Yes, this happened.

It’s funny that my ex-wife and me still have such parental conversations about our son.

Here he is, on cusp of adulthood, just a few months away. My legal child support obligations will come to an end and then be replaced with the pricier, less formal costs of supporting him through college and all the associated expenses that come with being a young adult nowadays (and always, I suppose).

Once in a while, his mother and I call each other and talk about him as if he was still 7. In fact, it is the way we talked when he was 7, right after our separation. We talked about raising him, about shared parental duties, but that was like 11 years ago. Now we talk about car insurance, about college, about his job; adult shit. Rarely do we speak in the way that divorced parents share information about their very young children any longer. But occasionally, rarely now, we have such conversations, and they seem horribly out of place.

She has a strong Korean accident, and I have shattered eardrums.

Years of close-quartered Metallica and Motorhead concerts have left me with subpar hearing. Truly a bad combination when we are speaking on the phone.

Sunday night, we were on the phone with each other. We touched on several matters pertinent to our son; how much should we give him for gas allowance? I was of the belief we should pay for the portion of the gas bill that got him to school, work, and back. All else should come out of his pocket. Fair enough. We spoke about school, grades, acceptance stuff.

Then that vague, divorced silence that told us it was perhaps time to hang up, but then she embarked on a new round of discussion.

“Can I ask you something?” she asked curtly.
“Do you have bugs in your house?”

It struck me as an odd question to pose under the pretense of such gravity. But yeah, I came clean.

“I have some, they come and go. I haven’t seen any for the last week, but yeah, I get them here sometimes,” I answered candidly. It’s not like she didn’t know.

“You have drugs in your house!? You’re doing drugs there??”

Oh. Ohh.

Damnit. Time to rescue this.

“No, no! I thought you asked if I had ‘bugs’ in the house. I didn’t hear you say ‘drugs.’ No, I don’t have drugs in this house. I don’t do drugs. I don’t use drugs, no, no, no,” I reiterated vehemently.

Can’t go about giving your divorced spouse any reason to go hard-ass on you when you share a minor child. I read the manosphere, I know what the fuck’s up!

“You don’t do drugs?” she asked humorlessly, even though I had begun to snicker.

“No, I don’t. I don’t do drugs or have drugs here. I thought you said ‘bugs!'”

“OK, it’s just that a lot of people [including my own family, presumably, as she is closer to many of them than I am] are wondering if you’re using drugs because you’ve lost so much weight,” she continued to allege.

Once again I reverted to the defense!

Yes, I’ve lost 35 pounds since August, but it was part of a conscious effort on my part. I’ve always been a thin person but for the past 2 years I went off the diet rails when a “bulking” period took on a life of its own. I have no problem controlling my food intake and I decided, after looking and feeling like shit, that it was time to be strong again.

“No, I’m fine. I wanted to lose 15 pounds but then I just kept losing. I’ve just cut back on my eating a lot, but I’ m still lifting weights and I feel great. It’s not drugs. I have been trying to lose weight, that’s all.”

The conversation thus ended. Another day in the courthouse.

Trump, Coulter, and how the culture of payasos* kills their message.


Poor Mexico, so far from God and so close to the United States! Porfirio Diaz, commonly attributed but unverified.

I’m Mexican. Of course I’m offended by Donald Trump and Ann Coulter!

Ah, but you see, it’s not quite so linear or predictable. Don’t get ahead of yourself.

Don’t presume that: I’m Mexican, therefore I am offended. This postulation infers that I’m offended by the substance of what they say.

It’s not quite like that. I’m stating two facts of which most people would assume the commonly held interrelationship between owing to the brouhaha that flared up recently thanks to what Donald Trump said at a news conference in which he threw his hat in the 2016 Presidential ring.

I can’t blame people for their assumptions, for the Hispanic reaction has been predictable and vociferous. But the offense I take is not with the content of their utterances, but the style and diminishing of their message because of such dramatic, narcissistic deliveries.

Were Trump’s words “racist?” I don’t see it.

“The U.S. has become a dumping ground for everybody else’s problems. It’s true. And these aren’t the best and the finest. When Mexico sends its people, they’re not sending their best. They’re not sending you. They’re sending people that have lots of problems, and they’re bringing those problems with us. They’re bringing drugs, they’re bringing crime; they’re rapists. And some, I assume, are good people. But I speak to border guards, and they tell us what we’re getting, and it only makes common sense. They’re sending us not the right people. It’s coming from more than Mexico. It’s coming from all over South and Latin America, and it’s coming probably — probably — from the Middle East. But we don’t know, because we have no protection and no competence. We don’t know what’s happening. And it’s gotta stop, and it’s gotta stop fast.”

Of course, he’s correct. It’s not a pretty truth, so we react emotionally but thoughtlessly.

The greatest misfortune Mexicans must endure (not Mexico, because in this matter, the nation only benefits) is that their ancestral homeland abuts the United States.

This conjoined continental union of the countries creates a “spigot effect” in that historic immigration is so ingrained in the relationship between both countries, that unlike other global countries and their relationship with the U.S., the Mexican-United States border has assumed the nature of an exhaust valve in which the under-performing country to the South simply bleeds its excess burden into its neighbor to the North, the one that has its shit together.

Trump’s observation that the U.S. is a “dumping ground” for Mexico is accurate, and I dare fellow Hispanics to dispute this. In America, we get the wretchedest of the refuse from Mexico. The indigenous peasants, the refugees, those who are relegated to the subclass, even by Mexican standards. This filtering mechanism naturally creates a popular perception of Mexicans that they bring with them since this brand of illegal immigration is composed of a swath of people who, by virtue of their native backgrounds, can only reduce the American standard of living and tarnish the idealization of “diversity” that social liberals vomit with annoying regularity.

The fact they are illegally in the United States infers a “zero policy” effect on the crime they bring, which, in reality, is probably not that numerically awesome, but which, in principle shouldn’t be here to begin with. This is an aspect of Trump’s statements which is very logical, almost to a mathematical degree. If there was no illegal immigration, there would be no crime (on the part of illegal aliens, specifically, even though we’d still have American-born crime to deal with, but at least its ours).

This ties in with my other favorite histrionic agitator, Ann Coulter.

Again, her comments, on paper, are quite simple and not very debatable. Ann has many to choose from, but her latest, greatest, with Jorge Ramos from Fusion. This is how their quaint little exchange transpired:

AC: I have a little tip. If you don’t want to be killed by ISIS, don’t go to Syria. If you don’t want to be killed by a Mexican, there’s nothing I can tell you. Very easy to not be killed by ISIS. Don’t fly to Syria.”
JR: Are you really saying…we’re talking about 40 million immigrants in this country? Do you think people are biologically disposed to commit crimes? [Excellent question by Ramos]
AC: No…There are a lot of problems with that culture [Mexico]. Hopefully it can be changed. But we can share our culture with other nations without bringing all of their people here. America is the best in the world. And we are about to lose it. Everyone who lives here is going to lose that.”

How can one argue with the nuts and bolts of Coulter’s elemental idea?

If I was sitting with her over coffee, I suspect her delivery would be delivered in a less quarrelsome manner and with a trace of sincerity, perhaps. She also touches upon the “zero tolerance” adherence to illegal Mexican immigration. It’s not that the crime Mexican immigrants bring is tremendously overwhelming, but the fact that, given an equilibrium of no net illegal immigration, such crime wouldn’t be an issue since they wouldn’t be here.

Coulter is preying upon our fear of the unrehearsed random nature of crime; deliberately visiting a situation halfway around the world is asking for trouble whereas sitting in your house is not (until that Mexican rapist comes to get you).

I’m glad Ramos asked his question, for it allowed Coulter to clearly re-state her case in a non-racial context. It’s the culture, the nation, and the spigot valve that pours a country’s unwanted on us.

Coulter and Trump are entertainers whose enterprise consists of stirring up public agitation and the narcissistic, inflammatory nature of such involves stating dry, logical facts behind the blustery, rude, snarky veil of overstatement.

I’m offended by their Vaudeville show, not by their script.

I was chatting with a Japanese-American acquaintance recently and we began discussing immigration, of the illegal Mexican variety, specifically.

My friend is vaguely conservative but tends to get swallowed up in the socially liberal dialogue of the coastal, Hollywood elites. She tends to shy away from the “ideology of the offensive” which basically means the harsh truths.

I told her that Mexican immigrants, as we know them in the United States, are the worst versions of Mexicans Mexico has to offer. If Mexico was an ocean away, the filtering mechanism for its emigration would keep out the dredge, the poor, those who didn’t care enough to come to the United States. In this way, immigration from such a distance would result in a sporadic trickle of the finest legal immigrants that nation has to offer America. Hence, our image of Mexicans, a relatively sedate culture (yes, really), from an American perspective, would be radically different than it is now. Our image of Mexicans is painted by a counter-intuitive immigration dynamic in which the worst come to America, not the cream of the crop, unlike those nations that are separated from us by oceans of water. If India bordered the United States, would the tech industry look like it does now?

She nodded and uttered a vague vocal acknowledgement.

I wondered if it was the Buried Conservative or the Liberal Affectation in her that was agreeing or disagreeing with me.

Japanese jungle fever: now we know what those women really want…


A couple of news features have appeared days apart and provoked quite a guffaw from me.


First, Japanese men just aren’t into you.


In fact, they just aren’t into that generalized sense of you.


In fact, it seems they’d rather be doing just about anything else but you. Japanese men aren’t frolicking and it’s not like the women are exactly instigating anything either. It’s as if Japanese culture is too advanced, too sterilized; we are left with a drab, innocuous, physically removed collective mentality that has ceased being human.


Shingo Sakatsume — a self-styled “sex helper” working with White Hands — says middle-aged virgins who would like their situation to change lack real life experience with women, so allowing them to spend time looking at the female body is a first step to solve the issue.

“In Japanese society, we have so much entertainment beyond love and sex. We have animation, celebrities, comics, game and sports,” he says.

“Why do you need to choose love or sex over the other fun things that don’t have the potential for pain and suffering?”

The illusion of a perfect relationship, combined with the Japanese fear of failure, has created a serious social problem, he says.

He knows the apparent disconnect is leading to fewer relationships, record low birth rates, and a shrinking population.

The classes seem to be helping Sakai, a mountain climber and teacher who, at 41, is not only a virgin, but also has never been in a relationship or even been kissed.

For years, he’s kept his virginity a secret from friends, co-workers, and family.

“Not telling others (I’m a virgin) was the same as pretending the problem does not exist,” says Sakai. “It was like putting it away on a shelf where nobody can see it.”


Nude art class...the closest Japanese come.
Nude art class…the closest Japanese men come.


Is it the soy? Too much tofu in the endocrine system?


And today, the flip-side: a rare glimpse into the elusive, carnal side of Japanese female nature. Japanese women are stricken with jungle fever thanks to 400-pound Shabani.


Yo, mama-san!
Yo, mama-san!


Shabani appears to fill that unmet void in the heart of Japanese women. He is a real counterpart to the droll, withdrawn nature of the modern Japanese herbivore.

A giant gorilla with brooding good looks and rippling muscles is causing a stir at a Japanese zoo, with women flocking to check out the hunky pin-up.

Shabani, an 18-year-old silverback who tips the scales at around 180 kilograms (400 pounds), has become the star attraction at Higashiyama Zoo and Botanical Gardens in Nagoya, striking smouldering poses the movie model in “Zoolander” would be proud of.

“He often rests his chin on his hands and looks intently at you,” zoo spokesman Takayuki Ishikawa told AFP on Friday.

“He is more buff than most gorillas and he’s at his peak physically. We’ve seen a rise in the number of female visitors — women say he’s very good-looking.”
Women have taken to social media to swoon about Shabani’s rugged looks, describing him as “ikemen” — or a hunk — and likening him to a male model.


Oh Japan, you leave me speechless, as always.


Well, at least we now know what Japanese women are into.


It just has to be large, muscular, dark and Alpha as fuck. I hear Baltimore is looking to upgrade its demographics. Japanese women would surely fit the bill; it’s a win-win. Start packing, girls!



The feminine usurpation and destruction of education.

My ex-wife and I have been dealing with our son’s college application/exams/transcript mayhem since the end of his Junior/beginning of his Senior year.

Having now been exposed to the Education-Industrial Complex as it exists in today’s climate while being subjected to the travails of academia, I’m mortified at what an unorganized, ill-communicated clusterfuck of dystopic meandering education appears to have become.

I made a phone call yesterday in order to get some “elucidation” regarding entrance requirements and coursework for the university he has been provisionally accepted at this Fall.

All the emails and written instructions have fallen far short of the mark, and my son was told by one university representative a set of instructions which seemed to conflict with what was written, or what my desperate understanding was of that bureaucratic rambling and beating around the bush really meant.

Yesterday I spoke with someone from the admission’s office who then referred me to another highfalutin-sounding officiously named department that handled this specific aspect of the admission’s process. The lady was nice enough, and so was the second lady I spoke to. She did her best to explain things, but typically, like all educators, she spoke in circles that betrayed a vagueness which left me feeling uneasy. Finally, exasperated and frustrated, I asked as neutrally as possible by re-framing my question in a simple “yes or no” context.

“I just want to know, does [x] mean he [y]’s?”

Oh yes, she answered…he’s good. Fuck!

Today, my ex-wife, not feeling entirely confident with the experience I relayed, also called and received a similar script recital.

I know what the problem is with education.

It has become the provenance of women. The female soul has conquered education and academia, and turned it into a multi-layered maze of unlinked extrapolations which may very well, and frequently do, fluctuate on spur of the moment explanations that depend entirely on which bitch you talk to; but always, there is the common denominator that involves a bland mimicking of a vague procedural verbal diagram that only tells you one minute aspect of the process but which doesn’t answer beginning to end. Never a goddamned simple answer.

Academia has been usurped by women, and with it, all the attendant feminine shortcomings that destroy institutions.

Oblique capriciousness and indirect, disconnected pockets of reality coalescing into one monstrous Education-Industrial Complex, a beast so large and untenable, a beast constructed of patchwork committees and endless discussions. A beast that has become so complex and intricate that not one wheel in this grand chaotic cog understands the full process, much less can explain it to an outsider in an informative and satisfying manner.

And these women are the educators. Their pride is churning out confused boys.