Bonding with the barber

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Women have intense deep, emotional needs that sometimes are a challenge to meet. When the burden gets to be too much, it’s time for some male bonding.

Good timing, because today I’m going to meet another fashy goy with whom I was connected by a mutual acquaintance.

This goy is engaged in a trade that supports what happens to be a classic setting for male bonding, one that was discussed on a recent Daily Shoah and that comes up often and masculinity discourse across the races.

Of course I’m talking about the barbershop.

I’m on my way to my friends home barbershop right now.

He tells me he keeps it in his garage and actually warned me that it would be rigidly cold. Works for me.

To reach him I drove up over the mountains I mentioned yesterday, closer to the area where my grandparents and great grandparents lived.

The neighborhood still is predominately white, but, as I suspected based on some brief social media research, I had been a little too optimistic about its stable, traditional character.

A significant number of the women in this rural mountain county appear to have taken Negro husbands and boyfriends, and the area overall is plagued by the heroin epidemic, the effects of which are apparent across the country.

My goy friend told me that his home was broken into recently and that break-ins up and down the valley are almost routine.

One could suggest that this is the state of a white America that has lost its national moral and religious core–a civic fabric and organic safety net that academics like Charles Murray and Robert Putnam have depicted as eroded and sometimes wholly disappeared.

Instead we have demoralization, drugs and degeneracy

But, amid the blight and decay, a seedling of hope: our humble meeting, which consisted of my haircut, a beer, and idle chatter about our wives, our lives, the arc of our little alternative political subculture, and the state of our people. One small step towards restoration of ordinary masculine culture, so that eventually fewer of us will be bowling–and lifting, poasting, and shitlording –alone.

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Bonding with the barber

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