No one is more oppressed than the white heterosexual chad

Every day we're out here fighting to survive

Hiding among the trads, the prudes, the sex negativists, some of the feminists, and assorted religious extremists (read: the most annoying parts) are a collection of unhappy people leading unhappy lives. Many remark that activists and social media power-users are annoyances with empty lives and it seems there may be a bit of truth there. These people are facetious, nasty, and trolly when addressing you but manage to take every word issued from your brain through your keyboard as 100% completely sincere and uninformed. A judge for your crimes and a lawyer for theirs.

This type of person has a witching hour, really a block of time from which they prey on industrious middle-aged white men. These breathtaking osos blancos have very low time preference, wake up early, make money, save money, eat protein, and lift weights. We get sleep but only a little. We are up at 4:00 am. Drinking black coffee. Reading Substack. Listening to podcasts that can only be listened to away from service workers and people with masters degrees. We own gold. We own Bitcoin. We own stocks. Sometimes we leave socks on the floor like breadcrumbs so that our wives may find the rest of our wardrobe behind it and get annoyed enough to have passionate sex with us throughout the week.

And when we aren’t making money, lifting weights, trying to satisfy our wives, and get rid of our oppressive erections, we poast. Prolific as some of us are, it isn’t a choice so much as fate. An entire, orthography, discombobulated under gray matter jostled by too many ballistics and intoxicants, the words, misspelled as they may be, roll right off our fingertips as if foreordained by TBMH (The Big Man, Himself ) into the sacred texts that will be used by the next regime.

Because we poast. Interesting content. An oatmeal recipe. A cat. Our six-packs and fat veiny penises. We attract these unhappy people with our amazing musks, as they sit around being unhappy with different kinds of penises and sometimes none at all.

This witching hour, which is really between 6:00 am and 9:00 am on weekends, at least in my time zone, this is when the predators come out to hunt.

Such was the case this morning when

Kat Highsmith

posted:

So I thought it would be funny to take her seriously and debunk her in one fell swoop as I thought it was an annoying, thing to say to me, a white heterosexual chad who was minding his own business when, after finishing work Saturday morning—yes, I was working—I found myself slandered.

In response I posted this:

While I completely understand the revulsion-instinct away from my huge back and midsized wallet, this was part of what I thought made it funny. Accepting the frame not because I’m unaware it’s there or because I’m being trapped by it, but because I can just traipse through it, the way one does when they sit on Santa’s lap and tell him they would like the same exact videogame, it just so happens, they would like their parents to get them for Christmas; if you tell them Santa isn’t real, you are correct and kind of missing the point.

So I did the immature thing because it didn’t really seem possible to lower the discourse much more after Highsmith called me:

• ugly

• fat

• old

• boring etc.

To answer her charges:

• My face/punim is probably a 7-8/10 depending on how much acne I have and how my beard/baldness is looking at the time.

• I am probably about 12-13% body fat.

• True—I just turned 40.

• Boring is not how most would describe me BUT, you can check out my archive which includes such hits as Live, Laugh, Thug, P U S S Y I N B I O, and everyone’s favorite The hooker wife.

In came

Annie3000

shaming me for demonstrating the fruits of my labor: muscle-ups, weighted-pullups, dips, push-ups, working, saving, and gambling on manmade boom-bust cycles just as TBMH intended.

And Annie3000 really did home in on an insecurity of mine, if I’m being honest. It’s that people will incorrectly assume I’m poor and unattractive the way so many did before Jonathan Keeperman, the absolute stud behind

Office Hours with Lomez

got doxxed. I worry people will think I’m a slob like they do so many other pseudonymous poasters.

And the desire to knock another human down makes me sad. It makes me think of the way prestige media talks about other oppressed white chads like Joe Rogan. Who has never claimed to be the smartest but he is surely one of the most likable, and most jacked of the decently smart people walking this earth; though he may not smash through the right side of the bell curve, he is certainly not sitting at the center. He lacks a certain upper middle class grammar and suite of fluffy credentials but is wealthier and more accomplished than many of his critics, basically almost everyone who ever lived.

My theory is those who are only a little bit smarter than Rogan hate him because they want to believe that you have to be significantly smarter, way more intellectual than they are to be successful; otherwise they would have to face up to the fact that they are unsuccessful for other reasons. Maybe they are only a little bit smarter but vastly more unlikable, worse to look at, bad at deferring enjoyment, romantically unsuccessful.

Maybe they should go to the gym or save money or make money. They should read Three Uncomfortable Truths or become a bimbo of jazz. They should amass a following here on Substack where they can wield their pithy ideas and duke it out in a test of wits on the mainstage.

But they should be warned: Charm and charisma count. Being a smarmy, lecturing, gadfly will only get you treated as such. And when you leave your screen for MeatSpace, telling others to put their shirts back on will make people think you are insecure with your body. Telling people not to defend the accusation that they are feckless will make people think you are unimpressive in your earning and saving capacities.

People on the sidelines will correctly understand that although I am the person with money here, you are the one using the worst affectations of class to make yourself feel better about yourself. Your virtues may tell you not to talk about sex, money, physical strength or beauty, some of the most important things in the world, but it’s because you may only matter, if at all, in the world of words.

Some of us come from cultures of honor. We aren’t good at only one thing. When you tell me I can’t be proud of what I’ve worked for or prove what I’ve got when challenged, it just sends a signal you’ve got nothing.