Spoiler Alert: You should go read the article and look at the pictures before you come back here and read the next paragraph. When you find the “clue” (it’s more of a smoking gun), it might give you a case of the creeps. But in a fascinating way.
Maybe the picture was photoshopped and this viral story is all a hoax. I haven’t heard as much, but anything can happen in the Information Age. It’s still very plausible, though. So I’m gonna treat it like it’s real unless told otherwise.
So this guy leaves for a business trip or something (I guess). He comes home without warning to surprise his wife. He takes a picture of her, still chilling on the bed, evidently happy at the surprise.
For some reason (and this is the part I’d like to know more about) he later takes a closer look at the picture. Maybe he caught a wierd vibe off his wife, or she said or did something suspicious. Maybe his subconscious mind picked up on what was semi-hidden in the photo.
The back door man that wifey had been screwing while hubby was gone happened to be hiding under the bed. And he might never have been caught, but I guess he really wanted to see the expression on his victim’s face (so he could gloat about cuckolding, perhaps) so he positioned his head for better viewing. And the camera flash penetrated the shadow he probably assumed would mask him.
Here’s what you should take away from this story, though (especially if you believe in the inherent purity of the female heart): Take a look at the wife. Does she look any less than utterly sincere in her joy at hubby’s return? What picture of innocence and love…if you don’t look too closely.
Not many women become movie stars; but nearly all of them are talented actresses capable of Academy Award performances.
George Orwell’s dystopian novel is still frequently referenced today by those opposed to privacy infringements and the other lifestyle features that accompany a socialist police state. But the “It Can’t Happen Here” crowd in the USA has long ASSumed that those who want such a system would try to force the population at large to accept their telescreens in each room of our houses.
They never considered the possibility that the population at large would ask to be put under surveillance, and in some cases pay for the privilege.
For the oxymorons who want to keep their privacy and other rights, yet vote and support the very socialist transformation which will obliterate those rights, you’d think the last entity they would trust to make it happen would be a capitalist market research corporation exploiting consumerism to multiply their own power while subjugating the proletariat. But that’s exactly what they do.
In the early years of the Internet, I used Netscape Navigator’s built-in search engine when I needed to find something online. But I kept hearing about “Google” increasingly, until it had become a common verb in our lexicon, and was the default search engine on every browser. Google not only tracks everything you search for from their home page, but every single site you visit when you have their search bar in your browser. They compile and keep this information, and charge advertisers for the benefit of their spying on you. And nobody seems to mind, because you get to use their search engine for free.
Then Google got into the email business. Why? Because they also want to snoop through all your written communication. (Read the fine print when you sign up for G-Mail.) Up until G-Mail, you normally had to pay for an email service. But after G-Mail launched, everybody got in the free webmail business, monitoring all your communication in order to build a profile for you which third parties are interested in knowing.
Those third parties aren’t just businesses that want to sell you stuff. In the United States of America Google (and Facebook) are selling all your private communications and web travels to federal agencies which evidently consider American citizens a much greater threat than the terrorists, drug dealers, child molestors, Ebola victims and God knows who else swarming across our borders. Some police organizations appear to be preparing for a war against the citizens they are paid to protect.
Without any warrant or probable cause, the NSA and other gestapo wannabes can read all your email, listen to everything you say, watch you through your webcam, track all your online activity…oh, and thanks to Google Earth they’ve got both satellite and street-level imagery of your home, too.
Those of us who are aware of this don’t want to do anything to change it, because it all makes life so doggone convenient for us.
But what if you leave your cellphone in the car, or the batteries are completely dead, or you’re not where you can be seen via your webcam? How can Big Brother hear what you’re saying and see what you’re doing inside your house, then? Google’s got a solution.
Now you can PAY a monthly service fee to have cameras/microphones installed inside your house, and the footage from them uploaded to the Cloud. Ain’t that dandy? And yes, some people are paying for this “service.” One day it might be free. One day it will probably be mandatory.
Big Brother is more slick than Orwell ever gave him credit for.
Tom Wolfe’s 1979 novel about the Space Race (late ’50s-early ’60s) is a portrait of the test pilots who became the first astronauts. The film based on the book is an artistic rendering of history as myth.
Wolfe compares the Space Race to single combat in ancient warfare: rather than armies clashing in the field, a champion was chosen to represent each side. Whichever champion prevailed sealed a victory for his city or nation. (Think Achilles or Goliath). This was what the Americans and Soviets were doing with their astronauts, according to Wolfe.
Once the Americans got rolling, they were unstoppable. The first to reach the moon, they could have gone well beyond if the ambition of the space program wasn’t seriously scaled back. But in those early days the soviets had a head start.
Americans relied on bombers to deliver bombs, should a nuclear war become reality; but the Russians concentrated on cheaper unmanned missiles to compensate for their inferior aircraft technology/industry, and used their captured Nazi rocket scientists to get the jump on the Yanks. The US Air Force was already working on an aircraft that could break out of our atmosphere, but when Sputnik shot into orbit, all effort was redirected at catching up to the USSR’s capsule-launching method.
Wolfe’s character portraits of the first American “star voyagers” was both fascinating and hilarious. I’ve never forgotten his colorful expose` on the collective subconscious of the test pilots/astronauts, in particular. Like the ziggurat metaphor used to describe the egocentric construct of the unspoken hierarchy according to how much of the Right Stuff each individual thought he and his peers possessed.
The Mercury astronauts were alpha males to an almost comical degree. It’s rare in this world to get so many of them crowded together in one place. You’ll usually only find such groupings in elite military units or perhaps professional sports teams. The egos are huge, but also fragile. Deep down, each of these men feared getting left behind (not making the cut) at every stage of their climb up the ziggurat.
Except, probably, Chuck Yeager. This penultimate test pilot was never invited into the space program–possibly because he’d never been to college. (Sad to think of how many potential Yeagers who will never even get a chance to fly because of this snobbery.) But in both the book and the movie you get the impression that despite all the hype about “Spam in a can” (astronauts in capsules), he remains alone and unchallenged at the top of the ziggurat, with that heavenly light shining on his aloof indifference.
I wish the clip above included just a few seconds prior, when Yeager asks his buddy about the latest high altitude record. Nobody cares about that, his buddy informs him; it’s all about capsules and astronauts these days. After a pause, the undaunted Yeager looks at the test prototype jet and opines that it just might be capable of breaking the record. Next thing you know, he’s going through the Beeman’s chewing gum ritual with his comrade, and up he goes.
Anyway, the psychological insights are only dressing for the thorough investigative reporting Wolfe wove into an informative and entertaining inside story of an elite subculture in history.
For those who haven’t both read the book and seen the film, I encourage you to correct that. It’s not a case of one being better than the other; instead they compliment each other.
In the spirit of that title, I would add that long-term storage of steel machine parts in saltwater aquariums is also a bad idea. Keeping radioactive waste in your refrigerator might be a bad idea, too.
Nevertheless, he makes some points that few people have the wisdom and courage to make. For instance:
Want to prove that women can be artillerypersons? No problem, the Army will gladly commission a Female Artillery Study, which will take an outsized crew of women, train and condition them extensively, have men do all the really heavy work while the women merely load and fire the lightest artillery piece in the inventory, and claim with a straight face that women could do it all.
And even though there wasn’t as much social engineering going on when I was active duty, I saw this kind of garbage getting underway. In fact, the social engineers and the pantywaist staff officers sucking up to them had already turned Jump School into a joke by making it coed. The double standards necessary to put women everywhere else in the military were mandated in the Airborne, too. And though men still had to demonstrate greater strength, speed and stamina than the G.I. Janes (the opposite of what you’ll hear in movies and on TV), overall physical standards plummeted. Pretty much anybody can get jump wings as a result.
Now they want to do the same to Ranger School, and in Ranger units. As has already been proven, men will have to pick up the slack for these womyn; but we’ll perpetually hear how heroically these poor victims had to outperform their male counterparts to be accepted.
One reason these idiotic agenda-driven policies are welcomed by the ignorant is because of the Amazon Superninja myth rammed down our throats ceaselessly in pop culture.
It’s important to remember that, in a military context, physical standards weren’t mandated in order to make soldiers/sailors/marines/airmen healthy. Physical standards were instituted to ensure a man could meet job requirements in stressful situations under conditions wherein their bodies were already severely taxed; and the lives of the men on his left and right depended on him being able to meet those requirements. The sucky conditions of combat (nor field exercises) don’t magically change to accommodate slower, weaker people with a host of periodic gender-specific ailments, often incapable of thinking beyond their emotions (and who, sooner or later will wind up pregnant) simply because the feministas want them to.
In previous posts on this blog, we’ve documented some examples of the amazon superninja in pop culture. This is most blatant in action adventures, in every medium (the worse being film and comics).
To be an action hero in pop culture a character either has to undergo intense, extensive combat training for years in seclusion…or they need to be born with a vagina. This was bad enough 30 years ago, but since then it’s become obligatory. It doesn’t matter the story being told or who it’s about–some excuse will be found to show a male-female fight scene, and the womyn will win every time.
A recent incident on a big city subway inspired me to see if there was any more video from the real world, and I found some. A lot of time can be wasted watching all the stuff out there, so I chose just a couple selections.
And below, even when the female is bigger and more experienced…
It’s no mistake that males and females don’t compete against each other in professional sports…because it wouldn’t be competition, unless it’s an exhibition match in which a womyn in peak condition is pitted against some wimpy couch potato.
Feminists had a collective orgasm around the globe when Billie-Jean King beat some old senior citizen at tennis. But even in that sport, the 203rd-ranked men’s tennis player, a decade and a half older, while smoking and drinking, spanked the two best female tennis champions in history.
But of course, the same people supposedly for equality, and buying into the female supremacy memes, scream bloody murder when men actually treat women as they would treat other men.
Watch this video first, then I’ll have a few words.
Funny, right? I laughed, too, but not at all of it. There’s something sort of disturbing beneath the surface, here.
First of all, I get it: the hotter the chick, the crazier she can be.
1. Are you sure what plumbing is concealed by the clothes? 2. Is there any legitimate motivation to find out?
First point (and this is a minor one): what you’ve noticed is that the more physically attractive a woman is, the faster her rationalization hamster runs and the greater her sense of the feminine imperative. I guess you could call that a mental disorder; but I consider it more like programming. Like how a spoiled child (once she realizes she can get away with what others can’t) develops a superiority complex.
But what should disturb you is the punchline–this idea that you would rate a transvestite (or trans-whatever) an eight, nine, or ten.
Initially I was baffled. How could presumably heterosexual men (those in the video and the one who recommended it to me) even conceive of a she-male they would be so attracted to?
It didn’t take long to figure it out, though. And the answer is related to another baffling phenomenon among what seems to be the majority of men today, including among the red pill community.
That phenomenon has to do with the desired female body type.
“Feminine” by 2014 standards?
Looking solely at faces, it makes some sense that a person of one gender could masquerade as another–there are boys born with soft facial features who could artfully apply eyelashes, makeup, and so forth. Rating them in the 8-10 range is still a stretch IMO, but I’ll accept it in theory. (Of course, judging by the actresses in a lot of movies and TV shows, plain-faced is the new beautiful, anyway.)
The problem for potential cross-dressers (at least in a culture with more traditional gender roles and tastes) is that healthy male and female bodies do not look alike.
But this is far from a problem in our society, where so many males are attracted to women built like teenage boys. The emaciated scarecrow look is currently en vogue: Broad shoulders, narrow hips, six-pack abs and visible ribs. The only female characteristics commonly desired are breasts and long hair. Anything failing that criteria is called “fat.”
Mmm, shapely!
Some guy the other day actually said Kim Kardashian is fat. And he didn’t mean when she was pregnant, either. I pointed out that women are supposed to have some meat on the hips. Not only do wide hips help with childbirth, but put a shapely woman in high heels (or if you run into one of those super-rare treasures that knows how to walk like a lady even without high heels… then even sneakers and tight jeans will work) and simply watching her move from Point A to Point B is better than watching the Superbowl halftime show. Yes, that’s right: including the one with Janet Jackson’s “wardrobe malfunction.”
“Yeah, alright,” the guy said, “she should have hips…but not that are wider than her shoulders!”
“So in other words,” I said, “what you’re looking for is a man.”
I heartily agree with red pill men that femininity makes a woman desirable. What I don’t understand is why they insist that feminine personality should occupy a masculine physique. At least one of the professors I remember from college would smugly accuse you all of being a bunch of closet cases. Add to that the desire for women with deeper voices and butch attitudes (at least among the blue pill male population) and the evidence mounts.
A lot of gay mafiosos and homophiles will opine that everyone has latent homosexual proclivities. I don’t believe that; but then I can’t explain these bizarre mate selection tendencies, either. My best guess is that it’s largely inspired by self-contradictory conditioning from pop culture absorbed during a boy’s formative years in our gender-confused society.
She doesn’t have ribs or hip bones sticking out her skin!! Whale on the beach!
The French expression “Vive le difference!” makes a lot of sense to me. Men and women attract each other in large part not because we are biologically interchangeable, but because we are so different. We compliment each other, and that harmonious design is reflected right down to our body types.
Anybody can grow their hair long, or invest in fake boobs, guys.
I guess I understand the thrill of the unknown so far as some things go, but I can’t think of a more powerful boner-killer than not being sure what type of genitalia is inside a date’s panties (or whether they were born with it or not).
I had to sit through a day-long corporate meeting and I’m taking my frustration out on you.
There is a certain personality type that just luuuuuuuuuuu-uuuuuvs meetings. In fact, they’d probably rather spend an entire work year having meetings than actually doing any work. It seems to be the same personality type obsessed with titles and glorified job descriptions (which serve as camouflage to disguise the fact that they get paid for shuffling papers and enforcing/generating bureaucratic red tape).
During these self-congratulatory orgies with the trappings of business meetings, a lot of time and money is spent, but nothing gets produced. The best of them may present 45 minutes of useful information while the remaining seven hours and 15 minutes are little more than mass mutual ego-stroking–an opportunity for the vain and self-important to dress up and receive awards for dubious accomplishments.
This last meeting only reinforced my opinion. In addition, the Random Seat Assignment gods were pissed at me that day. There were two top-tier babes and at least four second-tier who could have wound up beside me. Instead, the seat to my right was occupied (at the invitation of an obese woman at my table) by probably the last individual on the company roster I would have preferred.
I’ve seen this effiminate little character around before at smaller-scale meetings. Don’t know what department he’s in and not interested in knowing. But I made an effort to be friendly (by Two-Fisted standards, anyway). Maybe the guy was raised by a single mom and only had sisters, and thus was completely oblivious to how uncomfortable he makes men with all his mincing and such.
I had to scrap this benefit-of-the-doubt upon noticing how every female in the company he was acquainted with fawned all over him. Several embraced him and kissed his cheek like a long lost sister. That’s kind of a giveaway.
Okay, western women have been squirting for metrosexuals from Rudolf Valentino to Prince. I get that. (Sorry I can’t provide any more recent examples, but I intentionally avoid pop culture as best I can.) But there was no sexual tension in these greetings–quite the opposite. It was obvious they found him as unthreatening as a stuffed animal.
Going back to junior high, before I truly believed that homosexuals actually existed, I couldn’t help noticing this weird upperclassman who preferred to hang out with the girls. Not for the natural reasons, either. He was obviously much more interested in gossiping with them than any sort of romantic ambitions, and the girls in his circle were all protective of him. None looked at him or reacted to him the way they did me or the other jocks. Their demeanor changed around him in some other way, like he was a puppy with a broken leg or something.
This is a consistent phenomenon in our culture. I always thought that junior high situation was rare when I was a kid; maybe it was rare to find among adults…but not so anymore. When in college I discovered that (prior to the doubled-down media blitz to legitimize homosexuality in the mind of Joe Public) such women were commonly referred to as “fag hags,” even among homophiles.
Now it seems like every female is a fag hag. (A whole lot of males, too, come to think of it.)
I’ve heard women say things like, “I think that’s so cute!”
Let two males, behaving as if one were female, walk into a large group of women and listen to the collective “Awwwwwwww!” erupt as if scripted. You get the same thing in movie audiences after carefully manipulative homo-erotic scenes.
Once in the Bahamas, watching some comedy/musical/variety show put on by the resort staff, actors and actresses came out in various costumes, impersonationg different famous celebrities. The audience was international (though mostly from western nations) and the thespians were attractive. That seemed to be a requirement. There was very little applause for the hot babes–maybe because the men present had brought their dates, as I had. There was mildly enthusiastic applause from the gathered women for the bare-chested beefcake. But when one of the male actors appeared in drag, the hooting, cheering and applause was thunderous by comparison.
On another date a few years later, I watched a belly dancing demonstration. When it was over, the dancer instructed some kids how to dance and their parents all laughed and clapped. But after that she asked the crowd if they’d like to see a guy dressed in the costume and forced to dance. The question was asked like she already knew the answer, based on experience with other crowds. And sure enough, the crowd cheered its approval and some poor mangina was singled out to humiliate himself in front of everybody.
It’s all enough to make a man wonder: Is the same psychological compulsion driving women to invade male turf and ruin it also driving their collective desire to see men feminized (whether it be literally or superficially)?
But now it’s come to his attention and it gave me a good laugh.
No wonder book sales are continuing to decline. Seriously, even the gamma males of science fiction aren’t going to read any of that equine ejectus.
This after he saw the lineup of Reader’s Choice books on Goodreads.
I was an avid reader from a young age, and window-shopping at bookstores was an enjoyable pastime for me until about the late 1980s, when the New York Publishing Cartel choked off pretty much everything I had a desire to read. I finally gave up going to retail bookstores altogether by the mid 1990s, realizing it would never get better.
And we are supposed to believe they’re honestly and truly going to make good, nay, even better, computer games. Really? To quote the Sports Guy: “The lesson, as always, is this: women ruin everything.”
Here is the primary difference between men and women. In the past, women would look at a male-dominated list of book awards and be struck by feelbad because she felt excluded. A man looks at that list, laughs, and thinks, do they really read that shit?
When was the last time men dominated the list of book awards–the ’60s? Well, whenever it was, he’s right.
Porphyry says:
Holy shit, is the future just a bunch of girls masturbating in public with cis-males trying to assist them? Cause that’s essentially what this is the literary equivalent of.
While Daniel said:
Oh Lord. In Memoir there’s a finalist titled “Redefining Realness.” About a trans woman*. His last name is Mock.
My tears of laughter are redefined real. Really redefined real.
*Technically, he’s a trans sister. I hope he’s got a show on the radio.
Then Waterboy asked:
Wait…Anne Rice is writing vampire novels, again? Did she redisunconvert again, or was she somehow able to reconcile glorification of evil with her “Christian” beliefs?
To which Stingray replied:
As I understand it, Ann Rice renounced her faith again. She couldn’t reconcile something or other. Some SJW talking point, I believe.
And Crude added:
Anne Rice’s Christian phase went a bit like this:
Anne: I’m a Christian now! Okay everyone, first order of business: Homosexual sex acts are A-OK. My son’s gay, so I know. Christ would approve of that, so get with the program!
Christianity at large: No.
Anne: This is a hateful religion! I can’t be part of a religion that doesn’t approve of sodomy! There’s no God after all, even if Christ was kind of nice! But Christ would dislike you!
What impresses me most about this exchange is that a dozen different commenters didn’t chime in to bleat: “Not that there’s anything wrong with that…”
Then Stillcho provided this insight:
8 different categories are listed, yet looking at the covers and titles one would be prone to suspect that they are all variations on a romance novel.
Honestly teenage boys are now actively taught not to read.
Think about it. How would you react to the idea of literature, after you had been force fed a diet a of Margret Atwood, Kate Chopin and Maya Angelou?
After that slog through estrogen soaked quicksand, you would either be a male castrato singing in the choir of SJW feminism. Sniveling grateful for every kick that came your way.
Or if you have kept track of your balls, you would be absolutely too delighted to be done with all this reading bullshit and happy as hell you’d never have to do it again.
I can’t slog any farther through the comment thread without either getting depressed or laughing until I pee where I’m not spozda.
Fortunately there are now some gates not guarded by the pinkshirts, SJWs, homophiles and other Marxists (cultural and otherwise).
I threw my hat in the blogosphere a few years ago with the Quixotic notion I could stir up an interest among the average red-blooded American male to read again. Stuff like this drives home the point that it’s hopeless. Even if some average heterosexual dude gets a wild hair up his 4th-point to pause the video game and peruse some available books, when he sees a shelf full of bupkus like this he’ll back up faster than if he realized he just walked into a transgender bar.
I respect anyone who has the courage to speak the truth, when doing so can get you in trouble any number of ways. I’ve tipped at my share of windmills (and, unfortunately, have had my share of failures showing that kind of courage); so I know from experience it’s not easy to do in today’s political climate.
There is no physical activity in which women can compete with men. Moving to intelligence, countless IQ tests have proved that the average IQ of men and women is exactly the same, but there are big differences in distribution, and in particular abilities. For example, men have a much wider distribution of IQ than women. In other words, geniuses and idiots are usually men. Women’s IQs tend to be closer to the mean. It also means that at the higher levels there are fewer and fewer women. With regards to specific abilities, women are very good at any tests involving words – better than men. Also, their minds are quicker than men’s (but not necessarily more accurate). On the other hand, women are not good at tests involving spatial relationships. That is why there are very few women engineers – it is not that they have not been allowed to be engineers; it is that they are no good at it. Another interesting comparison is Bridge. Many more women than men play Bridge, but at the top tournaments women have to play in a separate section, because they are not good enough to play with the men. Or take chess. Women have played chess for hundreds of years, yet of the one hundred best chess players in the world, only one is a woman.
Try telling that to a film director or comic book writer, dude. The results might be funny enough to post on Youtube. Here’s a nice insight on how Margaret Thatcher was ousted in Britain:
Although Mrs Thatcher won the majority of the votes, it was considered not enough of a majority for her to stay. Now, the interesting thing was that the majority of Conservative male MPs voted for Mrs Thatcher. At that time, there were 25 Conservative women MPs, all of whom had been helped by Mrs Thatcher to find seats, and all of whom had been helped by her once they came into the Commons. Yet, they voted 25-0 against Mrs Thatcher. This lost the election for her. If even half of them had voted for her, she would have succeeded, and if all of them had voted for her, it would have been a landslide. As a majority of male MPs had voted for her, it is impossible to believe that the women’s vote of 25-0 against was based either on politics or on commonsense. Clearly it was based on emotion – and emotion of the worse kind. And yet, this vote changed the direction not only of the Conservative Party, which went well to the Left, but of the whole country. Everyone knew that Mrs Thatcher was never going to sign Maastricht. If she had stayed, we would not be in the EU. Those 25 ladies put us into the EU.
Help out the Yanks here, Demitri: What is an MP in British politics? I’m guessing the “P” is for Parliament but that’s just a guess.
Finally, we come to the famous “sexual harassment”. This too makes no sense. If women and men are “equal”, men should be able to treat women exactly the way they treat other men. And yet women object to being treated like men, while at the same time they insist they are equal.
Demitri argues that western civilization deteriorated to this bass-ackwards “gynocracy” and feminized culture due to the cowardice of the men who once held the power. I agree. But when I examine the multitudes of white knights and manginas surrounding me, raised by single mothers/television and programmed by government schools, I detect a degree of self-loathing as well.
Without any warrant or probable cause, the NSA and other gestapo wannabes can read all your email, listen to everything you say, watch you through your webcam, track all your online activity…oh, and thanks to Google Earth they’ve got both satellite and street-level imagery of your home, too.
