Daniel Louis Crumpton is a philosopher, political activist, and researcher of spirituality and comparative religions. He has compiled his research into the novel “Then Came the Flood” (on sale now at, AMAZON.COM, BARNESANDNOBLE.COM , WESTBOWPRESS.COM, BOOKSAMILLION.COM and ZENINTHECAR.COM), which offers an alternate and daring perspective to the events transcribed in the book of Genesis. Daniel was also an editor and frequent contributor to the political/spiritual/news website ZENINTHECAR.COM as well as the producer of ZEN IN THE CAR T.V. which covers topics ranging from political activism to enlightenment.
Daniel does not identify with any particular faith, however describes himself as a Sophian-Helio-Gnostic. He uses his experience and knowledge of the metaphysical as well as the occult to guide others to their individual understanding of enlightenment so they might be free from the bondage of Plato's cave. His message of wisdom, compassion and balance is heard by many who wish to see free and tolerant societies where all are allowed to walk their unique path without fear of condemnation.
Latest posts by D.L. Crumpton (see all)
- Clyde Lewis’ Cognitive Liberty: Guest Daniel Louis Crumpton on Cannabis and the Courage of Liberty - August 17, 2017
- The Flat Earth Article I Didn’t Want to Write But Did Anyway - August 4, 2017
- Magic Vaginas and Men Going Their Own Way (M.G.T.O.W) - July 18, 2017
As I entered the room the conversation between two women had already been in progress. Far being it from me to so rudely interrupt a story in the middle I held my tongue until the conclusion of the drama unfolding. From what I gather female A was rather confused as to why her daughter’s ex had blocked her on Facebook and was in the process of relating to female B as to why she imagined that was. You see, female A’s daughter wasn’t too awfully exceptional in areas other than getting knocked up by the latest catch and release from the county lock up and was either the antagonist or the protagonist of this tale depending on the ending. The latest hot pocket to pop out of her gut was allegedly Jed’s or Buddy-ro’s or who have you and once again…things with female A’s daughter and dude wasn’t exactly written in the stars, so it was off with him. That guy couldn’t just be on his way peaceably though, as is the case with many guys out there. Nope, you got some baby-mama mortgage about to hit you Jed or Buddy-ro!
So with a bunch of trailer park drama surrounding the process, female A’s daughter drags the alleged father through the courts in an attempt to get the holy grail of back riders; child support. I can imagine that’s a lot like walking through a field of razor wire with your naughty bits hanging low but thankfully I have not had the opportunity to test that theory. The way it sounded to me, the unlucky chap was trying to make the best out of a rotten situation by being cordial while his fate hung in the balance or the truth was revealed at 10:13! The DNA was not a match and the audience gasps! Female A’s daughter was revealed (unbeknownst to female A) to be a floozy. This guy was one of the lucky flies that tussled in the spider-web and managed to narrowly escape before getting nasty injections of venom. Sure, the ego was probably gut punched a few times to discover that she was indeed a cheating piece of crap and he had had the wool pulled over his eyes with sweet nothings; but that was preferable to what could’ve gone down quite honestly. Do you ever watch National Geographic?
I didn’t really have a desire to get invested in discussion with either female A or female B in regards to the poor man’s Young and the Restless plot line I had walked into with much more than dismissive and fleeting energy as I quickly made an exit altogether. However I couldn’t help but to let my thoughts escape through my lips as I whisked away saying “I got to get me one of those magic vaginas that earn a paycheck.” As you probably figured, my quip did not go unheard and I was verbally halted with a “What was that?”
“I said: I got to get me a magic vagina that can produce a pretty comfortable income for having stuff shot into it or shot out of it. Not like…on my person…like, I don’t want a magic vagina of my own or anything. I’m quite comfortable with the anatomy I have seeing as how I’m familiar with how it works and all of that, so when I say I have to get me a magic vagina I sort of imagine keeping it in a closet or something … you know…like, independent of a person and soulless… I don’t really know. Sounds kind of strange when you say it out loud, but look, what I mean to say is this; I’ve never been able to just wantonly sleep around with whomever I please and get paid for it either as a solo job or a career. The fact that there are male prostitutes out there isn’t something I’m going to dispute however I can say that when it comes to prostitution the field is pretty much dominated by women. And hey, no judgment here. I think consenting adults ought to do whatever floats their boat and if somebody comes out of the exchange a little wealthier, so be it. What I’m getting at is this; on average I don’t think that men make as much money with their genitals as say women; either in the short term at a seedy hotel or in the case of a long term commitment by producing a little whatzit or whozit. Vagina’s seem special in that kind of way, and usually attached to otherwise worthless people more than willing to rub the genie of the proverbial lamp for some goodies. Never made a penny off my pecker, ladies! S’all I’m sayin’.”
A few smiling blinks back at the silent female A and female B who I imagine had not quite processed all I had said at the speed from which I said it broke the silence by murmuring “…well…maybe you just don’t know how to use it right…” and if I am not mistaken the remark was intended quite seriously with a dash of genuine concern. I looked up and to the left to calculate exactly how many bastards I had running around my home or that I was currently being billed for in the homes of past ‘conquests’ and the total came, as it always does, to zero. This sum total yanked a head tilt and a grin to my face as I replied, “Nope. I’m pretty sure I know exactly how the thing works.” Now, due to the fact that I do not have kids, as miserable parents so often like to point out to me, I really don’t have a dog in the whole child support fight. That does not mean I do not have thoughts and opinions on this mystery though, after all, pre-thinking jumping into the sack without having given this some thought is exactly why I probably don’t have kids. So don’t take me too seriously here. I’m just having some fun, but you know what they say; when you toss a bone in a yard of dogs the one that yelps is the bitch that got hit.
There are women out there that have no aspirations in life, no drive to evolve, no real motivation to be the best person they can possibly be and in that narrow window of time between 18 and 30 they probably can sense that they are at the least, basic bitches and at the most sleezers without a GED. This fact is constantly haunting them by the tick, tick ticking of the biological clock in their belly and they have one of two choices as gravity begins to prevail. One; they can magically develop character or two; they can ask the magical, vagina genie to pop out some anchor babies and web the sperm donor up ever so tight in the grip of the almighty government. That guy maybe had plans, maybe had aspirations and dreams for his life but failed to observe the first rule of Flight Club. The first rule of Flight Club is, “be careful where you stick your wiener”. The second rule of Flight Club is…”no seriously, be really, really careful where you stick your wiener.”
I mean to be honest, the black widow in the web may indeed be a ruthless pension predator, but come on fellas can you not count? Before slipping in between the sheets do some simple inventory and compare how many kids she already has and how many different names she has mentioned that fathered little Timmy, tiny Lana and that fat one drooling in the front of the T.V. that she carefully slides trays of chicken legs with carrots and peas on the side to. If you are forced to either pull out a Texas Instrument or pen and notebook to add and assign the name of each kid to separate men who all coincidentally used to abuse her or cheat on her to the point where she had to leave them but swears she tried to make it work…chances are…it might be the operator. I’m not saying women don’t get abused in some relationships with a kid, I’m just saying that if the chick wanting to jump your junk has a whole bunch of kids from different fathers that all managed to be total douche bags you might want to give her a rabbit’s foot rather than your bone. Another piece of advice; if one or more of the baby-daddy’s died in a drunken accident turn and Admiral Ackbar out of there. I have no sympathy for guys who can’t read the writing on the wall of the double wide before the Pabst Blue Ribbon kicks in because in that instance child support is really just an idiot tax. And without an idiot tax, who would build the roads?
While not exactly the same specimen of woman that we have been discussing thus far, there also exists another breed whose prize is actually the child itself. While not as seemingly nefarious as those role modeling the queen from Ridley Scotts Alien series, this milder magical vagina bearer has no other aspirations in life other than being a mother and the sperm donor is more of a necessary evil that they will put up with during the pregnancy and if he has dental and a 401-K there is a good possibility that she will stick around past that as well. Through either programming or strong self-delusion, this type believes that children represent unconditional love and if they push one out they will attain such a phantom concept like Mother Mary all over again. But much like Joseph from the New Testament; the daddy is really more of a walk on part at best that isn’t going to be scribbled about too much when the story really kicks into gear. Of course by the time that happens the kid produced will be smothered in resentment, over protection and the example of indifferent and convenient “love” by example from the duo that did the original dance. This kid’s parents will quietly hate one another and it will be written all over their faces when they exchange “honey’s” and “dears” while making deposits in the college fund and infuse said kid with the same type of boring and silent hate. The virus in humanity will continue this way until people like this come to the truth of the matter and that is that kids do not love you unconditionally, they love you when you give them lollipops and being the petri dish of basic biology to produce a baby does not make you special. If having your eggs fertilized determines your value as a human being, then female A’s daughter from the beginning of this ditty has you beat before the gun bangs.
WHAT IS MGTOW?
I don’t think that elitist, globalist, population control nut balls are really all that concerned with overpopulation to tell you the truth. I think what concerns them is an over population of wasted human potential being pumped out in factories of previously wasted human potential. I think if that is the arena of their worry; I might have to say they have a point. But the stupidity of inter-sex affairs doesn’t end there (I apologize for not bringing up you non binary folks out there but quite frankly the possible punchlines that would come from tackling that topic would make my nose bleed) because some men have gotten so burned, so jaded, so ass-chapilly mad from being the rag doll of some women that they have decided to start a new cult that I am currently observing like a sit-com on Netflix…M.G.T.O.W…otherwise known as Men Going Their Own Way. And I’m over here like, “Well where the fuck do you think you’re going anyway?” Right off the bat this sounds like some silly shit to me when it is suggested that I look into it because it sounds like Sloth from Goonies trying to direct us to his big toe for some reason but I digress. It’s a group with an acronym and maybe it’s my OCD but acronyms just always come off like they are hiding something and if members of M.G.T.O.W have magically written off all women and are making a choice to live life without them completely I really don’t want to know exactly what it is these guys are attempting to hide. Again, no judgment here to you consenting adults but full disclosure is appreciated when you are out recruiting.
Seriously though (or as seriously as I can speak about the concept of M.G.T.O.W) there are a ton of men out there who have just gotten so fed up with interacting with the fairer sex that they have angrily vowed to somehow navigate in life without giving women a second thought or feeling that they are on the same level as men intellectually, emotionally or in any other way. From what I can gather thus far, this new cult is of the opinion that females are hard wired to be manipulative, resource drainers that have overwhelmed the power structure of the man in some sort of magical vagina coup to take over the world. I’m not sure if they have a Xenu or anything like Scientology, but what I do know is that ultimately they equate relationships with women to be a form of slavery and child-bearing to be certain death. A level 2 M.G.T.O.W can screw around, sure, but long term, committed relationships are out of the question and don’t even think about cohabitation. The hard core dudes at level 5 not only eject from having to interact with women in society, but eject from society itself as to better ensure that they will never produce another wicked erection at the sight of a boob. By my reasoning, the level 2 guys are perpetuating the same poor behavior that the women who burned them exhibited thus expounding the problem and the level 5 guys are basically becoming monks but are a little too snooty to join previously established monasteries. Everybody wants their own church I suppose. The church of M.G.T.O.W can certainly count me out though; women just have too many curves to walk away from.
While that can be taken in a pun sort of way, I didn’t really intend to suggest something akin to a Shakira poster. No, I loudly sing the verse from the church of Led-Zeppelin “Many have I loved, many times been bitten” with the same essence I believe it was written in. I hold to the philosophy that women are like good stories; they have a beginning, middle and hopefully a good ending. While hoping though, I am realistic in the notion that as it has been said, a story with a happy ending is one that hasn’t finished yet. I don’t feel I make this a self-fulfilling prophecy as much as I observe the patterns of the past; but either way one must take the sweet with the sour. The cinders of smoldering broken hearts can’t be laid at the feet of the fairer sex entirely as stupidity and selfishness is often the cause of rotten alliances with strings, strings and more strings attached. Women and relationships with them are like roller coasters with ups, downs and curves around the bend at break neck speed sometimes. It is important before boarding to be so many inches tall in character and not prone to heart palpitation before buckling your seat for the ascending click, click, click because as soon as you hit the highest point your ass better be listening to Beastie Boy’s Sabotage. For those not accustomed to rollercoasters I can certainly see how the screams of current riders might sway them away from the line and cause them to either cop out by joining M.G.T.O.W or swear to God they are on birth control for the long, haul win and copulate for kiddies that will spread the existence of apathy but as for me; damned if I don’t love a good roller coaster ride.
It’s like this; unless humanity is willing to go the route of Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World by growing future generations in tubes and chambers, men and women are going to simply have to work together. M.G.T.O.W, if successful results in the extinction of the human race. Back riders pulling the lever of their magical jackpot vaginas ad nauseum will result in Jerry Springer dominating the ratings…which also leads to the extinction of the human race by proxy. Either way, it would probably benefit humanity if both men and women began getting in step with the natural movements in the dance of the Universe and put away ulterior motives when holding each other tight. The ride is much more enjoyable when you strap in with a team mate rather than opponent intent to one up you at every turn. It is much better to dive down and around holding a hand and not your wallet knowing that when you both get off the only question that is asked from the eyes of you both is a heart-felt “Wanna do it again?”
A SONG TO PLAY US OUT…