Category Archives: RF Short Takes

Ah, Those Evil Anglobitch Eyes

US-VOTE-REPUBLICANS-DEBATE

The cold, calculating look of the Anglobitch, with ice running through her veins

The eyes can be windows into the soul. Apparently, any hunches one might have that Megyn.. er… My Gyn Kelly is a man-jawed ice queen would be correct, according to some recently released political gossip. Kelly, now appropriately at openly Communist NBC News rather than pseudo-conservative network Fox News is, according to Steve Bannon a classic case study of the archetypal Anglobitch we discuss so often here at TNMM.

Reports have surfaced that Bannon, Trump’s chief strategist tried to warn Roger Ailes about what kind of woman she was dealing with in a report just that just dropped on left-learning Politico.

I told him then, I said, “She’s the devil, and she will turn on you!”

Of course, the rotund Ailes didn’t heed those warnings (as so many American men who are in total denial about the pure malevolence women are capable of) and was soon dismissed from his leadership role of the “news” organization with trumped up sexual harassment charges. Newsmax writes:

Bannon described a “massive falling out” he had with Ailes over her treatment, in particular, of then presidential candidate Donald Trump.

Of course, her setup questions backfired miserably and she now gets to address her nemesis as Mr. President. Ailes decided Kelly wasn’t the devil and the rest is history.

By the way, sexual harassment cases are the new witch trials in this Puritanical culture.

As someone with over a decade of experience working in the media, I know the My Gyn Kelly type. Pretty much every white girl I worked alongside could be described using Bannon’s description of Kelly. Pure evil hiding behind those blue eyes as women like her will do anything to be the queen bee.

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Irony

Anglobitch_Sign

Here’s a question for girls like her: What if your lifestyle – which demands the production of the toxic chemicals you bought to bleach and burn your hair, requires drilling for the oil needed to make the plastic in that necklace, and needs textile mills to produce those hipster rags you have on are causing the problems on your sign?

Irony. That’s what one might call the most materialistic creature on the planet – whose lifestyle consists of nothing but conspicuous consumption, shopping for shit she doesn’t need, and eating out – holding a sign like this. The statistics of who spends money in the economy will back me up on that statement.

Not pictured: Her Starbucks latte container which she probably just threw in the trash, on its way to the landfill.

An innate talent of the Anglobitch is virtue signaling. Based on totally false premises, of course. Schopenhauer would classify it as yet another display of female dissimulation. Showing us how superior she is, when in fact it is her lifestyle which is creating all the problems on her sign. She probably never stopped to think that she might be the blame for the problem while someone filled her empty head with those messages.

And the gynocentric society in which she lives would never call her out on the carpet to defend her hypocrisy because women are viewed as such superior creatures in the declining Anglo world. Why, it’s those evil men who are doing her bidding, trying to provide her with the things she needs and wants who are to blame.

The Hedonic Treadmill is a pain in the ass. Best to never start running on it.

Somebody please tell these clueless chicks to stop complaining about the environment if their vacuous lifestyles of consumerism are what’s destroying the world. Stop keeping up with the Joneses if you truly want to save the world, bitches.

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“Who Hurt You?”

Anglobitch_Pointing

“You are the problem!” -Feminist

The boilerplate attacks never stop from women, directed against men who don’t subscribe to popular myths and verbal palliatives intended to keep males in a subservient role in Anglo society. Here’s a predictable ad hominem that bubbles up from the feminist cesspool once in a while.

What woman hurt you so badly to be so jaded? It is so sad!!!!!

What does she really mean?

This is one of my favorite attacks because it reveals the biases of Puritanical Anglo culture. Firstly, the attack implies there’s something wrong with the author for calling women out on their sins and rationally analyzing female behavior from a male perspective. (I enjoy using one of the feminists’ favorite terms – sin – back against them, heh.) A comment like this also implies there’s nothing wrong with the society he is criticizing, that women set the norms in society and any man that doesn’t like their behavior is defective.

Second, the comment assumes the author’s entire life is focused on pining for “the one that got away” (as if any woman is worth eating your heart out over, again, a Puritanical response based on the assumption women are goddesses and men are utility objects) and not rejecting the entire rotten edifice of pussy-pedestalizing Anglo society. The fact the author has slept with well over one hundred women since figuring out what makes them tick would never occur to someone this obtuse.

And of course, the “It’s sad!” pablum is the parroted response of sheepish followers intended to both marginalize the person they’re attacking, offer false empathy, and ridicule at the same time.

Now you know what feminists are really thinking and what they mean when they serve up this vapid, verbal shit test. It really is one of the most common attacks. The best response is to laugh in their face and move on.

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Rel’s Strip Club List: Lust | Charlotte, NC

Chocolate1

It finally happened. I found a black strip club I didn’t like

Lust | Charlotte, NC
Relampago’s Rating: Star16Star16StarBW16StarBW16StarBW16

Black strip clubs never fail to give me bang for the buck.

But it finally happened. I found a black strip club I didn’t like. I was dumbfounded as I spent a couple of hours at Lust in Charlotte, North Carolina over the weekend, and the girls were as distant and self-absorbed as you’d find a typical white girl strip club. I couldn’t wait to leave.

Don’t get me wrong. Quite a few of the dancers had gorgeous bodies, big but firm asses, nice hips, nice boobs, and pretty faces. There were others who had too many tattoos and pink hair, but I like having a few hood chicks thrown into the mix. Some of them can be very fun to know once you break the ice.

But something was off. The girls didn’t know how to work the room. They just stood around and watched each other dance. A few girls approached me but only gave me the “Do you want to buy a dance?” treatment.

What the hell?

Had I stumbled into a parallel universe? There were beautiful chocolate ladies everywhere but they were either paying more attention to each other or too caught up in a solipsistic daze to realize they have to do something more than admire themselves to earn some cash. Black strip clubs are never like this.

It started when I entered the door and was greeted by a security guard who proceeded to give me the “wand” treatment that TSA is infamous for, and told me to lose my eyedrops (I had some seasonal allergies) and that my phone would also have to go back to my car. I almost left after those requests (after telling him how dumb I thought those policies were) but was just so sure that I’d have a good time I let it slide.

It ended when I decided to leave after only 3 beers.

As far as atmosphere, this club is nice, with classy choices in decor and furniture. But I’d rather spend time in a dive and have a good time than in a club that has nothing to offer but superficial atmosphere.

As a side note, I will say strip clubs in the South do tend to suck. My experiences in Virginia, West Virginia, North Carolina, Alabama, Mississippi, and Florida have all tended to be underwhelming. The Bible Belt culture and Baptist brand of repressed sexuality in these states really sucks the life out of the nightlife.

That said, the very best club I’ve found in the entire country is in Louisiana, a wonderful little hole in the wall called Passion in New Orleans. Other black strip clubs I’ve been to have given me nights to remember, but this night at Lust was one I’d just as soon forget.

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“When I Die, I Want to Remember How This Felt”

Talanquera

Scenic vistas like this abound, just off Highway 5

I was driving along yesterday on Highway 5, one of my favorite routes on the Samaná Peninsula and this thought came to mind.

“When I die, I want to remember how this felt.”

I was not only referencing the drive, flying on a motorcycle on a winding country road through some of the most lush and scenic vistas this side of paradise with a cobalt blue sky, a nice sea breeze, and tropical sun shining down on me.

I want to remember the freedom I had. I want to remember the cornucopia of beautiful, dark skinned women available to me. I want to remember the magnificent simplicity of life, including the fish meal I just ate. It consisted of a fish I picked out, grilled to perfection over a wood fire. Surely better than any corporate feedbag I’ve ever visited.

I want to remember the happiness spending over a year on this island in the Caribbean has brought into my life. My expat adventures have provoked feelings and emotions in me which I didn’t even know I had.

My mind, carefully conditioned by decades of edumacation system indoctrination, combing me for a life of pointless work that would benefit my paymasters far more than me, now ruined for life on the human farm.

What a thought for a man to have, only a few short years after often wishing he was dead as he shuffled papers and created scandals out of whole cloth for the dirty laundry business, a rat in a wheel making the wheels of the economy turn as money came in and money went out and he watched grey hairs slowly appearing in his scalp, and lines in his face getting clearer. Having a moment that he wants to remember even as he leaves this world. These are thoughts I never had in the “free country” I left behind.

Moments a man wants to immortalize.

I had just come from spending nearly a month in Southeast Asia, time which flew by all too quickly. It was a month I enjoyed immensely. But there’s just something about the Samaná Peninsula that cleanses this man’s soul.

I think it’s the simplicity of my life when I’m here.

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