Book Reviews: Ferdinand, Jack Donovan, Aurini

by Frost on February 5, 2013

Reading is fun kids. Here are three books that belong on any respectable Red Pill bookshelf.

Three Years Of Hate, by Ferdinand Bardamu


3YoH is a collection of Bardamu’s best articles over his three years as lead author of In Mala Fide. I could write an original and brilliant paean to the Bardamu ouevre, but oh wait, I already have. Work smart, not hard, that’s the ticket:

“In Mala Fide is not a safe space. Ferdinand’s worldview is a blended mess of nihilistic anarchism, traditional conservatism, libertarianism, and youthful rebellion for the sake of itself. And still, it is one of the clearest approximations of reality that you’ll find today. In Mala Fide has become one of the most popular and comprehensive blogs (and web magazines) in the alt-right blogosphere, primarily on the back of Ferdinand’s ability to articulate a cogent and original perspective in a literary space dominated by cant.

In addition to his contributions to the alternative blogosphere as a writer, this throwback profile would be incomplete without a mention of Ferdinand’s role in coalescing the diverse world into a single community. Weekly link-love posts, and a willingness to regularly host guest submissions from both established and new authors, have turned In Mala Fide into a one-stop hub for all your non-mainstream opinion and analysis needs.

The result of these two approaches – bold, reckless, and insightful literary forays into the murky swamps of the 21st-century western mind, combined with an open-door policy for dissenting opinions – is that In Mala Fide is currently the closest thing the alternative blogosphere has to a center.”

Also see my short eulogy for IMF. One wonders what the old boy is up to now. He didn’t strike me as the sort whose pen could lay idle for long. But until he rises, Han Solo-like, from wherever he is, buy the dirt cheap and well worth it Three Years Of Hate.

* * *

Next up is Jack Donovan’s The Way Of Men.

I already reviewed it here, but in retrospect, I did a terrible job of communicating what a great book it is. My only excuse is that I was trying to make a point that was tangential to the review (the scope of the task of narrating a renaissance of traditional masculinity), but it came off wrong. Or, maybe my mind was just poisoned with negativity after a month of backpacking around the proud, noble, street-corner-shitting people of India. Either way, here is the cold truth: The Way Of Men is an excellent book. It was a very interesting read, it led me to a ton of great primary sources, I’ve thought about it frequently since putting it down, and it’s inspired one of my favourite new habits that I’ve built into my life since reading it. Buy it right now if you haven’t already.

* * *

Last but not least is Aurini’s As I Walk These Broken Roads.

“As I Walk These Broken Roads” by D.M.J. Aurini

I will preface this review by saying that I was very, very excited to read this book. I was also genuinely afraid to read it. I was afraid because Aurini is one of my favourite bloggers. He is, as far as the word can apply to someone I’ve never met and who wouldn’t know my face in a crowd, a friend. Most importantly of all, I know that he’s a damn good writer and had worked his ass off on this book. If he couldn’t throw together a decent book, a worthy opening salvo in the looming culture war between The Cathedral and its soon-to-be-exponentially-growing Red Pill challenger, what chance do the rest of us have?

So it is with great relief that I write this sentence: As I Walk These Broken Roads is a great book. It is gripping, entertaining, immersive, and manages to walk the incredibly fine line of being very thoughtful and deep, while staying true to its core as a character-driven suspense thriller.

It’s not perfect. In fact, there are some fairly obvious flaws, and its a testament to the quality of As I Walk These Broken Roads that I recommend it so highly despite them. Some of the dialogue is strained. The first few chapters are extraordinary. There’s a romance that feels like it was added by a Hollywood producer who demanded that Aurini fit a love story somewhere, anywhere, in a book that is essentially a story of men.

I also had some trouble believing the early stages of the relationship between the two main characters. Without giving too much away, I think that there friendship comes too easily, especially in a post-apocalyptic world in which I would expect people to be much more guarded and hesitant to trust. But, other reviewers have praised the relationship as the best aspect of the book, so maybe I’m just not seeing it. I do agree that the relationship in question, certainly one of the most important aspects of the book, is extremely well written and believable. But the beginning felt like each was very much wearing a green light at a ‘looking for a new BFFE’ party.

But enough nit-picking As I said, none of these flaws interfered much with my enjoyment of the book.

As a suspense novel, it is a great read. As a bromantic comedy, it is quite funny and moving in a very understated, masculine way. As a meditation on the nature of society in general, and our own in particular, it is the sort of book that often pops into my mind after putting it down, and one I look forward to re-reading. Most importantly, Aurini has created an extremely interesting post-apocalyptic world, a fascinatingly ambiguous protagonist, and a story with enough deliberate loose ends to leave me eagerly awaiting the sequels.

Buy As I Walk These Broken Roads


Arnold Schwarzenegger For King

by Frost on November 6, 2012

Not sure how to vote today, loyal American reader? Well rest easy friend, because you could certainly do a lot worse than handing over the tiny sliver of authority your decadent age has seen fit to grant the likes of you, and letting me make the decision on your behalf.

But this is the sort of endorsement that will require some build up, so let’s take a look at the two proper candidates.

First: Barack Obama. Who is this guy? I think future historians will have a lovely time trying to figure that out. My opinion is that he’s basically not that terrible of a guy. He’s just an ambitious, narcissistic and unprincipled shapeshifter, going with the flow and doing his best to maintain his own delusion that he is… whatever he thinks he is. Obama lets the Fabians running the DNC and media implement their creeping Marxism, the Fabians let Obama make speeches, play White House, and say to himself in the mirror every morning, “Yes, Barack Obama, you are the Hope and Change President. They love you Barack, they really, really love you.”

But why psychoanalyze? Given a second term, Barack Obama would continue at pace –  spending money America doesn’t have, stifling free enterprise, accelerating the ceding of the southwest to Latin America, starting a few new Middle Eastern wars that will almost certainly lead to new, hostile Islamic theocracies, increase the incentives for single motherhood and antisocial behaviour generally, make more progress towards criminalizing free speech and self-defence, implement more bureaucracy, more redistribution, and in general, offer us a slightly faster descent into the bowels of hell. Four more years! Four more years!

So there’s my endorsement, folks. If you believe, as I sometimes do, that the sooner we begin our descent, the softer the landing will be, I recommend a vote for the incumbent. I’m also curious how a second term will play out. America was once a strong country. Can it survive a full decade of Hope and Change? If Nate Silver is right, looks like we’ll soon see.

But how much fun would a Romney victory be?

Here’s the really weird thing about Mitt Romney. I think he really, truly, genuinely believes in America. He believes that, sure things look dark now, but check the box next to his name on election day and by gosh, it’ll be morning in America all over again. It will take some hard work, of course, but the America Project, the beacon of light, the city on the hill – it’s still salvageable, according to Mitt.

Is there pride in his heart? Self interest? Of course. But my read on Romney is that his only major flaw is his naïveté, and his ill-placed faith in the ability of the heavily listing American ship of state to right itself. He is, in other words, the perfect Outer Party shadow opposition candidate. If he wins, the next four years will follow the well-worn script of vaguely right-wing leaders in the late western democracies – a general continuation of the march towards the abyss, sprinkled with some mild and transient reaction, in a few areas deemed priorities, a la Nixon, Thatcher and Reagan.

But perhaps, dear reader, you lack my cynical, hopeless resignation to the decline of western civilization. Perhaps you would like to approach politics with a higher goal than maximizing your daily enjoyment of the increasingly bizarre and untethered mainstream media. Maybe, just maybe, you – like Mittens – still believe that America is a great country, full of great people, who don’t deserve to have to boil their shoe leather for soup in the coming decades.

If this is the case, I have an idea.

I propose that the United States of America give complete and permanent authority to Arnold Schwarzenegger. I propose that we dissolve The Senate, Congress, POTUS, Judiciary, Civil Service, and their state and municipal counterparts immediately and unequivocally cede absolute power to the Governator.

Friends, America needs a King. I will not belabour this point here. Either you’ve read your Moldbug (start here) and the primary sources therein, and you’re equipped to have a serious conversation about political theory and present history, or you haven’t and you aren’t.

The question is: How do we go about choosing a King? I contend that no man alive today is better suited for the position than Ah-nold.

Have you read the man’s life story? It’s an interesting one. I highly recommend Education of a Bodybuilder, Pumping Iron, and (though I haven’t yet read it) his new autobiography.

Several things jump out at the student of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s life. The first and most prominent is his sheer force of will. As a teenager, Arnold decided he was going to become the greatest bodybuilder of all time. He did it. Then he decided he was going to become a movie star. He did it. Next, he chose politics. He rose to the governorship of the union’s largest and most interesting state. Not only that, he made an excellent attempt at providing the undeserving sunshine state with sane, fiscally responsible government. Arnold’s political career could have been a much smoother ride, were it not for the noblesse oblige he apparently believed came with his power.

In a world full of weak, mincing, cowardly men, Arnold Schwarzenegger is one of the few remaining exemplars of masculine energy, ambition, and nobility. He is truly the Last Action Hero.

Some will complain that Arnold should not be King, because he is not an American. Yes, the modern conservative-cum-reactionary may soon admit, America needs a King. But America is the greatest country on earth, and it’s only fitting that she is ruled by an American King, not some friggin Austrian musclehead with a funny accent.

But this is actually Arnold’s greatest asset as a potential and future ruler.

America has failed. The American Dream was not a good one that turned bad. The American Nation was not a fundamentally good one that picked up a rotten streak. No. America – the political formula, the ruling ideology, and the vast majority of the historical ruling elite – were all crooked from the start. The American people, though fine and decent in many ways, have always had the opportunity to organize themselves, overthrow their sham-kings, and assert grown-up governance on their country.

What America needs today is not pride. It does not need to rediscover the go-getting attitude that made ‘Murrica great, back in the good old days. What America needs today is humility. America – the ruling elite, the people, the intellectuals – must accept that they have failed. They must repent. And to make sure it sticks, they need to demonstrate their newfound humility with a great act of contrition: They must hand over their country to an outsider, albeit one who has always loved the country and personally embodied the best of what virtue it has.

King Arnold is my favourite solution to the deepening rut America presently finds herself in, but I have others. A breakup into fifty independent states is a fine idea. The submission of the Pacific Northwest and New England to Canada, the Southwest to Mexico, and the South to some sort of (hopefully slave-free) Confederacy 2.0, would also do the trick. Maybe the Russians can get Alaska back. Jacobitism doesn’t appear to be catching on, but one never knows. The bottom line is this:

Americans must forfeit the illusion that they have in any way earned the right to govern themselves. The American people have demonstrated time and again that they are not worthy of self-governance. History and Geography have bequeathed America the world, and they have all but burnt it to the ground.

It’s time for a change. It’s time for unconventional solutions. America may look like its going to exist forever in its present form, but history suggests that all great empires must come to an end. It’s time for some heroes to step up.


Getting the Gang Back Together

by Frost on November 2, 2012

One of the best books I’ve read in the past year is Jack Donovan’s The Way Of Men.

There are many ways to measure the quality of a book. How much did you learn from it? How much did you enjoy reading it? How impressed were you with the author’s writing ability and insight? On all of these metrics, The Way Of Men does very well.

But to me, the most important test of a non-fiction book is how actionable it is. Specifically: How much does your life improve as a direct result of reading it? This is where The Way Of Men knocks one out of the park. Jack Donovan taught me that I need to start a gang. So let me tell you a bit about my gang.

We are seven.

We meet Thursday night, from eight to ten.

We wear suits and drink scotch.

We take ourselves seriously.

We come from a variety of career backgrounds: Public policy, real estate, law enforcement, foreign service, and academia.

We are ambitious.

We are hustlers.

We discuss, openly and with as little ego as possible, our various plans to take over the world.

We discuss ways we can help each other.

We hold each other accountable.

Every week, one member gives a short presentation on something the other members can use to improve their lives.

After the meeting, we go out on the town and cause shenanigans.


This is not a mere social gathering. It is not a group of boys sitting in a circle and shooting the shit. Rather, it is a group of men with plans and goals and objectives. On Thursday night between 8-10pm, we are not friends. We are not buddies. We are allies. Before and after, we are good pals who party and work out and play squash together. But for two hours a week, we put all that aside and focus on helping each other climb our own individual ladders.

The format of each session is as follows:

8:00 PM – Quick round table. Tell us your top three priorities in life at the moment.

8:10 PM – Weekly review roundtable. Reflect on your goals from last week’s meeting. Did you get your shit done? Why or why not? Questions, suggestions, and calling people out for bullshit, rationalizations and weakness is highly encouraged.

8:15 PM – Presentation. One member gives a short presentation on a topic that other members can use to improve their lives. Previous and scheduled topics include: Martial arts, property investing, SHTF preparedness, juicing, posture and body language, and the necessity of forming a gang.

8:30 PM – Next actions round table. What is your plan for the next week? How are you going to make progress towards your previously stated goals? What are your priorities? How are you going to schedule your time to make room for those priorities? These next actions will be revisited next week, at the 8:10PM round table. Again, dissection of each members’ next actions is highly encouraged.

8:45PM – Need and offer round table. How can other members help you this week? What can you do to help them?

And that’s my gang. Now it’s time for you to go and start yours. So I ask you,tThe small percentage of my readers who think along these same lines: Go out and form your own gang. Find your own group of like-minded individuals, and start quietly conquering your own little corner of the world. You’ll be better off for it, and who knows? Maybe one day my gang, and your gang – and perhaps even a few other gangs – will find some common cause to fight for in this unstable, rapidly decaying world of ours.


So you’re thinking of taking a year off of grown-up life and going traveling. Let me be the first to say: Great idea.

Based on my experience, this post offers my recommendation for a the modern young man who has a few bucks burning a hole in his bank account, bookmarked in his browser, and a creeping malaise in his heart, getting harder to ignore with each passing day.

Obvious caveat: You are you, I am me. People are capricious regarding what countries/regions they’re interested in. For no good reason that I can think of, I have zero interest in visiting Australia or Brazil, but I desperately want to spend at least a few months each in Chile and New Zealand. This guide is a template that you should feel free to tinker with ad libitum.

So without further ado: The Ultimate Quarter-Life Crisis Gap Year Guide

Phase One: Southeast Asia

We’re going to start our gap year trip in November, because winter is no fun in North America unless you’re a crazy maple-syrup-fed semi-pro outdoor hockey player such as myself. Also, I’m hoping this post will inspire some of you to kick off the shackles and buy a plane ticket right now.

Months one, two and three will be spent in Chiang Mai, Thailand. Sign up for unlimited training at Team Quest Thailand and grab a room in a nice hotel for no more than $400/month. Limit your partying to two nights a week, get insanely healthy, ripped and deadly, and start some sort of side project – teach yourself how to build niche websites, start a blog, build a mailing list – there is money to be made online, get your hustle on and get some of it.

Phase Two: India

Months four, five and six will be spent at an Ashram in either Rishikesh or Pune. Three months of zero technology, zero sex, zero alcohol, tobacco, drugs or caffeine. Make sure you find an Ashram that emphasizes silent meditation, none of this annoying guided bullshit.

Phase Three: Wildcard, Bitches

Months seven, eight and nine will be spent at a location of your choice. Russia? Eastern Europe? The Middle East? Israel? Africa? You could also take these three months to do Japan or China before India. Pick somewhere that speaks to you. Me, I’d go to Iran or Turkey.

Phase Four: Europe

Months ten, eleven and twelve will be spent in Italy, France and Spain.

Italy is the tourist capital of the world, so go there and be a tourist. Don’t skimp on museums, art galleries, operas, and food. If you can’t afford to do that, don’t bother with Italy and spend an extra month in Southeast Asia.

France, either hit up Hossegor and get your surf on, or get an apartment in a second tier city like Lyon or Bordeaux (Paris blows) or a third-tier city with a huge student population like Limoges. You could also skip France entirely and substitute this month with one in San Sebastien (if you surf) Barcelona (if you’ve got a few extra bucks) or Sevilla, Cordoba, or Salamanca (I have heard unconfirmed reports that Salamanca is an untapped poosy paradise).

Wrap it all up with the Camino De Santiago, a one-month hike across northern Spain. Bring blister cream.

* * *

Here are some things you can tell about me and my preferences, based on this itinerary:

1) I prefer longer stays in fewer places than traditional ‘backpacking’ trips.

2) I prefer to seek out educational, enriching experiences over raw partying.

3) I have no desire to spend time in places that are difficult to travel in. Some would call this ‘being a pussy.’ I call it sanity, not having anything to prove, and no confusing exposing myself to discomfort with personal growth.

If you share these values, you’ll probably benefit from this advice. It’s what I would have given to myself one year ago.

But I also know that I am a globetrotting rookie compared to some of my commenters, many of whom will surely weigh in with their own opinions…


Ranking The Destinations

by Frost on October 8, 2012

Having returned from a quarter-life crisis around-the-world trip, I often get asked: What was your favourite place?

Rather than just pick one, I thought I’d lay out a full ranking of each month, roughly corresponding to each segment, of my travels. There are nine ‘months’ because of rounding errors, i.e. Chiang Mai part deux, Italy, and Spain were each about a month and a half.

Here’s where I was over the past year, in chronological order:

1. November/December – Chiang Mai, part 1

2. January – The 2012 End Of The World Tour

3. February – Chiang Mai, part 2

4. March – India, Ashram

5. April – India, part 2

6. May – Italy

7. June – France, surfing

8. July – France, part 2

9. August – Spain, Camino de Santiago

* * *

And now here’s my ranking of each month, based on both how much I enjoyed them, and how much feel like I grew as a person:

1. Chiang Mai, part 1

When I tap into my favourite memories of the past year, that first month in Chiang Mai always dominates. Part of the reason is that it was my first experience living abroad, in a completely foreign country, making or breaking it on my own. Few experiences in my life compare with the excitement and fear I felt in those first couple of days, once I realized the decision I’d made.

On top of that, the 45 days I spent in Chiang Mai leading up to the 2012 End Of The World Tour were, objectively, fucking awesome. I met a great group of guys and we spent half our days kicking the shit out of each other, and the other half chasing girls and building websites. Also, Chiang Mai itself is an incredible city, easily one of my favourites.

2. Spain, Camino De Santiago

The Camino De Santiago is an 800km hike across northern Spain along the route that St James and a great many medieval pilgrims took to get to the end of the world.

The obvious applies: Spain is a beautiful country, filled with beautiful women and friendly people, great wine and decent food.

The Camino itself was great, in a grueling, challenging, rewarding way. 25-30kms a day with a full pack was at least as physically demanding as five hours of Muay Thai. The people I met along the way were some of the coolest, most interesting travelers that I came across the entire year. I had lots of fun with the 24/7 party scene in SEA, the mega-hippies in India, and the gap-year teenagers in Europe, but the Camino attracts a different breed of person: Smart, interesting, and usually a little bit broken. I felt home.

Also, it was a great way to finish off the trip. Before coming home, I had to ask myself some questions like: Who am I? What the hell do I want to do with my life? What sort of person do I want to be? Nothing like six hours of hiking per day to figure all that out.

3. India, Ashram

I originally had no interest in or desire to visit India. Then I made a last-minute decision to fly Bangkok to New Delhi, and I’m incredibly glad I did.

I had fucked around with meditation a bit before, but I spent my first month in India staying at an Ashram in Rishikesh and it was an incredible experience. With the caveat that dirty hippies are wrong about a lot, they are right about one thing: Meditation is an essential practice.

4. The 2012 End of The World Tour

Not much to say about this. Buy the book for the stories. Coles notes version is, it was just a month straight of shenanigans with three of my best friends. Good fun.

5. Italy

Arrived in Italy in late April. Partied my way through Rome, Napoli, Perugia and Assisi on my own, then met up with an old lady friend for a month on the standard Italian tourist trail: Rome again, Florence, Cinque Terre, Lucca, Bologna, Venice, and Milan. Italy is of course beautiful, and it was beyond nice to sleep in hotel rooms with hot showers and clean sheets after three months of India and hostels. Traveling with a girl was a welcome respite from having to work for every meal as well.

This month finds itself in the lower half of the rankings, but only because the four above it were such stiff competition. I love Italy, but the month I spent there was fun, rather than life-altering.

6. Chiang Mai, part 2

After the EOTW Tour, I spent another month in Chiang Mai, training muay thai, partying, and writing the second book. Very similar experience to the first month, but without the shock and awe of a new environment, and less partying, more writing. Still a great time, and writing the EOTW Tour was a lot of fun.

7. France, part 1

One month of living in an attic with a bunch of Australians in Hossegor, France. Good group, great surf, and a fun little party town, but as in Italy – I didn’t grow much as a person, and I was starting to get antsy about money and my lack of productivity in the second half of my year abroad. Despite a bit of unhealthy, unnecessary stress of that nature, it was still a great time and I feel kind of odd giving this month such a low ranking. But, I definitely wouldn’t bump it higher than anything from one to six.

8. India, part 2

I spent my second month in India backpacking through New Delhi, Jaipur, Udaipur, Jodhpur, Chittorgarh and Bombay.

I enjoyed it, at the time. I met a few cool people, I saw some interesting things, and every day was an adventure. In retrospect, I’m glad my grand tour around the world included some time in at least one “difficult” area. Relentless irrational optimist that I strive to be, I convinced myself that I really, really liked urban India while I was there

But as soon as I arrived in Rome and took my first hot shower, ate a delicious meal, got a bed in a dorm room with nice clean sheets, and spent the night with one of the first hot girls I’d seen in a month, I realized something: India is a god-forsaken shithole. It is dirty, foul smelling, broken, and full of sullen, ugly people. Spare me your exhortations that I must have missed out on the ‘real’ India or that I now lack traveler street cred because I’m willing to call a spade a spade, but there it is. India is simply not a nice place.

I will say this however: Spending a month there was an immensely valuable experience, in the sense that I had never truly appreciated how much better nice things are than not nice things, and the thousands of tiny ways that nice places are better than not nice places. India gave me a new appreciation of the western world, and a new disdain for the people doing their damndest to turn the awful west into something more deliciously vibrant like India.

9. France, part 2

To put it vaguely, I spent my second month in France traveling with an old friend and learning a valuable lesson about what happens when you grow and change in different directions than the people you care about. C’est la vie.

* * *

So there you have it. Overall, an absolute tear of a trip. Quite possibly the best year of my life, and definitely the one in which I learned and grew the most. If you feel like you can relate to me and my values, and you’re considering taking the plunge – I can’t recommend it highly enough. If I could do it all over again though, what would I change? I’ll answer that question later this week when I post my ultimate quarter-life crisis gap year guide.


Why I Am Not A Christian

by Frost on September 26, 2012

September has turned into Christianity Month here at Freedom Twenty-Five.

It started when we asked the question: What Does The Bible Say About Pre-Marital Sex? It continued with Rationalizing Fornication and The Christian Man’s Trilemma, and we wrapped it all up with The Christian Player’s Code.

Readers interested in past discussions of Christianity will also be interested in these older posts: God Is Dead and The Christian Reading List.


But after all this, am I a Christian? No.

I’m a better man today for having read the bible, a stack of Christian apologetics, a terabyte of blogs, articles and Wikipedia articles on Christianity, and for having spent a hundred hours hearing out the theological arguments of a few dozen pilgrims on the Camino De Santiago.

I have a greater respect for Christianity as the definitive intellectual and literary origin of western culture. I feel a great debt to Christianity for its overwhelming importance to the development of western civilization.

Above all, I think Christianity is a useful belief system, both practically and psychologically, for the majority of people.

But, I don’t believe. I’m not sold on the rational, logical, empirical case for a supernatural historical Jesus. Christian morality doesn’t often ‘feel’ right to me, as it should if I were created with the image of God inside of me. Above all, Christianity would be extraordinarily inconvenient to me right now. Of course I think this fact has no bearing on my lack of faith, but I would, wouldn’t I? There is no way in, uh, hell, that I care to reject the pleasure of the Two Games right now.

Perhaps I’ll revisit the faith question at a later point in my life. For now though, I remain a heathen. But whatever my conclusion, I’m a better man today for having grinded through the subject. I highly recommend the exercise to any man with an ounce of curiosity in his heart.


Swole Acceptance

by Frost on September 12, 2012

April 4th, 2003 was the last day of my youth.

I was 17. The school day had ended. The courtyard was full of cheery students rushing off to catch their buses or dash home for an evening of Street Fighter Alpha, Lik-a-Stik candies and ring pops. It was a simple time.

Birds chirped. Squirrels played their little games, the rules of which mankind can ne’er dream to discern. The crisp spring air intertwined with the setting sun, launching the evening’s aura into paroxysms of verisimilitude. The world was a happy place. Or so we had been taught. Our teachers, our parents, the posters in our classrooms all agreed: All people should be treated equally. Diversity is to be celebrated. We’re all OK just the way we are. Ah, those days! Such joy! Would that I could plug back in, and return to the simple pleasure of believing in those empty slogans.

Alas I cannot, because on April 4th, 2003, for the first in my life, I stared deep into the eyes of swole hate. Today, I share my story.

I was making my way to the rugby pitch, when I was accosted by a “friend” of mine from class. Her name was Jennifer. She asked me where I was going. “Practice,” I said, sensing something amiss. Jennifer positioned herself in front of my path, forcing me to stop.

“How late does practice go?” She asked, smiling. “Do you want to hang out after?”

“I’m going to the gym after practice to lift weights,” I replied, avoiding her invasive eye contact. I felt uneasy, like an (incredibly swole for his age) antelope in a cage with a lion.

The next words dripped from her mouth like venom: “Ah, working on these I presume?” Her hand darted out like a scorpion’s tail, and she began massaging my upper arm. Rubbing, squeezing. Not stopping.

“Yes,” I said, tears streaming from my eyes on the inside. “I have to go. Coach makes us run hills when we’re late.”

“Okaaay,” she replied with a pouty face, her hand still resting on my arm. “Wouldn’t want the big strong rugby team captain to be late.”

I jogged past her and towards the pitch, away, away, far away from her caliper-like fingers. My calves burned with pain, because yesterday was a leg day. My heart burned as well, but yesterday wasn’t a heart day.

When I arrived at practice, coach pulled me aside.

“Elihu,” he said, “come here for a second. I’m moving you to the back of the line-out. You had the perfect build for a jumper last year – 6’3 and 165lbs – but you’ve swoled up to almost two hundo since then. The other guys aren’t swole enough to lift you.”

My heart sank. Even coach, a man I’d always trusted to see me as a human being, considered me swole first, Elihu second. After practice, I went to the gym with my swole bros. We lifted in the name of the Father, The Son, and The Swoley Spirit. We lifted, and we saw that we had lifted, and it was good. But the words of coach and the unsolicited touches of Jennifer stayed with me. In their own separate, and possibly even well-meaning ways, they had taught me something: I was The Other.


On that day, my eyes were opened. I saw through the veil of systemic weak privilege and institutional anti-swolism in our society.

But I ignored it. I battled anti-swole prejudice for half of a decade after that day. The looks. The unwanted touching. The soft bigotry of high expectations. The never-ending cries of “show us your ___!”

I tried not to let it get to me. I laughed along with friends when they joked about my swoleness. I accepted the aggressive advances of women, because I was swole, and ‘you know how girls are!’ I paid extra to substitute salad for french fries so many times, I wasn’t even sure I was human anymore.

Worst of all, I thought I was the only one. All day, every day, I bore my cross-shaped torso swolone. My undergrad gym was not a swole safe space, and every day I lived in fear of accidentally grunting or clanging a plate, thus earning the glares of the weak privileged among me.

I pushed through the pain period for a long time. But one day, I couldn’t bear it any longer. I had tolerated swole hatred past my failure point, and my soul was doing forced negatives.

In October 2011, I committed Swolicide.

Fed up with my swolitude, I chose to end it all.

I stopped lifting, moved to Thailand, and spent three months training Muay Thai, partying, and traveling around Southeast Asia. Day by day, the grace of the swole left me.

After that, I moved to an Ashram in India and spent two months eating a strictly vegetarian diet, practicing yoga and meditating. I felt the spirit of the Swole leaving me every day.

Then I moved to Basque country, to surf and party for two months in Hossegor and San Sebastien. By that point, the glares had stopped. The groping had stopped. I experienced the joy of knowing that the girls I met liked me for me, not because I looked like a swole Robert Redford. My heart and swoul were barely clinging to life.

Finally, I hammered the final nail into the coffin of my formerly swole self. I hiked across Spain in the August heat. By the time I finished, I was no longer swole in the slightest degree. I was a regular guy. I had my first taste of weak privilege, and it was sweeter than any aspartame and whey protein shake I’d ever had. I flew back to Canada in an airplane seat that fit me. I ate the meal they served me, rather than bringing my own steamed broccoli, chicken breast and almonds. The cute flight attendant served me like I was any other passenger, instead of leering at me with hungry, objectifying eyes.


When I got home, I thought I had it all. I thought I had cured myself of my self-hatred. I thought I could settle down into a normal life, finally.

But then I discovered the Swole Acceptance Community. At first I thought it was funny. But the more I read, the more I realized that as nice as it is to be a beneficiary of Weak Privilege, nothing on Earth is worth sacrificing your swoul for. And so, I made a decision.

I am undergoing Swole Reassignment Surgery. I am Swole. I was born this way. I’ll die this way. And then I’ll be buried in a coffin that has to be let out in the shoulders.

I’m also calling on swole brothers like FlyFreshandYoung, Virgle Kent, Roosh, Victor Pride, and Danger and Play, to stop hiding.

Because we’re not going away.

Because we’re not going to cave to Weak Privilege.

Because we don’t care how much hate we endure from the Weakcriarchy. With Brodin as our witness: We’re here, and we’re Swole, so get used to it.

Further reading for Swolebros and the Swolecurious:

Swole At Every Height: The premier Swole Acceptance Blog in the ‘sphere

Swole Acceptance FAQ: Everything you want to know about Swole Acceptance but are afraid to ask, brought to you by the Swole Acceptance Subreddit.


Stay strong, brothers. Stay Swole.


Two Games, Part Deux

by Frost on September 11, 2012

Yesterday, we compared the Two Games that 21st century men must play. I claim:

Ex-cads are the only men with a boner’s chance in a slutwalk rally of actually achieving a stable and healthy family life.

There are a few reasons why this is true.

1) Women of all degrees of moral fortitude, even the marriageable ones, are attracted to dominant men who take what they want and bend the world to their will. Putting on a fuzzy hat and goggles and going to the club, whatever else you might say about it, is action.

2) A decent woman won’t give half a shit about the minute details of your ability to verbally spar with her, to say nothing of card tricks and Cosmopolitan-quiz cold read routines. But the successful pick-up artist must acquire a vast and mostly unconscious foundation in basic social skills, which he can translate into power and success in all facets of his life – including traditional courtship.

3) Men who study game and chase women in their twenties tend to be smarter, more curious, more adventurous, more interesting, and more chock-full of life experiences. We tend to travel more, we tend to say “yes” more when people invite us places, we tend to spend our free time improving ourselves. In short, we tend to be better than your average self-styled righteous man, biting his tongue through Sunday sermons indistinguishable from a sophomore feminist critical theory seminar, yet utterly convinced of his piety.

So heads up quiet, obedient, chinless Churchian men: The pick-up artists have caught the scent of your relatively unsullied women, and we are coming for them. Whether our conversions are genuine or not is irrelevant to you. Your faux-Christian weekly social club is soon to be beset by an influx of thirty-something Lotharios. Learn Game and deprogram yourself from the Cultural Marxism that you picked up from your pastor as much as any Gender Studies professor or episode of Glee, because you’ll eventually go toe to toe for the souls of your women, against those of us who have.

Or don’t. But even if you trust your women and your Church to keep the community you love free of sociopathic interlopers such as myself, here is the one ultimate reason why any man who eventually wants to marry a decent woman must put in his years as a cad:

Men need to learn how to identify slutty, crazy and dishonest women.

And the only way to develop the ability to consistently identify slutty, crazy and dishonest (SCaD) women in the field, is to spend a decade or so wallowing around in the slop pond of the modern dating scene. As we established in Two Games, looking for a decent women today is like looking for a few grains of sand along miles of slutty, obese, femi-brainwashed beach.

Friends, sit down and internalize this reality: The vast majority of men in our generation will never find a good wife.

A man who spends his early years fully immersed in the blindered pursuit of “good” women will see only the extremely limited and rosy view that such women choose to present to boyfriend-material potential suitors. Much is made of how constant failure with women engenders bitterness among young beta men, but as Heartiste Thursday wrote, success with women is more disillusioning than failure.

A man should never buy a used car, unless he knows enough about cars to confirm that the one he picks isn’t a piece of shit that will fall apart four blocks from the lot.

Similarly, a man should never marry, unless he knows enough about women to confirm that his choice of a wife isn’t giving off a dozen subtle SCaD red flags. You can learn a lot about the world from books and blog posts, but some lessons need to be learned directly.

Young beta men, are your hearts set on marrying? Well, how will you feel after:

– Listening to a married woman order her weak husband to pick up their two children from school, minutes after you’ve barebacked her

– Over and over again, witnessing the ease with which girls will forget about their boyfriends and make out with you, pass you their number, or go home with you, once their attraction circuits are lit up

– Having countless conversations with girls you are banging about the highly-sanitized version of their sexual history they release to men who give off any whiff of a provider vibe

– Spending hundreds of hours in bars and clubs, watching the young women who you plan to turn into housewives, drinking themselves retarded and stumbling out at three AM with whoever’s game (or merely logistics) were tightest that night.

Does it corrode a man’s soul to expose himself to this kind of cynicism? I argue that truth is never bad for the soul. No one is served by your willful ignorance of the dark corners of the human psyche, except those who will exploit you for it. A man who deliberately goes into his hunt for a wife with one eye sewed shut is a fool and a coward.

A man who closes his eyes and plugs his ears to the carnality around him, because he is too Good, too Righteous, too Godly to bear it, is a coward. True Christians: Depending on how you translate the Greek Porneia, playing a spirited game of catch and release will allow you to keep your soul clean while glimpsing into the nature of the beast. There is no excuse for avoiding the due diligence on the most important decision of your life.

As for the rest of us: The Manosphere has been up in arms over whether men should marry or not. Donlak says yes. Gentleman Poet collects a few responses. (To clarify the debate: Marriage for the sake of itself is clearly a fool’s errand. For simplicity, let’s call any attempt to pursue fatherhood via some traditional family unit “marriage.”) My position is, whether a man pursues fatherhood in the face of the 21st century sexual dystopia is a deeply personal choice, and only a fool would suggest that all men should choose one way or the other. But here are three facts I know to be true:

1) Bachelorhood is preferable to marrying an unworthy woman, both practically and spiritually. The act of “marrying” an obese, un-submissive, high partner count woman should be deeply offensive to every man’s dignity, his principles, and if he’s into that sort of thing, his God.

2) The majority of young men will eventually want a traditional family.

3) The vast majority of young American women are unmarriageable.

So let’s do the math. Carry the one and… hmm. How sad. Some men will expatriate. Some will find and lock down the precious few decent women who remain. But the majority will either compromise their dignity, or remain childless.

Family-inclined men, will you give up on your dreams of fatherhood? Or will you permit your future wife to walk down the aisle to Lil John? “The sweat drips down my balls! The sweat! The sweat!

One is tempted to throw up his hands, say fuck it all to hell, go under the knife, and go kicking and screaming and fucking and partying into the night of genetic irrelevance. I completely respect any man who chooses to walk this path. Perhaps I’ll eventually join you.

But not yet. I’m not ready to give up on my genetic legacy. I’m not ready to let my father’s life of sacrifice for his children to be in vain. I’m not ready to relinquish the possibility of the joy I saw him experience in doing so. It’s an uphill battle, but maybe – just maybe – it’s still possible to build a traditional family, even in the Godless, broken, apocalyptic wasteland of the 21st century western world. The odds are against us. The world is against us. But what sort of men are we, if mere adversity forces us to back down from what we want?

Men who are with me, there is only one way forward, and that is play the Two Games. One is mere practice for the other. One is for show, the other for keeps. One is simple enough, the other might be more difficult than anything else we’ll ever do. And one thing is sure: Only the masters of the First Game can hope to succeed in Second.

And so out we go: To the clubs, to the bars, to the coffee shops, the online dating sites – for they are our labs, our practicum, and our internships. They are the teachers who will show us how to find what few worthy women remain; how to identify them; how to tame them. Or, they will teach us that the whole project was doomed from the start, and the genetic cul de sac is truly is our only option.

If this is to be our fate, let us accept it. But not without a fight.


Two Games

by Frost on September 10, 2012

The modern man has two games to play.

We’re all familiar with The First Game. The rules are: Have meaningless sex with slutty girls, then go brag about it on the internet. We’ll be no strangers to The First Game here at Sex and Cash, in the coming months.

The Second Game is much less talked-about, but the challenge is greater, the strategy and tactics are more complex, and the stakes are infinitely higher. The rules of The Second Game are: Find a girl with high-quality genes to mate with, and raise your offspring in a safe and stimulating environment, so that they can take a shot at conquering the world.

A lot of men claim to have no interest in playing The Second Game. They wail:

“There are no good women left!”

“Divorce theft!”

“All the married men I know are sad sacks!”

“Why would I want kids brah? I get laid all the time!”

The Rationalization Hamster, aka Cricetidae Cricetinae Rationalus comes in both male and female variants. Yes, some men are genuinely content to lead a barren, childless existence. But many more are just lying to themselves. They are afraid, because even though some have mastered The First Game, The Second Game is an order of magnitude more difficult.

How difficult? Well, consider the following traits, which I consider to be the absolute base requirements for a woman who I would eventually consider as a potential mother of my children:

1) Under 25 years old

2) Comparable IQ to myself

3) Physically healthy and beautiful

4) Christian

5) A Virgin

6) The product of a stable and loving family

7) Sweet, kind, feminine and nurturing

8) Committed to devoting her 20s and 30s to bearing and raising children


What percentage of modern American women fit these criteria? Once upon a time, a healthy majority of men could marry a woman who fulfills all of the above*. Today, we are hunting for a few grains of sand scattered within miles and miles of obese, slutty, femi-brainwashed beach.

To make matters more difficult, our success in The First Game can potentially hurt us in the eyes of decent, marriageable women. Good girls don’t want a husband whose partner count is creeping up into the triple digits. In fact, whether or not a girl is open to dating a guy like me is a good litmus test for whether she’s worth a commitment or not. Ah, the irony.

Furthermore, all of the habits, mannerisms and attitudes I’ve cultivated in a decade of playing The First Game, will cut my legs out from under me when I start playing The Second Game. Standard Asshole Game penetrates your typical discardable American woman like a hot icepick through butter, but repels the small percentage who actually deserve better. When the day comes that I’m ready to trade the first game for the second, will I be able to radically flip a decade of ingrained personality traits on a dime? Will I be able to seamlessly transition into Compliment and Cuddle?

No, I won’t. Nor will I ever want to. Nor will I ever have to. The truth is, ex-cads are the only men with a boner’s chance at a Slutwalk rally of actually achieving a stable and healthy family life in their middle age. Tomorrow, we’ll take a look at why.


Male Standards Are Double Standards

by Frost on September 7, 2012

Imagine a woman making the following statements:

“I want to marry a man who earns more than I do.”

“I would never date a guy shorter than me!”

“I only date [lawyers/professionals/musicians/jacked guys].”

Do you morally object to any of those? I don’t. Certainly no woman would ever feel ashamed to admit them. Now imagine a man making these statements in polite mixed company:

“I want a wife who will stay at home and raise our kids while I work.”

“I’m not the best-looking guy in the world, but I would never date an ugly girl.”

“I know I’ve banged a lot of chicks, but I’m definitely marrying a virgin.”

“I don’t want to date a woman my own age. Ew.”

Eyebrows are raised up to *here*, let me tell you.

In my life, I’ve been accused of having double standards more times than I can count. I’ve let myself get pudgy in the past, but would still only date fit girls. I’m a man whore but I would never commit to a slut. Now that I’m twenty-seven, I don’t see myself dating many women my own age for the rest of my life.

When these standards of mine come up in public, which they occasionally do when I’m in an irreverent mood, they elicit a chorus of denunciation – I am pronounced guilty of the foul crime of DOUBLE STANDARDS.

But as the first group of examples demonstrate, feminists and their mangina lapdogs have no fundamental problem with double standards per se. I have a friend who generally only bangs NHL players, despite the fact that she is not herself an NHL player. How dare she hold her lovers to a standard that she herself does not live up to! It’s clearly not a principled stand.

The Answer: “Double standards” is code for Male Standards.

There are certain qualities that men value more in women, than women do in men: Physical beauty, Youth, Chastity, Nurturing. High-value men will naturally pursue women who kill all four. But men derive their value from other factors, such as status, social dominance, power, money, and achievement. Inevitably, most high-value men will end up chasing women who are younger, hotter, more chaste, and more amenable to changing diapers than they are.

Feminist cries of “double standards!” are nothing more than an attempt to corral high-quality men into settling for ugly, old, man-jawed sluts. But I can’t possibly imagine why they would want to do that. Can anyone help me out with this stumper?