Confessions of a Masculist Thug

[Brent]

LOL!!!!!!!


[font size=+1]Confessions of a Masculist Thug[/font]

December 24, 2003
by Pete Jensen


So I said to myself this morning, "Self! What can you do today to further oppress women?"  (Apologies to Emeril.  But it is way too good a line.)  We are told to ask that of ourself at the Male Oppression Conspiracy and Sperm Cartel meetings, don't you know.  And I never miss a meeting.

Thus, this is a question I ask myself each and every morning, prior even to my daily ingestion of  four cups of testosterone.  I should note, not being a girly man, I drink it straight, without sugar and cream or such foo-foo flavorings as "Hazelnet" or "Irish Crème."  Dammit, be a Man!  Back in the old days we used to mainline it with a rusty needle.  What is the world coming to?

What to do?  Deny them the right to vote?  Naw, too trendy.  Make them wear full body coverings?  Naw ... it's been done to death.  Woe is me, but it's so hard to be a Western Patriarchal Oppressor these days.  Another long day at the overseer's lash again, I sighed, as I pulled on my wife-beater shirt.

After fueling myself with sufficient distilled and naked aggression, I contemplated taking the day off to go and murder some poor defenseless woodland creature in a frenzy of masculine bloodlust, and to end it with a wild and pagan bacchanalian rite and an orgy.  Trouble is, you do that too often, and it gets old.  Or maybe it's just me getting old.  I only managed to defile eight innocent virgins at the last one.  It's not like the old days when you could go and just burn a town because you got a bad haircut and it was simpler than hunting the barber down.  And training another set of rookies to pillage first and burn second is a wearying prospect.

I pulled on my jackboots and before I left I checked to see if I had everything.  Concealed weapon?  Check.  Brass knuckles?  Check.  My porno magazines?  Check.  All in order, I strode out the door, my step lightening as I heard the sharp report of fist against flesh, and my next door neighbor screaming at his wife, "I already done told you TWICE!!!"

Maybe it would be a beautiful day after all.

Now, you would think, listening to the way some women talk, that such is my daily life.  Judging from the character assassination that goes on against "Men's Rights Activists" or "Masculists" or "Meninists" (Depending on which shrill harpy is doing the shrieking at the time) it's a wonder that we aren't having women hunted down and killed in the streets.  Now while I've often contemplated that such women were only gifted their physical attributes by the good Lord to keep a bounty from being placed upon them, I've got to say that paranoia is far to mild a word to use.

I've yet to hear a blessed one of them even come up with a cogent set of doctrines we such folks adhere to and live our life by.  You can't even get two of them to agree on a term for us.  I kind of like one I heard hurled at me the other day.  Masculist Thug.  That has flavor.  It rolls trippingly off the tongue.   It's colorful, and has character; it's something I'd like to put in stark white lowercase Courier font on a black t-shirt.  (2XL-XT, btw.  Just in case. )

To describe some type of hypothetical "Male Illuminati" as being a monolithic organization, conspiring like the Gnomes of Zurich to take over the world is laughable on its face.  I'm imagining hordes of men gathering in secret spots, dressed in robes, and chanting prayers to some dark and unspeakable male deity.  Secret handshakes.  Code words.  It is to laugh.

The whole thing that feeds such delusional fantasies is that many men these days are choosing to live the Masculine Life, an enlightened state in which a man doesn't waste a moment seeking the admiration or approval of women.  He doesn't require the validation of them for his masculinity.  He defines it for himself.  He sets his own ground rules, and if it means he doesn't get any action tonight, it's no loss to him.  "My way or the Highway" is his motto, and refuses to play games, let alone "The" game.

This infuriates lip-service anti-feminists, or stealth feminists as I like to call them.  They're not feminists.  They just act like them.  It's true – just ask them  These are the women who prattle on and on mindlessly about equality and fair treatment, but the minute it costs them one of their whims, they turn into shrieking harpies.  All of a sudden, you're hateful, and evil, and anti-woman, anti-family, anti-child, and all the rest of the usual litany of slanders.  Such a woman feels a sense of entitlement to both their rights and privileges.  They have the right to a career, the right to a family, the right to a husband, the right to a child.  And damn it, if you were any kind of a man at all you would shut up, accept your lot in life, and give it to them!  What?  Exercise some give with my take?  Why you misogynistic MENINIST!  You're hateful, and evil, and anti-woman, anti-family, anti-child...

Hey, lady?  How about a double shot of "Put a sock in it?"

Of course, it honks off admitted feminists too, but most of them see the sun rising in the morning as a symbol of phallic male oppression, and are often annoyed when the wind blows.  The fact that I, as a male, breathe there air is enough to give them fits, so I generally don't sweat it.

As I said, living a Masculine Life is where a man doesn't occupy his every waking thought with pleasing women.  He doesn't require their permission to be male. The female "Seal of Approval" on his manhood isn't sought, or if given, even worn with any special pride.  This doesn't mean hating, or even being indifferent to women – just to their sanction to live his life as a man in the manner of his own choosing.

It is from this point that, upon hearing the pious intoning of the formulaic "Pete, what women want is.." that I say "Why do I give a rat's ass what women want?"  It is here that I become a Masculist Thug.  The credo is a simple one – being female is fine and dandy.  That and a buck gets you coffee at the 7-11.  The mere fact of possessing female plumbing is insufficient to garner either privilege or treatment.  You want chivalry, romance, and all that?  Two words: Earn it.

We've got the third generation of feminists out now, and most of these are near college age women who have never known a life where they were not treated as an aristocratic class of society.  They have had drummed into them all their life that Prince Charming will someday ride up on his white horse, whisk her away, ravage her like a barbarian, and the next day she'll be able to put on her Power Suit and share in the running of his kingdom.  They can have it all:  All the age old authority as mistress of the household, a male cabana boy to slave away in the salt mines all day, take up the mantle of drudge in the evening to help with his "half" of the housework, and to make savage love to her all night long. So far as they are concerned, this is their birthright, ordained by God(dess) on High, and the idea that any man might dispute her Divine Right of Femininity only proves that they are in league with the Devil.

To her eternal frustration and rage, nobody got the men of her generation to agree with this.  Such men have learned that no matter what the reason a woman's life fails to work for her, if he is anywhere near ground zero when the nuclear bomb of reality goes off, he will be blamed for it.  He has grown up with sparse and scarce contact with his father, and seen him get raped in family court.  They have watched this happen to brothers, uncles, and their friend's fathers.  At an early age he was playing with his trucks in the next room when mommy had her friends over, and learned what women really think of men when the ex-husband-bash-fest began.  He has heard for himself that child support and alimony are more a lever to "get the bastard" than about the kids.  The list continues.  In short, he has read the script already, and doesn't want the part.

Which, of course, makes him an immature, irresponsible, misogynistic commitment-phobe.  He's a man, so it's his fault.  Alas for her, he's heard that one so often that it doesn't even register on his insult radar.

This is the Masculist Thug.  He does things on his terms, and if that doesn't please the American Woman, or fit with her plans, she needs to get over herself.  This is what makes me a Masculist Thug.  I wasn't put here to please women, nor make their lives work for them.  When I opine that either pleasing or displeasing a woman doesn't even enter my mind on most days – (Pissing off feminazis is another matter; that is one of my joys in life) and that whether I do or not is purely incidental, I'm met with shock.  When I assert that it is a fundamental right of a man to withdraw entirely from the marriage trap altogether, and seek a vasectomy if it pleases him, I'm lambasted.  When I tell the hordes of sour young girls that in fifteen or twenty years the value of what they have to offer will drop dramatically, while mine can only rise, I get hissed at.  Get your crucifixes out.  Evil Pete is on the scene.

It's tough, baby, and it's biology.  The typical young feminist has grown up in a world of feminine entitlement and privilege, so they have deemed it unnecessary to develop a civil tongue, manners, the ability to converse on any subjects of substance, nor the patience to be a good companion.  The have been spoon fed pap from the feminist stock of current wisdom that men are dumb pigs, easily manipulated with sex.  And as far as sex goes, they think all they have to do is show up and lay there, and aren't all that good at it.

Twenty years from now, the ovaries will dry up, and sex is all they'll have left to offer.  The men of their age will still be virile and "prime catches."  They'll be ready to be fathers, and have their families then.  The women?  Well, they still won't be all that good at sex.

Might as well develop that hobby right now, sugar-lips.  Thirty years can be an awfully long time.  And I know, you don't have to tell me.  I'm a Masculist Thug to say so.  Now all I have to do is find someone to print the damn t-shirts.

Pete Jensen


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Pete Jensen is a Computer Engineer and Curmudgeon who lives in the wilds of Southern Indiana. He enjoys satirizing political correctness, and mocking its advocates. If you'd care to write him and talk reasonably he welcomes it. If you'd care to write him and froth at the mouth ideologically, he welcomes that too. You'll be grist for the mill, and know in advance he doesn't regard any such diatribes as privileged communication. That's right, you too can wind up lampooned by his searing wit and insightful barbs in front of millions on the internet."

[StPaulieGirl]

They have had drummed into them all their life that Prince Charming will someday ride up on his white horse, whisk her away, ravage her like a barbarian, and the next day she'll be able to put on her Power Suit and share in the running of his kingdom.

[p] I guess this is a different take on the knight in shining armor.  I was told by my mother to take a menial secretary position (wanted to go to college and be an architect), until I got married and have lots of Catholic babies.  

[p]25 yrs later, I've finally met a real "barbarian".  He's decent, kind, and likes kids.