I'm Still
From My Encounter With Feminists Yesterday
Some Feminist strapped it on and shoved it down my throat that if I'm
pro-Women, I'm necessarily a Feminist - whether I know it or not, like it or
not, agree with it or not or want to self-define as such or not. She's
determining Me for Me.
Wait, let me spit; then I'll say what I have to say.
Nobody tells me how to self-define and daring to do that to anyone is a
gross and disgusting violation. You hump on people like a horn dog and you made
me feel dirty.
I'm not a Feminist. I'm a Humanist.
Men have been as shafted in Capitalist society as Women have. They get a
few more peas tossed into their rice, yeah. But at what personal price?
If a prospective employer were to say to me at an interview: Look here,
missy; I'll give you another $20,000 a year over another prospective employee,
but I have a few conditions.
1) You have to put the company before your Children ALWAYS. You are
loyal to me, not your sniveling kids. Understand?
2) You must never EVER, no matter how rough it gets here, display any
vulnerability, any signs of things getting to you.
3) The only emotion you may ever display is anger.
Those are the conditions, missy, same conditions as for the boys. If you
can hack them, you can get the same salary that I give to the men to sell their
Souls absolutely to me. Deal?
I'd tell him to take that feminist's strap-on and shove it. And so
should the Men. It being socially acceptable to feel and to express emotion,
not having to live in an ongoing state of emotional dissociation and being
expected to put our Children first are BIG THINGS that the Men are denied in
Western, modern, Capitalistic society.
Men have been emotionally mutilated in exchange for a few more bucks.
That isn't privilege, you moral moron. It's the expression of slavery branded
for Men. That you can't see that and aren't committed equally to the
restitution of the full range of Masculine Being and Sanctity as well as to the
restitution of our full range of Feminine Being and Sanctity makes me about as
sick as your run tell Facebook weakness behind your strapped-on, plastic, ramrod
attatood.
