Author Archives: Relampago Furioso

The Androgyny Agenda Reaches Star Trek

Martin-Green

Meet “Michael Bernham” – the protagonist on a new Star Trek series

If the transgender narrative wasn’t already ground into your eyes and ears like so much visual and verbal glass by the mainstream media, here comes a new Star Trek series to serve as a vehicle to mainstream the androgyny agenda. It further confirms the long-running franchise will continue to boldly go off the rails, a process started by J.J. Abrams when he turned the esoteric enterprise into a big budget farce directed at low-IQ moviegoers.

A new CBS series entitled Star Trek: Discovery will be the first new television series in the franchise since the failed Enterprise left the airwaves a decade ago. Predictably, Hollyweird execs want to piss down the backs of longtime fans and into the face of the people who inhabit “flyover country” they hate so much.

The series will be led by the delicious Sonequa Martin-Green, but she will be playing a character named Michael Bernham. Rumors vary widely on why the execs chose the odd name for a female character. Some say Berhham will be – you guessed it – a transgender lead for the series. Another unofficial web site says the series is only trying to make names androgynous, and not the character himself…er…herself…er…itself.

The TrekMovie staff would like to point out that Michael is a female first name, and we have confirmed with CBS that Michael Burnham is, and always has been, the name of Martin-Green’s character.

Another web site called Fansided seemed excited at the prospect of gender ambiguity.

If the writers are indeed creating our first transgender Trek character, they need to do so with caution. Put too much light on her sexuality and it becomes a SJW issue; alienating your baby-boomer crowd. Not enough light will seem like they perhaps missed a chance for social commentary.

Either way, why can’t Martin-Green have a female’s name and the audience allowed to enjoy her in all her sexy, womanly glory without muddying the waters, you fucks?

But we all know the media and Hollyweird run on mainstreaming fringe elements of society, and what better way to further insult the 99.7% of the population that isn’t transgender than shoving such a character in their face.

PR flacks and marketing morons think they’re being “edgy” when they make decisions like this. But the further they push the boundaries, the more they lose normal people. There’s no limit to the depths of hell once the race to the bottom begins. But can the people who love this lifestyle just crater all by themselves and leave the rest of us out of their lust to desexualize human beings?

Of course, all it takes for this perversion to stop is for audiences to stop paying attention. This isn’t “progress” anymore unless one considers it progress towards the edge of a cliff. It’s just more sickly, Anglo American sexual ambiguity and Cultural Marxism packaged as something cutting edge. Don’t watch it. We just discussed getting messages from the media out of your home and out of your life earlier this week. Perhaps now, more than ever is the time to take action. If we all collectively stop paying attention, pushing perversion will cease to work as a business model for the industry of illusion.

One might previously have though the demise of Anglo America on the world stage was a bad omen. But with the nation now trying to cut penises off men and sew them onto women, some of us are beginning to think the end of this society in decline can’t come soon enough.

After all, the end game of Cultural Marxism is to eliminate all sex differences. Are you ready to embrace the Rachel Maddow future? Well, here’s one motherfucker who won’t go down without a fight.

Help us grow by making a purchase from our Recommended Reading and Viewing page or our Politically Incorrect Apparel and Merchandise page or buy anything from Amazon using this link. You can also Sponsor The New Modern Man for as little as $1 a month.

Advertisements

Estranged: Ghosting on the Road

new-york-2335664_1280

An update from The Big Apple

You haven’t lived on the wild side until you’ve taken a 70-ft long, 40 ton vehicle into the heart of the concrete jungle known as New York City. It is a wild ride. Don’t make a wrong turn is the advice. There’s a thought that’s occurred to me while I’m here, enjoying some awesome food at the Truck Stop Diner just across from Manhattan in eastern New Jersey.

I am hopelessly estranged from America.

I’ve returned to ghosting while I’m on the road, as strip clubs don’t really do anything for me, brothels are too expensive and only offered in Nevada, and online dating is a tragic comedy unless you’re into fat and sassy land whales. There’s really nothing for me to do except work and save my money because everything in the States is becoming too expensive for the average person to enjoy.

An example: a crappy Big Mac meal now runs a man almost $12 at the travel centers along the toll roads we cruise up and down. The same meal was $2.99 when I worked at McDonald’s as a poor teenager 20 years ago. The price of the meal has gone up, but wages for the average worker haven’t kept pace.

I’ve traveled to nearly all 50 states in my 18-wheeler in the past 6 months, and yet there’s nothing here for me. Really. I’d be gone already except I need to meet my financial goals in order to enjoy life abroad, outside The Anglo-American Matrix. I feel the emptiness that drove me away from America slowly returning as I realize there is nothing to do but feed machines and live a solitary life in a place that pretends to be social on the outside but in reality is one of the most anti-social places on the planet.

I’ve come to realize, I’ve been estranged from this culture from quite a while.

It never intended to offer a man like me a seat at the table, as creative and intelligent men are ostracized from Anglo culture from the time they’re boys in school. Personally, I was identified in third grade as an anomaly, probably because I talked about amplitude and frequency modulation when other kids were talking about G.I. Joe and Barbie. I was placed into the “Gifted” program only to see nothing happen except being able to study at my own pace through third and fourth grade.

Then, I was lumped back into with the rest of the students and tried to follow the prescriptions the masses are given (go to college and get the magic piece of paper) until I couldn’t stand living like that anymore in my early 30s. It’s nothing but a trap designed to trap men into debt peonage.

Now, I’m flying by the seat of my pants on a totally new, self-directed adventure, much of which I write about here at TNMM.

But, it isn’t just the mental aspect that estranges me, nor the fact this culture actively marginalizes those who think and reason for themselves rather than following the herd. It’s living in a culture that’s actively trying to de-ball men and boys. There’s no room for masculinity in a toxic, feminized culture. There’s no room for originality or risk-taking in a culture that’s become afraid of its own shadow at the behest of the controllers in the media and politics. Whereas the nation once had role models like James Dean, we now have to look at creatures like Rachel Madcow on MSNBC, held up as some great androgynous figure for everyone to aspire to.

There’s nothing to do except worship at the altar of the sleep-work-spend cycle. That’s for the people who are unfortunate enough to have to work. The welfare class just sleeps and spends. What kind of empty ass existence is that?

What’s more, people here disgust me in a lot of ways. Big, lumbering slobs that have no survival instincts, don’t know how to do anything except shop for garbage they don’t need, shove bad fast food in their face, and talk about their stupid careers like the slaves they are.

All I want is out of the insanity, to leave for a secluded, untouched corner of paradise to be left alone from the what this once great society has become, and live out my days a free man, not a serf on the corporate plantation. To enjoy the simpler pleasures of life like a son and daughter and my choice to do whatever I want with my time each day. Not out of control and exploited in the insane sleep-work-spend cycle everybody else accepts as normal.

The worst part is how hard it is to escape this “free” country. You haven’t realized how anchored you are until you’ve tugged on your tether a bit. The system is set up to make it so you can never leave, just like the lyrics in the Eagles’ Hotel California. It is a system designed to run you into debt, credential you to death, tax you to death, and fine/fee you to death in addition to spending what it can of your paycheck after you get it, i.e. forcing you to either pay into the health care mafia or get fined by the IRS.

It requires supreme self-discipline to stay out of the many, many financial traps it lays for men in their daily lives.

I seldom leave my truck these days, knowing I can’t passively accept life in The Anglo-American Matrix, spending my hard-earned money here knowing there’s something better for me out there in virtually every direction a man might go. I don’t want to participate in this social engineering experiment any longer. I’ll just be a citizen turned migrant worker, as this society took my place at the table away a long time ago.

I’ve decided to tough it out through the end of summer. Then, I’ll be leaving again for at least six months, if not one to two years if things go well.

Help us grow by making a purchase from our Recommended Reading and Viewing page or our Politically Incorrect Apparel and Merchandise page or buy anything from Amazon using this link. You can also Sponsor The New Modern Man for as little as $1 a month.

Women Hunt Men, Men Hunt Resources

wild-2384044_1280

Here’s a new way of looking at a woman who’s interested in you – proceed with caution

To maintain frame and rationality in the mating game, visualize a woman who is interested in you just as you would visualize a large cat staring down a prey item. Be careful you don’t wind up her lunch, your finances and freedom shredded to ribbons by her claws.

Any man who has succumbed to a predatory female will know well the discussion we are about to have. A discussion about how women hunt men like prey items since the Law of the Jungle has returned to the West post-sexual devolution. Worse, they now do so with total cultural and legal impunity. Like jaguars in the jungle, women are in search of the tastiest prey item to whet their appetite. A gynocentric culture and misandrist legal system only sharpens their resolve, and weakens men’s hand as they scurry about.

Women, unless constrained by patriarchal culture, behave as financial and resource predators of men. This unfortunate reality of human relationships is alluded to in the classic men’s book The Predatory Female.

When you begin to fraternize with a woman, you are taking the first steps in a ritual mating dance that, if allowed to progress, will result in your moving about the floor in a semi-comatose state until you are fleeced of your money, property, and peace of mind.

The simplest way to put it is: Women hunt men, and men hunt resources for women to consume. The totality of human sexual relationships revolves around this fact.

The hunt begins.

A predatory female will study you. She learns to know what you are thinking. She begins the strongest primeval death grip known to man.

Of course, sex is one of the most powerful instincts human beings have. Being the gatekeeper of sex is her trump card, one she will play ruthlessly at the poker table as she places you into the “death grip” alluded to above. If you are a willing prey item, she will soon have total control over your sexual, financial, and legal life as well as your freedom.

How does she select her prey?

If a woman in interested in you, know that you have been identified as a prey item. You are something she thinks she can consume. In her eyes, you are either a tasty meal ticket or a success object to show off to her friends, or both. Your humanity matters very little to her. As a man, you will never be nothing more to a woman other than an object she can exploit using nature’s credit card to “pay” you, even though she is so adept at manipulation most Betas never realize the nature of the beast they’re in bed with literally, financially, and emotionally.

Know that once your resources have been consumed, or you are not able to keep up with her pace on The Hedonic Treadmill, or she finds a more appealing prey item (i.e. a new man) to monkey branch to, you will cease to exist and be left like roadkill smeared on the pavement along the highway of life.

If you’re invisible to her, it’s because you are not seen as a potential meal ticket she can use to raise her status or better her quality of life.

These are the facts Red Pill men must face if they want to have an advantage on the sexual playing field. Manipulate the predator using this wisdom. Become a more difficult prey item to mesmerize her, but never let her get close enough to take a bite out of you.

As jaded as this knowledge might seem to the uninitiated, there is really no other way to explain the behavior of women and female adherence to the Law of Hypergamy, which is right up there with the Law of Gravity when it comes to female nature. Hypergamy, is of course, the female predilection to only date and marry men who are above them in socioeconomic status.

Women, the predators, are upwardly mobile when it comes to the mating game. Men, the prey, are almost always downwardly mobile when dealing with women. The cost of her sexuality is his lifeblood, a lifetime of labor and sacrifice. This is doubly true when dealing with an Anglobitch, more cunning and difficult to appease than other women. (With less reward, too.)

Of course, bad boys are an exception to the Law of Hypergamy, but in the vast majority of relationships you’ll find a woman with a man who provides material benefit to her. (Even if she enjoys seeks out and enjoys bad boy seed on the side – somebody has to pay for her lifestyle. But Alpha Fucks, Beta Bucks is a topic for another time.)

The predatory nature of women is something of a secret in modern society, but the cold reality of this revelation was well-known when men were stronger and better educated than the gelded simpletons skulking about the landscape today. Rudyard Kipling wraps up our cautionary tale about women hunting men with his classic poem The Female of the Species:

WHEN the Himalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his pride,
    He shouts to scare the monster, who will often turn aside.
    But the she-bear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and nail.
    For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

    When Nag the basking cobra hears the careless foot of man,
    He will sometimes wriggle sideways and avoid it if he can.
    But his mate makes no such motion where she camps beside the trail.
    For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

    When the early Jesuit fathers preached to Hurons and Choctaws,
    They prayed to be delivered from the vengeance of the squaws.
    ‘Twas the women, not the warriors, turned those stark enthusiasts pale.
    For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

    Man’s timid heart is bursting with the things he must not say,
    For the Woman that God gave him isn’t his to give away;
    But when hunter meets with husbands, each confirms the other’s tale—
    The female of the species is more deadly than the male.

    Man, a bear in most relations—worm and savage otherwise,—
    Man propounds negotiations, Man accepts the compromise.
    Very rarely will he squarely push the logic of a fact
    To its ultimate conclusion in unmitigated act.

    Fear, or foolishness, impels him, ere he lay the wicked low,
    To concede some form of trial even to his fiercest foe.
    Mirth obscene diverts his anger—Doubt and Pity oft perplex
    Him in dealing with an issue—to the scandal of The Sex!

    But the Woman that God gave him, every fibre of her frame
    Proves her launched for one sole issue, armed and engined for the same;
    And to serve that single issue, lest the generations fail,
    The female of the species must be deadlier than the male.

    She who faces Death by torture for each life beneath her breast
    May not deal in doubt or pity—must not swerve for fact or jest.
    These be purely male diversions—not in these her honour dwells—
    She the Other Law we live by, is that Law and nothing else.

    She can bring no more to living than the powers that make her great
    As the Mother of the Infant and the Mistress of the Mate.
    And when Babe and Man are lacking and she strides unclaimed to claim
    Her right as femme (and baron), her equipment is the same.

    She is wedded to convictions—in default of grosser ties;
    Her contentions are her children, Heaven help him who denies!—
    He will meet no suave discussion, but the instant, white-hot, wild,
    Wakened female of the species warring as for spouse and child.

    Unprovoked and awful charges—even so the she-bear fights,
    Speech that drips, corrodes, and poisons—even so the cobra bites,
    Scientific vivisection of one nerve till it is raw
    And the victim writhes in anguish—like the Jesuit with the squaw!

    So it comes that Man, the coward, when he gathers to confer
    With his fellow-braves in council, dare not leave a place for her
    Where, at war with Life and Conscience, he uplifts his erring hands
    To some God of Abstract Justice—which no woman understands.

    And Man knows it! Knows, moreover, that the Woman that God gave him
    Must command but may not govern—shall enthral but not enslave him.
    And She knows, because She warns him, and Her instincts never fail,
    That the Female of Her Species is more deadly than the Male.

Indeed, let the wisdom of that poem and this short lesson on the predatory nature of women flow through you. It is one of the most important lessons a playa or a MGTOW can have when it comes to dealing with the opposite sex.

Help us grow by making a purchase from our Recommended Reading and Viewing page or our Politically Incorrect Apparel and Merchandise page or buy anything from Amazon using this link. You can also Sponsor The New Modern Man for as little as $1 a month.

Stop Letting Your Masters in Politics and the Media Talk to You Like You’re in 6th Grade

Boxy

Stop letting your masters treat you like a child, and start enjoying life like a man – doing what you want to do, not what they want you to do

You might have scoffed as you read that headline. But nothing could be more painfully true. The elite, and their political prostitutes as well as the marketing/media marionettes on their payroll consider you nothing more than a simple-minded dupe who will impulsively and automatically consume their lies and wares. And, they assume, you’ll do stay locked in this cycle with machine-like precision.

They literally talk to you like you’re in the 6th grade.

I now recoil in disgust each time I see an ad and realize what a low opinion of consumers corporations have. The canned humor. The farcical nature of it all. The glibness. The push to make people competitively consume. I was force-fed an ad last week on YouTube that told people they needed to “Win breakfast” at their office, as if eating yet more high calorie, trash food was some sort of victory. WTF?

I also recoil in disgust when I hear politicians go into homilies about ‘Murica and better days ahead and how they’re going to fix everything. Better not hold your breath. Start fixing your own life because these fucks aren’t going to do anything but enrich themselves at your expense.

When I worked in the mainstream media I was regularly told to write script for 6th grade comprehension. In other words, cater to the lowest common denominator and never try to raise the bar. Naturally, I didn’t fit in well with that mentality and regularly had my scripts for news reports heavily revised by soggy looking editors who were usually overweight, and almost always duplicitous motherfuckers you couldn’t trust as far as you could throw them.

Stepping outside the narrative was, of course, verboten even though the management always told us to be creative and original as we repackaged the same pile of shit for mass consumption on the airwaves. Perhaps more importantly, we always distracted viewers with sideshows about nothing rather than telling them the really important things that are going on in society. Like the West being conquered by invaders, men and women merging into one sexless glob and bankers turning the entire world into slaves of their financial schemes.

The point is, why do people let politicians and mediaites talk down to them in this manner? Do they even realize they’re adults who are being treated like children by McDonald’s, Microsoft, Ford, Walmart, and their Congressman?

The deal is, most of the time, the people who formulate dreck like this – then shovel it into our eyes and ears like so much manure – are right. Men like us are anomalies. This garbage is exactly what pacifies John and Jane Q. Public.

The problem is, this low mentality is dragging men like us down with the idiots who passively accept this ersatz reality. The system is designed around operating to serve and take advantage of people with low intelligence, low ambition, and low comprehension. I see them every day as I drive around America, weighing a deuce fifty on average, lumbering around like zombies pushing out carts of crap from the big box stores and cramming the slow death of fast food into their pie holes.

I can definitely see the temptation the power structure has to treat people like this, even if it disgusts me. The system plans the average person’s life out for them, tells them what to think and how to live and what to buy as if they were children, and they obey even as their rights, freedoms, and range of movement is curtailed one straw on the camel’s back at a time.

This happens every day on TV, in movies, and on the radio. These business models do not run on the people operating them being sterling human beings with a concern about the little man. They operate on convincing millions to buy things they don’t need, with money they don’t have, to impress people they don’t like, in between deluding them to spend a third of their lives at work trying to buy things to make themselves forget they’re spending a third of their life at work. Oh, and don’t forget, kiddos…go press “D” or “R” at the voting booth.

What happens to those of us who don’t want to be dragged into that hell? Tough luck.

But, there are things men like us can do to cleanse the filth of media manipulation from our lives. I’m going on two years TV-free and I’d recommend all other Red Pill men do the same. Minimize contact with the alternate reality that is media and advertising and watch your life cleanse itself. One doesn’t realize how insidious the illusions of the power structure are until they stop watching and listening.

The true zombie apocalypse is happening right in front of your eyes, not on The Walking Dead. Stop letting these people treat you like a child.

I’d never be riding motorcycles, fucking with cute, skinny girls, going to naked bars, dating women half my age, drinking Caipirinhas, going to rock concerts, living abroad in a simple apartment by the sea, driving a nearly 20-year old “classic” hot rod, driving a truck coast to coast once every year or two and living on the road while I pump and dump the economy – watching money pile up in my bank account – if I still had the influence of what the system wants out of me in my life.

You, dear reader, can do the same. All it takes is turning their messages off.

Help us grow by making a purchase from our Recommended Reading and Viewing page or our Politically Incorrect Apparel and Merchandise page or buy anything from Amazon using this link. You can also Sponsor The New Modern Man for as little as $1 a month.

The Digital Vagabond Series: Banging Nikki the Hood Chick

Hood_Chick

Hood chicks can be incredible fun

Hi, my name is Johnny Roadmaster. I am a fictional character, Rel’s “alter ego” of sorts and I roam America as a digital vagabond in the early 21st century. I’ll be sharing some of my stories of adventure and sexual conquest with you. My first installment is one of my favorite memories from the past year.

Here goes…

So, I find myself in Portland, stuck there because I’ve run out of DOT hours in my big rig. I decide to spend the night on the bad side of town, parked beside a series of bars. I specifically picked out this area, since I’ve had extensive experience running around on the so-called “bad side of town” in cities nationwide.

Let me tell you, the bad side of town is where all the fun is.

I pick the second bar in the row of bars. It was run-down looking from the outside. Aged bricks that had seen better days, industrial plants nearby, broken streets, dingy windows. Perfect.

It wasn’t long, about an hour into the night, after I had talked to a couple of other chicks already I saw the girl who I would later know as “Nikki” walk in the door. I had a good-looking, if plump black girl already sitting with me, but Nikki caught my attention. I like slim black girls, and Nikki fit the bill in that and many other ways. Hood chicks are always up for some fun, and I knew she was the girl I was looking for from the moment I saw her.

I politely dismiss the plump girl, and make a beeline to Nikki. A man has got to move aggressively, not sit around and wait to be noticed.

She was dressed seductively. Short, dark skin, nicely groomed, with perky little B-cup titties and a taut ass. I knew this chick was trouble, but in a fun-loving, warm-hearted way. Exactly the kind of chick that turns me on the most. I have been fooling around with chicks like her since my early 20s.

Immediately, I knew what she was looking for. She had a tattoo across her chest, just above her tits written in cursive that said, “Love.”

Our eyes met. There’s just an energy that can’t be described when a white man and a black woman meet and are sexually interested in each other from the moment they meet. Maybe it’s the taboo aspect. Maybe it’s hypergamy. Maybe it’s just raw sexual emotion. Who knows. But it sure feels good inside.

She knew what I wanted and I knew what she wanted. I wanted to tap that ass and she wanted my money. Nothing new, as that’s how the sexes have been bartering with each other since the beginning.

So, we exchanged the usual pleasantries.

“What’s your name?”

“Nikki.”

“Where are you from?”

“Originally from Houston but I relocated to Portland recently.”

“You look like you like to party, Nikki.”

“Oh, I do, boo.”

“I guess you saw I dropped the other girl to come and talk to you.”

“Yes, I was watching to see what you all were doing together.”

It wasn’t long after a couple of Tennessee Honey shots I had my arm around her and she had her arm on my leg. We bullshitted, and enjoyed each other’s company, the liquor dulling any inhibitions we might have had.

I asked, “I know what you’re doing here. So how much will it be?”

She didn’t waste any time. She paused for a minute, then looked into my blue eyes with her sexy dark eyes.

“$200.”

“That’s too much…I work hard for my money. I’ll give you $100.”

After hesitating for a moment, she said, “Ok, boo. I like you. You make me laugh. Let’s go.”

So, we find a dark corner of the club, where we can be secluded. We start kissing, and I begin embracing and hugging her taut little body with my masculine hands. It is such an adventure to explore a new girl, especially when you’ve just met and there’s mutual interest, beyond the sexual barter.

I pull a pretty little chocolate nipple out of a red bra and start sucking on it. She moans and obviously enjoys it. After a few minutes on the right nipple, I move to the left. Before I know it her breasts are out and her panties are off. I move quickly. I slip my finger inside, it feels good in there. Best of all, a few minutes later a hidden motion reveals to me her vagina smells clean. Clean enough to eat.

She then takes my underwear off and gives me some oral stimulation, and I’m already rock hard before she pulls it out. After a few minutes watching her head bob up and down while I grab her hair, I pull her little body up and tell her to stand up on the chair we’re making out on. She’s a little confused. I tell her not to worry.

“Come here, let me taste you.”

I give her coochie another hidden sniff first, and all seemed well. A man’s gotta know before he puts his mouth on something. I wanted to taste her. I stick my tongue out to sample that pretty little chocolate box. It tasted good. I proceed to eat her for a good 5 minutes, and I can tell my technique is turning her on.

“Do you have a condom?” she asks.

“No. This is your line of work, I figured you’d have one,” I respond.

“We really need to have one. I can go get one.”

“Are you clean?”

She fires back, “Hell yeah I’m clean!”

“Well, fuck it. Just stick it in. I won’t shoot in you.”

She hesitates for a moment. So do I. What had we just discussed? What were we about to do? I didn’t know this girl. Then next thing I know, I feel her hand grabbing my manhood and sliding it inside that tight chocolate box, Nikki still on top of me and the taste of her sexuality lingering in my mouth.

Damn it felt good. Not only being inside this sexy little hood chick but the risk of what we were doing. Doing it bareback in a dark corner of the club, some chick I just met less than half an hour ago.

The intensity builds. I wrap my arms around her, as our pumping each other reaches a manic frenzy. I’ve had lots of sex, but this moment was especially, incredibly hot. I didn’t want it to end. A few minutes into the session, I feel myself about to finish. I suddenly stop our rhythmic sexual dance.

“What’s wrong, boo?”

“I’m about to finish.”

“Oh.”

After I feel I’ve regained control, we start up again. We go on a good 10 minutes, never tiring of this single position. Finally, I feel her contracting inside and she lets out a moan. About the time she gets off, so do I. I hesitate, as I enjoy nothing more than putting cream into coffee, but think about the consquences if I knock her up…then push her up and off of me just as I explode.

Treating me with more respect than many girls I’ve dated and invested much more of my time and money into, she helps clean up. She then tells me she doesn’t even want my money. But she does want my friendship.

As we continue talking after our romp, I still notice something sweet about her, something most men will never see in a chick like this. Something that draws me to her, a decency and realness I seldom see in women. We end up drinking together for several more hours, exchanging numbers, before I vanish back into the ether of the night.

Help us grow by making a purchase from our Recommended Reading and Viewing page or our Politically Incorrect Apparel and Merchandise page or buy anything from Amazon using this link. You can also Sponsor The New Modern Man for as little as $1 a month.

« Older Entries