Secret courts, secret police and the MARAC

The principles of Justice…

 

Are simple enough.

Accountability:
The government as well as private actors are accountable under the law.

Just Laws:
The laws are clear, publicized, and stable; are applied evenly; and protect fundamental rights, including the security of persons and contract, property, and human rights.

Open Government:
The processes by which the laws are enacted, administered, and enforced are accessible, fair, and efficient.

Accessible & Impartial Dispute Resolution:
Justice is delivered timely by competent, ethical, and independent representatives and neutrals who are accessible, have adequate resources, and reflect the makeup of the communities they serve.

 

Indeed one might even posit that they are fairly obvious. But let us play the horrible mind game where we pretend to be a fat fucking feminist intent upon subverting and destroying these principles to the disadvantage of men… Quite a problem!

It may surprise you to hear that there is already a separate legal system which tries a person, almost always a man, along feminist religious principles in complete secrecy. Enter the MARAC!

 

Multi Agency Risk Assessment Conference.

 

These were designed by fat fucking feminists in Cardiff back in 2003. Naturally they were only to be used in the most serious of cases, rape and DV initially, to protect those poor women and children who are so utterly oppressed by the Patriarchy or at risk from domestic or sexual violence.

Indeed it appears to be loosely based upon a system designed to finger potential terrorists… A system so successful at such that about 3% of the entire male Muslim population of the UK is now on a terrorist watch list! Which is clearly nonsense. Though does also pose quite a problem for the virtue signalling fat fucking feminists constant claims that 99.9% of the Muslim population is peaceful.

They take 16 different agencies front loaded with graceless feminists in the guise of Women’s Aid, Perfect Rapists ( aka Social Workers) and the Women’s Support Unit. They are obliged to treat any allegation against a man as gospel ( believe the victim) and they are not allowed to disclose any part of this procedure to the subject of such.

Never heard of them huh? Doesn’t affect me? Sounds reasonable? Then read on…

 

 If >3% of Muslims are considered potential terrorists by a similar system..

 

Then what proportion of UK based males have been subject to a MARAC without their knowledge?

Let’s take their own figures… 20 every two weeks back in 2007 just a few years after their introduction. Though the number of MARACs has increased by 70% since 2010. Indeed there are now so many that mini-MARACs by phone alone are commonplace as they take up so much valuable Perfect Rapist time and resources..

If we exclude those too old or too young to be subject to such and take the last census’ figures for Cardiff’s population then well over 10,000 Welsh dudes in their capital have been subject to a MARAC, about 1 in 8.

The figures I have seen from another part of the UK make this sound like an underestimate. Indeed this is clearly an underestimate anyway as we didn’t exclude those who are single, gay or factor in that merely having children or being married / cohabiting will massively increase the odds of having been subject to a MARAC. Nor too the assumed prejudice from fat fucking feminists and the gender cleansing police in favour of ethnic minorities and the like.

Basically if you are a stale white male with a normal relationship there is a pretty decent chance that you have been defamed without any knowledge of such.

Any involvement with the police, family courts, have had a relationship end acrimoniously or upset any fat vengedful feminist at any time then more than likely you have…. In fact almost certainly have in many of those scenarios…

 

Surely safeguarding children and women is a laudable aim?

 

Oh you naive fool.

What is laudable is that you assume these unlawful congregations of gossipping witches are designed to be used for good and right.. You clearly don’t understand feminism.

As these are used in cases of rape one would correctly suppose that the 5000+ victims of rape gangs in Skipton, Rotherham, Blackpool, Sheffield, Oxford, Halifax, Bradford, Ipswich, London, Telford, Preston, Derby, Torbay, Bristol, Banbury, Chesham, Birmingham, Barking, Blackburn, Rochdale, Leeds, Stockport, Aylesbury, Yeovil, Newcastle, Burton, Accrington, Ormskirk, Manchester, Keighley, Oldham, Peterborough, Dewsbury, Littlehampton, Middlesborough and Slough would have triggered MARACs.

However they were used instead to defame the victims themselves… Note that all or most of the above will have separate Social Services departments..

The poor victims would be left reeling and confused as to why no government agency would hear their cries for help and justice, as they had already been labelled as racist drug abusing prostitues by our wonderful Perfect Rapists. Recall that 16 agencies or government departments are involved, basically all of them. Hence all avenues for help and safety were closed off by a mere edict from the Home Office.

If this can happen to schoolgirls being raped on an industrial scale then I’m sure we can all agree that being judged by a coven of blue haired mastodons who firmly believe that all men are rapists is always going to go swimmingly for you…

 

Okay… But how does this relate to the Principles of Justice?

 

Well let’s remember that our little mental game is to attempt to subvert the principles of justice.. So let’s give the problem to an engineer…

“A tricky problem.. Was a three pipe problem in fact..” He muses… “Centuries of common law and the strict adherence to open justice do take some…. ingenuity to subvert.” He says reaching for his pipe. “It will have to be extra-judicial, no point trying to do this through laws as that would involve public scrutiny, or not explicitly so anyway.” He continues.

“So what have you come up with? Let’s take accountability first.”

“Yes, let’s..” says the engineer with a smile, “That was the easiest part. To make it unaccountable we merely keep it secret. Our Perfect Rapists and anyone else trained by the state in feminist principles have been conditioned to always believe the victim, so we merely make that policy from the Home Office. We simply add a confidentiality clause to that, such that anyone subject to a MARAC could never find out without there being some breach of data privacy.”

“Ok I get that…. Simple as you say…. What about Just Laws?”

“Mere incrementalism old boy… Merely add clauses to make the law contradictory, as we did with hate speech, and let the judge decide which side of the law to choose.”

“But what if the judges choose the wrong side? That doesn’t sound like a sound design, leaving things to chance almost.”

“Oh I’ve thought about that and I’m quite proud of my design. I’d like to introduce you to the concept of safeguarding…”

“Sounds fluffy!”

“Yes it is…” he winks knowingly, “Very easy to sell such a.. fluffy as you put it.. term. If there were any media scrutiny. ” He stifles a laugh, “Then the response writes itself.. How could anyone be against safeguarding women or children? The concept and rule here is that anything relating to safeguarding has to be disclosed to the judge.”

“But it will be challenged in court if that happens, that sounds like open justice…”

“Oh no you miss the point. Victim confidentiality means that such things will merely be handed to the judge unquestioned, not raised in open court. No need for evidence old boy, merely accusations or hypotheticals.”

“How on earth do you propose to do that? No lawyer would risk the entire legal system being subverted by secret evidence whispered into a judges ear!”

The engineer almost falls off his chair. Looks at you as though you were a petulant child, fills his pipe and condescends to explain…

“No state barrister or solicitor on £2000 a day will want to win all of their cases you mean? Are you mad? Have you ever met one of them? You think they drive Skodas and shop in Aldi?? Quite the opposite, they will submit such idle gossip or else they will end up on the defence side, and lose all their cases. They will be told that they have a duty to safeguard and submit such errant nonsense, regardless of context. Most of them are male, and quite competitive. They like to win. Anyone who doesn’t… Well the council or police simply contract a different and more…. reliable type… The defence loses 99.9% of all cases in family courts but do you see family law solicitors advertising this fact?”.

“Ok I get it… So basically what you propse is an entirely separate legal system where a chap’s guilt or innocence is decided long before a trial by…. well it’s effetively a different court. A feminist court. And that it’s conclusions are whispered to the judge outside of normal court proceedings such that there is no possibility of a defence? Surely the judges won’t buy this?”

“They already have old boy!” The engineer smirks, “Blair saw to that, purging the judiciary of anyone considered ‘reactionary’.”

“But what if all these agencies at a MARAC don’t reach the conclusion that a chap is a bad type? A bad apple?”

“Oh that is simple… We just add more feminists. Barnados, NSPCC, even the RSPCA should his dog ever have had an accident. They’ll all verge on the side of safeguarding and caution, would rather raise suspicion and cover their own backs just in case he is a potential rapist… As they are convinced that all blokes are anyway.”

The engineer starts to look a little smug.

“So this is basically just giving fat fucking feminists an active role in the judicial system by encouraging them to defame a bloke by whispering to a judge in ways which he will not even be aware of?”  You ponder this… The full horror dawning on you slowly…

“Basically yes. Simple designs are always the best.”  His smugness becomes almost overwhelming..

“So what about marketting, propagation? Also the last principle of dispute resolution?

“Ah yes, they are taken care of.” He enthuses, lighting his pipe and contemplating his creation “Give anyone ‘raising a concern’ a day off work to sit in a room gossipping with other harpies should help, tea and endless cakes provided of course…. Our friends at the Home Office making such things policy and imposing them upon local authorities pretty much closes the loop. You are aware that gossipping is considered a pleasureable activity by certain gender groups are you not? As for dispute resolution, what disputes could there possibly be?

“What if a chap appeals? Challenges the basis for this defamation?”

“And how would he even know about it? You think his ex-wife, girlfriend, GP or state employee tells him about it? He wouldn’t know that his GP was prescribing him drugs such as Mirtazipine to mong him out due to secretly considering him a wife beater, he wouldn’t know anything about the process or details, there is in short nothing whatsoever to dispute. And don’t forget that I designed our Perfect Rapists to be immune from defamation. Whilst a chap might feel unfairly treated he would have no clue why.”

You both sit in silence whilst the engineer contentedly sucks on his pipe.

“So you designed this along feminist lines, such that they could subvert the justice system…” you begin but the engineer interupts you..

“I was merely given a problem to solve. And solve it I have, I think you will agree…”

“But what if this is abused? Such as Rotherham, Telford etc. What if this extrajudicial system falls into the wrong hands, is used politically… I hear that increasing numbers of MARACs are held to investigate the supposedly far right. Even religious groups…”

“My dear chap I can’t be held responsible for how people misuse my designs.” His smugness dented somewhat..

“But is has been misused.” You insist, “What of the victims of Rotherham, how could they possibly seek justice against this state apparatus which destroyed their lives? Defamed them, denied them justice? The entire establishment, all state agencies and media acting in concert against them? What safety valve or recourse have you incorporated to ensure it can’t be misused or abused for political advantage?”

The engineer looks angry. “There was no requirement for one. I merely designed the system as instructed.”

“What is to stop members of political parties leaking such things to media, confidential briefings and the like? Dubious allegations from embittered exes… Hang on….This is happening isn’t it?

The engineer looks worried, “No, no… That isn’t the purpose of this design… It is to protect women and children!”

“And you’ve never met a feminist with a lefty political agenda then?! You don’t think it beyond them to use this and other spurious bollocks to political advantage? To smear their opponents? You don’t think that this resembles a massive spy network and defamation database? ”

The engineer is now staring out of the window, his pipe has gone out and he suddenly looks 15 years older.

“Well that’s a potential problem I admit?” he murmurs…

“Potential problem? Have you read the papers these days? How did the BBC know that Cliff Richard was going to be arrested? Even though he was entirely innocent they had time to hire a helicopter to film it, and that wasn’t even political. Have you not noticed that right of centre politicians are constantly having dubious allegations from their past brought up? Where the hell do you think these come from?

“Well it could be anywhere really… Journalists have their own sources after all.”

“And no one from the 16 agencies, charities and otherwise feminist stocked organisations is ever likely to tip the press off for political advantage or money are they? Meanwhile 95% of those in prison are male, I can’t imagine why! Do you realise that you’ve designed a political police force?”

The engineer squirms…. But doesn’t answer.

“One further question…. What happens if this state apparatus is taken over by some group even more obnoxious or hideous than feminists? What happens if they merely measure a chap’s head and whisper to the judge that he is a Jew for instance? What if feminists are just useful idiots and you’ve designed and implemented a system that the Stasi would be proud of?”

“Feminists assured me that they merely seek equality.” he mutters weakly, now visibly ashen faced…

“So why do they need a system that completely undermines and destroys the justice system, holds a database or potentially useful political smears, targets their political opponents and ensures completely partial and unequal justice for half of the population? Hell next they’ll be making opposition to feminism illegal!”

“Erm…. I also did some work for the EU via Tony Blair.” me mutters apologetically… “You may be interested in section 2E“.

 

Edit: Brief talky talky on this post…. More to come.

 

Chaffers and Bray

 

 

Talking with Tilbrook

The three most important #NoDeal #Brexit Bombshells contained within the interview

  • The new prime minister could exit the EU immiediately (technically on the 29th of March) merely by conceding Robin Tilbrook’s case in the high court.
  • ‘A couple’ of the Conservative leadership candidates have discussed just this with Robin.
  • If Scotland voted for independence it would bring the United Kingdom and Northern Ireland out of the EU, as the United Kingdom would no longer exist.

 

Conceding #RobinTilbrooks case

 

Parliament, the Cabinet, the civil service and the judiciary would have no recourse and no power to prevent this. There could be no legal challenge and no delay, it would mean that we were already out of the EU without a deal thereby saving £40 billion pounds, and also gaining roughly £25 billion per annum tarif revenue which currently goes to Juncker’s brandy fund.

 

Where do these tarifs come from?

 

The EU operates a custom’s union, which basically means they control the tarifs on our considerable trade with the rest of the World. For instance if a business wanted to buy a Japanese truck ( they do make excellent ones) then the price would include a 24% tarif imposed by the EU.

This tarif is something that the EU considers to be it’s own resources, an EU stealth tax. Another is VAT, few realise that a proportion of our VAT also funds the EU.

Post no deal brexit however not only do we keep this EU stealth tax for ourselves, which on our RoW trade amounts to over £12 billion, we also collect tarifs on the massive number of imports from the EU. Which would at least match the £12 billion from the RoW trade.

So after a no deal brexit if some Londoner, like thousands of others, buy a BMW or a Mercedes then the exchequer would receive a 10% tariff on the purchase. In other words BMW would be paying some of your taxes for you.

 

Think of it as a car boot sale…

 

Currently we pay the EU £18 p/a to be part of their car boot sale. We can wander round the German and French cars buying their tat with no fees but if we want to buy from an American then the fat drunken Belgian on the gate takes 10% and pockets it.

Things are generally much cheaper outside this Belgian field, particularly food and drink, so the fat Belgian makes sure we don’t stray by pocketing huge tarifs on such to ensure the French cars with their poncy fare are competitive.

Take as an example Kenco, which used to be the Kenyan Coffee Company. The fat Belgian imposes such ridiculous tarifs on jars of Kenyan coffee that they can’t make a profit by selling these to British cars. If they didn’t tarif them we wouldn’t buy the more expensive stuff from Nestle etc. The tarifs on raw coffee beans however are low, so to trade with us they have to sell their raw unpackaged coffee to the krauts, who then roast and package it and sell it to us ‘tarif free’. In fact Kenco jars rarely contain any actual Kenyan coffee.

Which means we aren’t being very nice to our Kenyan friends.

 

So what changes post No Deal brexit?

 

We have our own car boot sale effectively. As we had for hundreds of years before joining the EU. The chap on the front gate is British and has a sense of decency and fair play.

We don’t pay any fees to another country for our own car boot sale and the eurotrash has to compete with the, much lower, world prices. We still have tarifs for goods that we don’t make and the proceeds from these come off your tax bill.

Buy a British built car and nothing to pay. But whether you buy a French or an American car they pay the same tarif. The fat Belgian no longer pockets £12 billion a year, or our £18 billion entry fee, in fact the European cars that want to trade with us have to pay us. And this would be very significant, £13 billion a year is probably very conservative.

We don’t grow coffee in the UK so what is the point in having tarifs on it? Rather than keeping Germans in work by importing it raw, packaging and marketting coffee the Kenyans themselves can do so and keep the value added to their product. Which means lower prices for us and more money for them. They would control the entire value chain rather than the pittance for merely growing it.

And with the Kenyan coffee stall doing a roaring trade, they’d probably have a look at spending some of their profits on the things which we produce.

Which would be nice.

Gun me down.

Broken ‘pon the Duluth wheel I was, just a couple of years ago.
The smiling snitch with the liar’s itch defamed me don’t ya know.
A state paid feminist, duplicity’s hedonist, my family in her sights.
With remorseless cruelty, and viscious surety gunned ’em down with great delight.

 
Virgil Caine, not my real name, returned from Afghan’s plains.
For a new life, with my wife, met just weeks before entrained.
From Yorkshire Dales to Banks’ Ales upped and left familial ties.
A government job, domesticity slob, we built and multiplied.

 

Blood neath my feet, the nation’s peat, made sense to me a yore.
Freedom of speech, naysayers weak, fought and won for centurys fore.
A man’s home his castle, State couldn’t hassle, Equality under the law.
And grace assumed, manners groomed, the pen mightier than the maw.

 

Well I don’t mind tellin’ you, inquisitive fellow dude, things are not so now.
A knock on the door, a concern du jour, Social worker furrows her brow.
And at that point, responsibility joint, Leviathan follows it’s macabre script.
Lambs to the slaughter, crooked solictor bought for ya, staring at the pit..

 
Broken ‘pon the Duluth wheel I was, just a couple of years ago.
The grinning snitch with the sadist’s itch destroyed me don’t ya know.
A state paid feminist, duplicitity’s hedonist, my legacy in her sights.
With remorseless cruelty, and viscious surety gunned it down with great delight.

 
Citizen Caine, backbone strained, from shouldering his manly burden.
Three young horrors, mortgage honoured, no complaints noted or murmured.
Looking forward to, the idyllic view, where nappies and wails no longer bother.
Where I could teach my kin, the simple things my family name always honour.

 

Lesbian couple annoyed, politically tannoyed, barren science no justification!
That wicked crew, pencil pushers few, smirk their indignation.
A lifestyle choice, politically correct voice, reproductive rights should accrue.
And what of Caine’s worthy name? Flush it down the toilet is what we’ll do!

 

Split him up, from love’s true cusp, with allegations of infidelity.
Ascertain, in referendum frame, that he has campaigned for brexit posterity.
How court this, bar a fascist’s twist, have any bearing on parental ability?
You are in a game, oh Citizen Caine, where truth an irrelevance and liability.

 
Broken ‘pon the Duluth wheel I was, just a couple of years ago
The slothlike bitch with the childsnatcher’s itch she raped me don’t ya know
A state paid feminist, duplicitity’s hedonist, wife’s sanity in her sights
Ethnic cleansing efficiently, with viscious surety, gunned it down with great delight.

 

Frasier Caine, yes he was a pain, held to ideas of truth and right.
The judge will hear, don’t worry my dear, for this is an easy fight.
He did not bear, state silenced fear, others knew of family courts.
Friendly name, assumed fair game, ignorant to the blackout like a dork.

 

His cries of perjury, produced nil empathy, bored twisted comprador souls.
Who’ve heard it all, and seen it all, casual to the pantomime like ghouls.
Intellectualised, the evil that lies, is impossible to behold.
For one impressed, even to duress, that British justice to be bold.

 

And what of you, humble correspondent’s view, should make this sad old news?                No smoke without fire, secret defamation is higher, would likely be your view.             First they came for me, and my family to be, no concern of yours.                                    Until that shrew, with doom scripted anew, knocks upon your door.

 

Broken ‘pon the Duluth wheel she was, too many years ago.
A foster child’s plight, dealer and parlour’s delight, they don’t do well ya know.
A state made feminist, fatherless predicates, future prospects not so bright.
With remorseless cruelty, and viscious surety was gunned down to Blair’s delight.

 

I’d rather be Abel, Cain’s hand is unstable, no dreams live in the land of Nod.                        Countenance thee, child of me, only maybe by the side of God.                                                No redress for me, the PTSD, keeps me from the fight.                                                           And the smug bitch free, more evil destiny, no law she has not trod.

 

Cheerfully, and casually, the cunt called me up one night.                                                   Son’s doing great, oh except three days late, when happened he almost died.                       My angry tone, she put down the phone, it never bothered to view him safe.                         Police report, she who fear no tort, as abuse from an ingrate.

 

We must break the Duluth wheel you know, ere child’s lives be slaved.          Sanctimonious power, Rotherham’s deflower’d, also caught the bitches’ racist gaze.            Kill the feminists, don’t negotiate with terrorists, too far but can you blame?                   For you and thee, a mere poem will see, and gun me down unfazed.

 

The Epitaph of Combat

In the epitaph of combat,
Only Terry’s names abound.
In the bittersweet hereafter
The very finest sound.
I counted them out and I counted them in
Their faces were profound
I waited on them like Gunga Din
An honourable task I found

In the pitch black Afghan nightime
The stories flew around
Of weight and kneehigh quagmires
A battle with the very ground
Of airbursts and Dushkas
Bombs and small arms rounds
No ten dollar Taliban these
Tenacious as starving hounds.

In the hindsight of safety
The boys knew they’d won a round
The bout continues, the fight goes on
Could be for the very same mound
No regrets said the young Private
No action of mine was unsound
In the epitaph of combat
No sweeter is the sound.

The poor poorer and the rich richer

People are bright!

 

They intuit that which they cannot fathom. They might not be able to do a multi variant analyses of the underlying causes, and therefore often blame the wrong things, though their intuition expressed as feeling is rarely wrong.

So what do we make of the constant refrain that seems to echo through time?

 

For whosoever has, to him shall be given, and he shall have more abundance: but whosoever has not, from him shall be taken away even what he has. 

Matthew 13:12

 

The scapegoats

 

And there are many.

You will find blue haired mastodons screaming abuse at everything from bankers to politicians. Multi national corporations to agri-tech.

And chinless public school cucks blaming the feckless lower, than them, classes to immigrants. Schools to the overly generous, shallow laughs permitted, social security.

An oversimplification of a massive topic might be that the left blames a rigged system, and the right the inherent inability of those they distain from being able to steal as much money as themselves.

 

Define Poor

 

Well let me first state that I don’t see this being entirely about money. Intuition does not follow the same spreadsheet formulas in use by those distanced from it.

So let’s define poorer more broadly, as fewer opportunities for personal advancement or choice; a greater struggle for meaning or fulfillment; a state of desperation.

Clearly this definition spreads the net far wider than mere economics.

 

Define Rich

 

“Money may not make you happy, but at least you can choose the colour of your misery.” Quipped some millionaire or other. Money is an enabler, it allows good men to do good things and bad men to do bad things. It is entirely neutral spiritually.

Indeed I suspect we all consider some people to have rich lives irrespective of their socioeconomic status. Similarly some extremely wealthy people appear to wallow in misery despite their resources.

If we take a leaf from those dissafected English terrorists who the Gumps wrongly think of as Americans ( they only became American several years after the Declaration of Independence, after the treaty of Paris specifically) then their constitution gives a decent precis for richness.

We hold these truths to be sacred & undeniable; that all men are created equal & independent, that from that equal creation they derive rights inherent & inalienable, among which are the preservation of life, & liberty, & the pursuit of happiness; …

 

What does the persuit of happiness look like?

 

Well we could tax our grey matter in general terms on this, but it is an individualistic thing. Or we could tax our purple matter and ask our knobs.. Which is both more amusing and more revealing.

Granted the answer may come back as two Swedish bisexual supermodels on a weekend in Las Vegas. Which only begs the question of what would the persuit of happiness would look like from penis height after a few gullible individuals have believed your lies about such.

And I think the answer is rather old fashioned in many ways. Once said Swedish supermodels have been ticked off the universal bucket list the ambition for most remains a family and monogamous lifelong relationship; the resources to raise your children and eventually retire in reasonable comfort to reminisce about Swedish supermodels.

 

So why do we all think the rich are getting richer, and the poor poorer?

 

Hypergamy basically.

Defined as:

the action of marrying a person of a superior caste or class.

Women are hypergamous. Always have been.

An interesting exercise is to have a look through women’s dating profiles for those childless somewhat long in the tooth and short of body clock. No matter how hideous, poorly educated or fat they all appear to think they deserve a prince!

Men rate women’s attractiveness on such as a perfect bell curve, the average being a 5/10. Women on the other hand rate men such that they consider 93% to be below averagely attractive. With no 10/10s at all.

It was once said that Tory MPs had sex scandals and Labour MPs had financial scandals.. As they were hoping to steal enough cash to have a sex scandal. So this isn’t restricted to social spheres.

Nor the physicality of location, due to internet dating mostly.

 

Hypergamy

 

Affects every aspect of a chap’s persuit of happiness.

Whether your knob, your wallet or the wider macro economics the strange and malign confluence of fascistic feminism with the pre existing hypergamic culture has reduced many chap’s pussy persuits to practically zero.

As feminist teachers undermark boy’s coursework at school we see fewer boys growing up to be graduate men. Which has already resulted in almost 2/3rds of recent graduates being female. Putting half those females out of hypergamic reach.

As feminists lobby for higher paid and easier jobs for women it leaves men with the lower paid 3D ( Difficult, Dangerous or Dirty) jobs, and puts those better paid women out of hypergamic reach of them.

As feminists lobby for ever more ridiculous prosecutions against men, and longer sentences too, it leaves more men with criminal records to be scorned by hypergamic women. The prison gender gap is already 20.6 men to every woman and growing.

Meanwhile those tall, educated and rich enough to pick and choose gain a second high earner so the disposable income generated is considerable. At least until she files for no fault divorce, steals his house, assets and children and ruins his life for no good reason.

But even here hypergamy works overtime. The now poor bloke has to wine dine and chase, which as George Harrison put it, “Take’s a whole lot of spending money”, where the divorced woman is wined, dined and chased.

Course it also results in the mad old cat ladies who now seem to be giving up any idea of procreating, despite being in their early 40s.

 

The ratio

 

In wiser days women were paid less than men for the same work. Hence allowing even their mere peers to have a sniff.

With women’s net hourly wages increasingly overtaking men’s (certainly true for the under 30s) let’s have a look at the ratio of women available to three hypothetical blokes.

Bloke A is a tall grad with his own house. He basically has the pick of the field, though may well simply pick the best set of tits unintentionally leaving another cat lady in his wake. And depriving the other tiers of a potential mate in the process.

Ratio 1:1. Combined disposable income ~£30,000 p/a

Bloke B dropped out of Uni and works in a call centre. The 50% of women who graduated are beyond him, as are the feckless feminists promoted ahead of him for their ‘superior communication skills’ – otherwise known as nagging and getting someone else to do their work for them.

So he might be reasonable in thinking that 1/3 of the availble pussy is possible. But he competes with the myriad other blokes in a similar position, and those from the A tier. This third of women probably has to choose between realistically 2/3s of them men. Let’s be generous here…

Ratio 6:1 Combined disposable income ~£5,000 p/a

Bloke C is short, ginger and works in a 3D job at not much above minimum wage. All of the University grads, all of the better paid safe and comfy job females are out of sight. He’s left with the thick, lazy or unsuccessful. And competes with the tiers above him for even their affections.

Ratio: 20:1. Combined disposable income ~ £bugger all.

 

The Punchline

 

Sadly this isn’t comedy.. Standing in line to be punched in the dick is probably a good analogy for our young dudes on their way to finding out that the poor do indeed get poorer. And I cite this objectively for the underclass. The extreme end is called the Incel movement… Involunarily celibates. They deserve our compassion and action, but receive nothing but mockery.

Take the sad wretches described in Orwell’s Road to Wigan Pier (1937). Their economic prospects were undeniably poor, their lives tough and their plight only covered by a chinless socialist snob on a jolly. Who incidentally only studied them, like ants, to determine why they were too stupid to revolt.

The nation they built though was capable of great things, as we discovered against an Austrian dude of historical significance just a few years after the tome hit the posh bookstores. Their labour and the coal they dug powered the nation during the war and they reaped the benefits of the technology developed during it to lead happy retirements, surrounded by their grand children.

Whilst routinely displaying feats of strength and endurance probably beyond our athletes these days their pussy prospects were no worse than any other generation before.

These same, usually socially conservative, voices were the ones betrayed by no fault divorce and other feminist nonsense.. Robbing future generations of the only thing that adequately aleviates a life of poverty.

Consider too the poor drudges who emigrated here, or their grown up children. Have a look at the wallflowers next time you are out in a nightclub and you’ll notice a clear trend. Whilst Londoners salivate over the notion of signalling their virtue by dint of having a black lass clean their bog they don’t marry them…

In group preference in sexual partner is neither controversial nor arguable, the statistics are stark.

So next time you hear of a Muslim terrorist attrocity consider why a young dude with few prospects other than his cousin might blow up a concert for young girls, or indeed why so many school shootings in the USA are attributed to Incels.

Maybe the two are more… intimately.. linked than you realise?

Rhiannedd

Joined at the wound, our mother’s inflicted
Joined at the hip, or you preferably fisted
We are peas in a pod, a copy and paste
Though you did the copy, and me the replace

That controlling V, a once powerful tool
Which you wield as a weapon, the only true you
The rest is a sham, the past is all lies
Concocted on the fly to patch remorseless byes

We orbit and argue, you ran away, that grates
Magnetically attracted till narcissistic fates
I give you supply, returned with false hope
That sex is a cure for this malicious trope

But there’s always another, a backup man
One with money, or status even if trans!?!
Emotional flashbacks haunt my waking life
If only I could understand all of your strife

I thought it was me, my Afghanistan tour
That turned you into a Zombie, ghosts and more
I figured it out though, not me or mine
Was your sons’ refusal to follow your decline

Poor Alex abandoned, ignored or ignoring?
And Henry simply refused to be boring
Slung you out, your own home on a whim
Starved the attention your inheritance bereft him

And what of me, this experienced narc victim
Blamed himself like a clueless naive bumpkin
I propped you up at that time in your life
When you should have crashed, true self reflection in sight

Now you are better, a choice use of words
Self preservation won, others treated as turds
Those children that haunt you, you think they are ghosts
They craved your attention, you your own reflection most.

Incapable of remorse, your life swinging and coke
your fanny a bucket an elephant once smote
Parlour games are meant played my dear, not paid
Though I think you found your niche, getting laid.

Four narcs in a courtroom, Lustitia cried
Who could untangle these perjurous lies?
The ghosts that haunt you, your children’s ignored cries
Frequencies which on reflection, whips and toys cauterise.

A generational curse, handed down from Tredegar
Our children in care, lied to and eager
To see their Daddy, though you aren’t so keen
The narcissist’s gene self replicates it seems.

And they do not know he is frustrated and barred
So think themselves unloved, alienated and tarred
With the same disease which made you who you are
A narc for a mother and an absent father.

Red Pill becoming mainstream?

A few months ago myself and chaffers kicked off our online campaign to raise awareness of the feminist ideology behind our institutions and everything that we all intuit as wrong.

At first, it felt as if getting through to people was tough, but the moanstream media was even harder. Yet, now I have noticed a subtle change in the reporting, where are few slightly anti-feminist and anti-identity politics opinion pieces are making it to the centre-right press.

It would seem, that two years after Trump’s election that columnists have finally cottoned on to Trump’s agenda and don’t know how to respond…

The tide has turned…