Self-Published, Essay of 41 pages

I believe Andy to be the best writer of our time, in that his fiction works without sentimentality, heroism, mystery, adventure and all the other tropes of the poet and that his non-fiction is even better. I would say that Andy’s skill at fiction is a 9 on a 10 scale and only fails to reach the 10 because he decided to write about the least appealing and least protean protagonists.

His non-fiction is peerless, a 10, executed with the full knowledge that few will care because he makes no attempt to entertain, for instance, as a shmuck like I would. If I hated myself as much as Andy did my version of his book would be balls-out gut-ripping hilarious.

Yesterday, while staying with Mister Grey in Pennsylvania on a very gray day, my eye seized up and took me to the door of pain, and then as I continued to write without Andy’s knowledge of how this language actually works, it took me beyond into that sheet of pain from where I can do nothing. And I popped the pill that stops the seizure. Having already strained the eye writing, I took my doctor’s advice and opted off screen and prowled the digs of Mister Grey, who has the most eclectic library I have ever perused.

Then, on the verge of self-hatred, I stopped, looked at the cover of Ruminations of a Low-Status Male, and remembering Confessions of a Would-Be Wanker, saw Andy’s right eye open in self-rejecting pain and his left eye squinting in scrutiny of the filthy world the reader hales from, from under the pale sperm-whale bulge of his over-used frontal brain, and said to myself, “Well, Andy, you are just the read I need to feel like an alpha male,” and took this almost ugly academic to bed.

To the quote I chose as the title of the book, I would note that the supremacy of the castrated state is being demonstrated as I write, as 90% of fat Americans cower indoors and become fatter, weaker and meeker all based on the commands of the medical-finance complex which has replaced God, and which promises rather than everlasting life or eternal torment, 10 years of having low-status persons wipe your ass in a wheel chair while you wait to die in a death factory.

If Andy reads this review, I would just like to say thank you for the thought promoting read, and will suggest that you take up some form of combat training as a way to reach that place of high ascetic repose you seek.

Below are some choice quotes and I will not give the best because it comprises the last paragraph of the book and is brilliant.

First, a quote that shows the author yet under the spell of the society that hates him:

“…I was born into the relative comfort of a middle-class suburban existence. In spite of this advantage, I have never succeeded in any way…”

Comfort is the holy grail of womanhood and the bane of manhood, the shimmering altar of the lie that is Modernity.

Suburban existence is the worst disadvantage any man could have, with the entire purpose of suburbia being the dysgenic muting, media-induced castration and geographic removal of healthy men with the spiritual and genetic potential to overthrow the elite from their towering temples to the Gottess, banished with their ever more scant and meek progeny to unsustainable consumption lots literally situated on the very peripheral where Andy and I and most of our readers find ourselves in our minds. It was the ghetto, the place of my plummeting failure that saved my soul. It was suburbia feedlot existence that set me spinning downward to begin with. That a man as brilliant of mind as Andy cannot see this reflects the genius of the Modern design, that being based entirely on historical and moral lies and propelled by transhuman promise, the child-eating monster that spawns us blinds us all as we dissolve in its guts.

Below is Andy near his best:

“For women, indeed, beauty to a great extent denotes status, or is at least instrumental in conferring it. For men, the origin of status is more elusive…”

“Hope, Vile Hope”

On Alpha and Omega, chief and shaman:

“…the man who conquers the world and becomes one of its kings, and who thereby comes to recognize the futility of the enterprise, is of similar stuff as the one who opts out of worldliness…”

On the depths of evil among our pizza-eating masters:

“…they recognize instinctively that children are innocent, and sexuality signifies the obliteration of innocence…”

Thank you, Andy.

Reading this made me burn with a desire to hate the world back and a positive desire to thank the feral ebon warriors whose dastard attention saved my soul from the meat-puppet disco.