This guy walks up to you at the book store and sees you reading your effeminate meme literature and berates you for not...

This guy walks up to you at the book store and sees you reading your effeminate meme literature and berates you for not having Honour, Strength, Mastery of Courage. He thrusts a copy of The Way Of Men into your hands.

What do you do?

Call for store security or the police probably

Tell him I've already read it and suck his cock to thank him for his time

kick him in the nuts and run away

fucking cancerous

call him a faggot

then sue when he assaults me

Implying he would care since he's an openly gay man.

ah, blood meridian, monsieur? that novel is the sark and chaparral of literature, the filament whereon rode the remuda of highbrow, corraled out of some destitute hacienda upon the arroya, quirting and splurting with main and with pyrolatrous coagulate of lobated grandiloquence. our eyes rode over the pages, monsieur, of that slatribed azotea like argonauts of suttee, juzgados of swole, bights and systoles of walleyed and tyrolean and carbolic and tectite and scurvid and querent and creosote and scapular malpais and shellalagh. we scalped, monsieur, the gantlet of its esker and led our naked bodies into the rebozos of its mennonite and siliceous fauna, wallowing in the jasper and the carnelian like archimandrites, teamsters, combers of cassinette scoria, centroids of holothurian chancre, with pizzles of enfiladed indigo panic grass in the saltbush of our vigas, true commodores of the written page, rebuses, monsieur, we were the mygale spiders too and the devonian and debouched pulque that settled on the frizzen studebakers, listening the wolves howling in the desert while we saw the judge rise out of a thicket of corbelled arches, whinstone, cairn, cholla, lemurs, femurs, leantos, moonblanched nacre, uncottered fistulas of groaning osnaburg and kelp, isomers of fluepipe and halms awap of griddle, guisado, pelancillo.

Now, Monsieur we march on to our next piece of literature: Infinite Jest, Monsieur...

laugh at my spooked property.

this doobie honess femme

Well meme'd

>also gay and had a private army harem of twink soldier boys following him around

Maybe homosexuality isn't a impediment to masculinity after all?

Or maybe the modern definition of masculinity has entirely lost its meaning.

If he's gay how can he know The Way of Men? He only knows the way of fags.

>futhark on his jacket spells OATTH

What did he mean by this?

The coup attempt was an elaborate set up for his suicide
Mishima was fascinated with meeting such a death, committing seppuku (which is supposed to include having someone behead you btw)
Read Confessions of a Mask

slow claps

steps out of the shadows

Heh... not bad, kid. Not bad at all. Your meme, I mean. It's not bad. A good first attempt. It's plenty dank... I can tell it's got some thought behind it... lots of quotable material... But memeing isn't all sunshine and rainbows, kid. You're skilled... that much I can tell. But do you have what it takes to be a Memester? To join those esteemed meme ranks? To call yourself a member of the Ruseman's Corps? Memeing takes talent, that much is true. But more than that it takes heart. The world-class Memesters - I mean the big guys, like Johnny Hammersticks and Billy Kuahana - they're out there day and night, burning the midnight meme-oil, working tirelessly to craft that next big meme. And you know what, kid? 99 times out of a hundred, that new meme fails. Someone dismisses it as bait, or says it's "tryhard," or ignores it as they copy/paste the latest shitpost copypasta dreamt up by those sorry excuses for cut-rate memers over at reddit. The Meme Game is rough, kid, and I don't just mean the one you just lost :). It's a rough business, and for every artisan meme you craft in your meme bakery, some cocksucker at 9gag has a picture of a duck or some shit that a million different Johnny No-Names will attach a milion different captions to. Chin up, kid. Don't get all mopey on me. You've got skill. You've got talent. You just need to show your drive.

See you on the boards...

Join his gang and do manly things (like suck dicks)

Laugh hysterically, get beat up.

Give him a copy of Sun and Steel, suck his cock (no homo) then call him a faggot

Reminder that he originally wrote polemics against femininity in the gay community, and is now overcompensating.

>first run into him and the manosphere in early 2010
>Donovan didn't seem to do that much in comparison, everyone else was fixated on why hypergamy will kill us all
>see it progressively leak into the mainstream, get subsumed into the alt-right; it's both dead and much stronger now
>now see Donovan pop up a lot

I feel like I went to school with a future dictator or something.

This faggot is clearly compensating for getting his ass sodomized.

Never read any of his stuff but listen to his podcast. For some reason I enjoy it despite being against his white-nationalist shit.

I tell him that I don't read books written by genetic dead ends.

I once got it in with a pretty hot redhead who was suddenly into me when I recognized a reference she made to The Way of Men so I'd probably just thank him in an understated manner and walk away.

it means *this patch enhance my masculinity because vikings etc i can't read runes tho lol*

Ask him what his problem is and tell him I'll read whatever book I fucking please.

Golly, you guys really are pussies huh?

I'd tell him that book is fucking terrible, call him a faggot, and then turn 1,894 degrees and moonwalk away.

I'd probably smirk and tell him thanks for the free book.