of the time, the money leaves her hand like it is a piece of her soul being torn away.
So which sex is greedy, stingy, and selfish? Keep that in mind the next time a woman calls you cheap because you refused to buy her the most expensive meal and wine on the first date. Remember it when she expects you to pick up every tab, cover every outing, and fund her evening without a word of thanks. The truth is, the ones shouting “cheap” the loudest are often the ones who tip the least and give the least.
The only time I have ever seen a woman tip well is if she has worked as a waitress herself. That is the rare exception. Most of the time, the money leaves her hand like it is a piece of her soul being torn away.
So which sex is greedy, stingy, and selfish? Keep that in mind the next time a woman calls you cheap because you refused to buy her the most expensive meal and wine on the first date. Remember it when she expects you to pick up every tab, cover every outing, and fund her evening without a word of thanks. The truth is, the ones shouting “cheap” the loudest are often the ones who tip the least and give the least.
Friday, December 19, 2025
Women in Prisons
Over my lifetime I have spoken to many corrections officers, both men and women, from New York City, New York State, New Jersey, New Hampshire, Arizona, and California. One truth stands out without question. The men in prison are violent and dangerous, and the worst of them end up featured on television shows about maximum security nightmares. But the women, according to every officer I have spoken with, are a different breed entirely, nasty, filthy, manipulative, and disgusting in ways that make violence look almost straightforward by comparison.
Every officer I have spoken to has told me they would rather work in a men’s prison than a women’s. In a men’s facility you know what you are dealing with. Violence is open, visible, and predictable. But in a women’s prison the filth is not just physical, it is mental. It is constant scheming, constant drama, constant attempts to weaponize lies and manipulation. The danger is not just in fists and blades, it is in the games they play to ruin anyone they can reach.
When seasoned officers, hardened by years inside the walls, tell you they prefer the company of male inmates over female ones, it should tell you everything you need to know about the reality of female behavior when the masks come off.
Every officer I have spoken to has told me they would rather work in a men’s prison than a women’s. In a men’s facility you know what you are dealing with. Violence is open, visible, and predictable. But in a women’s prison the filth is not just physical, it is mental. It is constant scheming, constant drama, constant attempts to weaponize lies and manipulation. The danger is not just in fists and blades, it is in the games they play to ruin anyone they can reach.
When seasoned officers, hardened by years inside the walls, tell you they prefer the company of male inmates over female ones, it should tell you everything you need to know about the reality of female behavior when the masks come off.
Thursday, December 18, 2025
The Divorce Equation
There is absolutely a formula for predicting when a woman will separate from her man. It is not based on feelings, romance, or fate, it is a timeline driven by cold calculation and self interest.
• If there are no children between them, she will leave within three years. That is the limit of her patience when there is nothing binding her to him.
• If there are children, she will wait until the youngest is four or five years old before ending it. This is when the dependency stage is over and her need for the man as a provider begins to feel optional.
• If the relationship survives beyond that point, you may have one of the rare ones who values commitment, but understand that rarity is not the rule.
• If a woman divorces her husband after seven or eight years, you can almost guarantee there are at least two children involved. The timeline matches the stage where she has secured the family she wanted and now feels free to leave.
I have never seen this pattern written anywhere, yet I have seen it play out again and again for decades. The variables change, the excuses vary, but the equation remains the same. It is not an accident, it is not random, and it is not love. It is strategy.
• If there are no children between them, she will leave within three years. That is the limit of her patience when there is nothing binding her to him.
• If there are children, she will wait until the youngest is four or five years old before ending it. This is when the dependency stage is over and her need for the man as a provider begins to feel optional.
• If the relationship survives beyond that point, you may have one of the rare ones who values commitment, but understand that rarity is not the rule.
• If a woman divorces her husband after seven or eight years, you can almost guarantee there are at least two children involved. The timeline matches the stage where she has secured the family she wanted and now feels free to leave.
I have never seen this pattern written anywhere, yet I have seen it play out again and again for decades. The variables change, the excuses vary, but the equation remains the same. It is not an accident, it is not random, and it is not love. It is strategy.
Tuesday, December 16, 2025
Women Love Abusive Men
Several times in my life I have met women who claimed they were in abusive relationships. Some were married, others were simply living together. Every time I told them they should leave, they had the same answer, “I can’t.”
When I asked why, the response was always the same, word for word, “You just don’t understand.” And some of them would go further, saying, “But I love him.”
What they were really saying was that they loved the chaos more than they loved peace. They loved the emotional highs and lows more than stability. They were addicted to the drama and the validation they could extract from being the victim while still staying in the very situation they complained about.
You cannot save a woman from a man she does not want to be saved from. And you cannot reason with someone who calls abuse unacceptable yet chooses to stay in its presence. They will tell you they are trapped, but the truth is they are invested. They are not prisoners of the man, they are prisoners of their own choices.
When I asked why, the response was always the same, word for word, “You just don’t understand.” And some of them would go further, saying, “But I love him.”
What they were really saying was that they loved the chaos more than they loved peace. They loved the emotional highs and lows more than stability. They were addicted to the drama and the validation they could extract from being the victim while still staying in the very situation they complained about.
You cannot save a woman from a man she does not want to be saved from. And you cannot reason with someone who calls abuse unacceptable yet chooses to stay in its presence. They will tell you they are trapped, but the truth is they are invested. They are not prisoners of the man, they are prisoners of their own choices.
Monday, December 15, 2025
My Father Dealing With Me Being Single
Today I argued with my eighty one year old father.
My father and mother separated when I was four. I lived with my unstable mother until the age of ten, then moved to Europe to live with my retired grandparents until I was fourteen. When I returned to America, I was told my father had been found. My mother had hidden us from him, poisoning my mind with hatred toward him, and I believed her.
Years later, my mother’s behavior became unbearable. I moved in with my father, but the hate I had been taught still lived in me, through no fault of his own. I graduated high school, left for college, quit, and got my own apartment while working for my father. I still carried the same resentment.
Eventually my father remarried and had two sons. No one pushed me aside, but I felt like an outsider in his new family. So I left and never looked back.
Sixteen years later, I reconnected with my brothers on Facebook, leading to a tearful reunion. By that time I was divorced, and I understood my father better. The hate had disappeared, somewhere after my mother’s death.
Over the years I visited my father, stepmother, and brothers regularly. But every visit came with the same questions from him:
“How’s your love life?”
“Any new romances?”
“Anyone new in your life?”
“Met anyone at work?”
“I married at forty six, there’s still hope for you.”
“Your grandfather married at fifty three, there’s still hope for you.”
“My tenant thinks you’re good looking.”
Every single visit was one of those same lines. It wore me down. Eventually my older half brother joined in with his own lectures. I shrugged it off for years until one day, walking through a mall, my father asked again. I snapped.
“What’s with the questions? Do you think I’m gay? What’s wrong with me? What do you want me to do to make you happy?” I shouted, making it clear that I was single and staying that way.
The very next day, he asked again. It was like he hadn’t heard a word I said.
When I got home, I sent him several of my articles and followed with a text:
“Maybe one day you and Billy will stop calling me gay.”
He told me not to be ridiculous. I told him straight, the lectures and hints hurt me. I did not care what his tenant thought of me. I was done being poked at. You cannot keep pushing a tiger and not expect it to bite.
I reminded him that I had already been with enough psychotic girlfriends who saw me only as a provider. I was not going back to that insanity. Yes, I know the tired line, “Not all women are like that”, followed by the accusation that it is my fault for picking them. My answer is simple. I will not pick them anymore.
I cut out people who nag me about being single. I do not want to have to cut out my father. I have been with too many women. I only wanted one. I am not jumping back into the fire. Women with multiple children from multiple men, with histories of abortions and STDs, are not for me. Entitled women who expect the world from me have no place in my life. I was not put here to be a woman’s meal ticket.
He said he would not mention it again. I told him please, keep that promise.
Later I apologized for blowing up, explaining that it is a sensitive subject for me. He accepted my apology. I told him I value the time we have together and do not want it to end. He told me it ends when he passes on, and that I will still have my siblings and his wife. I told him there will be time.
My father and mother separated when I was four. I lived with my unstable mother until the age of ten, then moved to Europe to live with my retired grandparents until I was fourteen. When I returned to America, I was told my father had been found. My mother had hidden us from him, poisoning my mind with hatred toward him, and I believed her.
Years later, my mother’s behavior became unbearable. I moved in with my father, but the hate I had been taught still lived in me, through no fault of his own. I graduated high school, left for college, quit, and got my own apartment while working for my father. I still carried the same resentment.
Eventually my father remarried and had two sons. No one pushed me aside, but I felt like an outsider in his new family. So I left and never looked back.
Sixteen years later, I reconnected with my brothers on Facebook, leading to a tearful reunion. By that time I was divorced, and I understood my father better. The hate had disappeared, somewhere after my mother’s death.
Over the years I visited my father, stepmother, and brothers regularly. But every visit came with the same questions from him:
“How’s your love life?”
“Any new romances?”
“Anyone new in your life?”
“Met anyone at work?”
“I married at forty six, there’s still hope for you.”
“Your grandfather married at fifty three, there’s still hope for you.”
“My tenant thinks you’re good looking.”
Every single visit was one of those same lines. It wore me down. Eventually my older half brother joined in with his own lectures. I shrugged it off for years until one day, walking through a mall, my father asked again. I snapped.
“What’s with the questions? Do you think I’m gay? What’s wrong with me? What do you want me to do to make you happy?” I shouted, making it clear that I was single and staying that way.
The very next day, he asked again. It was like he hadn’t heard a word I said.
When I got home, I sent him several of my articles and followed with a text:
“Maybe one day you and Billy will stop calling me gay.”
He told me not to be ridiculous. I told him straight, the lectures and hints hurt me. I did not care what his tenant thought of me. I was done being poked at. You cannot keep pushing a tiger and not expect it to bite.
I reminded him that I had already been with enough psychotic girlfriends who saw me only as a provider. I was not going back to that insanity. Yes, I know the tired line, “Not all women are like that”, followed by the accusation that it is my fault for picking them. My answer is simple. I will not pick them anymore.
I cut out people who nag me about being single. I do not want to have to cut out my father. I have been with too many women. I only wanted one. I am not jumping back into the fire. Women with multiple children from multiple men, with histories of abortions and STDs, are not for me. Entitled women who expect the world from me have no place in my life. I was not put here to be a woman’s meal ticket.
He said he would not mention it again. I told him please, keep that promise.
Later I apologized for blowing up, explaining that it is a sensitive subject for me. He accepted my apology. I told him I value the time we have together and do not want it to end. He told me it ends when he passes on, and that I will still have my siblings and his wife. I told him there will be time.
Sunday, December 14, 2025
How My Father Sees Me as a Single Man
Today I argued with my eighty one year old father.
My father and mother separated when I was four. I lived with my unstable mother until the age of ten, then moved to Europe to live with my retired grandparents until I was fourteen. When I returned to America, I was told my father had been found. My mother had hidden us from him, poisoning my mind with hatred toward him, and I believed her.
Years later, my mother's behavior became unbearable. I moved in with my father, but the hate I had been taught still lived in me, through no fault of his own. I graduated high school, left for college, quit, and got my own apartment while working for my father. I still carried the same resentment.
Eventually my father remarried and had two sons. No one pushed me aside, but I felt like an outsider in his new family. So I left and never looked back.
Sixteen years later, I reconnected with my brothers on Facebook, leading to a tearful reunion. By that time I was divorced, and I understood my father better. The hate had disappeared, somewhere after my mother's death.
Over the years I visited my father, stepmother, and brothers regularly. But every visit came with the same questions from him:
"How's your love life?"
"Any new romances?"
"Anyone new in your life?"
"Met anyone at work?"
"I married at forty six, there's still hope for you."
"Your grandfather married at fifty three, there's still hope for you."
"My tenant thinks you're good looking."
Every single visit was one of those same lines. It wore me down. Eventually my older half brother joined in with his own lectures. I shrugged it off for years until one day, walking through a mall, my father asked again. I snapped.
"What's with the questions? Do you think I'm gay? What's wrong with me? What do you want me to do to make you happy?" I shouted, making it clear that I was single and staying that way.
The very next day, he asked again. It was like he had not heard a word I said.
When I got home, I sent him several of my articles and followed with a text:
Maybe one day you and Billy will stop calling me gay."
He told me not to be ridiculous. I told him straight, the lectures and hints hurt me. I did not care what his tenant thought of me. I was done being poked at. You cannot keep pushing a tiger and not expect it to bite.
I reminded him that I had already been with enough psychotic girlfriends who saw me only as a provider. I was not going back to that insanity. Yes, I know the tired line, "Not all women are like that," followed by the accusation that it is my fault for picking them. My answer is simple. I will not pick them anymore.
I cut out people who nag me about being single. I do not want to have to cut out my father. I have been with too many women. I only wanted one. I am not jumping back into the fire. Women with multiple children from multiple men, with histories of abortions and STDs, are not for me. Entitled women who expect the world from me have no place in my life. I was not put here to be a woman's meal ticket.
He said he would not mention it again. I told him please, keep that promise.
Later I apologized for blowing up, explaining that it is a sensitive subject for me. He accepted my apology. I told him I value the time we have together and do not want it to end. He told me it ends when he passes on, and that I will still have my siblings and his wife. I told him there will be time.
My father and mother separated when I was four. I lived with my unstable mother until the age of ten, then moved to Europe to live with my retired grandparents until I was fourteen. When I returned to America, I was told my father had been found. My mother had hidden us from him, poisoning my mind with hatred toward him, and I believed her.
Years later, my mother's behavior became unbearable. I moved in with my father, but the hate I had been taught still lived in me, through no fault of his own. I graduated high school, left for college, quit, and got my own apartment while working for my father. I still carried the same resentment.
Eventually my father remarried and had two sons. No one pushed me aside, but I felt like an outsider in his new family. So I left and never looked back.
Sixteen years later, I reconnected with my brothers on Facebook, leading to a tearful reunion. By that time I was divorced, and I understood my father better. The hate had disappeared, somewhere after my mother's death.
Over the years I visited my father, stepmother, and brothers regularly. But every visit came with the same questions from him:
"How's your love life?"
"Any new romances?"
"Anyone new in your life?"
"Met anyone at work?"
"I married at forty six, there's still hope for you."
"Your grandfather married at fifty three, there's still hope for you."
"My tenant thinks you're good looking."
Every single visit was one of those same lines. It wore me down. Eventually my older half brother joined in with his own lectures. I shrugged it off for years until one day, walking through a mall, my father asked again. I snapped.
"What's with the questions? Do you think I'm gay? What's wrong with me? What do you want me to do to make you happy?" I shouted, making it clear that I was single and staying that way.
The very next day, he asked again. It was like he had not heard a word I said.
When I got home, I sent him several of my articles and followed with a text:
Maybe one day you and Billy will stop calling me gay."
He told me not to be ridiculous. I told him straight, the lectures and hints hurt me. I did not care what his tenant thought of me. I was done being poked at. You cannot keep pushing a tiger and not expect it to bite.
I reminded him that I had already been with enough psychotic girlfriends who saw me only as a provider. I was not going back to that insanity. Yes, I know the tired line, "Not all women are like that," followed by the accusation that it is my fault for picking them. My answer is simple. I will not pick them anymore.
I cut out people who nag me about being single. I do not want to have to cut out my father. I have been with too many women. I only wanted one. I am not jumping back into the fire. Women with multiple children from multiple men, with histories of abortions and STDs, are not for me. Entitled women who expect the world from me have no place in my life. I was not put here to be a woman's meal ticket.
He said he would not mention it again. I told him please, keep that promise.
Later I apologized for blowing up, explaining that it is a sensitive subject for me. He accepted my apology. I told him I value the time we have together and do not want it to end. He told me it ends when he passes on, and that I will still have my siblings and his wife. I told him there will be time.
Saturday, December 13, 2025
Women Say They Have It so Hard
Most modern women are drunk on their own perceived power. They walk around as if the world owes them something simply for existing. But women worked long before the 1960s, and they did it without complaining, without expecting applause, without demanding the world rearrange itself around their whims. They married in their late teens, had children, and still kept house to a standard modern women would collapse under in a week.
My grandmother was a maid in New York City while my grandfather worked the docks. When he came home, she scrubbed his back in the bathtub. She shopped, cleaned the house, and did laundry by hand, neatly and precisely, then ironed every shirt and pair of pants with a heavy cast iron she heated on the stove. She washed dishes and scrubbed toilets both at work and at home. She sewed by hand and on a pedal powered machine. She patched clothes when they tore.
My grandfather cooked because he enjoyed it. When he was in the Army during World War II, my grandmother worked two and sometimes three jobs while cooking, cleaning, and raising two children on her own for two years. No fast food. No instant dinners. No takeout. No car. No phone. No air conditioner. No microwave. No air fryer. No rice cooker. No crockpot. She made spaghetti from scratch with flour and eggs. No welfare. No Section 8. No housing projects. She made sauce from fresh tomatoes, not a can. She baked muffins fresh. Every meal was fresh. And she did it all without a single complaint.
When my grandfather died, my grandmother buried him under a marble tombstone with her own loving words to her “Mikey.” That kind of love does not exist in modern women.
After twenty five years of marriage, my grandfather gave my grandmother a gold bracelet worth $2,000 at the time, the equivalent of $25,000 today. She thought it was too much. She never wore it once. But she loved him deeply. She never measured his height, his income, or his anatomy. She never nagged him for a Prada bag. She never left him for another man. He was her first, and her only, and they loved each other until the end.
Today’s woman brags about not knowing how to boil water. She expects her man to provide everything, the Gucci bag, the $200,000 two carat diamond ring, the $100,000 wedding, two $60,000 cars, the million dollar home, the maid, the six figure income, the six foot frame, the six pack abs, all while she gives nothing and still claims she “brings everything to the table.”
It is a joke. You should be ashamed. Many of you have two, three, four, five, even six children by a lineup of drug addicts, criminals, and failures, and you still walk around acting like you are a prize. It is a disgrace to see it. It is nasty.
My grandmother was a maid in New York City while my grandfather worked the docks. When he came home, she scrubbed his back in the bathtub. She shopped, cleaned the house, and did laundry by hand, neatly and precisely, then ironed every shirt and pair of pants with a heavy cast iron she heated on the stove. She washed dishes and scrubbed toilets both at work and at home. She sewed by hand and on a pedal powered machine. She patched clothes when they tore.
My grandfather cooked because he enjoyed it. When he was in the Army during World War II, my grandmother worked two and sometimes three jobs while cooking, cleaning, and raising two children on her own for two years. No fast food. No instant dinners. No takeout. No car. No phone. No air conditioner. No microwave. No air fryer. No rice cooker. No crockpot. She made spaghetti from scratch with flour and eggs. No welfare. No Section 8. No housing projects. She made sauce from fresh tomatoes, not a can. She baked muffins fresh. Every meal was fresh. And she did it all without a single complaint.
When my grandfather died, my grandmother buried him under a marble tombstone with her own loving words to her “Mikey.” That kind of love does not exist in modern women.
After twenty five years of marriage, my grandfather gave my grandmother a gold bracelet worth $2,000 at the time, the equivalent of $25,000 today. She thought it was too much. She never wore it once. But she loved him deeply. She never measured his height, his income, or his anatomy. She never nagged him for a Prada bag. She never left him for another man. He was her first, and her only, and they loved each other until the end.
Today’s woman brags about not knowing how to boil water. She expects her man to provide everything, the Gucci bag, the $200,000 two carat diamond ring, the $100,000 wedding, two $60,000 cars, the million dollar home, the maid, the six figure income, the six foot frame, the six pack abs, all while she gives nothing and still claims she “brings everything to the table.”
It is a joke. You should be ashamed. Many of you have two, three, four, five, even six children by a lineup of drug addicts, criminals, and failures, and you still walk around acting like you are a prize. It is a disgrace to see it. It is nasty.
Friday, December 12, 2025
Divorce: Legalized Betrayal
Women do not carry love in their hearts for men. What they carry is utility, what they carry is calculation. Their loyalty ends the moment his usefulness fades. The only bond they protect is the one with their children, and even that is poisoned. When a child’s love drifts toward the father, the mother does not celebrate it, she resents it. She sees her child’s affection as competition. And because the state has given her the weapon, she uses it. She ejects the father, she poisons the child against him, and she rewrites history so that she wears the mask of victimhood.
This is not a mistake. It is the design. Modern society rewards betrayal. Women are handed incentives to break homes, to destroy marriages, to bleed men dry. Courts do not punish them for tearing apart a family, they reward them. They hand them the house. They hand them the children. They hand them the power. A man who worked his whole life is stripped down to a wallet and chained by law to the very woman who destroyed him.
Understand this: her family does not matter to her. Her legacy does not matter to her. The well-being of her lineage has no meaning to her. A woman lives for the short term. Men build legacies, women dream of happy endings. She has hopes, she has dreams, but she has no plans. Her devotion is not to stability, not to growth, not to building greatness for her bloodline. Her devotion is only to her feelings. Empowerment is just a feeling. Victimhood is just a feeling. Everything is emotion, and her power lies in manipulating others into feeling sorry for her or feeling for her.
You never hear a woman mapping out a plan to teach her family discipline, strength, or how to be great. No. She latches on to men who already carry greatness, and when she has drained what she can from them, she lets go. And the cycle never ends. After marriage and divorce, she latches on to men who will co-sign her bad behavior. She latched on to a man who sacrificed, now she will latch on to a man who destroys her.
But make no mistake, she must have a provider. If there is no man left to latch onto, she will groom her own children to play that role. She will shame them, guilt them, and train them into being her personal drones. The boy becomes the stand in husband, the girl becomes the emotional servant. Their futures are sacrificed so that their mother can maintain her comfort.
This is the reality: divorce is not a sad ending. It is a weapon. It is legalized betrayal dressed up as empowerment. Women exit marriages not because of cruelty or oppression, but because they are restless and unsatisfied. And when they leave, they drag the man through public humiliation, financial execution, and personal ruin.
A man’s worth is not measured by his loyalty, his labor, his sacrifices, or his devotion. None of that matters. To her, his value exists only in what can be extracted, his money, his assets, his future. She does not see the man who loved her, who built a life for her, who fathered her children. She sees only a provider to drain, discard, and replace.
This is the truth no one is supposed to say out loud: women have turned marriage into a trap, family into a battlefield, children into weapons, and men into prey.
If men want to survive in this system, they must stop pretending women are innocent in divorce. Call it what it is: betrayal. When a woman leaves her marriage, point it out. When she divorces her husband, shame her for it. Use the same weapon women have mastered for centuries: shame.
For too long men have been silent. Women shame men for being broke, for being short, for being inexperienced, for being “not enough.” Meanwhile, men sit quietly while women walk away from marriages, tear families apart, and still get celebrated as victims. That silence must end.
And here is the brutal truth every man needs to face: if a woman will betray the man she promised to love, if she will betray the father of her own children, if she will break up her own family, then what do you think she is going to do to you? She has no covenant with you. She has no covenant before God. She has no covenant before her family. She is rogue. She destroyed her family over some imperfection she saw. What do you think she will do to you? She has nothing for you.
This is not a mistake. It is the design. Modern society rewards betrayal. Women are handed incentives to break homes, to destroy marriages, to bleed men dry. Courts do not punish them for tearing apart a family, they reward them. They hand them the house. They hand them the children. They hand them the power. A man who worked his whole life is stripped down to a wallet and chained by law to the very woman who destroyed him.
Understand this: her family does not matter to her. Her legacy does not matter to her. The well-being of her lineage has no meaning to her. A woman lives for the short term. Men build legacies, women dream of happy endings. She has hopes, she has dreams, but she has no plans. Her devotion is not to stability, not to growth, not to building greatness for her bloodline. Her devotion is only to her feelings. Empowerment is just a feeling. Victimhood is just a feeling. Everything is emotion, and her power lies in manipulating others into feeling sorry for her or feeling for her.
You never hear a woman mapping out a plan to teach her family discipline, strength, or how to be great. No. She latches on to men who already carry greatness, and when she has drained what she can from them, she lets go. And the cycle never ends. After marriage and divorce, she latches on to men who will co-sign her bad behavior. She latched on to a man who sacrificed, now she will latch on to a man who destroys her.
But make no mistake, she must have a provider. If there is no man left to latch onto, she will groom her own children to play that role. She will shame them, guilt them, and train them into being her personal drones. The boy becomes the stand in husband, the girl becomes the emotional servant. Their futures are sacrificed so that their mother can maintain her comfort.
This is the reality: divorce is not a sad ending. It is a weapon. It is legalized betrayal dressed up as empowerment. Women exit marriages not because of cruelty or oppression, but because they are restless and unsatisfied. And when they leave, they drag the man through public humiliation, financial execution, and personal ruin.
A man’s worth is not measured by his loyalty, his labor, his sacrifices, or his devotion. None of that matters. To her, his value exists only in what can be extracted, his money, his assets, his future. She does not see the man who loved her, who built a life for her, who fathered her children. She sees only a provider to drain, discard, and replace.
This is the truth no one is supposed to say out loud: women have turned marriage into a trap, family into a battlefield, children into weapons, and men into prey.
If men want to survive in this system, they must stop pretending women are innocent in divorce. Call it what it is: betrayal. When a woman leaves her marriage, point it out. When she divorces her husband, shame her for it. Use the same weapon women have mastered for centuries: shame.
For too long men have been silent. Women shame men for being broke, for being short, for being inexperienced, for being “not enough.” Meanwhile, men sit quietly while women walk away from marriages, tear families apart, and still get celebrated as victims. That silence must end.
And here is the brutal truth every man needs to face: if a woman will betray the man she promised to love, if she will betray the father of her own children, if she will break up her own family, then what do you think she is going to do to you? She has no covenant with you. She has no covenant before God. She has no covenant before her family. She is rogue. She destroyed her family over some imperfection she saw. What do you think she will do to you? She has nothing for you.
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