Reading over the comments (more like essays) on the last article I penned, I would like to bridge what obviously seems to be a gap between White Nationalists and females. Being both myself (no, I’m not Greg Johnson, but I will take that as a compliment), I have access to the minds of beautiful and fertile Caucasian goddesses, which, judging from the lack of female representation on WN sites, you probably don’t share. Instead of condemning me and taking the side of bitter pussy-obsessed mansophere gurus, you should be pumping me for information.
Good-looking enough to model (I dabbled in print ads), I have my own business and answer to myself and myself alone. My business allows me the time and luxury to travel (internationally) for weeks at a time just to pursue my extracurricular hobbies. In essence, I am every feminist’s wet dream.
I treat dating like a business (i.e.,”stay unattached to the outcome”) and in my dating history I have been on several hundred dates–from contractors with missing teeth to Harvard MBAs (the latter coining me an Alpha female). Yes, I’ve even scheduled two dates in one night (I admit that can be a little tricky). What I’m searching for is a life-long mate (not hookups) that is intellectually, physically, and emotionally complementary. Sadly, I’ve learned a true soulmate is hard to come by. The vast majority of the dates I go on end up being first and last–most of the time at my request.
Yes, the bitch does come out in daily life when I see injustice or hypocrisy. I never back down from confrontation–in fact, I live for it. But most of the time I’m quite pleasant to be around and some would even call me slightly amusing (to the horror of some readers, I’m sure).
Why am I telling you all this? Well, even with the guuuurl-power enriched independent life that I lead, I would give it up in a heartbeat and move to a cabin  in the Northwest (I don’t do suburbs) breastfeeding triplets next to a wood-burning kitchen stove. And I’m not alone. My gorgeous and professional high value girlfriends feel the same. We want traditional patriarchs. We’re dying for them! (May the goddess strike me down!) But only on one condition: You have to be worthy of our submission.
What does that mean? Well, we want authentic men. Not boys who text, but men who call.
For example, this is what’s currently mucking up our dating pool:
Instead of this:
See the difference?
Yes, I know that feminism has emasculated men and morphed them into emotional wimps, which has allowed “Gamers” to take advantage of the autonomous frustrated female. But what modern men see as Alpha (Gamers) is actually Alpha posturing: Aggressive and “Manly” on the outside but selfish Beta immaturity and pettiness on the inside. I’d go into more detail but Jack Donovan  has already done it for me. Thanks, my white brother (we need more enthusiastic racial cries of solidarity, not fewer. Learn from the united racial groups that are outbreeding us, already!).
Don’t get me wrong, there are a few aspects to “game” that I admire: Having a solid “inner game” is inherently needed for an Alpha male to prosper and overcome life’s obstacles. Also, passing “shit tests” is another necessary branch of “game” that assists the female to assess her man’s inner strength. But overall, even with the conclusion that Strauss himself has advocated for a more meaningful relationship (which obviously hasn’t deterred his readers from doing the opposite), the end result of “game” is to manipulate and cut women down to size, so it should be properly shamed into oblivion.
You want to pick up women?
1) Be interesting (radiate an original personality, not clownish neon feather boas).
2) Tease her a little (not demean or objectify).
3) Don’t tolerate shit (have boundaries).
It really is that simple. The rest is well, chemistry.
And don’t make us chase you. By doing that, you’re leading the way to your own pussification thus cementing women in the aggressor role.
Yes, of course, women want Alpha men. But just like Leonidas’ wife, we want our men to provide, protect, and risk their lives for the betterment of our family–for the betterment of our race. We want a true hero that we can assist and support in his mission in life, and we won’t sacrifice our newly found independence for anything less. Alpha females (the true ones at heart) have the inner strength to reject the brainwashed onslaught of feminism and embrace traditionalism. (I am self-sufficient by default, not because I choose to prove something to myself or the opposite sex.) Some would say that we’re asking for too much.
We are at a crossroads right now. Professional women will never be desperate as long as illegitimate births are accepted in the mainstream culture. Since they currently represent 40% of the national birth average , it’s only a matter of time before we hit the same numbers as Negroes (70% nationwide and 90% in the inner city). When that happens, men will only be useful as sperm donors (“game” away, fools) and we’ll officially be a matriarchal society. I’ve even contemplated this as an alternative due to a recent inquiry from a lesbian couple who were surprisingly quite upset at giving birth to a boy (just wait for genetically engineered  “western” sex-selection).
When the time comes and if I still haven’t met my warrior mate, I must decide if I want to venture out overseas to the Motherland, pick up designer sperm, and raise my own broken family. The only thing stopping me from doing so is fond memories of my Father growing up. Fortunately (for now), I wouldn’t want to deprive my future children of a male-led household. But the next generation of selfish women (reared fatherless) won’t care and dispose of daddy once they’re finished with him. Yes, it’s currently happening, but it can be reversed before it’s too late.
So stop intellectually masturbating to Evola and go make your Nordic gods proud. We have no idea what the future holds as we become the minority in our own countries. Do you really want to wait to find out?
And another thing . . .
If you, my Prince, will go out into the wilderness, hunt down the meat, kill it with your own hands (bullets would be cheating), and rip out its heart with your teeth, then the only question I have for you is: Would you like mustard or mayo on your well-deserved sandwich?
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a date to go on and white warrior children to breed.