“Women want bad boys”, “she likes ’em bad, boys”, “Where have all the bad boys gone?”. WHO CARES.

Hopefully one of the last entries regarding this trite, tacky topic no great mind worth his salt would have lost much time on in the past. (Unlike brilliant geniuses like the “PUAs” and “game” [i.e. s e x] addicts, of course.)

Stefan Molyneux, too, seems to think that it is a good idea to make hours upon hours of videos regarding so-called “bad boys” and why women apparently “want” them.

I., neither women nor men rationally “want” sex, it is an instinct which has its roots in our animal nature, hardly to be seen as anything more than a trap people fall into. I have written enough about this here and elsewhere, showing how ludicrous today’s pre-occupation with sexuality is. It is, indeed, a symptom of the decline of our culture.

More importantly, though, such “bad boys” are only attractive to women in case they are … attractive. Physically, that is. Do you really believe a short, bald and overweight loudmouth with a criminal track record is attractive to your “top” women—another view one could, in today’s parlance, call “cringe”—you lust after? No, of course not, you just have to have a Cary Grant walk by and have him charmfully greet her and the overweight “bad boy” becomes invisible—if he ever was visible to her.

I personally don’t care about all this stuff, as I wrote somewhere else. My only wish is for the grave. Just like it was for Kierkegaard, who prayed for death regularly at the end of his rather short life.

I’d simply swallow enough barbiturates as possible to kill myself and be done with this crappy clown world you all can’t get enough of. After all, back as an atheist, I hanged myself when I was in my early twenties; could have done it earlier even.

But God forces you to live and endure life in His horrible world, this crappy creation. Like Andy Nowick I don’t really feel the hand of God in my life, it seems vapid and meaningless. What’s the point of keeping me around? Might as well be dead. Who cares. Oh well.

Closing the book with Gómez Dávila:

Believe in God, trust in Christ, look with suspicion.

In a century where the media publish endless stupidities, the cultured man is defined not by what he knows but what he does not know.

I would not live for even a fraction of a second if I stopped feeling the protection of God’s existence.

More so than the immorality of the contemporary world, it is its growing ugliness that moves one to dream of a cloister.

Let us not complain of the soil in which we were born, but rather of the plant we are.