My only problem with this record is I wish it released at the beginning of the summer. Off the album "Take Care" to be released October 24th 2011.
The women of Toronto are prostitutes. They only care about money and status. The most attractive women sell themselves to the highest bidders.
You hardly meet any attractive single women in Toronto because they are afraid their friends will look down on them – it’s a status thing. That’s why a woman in Toronto will hold on to her boyfriend, even if he’s a total douchebag, rather than stay single. She’ll only leave him when she’s got another guy lined up – it’s called the monkey bar. Only the uglies, the fatties, and the crazies who are unable to hold on to a token man are left on the market. Enjoy shopping for damaged goods.
In the bars and in the clubs, women get together with their friends to dance with their backs to the crowd, not to meet single men. They’ve already brought their asshole boyfriends (you know the ones, the guys who shoved you aside to let their group push through the crowd into your spot) and they’re going to have a good time and ignore everybody else. The “creeps” and seduction masters hover on the periphery. It’s the T-dot Shore – no wonder they wanted to film a show here – the animals at the watering hole are so obliging.
Toronto women are not looking to meet men anywhere other than in their narrowly-defined time and place – the bitch-face is on all-day, every day until Saturday night, when the few, desperate remaining single women will drunkenly sleep with a douchebag or a hipster selling a slick line of unlikely bullshit. In the revealing light of day, they hide what they’ve done and complain to their bitchy girlfriends about their asshole boyfriends and lament, “there aren’t any good men out there.”
Men, if you want to meet decent women, don’t look here. The women here are well-dressed cunts and you’re better off without them.
There is a serious problem in this city. Women here are severely dysfunctional, to the degree that they are making life miserable, both for themselves and for the men around them. The typical Toronto woman is a graceless, mindless byproduct of modern feminism, who vehemently believes what she has been taught since she was old enough to listen: that she is a beautiful enigma — an enchanting yin-yang of unimpeachable virtue, and endearing imperfection. She is cripplingly vain, yet deeply insecure. She speaks too much, and too loudly, and is oblivious to her own banality. She has slept with far too many men to be considered relationship material, because she knows nothing about herself, about men, or about love itself.
As men, we see it every day. Toronto women walk around as if they did not notice men were present. They talk on their phones on the streetcars as if in their living rooms, airing the weekend’s dirty laundry in loud, irritating voices. They become perversely absorbed in their reflections in elevators, or even shop windows. They do not move for anyone on the sidewalks. They stomp around with anything from subtle sourness to outright mannish aggression. They believe that modesty, class and decorum are antiquated, sexist notions, and therefore behave in the extreme opposite manner.
This is the monster that feminism has created. It’s inescapable in this city — it has infected public education, parenting, psychology, television, universities, and all forms of social expression to the point where its effects can be observed in body language alone. Canada in particular is one of the most feminized countries in the world, and Toronto is the flagship of its ugly paradigm. Look at any TV show, any radio commercial, any magazine (for men or women), and the message is the same. Men are pathetic, bumbling fetch-dogs, and women save the day with their finesse, poise, confidence, etc. A woman is told by a million voices in every direction, every day, that she is a Venus, an unsolvable mystery that should be worshipped because she is, apparently, every conceivable contradiction of character, co-existing in one divine shell. Delicate, yet strong. Meek, yet self-possessed. Sexy, yet pure. The list is never-ending. Every action a woman takes, every minor hardship or imagined struggle, is painted as an epic crusade for Womankind.
Have you noticed how many Seduction Artists originate from Toronto? Who is to blame for these moronic cheeseballs, with their theories and techniques on how to beat women at their own game? Their twisted tactics are employed by men who are baffled and bewildered by women’s general and unaccountable antipathy towards men, but who would rather adopt a phony, carefully constructed persona to get women than throw in the towel. More of us, however, have just stopped flirting with Toronto women, and are spending what are meant to be the best years of our lives bitterly navigating the atmosphere of sexual combativeness that pervades this city like a fog.
Some of us seem to be catching on, despite being brought up to revere women by default. Like Pavlov’s dog, experience is teaching us that beneath their tenuous sexual appeal, Toronto women are overwhelmingly devoid of substance, character, humility, and intelligence, and are much too narcissistic to tolerate for more than a one-night stand. Most know nothing of love, how to love, or how to be loved, and their lives are spiraling out of reality into the house of mirrors which has been constructed for them by the industries of fashion and cosmetics.
Women of Toronto — feminism has failed you. You direly need to rediscover your sexual identities from the ground up, because you are destroying the bond between men and women which is the foundation of the world. You can use any manner of defense you wish — call me bitter, misogynistic, whiny, old-fashioned — whatever. I know the truth about you, as many men do, as you yourselves will bitterly have to face when you inevitably realize that what you hold dear only serves to make you unhappy. Learn how to be feminine, to think for yourselves, to compliment men instead of compete with them. Tear down the disgusting sham, the epidemic doctrine that says men and women are the same, and please stop reading magazines altogether. Realize that the cavernous rift between us is complete fiction, and is mostly intended to keep our wallets empty. We will do our part, as men, if you simply let us.