So there I was, driving the minivan, family buckled in, heading down the road to my father-in-law’s funeral. He was a hard-drinking, hard-cussing Navy vet, but a Korean War injury and hard living finally caught up with him in his old age. My wife knew the end was coming. I was proud that I let her go down to be with him for his last couple of months while I worked, took the kids to and from school, fed them, and loved on them while their mother was taking care of her family.

I thought about how two years before, we’d made this same trip. Same town, same funeral parlor, same minivan, but the first time was for her mother. There also, I had taken one for the home team and let her go down there for three months and take care of her mother, who was wracked with pancreatic cancer.

As we got near the town where her mother grew up, we were talking about what was going to happen. Her grandfather, a man with a third-grade education, had worked hard and had amassed a sizable rural empire. Her grandmother, then her mother, and then her father had all taken their turn pissing it away a little at a time after granddaddy died, accumulating bills and then selling a piece of property at fire sale prices when the bill collectors started howling.

Her folks had finally sold their prize asset a few years prior, a popular if ill-maintained fishing pier, and presumably some of the millions they had received was left. “I wonder how much money I’ll get?” she said, as we turned into the funeral parlor. “I wonder what I will do with my money?”

My Money, Not Ours

Friends, I am a trained and experienced investigator. I have investigated all sorts of crimes. I have put men in prison with these skills. I like to think that I am pretty sharp. But it never occurred to me that I had to be on my toes and parse out the language that my wife of fifteen years had just spoken. That she had said “my money” and not “the money” or “our money” did not register at all with me.

This was the same wife who wanted to stay home with the kids and not work. This was the same wife who worked exactly one day of full-time work once our son was born ten years prior to this, thus making me work a full-time job and lots of side gigs to pay the bills. This was the same wife who had lots of jewelry from deceased relatives, including a set of pearls that was worth $20,000, but who refused to sell them merely to ease the strain of my back and the weariness from working almost every day.

That same wife, the beneficiary of many years of my hard work, had just said “my money” and not “our money,” but I had not noticed that glaring red flag. Later, I would mentally replay that conversation and wonder just when she had decided to release herself from the dreadful bondage of marriage to a hard-working man.

I’ve done public work since I was 14, cut grass, and run paper routes before that, and have always taken care of my business like a man should. I had not married for money. In fact, when we got married, her family didn’t seem to have any. Instead, I married thinking about how my 25 year old self was marrying a cute 19 year old who couldn’t get enough lovin’.

I was thinking that this woman, who had agreed to give me the large family I wanted, would be such a good mother, what with her degree in Child Development. I was thinking about how it would be cool to be able to come down to the pier and fish for nothing with the sons that I was going to have while my daughters played on the beach as I sat by to shoo the little boys away from them. I was thinking lots of things, but getting my hands on her family money was never one of them.

The Accounting And The Shock

About a week after the funeral, she had tallied up her newfound swag. She had inherited about $400,000 in cash, a Lincoln, and a share of several million dollars worth of coastal real estate. About a week later, she shocked me by telling me that she wanted a divorce.

A divorce? What? She was not the perfect wife, and I will not tell you that I was the perfect husband. I think I am a swell guy, but some may feel that I’m asshole, though I really don’t care. But either way, I was just a wiser and more shop-worn version of the man that she had married.

I had survived some crazy things along the way, including a couple of on-duty shootings and subsequent investigations as a ghetto cop. I had survived catching my wife cheating when I was out working 17 hours one day so she could stay home. This forced me to take away her cell phone and limit her Internet access for several years, but I stayed married to her for the sake of my son.

I thought that I was being much more than fair, as I neither killed her, beat her down, nor kicked her out. Of course, after that, I was not exactly emotionally attached to her like I had been before I found out that she was a whore. I sure didn’t kiss her ass or anything after that revelation.

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

Naively, I thought that my good deeds as a husband would be reciprocated at some point. Red pill men, go ahead and laugh. I can take it. I have had people legitimately try to kill me several times and survived. I can take the well-deserved laughter if you want to dish it out.


In any case, I had no idea what to expect, but I had been thinking that a windfall would allow us to put the kids into a moderately priced Christian school and let me back off to just working one job. I did not expect that she would give her two-weeks notice.

I tried to figure out what the deal was. Was she seeing someone? Investigations proved she was not. Was she just in a brief funk of sadness? Negative. Had I done something, anything, worthy of being put through this? Nope. I asked her why. She merely said, “Momma took care of me, then you took care of me. I never have taken care of myself. I need to go off on my own and see what its like.” It’s tough surviving on your own with hundreds of thousands of cash earned by someone else, I am sure.

I think that she was resentful of the perfectly reasonable set of rules that I had enforced to keep her from stepping out on me again. I think that she also resented my reasonable expectation that since she didn’t work, my house should stay clean and that a meal should be ready soon after I came home from work. Who knows. I really never figured it out. In any case, what is done is done.

Finding My People

During these depressing times, I somehow found our beloved manosphere. The scales on my eyes fell off and I started to figure some things out. I figured them out too late to save my marriage of course, but was an aging, unfaithful, lazy shrew who had developed a beer gut worth working hard for? My education progressed rapidly as I ravenously devoured information about the true nature of women, and picked up enough game to keep me pleasantly entertained.

One afternoon, we signed the separation papers at 4:30 pm. I was balls deep in a much prettier girl at 6:30. (As a gentleman, I had to go clean up and change out of my uniform, hence the shocking delay.)

I now have a more realistic view of women and a set of tools to deal with them. I am no super PUA, and I have remarried. My knowledge of game kept me right where I wanted to be between marriages, and it helps my manage my wife to good effect now. I found a unicorn: younger than me, with a very low notch count, and who makes enough money that I could put my feet up here at the ranch if I wanted to.

We have been married almost five years, and she is thus far proven to be a valuable ally. She knows that all her friends want me to bang them and that I could get something going pretty quickly if she were to fail in her wifely duties. A little jealousy goes a long way to keeping a woman on her toes.

The Best Revenge Is Living Well

In the mean time, the ex has pissed away all her cash, sold her property, and also pissed away the proceeds. She had grown up on the other side of the tracks than me. I think she figured that all of the guys who may have been options for her at 19 or 20 years old would still be interested in her now 35-year old fat ass. Nothing doing! She moved in a Mexican who is fifteen years older than her who sells cable TV in the barrios. He won’t marry her.

I will not go into all the details of what it has cost me in attorney fees to see my kids, or what it costs me in child support each month. Many of us have a story about how we were screwed by that system, and mine sucks, but is not that remarkable.

She has lost the respect of my children and alienated many of her upper-class friends. She had thought that she could live on interest income of the $400,000 that she had received, and was deflated when she had to actually get a job to maintain her drinking and Walmart habits.

Meanwhile, I am happy, I have prospered, and I am closing in on living the life that I want to live.

That big family I wanted? I never got it. The harpy closed the womb after two. Those two are teenagers now. To keep from repeating the cycle of the blue pill, I am passing down what I have learned to my son. I do not want him to be entirely cynical while still in high school, so he doesn’t get everything. I just want him to be happier than I was when he goes out into the world on his own.

All my dad told me was, “When your dick gets hard, your mind gets soft.” True enough, but hardly sufficient. A journeyman’s knowledge of what women are and how to deal with them is part of being able to build your life as you see fit and be a man among men.

A Call To Arms

I now ask you, men: what are you doing?

Nobody expects you to quit your job and make it your life’s work. But have you talked red pill talk at work, or are you scared of the HR fatties and faggots? Have you talked with your friends from your church men’s group, or has your lesbian pastor forbidden it? Have you talked with your sons or nephews or the other young, unschooled men that you know? Or have you just kept the whole thing a secret because you are scared because your wife might not want you to be the man that you are called to be?

If you have been sharing the red pill, bully for you. Keep it up! But if not, whatever the excuse, wake up tomorrow and resolve to take action. It doesn’t have to be world-changing action right off the bat. You can be subtle and make the message match the environment. Regularly hit some singles, and you will eventually find yourself across home plate. The future of our sons, the men that you care about, and the future of your country depend on us all!

Read More: It’s Time To Flip The Script On Frivolous Divorce

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