Category Archives: Socio-Sexual Studies

Broken Trail – a (Red Pill) Review

This western was probably made before there even was a “manosphere,” but those of a neomasculine perspective should find it well worth watching.

The plot premise: A rancher and his nephew strike a deal to drive a herd of horses across many miles of open range in 1898, to sell to a rancher supplying the British Army. Along the way, they run into a sleazy human trafficker transporting a wagon load of beautiful Chinese girls to a whore house. (The girls had been sold to the trafficker by their own families in China.) The trafficker rustles their horses, and is dealt with the way horse thieves were actually dealt with in those times. This leaves Print Ritter (Robert Duvall) and Tom Harte (Thomas Haden Church) burdened with the care of the human cargo.


This film was produced as a two-part series (on AMC, I think). And it was released in this millenium. But hang onto yer hats, boys, ’cause the Chinese gals don’t turn out to be invincible Kung Fu masters who beat down the bad guys bare-handed. Nor are they “strong, independent” snowflakes who wind up as successful queens of their own cattle empires. In fact, there are only a couple points in the plot where The Narrative tries to slither into this pleasant surprise of a film–and it’s subdued enough to be overlooked. Time and again, the film makers fail to inject the current year “values” into this period piece–which makes it one big macroaggressive triggerfest.

And that’s refreshing enough all by itself.

Lo and behold, not all the villains are white male heterosexuals, either. But beyond superficial details, this cinematic tale cuts against the grain in other ways, too. There are lessons about frame, hypergamy, SMV (sexual market value) and other red pill concepts that manosphere mavens will appreciate.

Our cowboy heroes are not the illiterate, bigoted raaaaaayciss stereotypes you might expect any white male heterosexual character to be (prior to the sanctifying advent of feminism) yet neither do they turn into fawning beta white knights around the high-SMV women (in a time and place where such women were few and far between). They are men, and consistently behave as such with all parties encountered. They’ve got a job to do, and do their best to stay focussed on that despite mounting distractions.


The Chinese women recognize not only that the cowboys are honorable, but are effective protectors and providers. You might expect (after being innundated with current year propaganda) that after being sold into slavery, treated harshly, and witnessing the rape of one of their own, a movie womyn would be hell-bent on avoiding all men until some metrosexual current-year-sensibilitied white knight came along, recognized her for the special snowflake she is, and dedicated himself to serving her perpetually while offering heartfelt apologies for any and every misunderstanding which may or may not be his fault. Yet, when the cowboys try to hand these women off so they can get back to their job, the women freak out in protest. They know a good deal when they see one, and need good men to protect them in this “savage land.”

The wild West wasn’t quite as savage as the inner cities in the current year welfare state, but I digress.

All my use of neomasculine terms to analyze this film is not, however, meant to imply that the heroes are PUAs (“pick up artists”) who use “game” to make themselves attractive to the girls. They maintain “frame,” for sure, but naturally–not as some learned technique to artificially boost SMV. Truth is, these are cowboys living before the culture became an over-sexualized idiocracy with ubiquitous entertainment mediums. The male-to-female ratio was abysmal in the old West, and most men had resigned themselves to being lifelong bachelors, or knew they would have to acquire significant resources before they could hope to attract wife material (and the culture didn’t encourage people to sleep around as it does now, either, so alpha PUAs in those times were not well regarded by society at all). In other words, the cowboys were not sex-obsessed, and the language/cultural barrier would have given them pause in this situation, however attracted they were to these damsels-in-distress.

There’s a lot more to appreciate about this film than just the socio-sexual dynamics. You should check it out.

Speed Week Plus: American Graffiti – a Review

This installment of Speed Week Plus is a little different. There are no chase scenes and there’s only one all-out street race (not the one in the clip at the bottom of this post, which was cut short by a red light). In fact, it’s not even action adventure, but more of a dramedy. Yet American Graffiti is such an iconic film for gearheads and speed freaks of the pre-Internet generations, it just can’t be left out.

I’ve often wondered about the title–what it was supposed to mean. The only way I could connect it with the film’s content was to imagine a yearbook of the high school class the main characters belonged to (which, I guess, would fit the Dragnet-style “where-are-they-now” overlays just before the final credits. And a yearbook is actually used in the trailer below). Then I discovered the original title was “Rock Radio is American Graffiti,” and all became clear.

The film is about “cruising culture” which was ubiquitous in postwar America, right up until the gas crunch in the early ’70s I guess. What united the entire car crazy generation was rock & roll. And regional subsections of that generation were connected usually by a single personality, in the form of a radio disk jockey. In this case it’s the mysterious and almost mystical Wolfman Jack. Not only does the original title augment this theme, but in the screenplay the very first shot was not supposed to be of Mel’s Drive-In, but of a car radio dial being tuned to XERB.

Film maker George Lucas (whose only other feature to date had been the box office flop THX1138) had grown up in that generation. This movie is essentially a cinematic reminiscence of his glory days between graduating high school and packing off to film school. Two of the main characters are loosely based on Lucas himself–Kurt the aimless intellectual and Toad the nerdy braggart). The lone rebel hero (who the TV show Happy Days caraciturized into somebody called “Fonzy”) John Milner, was partially based on Lucas’ film school buddy John Millius, who went on to become a director also, despite punching out one of his professors. Average all-American boy Steve Bollander was also caricaturized on Happy Days, into Richie Cunningham (both played by Ron Howard, who also went on to become a director). And remember that annoying actress from Happy Days spinoff Laverne & Shirley? No, not her, the other one, with the dark hair. She plays Steve’s girlfriend and is not annoying at all in the role. Actually she did a fine bit of acting.

This movie was a first in many ways. Imitators cranked out nostalgic flicks well into the ’80s, trying to hitch a ride on its coat tails. The bed of vintage pop music, sometimes even with a DJ chattering over and between, became the norm in Hollywood soundtracks, nearly putting film score composers out of business until, Ironically, Lucas’ Star Wars revolutionized the film industry again. How about ensemble casts with parallel converging plotlines? That’s nearly obligatory in comedy/dramas to this day.


Though left vague enough for any baby boomer to relate to, it’s pretty much agreed to that the story takes place in Modesto, California in 1962. On the last summer night–from sundown to sunup. Filmed just ten years after the period depicted, the simulation is done so well that even folks who were born after that era was lost forever can almost… almost “remember” those times while watching it.

I don’t know that I could effectively argue that this is an “important” film, but it certainly has had an impact on a lot of people. It can so immerse you in the milieu of postwar pre-Vietnam teenage cruising-to-rock-radio that you’ll feel a part of it even when watching it for the 45th time…then be saddened by the passing of a bygone era until you watch it again.

The possible next post for Speed Week Plus is also about a story that fuses cars with music–with a different approach, set in a different era, but with much homage to this very movie.


Negotiating With Her For Marriage

Jennifer Scarred Wolf was an early riser. Joshua Rennenkampf was not.

By the time Josh got up and dressed, her bed was made and she was nowhere to be found in the house. Josh peeked out the window and saw her Jeep was still there, so he figured she was out taking a walk or picking flowers or some of that other girly stuff she liked to do. It was one of the things he loved about her, come to think of it: she was so easy to please, even just nature made her happy.

Another thing he loved about her was that she didn’t watch much TV. When she did, it was usually the Weather Channel. She’d sit and watch it like it was a fascinating interview or something.

Josh booted up his work station in the living room. He still had work to do on a couple of his contracts, but decided to get started on Tommy’s request instead. This was the weekend, after all.

He had lost track of time when Jennifer came inside, shedding her jacket.

“Good morning,” she greeted, cheerily. “Brrr. It’s nippy up here in the mornings.”

“Morning,” he replied, taking a sip of coffee.

She pressed her small, cold hands against the back of his neck and he jumped at the icy sensation.

“Told you it was nippy,” she said, laughing.

“You’re such a brat in the mornings,” he said, finding her cheer contagious despite himself. “Jeez, it’s not that cold outside, but your hands are like icicles.”

“Cold hands, warm heart,” she sing-songed, sweetly.

“Where were you?”

“Oh, I played with the dogs a little,” she said. “Brushed Indy down. I had to do something while you were sleeping your life away. I’ll go make breakfast in a minute.”

“Sounds good,” he said, rubbing her hands in between his to warm them.

She sat in his lap and glanced at the monitor. “What’s ‘MK Ultra’?”

“Just one of the rabbit trails I followed, checking into something for your uncle.”

Her expression turned thoughtful as she skimmed over some of the text on screen. “Monarch… Montauk… What is all this?”

Josh alt-tabbed to another window. “Oh, just some conspiracy stuff you probably don’t want to hear about.”

“Ah,” she said, poking him in a ticklish spot. “Trying to find out whether I’m real or a lizard-person?”

“Oh, I know you’re reptillian,” he deadpanned. “Your hands just gave it away, you two-legged iguana.”

She frowned, started to speak a couple times, then hesitantly said, “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

Josh sobered in an instant. He dreaded “the Talk,” but knew, sooner or later, they were going to have it. Was now the time? They’d already had a couple Big Talks recently—surely he had earned a postponement?

They had the Religion Talk, wherein he had assured her he had no problem with her faith. He believed in God; just didn’t know much about Him and never made an effort to know. He’d never read the Bible before meeting her, and still wasn’t very keen on it, or going to church. But he suspected there was something to Christianity, or the pinkos wouldn’t be so rabid in their efforts to smear it.

They had the Political Talk, wherein she acknowledged the Hegelian patterns he pointed out in economic and foreign policy over the last century; conceding it might be plausible that people in authority could conspire to frame their enemies and kill innocents just to accumulate more power for themselves and push an agenda that couldn’t achieve popular support otherwise. She just didn’t like to dwell on it, and he could certainly understand that.

The Talk that was still forthcoming was about their future together–if there was to be one.

“I’ve been thinking about how my dad and Uncle Tommy were framed for that murder in Indonesia,” Jennifer said.

Relief flooded through Josh’s brain, despite the sobering subject of her murdered father. “Yeah?”

“Uncle Tommy thought it must be because of what they were investigating before they left. He couldn’t think of anything else it could be.”

(from Chapter 25)

The dogs began barking outside, then he heard a droning noise—an engine straining to pull a vehicle uphill on his private drive from the highway below. He changed seats and cued up his security camera feed. He toggled between the cameras and saw a subcompact creeping up his drive. There appeared to be only one person inside but he couldn’t tell who it was.

He strapped on the shoulder rig for his sidearm, pulled his jacket over it, and yanked his Mini-14 off the rack before heading outside. He drifted into the woods to the back of his parking area, and took position at a hide which gave him a good view of the drive and parking area, while concealing him fairly well.

When the subcompact pulled up and stopped, he recognized Paul Tareen’s daughter, Terry. She remained inside her car, though, staring warily at the two large pit bulls standing stiff-legged on either side of the car, watching her.

Josh broke from cover and strode toward the car, telling the dogs to stand down. Ragnarok and Valkyrie ran back to join him, then matched his pace, one on each flank. He had really hit the jackpot with these dogs. They responded to command very well with minimal training.

Seeing Josh, Terry got out of the car with a dimpled smile and a casserole pot. “Howdy, neighbor!” she called.

Josh slung the rifle around his back and said, “Hey, Terry. Never seen anyone in your family drive a car before. Thought you did everything on horseback.”

She laughed and lifted up the ceramic casserole pot. “I couldn’t figure out how to carry this on a horse.”

When he reached her, he extended his hand to shake. She hugged him instead. It was a brief contact, but the message was received: she was interested in being more than a handshake kind of neighbor.

“What’s that?” he asked, gesturing toward the dish.

“I made apple cobbler,” she said, cheerily. “We couldn’t finish all of it, so I thought you might like to, before it goes bad.”

“Well thanks,” he said. “That’s real nice of you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, beaming. He felt guilty that this young, possibly innocent girl was so sprung for him.

“Well, come on inside,” he said, waving toward his house. “Might as well visit a spell, since you took the trouble to drive over.”

He led her inside. She asked polite questions and made polite comments about his dome home while looking around like a bumpkin in New York City.

Josh retrieved bowls and spoons from the kitchen. “Why don’t you have some with me?”

“I guess I’ll have a little bit,” Terry said, grinning again.

She was a pretty girl, with a natural willowy figure, and more feminine than most of her generation. Her rustic upbringing by a gruff father and no-nonsense mother had gifted her with manners and a degree of humility despite her youthful confidence.

Maybe marriage could live up to the hype with a woman like this. He hoped she would find a man who appreciated what she brought to the table, and not some abusive jerk, alcoholic, or deadbeat.

They chatted as they ate the cobbler at his small table, and he again felt a pang of guilt about her attraction to him.

“Just out of curiosity,” he asked, “does your family know you came over here?”

She nodded. “Yeah, why?”

“And they’re okay with it?”

She laughed. “They’re pretty sure you’re not a serial killer, or we wouldn’t have had you over for Independence Day.”

“How do I know you’re not a serial killer?” he asked.

She laughed some more. “Don’t ever make me mad, or you might find out.”

After a couple glances into his eyes, she said “Y’know, it’s going to be dark soon. Do you think you can show me how to navigate by the stars?”

By country girl standards, Terry was coming at him with all guns blazing.

He had given her family a copy of the Ranger’s Handbook, from which they could learn as much about using the stars as he could teach her. On the 4th of July at their house he had shown her family the basics of land navigation with a compass. He also answered a lot of questions about communications and military tactics, and discussed with Paul teaching them some more skills in the future. They ate a big meal cooked by Terry and her mother, and watched American Sniper on the flat screen, too.

“There’s not all that much to it,” he said, “but that’s fine.”

What cobbler they didn’t finish went into a plastic container, which he stored in the fridge. Terry asked if she could wash the casserole pot and lid in his sink, and volunteered to wash the other dishes, too. He gladly consented, and they continued to chat as she did.

She slyly worked in a few probing questions about Jennifer. Josh answered honestly that he wasn’t sure whether they would stay together, or even if they were still officially together right then. He wasn’t seeing anyone else, and didn’t think Jennifer was, but who could tell, regarding such things?

By the time Terry finished the dishes it was getting dark. They went outside and played with the dogs until it was dark enough to see the constellations clearly. He pointed out what she should be able to see on any clear night in the northern hemisphere, and how to judge direction by their position. The most important object to find was Polaris, the North Star, which was easily done after locating the Big Dipper.

As he pointed things out, she closed the distance until she was backed up against him. Her body language suggested that he should wrap her in his own body heat to fend off the cool evening air. Josh hadn’t always been a hermit, so he knew what was going on. And the pleasance of her proximity was overcoming the guilt he’d felt earlier. She was only a few years younger than Jennifer, after all…

Their age difference didn’t seem like such a big deal anymore. It was only thoughts of Jennifer that allowed him to keep his hands off Terry.

He said he had work to do, and sent her home. She bid goodbye with a smile that promised she would test his resolve again soon.

Despite himself, it was hard to concentrate on work that night. He went to bed with the idea that it really sucked being alone sometimes, and only then realized that Terry had been the victor in their friendly hormonal struggle.

The next night Josh finished the cobbler, and Jennifer called as he did. When she asked what he was doing he naively answered honestly, and the conversation quickly became an interrogation. Before it was finished, Jennifer found out where the cobbler came from, who delivered it, what happened afterwards and how long Terry visited that night. Having shown what he thought was respectable restraint, Josh answered her questions honestly, but was on the verge of telling her to mind her own business more than once.

Instead, he went the playful route and took every opportunity to crack jokes and poke fun.

He was tired of being in sexual limbo. He had been content with going Galt before meeting Jennifer, including the whole celibacy aspect. But she had awakened hungers in him which went unresolved for an extended period, and it was kind of satisfying making her squirm for a change.

Instead of getting pissy and hanging up in a huff, though, Jennifer said, “I’d like to come visit again this weekend.”

Jennifer drove up Friday. She had an interview at a law office in town before coming to his house. He avoided obvious questions like, “Why do you want a job here when you live in Oklahoma?”

He suspected any such question would trigger an ambush she had planned, to instigate the Talk.

But he knew the Talk was inevitable, and probably this weekend, so he instigated it himself when they put Denver and Indy back in the stables after a ride.

It was time to let the other shoe drop. Maybe she would take the deal he was willing to offer. If so, great. More likely, she wouldn’t. She could get on with her life and find the perfect supplicating church boy to marry, if that’s what she wanted. Josh could go back to being a hermit, or have some fun with Terry once he got over Jennifer…or whatever. He just wanted to know, and cut his losses if it wasn’t going to work out.

The Talk took them through the evening chores, back into the house, and finished on the couch.

“You’ve got expectations, right?” he asked, after they’d gone over the love motive extensively. She’d been claiming to be in love with him ever since Indonesia.

“Expectations?” she repeated. “What do you mean?”

He sighed, uncomfortable with these touchy-feely conversations about relationships and other daytime TV fodder. “I mean you want to get married. You’ve made that pretty obvious. So you must have certain expectations about how it’s going to be. What do you expect a husband to bring to the table?”

“You make me sound so demanding,” she said.

I’ve got expectations,” he said, shrugging.

“Like what?”

“Fine, Jennifer: I’ll go first: Outside of war, nuclear attack, or natural disaster, I’m not moving anywhere.”

She almost smiled. “I wouldn’t dream of asking you to leave this place.”

Jennifer didn’t like the cold, but she loved snow. When she visited he would often wake up to find her drinking a cup of coffee just staring out the window at the scenery, bundled up in blankets like an Eskimo even though it was warm in his house.

“Okay, good,” he said. “But I’m the king of this castle. I have the last say and the bottom line on decisions, and I expect you to back me up, even if you disagree with me.”

She flinched. “You expect me to just keep my mouth shut and do as I’m told?”

“I said king; not tyrant,” he replied. “We can talk about stuff. You can tell me what you think. If I see you’re right about something, then fine—we’ll go with that. But if I listen to all your reasons and still decide on something else, you need to let it drop and not pitch a fit.”

“That’s not really fair,” she said. “You could refuse to admit I’m right, and stick with your decision just to be stubborn.”

He shrugged again. “If you can’t trust me, then you got no business marrying me.”

She mulled this over for a while. “I guess I’m not really against you being king of the castle. But I would expect to be queen.”

“I have no problem with that,” he said. “Just don’t start thinking we’re on a chess board.”

“What else?” she asked, warily.

He hadn’t expected to get past that one. He had been sure she would storm out calling him a sexist pig and plenty other names. Still, she hadn’t explicitly agreed to the term, either. He decided not to press her on it right now, because he had plenty more he was sure would bring her claws out.

“I’m not gonna tolerate disrespect from you,” he said. “I don’t care how mad at me you are, or if you’ve had a bad day, or if I’ve done something really stupid. If you’re my wife, then you give me respect, period. You can disagree with me or whatever without disrespecting me.”

She nodded. Well, that was easier than expected, too.

“You have to put up with my lunacy, ” he said. “Because I’ll probably never change. My worldview isn’t going to change; I’m not giving up my guns; I’m not going to get a national I.D. if it becomes mandatory; I’m not getting kitchen appliances with microchips for the smart grid; I’m not going to register or get permits for anything I already have a right to.”

“I’ve never called you a lunatic, Joshua. I just get scared sometimes because you dwell on gloom and doom stuff so much. I think I ought to get a gun of my own. Something like what Uncle Tommy has, but maybe doesn’t kick as hard.”

At that point Josh’s goal began to transform from scaring Jennifer away as fast and decisively as possible, to seeing if there was actually a glimmer of hope they could be together long-term.

“My rule about cellphones stands,” he added. “And anything else that can be used to spy on me. That’s a deal-breaker.”

This was it. No woman on Earth, once aware of cellular technology and social networks, would ever give them up. They would die first.

She sighed. “I know. What else?”

His jaw dropped. “Do you mean you agree?”

She nodded, frowning. “I’ll go along with that. But there’s got to be some kind of compromise we can both live with. For now: okay. Anything else?”

“W-well,” he stammered, still off balance, “you’re not allowed to kick me when I’m down.”


He scratched his head. This had gone completely different than he had imagined. Normally he would suspect she was lying just to trap him, but she had proven honest to a fault so far. “I want sex,” he said.

“That’s part of marriage,” she said, with a reserved laugh.

“Well,” he licked dry lips, feeling awkward about all this, “I want it often, and I want…you know, passion. You can’t just lay there like you’re bored or being traumatized.”

“I don’t think I would be like that,” she said.

“You can’t be claiming headaches all the time, or you don’t ‘feel sexy,’ or other excuses.”

“What if I’m sick?” she asked, with an indignant sharpening of tone. “I’m still expected to…?”

“No, no,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “Legitimate reasons are one thing. But you can’t use sex as a weapon. It’s not a training tool for you to withhold as punishment or give as a reward. It’s just something we do. And if you’re not gonna enjoy it…if you’re not gonna give it a good ol’ college try, then I really don’t want to go through the trouble. What’s the point of us sharing a bed?”

Jennifer chewed on her lip for a moment, then said, “I’ve got some expectations, if you’re done.”

“I think those are the big ones,” he said, feeling dazed. “If we can agree on those, we can work out the rest.”

“Okay,” she said. “If I’m going to be your wife, then we have to find a good church somewhere around here, and I expect you to go with me.”

This was no surprise. “I can do that. Sundays and Wednesdays?”

“Probably,” she said. “We can take a day off now and then. But we might get invited to extra things I want to go to.”

“I’d be willing to do that,” he said.

She looked relieved. “Also, I’d like you to keep an open mind about it.”

“About Christianity?” he asked.

She nodded. “Just give it the benefit of honest consideration, the way you’ve done with other things you believe.”

He shrugged. It seemed like a fair compromise.

“And I would raise our kids to believe in God,” she added quickly. “To read the Bible, and believe what’s in it.”

“You can’t force people to believe something, Jennifer. I’m living proof of that.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” she said, putting her hand on his. “I’m saying I’m going to teach my kids the truth as I see it. When they get old enough, they’ll make up their own minds just like we do. But they’ll at least have the benefit of the option.”

“I’ll go along with that,” he said.

“You won’t try to contradict what I teach them?”

“No, but while we’re on the subject of kids…”

“Hold that thought, please,” she said, pointing an index finger in the air. “We’ll get to that in a minute.”

“Okay,” he said. “Go for it.”

“I won’t tolerate abuse,” she said. “That’s a deal breaker for me.”

“That’s no prob…wait a minute. Define ‘abuse.’ Does it include when you don’t get your way, or you don’t like something I say?”

“You can’t hit me,” she clarified. “Ever. Or choke me or…manhandle me…”

He waved his hands and shook his head. “Physical rough stuff. I wouldn’t ever do that to you.”

“But just like you don’t want to be disrespected,” she added, “you can’t be verbally abusive, either.”

“What’s verbal abuse? Define that.”

“I’m not talking about arguments…”

“You mean sarcasm?” he asked. “Because I use sarcasm all the time, even when I’m not upset.”

“Sometimes,” she said, twisting her lips as if searching for the right words. “Any kind of character assassination directed at me. Anything meant to demean or defame or belittle me.”


“I expect faithfulness,” she said. “If you’re my husband, there can’t be any other woman.”

“Give me sex on a regular basis and I won’t want any other women,” he said, a bit defensive.

“Joshua, I’m serious. I can’t tell you how serious I am about this.”

He squeezed her hand. “Same thing on the flip side, though. You have to be faithful, too. No exceptions, no excuses.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” she said. “Believe me: I’ve had opportunities.”

“I’m on board. But it’s a two-way street.”

“And just for the record,” she said. “Once I’m married, I plan to give my husband all the sex he can handle.”

Josh said nothing, but his mind sure was noisy right then.

“I’d like to have three children,” she continued. “Maybe more.”

“Hmm. Who decides if more and how many more?” Josh asked.

“Something we’d have to agree on. Would you give me at least three?”

Josh thought about it. “Yeah. But what if I decided no more, and you still wanted more?”

She took a deep breath. “If I couldn’t convince you, then I guess I’d have to respect your wishes.”

He couldn’t believe how this was going.

“But we can’t argue in front of the kids,” she said. “We have to work out disagreements in private, and present a united front to the family.”

“Fair enough,” Josh said. “And you can teach them Bible stuff, but I’m gonna teach them to shoot, hunt, trap and prep.”

She seemed to look a little less worried the further along the conversation went.

“I know you love your privacy,” she said, “but I want to be able to have family over.”

“Tommy and Linda are welcome here any time,” Josh said, with a magnanimous gesture. “Same with Gunther and Carl. And Uncle Jay for that matter. I’m just not so sure about Takoda, though.”

“Me neither, right now,” Jennifer said. “But what about my mother?”

“If she minds her manners, we can do that.”

And we should go there to visit them sometimes, too,” Jennifer said. “And you’ll have to be sociable.”

“Life of the party—that’s me.”

“And I’ll work as a legal assistant; or at whatever job I can find, if you want me to,” she continued. “But when we have our first baby, I’m done. I stay home and raise our children after that.”

“You mean you don’t want to build a career first, and wait until your 30s to start popping them out?”

She shook her head.

He was stunned. He knew Jennifer marched to a different drum, but had no idea she was this divergent from the feminist norm. “Well…how soon do you want to start popping them out?”

“We can spend a year or two just enjoying each other,” she said. “But I don’t want to wait any longer than that.”

“Done. And you don’t have to get a job at all if you don’t want, baby or not. I make enough consulting to keep the bills paid here.”

She cracked a smile. “Done? Does that mean my terms sound acceptable?”

They did. In fact, he was getting excited. Truth be told, she had him at “all the sex you can handle.”

With the big concerns dealt with, they moved on to smaller stuff. He felt even better about the whole thing when he found out she didn’t want some huge dog-and-pony show of a ceremony. It seemed she understood that the marriage would be more important than the wedding.

As the exchange of terms lightened up and wound down, she snickered a little and said, “You know, I guess you could say what we’re both insisting on is an old pre-war, maybe even Puritan, marriage.”

“Welcome to the new frontier,” he quipped, kissing her hand. “The new counter-culture.”

“Well, except for your doomsday prepping, anyway,” she said.

Josh snapped his fingers. “Hey, wait right there. I got something for you.”

He left her on the couch, went back into his workshop, found what he wanted on the bench next to the soldering iron, and returned to the living room with the customized phone.

“I was saving this for your birthday, but it’s ready now.” He handed it to her and she stared curiously at it. “I modified it. It’s safe to use here at the house or wherever. And you don’t need a warranty plan from the carrier. If it breaks, I’ll fix it.”

She turned it on, eyes lighting up before the screen did. “Does it have Internet?”

“Of course,” he said, laughing. “It’s rooted. You get not only wi-fi but 4G, free. Texting. A few aps. But you can’t trust all the aps out there, so you have to check with me before you download anything.”

She threw her arms around him and squeezed with surprising strength for her size.

He slapped her on the thigh and stood. “Go get dressed up.”

“What?” she asked, tearing her gaze away from the phone to look at him. “Why?”

“I’m taking you to a restaurant in town,” he replied. “There’s a question I want to ask you there.”

(from Chapter 30 of False Flag)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

On Saturday July 30 2016 all the novels from the Retreads Series are on sale at Amazon for 99 cents.

High Couch of Silistra by Janet Morris

Guest Post by Jim Morris

High Couch is a classic. It is also, so far as I know, sui generis. In a long life of writing and editing in which I have written nine books, edited more than two hundred and read thousands I do not know of another book like it, not even remotely. On one level it is an exciting sci-fi adventure. On another it is a sword and sorcery epic, and on yet a third it answers Freud’s famous question, “What do women want?”

A brilliant woman has decided to give the game away, and guess what? Feminists have attacked her for it.

The writing style is heroic, but readable and fun. The characters are recognizable, the plot is satisfying, and the world it creates is like nothing you have seen before, but is still believable. It also contains what I consider the most erotic single sentence in all the thousands of books I have read:

“Flesh toy, come here!”

If that doesn’t set up a scene in your mind then you have no business reading fiction.

I’m not going to give the plot away. I’m just going to recommend it. Highly.

Janet Morris began writing in 1976 and has since published more than 30 novels, many co-authored with her husband Chris or others. She has contributed short fiction to the shared universe fantasy series Thieves World, in which she created the Sacred Band of Stepsons, a mythical unit of ancient fighters modeled on the Sacred Band of Thebes. She created, orchestrated, and edited the fantasy series Heroes in Hell, writing stories for the series as well as co-writing the related novel, The Little Helliad, with Chris Morris. She wrote the bestselling Silistra Quartet in the 1970s, including High Couch of Silistra, The Golden Sword, Wind from the Abyss, and The Carnelian Throne.

This quartet had more than four million copies in Bantam print alone, and was translated into German, French, Italian, Russian and other languages.

In the 1980s, Baen Books released a second edition. The third edition is the Author’s Cut edition, newly revised by the author for Perseid Press.

Ruining American Women

Don’t get me wrong; some of my best friends are betas and white knights, but…

…In the socio-sexual spectrum, betas and white knights are the useful idiot minions for the perverse cultural Marxist social engineers.

A telling anecdote about the state of America’s girls and women:

In 15 years as a BSA leader I never heard dads speak so proudly as when saying that their daughters were tomboys.

(BSA=Boy Scouts of America?)

Truth be told, I’ve even heard ostensible alpha males bragging about their macho daughters. (No, I am not referring to John Scalzi admitting his daughter can beat him arm-wrestling, just in case I confused you.)

…Another reason for this glorification of grrlpower and imputation of male sex roles onto daughters by beta dads is, it must be said, a subconscious kowtowing to the reigning feminist shrikegeist. The culture is so steeped in feminist idiocy and the attendant ugly woman project of training girls to grow up into ballbusting men (and of shaming men to become supplicating nancyboys) that it seems perfectly reasonable and normal for the regular dad on the suburban street to crow about reshaping his daughter into an androgynous weirdo with a penchant for throwing balls…

Well, yeah. But I’ve noticed this attitude in white knights even when the female in question is no relation to them. They take some kind of pride in it–most of them even have the same facial expression when they sing the praises of some butch broad who comes to their attention. Maybe part of this is the American worship of underdogs; or the equally pathological hatred of favorites.  Maybe this speaks to a subconscious obsession with gender-bending that has spread from the elites into the commoners.

I am frequently annoyed at how superficial the manosphere and “Alt Right” work so hard to be. But on the other hand, I must admit that we aren’t just being threatened politically, economically and militarily–we are under attack on even more basic levels:

  • Genetically–we are being herded toward a race war.
  • Anatomically–we are seeing the tip of the iceberg in regards to self-mutilation. The more “transgenderism” is normalized, the more psychologically damaged people will volunteer for it. And it won’t stop with mere gender-bending.
  • Pharmacutically–As if we need more psychologically damaged people, more of the population is being medicated with powerful, mind-altering drugs for excuses that are suspect. And children are getting hooked young–usually with the consent of parents.
  • Even for biologically sound individuals who don’t want a sex change, the male population is increasingly effeminate while women become more and more butch–all encouraged by pop culture and the Public Education Cartel. This engineered gender confusion is destroying what is left of the family–the fundamental underpinning of humanity.

Our enemies won’t stop at destroying the USA. You can see they’re already positioning themselves to fundamentally transform humanity itself.


Equal Opportunity NASCAR

While watching the Cup races this season, it occurs to me that NASCAR is, in some ways, a perfect microcosm of American culture. In particular right now, I’m thinking of Danica Patrick.

Saturday’s All-Star race was wild and wacky from start to finish. The drivers, crew chiefs…even the announcers were confused by the complex format and rules. Tony Stewart, with his usual diplomatic finesse (ahem!) said something to the effect of: “This is the worst job of officiating I’ve ever seen. I’m glad this is my last one.”

But the Danica Patrick Factor is easy to understand, because it is symbolic of the Womyn Factor in our feminized society as a whole. She remained the backmarker consistently all through the race, only moving up from the back of the field when another driver was penalized, wrecked, etc., and sent behind her.


This was the All-Star race. In an “all-star” anything, you’d expect only the cream of the crop to participate, and at one point in history that was the case.

Danica is not one of the elite drivers. She did not belong in the All-Star race. Why was she even there?

Because she’s a fan favorite. Fans voted her in.

Much like real life, the best women can’t compete with the best men in most physical contests, despite what the pop culture svengalis would have you believe. And average women can’t compete with average men. But there are more than enough white knights out there to give them opportunities they didn’t earn and don’t deserve, all while regurgitating The Narrative (which says that celebrity womyn like Danica are oppressed victims who rise to prominence DESPITE discrimination AGAINST them; which means they had to be even better than the men, blah blah blah.)

One easy example to point out from the culture is our social-engineered military. The latest fiasco is putting females in the Rangers. They can’t meet the standards men have to meet, so standards were changed to let them in anyway.

Because vagina.

Even in normal cup races, Danica always shakes out around the middle of the field–behind all the drivers who have support and resources commensurate with hers, but ahead of most of the independent, low-budget one-driver teams without the support and resources.

Organizations like the NFL are already fully SJW-converged. They’re not yet stupid enough to start forcing teams to add female players to their rosters, but the league is a zealous enforcer of the LGBT agenda. They already coerced the governor of Georgia to overturn the will of the people–it’s frightening to imagine what kind of muscle they must use to crush dissent within their own organization on behalf of the advancement of sexual deviancy.

This madness won’t stop until the cancer spreads to every once-great institution and destroys it. Keep in mind that even NASCAR is pushing for more “diversity” now. It’s only going to get worse.

Warfighters, Patriots, and Masculinity

Quintus Curtius at ROK asks the question, “Why Does America Lack A ‘Warrior-Patriot’ Ethic?

He answers this well into the article.

America has spent the past forty years shaming and denigrating that ethic by systematically removing masculine virtue from the public sphere.

Unfortunately, he only answers half of the question.

An observant, intelligent, and honest person won’t deny that true masculinity is villified at every turn in our increasingly toxic culture.  This is pretty well documented in the manosphere. The post handles that aspect well. But what about the patriotic aspect?

Whether inside or outside warrior circles, American patriots today comprise a marginalized counterculture.  Only in America are people who love their country demonized by the establishment, mainstream media, the education cartel, pop culture, and the average Joe.

We’ve learned contempt for the American republic from all the above, beating The Narrative into our heads everywhere we go, all our lives. Finding the information to overturn all this conditioning is still possible, and not yet even all that difficult…but few citizens of this country, including “conservatives” (whatever that means) ever do discover the antidote to the anti-American worldview.

The elites have not only poisoned and confused the warrior-patriot ethic, they’ve fundamentally transformed our armed forces into a hostile environment for warrior-patriots. And their social engineering plus ubiquitous propaganda has just about driven the American warrior-patriot to extinction.

Partially on-topic is this new clip from InfoWars. Alex Jones touches on how feminization is being used to destroy the effectiveness of the Armed Forces. He also touches on drones–to include replacing human ground troops with robots.

Out of the Past

There are several different ideas about what film noir is and isn’t, and you can hear a lot of them on youtube.

The best interpretation of the French term would probably be phrased “dark cinema” in English. Here are some of the requirements as I learned them:

  • Shot in black & white.
  • Dark, moody lighting.
  • Made in the postwar years.
  • Featuring a femme fatale.
  • A very cynical outlook.

(Wow–sounds like a genre custom made for the red pill manosphere.)

This classic masterpiece written by Daniel Mainwaring and directed by Jacques Tourneur fits the criteria pretty well. Whatever someone’s chosen definition of film noir, Out of the Past is universally accepted.

This movie has much in common with The Maltese Falcon–another classic masterpiece I highly recommend (and the most I’ve liked Humphry Bogart in any flick).

Jeff Marcum (Robert Mitchum) is a tough private detective who comes off smart, is never at a loss for words and seems to have rock solid frame control. You would assume him to be an alpha…until he meets Kathie (Jane Greer).

Mitchum Greer 1
Historical day game–he thinks he’s acing it; but really he’s entangling himself in the web of a black widow.

He completely lets his frame crumble; places Kathie on a pedestal; falls for her lies and reverse game (I’ve never seen a reference in the manosphere to women using game…but they do, and here’s an example); double-crosses his client; flushes his career down the toilet; and ultimately has to go into hiding, assuming a new identity, after realizing he’s been used to help Kathie avoid the consequences of her thieving, murdering, deceptive behavior.

At the beginning of the film his name has already been changed to “Jeff Bailey” and he runs a gas station in a small town. He’s found another girl, too–a good one: honest, feminine, submissive…a keeper back then; a unicorn today.

Mitchum Greer
Behind every frustrated chump is a conniving woman.

Kirk Douglas plays Whit, who is ostensibly the villain of the story–but is he, really? He’s the one Kathie played for a chump before Jeff came along. He’s also the client that Jeff double-crossed because of her. One of his henchmen (for lack of a better term) just happened to drive through the small town one day and saw Jeff pumping gas.


Just like that, all Jeff’s sins and foolishness come out of the past to bite him hard, in the present.

The acting is solid all around, and the production values are just plain classy. Though it takes place in a bygone era (when you really could change identities and start a new life), I consider the story timeless.  However, the plot skeleton was transposed into the 1980s for the movie Against All Odds, which is also a good watch.

Younger Men MUST Learn These Truths

A reasonably intelligent man will learn these maxims eventually. Unfortunately, most will learn by experience via the Hard Knock Academy.

IM MAXIM #108 – Give a woman less attention than she wants, and she will desire it. Give her as much of it as she wants, and she will not. Women quickly devalue the attention of a man who would attend to her every whim, so be frugal; it is easy for a man to be too generous, but near impossible for him to be too frugal.

IM MAXIM #109 – In matters of women, entitlement and worthiness is a matter of false equivalence; her level of entitlement almost always exceeds what she is worth.

IM MAXIM #110 – If she can find a way to blame a man for her decisions, she will. If she can find a way to avoid guilt, she will. Oft these two intertwine, for women are allergic to responsibility and loathe to be held accountable.

Maxim #110 helps explain, for instance, the firestorm of criticism aimed at Donald Trump because of his careless remark about women and abortions. Yes, he was ambushed by the press (probably mild compared to what lies ahead for him), but that’s not my point here. His cardinal sin was to suggest that a woman who asks for an abortion be held just as accountable as the doctor who performs it (assuming the doctor is a man–in the case of a female doctor, well, obviously it’s a victimless event).

Even anti-abortion females are shocked by this outrageous suggestion that the women who choose to have unprotected sex, then choose to have the baby killed, should share in the blame for what results from their choice.

“But…but…but…those women are victims! Because rape.”

We all know that very few abortions are requested because of rape.

“But…but…but…those women are victims! Because the patriarchy! Some man manipulated her into sex. She had no choice but to abort because of how she’ll be treated if she doesn’t because of the unwritten rules that men dreamed up and men enforce.”

IM MAXIM #111 – Women have a propensity to distract you from your mission, do not permit this.

Ouch, ouch, and triple-ouch.

I once had a lot of goals in life, most of which were within my grasp to achieve. In most cases, I ruined my own chances by allowing myself to be distracted by some woman or another.

Women want goal-oriented men who have worked hard and achieved great things. But if they latch onto a man before he has achieved his goals…sin loi, dude. She will not tolerate the focus and sacrifices needed to pursue those goals, and manufacture all kinds of drama which MUST TAKE PRECEDENCE over any- and everything that’s important to you to accomplish. And if you succumb to her demands, later she will of course blame you for having accomplished nothing.

And she’s right to blame you. She can’t help it. Like the Geico (or whatever) commercial says, it’s what you do if you’re a woman. If the man doesn’t maintain frame under the barrage of the woman’s shit tests, it is his fault. Frogs and scorpions, young man. Frogs and scorpions.

The following maxims lead me to believe they were written in no particular order:

IM MAXIM #115 – Whenever there is a problem between a man and woman, the fault is always assumed to lie with the man and never the woman. And so because of this, the onus to fix the problem lies on the man, not the woman. Even when it is obvious that all if not most the blame lies with a woman, polite society will reject all good sense and insist that liability is man’s to bear. Would it then be a stretch to presuppose that even on the most subconscious of levels, people believe it easier to coerce a man than reason with a woman?

IM MAXIM #116 – Women define themselves by their relationships, men by their achievements. Refer to Maxim #104

IM MAXIM #117 – Female helplessness is an asset prompting charity and sympathy, male helplessness is a liability prompting disgust and aversion. Women are independent by choice, men have no choice.

IM MAXIM #118 – Any man who needs a woman is not a man she’d want. Women want to feel wanted, not needed, they can’t handle being needed. Needing a woman is tantamount to forfeiting her, women are repelled by desire that has transformed into need.

IM MAXIM #119 – Women are the needier sex and hence the deadlier sex; great need necessitates great duplicity.

You have been taught to believe something totally different, I know. In fact most women actually convince themselves that a weak, vulnerable man who pedestalizes her and lets her wear the pants is attractive (as long as he maintains a six-pack and earns a six-figure income like in the movies). But she herself feels no attraction to helpless, needy males. She just embraces it as an ideal that other women should strive for.

IM MAXIM #123 – Snagging a high value man is women’s entire purpose for being, although she’s never quite sure she got the best deal possible.

This is one reason there is no such thing as “happily ever after” in the real world–even if you were her Prince Charming at one point.

IM MAXIM #126 – If a woman accuses you of cheating when you haven’t done anything, there’s a high chance she’s projecting her infidelity onto you – abandon her.

Sounds ridiculously simplistic, but it is absolutely accurate. The most intelligent woman, regardless of how high her IQ, is just not very complex. They seem unpredictable and mysterious to the miseducated male mind, but that’s a myth, reinforced by the culture. The red pill demolishes myths like these, but few even find it–much less swallow it. You can grow to hate women–simply imagining that it is purely malevolent sadism behind their actions–if you don’t accept the scorpion/frog paradigm for what it is.

I strongly suggest that younger men read the more exhastive list of these maxims and take them to heart. Readjust your thinking before it’s too late for you. I have learned by experience that these are true, whether they sound harsh or not.

On the one hand I wish this information had been available for me back in the day. Oh, how badly I wish. But on the other hand I have to be honest.

The fact is, I probably would have rejected this wisdom. I was too hard-headed. Not only did I swallow the blue pill, but I wanted to believe the myth. I thought my one-itus was a virtue, and wanted there to be a special snowflake I could place on my pedestal.

Ignorance may feel like bliss at the time, but it leads to misery in the long run.

IM MAXIM #128 – Women need their ex’s to be losers to feel like they made the right choice. If even one is a winner, her hypergamy will realise a glitch in its optimisation and thus the afflicted woman becomes awash with regret.

IM MAXIM #129 – If you place your trust on a woman’s conscience to compel her to do the right thing, then you are a fool by definition.

IM MAXIM #130 – The smarter the woman, the more nimble the rationalisation of her emotion.

IM MAXIM #132 – As a man, win or lose, you have to take risks; being complacent and passive is a female privilege – men have the burden of performance. Taking risks is core to the personality of masculinity, when nature gave you XY chromosomes, this was ordained. Meek and lazy men get nothing.

IM MAXIM #133 – Masculine women are a poor simulacrum of man, for they capture a man’s fierceness absent his reason or accountability.

Or, as it was so aptly expressed on film:

IM MAXIM #134 – A woman hates a man who won’t give her what she wants, but she absolutely detests a man who does, and without a fight.

IM MAXIM #138 – If you’re winning, women care about your tiniest grievances, when you’re losing, you’re dead to them.

IM MAXIM #139 – When you’re winning you can be rude and unruly and she will apologise for your mistakes. When you’re losing, she will blame you for her mistakes.

The more the list goes on, the more it hits an experienced man right between the eyes. Life will be so much better for you if you learn from the mistakes of others.

The Latest Wonder Woman

Character reboots are commonplace these days. In a pop culture spectrum so bankrupt of creativity that the only movies produced anymore are remakes, sequels, adaptations (often of old TV shows that weren’t so good to begin with), thinly-disguised ripoffs of other movies (the Fast & Furious franchise started with a Point Break knockoff set in a fantasy streetracing scene; Avatar was Dances With Wolves in outer space, etc.) or an attempted fusion of previous successful movies; and the bulk of TV programming is some sort of lame “reality show” because the industry lacks the imagination to conceive anything more interesting, re-forming an established character in one’s own image is lauded as some sort of seminal breakthrough. Seems like comic book characters (one of the ores constantly mined by Hollywood) are revamped, and their histories revised, every 3-5 years.

The Social Justice League of America celebrates diversity. The blond-haired Aquaman just wasn't inclusive enough.
The Social Justice League of America celebrates diversity. The blond-haired Aquaman just wasn’t inclusive enough.

Wonder Woman is a character whose essence needs no revamping to fit the current Narrative being rammed down our throats incessantly. She fit that Narrative from her very debut in the 1940s. She was probably the very first Amazon Superninja to appear in American pop culture, and from the very beginning was intended to be a social conditioning propaganda tool. But despite all this, her inclusion in Dawn of Justice doesn’t bother me much.

Wonder Woman has been a member of DC’s superteam the Justice League going way back; and was a founding member of the “Justice Society of America” before that. She was good-to-go for the leftist pop-culture svengalis already, so they didn’t have to feminize an established male character or otherwise ruin the work of earlier creators.


Perhaps it is fitting that an exotic beauty was cast to play the Amazon. After all, she comes from “Paradise Island,” an all-female society closed off from the rest of the world since ancient times. So it’s appropriate that her accent sounds different from ours, and that she doesn’t look like a WASP. (However, it appears that DC/Hollywood also intends to ethnicize the Flash and Aquaman, which is getting annoying.)

Do you imagine it's an accident that the female is shown on point when physical combat is imminent; or that the males are merely guarding her flanks?
Do you imagine it’s an accident that the female is shown on point when physical combat is imminent; or that the males are merely guarding her flanks?

At some point after I quit reading comics, I guess Wonder Woman took to carrying a Bronze Age sword and shield, in addition to her golden lasso. This only makes sense, if she’s going to be fighting gargantuan baddies like Doomsday. What doesn’t make sense is that her ancient bronze shield can withstand a Kryptonian’s heat vision without a scratch, when heat vision slices through every other form of matter except other Kryptonians. Because vagina, I guess.

WWLindaCarterAnother development is that her red, white and blue colors have been replaced by some muddy red-brown metal flake scheme. This also makes sense. First of all, those colors represent oppression (college girls being forced to pay for their own birth control, for instance). Remember: WW was never an American in the first place. And all the big screen superheroes wear costumes with drab color schemes. Even Superman, who has never needed camouflage or to avoid attracting attention, wears a costume that looks like it’s gone a few months without being washed.

Might be hard to see here, but the dude just to the right of her looks a lot like a Native American. Explain THAT one.

I don’t know if this ties in with comic book revisionism, or is original to this screenplay, but Wonder Woman is apparently a WWI veteran now. Bruce Wayne/Batman finds an old photograph from 1918 that shows her with an odd assortment of guerillas (in Belgium, if memory serves).

Diana Prince looks even better in the red dress when Bruce Wayne first meets her…but I couldn’t find an image of that.

Maybe the most interesting thing about Wonder Woman in this movie is how Gal Gadot’s performance fits into a red pill socio-sexual understanding. Gadot is far more attractive as Diana Prince than as the Amazon heroine. Upon reflection, it’s obvious why: she is very feminine when incognito in the secret identity, as opposed to her super-identity as an extremely masculine brawler with tits.

“I just don’t understand why I can’t get dates!”

Only fetishists, white knights and sexual deviants find such a gender-bent individual even remotely attractive; no matter how much skin she shows or how well she fills out a skimpy costume.