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I turned on the TV the other day only to see a fat guy staring at me. This is fairly common in America, but it still surprises me because I am sophisticated. “What a dinosaur”, I though as I prepared to change the channel while scarfing down a Krispy Kreme. I must be kind of a big deal, because that is exactly what he was talking about.

I refer, or course, to dinosaurs rather than Krispy Kreme. The guy was going on about how Brontosaurus vertebrae were hollow or something. Of course, he didn’t say Brontosaurus because for some reason that is the scientific equivalent of the word Nigger, but the meaning was there. This makes no sense, or course, as there is no way that hollow bones could have supported such a massive animal, but the high priesthood of any cult is impervious to logic.

The proof is undeniable.

And cult it is! Dinosaurlogy cannot be called a science because it fails the most basic test. In most sciences, our knowledge of the subject increases as time passes and more data is accumulated. However, in dinosaurlogy, as the science “progresses” the data becomes less and less available as more skeletons are exhumed, mistreated and partially destroyed just so that some loser could get off on looking at bones much bigger than his.

Proponents of dinosaurlogy try to justify their acts by claiming all knowledge is useful when in fact their profession is entirely based on the destruction of material that could one day be used to acquire real world, parctical knowledge (I refer of course to the rocks). Leave the bones in the ground, where they belong, and go run a triathlon or something instead.

I have a theory about why some people are interested in dinosaurs. It involves insufficient paternal love.

There is no greater scum on the Internet than Roissy, a lonely Jewish detective who passes the time bragging about his imaginary sexual exploits to impressionable 14 year-olds. I was initially drawn to his life philosophy, Game, out of opposition to feminism, but as the time passed it became clear to me that something was wrong.

Roissy in DC: false prophet of manhood

Case in point: the Neg. This is PUA (People’s United Action, an activist group dedicated to spreading lies) terminology for what seemed like a special kind of insult that makes a woman’s pussy fill up to the point where she’ll blow you in a public bathroom on your first encounter. I was looking forward to verbally abusing chicks in return for sex, until I realized it doesn’t actually work that way. Contrary to how it is advertised, the Neg is merely a backhanded compliment disguised as an insult, which takes all the fun out of doing it. Similarly, much of game is a cover for obeying women, repackaged by Criss Angel wannabes to suit the tastes of frustrated anti-feminists.

Do you really want this guy teaching you social skills

Game, like chivalry, feminism, The Rules and all sorts of other fads, is merely a spinoff of vanilla female supremacy. Game does not ask anything of women (other than looks, but that is due to the preferences of most players and not an integral part of the whole approach.) Instead, their psychology is to be rigorously analyzed to find the optimal way to please them, while men have to change the way they stand, the way they talk, the way they make eye contact, their drinking habits and so on. Within this framework, sex is merely a reward for emotionally satisfying females.

The fact is that no approach to sexuality is actually geared at males (other than men’s rights, which is little more than genderbending), which is why I call on all my fellow men to live a life of chastity until a better deal is forged for us. When this happens, we will meet the women on our own terms, like our ancestors the cavemen.

Roissy’s only redeeming factor is that his feats are imaginary.

She wrote a book, which means the feminist lynch mob is after her in full force. I find it ironic that people who make such a fuss about a welfare queen’s right to CHOOSE to kill babies (not that I care much about babies, they’re ugly and they make loud noises) will attack a strong, independent woman who CHOOSES to leave office to save her country, her family and her state.

Look at the kinds of things people said about Sarah during the campaign- she’s a bimbo (from women who were desperate to snag the team captain in school), she talks funny (from women who have a voice like Donald Duck), she’s a wolf-killing redneck (from women who would like nothing more than to purge the world of men.) You just hate Sarah because she has more pussy cells than you do.

You may think I’m being shallow, but the fact is that looks matter. Imagine a Palin foreign policy. Russia terrorizing former satellite states? No problem- hop on Air Force One to Moscow and the whole deal is solved with a wink. So efficient, in fact, that I wonder why environmentalists didn’t jump on her bandwagon at the nearest opportunity. Oh, the price I would pay to jump on her bandwagon…

This is more like it.

In the same vein, I find it ironic that the leeches who were so eager to break the glass ceiling when that sea-witch Hillary was a presidential contender are in many ways those who brayed most loudly against Sarah’s decidedly anti-cosmopolitan charm. The truth, of course, is that there’s no glass ceiling and they know it. The whole idea is a cover for the fact that every president other than Andrew Jackson has been a limp-wristed pussy with no interest in defending his own masculinity- a woman, in other words. Palin, in contrast, would have stood up to the establishment trying to guide her hand- which is why they were so detemined to keep her as far away from office as possible.

Women are treacherous, Sarah. Don’t be one of them.