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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

What She Does With an Alpha and Beta Males

Today’s woman is no longer bound by the traditions she calls oppressive. She has complete freedom to choose her own path in relationships, and she uses that freedom to serve her own advantage. She may be drawn to the Alpha male for his strength and presence, but she will settle for the Beta male when she needs temporary shelter, a steady paycheck, and protection she did not earn. Her goal is not love or loyalty, her goal is stability on her terms, for as long as it benefits her. She will remain until she finds a man with more resources, more status, or more opportunities, and that man becomes the father of her children.

When she is with an Alpha male, she will test him. She will push, provoke, and create conflict. She will mistreat him just to see how much he will take before he pushes back. Over time, the manipulation becomes second nature, so ingrained that even she cannot tell if she is testing him or simply acting on habit. The drama is constant, a calculated way to measure his tolerance. If he refuses to accept it and walks away, she will put all the blame on him. “He didn’t know how to handle me,” she will say, as if she is a storm that must be mastered. In her mind, she is never at fault.

When she burns the Alpha bridge, she returns to a Beta male. She treats him less like a partner and more like a servant. He provides, he protects, he caters to her demands. She rewards him with contempt. She resents his kindness, sees his loyalty as weakness, and quietly despises him for bending to her. That resentment festers until she cheats, and when she is caught, she blames him for letting it happen.

Her definition of Alpha or Beta is not based on reality, it is based on her emotions in the moment. If she is pleased, he is Alpha. If she is displeased, he is Beta. Her judgments are unstable because her emotions are unstable, and a man’s worth in her eyes can shift in a single day. This is why her praise means nothing and her criticism even less, both are just echoes of her mood, not reflections of the truth.

No More Shame

There was a time when women had shame.

• Shame to be single after age twenty five

• Shame to be with a man of bad character

• Shame to be a single mother

• Shame to be divorced

• Shame to lose her virginity before marriage

• Shame to be loud and obnoxious in public

• Shame to cheat on her husband

• Shame to accept welfare or public assistance

• Shame to live off the government and take food stamps

• Shame to have an abortion

• Shame to hit a man without just cause

Back then, shame was a restraint. It was a form of accountability. It kept certain behaviors in check because women knew their actions would carry a social cost.

Now, the modern woman wears these same things as badges of honor. The very acts that once brought disgrace are now celebrated as empowerment. Single motherhood is paraded as strength. Divorce is rebranded as freedom. Loudness is called confidence. Dependency on government aid is disguised as independence. Infidelity is reframed as liberation. Abortion is declared a right without moral weight.

What was once shame is now her currency. And she spends it proudly, convinced that society should applaud her for the very things that once marked the decline of character.

10,000 Genders, Brought to You by the Feminists

Here is the ever-growing list of non-binary, gender-fluid pronouns for all the self-declared enlightened warriors who think biology is a suggestion and language is a toy to be endlessly rearranged.

they / them / their / themselves
tey / tem / ter / temself
ey / em / eir / emself
e / em / eir / emself
thon / thon / thons / thonself
fae / faer / faers / faerself
vae / vaer / vaers / vaerself
ae / aer / aers / aerself
ne / nym / nis / nymself
ne / nem / nir / nemself
xe / xem / xyr / xemself
xe / xim / xis / ximself
xie / xem / xyr / xemself
ze (or zie) / zir / zirs / zirself
zhe / zhir / zhirs / zhirself
ze / hir / hirs / hirself
sie / sier / siers / sierself
zed / zed / zeds / zedself
zed / zed / zeir / zedself
ce / cir / cirs / cirself
co / cos / cos / coself
ve / vis / vir / verself
jee / jem / jeir / jemself
lee / lim / lis / limself
kye / kyr / kyne / kyrself
per / per / pers / perself
hu / hum / hus / humself
bun / bun / buns / bunself
it / it / its / itself

I have also seen “yo” and “fey” floating around, but apparently even their own creators cannot decide how to conjugate them. And just when you think the list is finished, someone invents another set, expecting the rest of the world to adapt instantly.

Here is the reality, the more fractured language becomes, the less it communicates. This endless alphabet soup does not unite, it divides. It is not about clarity, it is about control. It is about forcing everyone to bend their speech, and by extension, their thinking, to match someone else’s personal fantasy.

An Entitlement Mentality Leads to Socialism

Women feel entitled to their husband’s money while guarding their own as if it were sacred. They will spend his without hesitation but refuse to touch theirs. They remain loyal to their provider only until they find a better one. And there is no better provider in their eyes than the government.

When a woman shifts her dependency from a man to the state, her loyalty shifts with it. The government becomes her new provider, and she feels entitled to its provisions because, in her mind, it has unlimited funds and always delivers the check on time. This is why women embrace socialism. The state offers them security without accountability, benefits without loyalty, and a lifetime safety net paid for by others.

They raise their sons to be obedient momma’s boys, incapable of defying a woman’s will. They raise their daughters to sell themselves to the highest bidder, collecting children along the way as currency for more state benefits. Single mothers become loyal political soldiers for the party that promises the biggest checks, voting socialist every time because it keeps the pipeline open.

Men are no longer competing for the chance to marry and build a family. They are in a constant, exhausting fight to keep their wives committed to the family they already have. Meanwhile, women, trained by the media and culture, are always scanning the horizon for a man with more to offer. Children or not, she will leave and bring those children to the man she decides is a better provider than their own father.

If necessary, she will use the government as her weapon to destroy the father of her children. This is not an accident, it is a system. The state protects its most loyal voters by stripping men of their wealth, their property, and their rights, all while calling it “justice.”

The government thrives on dependency. When the people demand solutions, the state steps in, seizes $1,000 in taxes, throws $100 at the problem, pockets the rest, and leaves the problem unsolved. They repeat this cycle endlessly. Education is failing, the people cry out, the government demands more taxes, the system worsens, and a few years later the people cry out again. Dependency deepens. Power grows. The machine feeds itself.

And women, who have been taught to trade loyalty for benefits, will always serve the hand that feeds them.

Do What's Right

I have been riding the New York City Subway system since the 1960s and on my own since the 1970s. In my younger years, I would sometimes offer my seat to the elderly and to women I believed were pregnant, until I learned the hard way about the risk of wrongly assuming a woman is pregnant.

By the mid 1980s, I began noticing something. Women were rarely giving up their seats, even for the elderly or for pregnant women. And when they did, it was usually for an elderly woman, almost never for an elderly man. On the rare occasion they did give up their seat, they did it with an attitude, as if resenting the fact that no one else had done it first, as if they were performing some reluctant act of forced charity.

In all these decades, I have only counted three women who willingly gave their seat to an elderly man. Three. That is not an oversight, that is a pattern.

Today, when I give up my seat, I give it to elderly men. Sometimes I will give it to a man who looks like he has been through hell that day. I do not give it to women, because women have long abandoned the idea that respect and courtesy go both ways. If they cannot show it, they should not expect it.

What I Love About Being a Man

What I love about being a man:

1. Your best friend can call you every name under the sun, and you can call him the worst piece of filth on the planet, and you both laugh about it.

2. Even your worst enemy will not hit you when you are asleep, eating, or with your family.

3. Even your worst mistake can eventually be forgiven.

4. Every now and then, another man in your crew will step up and take one for the team.

And for those who understand number one, here is your example:

Go fuck yourself, you cocksucker, motherfucking pieces of garbage.

Her Insecurities Defined

A woman’s primary concern is her personal security. Everything else is secondary. From birth she is wired for it. This is not insecurity in the way men experience it, it is deeper, more primal, and it never stops. She is always looking for an external source to make her feel safe. A man, on the other hand, knows at his core that he must conquer his own insecurities or they will conquer him.

Some women measure security in money. They seek out men with resources because it is the easiest, laziest way to feel safe. Others measure security by dominance over the man himself. They choose weaker men because it makes them feel strong by comparison. They want to look down and know they are in control.

It is the same tactic as the attractive woman who keeps a fat and unattractive friend. Standing next to her, she appears even more beautiful. The ugly friend benefits because she is not competing for the same men, and she gets access to the attention and leftovers she would never have on her own. Both of these women, despite their alliance, will quietly sabotage each other’s relationships to keep their own security intact.

This is the hidden economy of female relationships. It is not built on loyalty, it is built on strategy. It is not about friendship, it is about positioning. And in the end, security is not something they create for themselves, it is something they take from others.

How to Fail Her Test Deliberately

When a woman asks, “What kind of woman do you like?” she has already marked you as a potential personal provider. She is not asking out of curiosity, she is gathering intelligence. She needs to know what shape to mold herself into so she can pass your inspection long enough to secure her position.

My answer is always the same. I say I love a successful, independent, intelligent woman who has never been married, is very feminine, and does not come prepackaged with another man’s child.

Why that answer? Because I can redefine any part of it at any time, in any way I see fit. If she tries to perform the role, I can move the goalpost. If she tries to fake the qualities, I can call it out. By keeping the definition in my hands, I keep the power where it belongs.

Never hand over your blueprint. The moment she knows exactly what you want, she will shape-shift into it just long enough to get what she wants. Then the mask comes off.