Revenge of the Pussynerds

“The first Kings were Fathers of Families.” – Patriarcha, Sir Robert Filmer (1680)

You're doing it wrong.
You’re doing it wrong.
As the diannihilect swept past for another spiraling lap, what was forgotten became profound once again.

In world of ceaseless and senseless deconstruction, it is both surprising and not surprising that a male’s innate ability to socialize with other humans has been repackaged and mythologized by spurious and slimy men as “game.”

Apparently, being able to talk to a woman without seeming a pathetic child needing mommy’s kiss for his little boo-boo is pivotal towards achieving Man’s biological goal. Apparently a boy must become a Man if he desires the company of a female in any pleasing capacity. Whodathunkit?

There now exist numerous and popular blogs dedicated to preserving such preciously trite knowledge. Somewhere along the way, the art of knowing how to positively communicate with a woman was perverted into a sickeningly esoteric pastime for anti-social dorks and miscreants.

The Benedictine Order of our Dark Age preserves small talk and one-liners; may I suggest a shot of whiskey?


Recently, the runts of the Postmodern litter stumbled upon some rather obvious and common sense techniques for getting an average female to acknowledge their below-average existence. Armed with and empowered by the sloughed-off scraps of a dying world, they now call themselves themselves “Pick Up Artists.”

The entire premise is based around understanding the basics of flirting; you know, making a girl laugh, cracking jokes to ease tension, creating a bond of trust, and making subtle challenges and insinuations that it is her that desires you, not the other way around.

This sort of “Idiot’s Guide to Women” is perhaps useful for the newly-initiated, but any competent man won’t be adding much to his repertoire here. Degenerate and forgotten children on the other hand latch onto this sort of detailed tactical information of shattering the average female defenses against unappealing and fundamentally poisonous dorks with rabid tenacity, since most of them never expected to ever get laid without a copious application of chloroform first.

It is no coincidence that the pussy-whipped former victims of dominant and degenerate females take a special interest in Pick Up Artistry, as the notion of vengeance on the Whole Female Race is eternally appealing to these little sorely beaten losers. It is no coincidence that many who follow these blogs ignore the blatant degenerates that reflect their hidden motivations.

The irony is that these basement dwellers brag about sexual conquests on internet forums instead of over a beer with their drinking buddies, that the underlying absence of social skills is never fundamentally fixed.

Armed with knowledge he was not supposed to find, the dork becomes a monster.


It is relevant to question why a male, after discovering a fairly effective tactic for disarming the sexual defenses of the average woman, would continue to use this skill over and over without eventually settling on a single woman? Indeed, most males with “game” eventually tire of the predictability of the chase, the disconnected flesh slapping, and predictably anti-climatic crotch sneeze.

Somewhere along the way the pursuit is supposed to change. The goal is supposed to become higher. From playfulness and chase emerges a beautiful dialectic between fundamentally different people seeking a biological and spiritual completeness that cannot be achieved with the vulgar, empty disintegration of materialism. No amount of notches on the bed post can fill the space that should be occupied by your wife.

To be so dedicated to the PUA lifestyle, you’d have to be motivated by something OTHER than simple biologically-driven sexual interest or desire for female companionship. In this case the answer is both obvious and hideous: an overwhelming hatred. Unable to understand how to build with the tools you are given, you can only destroy. Given daddy’s tools without his love, given knowledge without responsibility, you can only break what you should cherish. In trying to escape a system you didn’t seek to understand, you became part of the filth propping it up. You can take the failure out of his basement and place him in a woman’s vagina, but he will still be a failure.

PUAs are filth. You’re not a King, you’re not even a man; you’re just a pussynerd.