The Anatomy of the Common Feminist Commentater Arguement(s)

Yes. This is a lazy first blog post to step out of a recent hiatus. But if you look closely enough, there’s a lesson inside here.

Today, we take a look at Common Feminist Commentator’s Arguments.

LaidNYC pens an incendiary “Your Seed is Gold“.

Sex is too easy.

Work out, put on nice clothes, talk to girl, tease her, tell her cool things about me, pretend to be interested in her, fuck her.


Too fucking easy.

It’s stupid.

I don’t give a shit about sex.  Any broad can spread her legs.

You know what I do care about?  Holding girls to a higher standard.

Why?  Because my seed is liquid fucking gold and I don’t give it out like its god damn tap water.

See girls, your pussy is powerless to me.  What else you got?

One of the many comments in response, comes from a beast known as commentator Lauren. It emotes profusely (exhibit A):

There is exactly one reason to pursue women with a low N count: your own insecurities.

Frame it any way you’d like, and pursue virgins to your heart’s content, but let’s call a spade a spade, shall we?

Sorry to break it to you guys, though they will have little-to-nothing to compare you to, it will still be pretty obvious you’re an incompetent lover.

Out of a desire to seek nothing but the truth, I did posit before the creature, some heavy inquiry:

So how many miles of cock have you jumped up and down on?

If it’s not a problem then you don’t mind telling, do you?

She fires back at me (exhibit B):

Jumping up and down on a cock sounds terribly painful, I’d never do that to a man I cared about. If that’s been your experience, I can see why you hate women so much.

I have no qualms with my number. It’s certainly over 5. The exact number is irrelevant, we both know that. Whether it’s 6 or 60, I’m a whore in your eyes. Damaged goods. Worthless. And any other number of names you could call me. But they won’t ever bother me, because I’m confident and secure. So are the men I date. That’s why not one of them has ever had an issue with it.

[LaidNYC – ed: I’m noticing the claim of the phantom bf who loves to date sluts is a common feminist meme online, where it can’t be verified, but hardly ever seen in real life.]

As I told the guy below you, I don’t want to date men like you any more than men like you want to date me. The bad news for you is that a whole hell of a lot more women are going to be like me than men are going to be like you.

I pithily reply:

I can see answering my question is tough for you to accomplish.

Unsatisfied with my return fire she seeks out my blog to make her voice heard (exhibit C):

I wasn’t able to reply to your comment over at the other site, so I thought I’d reply here. I know you don’t get it, but just because you have a penis and make a request does not actually mean I am required to reply. You’re not very smart; I had assumed that, but your writing here removes all doubt.

I’ve had sex with an obscene amount of men in your eyes, and you know what? You’d never stand a chance with me. I’m a slutty whore and I still don’t want you. That burns, doesn’t it? And judging by this slop you write, you don’t really stand a chance with any woman. NEWSFLASH: THE PROBLEM IS NOT ALL WOMEN, THE PROBLEM IS YOU.

P.S. Really, go on hating women, but you desperately need to work on your understanding of verb tenses.


First – let us take a look at exhibit A. Notice the immediate accusation of insecurity. What kind of insecurity? Sexual inadequacy. Surely we men choose virgins because we’re incompetent lovers and wish to hide the fact. Crikey! Nothing that could be identified or confused as referring to sexual ability of either men or women was talked about in the post.

Perhaps exhibit B contains a thread (heh) of wisdom?

Notice the complete lack of giving me a straight answer. Instead, the first sentence goes into semantics completely missing the point. Then the commentator creature resorts to divining from my two sentences that I hate women. After that, she qualifies herself to me. Already self-selects herself from my potential dating in a fit of “You can’t fire me, I quit!” emotion. The last sentence does not really make much sense.

Onward to exhibit C.

Right away you notice a complete lack of a straight answer. She cannot divulge her N-count despite having “no qualms with [her] number.” Then she distracts from the main point of conversation by calling me stupid and my writing here bad. No answer to my question in sight. More of the “you can’t fire me, I quit!” words spilling and projection of the hurt I am ‘supposed’ to feel hearing this. Woe is me. I wonder how much of my writing she has read? The last ten posts have been a collection of poems, haikus, and pictures from my travels.

There you have it – the average female commentator arguments. They consist of exactly what you may have expected. Filler, bitterness, emotion, and a distinct lack of logic. And they wonder why they are not taken seriously.

She was twice as big as me outstretched ‘ands!


8 thoughts on “The Anatomy of the Common Feminist Commentater Arguement(s)

  1. She’s right: Her people own the day – rationality and truth hold no currency. However, as we both know, the lifetime is the key, and all the sanctimony, rationalizing, shibboleths, and Nyah-nyahs only make for a sad and bitter ledger.

    You’ve got more important things to do. Enjoyed the post.

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  3. Wald:

    Expertly done.

    Just goes to show: Even a sex pozzie feminist won’t divulge the N. And we all know why:

    Because deep down, she knows IT MATTERS.

    She knows it devalues her for the things she wants from a man: investment, commitment and, ultimately, approval and acceptance.

    She knows the higher the N, the more difficult it will be to get investment, commitment and approval from a worthy man. Oh, she’ll still be able to get some sucker to invest and commit. But she will have to share in Adam’s Curse: She will have to till the soil for a living all the days of her life.

    You think you can act, talk, work and fuck like men? You’ll share in the lot that befalls all men: Sing for your supper. Shape up or ship out. Measure up or hit the bricks. Sink or swim.

    Work, or starve.

    Improve, or die.

    Such women deny this at their peril.

    • Thank you for the compliment Deti.

      I agree with you – I believe all women know, consciously or subconsciously the importance the number means.

      I’ve noticed that she has not replied to me any further – perhaps she has run out of tricks with which to distract from the main point – the truth she cannot abide.


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