Internet so Dangerous, part 2


Should you be unaware that the internet often brings out the worst in people, I believe you are lying. Or blind. Or you have been living in a cave without access to the internet for the past 28 ½ years.

Not that I’m judging, of course – I can quite understand the wish to be a hermit. Yet, such is the way of it: one has not been present on the internet if this has gone unnoticed.

There is a strange lack of self-censorship and civility when people are faced with digital keystrokes instead of real life flapping tongues and galloping lips.

It is as though people believe that the text they see is not another human being typing. It is merely machine-text texting, to be easily dismissed as a Russian bot, a troll, or some other nonsensical buzzword-effort at dehumanizing and dismissing instead of considering and digesting what is actually being said. It is remarkably easy to do. Usually, it follows the same pattern:

Person A says something.

Person B says something contrary.

Person A responds with dismissing Person B as a Russian bot. (Substitute “Russian” for whatever bogeyman is currently in vogue.) And then promptly blocks the bastard-bot, son of a thousand machine-whores that he of course is, with neither thought nor self-awareness present.

Rinse and repeat.

It is pure internet-magic from putrid internet tacticians. Every day, we stray further from God and from God’s good graces. Every day, I lose a little more of my faith in humanity.

Oh, the humanity!

This tactic is such a marvellously tried and true formula that it could easily be dubbed “Copypasta”.

Such Artful, much wondrous, wow!

Were it not for the inconvenient fact that Copypasta is made to ruin every last bit of originality, it would be an exercise in pure social experiment clickbait. Masquerading as art, just for the sake of it.

Relax, brah, it’s just a social experiment. Just as the whole rest of the world is; a science project that saw God receive a D. Maybe a D+. Good effort, terrible execution. Back to the drawing board, God. Jesus Christ, I know you can do better, buddy, now put some backbone into it!

Originality, as we so often see, is of no consequence when there are contrarians and other vile cretins to contend with on the internet. Copypasta; for fun and profit!

Besides; ones own opinion is hallowed and sanctified, no matter how inane and ridiculous. Responding to it with disagreement, however civil, is akin to harassment. But only if the victim of someone responding to their chicanery in an open forum that is open for all the forum-happy world to see happens to be a woman, or a minority. This rule does come with its own exception, as expected. For it is only when and if they are partial to the shenanigans of Social Justice, as well as being faithful adherents to the cult of woke, that it is to be considered harassment.

Of course.

One could always choose not to get engaged in online feuds, arguments, petty squabbles and such silly bickering. No matter where one is, no matter what one does, somewhere on the internet, someone is wrong. This is just a fact of life. To engage each and every person who holds different opinions, no matter how factual (because there is a vast difference between having an opinion and having a fact) seems to me to be a waste of time and energy best spent elsewhere.

Particularly so when someone argues in very bad faith, using all the mental gymnastics, all the lies and slander and smears and jet-black oily manipulation a Russian bot could ever hope to eat.

A lot of the opinions on the internet are presented as nothing but shitty reposts… strange pictures with some manner of text on them meant to elicit an immediate emotional response, either that way or this way. Seeing as every repost is always a repost of a repost, one has to get fairly tired of trying to refute them and challenge them again and again. It just ain’t worth the hassle.

Granted, this line of thinking comes from a bearded bard who is turning more introverted and reserved with every passing day. It often takes me days – or even weeks – to respond to a single private message or email. So there’s that, of course. I am not the most social of creatures, to say the least.

This is not to say that I don’t believe there are merits to online discussion. I spend far too much time reading and observing debates online to have no faith in it. However: there is precious little point in arguing with someone who has no interest in listening. And that is so often the case when encountering someone who is – as Jordan Peterson puts it – ideologically possessed. They do not talk with someone. They do not engage in discussion or debate as such.

No, no, no.

They talk at someone. Not with someone. Ears close and reason leaves the moment someone disagrees, no matter how well sourced, how well put together, how well informed. Facts and numbers do not matter. Pointing out errors in statistics, or in methodology (something I am not skilled at, but I have observed others that are extraordinarily skilled at it), for example, is inconsequential to someone who has decided that they are in the right, no matter what, and where, and when, and how.

The so-called gender wage-gap is a prime example of this. Debunked time and again, and still living on. Because these people really and truly want to be oppressed. The same can be said for the nonsensical “Pink Tax”, and most everything else they can manufacture. It is either a dirty, rotten lie, or it is half-facts that conveniently neglect to mention the other part of the equation. It gets droll and dull and boring and tiring after a while. Yet, as long as there is social currency in victimhood, it will carry on.

There is no purpose to feminism if feminism has no purpose. And the purpose of feminism – as I believe is the case with all the social justice warrior stuff, steeped in childish identity politics as it is – is to perpetuate itself. It is to keep itself going, marching forward toward an uncertain future.

In order to do so, they have to be able to present themselves as being oppressed. The cause, in itself, is the cause. It is the beginning and the end. And the middle.

What are we fighting for, fellow peoplekind-comrades of non-gender specifics?”

The Fight, comrade, the fight!”

And so it goes, on and bloody on.

If shown – if proven beyond doubt – to not be oppressed, they lose their purpose. They have no big bad daddy to fight if the big bad daddy is proven to not exist as they have presented it. So it is better to double down, ignore the truth, and carry on as though nothing happened.

It is a vile sickness, a terrible blight on society, this celebration of victimhood, this willingness to be seen as a victim, this eagerness to be counted among the downtrodden, the gleeful acceptance, this tragic ambivalence, to being “oppressed”. It is fucked up social currency in a nonsensical social game; its slap-happy followers speeding drunk down the information highway, posting one stupid so-called empowering pictogram of overcoming perceived oppression after the other, where relation to the original topic decreases with every single post. Best to not engage.

It is an obscene celebration of character-flaws masquerading as strength, where overcoming obstacles and hurdles no longer matters or are of any importance for one chooses to petition the government to ban the obstacles and criminalise the hurdles instead. And if said hurdles and obstacles are a few individuals who dislike this or do not agree with that, then that dislike, that disagreement, must be considered hate and swift action be taken promptly by the strong whip-lash hand of the law. This is prime egotism.

Particularly so when the laws and regulations that spawn from such petitioning wind up being very much discriminatory in-and-off themselves.

How can one look to a government that states that there are too many of this demographic working here, so you have to even it out by hiring quite a few of that demographic, otherwise there will be hell to pay, and claim this to be non-discriminatory?

Sorry you didn’t get the job, boy, but the government has decided that your outie is wrong for this job, we need an innie. Your credentials look great, by the way. Better luck somewhere else, buddy.

It truly is a sad state of affairs, when people are so devoid of any personality or character trait that they would resort to wallowing in wallopped victimhood instead of working on bettering themselves… instead of cultivating a personality, people cultivate victimhood. Instead of learning a new skill, instead of pouring time and energy into a hobby, people sit flat on their haemorrhoids and wallow in victimhood, going neither here nor there, but staying exactly where they are because they can not do anything but that because they are only ever a victim of this or of that.

Yet, I do get where it comes from, to an extent.

Hurdles and obstacles are incredibly difficult to overcome. I have overcome quite a few myself, and still have a whole hell of a lot to overcome. This despite being a severely privileged white, cis-gendered, heterosexual male, basking in the glow of my eternal privilege and bathing in the rich waters of whatever it is the patriarchy is supposed to give me for free. I assume free handjobs and a harem of scantily clad lesbians or bi-curious women feeding me grapes. Unfortunately, the patriarchy has been slow in paying me my dues. Ah, well, all good things come to those who wait.

I have overcome severely disabling anxiety, shut-in tendencies and a particularly rough encounter with psychosis. None of these were easy to overcome. I have also struggled with a chronic depression for close-to two decades. For living with the constant tension from this anxiety (amongst other things) for almost fifteen years, I now live with chronic pain and fatigue which, at times, are close to unbearable. Yet: the dogs must be taken for walks, the apartment must be cleaned, food must be cooked, my rambles must be written, then ranted, raved and uploaded, etc etc. All these things help in overcoming whatever it is that needs to be overcome. A wise course of action.

The easy path to take, when faced with these hurdles, is to lie down and give up. On everything. It is the easiest path, and it is the least fulfilling path. Sure; I may complain about it. I may bitch and moan about my insomnia and my pain. Particularly when writing. This is very cathartic. I have no interest in using it as a tool to get my will, or to get cheap sympathy-points. Which, for all intents and purposes, are rare currency where men are concerned any way, so why bother? Get over it and do carry on, pretty please with sugar on top.

Yet, to some people, this so-called weakness, this so-called oppression, this victim-identity gives a reason for existing. It gives a perverse sense of purpose.

Which is why, I believe, you see feminism complain that the latest overpriced god-damned luxury-item Iphone is too big for the tiny and inferior female hands, and so this is supreme sexism. I can hardly think of anything more of a bloody god-damned fucking privileged upper-class-twat first-world non-issue than that. Bloody petty whining from insecure victims with a degree in supreme victimology from the university of woe-is-me! I can’t even bloody afford an Iphone. Where’s my victim-credentials, you absolute turd-maggots? I’m too privileged. That’s my problem.

Of course.

Oh boy.

They may not be able to overcome the terrible burden of having tiny, childlike hands… but, ye gods, are they adept at objecting to the so-called oppression from the luxury brands which they are privileged enough to afford. It is topsy-turvy with gravy on top.

They may, at the very least, post about this terrible oppression on the internet in the most glorious slacktivist way. Why should we care about the disturbing amount of male suicides or work-related injuries and death? Why should we make it illegal to genitally mutilate baby boys, subjecting them to torture and possible death? There are more important matters at hand: the tiny ferret-like hands of the female and its relation to the phallocentric Iphone, mirroring, as it does, all of patriarchy through all our ovary-acting herstory of hysteria. Feminism is quite adept at turning everything into a zero-sum game. They believe that talking about men’s issues will detract from feminist issues – which are not the same as female issues – for the very simple reason that they wish to detract from male issues. It is projection. Feminism plays the zero-sum game, then pretends everyone else does as well.

And so there is a purpose to life for these baby-handed ferrets, and that purpose is to force the entirety of the world to fall to their knees and praise the cult of woke, the church of social justice, the grand majesty of feminist up-fuckery with all their victim-hierarchies and weird penis envy.

Enter censorship.

Enter the cold and uncaring ban-hammer fantastic.

Enter tiny Iphones for the small-handed females with their inferiority-complex.

Enter highly subjective hate-speech laws and hate-crime and whatever and whatnot.

Enter a slow and steady slip-slide into censorious totalitarianism, into thought-controlling authoritarianism, into elitist victimhood circles and their laws on compelled speech, compelled thought, manipulated language from lascivious language manipulators of a herd-like victim-mentality… who believe they are doing good, who believe they are working from liberal principles… yet do nothing but push the walls ever closer… who do nothing but tighten the screws and limit liberty as much as can be.

Or am I being too harsh, too snarky, too sarcastic, even?

I don’t know man… I more or less gave up any discussion on the internet aeons ago. I mean – one could probably make the case that me writing and posting what I write and post is discussing on the internet. But when I flat out refuse to engage in debates and things of that nature, am I really adding to a discussion, or am I just sitting in a fortified compound I refer to as my apartment, screaming at the walls and clawing at my own eyes so that I shall not have to see any more of those god-damned, god-awful, god-forsaken reposts? That is, if I am able to keep my mind on track long enough to not get distracted by random passer-by thoughts that somehow allow themselves to be weaved into an already way-too-long rambling rant… Ye Gods, But I do Blabber on when I write. Probably for reasons of not being a good speaker.

I used to take part in discussions. With fondness. Not too long ago, in all actuality. Yet, when I realised that any topic could easily be turned into something completely unrelated, I kinda lost interest, lost faith and lost touch with the whole universal kerfluffle. No matter which discussion, someone had to come along and make it about the plight of women and how feminism will save us all. I wish I were joking. I am not.

I once joked on Facebook that “There is nothing wrong with society, when taken in moderation”. I got so much god-damned flak for that simple and silly little joke that I lost faith in humanity for a few weeks. For those who are uninitiated: there is quite a lot wrong with society. Also: all faults of society are to be blamed on white men. I was given a few lectures after that very obvious joke. The internet sure as hell brings out the best in people.

To get back to the hurdles and obstacles thing a bit: The anxiety I used to struggle with was the kind of anxiety that made me not leave my apartment, that made me lock myself away and throw away the key. I fixed this by picking myself up by the scruff of my scrawny neck and kicking myself in the ass enough times to make a difference. It was not an easy journey. Not by any stretch of the imagination.

But I managed it, and though I still feel that old anxiety creeping up from time to time – particularly in times of high stress, or at times when my insomnia is very bothersome – I no longer struggle with anxiety.

Thus, I found myself joking around with a good friend of mine who had experienced similar struggles with anxiety in the past. This joking around was done on Facebook. (And so comes another Facebook-anecdote from the fabled days of yore.)

Eventually, we got around to the terrible anxiety experienced when buying toilet paper. Stupid as fuck, of course, but that is anxiety for you – completely irrational and absolutely absurd. And, as expected, hilarious in hindsight. If you, as a grown man, can not laugh at yourself for experiencing anxiety when buying toilet paper, you have lost all humour and might as well dig a hole in the bottom of your bed, from which to never re-emerge.

Well, who should pop up from the ferns and grasses of the luscious lands of Facebook, but a wild feminist? Now, clearly, seeing two guys talking in a joking manner about some irrational yet severe discomfort they had experienced… experiencing two guys talking lightly about having experienced tough times due to pathological anxiety was too much for her delicate sensibilities to handle!

Here, one assumes that she thought, were two guys who had forgotten what is important in life. In fact: they had forgotten who it is that really struggles, and so they need a gentle reminder.

Try buying sanitary napkins, boys.”, she wrote. For women are the only ones who need to buy sanitary napkins, and so that trumps buying toilet paper. One presumes, obviously, that toilet paper is bought and used by both sexes.

Take that, patriarchy.

Women-worsting 101, and oh the humanity, oh the insanity, oh the double-edged dildo of narcissistic vapidity!

To this I replied that I had often, and with absolutely no anxiety whatsoever, bought sanitary napkins (and chocolate) for my wife when need arose. Which is the truth. Particularly the chocolate-thing. There is one thing – and only one thing – to do when your significant other is on her period, and that is to retreat into a safe corner and throw chocolate at her until better times come around! Granted, I put that thing about buying chocolate in there to rile the feminist in question up a bit. But I was civil about it.

The wild feminist replied with “Maybe it will be easier if you pretend that you are buying her toilet paper”. This reply made absolutely no sense, given the context of anything. I had just stated that I had no issues with buying sanitary napkins. Or toilet paper. Not any more. I understood not a damned thing about that sentence, and I said as much. What in the hell was there to pretend?

I never got a clear reply to that.

Though, it transpired that she had never had any problems with buying sanitary napkins either. So, then, what was the bloody point of the exercise, except to come swooping in and state that women have it worse than us guys, despite her not experiencing any difficulties with buying sanitary napkins and us experiencing anxiety when buying bloody toilet paper?

Men can not experience any problems whatsoever – however stupid those damned problems may very well be – without being reminded by feral foaming-at-the-mouth feminists that women experience worse problems, so men should just shut up until women get over their collective neurosis. Which they will never do as long as they can use it as a bloody bludgeoning tool.

In fact, I am very surprised that she did not infer that I might be gay, since I was anxious about buying toilet paper yet had no problems buying sanitary napkins… Because why not? One must, after all, always question a person’s sexual preferences without any real reason. And these social justice warrior types… these feminist types… they trade in stereotypes all the bloody time, despite claiming to oppose stereotypes.

It is such a strange self-contradiction on their part that there is no wonder they do not see it. After all; they keep telling people to check their privilege, seeing nothing of their own. Or their own hubris and absolutely god-awful crap-shit-fuck behaviour, for that matter.

But, ah well, the internet does bring out the worst in people. And so too does the cult of woke, the church of social justice and all the various -isms and isn’ts and aint’s that flow from its drooling mouth. (Of interest: I also got flak for posting a picture of myself with a beer and the caption “cheers guys!” I did not include girls, and so this was a trespass most foul. Herpidityderpidoo, they have precious little to worry about when they feel entitled to police what people say.)

There is precious little that is as terrifying, as gut-wrenchingly nauseating, as someone who considers themselves to be morally superior to everyone around them. These people use their so-called moral superiority as a supreme stick of justice, beating people with it until they either submit or the guardian of supreme morality labels them a racist fascist misogynistic white supremacist Russian bot and blocks them.

Or, as is the case when any one of the Twats on Twitter who have bowed their neck and pledged allegiance to the holy spectre of feminism confront a –ghasp – female MRA, they will misgender them (despite the church of woke considering misgendering as hate-crime most foul).

For, ya know, women can not possibly think about anyone but women. If they do, they are gender traitors and, as such, not to be trusted. It is absolutely impossible for a woman to actually care about men, according to these venomous intellectual vagabonds. These twitter-twats will always question a person’s gender, just in case it’s really a man. Or, well, that is to say: they will always assume it is a man. For men can be dismissed easily and shamed into obedience and compliance, whereas women can not.

Women are not to be touched.

Men, on the other hand, are dehumanized in no small way through the wondrous whimsy of the frail and frantic feminist few, alongside the social justice warrior hive-mind and all their hastily assembled damaged-goods-from-IKEA identity politics nincompoops. This is made evident by taking a quick peek at just about every media there is, be that news media, social media, mass-media mediocrity and so forth and so on. Never has it been more trendy to hate on guys for nothing but being guys. Nor has it ever been so commonplace as to be completely and utterly invisible to those who have not had their eyes and minds forced open by the grim spectre of self-annihilating reality.

Reality is as reality is, but reality can be bent and twisted and turned on its head by rabid ideologues and religious nutcases with more opined convictions than rationality… just package the message in neat language with pretty bows of select statistics; the finely tuned instruments of id-pol and the hive-mind both, and you are on easy street.

Then you will be allowed to sit back and watch as reality burns in front of your eyes… As those who claim to despise and hate stereotypes and stereotyping, who lecture others about their wickedness, their unconscious bias, their conformity-phobia do nothing but spout stupid stereotypes, engage in severely biased and bigoted behaviour, and fear everything and everyone who goes against their grain and mass-media induced psychosis.

In the reality as seen through the eyes of rabid ideologues, women can not possibly oppose feminism. Nor can women oppose social justice, seeing as women are sugar and spice and everything nice. For social justice in all its forms is naught but sugar and spice and everything nice. Despite being tyranny disguised as liberty.

And so, any woman who oppose, any “marginalized” group who oppose the double-stink group-think of the social justice/feminist swarm must be a white straight guy in disguise. And there is nothing more heinous, more depraved, more dangerous, more privileged and entitled than a straight white guy.

On the internet, all girls are men and all kids are undercover FBI agents. This seems to be their line of thinking, made evident by their high-strung joy whenever they commit the horribly trans-phobic hate-crime of misgendering a female MRA or just a woman who oppose the social justice warrior hive-mind. No living by their own rules for these people, of course. Rules of censorship, conduct and behaviour only ever apply to the bad people. And they are not bad people. Even when doing the exact same thing they say that others should not do. Herp goes the derp.

Truly, there are no girls on the internet. Except those who subscribe to the one true faith. They are not to be questioned. They should be allowed to shit all over the carpet with no repercussions.

Well, excepting those-who-shall-not-be-questioned and the THOTS, who appear to have been able to turn Tits or GTFO into a valid and lucrative career-option, there are no girls on the internet.

Mind you: I’m not judging. To each their own. The choice is theirs, after all. I don’t much care how people make their money on the internet.

However: one can not flash exorbitant amounts of flesh and skin in one beat of the lions mane, then turn around and complain about sexual objectification of women online in the flap of a lions cock.

That would be hypocritical at worst and completely and utterly stupid at best. Sexual “objectification” of women will only stop when women stop objectifying themselves sexually for fun and profit. Which I sincerely doubt will ever happen, as long as there are thirsty dudes out there willing to pay ridiculous amounts of money for the slight chance of seeing a nipple. Or even cleavage.

Jesus naked monkey-ball wanking on a chain-link fence – guys would do well to heighten their standards a bit, if I am to be perfectly honest. Seeing a pair of tits on cam ain’t worth the bother or the money, brother.

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  • Moiret Allegiere, 22.02.2020

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Internet So Dangerous, part 1

«Forbidden Fruit»

The internet is dangerous, I’ve been told. Particularly for women. Because of course it is, as are all things. If you do not know that by now, buddy-boy, you are either blind or you are deaf or you are stupid. There’s no two ways about it: if it happens somewhere, no matter whom it happens to, women are most affected. At least it must be spun that way.

Still, one should be fairly safe on the internet if one takes care and watches ones steps, as it were. However, since it is such a dangerous, such a wild and wacky place – particularly for women – I thought it would be of interest to write on the terrible dangers of the internet, for all the world to marvel at and furthermore dismiss.

Beyond the borders of the screen, where all sanity goes to die, women are in grave and terrible danger… horribly assaulted by the fell misogynistic males who traverse and guard the dankest pits, the most nauseating cesspools of the internet. Most of the internet is a hive of scum and villainy, as one would well expect, populated by men as it is. As long as you do not talk about / B /, though,you ought to be safe.

Now, me being a naive and innocent gentleman and scholar; naught but a humble thought-crime salesman in fact, I have of course never traversed the dangerous tundra that is / B /. I am far too gentlemanly, far too delicate, for such an endeavour. I can not talk about it for not having experienced it, in fact, so I do not talk about / B /. Yet, as I have understood it through the scholarly articles I have read on the topic, / B / is where all hope and dreams goes to die. It is a graveyard for all that is good and noble and feminine and true, a massgrave for sugar and spice and everything nice. As such, it is for fools as myself who still cling to a tiny floating burrito of hope, of course, out of reach and out of bounds.

There used to be a certain sense of personal freedom, of individual liberty, of anonymity on the internet. Even when it is solely populated by garbage-people clothed in phallic symbolism. Beyond hope, I hope that it will one day return. With gusto, with wild, furious, maddening songs and battlecries, roaring… triumphant trumpets blaring wildly in the echoing cavern where the censorship-brigades lie weeping for having lost the battle…

But it is not this day. Nor is it the day after today or the day after tomorrow. I fear that it will be a good and long while until we are allowed to be anonymous again.

Net-neutrality is all but dead.

Just as God is dead.

And we killed it, just as we killed him.

All of us, with our weeping and our inaction, our apathy and our lethargy.

We killed it.

And so it has become legend.

And so it has become myth…

Legend and myth; morality tales told to children sitting lonely and sleepless in bed at night, tales to make them behave…

If you don’t behave, child, anonymity will find you. For anonymous is legion.”

And the child will tremble and hide its freckled face beneath the covers, wishing that the tale will both end and continue… the duality of peoplekind as only a child, in its adoring innocence, can portray it.

Fear, and love, terror and intrigue all in a pint-sized package.

The child has been told all its life that Anonymous never forgives; that Anonymous can be a horrible, senseless, uncaring monster… it is the creepy sounds outside at night… like fingernails scratching at the window… wolves howling at the door… blizzards that turn to ghostly screams in the child’s mind… Anonymous is still able to deliver, despite being long dead. It is a ghost, a ghoul, a zombie, a demon, sent to kill and to maim and to ensnare the child’s soul… to capture it for an eternity of torment in the very bowels of hell.

As expected, Anonymous is particularly fond of young female victims… male children do not run free of them, of course. They will be twisted and malformed; forced into obedience, made to succumb to the wicked weirdness of the internet… forced to merge and to become Anonymous themselves.

But the girls… oh, the girls… their fate is better left unsaid, so as to create unfathomable horrors as warnings in the tender minds of young girls so that they shall never dare step outside the boundaries set there by their opulent masters; so that they shall stay in their proper place and later turn and run and weep so that the government and various tech-giants shall finally slay the mythical beast that is, and shall forever be, known as Anonymous. For, in order for the censorship-brigades to win and Anonymous to lose, girls and women must be irrationally afraid and angry at that which they have been told makes them afraid, all the time.

Following such observations, one sits, as one does, browsing Twitter. Beholding, watching and – yet again – observing all the twats that tweet and twatter about everything, yet managing, by some strange magic, to say absolutely nothing.

It is naught but free-form forums limited to snark and salvation in equal measure. With rules of conduct so strange and convoluted as to be impenetrable. Denser than the densest dope, stranger than the strangest stranger.

Supposedly, the rules of conduct apply to everyone equally. And so it should be safe, even for women. Yet, as one will experience time and again: there are no real rules about posting.

This is self-evident, as people are still allowed to be mean towards women online. The fact that people are mean – often meaner in fact – towards men on the internet is of no matter, little consequence and whatever. And the uncomfortable fact that most “misogynistic” abuse encountered by women online comes from other women, not men, matters even less. For, through mental gymnastic galore and burlesque, men can still be blamed for the actions of women.

If you will allow, gentlemen, as we are all men of the world here… men who have been around the block a few times, so to speak… know what I mean, nudge nudge, wink wink? We all know, gentlemen, that being mean to women online usually means nothing more and nothing less than merely disagreeing with them.

That is harassment.

Particularly when facing down a stampeding feminist, or a stampeding horde of feministas.

It is pure vile misogyny to disagree with women – particularly with feminism, and misogyny is the worstest thing there is to encounter on the internet, no matter how factual ones rebuttal to the inane ramblings of a feminist is. Non-feminist women are free game and good pickings, so have at them all you like. Yet, do not touch a feminist woman with the gentle stroke of your keyboard. That is harassment, misogyny and all that other terrible stuff. And we can not have that. For added effect, the words racism, fascism, white supremacism, rape, wifebeater, etcetera, in any one of their forms, will also be used and spent like some drunk billionaire spending money during a wild weekend in Vegas.

After a while of flawed and faulty moderation and some observations on the liberal use of the grand ban-hammer fantastic by whip-and-chain moderators, one comes to learn that there are no real rules about moderation either.

Enjoy your ban.

Pro tip: to avoid being banned, don’t refer to people as “retarded” if they ain’t retarded, yet spouting retarded arguments. Refer to them, instead, as “mentally deficient” if they ain’t mentally deficient, yet spouting mentally deficient arguments.

For those who are in the know, in the flow, in the midst of the stream – that is, the ones who count themselves as woke – are protected from moderation, as opposed to those who refuse to be ensnared by the church of woke. The prophets of woke must do something particularly egregious in order to be banned, in order to be moderated, as opposed to those who are not woke, who may be banned for the disastrous crime of disagreement. Tactics from the cult of woke include, but are not limited to, mass-reporting, harassment, doxing, dog-piling, brigading and various and sundry. There are, in fact, accounts on Twitter made for no other reason but to take down and ban the accounts of those of a political persuasion whom they do not agree with. Some of us would, perhaps, consider these poor people as having no life, no purpose, whatsoever. But, then again, some of us are merely hateful, bigoted and various and sundry and so can be easily ignored and dismissed.

The cult of woke is a peculiar and confusing thing, and its adherents, its prophets, its followers and clingers-on deserve each other more than anyone has ever deserved anyone else in the whole history of hysteria.

The cult is auto-cannibalistic by its very nature, by its core design. The woke shall eat the lesser woke; the lesser woke, in turn, shall eat the woke. And the lying shall lay down with the lame.

And both shall play the blame-game, the name-and-shame-game.

Until the rapture, until the end.


Of course; one must never, under any circumstances, migrate to different sites. There must always and ever be a tech-giant monopoly, a technopoly, no matter how censoriously moderated the moderators chose to moderate, no matter how much of a cancerous polyp on the anus of humanity they may be.

The message delivered then is a simple one: if you enjoy any rival sites – don’t!

For the rival sites are filled with Neo-Nazi scumfucks, crypto-fascist marginalizers, male supremacist white-faced smirkers and other such terrible entities, who, by their vague association with the fundamentally flawed and faithfully fascist concept of free speech, wishes for nothing but the subordination of women and other disadvantaged minority-groups. (the fact that women are not a minority does not factor into it. Minority does not mean what it used to mean, due to the voodoo of lackademia.) These sites must, by necessity, be taken down as best they can be taken down, banned and shadowbanned and blacklisted by the tech-giants and the iron-glove with which they rule the internet.

It does not matter what one says, it does not matter what one does. Supporting and frequent other sites than the bulbous sites that the tech-giants have conjured forth from the abyss means that you are, in fact, a fascist. Fascist being yet another of the vague in-vogue-words that no-one really knows what means any more, yet spend until it is completely spent and pointless.

In the glowing light of the Technopolis, all your carefully picked arguments can be ignored. For no-one knows your own mind better than those who have decided to ignore your position and your words, your actions and your deeds in order to push and present their smear-job caricature of you.

Anything you say can and will be used against you.

Anything you say can be turned into something else.

Your opinion as well as the fact of the matter matters little.

The hive-mind hath spoken.

The hive-mind is always right.

So it is.

The hive-mind and its tactics change according to the whims and will and fancy of Ms. Queen Bee Supreme. (Ms. Queen Bee Supreme of course being the current societal, cultural or academic feminist or social justice warrior zeitgeist.)

Lately, over on the men’s rights subreddit – which I frequent often, though in the guise of a ghost… always reading, never writing – concern-trolling has become the latest trend and tactic of the hive-mind scorned by concern for men.

Alongside the obscene assault of concern-trolling, one may often encounter seven thousand varieties of the “not real feminism” fallacy.

Which is to be expected. Most subscribers to the ideology of feminism know precious little about feminism, it appears. Those who oppose it know quite a lot about it. Know thy enemy, as the saying goes.

Scratch the surface, and the point, the rust and muck, of the exercise – that is, the concern-trolling, the attempted tone-policing – becomes as clear as the empty gaze of a vacuous garden-variety feminist.

The point of the exercise is, of course, furthering the feminist agenda and the eternal feminist talking-points, one feigned concern, one falsely presented empathetic gaze at the plight of men at a time. (One can easily spot it by seeing them use the term toxic masculinity over and over again.)

These people ought to be ignored.

Just as we do not negotiate with terrorists, we do not argue with trolls. It means that they win.

They are there to spread pestilence, famine, war and death. No matter the mask they wear at the moment.

The best tactic is to ignore them. Let them scream, splutter and blubber into the void of their own dismal sense of “equality”.

In doing so, they will potentially learn that the harder they try, the harder they will fail. Of course; this is somewhat doubtful. These people never learn from their mistakes. Instead, they double down, convincing themselves that if they fail in epic proportion, it may just become a winning failure.

I blocked the bastards, see?! That means I won!!”

Followed by a long and drawn-out REEEEEEEEEEEE, a lengthy herp and some epic derp.

Even if they do believe themselves to be winners, there is comfort in the knowledge that every win fails eventually.

Every imagined win is destined to fail.

And the mighty do fall and the tremulous do tremble for every fall.

Yet, the trembling forces tremble on, marching towards the gates and winning inch by bloody inch.

Hate-speech and hate-laws and crimes of a hateful nature.

As long as that which is hated is what they do not wish to be hated.

What they themselves may hate is quite alright… for their hate is not hate, it is, instead, opposition to oppression. And the oppressed have every right to hate their oppressors. In the heat of the moment, the troglodytes, goblins, orcs, ogres and nincompoops forget that everything that can be labelled can be hated… that one can not condition hatred, stupid as hatred very well may be, out of people.

One can not force someone to like something, to love something, to approve of something. That is quite contrary to liberty. Like it or not, to live in a free society is to allow for people to hate what they hate, to love what they love, even if one disagrees. Not allowing for this is to not live in a free society. Particularly egregious is this when both allowing and celebrating certain types of hate against certain groups.

When mere criticism of one group gets labelled hate, whilst actual calls for genocide and violence and genocidal violence to another group is not… when this is based solely on arbitrary characteristics… one does not live in a society that is free and open and easy-going. One is living in a prison where freedom is, in fact, slavery.

Hatred may very well be stupid, futile and way too simplistic. Yet, it will never go away. When implementing laws that determine what is and is not OK to hate, all one does is push certain groups even further underground.

Hate breeds hate.

And hating certain groups is still nothing but hate, no matter ones justification, no matter whether allowed socially or accepted through laws. The more you hate it, the stronger it gets. Underground and unseen by feeble-minded nimrods who believe that nothing is to be taken seriously except that which they consider serious, which, for all intents and purposes, is anything but serious.

By which I mean that it is anything but rational. Even the most robust feminist argument is based on feelz before reelz, ya dig.

Particularly so in the latter days of our societies. With this used as truth, a woman who feels unsafe is unsafe, no matter the truth of the matter. And if a woman feels unsafe, she must be protected. Particularly on the internet, where there are so many dangers lurking right beneath the surface.

Apparently, this tale as old as time, this fainting-couch woman, is originality made manifest. Seen clearly in feminists disciples parroting feminist dogma from feminist internet-users using old tattle-tale dialectics like used-car sales-peoplekinds, presenting it as original content.

All new rims, good steering, fantastic tail-lights, good deal, brakes usually work, buy it now.

Even when it is an old and decrepit rustbucket…

Original content is original only for a few seconds before getting old. And feminism is old, ancient, dead and decaying. It is an old and decrepit rustbucket.

Still, it clings to its glory.

Burrowed in the pale and flabby skin of society like a tick, spreading disease, chronic pain and a solid case of good old ickiness. Now, it is not merely feminists who believe this. All the white knights with their bulging mass and alpha-posturing will jump out of the woodwork to defend m’lady and her honour, no matter if she is clearly in the wrong or not.

For if there is one thing one can believe in, with utmost sincerity, it is the weakness and frailty and powerlessness of the strong, powerful and empowered woman. Manufactured as it is by the frail and frantic forces of feminism and enabled by a society that swoops in to save and to shelter and protect and provide for women, no matter who suffers something more or who suffers something less.

Social justice is a farcical farce, ladies and gentlemen, and feminism is at the forefront of it all.

Because why shouldn’t it be?

If there is any talk about victimization, feminism has got to swoop in to make sure and to make certain that women are up front and centre. As original and predictable as a good old fashioned copypasta. As we all well know, being gentlemen and scholars all, the woes and worries of any given feminist is nothing but feminist copypasta. And copypasta is made to ruin every last bit of originality.

(AN:I know; I was supposed to write less about feminism and more about other things. But inspiration struck some hours ago, and now I am rambling my way through something that was supposed to be short, quick, easy, to the point and somewhat humorous. It turned out to become tender finger-gymnastics for my insomniac hop-scotch mind. Oh, well, finger my diddle and pound my nostrils – it is at the very least extraordinarily fun to write. Even when the short piece had to be split into multiple pieces on account of my rambling mind going every which where except towards the direction I pointed it at. Such is the way of things.)

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  • Moiret Allegiere, 15.02.2020

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Coming Out!!

«4 Horsekins of the Wah-pocalypse #2: Pestilence»

“It’s not easy being green”, claims Kermit the Frog.
Damn bastard ain’t got a bloody clue.
Shit-head knows nothing of troubles.
Should have been through what I’ve gone through.

For years, I have self-identified in a particular manner.
Not that anyone cares, or believes me, for that matter.
See; I am a rarity – undoubtedly, an odd peculiarity.
Not at all comfortable in this weird human odyssey.

See; my self-examined identity reveals a hairless blob,
An icky gelatinous thing, an insubstantial gob.
You wanna talk discrimination, micro-aggressions,
double-sanded white privileged post-colonial oppressions?

You wanna talk trans-phobia, male privilege banality,
horrible smirking-whilst-white-and-male criminality?
Try tackling the terribly vicious Medusozoa-phobics,
all damned bigoted pale and male and stale geriatrics.

Bah, humbug! Barely lucid hubris from a tone-deaf bard!
From here until the end of time, I revoke thy victim-card,
I strip you of your place atop the victim-pedestal,
I refuse you unearned pity no matter how hard you bawl!

My self-identity by itself causes violence.
I’m forced by bigotry into a life of utter silence,
by sick-minded phobics of the screech-and-run-variety.
(If they don’t beat me with sticks on account of anxiety)

My pronouns don’t matter, cause nobody cares.
So I just blubber along this lonely trail of tears,
laid down for me, as it is, by faces twisted in disgust.
(Though, some fetishize and greet me then in animal lust.)

No-one believes me, and I doubt they ever will
as I lie face down on the beach, completely naked and still.
It sure is hard being me, with no-one to trust,
just me and the sand turning slowly to dust.

It’s such a hard life for the naked, the timid, the gelatinous,
naught but phobic passers-by with disgust clear and obvious.
And the ladies most frigid, the gentlemen all impotent…
oh, were I only God, were I only omnipotent…

Were I only God, I would force them all to love me.
To hell with free will, to hell with such nonsensical absurdity!
It is rampant phobia, a wicked lack of understanding me;
clearcut case of discrimination, I think, as I blubber out to sea.

Alas, I am neither omnipotent God, nor impotent man.
My identity is one which all and one would wish to ban:
A lonely non-binary translucent jellyfish-kin,
destined to throw the dice of life, never to win.

This bushy beard of mine; each strand a mimicked tentacle,
beneath the water where it floats, such a gorgeous spectacle.
My flabby belly growing by my hand and choice alone,
for years of non-gelatinous privilege now made to atone.

For those who have non-gelatinous privilege have no inkling,
know nothing of Medusozeic woes or worries… all that wrinkling,
that flabbiness, that blobbiness, that terrible lack of blinking,
that floaty feeling, in the ocean, fearing predatory eyes twinkling…

And behind me, at my back, children poke and prod with sticks,
giggling or screaming bloody murder. (Children are such dicks.)
Surrounded by vicious sociopaths, made from all of people-kind,
every age and shape and sex there is, flesh and bone and little mind.

I have no backbone, this is true. In fact, I have no bones at all.
Bones are present in my bio-body, standing 5.8 feet tall…
yet that is just a lonely skin-mask, a saddened human mannequin,
a host to the wailing, longing soul of a gelatinous other-kin.

Piss right off with your quick points of personal privilege,
your caterwauling, comrade-headed opposition to a civil age;
a wondrous age where non-binary translucent jellyfish-kin
may play the game of loving life, come out on top and win!

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  • Moiret Allegiere, 05.02.2020

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The Dangers of Dating While Woke

«Quick Snapshot Done in Artistic Despair, Lacking Artistic Flair»

Inspired by this trite and troglodytal whinge-fest:

One rule for me, and another rule for thee and for thou and for thine. Such is the swinging, flapping, luscious bingo-wings of things such as things are at this point in terribly trembling tremolo-time; a twice sidestepped waltz where the dancer can not help but step on her own tongue and handcuffed hands.

The dating-scene, you see, my brothers and partners-in-crime, has turned viciously, maliciously, misogynistically obscene. It has become obtuse scream-time lost in flash-pan-dating feministas fisting twice whore-hopped chlamydia calamities, deep-fried in hysterics and histrionics… table-turning duality; the cosmic singularity of the woke-washed dating crowd whose love-lorn electro-pop hymns call out for shelter-kittens in the lonely night of their malcontent.

A fanged problem-bespectacled grin pokes out from beneath the lead-covers of a penthouse nuclear shelter. Rough-and-tumble concrete corners poured in adolescent hormone-highs; weird dopamine bursts of immediate and immaculate dreams to calculate the terrible, the female-bashing, women-hating, misogynistic rise of men who dare – in their effervescently ever-present arrogance, their perpetually perpetuated toxically masculine ways and vices, in their cock-drunk ball-shacked arrogance – to decide for themselves whom they should wish to date. Woke journos and blue-check-marked twitter-twats all sharpen their pencils and their fingernails en mass, fingernails that are, incidentally, registered – for concerns of safety – as lethal weapons of mass deconstruction. Then take the time to take the temperature and find the tune to which their wrath and ire sing today, and hammer out their piss-takes and shit-shined immediate emotional upheaval for all the world to see. And woe betide them, and any who are such as them – which, for the solipsistically inclined, are all and anyone. The rest do not exist.

Lo, what a terrible thing to see and to behold! A man who dares – dares with all the demented daring in his dastardly daring-do – to have dating-preferences not accepted by the tolerant, the liberal, the thought-leaders, all elite-prone and inclined to intoxicating virtue by virtue of their shaming of the virtually impure and improper whose unshaven face and unwashed mass is lacking virtue… so impure, as opposed to the purity of the latter day sexual puritans who allow for all and any form of sexual clamour, chaos, debauchery and excess, as long as no straight white male should be so egotistical, so selfish, so daringly bold and wickedly aligned as to have his own preferences on the seamless dating-scene.




Shlock and stinking, horrifying, gasping smegma-cock!

Followed by various other immediate words, ululations and weird background susurrations of immense shock and awe and horror there to boot!

Please, sisters of the revolution, do but forgive me this one time my patriarchal wickedness, my masculine confusion, for here I truly, surely, openly must confess to be at a horrible loss for words!

Being at a loss for words is, as we all should well know by now following the enlightened scriptures and scruples of the revolutionary sisters of the junior anti-male-sex league, the domain of men and men alone.

Still, ye gods, but these women do speak in tongues indefinitely, with pause for neither breath nor thought; with nary a gasp for air, or for allowing another to speak their bastard-mind, or elucidate upon his roguish, pimpish words of such incredible, yet dangerously arrogant, eloquence. Not only is he showing all his egotistical, maniacal, selfish, soggy-kneed insanity… but it is dangerous to boot.

The clear and obvious question presents itself. In fact, it pokes its uncut penis-head out of the fly-by zipper-zap, stares at you and then remains: dangerous for whom, and for what reason dangerous, exactly, and exactly how is it dangerous that men should self-choose whom to date in the current year of the looming apocalypse; of the monochrome background-sounds of kittens wailing in despair, in this era, in this night of a thousand crazy box-wine pimping cat-ladies of serendipitous delight and curious, may haps even questionable moral character, with no sight, no sound, no foghorn-howl of any manner of self-awareness or insight into the double standard so blatantly, boldly, fully, clearly on display?

Well, as are with all things dangerous in-and-off nature, it is mostly dangerous for women and women only. Least ways, that is what and who and where and when and why we should care and only care and then care some more, just for good measure.

Then we ought to be afraid – scared straight, or, well, perhaps scared square or gay – by the pure puerile ignorance presented so ferociously by this atonal utterance of a man whose dilapidated cervix, whose rust-speckled vocal-box and barbarian, savage tribe-like preferences in dating is such a terrible burden on the poor and unblemished women of a certain character of woke character-assassination.

Surely, then, the man must be made subject to scrutiny by the grand feminist inquisitor. Clearly, he must suffer the consequences of such horrible non-feminist and anti-revolutionary activi-titties and be sentenced to virtual stoning by the woke twitterati and its gated community of close-knit knitters of other peoples personal preferences. He shall be sentenced and thrown in jail, awaiting execution.

Though, to be frank, as the beautifully non-violent squad of woke hipsters and their brothers, sisters, comrades and confused non-binary xirs and xadams in antifa-arms are opposed to violence, he shall first be washed in the holy liquid; the pungent milkshake of salvation. Furthermore, he shall be saved through a death of personality so that he comes out the other side a richer, more tribally aligned, more morally sanctified productive member of the community. Here is one who shall be saved through re-education and mind-melting milkshake-washings; here is one who must be saved through mobbing, dog-piling, bullying, harassment and so-and-such and all the others.

For no man shall be allowed to date those whom he should wish to date. And no man shall be allowed to be aroused or romantically inclined towards those whom the woke hipster-squad and their vibrato-followers of ire, wrath and jellyfied, petrified, sanctimonious moral aloofness have decided are un-persons, non-persons, never to be saved or canonized or taken into the realm of woke, there to live and love forever more.

Nay, no man shall be so proud, so bold, so sexually selective as to intone in words so rough and dangerous that he will not date women with whom he disagrees on the hallowed topics of the church of woke. For is it not written that whomsoever of a woman hath preferences that are not desired in the womb of double-ham-slammed woke-washed fisticuffs shall not the ladies suffer to live? Or something to that effect?

Nay, hear me, ye men of dubious moral character, your existence is only to serve, to please, to shut up and to get on your knees to present the saintly maidens of the calloused church of woke with your this and all your that and all that which is your other. For all your thoughts, words, deeds, speech, income, money, house, land, laundry, opinions, self belongeth to the cosmic church of the vaguely woke. And only women are allowed romantic preferences or sexual preferences in the wacky dating-game. All else is bigotry and naught but bigotry, so there, so then, so that.

The age of men has ended.

Here comes the age of the Orca.

In the age of the Orca, no-one stopped to ask why this man, this simpleton, would not date the lovely luscious ladies of the woke. Maybe, ye gods, maybe, there is something wrong with the maleficent madams of mockery and murmurs. Maybe they are the ones to be deemed dangerous, not he or men like him…

For celebrating narcissistic banality, vicious solipsist insanity that allows for no other opinion but their own, no other values than their own, no other well-being but their own… For celebrating vapid vacuum-values made to disintegrate and interchange and dissolve into the air and ether the moment something and someone new comes along is not something made for prosperity, for pair-bonding or for longevity.

For double standards are the least titillating thing there is, and unhidden hatred of ones partner on the basis of their sex and grim double-balled tango doubly so.

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  • Moiret Allegiere, 29.01.2020

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What the Fuck Are You Dancing For?

The busy steel-mill explosions; the coal-mine exoskeletons,
the streets with their stench of piss and spinal-taps,
the harlots, the hangmen, the hurriers?

The busty lock-jawed barmaid, fine fermented sugar-drinks,
the banshee howls of academic arsonists,
the doom-platoons that preach of death?

Rare silverware-collectors, trick-hopped debt-enforced enslavers,
tolerance-flailers with pin-striped politics-wedgies,
Morality-policing puritans with their fifty shades of fuck?

Who are they – the ones you are dancing for?

Lopsided loot-crate exclusives, corporate overlord executives,
multi-level global corporate-sanctioned rebellion,
kindergarten-level ethics of offence?

The obscenity-trials of the year, flaccid eye-rape and despair,
the silly silencers promoting postnatal abortion rights,
automatons choking on their fragrant morality-void?

Globalist safe-haven abandonment nations, cultural explosions,
new-age segregationists mumbling Jim Crow sentiments,
emancipation of dry-heaved emotional flatulence?

Who are the ones you are dancing for?

Mediocre musical wastelands, death of beauty and of truth,
a lonely G-string tuned to burlesque slut-walk symphonies,
flip-flopped, docile post-fornication hangover blues?

Hypocrites demanding obedience and lectures in radical redemption,
absolution of past sins through tongue-twisting trials by fire,
proof of vapour-wave virtue in the courts of social media?

Shit-eating free-form post-colonial fart-art, dry-lipped buttocks-kiss,
free-bleeding vaginal artists spewing period-blood on pavement-cracks,
the fall of Rome, her succulent tits deflated and devalued?

Who the hell are you dancing for?

Vaguely worded collective guilt, communal crime and punishment,
spit-shined, dry-humped, dry-heaved cultural contempt,
letters of the law that enforce a law of the letters?

Slip-shoed gender warriors, supremacist venom clothed in silk,
perfumed censors picking objectionable words from our throats,
an absurdist monkey-dance, a free-form enabler-trance?

Miserable pot-roasted goons educated on crumbs and ruin,
devoid of values, purpose, self, soul, home and honour,
low-rent memory worshipping made-up imagery?

What the hell are you dancing for?

Self-congratulatory, self-back-patting aristocratic mulch,
out of touch clown-world sycophantic AI robotics,
daft elitist sentiments from syphilitic celebrities?

Self-elected moral guardians, self-appointed ethics-deciders,
prey-less hunters in the wild, free speech defilers,
PC-policing cry-bully authoritarian tyrants?

Mass-manufactured media-outrage, machines of global stupidity,
propaganda-outlets promoting thinly veiled violent insanity,
revolutions that will ensnare and later on enslave us?

Who paid the piper and the pipes you’re dancing to?

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  • Moiret Allegiere, 22.01.2020

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Why I am an Anti-feminist, Part 13

Didn’t find the time for a drawing for this one. Please Enjoy a photo of my beard enjoying a cup of coffee.

One of the things that most confound me in this ever-lasting current year of confusing culture-wars and social justice nonsense is this willingness from women in general, whether feminist or not, to be considered victims and to consider themselves as victims.

Whatever can be held forth as an example of victimhood will be grabbed, smeared in their faces like blood and warpaint, then held forth as a supreme example of the perpetually victimized woman.

The best example of this, I believe, is the wage-gap. The feminist lie about this has been debunked over and over again.

Time and time again.

Again and again and again.

And still it is being used to justify their infantile victimhood-complex, used as proof of overt discrimination; used as an example of why feminism is still ever so sorely needed in this age of the mighty hysteria.

The truth is out there for everyone to see. The wage-gap, as feminism prefers to present it, is long since debunked. And then it is debunked again. And a third time, just for good measure.

It is, in fact, an earnings-gap.

Meaning: men work more than women, men take on more overtime, men are better negotiators than women, men take less sick-leave, men work more dangerous jobs… and so forth and so on.

There is also this pesky little factoid to contend with: it is illegal to pay someone less or more depending on their sex.


Which makes me wonder where all the lawsuits are. Where are all the companies going bankrupt from having to pay legal fees, being sued into oblivion, being assaulted day and night by police-forces, besieged by law and order from clearly breaking the law?

Not that this matters much, of course. For lately I have seen the feminist hordes move the goalposts ever so slightly, and apparently unseen and unnoticed, cloaked by the nights veiled satin madness. This time around, being unable to still keep the wage-gap lie going as they used to, they claim it instead to be proof that typical female professions are considered of less worth than typical male professions… further keeping the wage-gap myth going, despite it being debunked. And no evidence needed, of course. Believe women. Even when they make no sense and present no evidence but their own assumed assertions. For women have got to be victims. Otherwise, what is the bloody point of feminism?

The feminist hive-mind are well aware that the pay-gap is false. They just don’t give a fuck. Or they choose not to believe it, as victimhood just taste so damned sweet in their mouths and scatter-brained infantilism. A feminist will roar in your face, spittle and drool flying everywhere, that “Did you know that women are paid less than men? And – no – this has nothing to do with the aforementioned reasons. We are discriminated against, I promise! Fuck-face!”.





Followed by a kick to the chest to send one plummeting down the morally decayed and emotionally bankrupt bottomless pit of dread feminist despair; victimizing and infantilizing the poor whamens one second of free-fall at a time.

This I can not grasp. They are well aware of the debunking. They just don’t care. They want to be discriminated against. They want to be victims.

So strong. So tough. So resilient. Nevertheless, she persisted. And all other pathetic platitudes and select sentences that say little, but sure as hell help in boosting some frail and frantic feminist egos. It sure must feel good to be constantly validated and celebrated, no matter what you do. Or don’t do. Even when just doing things you’re supposed to do. Or not supposed to do.

When this so-called discrimination has been disproved and debunked, one should believe that the feminist platoons would be well pleased with themselves. That they would pat themselves on their chubby back-fat in self-congratulatory, self-celebratory glee (as is, of course, their greatest talent) and be pleased with this lack of discrimination.

It is, however, the other way around.

They celebrate perceived discrimination.

Not lack of discrimination.

For their core reason for existing is to perpetuate feminism. If discrimination is disproven, they weep and carry on as though the discrimination is there. Can not let pesky facts get in the way of the narrative. If the narrative is disrupted, they have no reason to exist. If they have no reason to exist, they can not carry on. Then they would have to actually cultivate a personality instead of merely being a feminist.

That would be a difficult task indeed, for someone whose main goal, focus, career, belief and reason for fucking living, existing, breathing and feeling has been centred around the spiralling drain of feminism all their live-long life. It is a dangerous thing, to make an ideology such a big part of ones identity that one is adrift in the void without it.

They want to be victims. They want to be seen as both weak and helpless – in need of provision and protection – and as strong and independent – a woman needs a man as a fish needs a bicycle, after all.

And a strong, independent fish can not be expected to live long on land. They need to live in water. Take a fish out of water, and it will die. Take a feminist out of feminism; that is to say: victimhood, and she will die.

Though it is true that they don’t need a man.

They need government intervention instead of a man. Implement this law and that law and all those other laws for positive discrimination. You know: actual, written in law for all the world to see discrimination. Blanket discrimination that favours one sex over the other sex.

Then pretend and feign discrimination over this and that and all the other this’s and that’s. Roaring and screaming, snarling and gnarling and snivelling and weeping that they are ever so discriminated against for being women, despite all these laws in their favour and their favour only, so please, daddy, give us some more. For they are the meekest and the most oppressed and the strongest and the most independent all rolled into one neat sausage roll.

In the windblown wastes of Norway, we have a “law of equality”. The wording of the law says that it favours women and minorities. An odd phrasing for a law supposedly in place to guarantee equal treatment, as it clearly favours women… and minorities. Quite contrary to equality. It was proposed that the wording of the law should be altered so as to actually be equal.

You know; gender-neutral.

The feminist hive-mind protested, and so the law remains; gendered discrimination written into the law of equality that is there to work against gendered discrimination. Favouring the sex that is – for some reason – considered the oppressed and helpless sex. And so the law of equality is held forth as proof that women are oppressed… otherwise, we would not need that law to be gender-specific, now would we? Check mate, misogynists.

It is a strange patriarchy to live in, in which women are so favoured that they have special protection under law; in which their voices are heard so clear and taken so seriously that a law that is there to guarantee their privilege remain as-is. Odd as well, considering the feminist screech that everything must be gender-neutral.

Except that which favour women, of course. Which is peculiar and odd. In a society in which women are eternally oppressed and downtrodden, where men are eternally privileged and protected, it is incredibly strange to me…

Of course, the feminist hive-mind will screech and jabber that men don’t need those laws for they are written in the very foundations of our society and our culture. Unseen, but still there. Despite all evidence to the contrary.

When boys and men suffer disadvantages, we don’t need to care about that. Because girls and women suffer more. Why else would there be laws in place especially for girls and women and none for men, if girls and women did not suffer more? Check mate, foul misogynist.

Truly, we live in a society.

We exist within a world in which we have been told that all men everywhere oppress women; in which all men everywhere benefit from the oppression of women.

Now; I have had more than enough feminists scream in my face; either through the internet or in real life to really and truly wonder how – if I were so terrible an oppressor – these women would dare scream in my face as they do. Surely, if women are so scared of men as feminism claims, no woman would dare behave in that manner when facing the terrible and terrifying enemy of their mythology and legend.

When a feminist woman feels so emboldened as to personally attack me for me doing nothing but give my wife a compliment on her appearance… or chew me out for daring to be born on the 8th of March and so celebrate my birthday on the international day of the master-sex… or for referring to my girlfriend at the time as “my girlfriend” instead of using her name, I have to wonder how real that oppression is… and how deep the victimhood goes.

I can not be the only one who consider it weird that women are so terrified of men, and still feel so safe and fancy-free in our proximity that they attempt to control our speech, our behaviour and how we should not celebrate our birthday when it happens to fall on the same day as the international day of the Aryan sex… because celebrating my birthday on the day of my birth distracts from the celebration of women, when those two days just so happen to be the same. Because of course it does.

Alas, for women, there is currency in victimhood. Because people in power will listen to women in distress. As will everyone else, for that matter. There is a need – deeply rooted – within all of humanity to protect women. Now, this protection will be different depending on culture and time and place and whatever. It is still there, however. Women are to be sheltered and saved from this and from that, from tit and from tat and from arse and legs. Biologically, women are more important than men. And men are not as important as women. Women and children first; and to hell with the men… and the boys.

On the Titanic, boys over the age of eight was considered to be men, and so, potentially, left behind to die. (Dr. Charles Pellegrino, “Her Name, Titanic” McGraw-Hills Publishing Company, 1988) So that adult women should survive. How terribly oppressed; how very much treated like chattel when their right to live is greater than that of 8 year old boys!

I would consider being allowed to live where others are expected to die – in fact, to sacrifice their lives for me – a severe privilege. But what the hell do I know, here I sit close-to-weeping after reading an account of a ten year old boy left behind on the Titanic to die; basking in the glow of his eternal male privilege and all the accumulated wealth of his life-time of oppression.

All ten years of it.

Muh patriarchy hurts men too. Because of course it bloody does. Everything must be blamed on men.

I see precious few feminists complaining about “women and children first”, and other very clear female privileges… unless they are able to paint that as women being victimized, of course. Which they will. Though, they will still be reluctant to change it.

One can not take anything away from women, you know. You can only give to women, of course and as expected.

Particularly so when that which is given is taken from men. For men deserve nothing, but to give.

I may sound hyperbolic. But I struggle to see anything but that in situations where men – and young boys – are expected to give their lives so that women shall survive.

That is an extreme example, of course, and I will freely admit to that. It still holds true, however.

We must have so-and-such percentage of women in leadership, and we must have this-and-that percentage of women in this field of study or in that field of study. And on. And on. Talent and merit matters not; only sex. And skin-colour. And other such superficial things. But mainly sex. Because women matter more than anything else.

Women, first and foremost, must be protected from their own choices. But only if they identify as feminist.

I remember the Las Vegas Shooting of 2017, which prompted discussions from feminism on Toxic Masculinity and male violence and all that other stuff which one has come to expect from those who celebrate every single tragedy of this nature for reasons of being able to push their narrative… standing on the corpses of the victims to propagate their political platitudes and say, in voices loud as thunder, that there is something wrong with men.

Remember: it is only a mental health issue when women do something wrong.

Though, of course, considering that masculinity for bullshit-reasons is considered a pathology, one could make the claim that discussions on how terrible men are is a discussion on mental health. This assumes, of course, that one agrees with “traditional masculinity” being presented as a pathology. Which one has to suffer the psychopathology of feminism to agree with.

I remember reading about one young man – a Jonathan Smith, age 30 – who saved about 30 people during the Las Vegas shooting, through his bravery. As a reward for his courage, he got shot in the neck and will, with all likelihood, live with the bullet lodged in his neck for the rest of his life. If that is not enough of a reward for his self-sacrifice, he will also have to live with hearing people blame masculinity, blame men and – by extension himself – for what happened that night. Sweeping generalizations about men and the wickedness of men are par for the course; part and parcel of living in the end-days of western civilization.

Honk, Honk.

There are no sweeping generalizations about the kindness of men; the capacity men have for self-sacrifice, the protective nature of men, and so forth and so on. People have attempted.

Yet, oddly enough, every time someone brings forth the kindness and goodness of men in general, they are attacked for neglecting women… for discriminating against women, for not mentioning the achievements of women. And men are attacked for being violent, being rapists, being this and being that. For one can not say a single word of good about men. Men are obsolete, remember. There is only one sex, and that sex is female.

If anything good is said about men in general, women – whether blatantly feminist or not – will scream victimhood and demand women be included in what is said. For women are victims of someone saying something good about men. Women are victims by not being catered to all the time, by not being celebrated constantly.

It is rage-inducing.

It strikes me as weird, wacky, self-indulgent and incredibly egotistical.

There is no room in our societies to celebrate men. There is only room to celebrate women. There is no room in our societies to harbour empathy for men; all empathy must go to women, all celebration, all everything.

Otherwise; the feminist hordes will screech and writhe in agony.

For anything positive said about men is like kryptonite to a feminist; a most potent allergen. She will break out in hives and in anxious sweat; she will break out in asthmatic fits of rage and wrath and ruin. Then she will cry and weep and demand that women be celebrated and men be neglected. For men have had it all for all time.

And that is true.

Men have had all the ridicule, all the shame, all the self-sacrifice, all the deaths, all the violence, all the neglect, all the abuse our societies could ever willingly lay on the shoulders of an identity group for decades.

And not a damned thing is done about this. For trying to do anything about it further cements, in the minds and eyes and claws and teeth of feminism, the oppression and neglect of women and the so-called constant celebration of men.

Even when men are vilified and made to look like some parody of a James Bond villain… over-the-top and ridiculous. Even when masculinity itself is smeared as something destructive and dark and dangerous, something pathological that must be un-learned and done away with. Men can not be victims. Even when we are victims. For even then, men shall be vilified. For pointing this out means we hate women; that we suffer and struggle from both fragile masculinity and toxic masculinity. And all is wrong with men, and in the world of men there is nothing correct, nothing right, nothing good and proper and true.

And this is also true.

Because feminism has seen to it that nothing shall be good, proper and true in the world of men through refusing men to speak on men’s behalf, through refusing the world to celebrate men and masculinity.

And that is that for this ramble; it was a good vacation and a very good Christmas. And now I struggle to get back into the habit of writing every day since I allowed myself to be a bit of a lazy bastard for two weeks. Oh well; I shall regain my composure and my insane and nimble fingers to wag my tongue at insanity once again. Join me next week, if you please, for more rants, ravings, writings and ramblings.

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Why I am an Anti-Feminist, Part 12:

«Evening Greetings»

I’ve got a pre-ramble for you today. Don’t worry; I’ll get back to the usual cruel and unusual rambling before long.

This will be my last post for the year. I’m taking a break from writing, rambling, raving and ranting in order to celebrate Christmas and ring in the new year with all the moderately priced champagne, colossally caffeinated beverages and beard-harvested mushrooms a growing boy could ever need.

I will be back early in January, with the threat of a few new book-releases on the horizon and an ever-expanding library of rambling diatribes designed to stoke the fires of hell itself.

I hope you will enjoy yourselves over the holiday clusterfuck… Whatever happens next year, it can not possibly be worse than what happened this year, surely? Or should I not tempt the Gods, perhaps? Best to keep my mouth shut, my eyes on the ground and my beard flapping in the wind.

Merry everything, and a happy new current year!

There is a very distinct difference in received empathy where men and women are concerned. Men receive far less empathy in society and by society than women do. This ought to be self-evident by quite a few things, though the two things that are of most importance to me personally are as victims of violence, be that intimate partner violence or random acts of violence, and suicide. These two topics are quite important to me due to personal experiences, which I will not delve into here. May be a selfish reason for these topics being so important to me, but we are all – in one way or other – driven by our own experiences. I think it is safe to say that we are products of our experiences in life, for good or for bad and in one way or another.

Men experience more violence than woman. Far more, in fact.

And men commit suicide far more than women.

Yet, what we – as a society – care about, is ending violence towards women.

What we – as a society – care about, is that women attempt suicide more than men.

Not that men are successful in their suicides.

Not that men kill themselves.


We care that women fail at suicide-attempts, even going so far as to wonder if experienced sexism is to blame for an increase in female suicide-attempts. ( ) Amazing, I think.

Consider this, when it comes to suicide attempts: how many of the registered suicide-attempts are repeat “offenders”? How many of the registered suicide-attempts are self-harm registered as suicide-attempts?

See, back in my teens, I did quite a lot of self-harming. This of course brought me into the folds and tender headlock of psychiatry, wherein they attempted to label my self-harm as suicide attempts. Which I refused to let them do, as I had no wish to have it written down that I attempted suicide when I did not attempt suicide. Obviously. Though this is an anecdotal experience, I doubt that I am the only one whose self-harm – serious as self-harm may very well be – was registered as a suicide-attempt.

Lastly: how many of these suicide-attempts are a cry for help, not a genuine suicide-attempt?

It should of course go without saying that I absolutely believe cases of self-harm and cries for help shall be taken seriously; that those who do it should be given consideration and help. I am not trying to downplay any suffering or mental health issues which may very well be very, very real and very, very destructive.

I do, however, find it really odd that so many men kill themselves and that this is considered less of a problem than women failing to kill themselves; that the real deaths of men by their own hands are given less consideration and less attention than women attempting – and failing – to kill themselves.

There is a crisis – worldwide – of men killing themselves, yet we hear precious little about it and we care even less about it than we hear about it. This is very odd in a society in which the claim is that men, not women, are the ones who are cared for and cared about, given all manner of privilege and protection.

I believe it would be safe to state that the rates at which men kill themselves point to certain experiences in life and in society for men which ought to warrant investigation as well as concern. Investigation and concern that is not painted, tainted and perverted to obscenity by feminist ideologues who claim to do good but who, inevitably, fall back on their tried and true formula of blaming men for their own ills. “It is toxic masculinity that makes men kill themselves, it is traditional masculinity, it is the ideology of masculinity…” and on, and on and on.

Frighteningly often, when we do hear about it, it is presented through feminist goggles, googles, and problem-glasses, framing it within the confines of their ideology. “Toxic Masculinity (trademarked)” seems to be a relatively new term within their vocabulary. Used to be they used the term “hegemonic masculinity”.

I have not heard the term “hegemonic masculinity” for some time.

It does seem to have been removed and replaced with “toxic masculinity”, for some reason.

This replacement of terms seem to happen ever so often within their scatterbrained marvel-ideology. I assume one term has been spent, debunked and used up and so a new one must take its place, lest they prove themselves to be the frauds, hacks, con-artists and shams that they are. Though, admittedly, I am more or less thinking aloud now.

As long as boys, men, masculinity can be blamed, the feminist hive-mind can rinse their hands of blood and make the claim that they care about men as well… that they do, in fact, advocate for men as well as women and so there is no need for a men’s movement, thank you very much… for feminism has that covered. Despite feminism being for women. Just a damned shame that they see no qualms in “victim-blaming” when it is a man that is a victim of something, then.

For make no bloody mistake about it – pointing to masculinity itself and claiming that this is the reason for men’s higher rates of suicide and men’s higher rates of experienced violence is victim-blaming. It is pointing at something that is a natural part of men – their masculinity – and telling them that this is the reason for their pain.

They use the term “toxic masculinity” to try and divert the attention away from the fact of the matter. The fact of the matter being that they blame masculinity, whether referred to as “toxic” or “hegemonic” or whatever newly found star-spangled terminology they can conjure forth.

It is still masculinity at fault. “Toxic masculinity” is such a nebulous, swirling, fluid, gaseous and strange term that it can mean any display of masculine behaviour, as long as some feminist or other dislikes it.

Try using the term “toxic femininity” for a few days, and see how many women – feminist or no – that take offence to it. And rightly so. I have even seen feminists claim that women who behave in toxic ways display toxic masculinity, not toxic femininity.

This is interesting, to say the least.

So: women who behave badly display traits of toxic masculinity, not traits of toxic femininity. Men who behave badly do also display toxic masculinity.

There is no toxic femininity, in other words.

When women behave badly, it is still men who are at fault, still masculinity that is to blame.

…But it is not about hating men, you guys, honest.

To be clear: I object to both the terms “toxic masculinity” and “toxic femininity”, on the grounds that people can be toxic, abusive, ugly and destructive no matter their sex. Putting “toxic” in front of either femininity or masculinity does nothing but present an inherently negative attitude to either.

Also of interest: proposing, as the feminist hive-mind do, that everything ought to be gender neutral seems fairly deceitful when feminism constantly gender terms and words, labelling everything bad masculine and everything positive feminine. Gender-neutral thus translates into female-centric. That is to say: men bad, women good. There is only one sex and one gender when speaking on sex and gender. And that gender is female. Because of course it is. Despite there being seven billion genders, or something like that. Who even keeps count any more except those who wish to be seen as special and important, who have no special sets of skills and so chose something that sounds special and precious, despite being nothing but an absurd display of superficiality?

Both men and women have a shadow-side. Of this I am certain. It is a human thing, not a gender-thing, not a sex-thing, not a masculine thing and not a feminine thing. Though its presentation and its behaviour may be different depending on ones sex, it boils down to destructive, selfish, narcissistic, violent, etc., behaviour. Something which ought not to be celebrated.

Feminism tend to celebrate the shadow side of femininity, the feminine shadow, as something good and decent and pure… something that now finally has its time and wrinkly dime for being suppressed and oppressed by the patriarchy for so long… and so it is to be let loose, leaving them free to engage in behaviour that would be vilified and demonized were it men doing it, but which is celebrated as strength and virtue and what-not when it is women doing it. Scoffing at the notion of men having any problems at all, for example, making it so that women – and only women – and their perceived problems shall be heard and taken seriously within our culture is one such thing; celebrated and acknowledged despite being an obscene display of egotism.

Narcissism, egotism, selfishness and navel-gazing is celebrated as a virtue, if it comes from the cunt-fused smile of an ovary-acting feminist woman.

I prefer to refer to this type of behaviour as “Full Frontal Rectal Examination Syndrome”.

Meanwhile, men’s rights activists and advocates who dare defy the norm and point to quite a few ways, places, things and various doo-dads, doo-hickeys and so and such within society where men experience problems, suffer quite genuine discrimination, hardships, issues, problems, and so and such are painted as foul misogynists. “Misogynist” being another word that has been destroyed through its overuse. It means nothing any more.

The reason for MRA’s being labelled misogynists is, amongst other things, that we do not put women up front and centre, on a pedestal, as it were. For that is, apparently, where women belong, even when the sexes are to be treated equally. Add to this a bucket of lies, shit and filth claiming that we blame women for all our problems, for instance – which is not the least bit true. There is a tendency to oppose feminism. This is true. But opposing feminism does not equal opposing women. For feminism does not equal women, despite what feminism claims. Believe it or not.

This doo-hickey of theirs makes no sense.

Once seen, it can never be unseen. Though seeing it involves peeling 50-odd years worth of lies, propaganda and bullshit from ones red-rimmed eyes. A difficult task, without a doubt. For it is a task that greatly alienates one from the broader society; a task that will label one an outcast, a heretic and an outlaw, that will turn friends and family against one. It means going completely against the grain, against the flow, against the currents of society.

Social suicide is what it is.

The proverbial Red Pill is a terribly bitter pill to swallow, and the side-effects of said pill are dangerous. Once labelled an outlaw, one is not protected by the law. By which I mean mob-law. The regular social norms no longer apply, and one can wave goodbye to civility and understanding, compassion and basic human decency. Hell has no fury like a feminist scorned. And the roots of feminism dig deep, feeding on gynocentrism that flows like a current beneath the streets of our civilization, filled and re-filled and maintained by the blood, sweat and tears of men.

I, and I suppose most MRA’s (at least that is my experience), see no problems with women and the problems they face being taken seriously and given due consideration. For, in being different, men and women face different challenges. To claim that neither experience any difficulties or problems related to their sex is dishonest at best.

The problem and issue arise when women, and only women, and their problems are given consideration. Far above and beyond what would be considered due consideration. And this to the detriment of men, the minimizing of men’s issues and downright refusal to acknowledge that men face any real problems in society. Unless those problems can be presented as being created and maintained by something to do with men – masculinity, the nefarious, vapour-like patriarchy, and other such nonsense.

The problem and issue arise when feminism, and only feminism, are allowed to speak on the topic. For both men and women. As though they and their movement are the only movement, the only voice, the only what-ever to speak on the problems facing men and women both, amplifying the problems women face to the point of absurdity and erasing the problems men face to the point of a farce, giving leeway to ridicule and smear men’s rights activists and advocates as though this is fair treatment of this loosely knit group of rebels, vagabonds and outcasts.

The problem and issue arise when the force supposedly there to create “equality” between the sexes push and push and push for, and receive, special privileges and protection for women. Gender quotas in universities are a prime example of this. Still there for women to an overwhelming degree, despite women being in the majority in higher education. Odd and peculiar, that. One should believe that women being the majority would give rise to a certain push to get more men into higher education.

Not so, though – no, no, no.

You see – there may be more women in higher education, but there are more men in certain fields of higher education, and so the push must be there to get more women into those fields of education. For more men than women must be proof of gender discrimination, whereas more women than men is proof of gender equality. Makes perfect sense, of course, if one is blind and deaf from birth, lacking in cognitive abilities and constantly trapped in the bathroom with a case of chronic diarrhoea of the reason.

Also known as feminism.

Women choose the wrong type of education according to feminism, which also believe that women should choose what they want to do as long as they choose what feminism wants them to choose. Which is, incidentally, not what feminism prefers them to choose. But, no mind, little matter. What matters is for them to have something to complain about so that they are still considered relevant in this day and age of chronic Honk.

And a merry honk fucking honk to you too and #MeToo.

So women major in gender studies to become feminist activists that then bitch, moan and complain that there are too few women in STEM fields. This despite them studying for a pointless and useless degree that will do nothing but lull them into propaganda-like dream-states within the walls and fractured confines of their universities, in which they will do nothing but alienate men even more from higher education and complain that women are alienated from higher education.

Honk bloody honk.

More men than women in certain fields must therefore mean that men conspire to keep women out of these fields. Giving way to the age-old shaming of the male, shaming him so that he shall step down, open the doors, lay his coat in the puddle and do all in his power so that women shall feel safe in these terribly masculine spaces.

For one can not lift women up without simultaneously pushing men down. Which is, oddly enough, what feminism believe all men do to all women. Also, does this mean feminists consider men superior to women? It certainly does not put men and women on a level playing-field, that much is certain.

If a feminist claims you to do something, it is something they themselves are guilty of doing. Their way of elevating women is to push men down. Thus, elevating men must necessarily mean pushing women down. To their eyes, and in their logic. If they create something for women, they keep men out. If MRA’s create a conference for men, for example, that must therefore mean that they keep women out. Despite all evidence to the contrary. The International Conference for Men’s Issues of 2019 is a good example of this, as the Woke Twitterati was all up in arms about this, even complaining that these foul MRA’s had women do their work for them, since women were the ones behind that particular conference.

Imagine treating women as equals, believing them absolutely capable of hosting a conference… oh, the horror! Women are not suited for that kind of work; that is the province of men. One would believe it to be celebrated by the frantic forces of feminism. Alas, no. As long as it is not female-centric and male-bashing, it is bad. No matter if it is men or women behind it.

Now, keeping men out is quite alright. Keeping women out is not. Women’s only spaces is quite alright. Men’s only spaces is sexist and misogynist. For the only thing men think about is women and keeping women out and down, according to feminism. Which is interesting, as this proves how they view men and how they talk about men and how they treat men. In painting this picture in their minds and in their philosophy of men as these terrible, beastly, oppressive and violent creatures, they can justify just about anything they do in “response” to these terrible, beastly, oppressive and violent acts of men being men as the feminists envision men being men to be. Which is not exactly how men are, but little mind, no matter.

And there come the empathy-gap.

The feminist view of men as a group is that of a terrible group, ripe with sexism and misogyny and rape and violence and all manner of cruel and unusual wickedness. Apparently, there is no problem in stating this outright as fact-without-a-doubt. Masculinity itself is a disease that must be tackled, dismantled, broken down and removed so that men can be more like women. Men are defective women, and boys are defective girls. Apparently, and according to their whims and bingo-wings.

Say the same thing about women as a group, and there will be no limits to the hate and scorn and ridicule and shame and smears and trials and tribulations one must wade through afterwards. And that in a society that simply hates women ever so much, and adores men ever so much. It makes no sense whatsoever. Except when viewed through the lenses of gynocentrism, which we are so enthralled with. Women are to be protected and treated with compassion. Men need not apply.

Now, I will freely and readily admit that I believe our societies do need more compassion… more neighbourly love, if you will. We are caught in the throes of narcissism and selfishness. More and more for every passing day, it seems, driven by the awesome might and influence and fury of social media-posturing and holier-than-thou sentiments.

Presenting pictures of compassion that is little more then self-aggrandizing displays of hollow and vacuous virtue, doing absolutely nothing but painting a phoney picture of oneself as a being of immaculate compassion and virtue, with egotism and narcissism hidden deep within the folds, thinly veiled by the clouds of self-sniffed farts.

What we do not need is more compassion to women and only women. Which is what we are driven towards, neglecting boys and men in the process.

Boys and men could absolutely do with more compassion, more understanding, more empathy for our plight than we are currently receiving. This is not to say, obviously, that I believe that our societies should drop everything else and care only for the plight of boys and men.

That would be ridiculous.

And quite contrary to anything I wish for.

I would, however, wish there would be an understanding that constantly bombarding boys and men with messages of our inherent wickedness, our cruelty and our malice, our moral and emotional deficiencies and so-and-such and on and on is nothing but cruelty. Cruelty wrapped in lies mimicking compassion and concern, (we must help men re-examine and dismantle their masculinities so that they shall be complete human beings) but cruelty nonetheless.

I would wish for a world in which boys and men and our struggles are granted more consideration than a giggle in contempt from high-ranking yet brain-dead politicians… that it would be given actual understanding and compassion, proper empathy… that it would be given solutions not dripping with feminist sick, proclaiming masculinity to be the cause of all our problems, as well as the cause of all the problems the world has ever seen – up to and including bad acts and deeds done by women.

Particularly so when masculinity is also the solution to all the woes and worries of the world. Both God and the Devil, given the responsibility for ruining society as well as the responsibility to fix it. For we can do nothing but wrong whilst simultaneously being expected to do nothing but absolute right.

To feminism – and to our societies overall – there is nothing to men but absolute good or absolute bad. The picture given us of men, in general, is nothing but a figment of fantasy. Stray but a little from the accepted path, and all is lost and forgotten… all achievements, all merits, all goodness and kindness and empathy you have proven time and again is swept away in an instant the moment you utter one thing – one thing – that may be construed, by the frail forces of fragile and frantic feminism, to be wrong-think, wrong-speak, wrong-this-that-or-the-other.

Men have to be absolute good, akin to godliness. It is an absolutely impossible standard of behaviour and conduct, enforced not by masculinity, but by the dogma of feminism and the gynocentric nature of humanity, where women must be protected from absolutely everything. Up to and including differences of opinion. For merely disagreeing with a feminist woman on one thing and one thing only is enough to label one a misogynist, a patriarchal oppressor, and all else there is to label one man as that is bad, wicked, cruel, tricksy and false. As is lending compliments to women on their appearance. As well as not lending compliments to women on their appearance, for that matter.

The black and white thinking on display is obvious; a man complimenting a woman on her appearance can not possibly mean anything but him not seeing anything in her but her appearance. A man’s thoughts on the matter means little to nothing.

Merely a light-hearted joke at the expense of women in general is considered strictly verboten; a proof of society and its inherent hostility towards women in general.

Despite jokes made at the expense of men being considered quite alright.

Despite calls for violence and death to all men being considered A-OK – made for prime-time television, in fact.

Despite painting boys, men and masculinity as defective, destructive, dangerous and violent being par for the course in the current cultural zeitgeist.

And so I wonder: if one joke at the expense of women in general is enough proof that our societies just hate women… what then would this constant belittlement of men prove? What would the constant hostility towards masculinity prove? What would the constant, the ongoing de-humanising of boys and men prove? What would the notion that there is something wrong with men due to them being men prove?

If applying the same logic, it would prove without a doubt that our societies simply does not care much for men, does not show any empathy toward men, does not have compassion for men. That our societies, in fact, adore women and, if not downright hate men, have very little care, compassion, empathy, understanding, love, honour, respect for men on the basis of their humanity. Men are not considered human beings, as much as we are considered human-doings. If we are to be celebrated, it is for something we do. Not for our humanity as-is. Empathy is non-existent. Though, of course, celebrating men for what we do is also wrong and something else to stroke the full fury of feminism with. For, did you not know that also women do things and so this must be celebrated. Not what men do.

And that is it for this ramble. Join me next year for more of my cruel and unusual rambling, lest my brain be filled with mulch and my pants filled with tiny rats and other such things, leading to only one possible conclusion in all that is, was and ever shall be: Epstein did not kill himself.

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  • Moiret Allegiere, 14.12.2019

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