Dinner For One

I met with one of my wealthy female clients recently. She lives in Newport Beach.

She was in a bit of a huff regarding her daughter, who a year ago married a senior executive from a well-known software company and just had a baby. The problem was that in shopping for a home, the couple discovered his credit score had plummeted.

This was due, it was discovered, to the behaviour of his trashy ex-wife, whom he had left and was totally bat-chit crazy, according to my client. Apparently at one point she had held a knife to his throat. The ex had been delinquent on formerly joint credit card payments for a few months and owed a small amount, which she refused to pay. Hence the hit to his credit.

He paid her a substantial court-ordered monthly sum for a five-bedroom house.

Both his ex-wife and the current wife [my client's daughter] were well-educated lawyers from schools such as Notre Dame and Northwestern.

What I found interesting was that both my client and her daughter blamed the son-in-law for the problems. Her daughter was distraught, she claimed, and like her blamed the husband. When I referenced the behaviour of modern American women, the effect of divorce laws on men, my client still wouldn't budge, refusing to believe it. It was all the fault of her "stupid" son-in-law for marrying the bitch in the first place and trying to be cooperative.

I find it amusing now that weak males keep inserting themselves into these situations.

Whiskey

Overheard:

Her:  I went to the doctor a few weeks ago. I'm clean, they didn't find anything. No STDs, no gonorrhea. HIV negative, too.

Him:  That's good, because I'm pretty promiscuous.

Crap

Jerk (Neurotic Outsiders)

Be Interesting

It's soirée season. And there's nothing more boring than hearing about someone's illness, political gripes, or children. These are fucking dull subjects. Avoid them.

I say this after having attended an exhausting round of Christmas parties during the last two weeks. There's another one tonight. I shall let you know how it turns out.

As you know, I came of age in a vastly different time and place--and it wasn't that long ago. When I was a young man I was expected to attend holiday parties. And I did.

Do you have a party trick? I do. In London at Christmas and New Year's Eve gatherings our well-connected neighbour-hostess required of her attendees some kind of party trick: a joke, magic trick, amusing anecdote, quotation, etc.

It was regarded as a gift, the least one could do in return for her generosity. For my part I chose to present the John Donne poem 'A Hymn to Christ, At the Author's Last Going Into Germany', my recitation of which rarely failed to amuse fellow guests. I had memorised the poem at school for reasons lost to me now. More on this later.

Not having a family to speak of, I'm unclear as to how modern people celebrate holiday family gatherings these days. But for you, I recommend being as interesting as possible. And, work on the art of having a conversation!

Win

Buckle Style

Shooting Kit

The Indispensable Sex

'After the next inevitable apocalypse, men will be desperately needed again! Oh, sure, there will be the odd gun-toting Amazonian survivalist gal, who can rustle game out of the bush and feed her flock, but most women and children will be expecting men to scrounge for food and water and to defend the home turf. Indeed, men are absolutely indispensable right now, invisible as it is to most feminists, who seem blind to the infrastructure that makes their own work lives possible. It is overwhelmingly men who do the dirty, dangerous work of building roads, pouring concrete, laying bricks, tarring roofs, hanging electric wires, excavating natural gas and sewage lines, cutting and clearing trees, and bulldozing the landscape for housing developments. It is men who heft and weld the giant steel beams that frame our office buildings, and it is men who do the hair-raising work of insetting and sealing the finely tempered plate-glass windows of skyscrapers 50 stories tall.'

Camille Paglia, It's a Man's World, and It Always Will Be, Time, 16 December 2013

Out of Africa Style

Northern Tresses

Fogey Methods of Self-Defence

Indoor Sporting Man

The indoor sport of banging hot married women was not the career choice I envisioned in my youth. But in the last several years or so it seems to have taken up a larger portion of my dating life. I'm not completely sure why.

I certainly attract my fair share of ladies. As you're aware, I'm tall, muscular, fit, and affable. I put myself out there on a consistent basis. I have an interesting background and know how to dress well and furnish a flat in good taste and classic style. And thanks to years of practice in the drawing rooms and wine bars of London, New York, and Greenwich, I know how to conduct a conversation in real-time without once resorting to a text message. Women like that.

When I say married women I don't mean flabby housewives addicted to The View. I mean attractive women in their 30s-50s who take care of themselves and who could appear on Buffyshot if they chose to do so. I have dozens of scandalous selfies in my inbox as testament. This is Southern California, after all.

The decline of the institution of marriage is another reason. It's opened up loads of opportunities for hot-blooded single chaps such as moi. More on this later.

My much-younger self would have been horrified--and maybe a little envious--by what I get up to today. But I don't give a fuck and haven't for many years.

Allow me to get personal with you for a moment. In my late teenage years in London, after some romantic exposure to young females, I sensed that mores had changed and that the traditional marriage-and-family set-up--mythologized by parents, media, and Church--was in radical decline.

Perhaps inspired by tales of the young Ian Fleming in his City-swinger bachelor days, I decided instead to live for myself only and to achieve a life of professional and financial success, sartorial splendour, frequent travel, and regular sex.

And--you don't need me to tell you--I've more or less accomplished my goal.

At what cost? I shall discuss this another time.

Still, some of the early hope remains, a remnant of another, very different person, for whom I still have a fondness. Although I harbour a dream of settling down one day with a young woman worthy of my commitment, assets, and sperm, in the meantime the ongoing denouement is proving rather fun.

Life is for those who seize it.

Sent from my iPhone

Quilted Jacket Style

Pendleton Plaid

I just noticed that I've met and spoken with my Mercedes Benz mechanic--a solid Austrian chap, family man, and business owner--more times in the last several years than I've met or spoken with my own family members.

But again, the same is true with a few other successful male relatives.

The breakdown of Euro- and Euro-American family and society is something I've experienced first-hand.

Dissolution reigns.

The poolside beckons.

Boerboel

When I lived in Namibia (South West Africa) many of my neighbours had such dogs patrolling their fenced compounds. These creatures were very aggressive--though, not towards me. What I was told is that they were trained to respond aggressively to the wood-smoke scent of Africans. As events progress in the US, these dogs will become more popular.

Noble Beings (Jünger)

'It suffices to say that among all the old and long since fleshless heads my eye caught sight of two new ones hoisted high on poles--the heads of the Prince and of Braquemart. From the iron pike-heads with their curving hooks they looked down upon the glow of the fires which were flaking away to ash. The young Prince's hair had turned white, yet I found in his features greater nobility and the lofty, sublime beauty to which only sorrow gives birth.

 At the sight I felt tears start to my eyes, but they were such tears as fill us with wonderful exultation together with their sorrow. On this pale mask from which the scalped flesh hung in ribbons and which looked on the fires from the elevation of the torturer's pike there played the shadow of a smile intensely sweet and joyful, and I knew that on this day the weaknesses had fallen from this noble man with each step of his martyrdom, like the rags of a king disguised in beggar's weeds. Then a shudder ran through my inmost heart, for I realized that he had been worthy of his forefathers, the tamers of monsters; he had slain the dragon fear in his own heart in his own breast. That I was certain of something which I had often doubted--there were still noble beings amongst us in whose hearts lived unshakeable knowledge of a lofty ordered life. And since a high example leads us in its train, I took an oath before this head that from that day forth I would rather fall with the free man than go in triumph among the slaves.'

Ernst Jünger, On the Marble Cliffs (1939)

Pétanque

Tweed & Beard

Some Notes on Yoga Pants

Oops, these aren't yoga pants--my bad

Now, like any other red-blooded chap, I appreciate yoga pants. A lot. They are easily one of the most glorious sartorial inventions in recent years. But naturally they look best on hotties only (at left).

On less svelte ladies they can similarly look attractive, but don't be deceived, as these garments have the ability to function as sausage casing for a fat arse just waiting for a chance to bust out all over the place. So beware.

But on fat girls yoga pants are patently unacceptable. There is no excuse. Ever.

This past weekend I spotted just such a specimen. I was sitting at an outdoor cafe, like a lizard in the sun, feeling good after a workout. A girlfriend soon joined me. Her blonde hair shone bright in the Southern California sun.

Not long after she sat down I spied over her right shoulder a fat girl settling down at a table with two of her friends, only one of whom was close to being fuckable .The fat warpig wore yoga pants, sunglasses, and lycra top.

They ordered. When the sandwich was placed in front of her the All-American fattie suddenly looked very serious, inspecting the food with a turned-up-nose finickiness as if she were about to start picking diamonds out of a pile of dogshit. And then she ate.

These sights disgust me, and they happen almost every day. Why I continue to subject myself to them, I don't know.

Jäger

Hunting wild Bolsheviks, no doubt

Dreamhome

Love is our resistance

Radioactivity (Kraftwerk)

Triumph Thunderbird

Hussar Style

Church of St. Nicholas (South Tyrol)

Church of St. Nicholas, South Tyrol

Braai (Elysium Edition)

Keep it Handsome

Discipline

Detachment Theory

It happened earlier tonight with a young hottie, who, despite her bitching, didn't mind giving it up to me. Huge load. Some of the ladies complain that I'm too detached. It's something I've heard before. What does it mean? Apparently, it means I'm cold, un-emotional, and somewhere else even when we're together. And, that I'm always thinking. WTF?! I'm still not certain if and how I would even fix this feature of my character if I wanted to.

If You Wanna (The Vaccines)

Fighting Mentality

"It never always gets worse.”

David Horton, quoted in The Fighter's Mind (2010)

Löns

la vénerie

Ain't Talkin' 'bout Love

Just Because

Political Killings

The so-called "JFK assassination" is one of the dullest episodes in US history. It completely fails to register with me. It's a non-event. Politicians get killed. So what? Big fucking deal.

Now, I don't turn down my long nose at political killings. I've no problem with them. I think more should take place under the proper circumstances. Violence, after all, works.

When I was growing up my parents had some good friends--old preppy Nantucket types--for whom the "JFK assassination" was the watershed moment in their lives. It was as if their existence began with that event. Its legacy for them was like the bottom of a swamp stirred by memories, constantly muddied with sentiment, self-righteous indignation, and revenge.

My mother--an über-WASP from an old colonial masonic settler family--absolutely loathed the Kennedys and all they supposedly stood for. And so did her family. Vehemently so. I still recall them denouncing the American circus in ferocious terms.

I agreed with them then, and still do today.

Ladies Before Gentlemen

Note: that typo annoys the hell out of me, too

Homeland Defence

Knockout Game? Let's play, niggers....

"Get the **** out of my way!!!"

When one is motoring behind a slow-moving Lamborghini, Ferrari, or Maserati, one invariably discovers that the driver turns out to be an older female. WTF? It brings into question whether these individuals, like old people in general, should even be granted motor car driving licences to begin with. Most irritating.

Silver Machine (Hawkwind)

Speaking English Can Kill You

Direct Action

“We are entering a time when acts must follow words.”

Dominique Venner (1935-2013)

le fleuret

Lift Big

Under The Yum Yum Tree (Official Trailer)

Squirrel Shooting Porn

Wilson Combat Classic

Germany

We've been dating less than a month. We've fucked a couple of dozen times or so, the furniture always taking a heavy beating. And already she's bought me a large birthday present. She just declared her devotion to me, verging (I'm afraid) on love. Too much too soon. Why do women do this? It's time to move on.

Whoring at Whole Foods

In an exclusive report, I'd like to reveal to you one of my favourite hunting grounds for meeting new ladies: Whole Foods Market (WF). I usually frequent the location near me in Laguna Beach (at left). Last year a new store opened in Newport Beach. I've spent considerable time since then prowling the aisles in search of new meat. And by new meat I don't refer only to chemical-free bacon or organic grass-fed ribeye steaks. If you're looking to meet young women, I strongly recommend this place. The following are some reasons I do so.

Hotties

The girls who shop there are likely to be hotter than average. Hot girls take care of themselves and eat healthy organic foods. They are into yoga, pilates, CrossFit, BuffyShot, and other esoteric hot chick practices. Hot girls are more likely to have high-paying jobs and therefore are more able and willing to pay more for good, well-prepared foods. The girls shopping there are also likely to be single. If you stop by after work, say, between 6:00pm and 8:00pm, you will observe the single career girls buying prepared meals to take home. For those interested in these demographics, hot MILFs and cougars are also known to patrol these waters. The latter are a bit more aggressive than their younger sisters. I've been approached and chatted up many times by interested females, so much so that it didn't take me long to connect the dots. WF is proving to be a prime hunting ground. Need I say more?

Hipsters

On the upside, you're not likely to have much competition. WF is often frequented by hipsters and beta males: skinny, nerdy, pale men wearing lumberjack clothing, chinos or cheap suits. Many of them appear startlingly young, almost effeminate. Others are chubby and well-fed in their Dockers. Often these beta-boys work at local corporations and show up in groups at lunch time to peruse the buffet stands. As a fogey stud disguised as a member of the professional classes, in undercover mode, you have an advantage. With competition like this, hunting WF is like shooting fish in a barrel. Go for it.

Connected to this is the fact that sub-hominid males of the lower humanoid species are unlikely to shop at WF, as few if any can afford it. The ghetto tones and chimpouts that would ordinarily result from their presence in, say, a sports bar or nightclub, are minimized here.

WF provides a civilised environment in which to hold a decent conversation and deploy your pussy-pleasing banter to your frozen heart's content.

Props

One of the advantages of WF is the presence of numerous interesting props. Use these items as an excuse around which to construct a conversation. The prepared food tables are a good place to start. Ask the ladies about the quality of, say, the roasted peppers or sautéed kale. The meat section is also a suitable area offering plenty of opportunities to discuss the differences between organic vs. grass fed. My favourite spot at the moment is the nut section, where one can talk about sprouted almonds. Careful, though: hippies and bolshevik-leaning chicks tend to gravitate towards this area.

Keep in mind, as a man shopping at WF you are perceived as part of an elite class. It is, after all, a place where White People Like To Shop. It demonstrates your financial ability and willingness to buy expensive food items and an interest in healthy-eating and nutrition. Hot girls like that. These reasons alone would suffice to make WF a prime pick-up environment for the aspiring stud. Take note.

la vénerie

The Minefield of Caddishness

Eton Rugby

Return Your Revolt Into Style

Gym Approach

I like Blonde and Totenkopf banner. 
This is how my Nationalist gym will look -- minus scrawniness.

I go to the gym to work out and lift. That's it. No surprises there. But I see way too many people standing around in the gym socializing with one another as if they were at a fucking cocktail reception.

And I observe far too many beta males trying to make small talk with the hotties. They rarely succeed. The gym, as you know, is the last place to pick up women. This is my position and has been for years.

However, a few weeks ago my conviction was put to the test.

As you know, I've been spending a lot of time in the gym recently. I work late, but manage to get in a session after hours.

I'm consistently one of the taller, bigger chaps there and invariably I'm surrounded by smaller guys lifting hard, huffing and puffing, doing their utmost to look bigger. Best of luck to them.

I don't claim to be a bodybuilder, but I'm big enough that I catch other guys checking out my routine. Creepy, to say the least. One of my chums, a competitive bodybuilder, has told me stories of guys following him around the gym as he completes his sets. WTF?!

Sometimes there are one or two women in the weight room, usually young blonde cuties or Asian girls already in fantastic shape. And then there's the token 57-year old blonde cougar with manjaw who seemingly can't keep her eyes off me. I don't want to go there.

The female I'm referring to was early thirtysomething, slim, and brunette. I was finishing a set of bicep curls. She walked in my direction and then stopped a few feet away, looking down at her iPod as if adjusting it. After a brief moment she looked up and took a step towards me. She gestured towards my chest and started talking. All I saw were her lips moving. I couldn't hear a thing she was saying because I was listening to Motörhead at maximum volume.

I admit, I was a little annoyed as I took out my earpieces. Now don't get me wrong. I'm no stranger to women approaching me. There was a time several years ago, before I married my first (hot) ex-wife, when all I had to do was walk into a bar or restaurant and some girl was all over me. And it still happens today.

This girl was pointing towards my chest and asking me about surfing, apparently using my surf t-shirt as a prop. As Girl Game goes, I thought, it was rather transparent. But I smiled, we chatted, and we agreed to meet outside afterwards.

The best thing about this encounter was that I could see the other guys in the room watching it unfold. In the beta crowd was a dark little guy with a vaguely Middle Eastern look wearing a "Penn" t-shirt.

As if we're supposed to be impressed by that shit.

Let me tell you, it's a glorious feeling indeed to be approached by a hot chick in front of a crowd of clueless beta males looking on. I could practically feel their jealous anger.

Reds Don't Surf !

Europe