“We might not agree on everything. But over the past four years you have written like 14 entirely new concepts that everyone thought was nuts and have all come true. So your opinion is to be respected. So these Antifa guys that all seem to have some woman—who are getting pussy while me and so many other Right-thinking guys never seem to have a woman—are they more of a man than me? How much, in terms of masculinity, does getting pussy count for?”

-Mister Gray

Mister Gray, the short answer is, that in a debt slave's view of life, yes. Not breeding a new generation of slaves for your masters before you establish the means to separate your mate and offspring from the plantation of the mind is a failure to generate more ideological chattel for the system that hates us, eats us and fears us. So, for now, you are being a bad slave. The system would prefer you make up for this shortcoming by supporting the immigration of Africans and Central Americans to replace the children you have failed to give over to the brainwashing apparatus. This is what those Leftists are doing, fucking on birth control and fighting for their never-to-be-born children to be replaced by immigrants. In another article I'll propose family building strategies for enemies of the Global Supra State. For now, lets explore the masculine metaphysics of checking the estrogen with your wand of distaff domination...

Assignment of masculine merit based on female approval was once a positive aspect of Western Society. But today, the politics of feminine approval has become the most toxic element leaching the soul of a fading civilization.

-1. Bro, my experience in Portland has shown me two things: that crowds of hot nubiles, confused as to whether they should be eating pussy or sucking dick, seem to split the difference and settle for pretty beta men who have had their spine socially removed. I saw one gorgeous woman jogging on Foster, who looked like she should be Scarlet Johansen’s stunt double, with a tennis-shooed squid that went about 90 pounds.

-2. My sausage-fingered pal Yeti Waters, who wears his disdain for women on his sleeve, throws dick downrange into leftist pussy anytime he feels like putting up with the 30 seconds of morning pillow talk leading up to, “then get the fuck out, bitch.” So there is a dude who is the opposite of the pasty drone preferred by Lefty bitches who can score pussy at ease in their nest just because the bitch-men who serve the bitch-queens of the Left Coast aren’t up to pulling their woman’s hair, choking her, slapping her ass, telling her she’s a bitch or demanding she supplicate obediently on her knees, which are acts most women yearn to be oppressed with, though there men cannot bring themselves to disrespect their queen enough to give her what she craves…so they come to some savage man for the domination they cannot live without. These bitches only keep insanity at bay by believing that they are voluntarily seeking dominance at the hand of their righteous deity—Social Justice. But eventually, their delusional Faith wearing thin, they will seek out some criminal type for a hate fuck or a pimp experience to try and iron out their unbalanced being.

In Portland, frequenting a half dozen drinking establishments, and walking for miles on most days through business districts, I discovered that over half of the men were utterly ruled by their women, that most new businesses were run by women or by a husband and wife team featuring female leadership.

The woman that owns the NWIPA Bottle Shop treats her husband like a servant.

Softly handsome male bartenders are often treated by female patrons like men have traditionally treated barmaids in working class environments.

Among millennials most business startups are headed by women while most wait staff and kitchen staff consist of men.

Almost all political media and entertainment media target women, gay men and beta males, with the only image of a masculine man seen in four months being a billboard of a fallen soldier being carried from battle sponsored by a patriotic brewery.

I had one situation, where I was sodden drunk at a hipster bar with my Bantu boon companion. The tall, softly handsome, mixed-race, Tiger Woods-looking, beta boy bar tender had previously been fearful of me and had told an older man at the bar that his schedule revolved around his girlfriend’s business needs—she ran a business. Lo and take hold, in walks the fine little slice of dark chocolate pie. Her name was Moni. She sat next to me and said hello, so I returned the greeting informed her that I was drunk, harmless, showed her Ajay’s cinnamon picture on the flip phone and even called Ajay up in North Carolina and had her talk to Moni on the phone and assure her that I was not only her boyfriend but a man that could be trusted to sit with her while her boyfriend finished his shift. Soon Moni was laughing wide-faced at whatever I was saying and her bitch boyfriend leaned over the bar and spoke in her ear. To this Moni apologized and smiled to me, “My boyfriend is intimidated by you and asked me to go talk to those two older, whiter gentlemen over there.”

There Moni went, to sit and frown between two towering former hippies prancing their fingers across the table top recalling drug trips and coffee sips of old as her boyfriend evasively declined to serve me again—lacking the balls to refuse service—as my Bantu boon companion was dragged out by his domineering white wife, grinning at me. He later told me about Moni and her beta boy, “He saw you was realin’ it in, so he went bitch up!”

The next day Ajay called me up, “What the hell, Baby. Did you fuck Moni or what? She sounded adorable—sounds like she needs a daddy!”

I responded, “No, I’m celibate in Portland—in the grandfather zone, just writing.”

This brings me to your point, Mister Gray, millennial men and women are often reversing gender roles. So often female companionship is a sign that you have no masculine qualities other than a penis and height, which is all many women seem to want from a man now that female earnings in the lower adult age range are higher than male earnings. Even while living an ascetic life of denial, some dude half my age, a head taller and twice as good looking as me with 10 times my money felt threatened by me on a masculine level just because I made his pretty girl laugh while he finished his shift. Contrast that with The Colonel, a guy that really fought in wars and got his hands bloody, who came to visit me at age 65 with a much younger wife, who he basically assigned me to entertain with stories from Baltimore. He was not threatened by me. Rather his main concern was that his Christian wife would like me and accept me as his friend, despite my heathen ways.

Sex is only an aspect of masculinity which must be subordinate to a discipline for a woman to both crave your attention and accept your intention, whether she agrees with you or not. This discipline might take the form of my swearing off pussy in Portland [ascetic], The Colonel assigning me a role [social] or Yeti Waters doggedly maintaining his distrust of distaff wiles [antisocial] by kicking unruly bitches to the curb rather than putting up with their drivel just to dick them again.

Perhaps the most pathetic example of the undisciplined male drone, was Chris, the husband of a girl whose name I forgot, who struck up a conversation with me as I drank alone at the NWIPA Bottle Shop. She obviously pitied me, being dressed like a bum, alone on a cold night among mated pairs and groups of friends. She respected her husband enough to tell me his name three times and the guy never turned to acknowledge me or shake my hand, so I kept my conversation with her to a minimum, only answering her questions and nodding politely at her assertions, as he sulked in his beer and she declared that they loved Portland over their former town, that you could walk to the bar and back from your house “in safety,” and I nodded knowingly, it being clear, that with a wimp like Chris for a protector—who towered physically and melted meekly in his mind as he shopped for a 12-pack of take home beer costing $5 a can—that spreading good will was her survival set.

By contrast, an older couple, headed by Bart, a carpenter, introduced himself to me and his wife and then Bart and I had a fine time speaking. I was a disturbing presence in that bar, with guys like me usually sleeping in the doorway around the corner. Almost all the millennial men and gen-Xers cringed away from me with some even shaking visibly when I stood next to them. Bart and Chris’ wife showed the old and the new social solution to making a place for an unquantified stranger in their giddy midst. So in that epicenter of the Antifa spawning ground even man’s simplest traditional role, to quantify the presence of stranger, is slipping into the feminine realm, to the point where mating is no longer about “getting pussy,” but “getting dick.”

A man has different roles in the various phases of his life and his society’s life. When life is corrupt and children are likely to be twisted by the malevolent pressures of society—with poor children virtually doomed to brainwashing as they are fed into the malevolent system like sensate ore into a furnace—perhaps we have entered a time requiring more ascetic masculinity rather than the blind fecund imperative of our forefathers who built this nation by out-breeding by a thousand to one the better men they took it from, with whom they could not stand one-to-one. Maybe the sterility of degenerate effeminate couplings and the starkly contrasting lack of mating on the masculine side of society reflects a subconscious racial realization that it’s time to breed quality rather than quantity?