I have always been introspective and pride myself on being a realist. I try not to delude myself about anything. The biggest sticking point in my life has been the female sex, which has been good to me throughout my days and seems to genuinely like me. If that is the case, why am I so brutal toward them?

It seems to me the most obvious parallel is the life of Adolf Hitler. Hitler tried to pursue his artistic dreams and the world crushed him down savagely. He lived a very painful life when he should have been a leader-type from the get-go, and he knew it. While other, lesser men were living it up in Vienna and Munich, he was down in the dumps.

I think it is natural for a certain kind of leader-man to cast around for someone to blame for his troubles, an imaginary enemy who made it all possible. Hitler cast around at a young age and found the Jews. He never wavered from that initial commitment to hating them. As time grew, and his troubles continued even as he found some political success (he was arrested for the failed putsch of the early 1920s), he doubled down on his loathing and blaming of Jews for all his troubles.

I think with women I am doing the exact same thing. I am hot and smart. If I had taken the easy path, I could have led a very successful life, throughout, but I did not. My endless suffering has led me to cast around for a scapegoat to blame. It is an automatic process of the mind, not a conscious one. I blame the vagina.

So even though things are going to get better, the hate has lodged in me like a painful tooth, continually triggering me. I write an article where I compare the flaws of three genius men to women, even though really that’s a far-fetched comparison. I recognize that. I’m not stupid. I’m not inflexible like Hitler was. I can see through murky panels of stained glass to the hidden inner sanctum where the truth lies.

I have the capacity to dismiss my prejudice against women and to treat them well. I could be a valuable ally for womankind. I could write the kind of books that elevate them, make them cool, understand a woman’s world and her problems, give her hope, provide some meaning that perhaps only I can do. More vitally, I could live my life and apply my powers to changing the world for the better for both men and women, making it fair and equitable, removing the injustices of the past. More.

I say that Storm and her little group of girls are trapped, but it is very clear to me that in a profound sense the entire gender of women is trapped and helpless and desperately in need of a helping hand. Women create these monsters, baby boys, and have to surrender their freedom and part of their pleasure in order to tame men and keep them at bay. I have been in agony, healing my mind from the damage of my mother, and I could probably work in a societal way to heal other men, maybe the world at large, as grandiose as that sounds. Ultimately, women and men could love each other truly and wars could stop. I could be a hero. A savior-figure.

So I could treat women infinitely better and I could even help them, give them their full potential, bring light to existence.

But I am not going to.

I decide, instead, to double down on my hatred of that which has a slit between its legs, and to break it. I decide to bring it to a world of agony that is going to last for all time, from which there shall be no escape, and no misguided man willing to lend a hand even in a small way.

The question is why?

I can look past my scapegoating of women, unlike Hitler who couldn’t relinquish his death grip on his hatred of Jews. But women serve an infinitely valuable purpose as victims. In the construction of a beautiful dream-world, women on their knees, with bleeding lashed backs, is crucial to what comes next. And there is something more. I spent 3 years with Echo, a girl I renamed from Sarah Jane Jans, who served me on her knees. I made her slash open her hand and bleed profusely. Everything I did with her, every command the smart girl obeyed, made me happy. It wasn’t because I was scapegoating her, or personalizing her as the one that represented a scapegoated gender. It was because females on their knees, loving me and serving me and living in pain for me, excited me and thrilled me and, in the end, satisfied me on a very deep level.

It is beautiful to get women to suck your cock and swallow your cum, especially if they don’t like it. My cock stirs at the very thought. It is special to strip away women’s power and make them powerless.

In addition to all this, there is a cold-hearted, objective analysis of the real strengths and weakness of women and girls. In my estimation, they are inferior. And not just a little. Storm has all these gifts, and if a boy had them, he could do so much more with them. As a girl, she will always be woefully limited in what she can do. Her gift is special, but she is not.

And remember she is the best of girls! Just as I am the best of boys! Without my help, she could do nothing in the larger sense. With my help, she can spread her wings and fly. I give her those wings. My mind, my agility of thought, my masculine beauty of form and face, my connection with the deeper universe, my utter specialness and amazingness. What is a girl compared to that? What can a girl do, be? Nothing, that’s the answer.

We’ve had 50 years of complete equality between men and women in the West and women have performed at a meh level. They don’t start major corporations, they don’t do great art, they don’t write great books, they don’t think or create in a special way. They have done something, and I suppose it’s better than nothing, but the end judgment has to be that they’ve failed to live up to the universal human potential that exists so abundantly in the Western World.

And yet they continue to struggle to maintain an equal position in society and to trumpet their own “achievements.”

Again, one must be fair. One must recognize that women have stupid eyes, a gift of their mothers to teach them to conform to the Sisterhood and the wishes of other women. Can it be that, absent this stupid-eyed manipulation, women would do much better, be less conformist, be more real?

The answer is no. Women would fail even under ideal childhood conditions. I’ve analyzed the detrimental effect of the mother-guidance on the little girls and concluded that there would be no major changes were it to be removed. Females would still fail and struggle to keep up with men and suck in so many ways.

So I scapegoat women, yes. But ultimately there’s more to it than that, much more. Women are failures, you can build a society on their backs, it is a wonderful pleasure to treat them as the Marquis de Sade, a wise man, did. There is every reason to strap a grenade to their filthhole pussy and watch them run around naked in panic until it blows up, scattering their flesh to the four winds.

Time is running out for the female sex. It is the year 2025. By the year 2050 at the latest, women will lose all their freedom and enter a perpetual dark age of their kind. It may happen as early as 2035. In any event, they are lost. Storm is going to be a key to a very dark door that should never be opened, according to the wishes of the titted, slitted, disgusting menstruating lot. Storm is going to help transform me into something very dangerous, something unique in the annals of time. I am educated and smart, driven and empowered, imaginative and creative. And I hate women, among many other things. And it is right to be all these things and do all these things. It is the Only Way.