Shidoshi
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Mar 18, 2015
Just watched it from another site. Not really impressed, it wasn't detailed enough and the psychologists analysis was cliche. I noticed he's the same psychologist that interviewed Richard Kuklinski.
Inactive Elliot Rodger - The Supreme Gentleman
- Thread starter KatsuKitty
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Just watched it from another site. Not really impressed, it wasn't detailed enough and the psychologists analysis was cliche. I noticed he's the same psychologist that interviewed Richard Kuklinski.
- Joined
- Feb 25, 2015
Read his diary (I will not call it a manifesto) instead. It is far more in depth and if you also read psychology papers with it you will be able to analyze what happened better.
- Joined
- Feb 25, 2013
It's also funny as fuck.
- Joined
- Feb 3, 2013
I think one of the causes is that Elliot took popular entertainment as a documentary on how reality works -- sort of like people who assume that because one majored in physics their life must be exactly like that of the four asswipes from The Big Tard Theory.
Movies and TV shows present sex as a rite of passage, or rather, like finishing a level (usually the "College" level) in a video game. In his whinyfesto, Elliot pointed out repeatedly that it was a MUST for him to have hankypanky within a certain timespan, or else everything would be lost. He never seemed to have any other objectives in life; for one making a lot of noise about being an "intellectual", da Rodge was sure not very busy with academic pursuits.
If he had in fact concentrated on achieving the hankypanky bagde, he probably would have succeeded sooner or later, but his approach to life was completely passive, he wanted everything to be brought to him without him doing anything. This did not happen, and since he was a complete "the glass is half empty"-person, who only saw negativity and concentrated on what he did NOT have, he was locked in a negative feedback cycle in which he constantly became more enraged and people retreated from him because he was creepy as hell.
This psychology podcast is pretty good:
- Joined
- Feb 3, 2013
ThonisSH has been threadbanned. Carry on.
- Joined
- Dec 28, 2014
Banned from his God's thread. That's gotta sting.
- Joined
- Jul 13, 2015
Here's one of the weirder things I've seen on the Supreme Gentleman. Apparently, he wasn't "insane," but exactly the opposite--he broke through the chains of "Sexual False Consciousness" on behalf of all the men oppressed by "Anglo" bitches!
https://archive.is/gBgUf
https://archive.is/XmomG
Kooky stuff. The more these guys venerate spree killers (or attempted spree killers), the more amusing I find their incomprehension about why they're hated.
https://archive.is/gBgUf
https://archive.is/XmomG
Kooky stuff. The more these guys venerate spree killers (or attempted spree killers), the more amusing I find their incomprehension about why they're hated.
- Joined
- Sep 10, 2015
For anyone who'd rather spare themselves the lost brain cells, here are some highlights:
Autistic Blogger said:
Autistic Blogger said:
Autistic Blogger said:
Autistic Blogger said:
Last edited:
- Joined
- Feb 25, 2015
Critical theory can be applied to anything and it is always autistic
- Joined
- May 15, 2015
Sorry for the necro-thread, but look what I found concerning le supreme gentleman and the libertarian ponyfag.
http://blamethe1st.deviantart.com/journal/Elliot-Rodger-Is-Leftism-Personified-456574949
http://blamethe1st.deviantart.com/journal/Elliot-Rodger-Is-Leftism-Personified-456574949
S
SU 390
Guest
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- May 27, 2013
I can't just stop digging up more footage regarding this kid. It's a wonder I don't read his manifesto but that's only because I don't like reading.
I don't want to add anymore unwanted attention, but I just can't ever stop thinking about why someone would be so absolutely mad at being a virgin that they would kill over it.
I will just skip to the whole TL;DR version of my conclusion, Elliot should have just gotten a Kettlebell.
I don't want to add anymore unwanted attention, but I just can't ever stop thinking about why someone would be so absolutely mad at being a virgin that they would kill over it.
I will just skip to the whole TL;DR version of my conclusion, Elliot should have just gotten a Kettlebell.
- Joined
- Feb 25, 2015
- Joined
- Feb 15, 2015
10 hours of autism. I'll have to put this on while I sleep sometime.
- Joined
- Feb 3, 2013
While the child was asleep, a broadcast programme from London suddenly started to come through; and the next morning, to the astonishment of his crash and crash (the more daring of the boys ventured to grin at one another), Little Reuben woke up repeating word for word a long lecture by that curious old writer ("one of the very few whose works have been permitted to come down to us"), George Bernard Shaw, who was speaking, according to a well-authenticated tradition, about his own genius. To Little Reuben's wink and snigger, this lecture was, of course, perfectly incomprehensible and, imagining that their child had suddenly gone mad, they sent for a doctor. He, fortunately, understood English, recognized the discourse as that which Shaw had broadcasted the previous evening, realized the significance of what had happened, and sent a letter to the medical press about it.
"The principle of sleep-teaching, or hypnopædia, had been discovered." The D.H.C. made an impressive pause.
The principle had been discovered; but many, many years were to elapse before that principle was usefully applied.
"The case of Little Reuben occurred only twenty-three years after Our Ford's first T-Model was put on the market." (Here the Director made a sign of the T on his stomach and all the students reverently followed suit.) "And yet …"
Furiously the students scribbled. "Hypnopædia, first used officially in A.F. 214. Why not before? Two reasons. (a) …"
"These early experimenters," the D.H.C. was saying, "were on the wrong track. They thought that hypnopædia could be made an instrument of intellectual education …"
(A small boy asleep on his right side, the right arm stuck out, the right hand hanging limp over the edge of the bed. Through a round grating in the side of a box a voice speaks softly.
"The Nile is the longest river in Africa and the second in length of all the rivers of the globe. Although falling short of the length of the Mississippi-Missouri, the Nile is at the head of all rivers as regards the length of its basin, which extends through 35 degrees of latitude …"
At breakfast the next morning, "Tommy," some one says, "do you know which is the longest river in Africa?" A shaking of the head. "But don't you remember something that begins: The Nile is the …"
"The - Nile - is - the - longest - river - in - Africa - and - the - second - in - length - of - all - the - rivers - of - the - globe …" The words come rushing out. "Although - falling - short - of …"
"Well now, which is the longest river in Africa?"
The eyes are blank. "I don't know."
"But the Nile, Tommy."
"The - Nile - is - the - longest - river - in - Africa - and - second …"
"Then which river is the longest, Tommy?"
Tommy burst into tears. "I don't know," he howls.)
That howl, the Director made it plain, discouraged the earliest investigators. The experiments were abandoned. No further attempt was made to teach children the length of the Nile in their sleep. Quite rightly. You can't learn a science unless you know what it's all about.
"Whereas, if they'd only started on moral education," said the Director, leading the way towards the door. The students followed him, desperately scribbling as they walked and all the way up in the lift. "Moral education, which ought never, in any circumstances, to be rational."
"Silence, silence," whispered a loud speaker as they stepped out at the fourteenth floor, and "Silence, silence," the trumpet mouths indefatigably repeated at intervals down every corridor. The students and even the Director himself rose automatically to the tips of their toes. They were Alphas, of course, but even Alphas have been well conditioned. "Silence, silence." All the air of the fourteenth floor was sibilant with the categorical imperative.
Fifty yards of tiptoeing brought them to a door which the Director cautiously opened. They stepped over the threshold into the twilight of a shuttered dormitory. Eighty cots stood in a row against the wall. There was a sound of light regular breathing and a continuous murmur, as of very faint voices remotely whispering.
A nurse rose as they entered and came to attention before the Director.
"What's the lesson this afternoon?" he asked.
"We had Elementary Sex for the first forty minutes," she answered. "But now it's switched over to Elementary Class Consciousness."
The Director walked slowly down the long line of cots. Rosy and relaxed with sleep, eighty little boys and girls lay softly breathing. There was a whisper under every pillow. The D.H.C. halted and, bending over one of the little beds, listened attentively.
"Elementary Class Consciousness, did you say? Let's have it repeated a little louder by the trumpet."
At the end of the room a loud speaker projected from the wall. The Director walked up to it and pressed a switch.
"… all wear green," said a soft but very distinct voice, beginning in the middle of a sentence, "and Delta Children wear khaki. Oh no, I don't want to play with Delta children. And Epsilons are still worse. They're too stupid to be able to read or write. Besides they wear black, which is such a beastly colour. I'm so glad I'm a Beta."
There was a pause; then the voice began again.
"Alpha children wear grey They work much harder than we do, because they're so frightfully clever. I'm really awfuly glad I'm a Beta, because I don't work so hard. And then we are much better than the Gammas and Deltas. Gammas are stupid. They all wear green, and Delta children wear khaki. Oh no, I don't want to play with Delta children. And Epsilons are still worse. They're too stupid to be able …"
The Director pushed back the switch. The voice was silent. Only its thin ghost continued to mutter from beneath the eighty pillows.
"They'll have that repeated forty or fifty times more before they wake; then again on Thursday, and again on Saturday. A hundred and twenty times three times a week for thirty months. After which they go on to a more advanced lesson."
Roses and electric shocks, the khaki of Deltas and a whiff of asafœtida–wedded indissolubly before the child can speak. But wordless conditioning is crude and wholesale; cannot bring home the finer distinctions, cannot inculcate the more complex courses of behaviour. For that there must be words, but words without reason. In brief, hypnopædia.
"The greatest moralizing and socializing force of all time."
The students took it down in their little books. Straight from the horse's mouth.
Once more the Director touched the switch.
"… so frightfully clever," the soft, insinuating, indefatigable voice was saying, "I'm really awfully glad I'm a Beta, because …"
Not so much like drops of water, though water, it is true, can wear holes in the hardest granite; rather, drops of liquid sealing-wax, drops that adhere, incrust, incorporate themselves with what they fall on, till finally the rock is all one scarlet blob.
http://huxley.net/bnw/two.html
"The principle of sleep-teaching, or hypnopædia, had been discovered." The D.H.C. made an impressive pause.
The principle had been discovered; but many, many years were to elapse before that principle was usefully applied.
"The case of Little Reuben occurred only twenty-three years after Our Ford's first T-Model was put on the market." (Here the Director made a sign of the T on his stomach and all the students reverently followed suit.) "And yet …"
Furiously the students scribbled. "Hypnopædia, first used officially in A.F. 214. Why not before? Two reasons. (a) …"
"These early experimenters," the D.H.C. was saying, "were on the wrong track. They thought that hypnopædia could be made an instrument of intellectual education …"
(A small boy asleep on his right side, the right arm stuck out, the right hand hanging limp over the edge of the bed. Through a round grating in the side of a box a voice speaks softly.
"The Nile is the longest river in Africa and the second in length of all the rivers of the globe. Although falling short of the length of the Mississippi-Missouri, the Nile is at the head of all rivers as regards the length of its basin, which extends through 35 degrees of latitude …"
At breakfast the next morning, "Tommy," some one says, "do you know which is the longest river in Africa?" A shaking of the head. "But don't you remember something that begins: The Nile is the …"
"The - Nile - is - the - longest - river - in - Africa - and - the - second - in - length - of - all - the - rivers - of - the - globe …" The words come rushing out. "Although - falling - short - of …"
"Well now, which is the longest river in Africa?"
The eyes are blank. "I don't know."
"But the Nile, Tommy."
"The - Nile - is - the - longest - river - in - Africa - and - second …"
"Then which river is the longest, Tommy?"
Tommy burst into tears. "I don't know," he howls.)
That howl, the Director made it plain, discouraged the earliest investigators. The experiments were abandoned. No further attempt was made to teach children the length of the Nile in their sleep. Quite rightly. You can't learn a science unless you know what it's all about.
"Whereas, if they'd only started on moral education," said the Director, leading the way towards the door. The students followed him, desperately scribbling as they walked and all the way up in the lift. "Moral education, which ought never, in any circumstances, to be rational."
"Silence, silence," whispered a loud speaker as they stepped out at the fourteenth floor, and "Silence, silence," the trumpet mouths indefatigably repeated at intervals down every corridor. The students and even the Director himself rose automatically to the tips of their toes. They were Alphas, of course, but even Alphas have been well conditioned. "Silence, silence." All the air of the fourteenth floor was sibilant with the categorical imperative.
Fifty yards of tiptoeing brought them to a door which the Director cautiously opened. They stepped over the threshold into the twilight of a shuttered dormitory. Eighty cots stood in a row against the wall. There was a sound of light regular breathing and a continuous murmur, as of very faint voices remotely whispering.
A nurse rose as they entered and came to attention before the Director.
"What's the lesson this afternoon?" he asked.
"We had Elementary Sex for the first forty minutes," she answered. "But now it's switched over to Elementary Class Consciousness."
The Director walked slowly down the long line of cots. Rosy and relaxed with sleep, eighty little boys and girls lay softly breathing. There was a whisper under every pillow. The D.H.C. halted and, bending over one of the little beds, listened attentively.
"Elementary Class Consciousness, did you say? Let's have it repeated a little louder by the trumpet."
At the end of the room a loud speaker projected from the wall. The Director walked up to it and pressed a switch.
"… all wear green," said a soft but very distinct voice, beginning in the middle of a sentence, "and Delta Children wear khaki. Oh no, I don't want to play with Delta children. And Epsilons are still worse. They're too stupid to be able to read or write. Besides they wear black, which is such a beastly colour. I'm so glad I'm a Beta."
There was a pause; then the voice began again.
"Alpha children wear grey They work much harder than we do, because they're so frightfully clever. I'm really awfuly glad I'm a Beta, because I don't work so hard. And then we are much better than the Gammas and Deltas. Gammas are stupid. They all wear green, and Delta children wear khaki. Oh no, I don't want to play with Delta children. And Epsilons are still worse. They're too stupid to be able …"
The Director pushed back the switch. The voice was silent. Only its thin ghost continued to mutter from beneath the eighty pillows.
"They'll have that repeated forty or fifty times more before they wake; then again on Thursday, and again on Saturday. A hundred and twenty times three times a week for thirty months. After which they go on to a more advanced lesson."
Roses and electric shocks, the khaki of Deltas and a whiff of asafœtida–wedded indissolubly before the child can speak. But wordless conditioning is crude and wholesale; cannot bring home the finer distinctions, cannot inculcate the more complex courses of behaviour. For that there must be words, but words without reason. In brief, hypnopædia.
"The greatest moralizing and socializing force of all time."
The students took it down in their little books. Straight from the horse's mouth.
Once more the Director touched the switch.
"… so frightfully clever," the soft, insinuating, indefatigable voice was saying, "I'm really awfully glad I'm a Beta, because …"
Not so much like drops of water, though water, it is true, can wear holes in the hardest granite; rather, drops of liquid sealing-wax, drops that adhere, incrust, incorporate themselves with what they fall on, till finally the rock is all one scarlet blob.
http://huxley.net/bnw/two.html
- Joined
- May 27, 2013
Just bumped into an interesting gem, apparently Elliot had a sister. And, of course, she had a rocking sex life.
I still have yet to read the whole manifesto, mainly because I'm really not interested in 80% of it, and would rather learn about juicy, lolz-filled content by having it come to me.
Basically it felt like Hell to him that his sister was having sex in the room right next to him, but like with any real story, its just funny as hell to picture how he's really doing.
I mean, I had to laugh so hard. He ended the piece by saying "An enemy" has entered into his house, the one place where he could hide from the injustices. It was like, oh booh hoo! He actually considered this boy, an innocent bystander in anything, an enemy.
I still have yet to read the whole manifesto, mainly because I'm really not interested in 80% of it, and would rather learn about juicy, lolz-filled content by having it come to me.
Basically it felt like Hell to him that his sister was having sex in the room right next to him, but like with any real story, its just funny as hell to picture how he's really doing.
I mean, I had to laugh so hard. He ended the piece by saying "An enemy" has entered into his house, the one place where he could hide from the injustices. It was like, oh booh hoo! He actually considered this boy, an innocent bystander in anything, an enemy.
- Joined
- Feb 3, 2013
- Joined
- Oct 12, 2015
Portrait of an incel:
1.Shoot a bunch of Chads and hot girls and then kill yourself in a outpouring of emotional rage at your failure in a dysfunctional system like a petulant child.Target and punish the innocent symptoms instead of the source.Perpetuate the problem that caused your actions in the first place
2.Go after the dysfunctional system itself
Pick option 1
The puppet master is quite pleased when his puppets attack each other instead him.
1.Shoot a bunch of Chads and hot girls and then kill yourself in a outpouring of emotional rage at your failure in a dysfunctional system like a petulant child.Target and punish the innocent symptoms instead of the source.Perpetuate the problem that caused your actions in the first place
2.Go after the dysfunctional system itself
Pick option 1
The puppet master is quite pleased when his puppets attack each other instead him.
- Joined
- Feb 25, 2015
Elliot Rodger was a fairly good writer which just makes his manifesto more hilarious
- Joined
- Feb 25, 2013
Eh, not really. Count how many times he describes food as his only vice.