Thursday, 27 April 2017

RSC LIVE 2017- JULIUS CAESAR (REVIEW): When William Returned



DATE: 26th APRIL 2017



If you go to the theatre today you run the risk of hearing the political views of directors and actors, and being subjected to their embarrassingly blue pilled juvenile squarkings about nationalism, Donald Trump, or anything that doesn’t conform to PC, consensus leftist ideology.

Such was the case with this production of Julius Caesar, which was largely very good, but (predictably) tainted at the beginning with a short interview with some of the cast members. So, what did the lefty twits say? Did they call Donald Trump Hitler? Did they call Brexit voters Hitler? Did they call my brother’s dog Hitler? Well, no Hitler references this time, but they had a good old SJW whinge anyway.

Okay, so here’s the bit where you slap your forehead, and endure the pearls of 'wisdom' dropped from the lefty luvvies at the RSC.

Hail Caesar/Trump/Hitler (same thing, isn't it?)
Democratically elected businessman Donald Trump, a man who appears to be playing along with the globalists agenda just like Obama before him, is a potential dictator who probably needs to be assassinated, just like Julius Caesar in the play. Yeah, they went there. Oh, and the role of females in this play was vital (it wasn’t) because Shakespeare gave all of the best lines to the female characters (he didn’t) and if women had ran Rome all of the horrible events that transpire during the play probably wouldn't have happened.

Oh man, the idiocy is strong in the theatre, a strange land of oestrogen empowered make believe where actors and directors see patriarchal dictators everywhere, yet are completely unable to see their own Marxist indoctrinated faces that stare back at themselves in the mirror.

But onto the play, which was very good, and written by a guy who was a bit of a genius, and not a drippy leftist, who would no doubt have been commissioned to write the play if it was created anew today.

The plot is simple, easy to follow, and I can see why it is one of the Shakespeare plays taught in UK schools. A very popular Julius Caesar is returning from another military triumph, and the plebeians of Rome (the ancient equivalent of the voting masses) are demanding he be made an emperor, and given dictatorial powers. The Roman plebeians are unanimous in their passionate devotion towards Caesar by the way, they all love him, so the parallels with nationalist figures like Donald Trump (who are massively divisive) is completely off. Trump built hotels, not battlefields of corpses. He was a businessman, not a soldier. If you want a more accurate parallel with Caesar I'd suggest you look at Oliver Cromwell, and the aftermath of the English Civil War, and for modern parallels of military might and dictatorships look to Erdogan in Turkey, because that situation is ongoing right now.

But, back to the plot.

Caesar is considered too popular/ambitious by a group of conspirators that are close to him, and so they bump him off, speeches happen, the plebeians change their mind, then back again, and the play concludes with the conspirators losing a battle and doing what good Roman soldiers always do when they lose a war.

James Corrigan excels as Mark Antony.
Julius Caesar is all about the speeches given by powerful political figures, and their attempts to manipulate the roman plebians. The most memorable of these speeches is the rhetorical masterclass given by Mark Antony (James Corrigan) as he demonstrates that his rival Brutus (Alex Waldmann) is not all that he claims, repeatedly referring to him as honourable, whilst illustrating that by his very actions he is anything but. The speech is further enhanced by the orator’s claims that he is not very good at speeches, that he’s just a bumbling fool who cannot manipulate with words, and is a simple man who just tells it like it is.

Potential politicians should take note, this is how you do it, this is how you turn a potentially hostile crowd onto your way of thinking, whilst acting like all you are doing is speaking unvarnished truth. And no, this has no parallels with Trump either, sorry libs, it just doesn't. Trump is a symptom, not a cause, and his powers of rhetorical speech are certainly not at the level of Mark Antony. If you want to know the cause, look in that most painful of implements, a mirror.

I want to make a couple of notes about the individual performances and staging, as I saw the production with my mother, and as she has seen (and studied) the play before, her observations hold more weight than my own.

Mum felt that the actor playing Brutus lacked presence, power and charisma, and that his uninspiring performance detracted from the play. I saw the character as weak and wishy-washy, and apparently that’s not what they were going for, so that was a problem. Mum also felt that the scenes with the plebeians were lacking in personal. The speakers talked of large crowds in Rome, and what we saw was ten people shuffling around the stage, so that was a bit off.

Speaking for myself I very much enjoyed the performance of Martin Hutson as Cassius. There was a very human sense of complexity to the motivational drivers behind his actions, and my mother and I were left debating those motivations long into the night. I felt him to be the most fascinating character on stage, the most believably human, and certainly the most memorable. Special mention also goes to the booming voice of Andrew Woodall’s Caesar, and the subtle notes of insecurity in his performance of a man not quite as physically robust as he would like to be for an individual in such a high status position of social elevation.

Martin Hutson's compellingly complex Cassius
It’s always a good time when the main man Shakespeare is in town, and such was the case with this latest production from the RSC. Okay, so you have to deal with the blue pill guzzling actors, directors, audience members, and everybody else involved in it all, but at the core of the experience there is always going to be William Shakespeare.

The social justice, open borders, sovereignty hating, feminised libtards, who control the theatre industry can moan and complain about the rejection of their lefty agenda as much as they want, but what they think doesn’t really matter. What matters is the original Shakespearean text, and when they stick to it (as they did in this production) the words of the master easily transcend childish attempts from contemporary liberals to use the bard as weaponised propaganda against their ideological enemies.

William Shakespeare will, of course, endure long after the current era of regressive insanity fades away to dust, buried in the Highgate cemetery of silly bearded, dangerously wrong ideas. That’s a certainty, and it makes me smile. I always get something out of watching Shakespeare, not from the actors, it’s the words that matter, and when they stick to the words, I’m more than happy to spend a night with the liberals. The RSC began tonight’s performance with words from their actors, and then the master took over, his words revealing truth beyond the narrow political ideological squarkings of our time. Leftist insanity disappeared when William returned, ideas flourished, minds were stimulated, and all was RIGHT with the world again.

Rating: 8/10 (Superior performances from Martin Hutson & James Corrigan, but the star of the show, as always, was Shakespeare himself)

Thursday, 6 April 2017

Royals #1- A Message to Marvel Comics

Jonboy Meyers
Ryan Kinnaird
5TH APRIL 2017
Marvel Comics

‘We forgot the meaning of love’ drones the laughably juvenile dialogue, and off they go into space, a bunch of cutesy lesbians, trusting in some obviously villainous bloke who told them there’s a special ‘magic’ prize hidden at the end of the Care Bear rainbow in space.

And Marvel still doesn’t understand why readers are turning away from their books?

What exact readership demographic is Marvel looking to attract here? After reading Royals #1 I can only assume that it’s the pre-teen girls who are questioning their sexuality demographic, because there’s not a lot in this for anyone else, especially young boys. If I had read this book as a ten year old version of myself then I would have been 100% convinced that I had just accidentally read a girls comic book, and not a very good one either.

Okay Marvel, keep writing girly books where you try to convince everybody (including yourselves) that there’s no difference between the genders, but recognise that these comic books will only ever appeal to social justice warrior activists, and your sales will continue to decline. Do you really want to destroy yourselves with gender neutral love and feelings stories? All you are really doing here is whining that the world isn’t the way that you want it to be, and it’s getting a bit embarrassing.

Marvel, my old mate, it really is getting a bit silly now. You really need to stop with the leftist, race-gender-sexuality activism. The world that you are pushing for is a communistic world of perfect equality, where gender, race, politics, sexuality, religion, and everything else is merged into a creepy Borg collectivist whole of unquestioning love and acceptance. The world, the real world, can never, and will never be like that, and the more you try to achieve your impossible Marxist Nirvana, the worse that things will get for all of us.

Wake up Marvel. Take the red pill option that the rest of us are taking. We are forgiving people, and will look back at this period in your history when you got infiltrated by Marxist activists posing as writers, have a laugh at how silly it all was, and move on.

Get with the times Marvel. Recognise that the world is full of real diversity away from the Marxist deceptions of forced integration and mass immigration into western countries. Celebrate real diversity Marvel, real diversity away from the multicultural lies that are being rejected at the ballot box, in England, America and Europe.

Stop pretending that we are all the same Marvel. Reclaim national pride. America is great. Be proud of who you are. Stop pushing leftist victim groups as heroes. Stop hating on straight, white men. Fire the activist leftists who pose as writers. Get back to telling good stories, with recognisably masculine and feminine characters, who are defined by their actions, and not identity politics and how much of a ‘victim’ they are on the liberal scale of officially sanctioned oppressed groups.

You can do it Marvel. You were great before, and you can be great again. All it will take is a little red pill, a touch of courage, and the ability to recognise that you are walking towards a cliff, and it’s time to stop, change direction, and start walking back home. We are waiting here for you Marvel, we miss you Marvel, and we desperately want you back.

Rating for comic: 2/10 (A load of silly old, irrelevant pap) 

Friday, 24 March 2017

The Black Flame- Archives- #1 (comic review): Before this age of Matriarchal Fear & Isolation

Writer: Peter B. Gillis 

Artist: Tom Sutton

Publisher: 1FirstComics

Release Date: 22nd March 2017 (Originally released in 1983) 

‘The Black Flame’ exists as a time capsule from a very different age, and opening it now is a strange, telling, and rewarding experience. The story is very much of it's time. It could have only existed in the early 1980's and it does things that you just don't do today. Read on and I'll explain what I mean by that.

The narrative is centered on a young girl, called Susie Ingalls, who is kidnapped from her parent’s house by a strange man on a motorcycle, and taken away to a creepy looking ‘safe-house’ where a ‘poet’ gives her a drugged drink of hot chocolate and puts her to bed. The man on the motorcycle (the ‘Black Flame’ of the title) is a hero by the way, and the poet (Michael Robartes) is a good-guy as well. Yes, the two strange men responsible for the kidnapping of a young girl from her family home are the heroes of the tale.

What the hell is going on? It’s a fascinating question, and the answer can be found through a contextual analysis of the time period that the book was first released (1983) and in the literary source that inspired it’s creators.

The narrative in this weird comic book world drifts between two very different realms. There is everyday, motorcycle kidnapping reality, and a nightmarish realm of fearsome creatures that lurk in the closets of little girls who can’t get to sleep without having the light turned on. This nightmarish land of closet monsters, evil (scantily clad) ladies and monstrous beasts, is the world of H.P Lovecraft, a man who was a big deal in the 1980’s, in television, movies, books and the comic book genre. Lovecraft’s world is a world where madness, dreams and reality merge, and that is the realm that you are entering when you read this comic book.

‘Rescuing’ a little girl from the monsters of her dreams, putting her on the back of your motorcycle, and taking her to live with your poet mate in his creepy old house, is certainly not normal, but this is Lovecraftian territory.

Yes, it’s mad, but that’s what we are playing with here, dreams and madness. When you read the tale it flits in and out of reality, with the nightmarish dream world playing a far more significant role than the mundane reality of waking life. As the story progresses the little girl gets kidnapped (again) by the monstrous villains of the tale, and taken into the nightmare dream world, and it’s the job of our heroes to rescue her, and bring her back to reality.

It’s all very weird, and you are not going to find anything like it being written today. You couldn’t do it, you really couldn’t. If you did somehow manage to find a publisher who was okay with you writing a story where the child-kidnappers are the heroes then there would be so much controversy kicked up that issue #2 would never be released.

What needs to be taken (heavily) into account when reading ‘The Black Flame’ in 2017 is that it was first released in 1983, a time period very different to the one that we live in today. There are, of course, many technological differences between the time periods, but even bigger than that are the cultural differences.

In 1983 men were still, largely, the patriarchs of the western family unit. This was a time before the feminisation of western culture, the enlargement of the welfare state, the rise in single mother households, and the increase in paranoia that comes when females are more dependent upon state power than the security that comes with a husband provider/protector. It was a book released when men were still valued, and admired, when women preferred good men over the easy access to resources that comes from running into the controlling embrace of the all powerful welfare state.

When you read ‘The Black Flame’ you are getting a window into the world that existed before the present matriarchal society that we live in today. The culture in western democratic societies of 2017 is a feminised culture of fear, paranoia and anxiety, where everything is a threat, everybody is a potential predator, keep your kids indoors, never let them play unsupervised, danger is everywhere, always watch, always control. This feminised world of fear did not exist in the early 1980’s because men had yet to be marginalised by government, media (comic books included) and academia, and children were still allowed to roam their neighbourhoods and do what children are supposed to do. Men were seen as providers and protectors, not as threats, and so when you have masculine strangers protecting a young girl in a comic book it was not as unusual as it seems today.

Could you still write this narrative into a comic book of 2017? I don’t think so. It would be viewed as a bit odd, your motives would be questioned, and as a writer born into a matriarchal society would it even cross your mind to write about two strange men protecting a young girl anyway?

‘Black Flame’ then is an anachronistic book of a bygone age, and for that reason alone it is extremely interesting and worth reading. It is also very enjoyable to read, as it is fast paced, camp, a bit silly, a bit scary, a bit serious here and there, and very, very 1980’s old school cool. In this one issue you get FIVE chapters of the original story, and that means that you get some awesome cliffhangers and a story that is as fast paced as the Black Flame’s motorcycle itself. The art is 1980s style, totally awesome and with beautifully updated, bright as you like colouring. It's very cheesy, gloriously old fashioned, and bottom line, fun, fun, fun.

The challenge in 2017 will be to read through the narrative with your cynical (every ‘strange’ man is a potential pervert) radar turned off. If you can break through the oestrogen induced fear-fog of our times you’ll get a huge amount of enjoyment from the book. Please take into account that it was written during very different times. Those times have gone forever, and can never be reclaimed, but you can revisit them through the pages of this wonderfully weird and thoroughly enjoyable old school comic book. I personally recommend that you take the trip, because what you will find within the dark and murky corners of the very near past is authentically odd, malevolently masculine, and most assuredly not for those of delicate, modern, feminised, paranoiac sensibilities.

Rating: 9/10 (Worth purchasing for the weird factor alone)

* Pics on this review are from the original comic book. The 2017 version of the comic book has much superior, brighter colouring. BUY IT NOW. 

Thursday, 23 March 2017

X-O Manowar #1: Old School FN Awesome

Writer: Matt Kindt
Artist Tomas Giorello
Colorist: Diego Rodriguez
Letterer: Dave Sharpe
Publisher: Valiant Entertainment
Released: 22nd March 2017


Fuck yeah, my dusty memories of youth have been rekindled. Days spent messing around outside, going everywhere, anywhere, with my mates, messing around, getting in trouble, running from that trouble, doing it again, having fun, truly living before this adult half-life, which is pretty much indoor delay, thinking rather than doing, writing rather than experiencing.

Oh to be a kid again, in the 1980’s, before the Marxists reprogrammed women into thinking that they should be just like the men. Those days were fucking awesome, and I know now just how lucky I was to experience them. Today, the kids are indoors, ipads in hand, spoilt, stunted, closeted, deified and bored as fuck. It’s awful, and if you want to know why it all started to go wrong for western civilisation, stop, go into your living-room, look towards the poison lefty box that lurks in the corner, and you will have found the culprit largely responsible for the decline of it all.

Good comic books in 2017, and there are not that many of them, take me back to the days when leftist bullshit was confined to a room full of bearded commies at the local polytechnic, and not the dominant ideological cancer that it has grown into today. Before white guilt, Islamaphobia, gender pronouns, antifa fags, gay marriage rights and open border terrorist atrocities, there were young boys reading comic books about the men they wanted to grow up to be.

These men were big, strong, courageous, kick-ass, big muscled warriors with long hair, cool scars, and sexy girlfriends who looked at them longingly, with lust and admiration. I did not want to grow up and be Carl the fucking cuck, a subservient worshipper of empowered women, and their society wrecking PC bullshit. I, like all of my mates, wanted to be Conan the Barbarian, a kick ass warrior who did what he wanted to do, and didn’t give a shit about anybody’s precious fucking feelings. I read comic books because they were awesome, the male hero characters were manly and cool, and the girls wore very skimpy clothes, and were sexy as fuck.


But look at today’s comic books <FUCK> Just look at the state of them. The girls are in charge now. Read a contemporary Marvel comic book, and you will see that a far-left/Marxist/feminist consensus has been reached. Young girls are the best leaders, pilots, fighters, warriors, engineers, lawyers, accountants, politicians, fucking everything, and there’s no need for men at all.

It’s not just Marvel, though they are the worst, pick up any comic book today and you will see young girls elevated to such a ridiculously fucking unbelievable standard of excellence that men are simply no longer required.

PLUS, the Mary Sue heroines don’t even look very attractive anymore, and certainly not to any young male reader. The progressive heroines of contemporary comic books are starting to become more covered up than women and girls in Islamic countries. FUCK. There are only TWO kinds of people who will get anything out of this kind of pandering to Marxist/feminist infiltration. The first group is obese girls with daddy issues (you will see them in the streets with metal in their faces and blue hair dye dripping into their brains) and the second group is their pathetic cuck, testicle free jellyfish boyfriends who couldn’t fight themselves out of a wet paper-bag.


The twelve-year old version of myself would have laughed his ass off at these fucktards, and seen them as the pathetic losers that they are, and now these are the people who are keeping the comic book industry alive? What a sorry fucking state the entire industry is in, how fucking sad it all is.

So, when I pick up a NEW comic book in 2017, a book that features a big buff man with a bad-ass attitude, cool hair, stripper girlfriend and the story is all about him fighting weird alien creatures in space, fuck yeah, this is the good shit. This is what I want, this is what comic books used to do, this is what comic books should be doing to reclaim their place in the hearts of masculinity deprived young boys in the west today.

Let’s talk about the art in this book. Tomas Giorello, you are a fucking genius mate. You know how to draw the bulging biceps, scarred up, growling glint of pure testosterone that is MAN. Giorello knows how to draw the man that every young boy dreams that he will grow up to be. Muscles, individualism, aggression, determination, pure, badass, masculine authority, that is what he draws, and nobody does it better.

What’s the story all about then? It’s a straightforward tale, easy to follow, and focuses on our man, ‘Aric’ the hero. That’s exactly how it should be. That’s what young boys want. That’s what gets them into reading comic books in the first place. To break it down, here’s what you are getting. You have super buff Aric on a farm, and he has a stripper alien girlfriend. There’s a hint that he has some super weapon technology thing that he hides, and then he’s sent to a war that he doesn’t want to go to. He kicks ass in that war (and the alien creatures whose ass he kicks look fucking awesome) and the issue ends with him about to be sent off on a suicide mission where he’ll obviously have to unpack and use his super weapon technology. What is it? What does it do? All shall be revealed next issue.

That is fucking awesome. What else could a young boy want out of a comic book? The protagonist is everything that any kid would ever want to be. He’s a kick-ass warrior with a bad-ass attitude, he’s got big muscles, cool hair, an alien stripper girlfriend and A SECRET FUCKING WEAPON THAT HE HASN’T EVEN FUCKING USED YET!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It’s really very simple, isn’t it? That’s it. That’s all you need to fucking do in a comic book. Do this, put a real man in the book, let him do what men do, and you rescue the entire fucking comic book industry. Not only that, but you start to give the kids of today a glimpse into that rare realm of ancient lore, that strange mythological dark space that is rarely glimpsed today, PURE, HONEST, SWEATY BALLS, KICK-ASS, DON’T GIVE A FUCK, MASCULINITY.

This issue, of course, is just a very, very, very, very good start. The following issues could social justice it all up and lay a big turd of progressive weakness all over this awesome start, but as a stand-alone first issue, X-O MANOWAR SOLDIER ISSUE 01 is old school fucking awesome.

This is the kind of book that I used to read as a kid in the early 1980’s, the kind of book that got me into comic books in the first place, and the kind of comic book that you just don’t see anymore. Everything about it is fucking awesome, the characters, art, story, simplicity, and the take no shit old-school masculine attitude itself. If you are searching for evidence that the Marxist era of progressive insanity and weakness is finally coming to an end, then this is the book for you.

Rating: 10/10 (Art, story, characters, everything about this book is old school fucking awesome)

Friday, 17 March 2017

American Gods: Shadows #1: Red Pill Reality, or Blue Pill Dreaming?

Writers: Neil Gaiman, P. Craig Russell
Artist: Scott Hampton
Publisher: Dark Horse Comics
Released: 15th March 2017

Okay then, let’s jump into Neil Gaiman again, and see if he has anything to offer in 2017. Old story condensed: As a messed-up, lost, ostracised, ignored, working in bad jobs, dead man walking, unloved, tax-payer, seat-filler, walking alone, always alone, don’t talk to him, he’s alone, young man in mid to late 1990’s UK, I read the Sandman. In those books I found something to occupy my mind, and make me think that perhaps the world wasn’t as empty and devoid of meaning as the life that I was experiencing. I devoured it all, then departed, back into the world that offered so little, and gave back even less.

A decade later I returned to Gaiman, purchased one of his novels, tried to read it, and couldn’t. I remember sitting on the grass as I waited for my car to be fixed. I remember wanting the book to be good. I remember being disappointed. The book was long-winded, ponderous, boring, didn’t connect with me, and I gave up trying to read it about one hundred pages in. It’s title? I don’t remember. After that time I have occasionally gone back to Gaiman, giving him chance after chance after chance, and the more time that passes, the further I get from being able to connect with his writing.

This is probably a good thing, because when I did connect I was miserable, not really caring if I lived or died, because I had nothing around me worth living for anyway. Dreams were better than reality, because reality really sucked. Now, as I get older, and still don’t connect with the world around me, I feel a lot better about everything.

Why, what changed?

Not the world, that didn’t change, but I did. I’ve been through a process of getting rid of the junk, of cleansing my system of the poison nihilism that almost killed me. Gaiman gave me distractions, but nothing that offered hope of nourishment, of a future, or a rope to safety that would help me get out of the pit that I found myself in.

That pit was my culture by the way. I was a young man growing up during a time period when traditional English culture and identity was being replaced by the love of all things American. I didn’t want to be English. I didn’t even know what being ‘English’ meant. I wanted to be American. I wanted American comics, food, sport, movies, everything. I didn’t even want to live in England. My country was boring, there was nothing here, no future, no pride, nothing, just a wasteland of grey, and over the pond there was America, bigger, brighter, newer, better. I didn’t know anything about my own country, wasn’t taught about it at school, or on my television, or in my movies, or in the music that I listened to. Everything was American. England was nothing, and so was I.

The dream stories of Neil Gaiman placed England in the past, and looked to America as a pathway into the future. The young people of England were being told to look to America, that their homeland was a dream with no future, and so that is exactly what we did.

But America, the amusement arcade, was just another dream, there was no solidity, no meaning there, and as I stood in awe to it’s sparkling neon newness I became adrift in my own land. I looked to America, and saw a reflection of my own face in a plastic façade, whilst all around me the present crumbled into disrepair and decay.

When I look back at that past, my past, I’m hit with a huge sense of pride that I managed to live through that era of awful nihilism to emerge here on the other side. So here I am today, in a present that I almost denied to myself, thriving because I dug myself out of the pit of nihilism, and discovered things of worth, things to fight for, and things to believe in. Now when I go back to the writers of my past, the writers who kept me down in that pit, I look at them anew, see ugliness, cynicism, aimlessness, and the sense of despair that they broadcast, and can identify it immediately.

Let’s jump into ‘American Gods #1’ and explore a small part of that past.

It begins with a thirty-two year old handsome, athletic, intelligent, philosophical, black man in an American prison, and the story is from his point of view. Neil Gaiman is a fifty-six year old Jewish man from Hampshire, England.

The handsome black man, although in jail, is portrayed as intelligent, caring, loving, and in general, a good individual, a victim of ‘the man,’ that man being the spectre of white racism, as can be seen by the casual racism that comes his way from a white prison guard. The insinuation is that America locks up intelligent, handsome, good black men because of white racism. We see the handsome black man’s pretty white wife. He tells us how much he loves her, how he’s looking forward to seeing her again when he is released. What has he done? Why is he in prison? It’s brushed over, it’s unimportant, what is important is that this good man is in jail, he made a mistake, he’s going to get out, and the rest of his life is going to run just fine.

We wait for the bad news to come, it’s inevitable, the character is a vehicle for narrative development, there is no humanity in him, he is not real, he is a shop-window dummy for Gaiman to dress up in story. He needs him imprisoned to service that story, so he’s in jail, and he will be released when the story needs him to be released.

This dummy character of liberal virtue signalling value has no family, no relatives, no children, no parents, no community, nothing substantial, just a pretty white wife who is killed off halfway through this first issue, because it services the story. After reading this first issue (I have not read the book) I get the same feeling that I get at the start of most books, comic books and movie narratives. That feeling is of emptiness and confusion and annoyance that so much has happened, so much remains unexplained and try as I might, I cannot drain any meaning whatsoever from anything that I have just witnessed.

The entire point of modern narratives is to keep you hanging on the end of a hook, to drag you through a story of no meaning, and get you to the end, thanks for coming, now please depart from this fairground ride of nihilistic emptiness. The ride is the meaning, because there is no meaning other than the fact that the creator got you to pay for the ride in the first place.

I recognise a good fairground dream ride of no meaning, as that was my past, that was my pit, and that is why I was so unhappy. Neil Gaiman is a good writer, of course he is, but do you want to join his new/old ride of no meaning? It’s rusty now, the movements no longer amuse, startle, or thrill. What do I mean? Let’s look at the breakdown of this ride, and the tricks or gimmicks that are used to thrill the passengers.

1- ‘A storm is coming’ cliché immediately.
2- Good man released from prison as the world changes.
3- Casual white racism.
4- Convict observes differences of life outside of prison, in airport setting.
5- Phoning dead wife, listening to her voice on answer phone.
6- Gaiman not understanding the sharing drinks (to create bonding) dating trick/tactic.
7- Dream sequence with strange creatures talking vaguely.
8- Weird stranger meeting on aeroplane after upgrade.
9- Chimp grin, showing teeth as aggressive, BBC 1993 Attenborough observation.
10- Strange old American diner cliché.
11- Freudian sex scene.
12- End.

That is poor sauce. There is nothing that feels new here. Nothing to connect with anything contemporary, it feels so, so old. Thank you for getting on the ride, thanks for your money, you allowed me to live the life of a writer, and I get to wear black, have messy hair and pretend that I’m a gothic teenager from the late 70’s early 80’s. I am fifty-six years old, and my book from 2001 is being made into a new television show. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

I admire Neil Gaiman. I admire his cleverness, and ability to prolong his writing career into the fiftieth decade of his life. He is still working, and even though I cannot find anything to take from his work, that work ethic is admirable. I know that ‘American Gods’ is an old book. I know that it’s about modern life killing the old Gods, replacing them with technology, and that the old Gods return to battle against the new Gods of materialism. I understand the idea that our new Gods are celebrities and materialism, but that already feels dated to me. If you want to talk about new and old Gods of 2017 you need to talk about the Gods of mainstream liberal consensus, because they are the Gods that are being challenged ‘right’ now.

Plus, attacking the idea of celebrity, materialism, products, television, and the emptiness of mainstream culture, whilst playing a huge role in propagating that culture yourself? Come on, selling faux-rebellion/revolution to the masses, and in the very instrument (comics, books, and television) that enslaves them to nihilistic materialism? You’re taking the piss, telling your audience that they are dupes, whilst keeping them safely duped/drugged up upon the dream plantation of no-resistance, no reality that is mainstream lefty comic books and television? Come on, look in the mirror, get some reality into your lives.

2001 was sixteen-years ago, that’s a very long time ago now. The questions on people’s mind’s today are not about Odin or Thoth, but globalism and nationalism, that is what truly awakened people are talking about in 2017, not questions about religion and the God’s of old tribes. Why release a comic book that already feels old? Why bother making it into the latest television show? I’ll answer that. It’s being released now because it’s safe, it’s just another ride, it might sell a few tickets, and nobody is going to get upset or feel anything other than mild amusement about it all.

In 2017 Neil Gaiman is still selling his useless old dreams to the masses. It’s what he does, and it’s what he will always do. He’s made a career out of it, so good for him, but I can’t stay with him in dreams of the past. I have to move on.

I am in the fortieth decade of my own life, and have decided to walk past the funfair-ride of television, cinema, books and comic books. It has taken me a while, but nothing worth having will ever come to you quickly, or easily. To gain wisdom you must suffer, but suffering does not last forever. Eventually, and it might take decades, light must finally appear. I see the light now, finally, and that is where I must go.

There are rabbit holes revealing themselves, and they are available to anybody brave enough to take a look. What am I talking about? I’m not going to tell you, because you cannot be told, you must find them for yourself, when you want to find them, and when you are ready to find them.

But, I am a blabbermouth, so I shall hint at the entrances.

Start with nationalism versus globalism. Look at the actions of Longshanks (Edward I) and his edict of expulsion. Tribal identity, multiculturalism, social, global control, money, politics, culture, education, history, who are you allowed to criticise? What are you allowed to question, and more importantly, what are you not allowed to question?

The rabbit holes are open, and you can explore them on your own. Neil Gaiman offers a funfair ride into the world of old dreams. I’ve been there before, it can be fun, but all it really does it take you around and around, and leave you back at the same place where you started. I no longer have time for fairground rides and running around in American dream circles. I took the red pill, explored the rabbit holes, and hey, it’s amazing what you start to find when you truly awake from a blue pill life of slumber.

We all have a choice to make, and the biggest problem that stopped me from progressing was that I didn’t even realise that there was an option. If you are reading this and are still in the same mindset that entrapped me, then I know how it is. In the movie there is a bloke who gives you a red or blue pill option. Real life isn’t as easy as that. In real life you end up reading somebody (flawed as I am) like myself, get angry or confused, and run back to the safety of the blue pill dream. I just want to let you know that you have a choice. What do you want to live for? Do you want a life of red pill reality, or a blue pill Neil Gaiman dream? It’s your life, and the choice, and you do have one, is up to you. Take care, and thanks for reading.

-Mark Anthony Pritchard (17th March 2017)

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Thursday, 16 March 2017


My break from writing continues, with this, a review of the only wrestling company that I still watch today, New Japan Pro Wrestling (NJPW) and the latest match in their New Japan Cup 2017 tournament.

A couple of things to explain first, before I jump into the one match that I’ll be looking at. Firstly, my break from writing is a break from producing original stories, and the break ends in about one week’s time. I’ve just spent three months writing, ‘Red Pill tales from the Alt-Right: Volume Two’ and after releasing it (on Amazon Kindle and paperback) I’m taking a breather, looking at a couple of things, reading a couple of things, and letting my mind recharge it’s creative juices. The reviews that pop up on this blog over the next five days are the equivalent of me doing my daily exercises before getting back onto the racetrack again. Writing is hard work, harder than Jack Kerouac made it out to be, for sure, and you have to keep on writing, even when you are ‘taking a break.’

I have always been a huge pro wrestling fan. It began for me with the NWA (Magnum TA and the Rock n Roll Express were my favourites). I hated the Hulkamania years, loved the ECW thing, was bemused by the Attitude Era, and here I am in 2017 looking around to see what is left. WCW imploded, TNA sucks, ROH is mostly blokes in trunks who are not very good, and the modern day WWE is very corporate, very disingenuous (tours Saudi Arabia, promotes feminism) and insists on trying to manipulate it’s audience rather than giving them what they actually want. So, what does a wrestling fan do? Simple, he goes to Japan, where there’s usually something interesting going on (I loved the Misawa/Kobashi years) crosses his fingers, and hopes for the best.

That’s what I did, and man, was I ever rewarded. In the good old days I used to get my puroresu (Japanese pro-wrestling) from tape-traders, but some clever chap invented this Internet thing, and now I get a quicker fix on live Internet streaming. I can watch NJPW when it happens, immediately, in HD, with occasional English commentary (that was never a thing in the past) and it costs less than a tenner a month (about £8.50). Man, technology might be spying on us all, and looking at us in our pants, but it has its pluses as well.

NJPW is on fire at the moment by the way. They have some awesome talent, and still do the ‘strong-style’ thing that they always did in the past, with main-events that go long, are hard hitting, super-heated and super awesome. The match that I will be reviewing here is not one of those matches. If you want to see one of those matches go onto New Japan World, pay your eight quid, and watch the Kenny Omega versus Kazuchika Okada match from Wrestle Kingdom 11 at the Tokyo Dome, and you’ll see what I mean. Dave Meltzer gave that match six stars out of five, and after you watch it, you’ll have to agree with him. I’d give the match six stars as well, it was bloody awesome, easy six stars, and six stars wasn’t even a thing before.

Shibata versus Juice
The match that I’ll ‘review’ here is a small show match, a match where I pretty much knew who was going to win before it began. It’s a match in the ‘New Japan Cup’ an elimination style tournament, where the winner gets to challenge for the belt of his choosing. This match was released on 16th March 2017 on New Japan World, as a 15-minute video, and it looks like it is being held in a small school gymnasium. There were two big shows last weekend, and there will be another two big shows this weekend as well, so this match, although part of the tournament, is a gift to people like myself who go onto New Japan World daily, just to see if there are any new videos. Call it an appetiser, because that’s pretty much what it is.

So, what was the appetiser like? Let’s get into it. The match is between Juice Robinson (young, up and comer, ex-WWE, Gaijin/American trying to impress, doing pretty well recently) and Katsuyori Shibata (super-stiff, super-serious, makes everything look legit, in his prime, bad ass). The match starts off with old-school English/World-of-Sport mat based wrestling, feeling each other out, escaping from holds, before Shibata throws a couple of stiff kicks, things start to get heated, and here we go. Juice gets hot, tries to counter stiff with stiffer, and here come the face boots, slaps, suplexes coming back from Shibata. It’s a fight now, the crowd get louder as the wrestlers get hotter, stiffer. Juice is shouting/swearing, this is it, the Japanese strong style, tough guy wrestling that I LOVE.

What I love, what I’ve always loved about Japanese wrestling, is that the story of each match, at it’s core, is about who has the most ‘fighting-spirit.’ That means, who is the toughest? Who has the most heart? Who is the bravest? Can you keep on going, keep taking punishment, keep falling, keep getting back up, keep going until there is absolutely nothing left, yet somehow dig even deeper than you thought was possible and find that one single last drop of energy, use it up, survive, thrive, fight, roar and WIN?

I’m a runner, and that physical and mental sensation that you experience when you have nothing left, but have to keep on going, to fight through it, to conquer the miserable will to give-in and surrender, that is something that I can massively identify with. Okay, in life as well, which is pretty much the same thing, but running is more immediate, physical, whereas life just grounds you into the dirt with disappointment after disappointment, trying to get you to quit, but not really giving a sh** about you anyway. Running tells you that life sucks in a physical and mental way, and in running you can get through it, keep going, and win.

Japanese wrestling then, like running, gives you the chance to savour that sweet moment of victory that is probably not going to come with the crushing inevitability of real life, plus you don’t have to get all sweaty doing it. You get to live through the wrestlers, connect with the struggles on an emotional level, and will your favourites to keep on going, don’t give up, you can do it, you can win. When I watch a typical WWE match-up I don’t get that, and so I don’t care and don’t want to watch. NJPW is different. I get the struggle, the will to survive, and so they get my money.

Back to the match, Juice is hitting fire with fire, a somersault stunner from the top rope, a gut buster, a back-senton, screaming, passionate, he’s taking it to the Japanese bad ass. He goes for his finisher, but it’s countered with a knee in the back, Shibata stretches him with an octopus type hold, goes for the submission. Don’t tap Juice, use your fighting-spirit, dig deep gaijin. Juice hangs in, gets the ropes, then BAM, dropped on his head with a massive suplex. BUT…..Juice no-sells with a massive shout of ‘F*** YOU’ gets straight into Shibata’s face. Here it is. This is why I love Japanese wrestling. Fighting-spirit baby, pure heart, courage, determination, never give up, fighting-spirit.

Punches, Shibata gets Juice in a sleeper, he drops to his knees, is Juice done? It appears so, he slumps, and Shibata hits his ‘penalty kick’ finisher. 1-2-3 and the pin goes to the Japanese warrior who moves on in the tournament, leaving a battered Juice, but a Juice who can be happy that he gave his all to the very end.

Shibata will face the winner of the Sanada (young athletic heel with big hair) and Ishii (bulldog badass) match-up that takes place on Friday, 17th March. That semi-final match will take place on the final four New Japan Cup show this Sunday 19th March. I expect Ishii to win his match against Sanada on Friday, and a Shibata versus Ishii match this Sunday will be off the wall amazing, two kick-ass warriors who should blow the roof off of the building.

The other semi-final is Bad Luck Fale (lumbering monster) versus Evil (the evil Undertaker of NJPW), and should see a win for big Evil, so that means a final of either Ishii or Shibata versus Evil. People are talking about the New Japan Cup 2017 being used to create new stars, so could we be looking at an Evil win? Could we even have an upset with Sanada winning his match against Ishii, beating Shibata, and then having two young villains (who are both in the ‘Los Ingobernables de Japon’ faction) in the final with Evil versus Sanada? I don’t know, but it’s interesting, very interesting indeed. The leader of ‘Los Ingobernables de Japon’ is Tetsuya Naito, the IWGP Intercontinental Champion, so if one of his faction members (Evil or Sanada) wins the cup, and the championship match of their choosing, will they end up challenging their own leader?

Remember that this match (Shibata versus Juice) was just an appetiser, and as such, it was perfect, teasing my palette, and leaving me hungry for what is to come next. The match wasn’t supposed to be epic, the result was never really in doubt, and it wasn’t supposed to be four star plus. For what it was (** 3/4 star) it did an excellent job, made Shibata look like the solid star that he is, and Juice look like a youngster with plenty of fighting-spirit, and thus potential for the future.

If you, like me, grew up with pro-wrestling, love wrestling, don’t want to give up on wrestling, but look at the boring lukewarm state of the western product, and don’t know where to go, NJPW will be perfect for you. I click on NJPWWORLD on a daily basis, just to see what is coming up next. I’ve been a subscriber for a couple of months, and my love for pro-wrestling has been completely revitalised. I’m just getting fully immersed within the NJPW world now, getting to know the characters, the factions, the histories, and everything else that is so wonderful about the promotion. I love it, and that is why I have just written this review.

Thank you NJPW, you are awesome. You deserve all of the success that you are currently receiving, and the future success that will come your way as more and more jaded westerners (like myself) take a chance on your product, and re-discover what made them fall in love with pro wrestling in the first place.

The New Japan Cup 2017 finals are on Monday 20th March 2017 and can be seen (with English commentary) on live, or on delay. Semi-final night is on Sunday 19th March, plus we have the Sanada versus Ishii match on Friday 17th to look forward to as well.

As I finish off this article I’ll give you my final prediction for the winner of the New Japan Cup 2017 tournament. I’m going with EVIL. Why am I going with EVIL? Because, and here’s a reference that you’ll only get once you start watching NJPW, because EVERYTHING IS EVIL, that’s why. Click on the link below this review, and sign-up for NOW. If you love, or have ever loved pro wrestling in the past, you won’t regret it.

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Wednesday, 15 March 2017

Mighty Captain Marvel #0 (Review): Feminist Turds in Space

Written by Margaret Stohl
Art by Emilio Laiso, Ramon Rosanas, Rachelle Rosenberg
Published by Marvel Comics
Release date: December 21, 2016

I’ve finished my latest novel, Red Pill Tales from the Alt-Right: Volume Two (please check it out, it’s all over amazon), and now I have some time to read, relax, and see what is going on in the comic book world. How bad has it got? Is it all Donald Trump bashing, SJW, feminist, open-border, pro-Islam, anti-white man insanity, like I suspect? Let’s jump into ‘Mighty Captain Marvel #0’ and find out.

Okay, we are starting in a therapy session with our brave, short hair heroine, and her cat is there, and it’s all jokes and silliness. She’s super awesome, because, well, of course she is, what did you expect from MarDisney? But being awesome is hard work, so she can’t sleep, because of awesomeness. Okay then, that’s a problem that that nobody in the world (bar Donald Trump) can identify with, and immediately I know that I am back in MarDisney, the world of perfect females and identity politics running amok, where progressive victim-groups are portrayed as galaxy conquering superheroes.

Oh, a cat, how cute.
Oh man, can I go back to writing a new book now? Nope, not yet, you must read MarDisney, and you must suffer for your white male patriarchal sins. Right them, so back to the story of Ms Perfect BBC haircut in space.

It appears that she’s helping space refugees get to earth. THIS IS NOT A JOKE. No, really, she’s in space, helping refugee aliens get to earth. I wrote a story about that in my Red Pills book, it was a joke, and now I’m reading it in a comic book. Bloody hell, what are they like? Lefty, that’s what they are like, very, very lefty.

Now she’s moaning about being a high-achiever, yep, common problem with feminists these days don’t you know. Come on story, do something. Here comes a bald bloke with a (hey, it’s me in a comic book) oh no, he’s just another male comic book cuck, a delivery boy with a parcel for our great sexless wonder. What’s in the box? So exciting, what could it possibly be? Oh, it’s some of her old stuff, and now we are going to flashback mode to see how perfect she was as a kid.


Yep, there she is as a kid, getting an ‘A’ in physics, just like all of the other good feminists. It’s a thing you know. Physics and feminism go together like television and bullshit. It’s just a thing. Wow, now we are in a flashback where her own dad is being sexist against her, like that has ever been a thing since the 1950’s.

Here’s the direct quote from the story: Dad (to little Ms Perfect)- ‘Find yourself a nice boy. Heck, a nice astronaut and settle down.’

Come on, this is very, very, very, very silly. I’m 43 years old, and that kind of sexist bullshit wouldn’t even have been a thing when I was a kid. What the hell are they trying to do here? Silly question, because we all know exactly what they are doing. Once again they are portraying a member of one of their victim groups (this time it's women) as brave warriors fighting against the all powerful, oppressive patriarchy that apparantly only exists in white, western, democratic countries.

Oh MarDisney, call me ‘paranoid’ but I’m starting to smell agenda all over this story. First strike is alien refugees, second strike is imaginary sexism, made worse by the fact that the sexist is her own father. That’s pretty low MarDisney, even for you.

A feminist winning? Yeah, keep dreaming love.
Right, I’m reading this digital comic book online as I’m typing, so they have one more strike and that’s it, I’m done. Let’s see. I’m 9:18 into the 17:13 comic book, how long do you think I’ll last before I can take no more of this shite? Let’s see.

So, Ms Perfect joins the airforce, and is the best at everything, obviously, and now she’s moaning about ‘all the voices that said I was nothing.’ Why were they saying that? Because she is a girl, no really, that’s what the story is doing here. It’s saying that girls are treated horribly in AMERICA just because they are girls, and remember, this is all taking place a couple of years ago. Going by her age in the comic book she can’t be any older than thirty, so all of this bad memory stuff must be fifteen years ago tops.

Fifteen years ago was 2002, so they are trying to tell readers that AMERICA in 2002 was some kind of misogynist hellhole for brilliant and talented young women.




That’s your third strike Captain Perfect, the comic ends for me at 9:55 of 17:13. I just can’t do this anymore. I can’t subject myself to anymore of this total and utter horseshit. I can’t take anymore of this imaginary world where women are a suppressed minority in western countries. I can’t take the madness of it all. How am I supposed to handle this wilful, agenda driven ignorance and hatred of reality itself?

Fuck it. That’s my review done. If this is what MarDisney is going to do as the entire planet experiences a red pill awakening, rediscovers national pride and rejects global leftism, then they are completely irrelevant. Fuck this comic. Please check out my new book, it’s a lot fucking better then this Ms Perfect piece of shit. Sorry, this piece of shit comic really wound me up, but fuck Marvel, they deserve to fucking die, and if they keep on laying turds like Mighty Captain Marvel #0 that’s exactly what is going to happen to them.

Rating for comic book: 0

If you are some kind of crazed masochist you can read the shit-fest comic book here (I do not recommend it):

'Red Pill Tales from the Alt-Right: Volume Two' is available now on Amazon Kindle, and as a paperback. If you enjoy laughing at the crazed lunatics on the left, this is the book for you. Get your FREE sample below:

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