Tag: Stories

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.

The View is not a talk show. It is a televised circus where a panel of cackling women compete for who can be the loudest, the most offended, and the most self-righteous in the room. It is marketed as a platform for “diverse female voices” but in reality, it is a chaotic display of emotional outbursts masquerading as intellectual discourse. There is no conversation. There is no debate. It is a verbal free-for-all where logic dies the moment feelings get hurt.
 
From a man’s perspective, The View is a masterclass in how not to have a productive conversation. The hosts don’t listen to understand. They listen to interrupt. They don’t argue to solve problems. They argue to be seen. Every topic, no matter how serious, is reduced to a catfight for attention. The constant virtue-signaling and moral grandstanding would be comical if it wasn’t so embarrassingly shallow.
 
It’s a perfect snapshot of what happens when emotional reasoning replaces critical thinking. Every episode is drenched in hypocrisy. They preach female empowerment while playing the victim. They demand equality but refuse accountability. They celebrate free speech as long as you parrot their opinions. Dissent is met with eye-rolls, mockery, and high-pitched shrieking until the opposing view is drowned out.
 
For any man who values logic, facts, and respectful debate, The View is pure torture. It’s not about solutions. It’s not about truth. It’s about spotlight addiction. It’s a daily reminder of how modern media panders to emotional immaturity and rewards outrage over substance.

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.

A Message from Our Members
 
It’s important to remember: MGTOW is not an organization or political movement, it’s a philosophy. At its core is the belief that men do not need women or a gynocentric society to determine their value. MGTOW men determine their worth through their own personal achievements, based on their lives and standards, not anyone else’s.
 
MGTOW includes men of all races, Black, White, Asian, and Brown. It spans across political spectrums, from conservative to liberal, and includes followers of many different religions. Because of these cultural, racial, and societal differences, MGTOW members may disagree on various issues. However, all share the understanding that feminism, and everything derived from it, is harmful.
 
A central concept of MGTOW is “ghosting.” At its simplest, this means being invisible. The most effective defense against narcissistic women who seek to manipulate and emotionally abuse you is to avoid them entirely. Feminists cannot attack what they cannot see.
 
The best way to avoid societal pressure to conform to gynocentric ideals is to remain invisible while focusing on your own life. Avoiding the worship of women is a core survival skill. Equally important is steering clear of men who engage in such behavior, whether they are traditional conservatives (tradcons), liberal “white knights,” pickup artists (PUAs), or simply “thirsty simps.”
 
We don’t need protests, petitions, or advocacy. MGTOW simply requires stepping away from commitments to narcissistic, abusive, and manipulative women. Doing so allows us to focus on our own lives. Often, natural consequences for such women are far more effective than anything we could orchestrate.
 
Time is a non-renewable resource, and MGTOW understands this deeply. Our time should be spent on self-improvement and personal happiness, not wasted arguing with individuals who refuse to acknowledge the truth or take accountability for their own flaws. Political protests in the name of men’s rights are rarely effective. It’s far better to ghost and let nature take its course.
 
Instead, educate yourself. Read, learn new skills, or refine existing ones. Share your knowledge with other men. These actions strengthen the MGTOW community and set an example for others to follow.
 
MGTOW recognizes that avoiding the rigged systems of marriage, commitment, and the politics surrounding them draws criticism from gynocentric hypocrites. The best response is to ghost and disappear. After all, no one can attack what they cannot see.
 
You are not alone. The number of men embracing this philosophy grows daily, as more awaken to the reality that many modern women are unable to uphold the lifelong commitment of marriage, or even monogamous relationships.
 
MGTOW is a natural reaction to feminist policies. As long as these policies continue to discriminate against men, the movement will grow.
 
So, brothers, wherever you are and whatever you do in life, support one another. In times of crisis, ensure that those in need know they are not alone. Life after gynocentrism is not only possible, it’s worth living. Ghosting, doing your own thing, and standing by your brothers is the best defense against gynocentric hypocrisy.
 
We are men. As such, we are strong enough to overcome any obstacle we set our minds to.

I’m tired of hearing
Some of these women
From the beginning
Feeling entitled to men who accomplished what they need.
 
Having a long list of standards
They haven’t met
And some of them probably never meet
 
He has to make 6 figures
Has to have excellent credit
While you can’t keep a job and your credit is shot
 
He has to have no kids
While you have plenty
He has to finish college
While you have not
 
He has to have a nice car
Because yours keeps breaking down
He must stay loyal
While you mess with your ex
 
He has to bring you the world
And all things in it
So you can toss it out
And ask for snacks
 
Yet, but still
things get real,
You have flaws
Let’s not forget
 
He has to deal with your self proclaimed “craziness”
And disrespectful mouth and still hand you all the respect
 
Then you brag about being spoiled
And have a bad attitude
And how he hasn’t left yet
 
But I’m sorry baby girl
In all actuality
A woman of his equal
He probably hasn’t met
 
He has to work his full shifts
Accept endless O, T,
To pay all the bills
And expensive trips
 
Just to come home
To no home cooked meal
Yet you provide excessive lip
 
He has to play daddy
With no kids of his own
Because your kids’ dad wont claim them
 
And when he asks you something
As small as some of his favorites
You can’t even name them
 
Out of all that he does for you
Bending over backwards all the time
All you really want to do is to shame him
 
And when things don’t go right
Inside of your life
You just find a way to blame him
 
And now he is stuck
Trying to figure out why he has to pay for what your ex did
And when you start to realize he’s not the same him
 
Well, that was your fault
You stayed where you didn’t belong
Thinking you can change him
 
Now the man you prayed to GOD to send your way
Because you knew you deserved better
Got with you and realizes he does too
And a woman of his equal
He wants to go get her
 
Because you laugh at his dreams
You think it is cute to be mean
And play victim when he goes astray
 
But he has no use for verbal abuse
And those egotistical games that you play
 
See, you have to stop thinking
You’re GOD’s gift to man
When all you bring to the table is sex
 
Men have endless battles daily to continue to come home to stress
 
And when he leaves
You better believe
All those credentials you wanted
Are tagged only to his name
 
And now you are stuck
Claiming you do not give a fuck
When clearly you are accustom to lame
 
The term, “Nice guys finish last”
I’ve heard in the past
And unfortunately, it seems to be true
 
You may think you’re bad
But that’s just a fad
If nothing else comes with you
 
You see, being attractive on the surface
Serves no purpose
If there is no personality to match
 
And all the negativity that comes with you
Just is not worth it for a good man in reality to be attached
 
You say hoes are winning
But that’s just the beginning
Of the many excuses
To make you feel like you are above
 
If you can’t reciprocate what you think you deserve
Then you are just not ready for love
 
People want what they can’s have
Reach but can’t grab
And if that is the case
Put it back on the shelf
 
And those credentials you want your real man to have
You need to start acquiring them yourself
 
You see, life don’t goes as expected
Which its smart to have a “Plan B”
And C
And D
And E
 
Not another man
But those plans that solely involve “Me”
 
So before you chant, “there are no good men”
Make sure that men of that caliber are your equal
 
Or, you will be forever stuck
Not knowing the end to your, “Men ain’t shit” sequel
 
See, you want the ring, the life, the things, the love and title too
But when it comes to kings
They are only wifeing queens
They feel their entitled too

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.

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.

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.

Single mothers are living proof that she is a man hater with not a single forgiving bone in her body. In her story it was always his fault, yet it was never her fault for spreading her legs for him in the first place. She will hate the most important man in her child’s life and then go hunting for a strange man to replace him, a man she barely knows, a man who could very well be the worst possible choice for that child’s safety.
 
If she claims he was abusive, remember, an ass kicking does not fall from the sky for no reason, or she simply chose him because he was a bad boy and that is what she wanted.
 
If she says he was a substance abuser, odds are he was getting high right in front of her from the beginning and she stayed because she wanted the chaos. She likes the bad boys, the dysfunction, the danger, and the drama that comes with it.
 
She should be shamed and ridiculed at every level, the way society once did before weakness became a virtue. Now she is praised and exalted, paraded as some kind of hero for raising a child without a man, when in reality she is the one who chose the disaster that made her a single mother in the first place. And if she wants that praise, all she has to do is call a lawyer, file the papers, and divorce you without cause.
 
This is not strength. This is not empowerment. This is the celebration of irresponsibility dressed up as independence.

What does this remind you about?
 
“I love you!”
“I love you!”
“I love you!”
“I love him now!”
“It was not my fault!”
“It just happened.”
“It was your fault.”
“You didn’t do __________ enough.”
“You weren’t __________ enough.”
“You always __________.”
“You never _________.”
“You didn’t _________.”
“It was never meant to be.”

For the lips of the adulterous woman drip honey and her speech is smoother than oil, but in the end she is bitter as gall, sharp as a double edged sword. Her feet go down to death, her steps lead straight to the grave.
Proverbs 5:3-5
 
For a prostitute can be had for a loaf of bread, but another man’s wife preys on your very life.
Proverbs 6:21
 
Better to live in a desert than with a quarrelsome and nagging wife.
Proverbs 21:19
 
Her house is the way to hell, going down to the chambers of death.
Proverbs 7:27
 
All wickedness is but little to the wickedness of a woman, let the portion of a sinner fall upon her.
Ecclesiasticus 25:19
 
But I want you to realize that the head of every man is Christ, and the head of the woman is man, and the head of Christ is God.
1 Corinthians 11:3
 
A woman should learn in quietness and full submission.
1 Timothy 2:11
 
I do not permit a woman to teach or to assume authority over a man, she must be quiet.
1 Timothy 2:12
 
And Adam was not the one deceived, it was the woman who was deceived and became a sinner.
1 Timothy 2:14
 
I also want the women to dress modestly, with decency and propriety, adorning themselves not with elaborate hairstyles or gold or pearls or expensive clothes.
1 Timothy 2:9
 
Likewise, teach the older women to be reverent in the way they live, not to be slanderers or addicted to much wine, but to teach what is good.
Titus 2:3
 
There is a good principle which created order, light, and man, and an evil principle which created chaos, darkness, and woman.
Pythagoras (570-495 BC)
 
Women and people of low birth are very hard to deal with. If you are friendly with them they get out of hand, and if you keep your distance they resent it.
Confucius (551-479 BC)
 
A firm bosom, sparkling eyes, a small mouth are characteristics of a woman which are always praised. But when we neglect the surface we find that the internal characteristics corresponding to these are hardness of heart, shifty eyes, a deceitful face, insecurity, and cunning. When we bear in mind both the superficial and inward characteristics of a woman we must declare that the one who should possess them can be dear only to the beasts of the field.
The Vairagya Sataka
 
A woman talks to one man, looks at a second, and thinks of a third.
The Sringa Sataka
 
By all means, marry. If you get a good wife you will be happy. If you get a bad one you will be a philosopher.
Socrates (470-399 BC)
 
O botheration take you all. How you women cajole and flatter. A hell it is to live with you, to live without, a hell.
Aristophanes
 
There is no beast, no rush of fire, like woman so untamed. She calmly goes her way where even panthers would be shamed.
Aristophanes
 
Woman is adept at getting money for herself and will not easily let herself be deceived, she understands deceit too well herself.
Aristophanes
 
There is but one thing in the world worse than a shameless woman, and that is another woman.
Thesmorphoriazusae
 
Women are accustomed to creep into dark places, and when dragged out into the light they will exert their utmost powers of resistance. Therefore, as I said before, in most places they will not endure to have the truth spoken without raising a tremendous outcry.
Plato
 
One single thing I trust a woman saying. To other statements no attention paying, when I am dead, I will not return to grieve you. Till death takes place, in naught else I will believe you.
Antiphanes
 
What, when you court concealment, will you tell the matter to a woman? Just as well tell all the criers in the public squares. It is hard to say which of them louder blares.
Antiphanes
 
Cursed be the dart of love that works men pain. Cursed be the land where women rule supreme. And cursed the fool that bows to woman’s sway.
Jataka
 
There is no such thing as picking out the best woman, it is only a question of comparative badness.
Titus Maccius Plautus
 
Amongst all the savage beasts none is found so harmful as woman.
St John Chrysostom
 
It does not profit a man to marry. For what is a woman but an enemy of friendship, an inescapable punishment, a necessary evil, a natural temptation, a domestic danger, delectable mischief, a fault in nature, painted with beautiful colors.
St John Chrysostom
 
The Prophet said, I was shown Hellfire, and when the majority of its inhabitants are women, they disbelieve. It was said, do they disbelieve in God? He said, they disbelieve in marriage, and they disbelieve in benevolence. If you were to do good to one of them all the time and then she saw something from you, she would say, I have never seen anything good from you.
Muhammad
 
When the Prophet heard the news that the people of Persia had made the daughter of Khosrau their ruler, he said, never will succeed such a nation as makes a woman their ruler.
Muhammad
 
A man can be happy with any woman, as long as he does not love her.
Oscar Wilde (The Portrait of Dorian Gray)
 
The great question that has never been answered, and which I have not yet been able to answer despite my thirty years of research into the feminine soul, is, what does a woman want?
Sigmund Freud
 
You sometimes have to answer a woman according to her womanishness, just as you have to answer a fool according to his folly.
George Bernard Shaw
 
Never ever ever under any circumstances financially obligate yourself, marry, to an entity that will profit from exercising her natural born prerogative to change her mind.
TheXYGhost

The MGTOW concept is perfect because it is simple and absolute. Men Going Their Own Way means a man chooses his path without asking for permission, without bending his will to fit someone else’s agenda. It is not about hating women, it is not about male supremacy, and it is not tied to feminism, masculism, matriarchy, patriarchy, misogyny, or misandry.
 
If a woman chooses to walk alongside me, that is acceptable, but only if she enhances my life, only if she adds value without demanding the throne. She is welcome if she brings peace, order, and loyalty. She is gone the moment she tries to make me carry her self-created problems, the instant she believes her comfort and security are my responsibility simply because she exists.
 
A man who is MGTOW does not chase, does not plead, and does not negotiate with entitlement. He does not sacrifice his mission to rescue someone from the consequences of their own choices. He knows that his life is his own, and that the only woman worth keeping is the one who understands she is joining his life, not rewriting it.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I hate when women of today say men are the problem but here’s something to think about.
 
Women today think that 90% of men are below average.
 
Women of today think that the following men are the problem
 
…men under 6 feet tall.
 
…men that earn under $200k per year.
 
…men that are not pleasing them all the time.
 
…men that are pleasing them all the time.
 
…men not pursuing them every day.
 
…men pursuing them every day.
 
…men not giving them everything they want.
 
…men giving them everything they want.
 
…men that are too masculine.
 
…men that are too feminine.
 
…men that are too strict.
 
…men that are too nice.
 
…men that work too much.
 
…men that don’t work enough.
 
…men that are too aggressive.
 
…men that are not aggressive enough.
 
…men that love them too much.
 
…men that don’t love them enough.
 
…men that give them too much attention.
 
…men that don’t give them enough attention.
 
Should I keep on?
 
Women of today think that men are the problem, always.
 
Have you ever met a woman that said that they were the fault of their last breakup?

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.

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.

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.

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.