Keep Your Shaming Out Of My Choice in Movies, You Damn Dirty Ape! (Or: Damn You All to Hell!)

«Warmth of a Village»

Woke-wept wishy-washy Hollywood hogwash, fearsomely feminist, transcendentally talentless thunder-cunt terrariums… films filmed feverishly to majestically milk the mad molten money-cow, the effervescently elusive elitism of this crunchy catatonic, charismatically chaotic church of cold and clammy wailing wilful wokeness.

If you don’t want to watch the movie, boy, there’s a whipping and a wallop and a whomping waiting just around the bend. These tragic, trite, talentless miserable Mary Sue movies with their memorably miserable Mary Sue characters flunk and fail and falter on account of maliciously misogynistic masculine males who would not spend their man-made money on female-made, female-lead films, ya see, ya know, ya got to understand. The quality of the film does not matter, mister.

It has got absolutely nothing to do with the films themselves being petulant plotholed political platitudes presented in filmic form; a cinematic serpent-cult sermon from the hallowed church of woke whose wonder and whimsy turned to wailing and whining in the starless, moonless, loveless wah-wah night; the long night of a thousand wails.

Nor does it have anything to do with them being latent late-to-the-party lifeless lullabies; ravaged radical remakes of labours long loved and honoured; lazy as only a long-suffering monochromatic writer of infinite inspirational drought could manufacture… dreamt up drearily at the widows peak of a horrible hangover following days of decadent Dionysian debauchery… movies made manically merely to push, prod and preach woeful woke whinging on a spit-roasted slew of mass-manufactured media-made hot-button issues of the vain and vacuous woe-is-me-and-everyone-like-me variety, fuelled by cringy, crazy, colourful cocaine-binges and threats of immediate incineration if not worshipping in the wondrous well of the vapid church of woke.

Nope, nah, nix, null and void!

Men just hate women so much that they do not watch movies made by women, or movies that star women, or movies that are made solely for women and the enjoyment of women. That is the only reason for much beloved movies and fantastic franchises remade and rebooted into woke-washed whining ‘n’ wailing failing to become box-office smash-hits, raking in billions of bastard-drilled money. Even when capitalism is evil and so is the money-game.

When all else fails, claim misogyny. And all your troubles and all your despair shall evaporate and vanish, and all the truths and all the lies shall be made as clear and as bright as the dim moon of a darkening funeral sky.

It is the most luscious lubricant for the lolling lips and wailing whips of the frail and frantic feminist few; the tried and terribly true tactic – the female shaming of the male.

Far be it from the forces of the frenzied fevered and ferocious few to come to grips, to come to terms, to comprehend, to croak through comatose concern that maybe, maybe, maybe baby, they done did a goof.

Far be it from the tenacious troops of the terribly trembling tribe to see, to grasp, to get, to understand that maybe, maybe, maybe baby, skilful execution of ones art and chosen handicraft is more important for people and their enjoyment of said art and chosen handicraft than any overtly political echo-sphere message embedded therein; that any message one would inflict upon the unwashed masses and their maddeningly mediocre misogynistic man-lives has got to play second fiddle to the base that is the art.

Translated into nincompoop, that is to say: the frame is not the painting… the painting is the painting.

Far be it obviously also from the platoons of the permanently pestilent, the preposterously peremptory, to admit, to understand, to come to clinical terms with the un-fact of the day; the horrendous hate-speech and wrong-think of the dismal drudgery that is today: men and women are different in their likes and dislikes, their interests and fascinations, the art and media they wish to consume.

Also: this is quite alright.

Far be it from me, as well, to assume in apostate assumptions, or harbour heretical hallucinations about the order of the day, though admittedly it seems to me that maybe, maybe, maybe baby, women did not watch the flicks and films and self-salutated salivated screen-scream-secretions either… So why no spinal-severing chastises of the wacky women whose internalized misogyny refused them to go watch your killer-bee queen-bee regurgitated Hollywood Mary Sue feminist hogwash?

Now, may haps, may chance, maybe, your movie just weren’t that good.

Or is it so that no strong independent whamen would go see a movie on her own, on account of having to pay for the ticket her own damned self instead of having a man pay for her ticket, as of course is tradition?

Oh boy, what a can of worms that would be to open!

What a can of wormy worms indeed!

Men are obsolete, mister, excepting when they’ve got money.

Then we need them to watch our movies, and we’ll shame them if they don’t.

For if men do not enjoy something they are told they must enjoy, they simply hate women. And must therefore enjoy it or suffer the consequential shaming. Enjoyment under fear of ridicule and shame if you do not enjoy. A phenomenal way to truly get people to truthfully watch and truthlessly enjoy your movies, luscious lady of the lisp and latex; ingenious in its complexity and in its stupidity.

To disprove the thesis of the misogyny, of the vile bro-code ballad, they must learn to enjoy and consume something they do not wish to enjoy or to consume.

This they must learn and do through shame.

Otherwise, they just hate women.

Even when they do not wish to watch a mediocre-at-best movie; another lazy remake or reboot from the dying hell-well of Hollywood Hogwash, lacking in inspiration and belief and originality and anything but the woke-washed wailing of the vapid and the vacuous virtue-signal.

For that is the order of the day.

And all shall love it, or despair.

Hallowed eternal be the Hollywood-woke; the church of the latter day twats.

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  • Moiret Allegiere, 15.01.2019

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Why I am an Anti-Feminist, Part 14

«Dishwater Coffee Blues»

For decades – at least since the 70’s – the feminist hive-mind have attempted to make the private political and the political private. (As well as attempting to dictate what we may or may not do with our privates in our own homes). I am sorry to say that they have succeeded.

That is to say: as long as it is the private lives of women and the experiences of women, it has come to fruition. Granted and mind you, this only ever applies if the women and their experiences go with the fallopian flow of the feminist ideology.


For a woman to have experiences countering the feminist narrative is an obscenity, when seen through the myopic lenses of feminism, all strange and weird and twisted and so-and-such. Her experiences are merely her experiences, and does as such not reflect the experiences of women at large. The experience of a feminist woman, however, is the experience of every woman everywhere, since time immemorial… some strange and hitherto unknown ancestral memory… stored in the genes, probably. At some point, the scientists will discover a feminist gene. And all shall be made clear and all will be understood.

The feminist experience of womanhood applies even to those women that have not experienced it. Those that have not experienced what the feminist women have experienced are blind to this experience on account of internalized misogyny or patriarchal influence or some other divine intervention, some hypnosis forced down her throat from the grand patriarch… mind-rape and other obscenities, one more obscene than the next.

The slaves are very complacent and content, you see.

And patriarchy appears to be a kind and tolerant master.

Also, the slaves have no other choice.


And so, we must listen to the experiences of (feminist) women and believe whatever a (feminist) woman has to say.


Even if it makes no sense.

Which is even more obvious.


When success is reached, one must then demand more. For if there is one thing and one thing only to be said about feminism, with absolute certainty, it is this: the show must go on. In order for it to constantly perpetuate itself, it must have an enemy and a cause to fight. And so goalposts are moved and everything changes from one day to the next. So the results from the battles of yesterday which were won must now be turned on its head and fought against. The results of the victories of yesteryear must therefore become the battle of the current year.

Which amuses me something awful.

Doubting my words?

Take a look at the history of the birth-control pill. How that came to be. Then take a look at feminist women complaining about the birth-control pill in this absurd and ridiculous current year of ours.

It is almost as though these women are merely looking to complain about something for the sake of being able to complain about something. It is a very interesting observation, even if I do say so myself. Victimhood is currency. And has been so for quite some time, longer than the current oppression Olympics, that’s for damned sure.

Not that any of this matters, of course, for internal contradictions and moving goalposts within the movement don’t matter, of course. Because there are approximately seventeen billion different forms and guises of feminism, each more delicate and prone to error than the last.


And really fucking convenient.

Were one so inclined, one would almost start believing that this claim is a mere smokescreen; a distraction from any and all form of criticism of the serpent-cult. “Well, my dude, that’s, like, not my feminism, my dude. So I’m not, like, answerable to that.”

Like, real convenient, my dudette, real convenient indeed.

One can not argue the point either, for her experience matters more than anything else. At the very least at this moment in time and for that experience and in that particular corner of insanity. Her experience of feminism is an experience of feminism as an ultimate good. And so it must be true, and all evidence to the contrary be damned. Up to and including calls to kill all men, which is from that part of the movement which is not real feminism… either that, or it is merely a joke – just as the “male tears” mugs, t-shirts and various and sundry is naught but a joke. Which would not bother me in the least, were it not for the blatant double standard of the thing. Men have lost their jobs for less than what a feminist spew from their face-orifice every two minutes or so.

And so, in that moment – at the moment of arguing a point – feminism becomes a staunch, hardcore, brutally individualistic movement. Until, that is, her experience is to be used as an example of the experience of all women everywhere. Then it becomes one of the most collectivist movements the world has ever seen. Collectivist when it suits them, individualist when it suits them. The experiences of women always matter and must always be believed. Excepting when they don’t matter and must be dismissed. Which is, as are all things, something feminism gets to decide.

This brings an interesting point to the whiplashed head-space of this humble wordsmith: what about the experiences of men?

To which the answer is as simple as it is stupid.

The experiences of men don’t matter.

For that is just the experience of that one man.

Also, he is probably full of lies and bullshit.


And so we do not need to listen to the experiences of men.


For men trade only in lies in order to enslave and subjugate women.


For even when men suffer and struggle, it is all about women.


For men think only about women, as is the natural order of things, given that everyone only ever think about women and everything is only ever about women and the experiences of women.


This, I suspect, is one of the reasons why every single discussion on men and the issues predominantly affecting men are hijacked by hordes of pissed-off women, feminist or not, proclaiming in loud and snarling voices that “what about the whamens?” For nothing can be discussed or said or stated or treated or seen or viewed or thought without including women. Even if it is as simple as celebrating fathers and the work that fathers do, women must be put first and always be included. The inverse does not apply.


When attempted, the feminist hordes screech that this is about women and that men always hijack every conversation. So get out of here with your man-spreaded man-splained man-terruptions and various other man-so-and-suches.

Projecting again, my dear?

Even when it has got fuck all to do with women, it has to be about women. That is exactly what the feminist stormtroopers do where the concerns of men are concerned; they hijack the conversation and derail it so that it has to do with women instead of men. And all and sundry support. For women receive empathy from both men and women, whereas men do not. To a ginormous extent. This, it has to be said, leaves no room and no space and no time and no place for any discussion about the personal experiences of men. Particularly not when the feminist hordes have lied and framed it in such a way that any discussion on the experiences of men and the issues men face are an attack on women overall.

This is quite bothersome.


See, I am a staunch believer in making people live by their own rules. The rules have to apply to everyone equally. That would be equality, you see.

Then, it goes without saying, if one is to listen to and believe the experiences of women without question, one must also listen to and believe the experiences of men. Without question.

Which no-one does, and which even less than no-one gives a flying fuck about. Those that do care are demonized for hating women… followed by attempts to shame them into silence and oblivion. For everything has to be about women. And men be damned, doubly-cursed and thrice-neglected for being so wicked as to believe that they matter just as much as women matter.

Unless, of course, it is from the experience of a feminist man and his struggles against his trademarked TOXIC MASCULINITY. Then he is to be hoisted to high heavens and celebrated in perpetuity for speaking truth to power and un-learning his maliciously misogynistic masculine matters.

Which is to say that he bends the knee and presents his balls, shaft, neck and mind to the feminist hive-mind and their undisputed ruler, ms Queen Bee Supreme. He is still not to be trusted, of course. But at the very least he is a better man than that man over there who has, as of yet, not disavowed his masculinity, his maleness and his supreme patriarchal power.

…Supreme patriarchal power and privilege which he supposedly has, even after being divorce-raped, after losing custody of his children to a vindictive ex, after three failed suicide attempts for reasons of homelessness on account of losing his job for failing to show up after a severe depression following family-court proceedings that will put him in jail soon enough for failing to pay both alimony and child-support for children he is not allowed to see any more on account of a vindictive ex. Not that his struggles matter either, for the feminist hive-mind have done their best in convincing the world that fathers do not matter in the lives of children; only mothers do. And the rest of the “village”. Everyone, in fact, except fathers, are important in the lives of children, according to the hive-mind.

That he can not pay for reasons of losing his job is irrelevant. When he goes to jail for failure to pay, it is even more difficult to get a job.

But this does not matter, for we do not need to listen to the experiences of men, nor do we need to show any understanding for their plight. All he has to do is pay up and shut up. He is not a living, breathing human being.

He is a dead-beat dad.

Reduced to ashes.


Though, admittedly, he is still needed for financial support.

For he has to take responsibility.

He’s just not allowed equal responsibility in raising his children.

But this don’t matter none.

Now, for those of us who have spent some time pondering and wondering issues such as the aforementioned, we have been told that it does not happen. Women are never vindictive or wicked. When men have no contact with their children, it is only ever because they are vindictive and wicked, not the other way around. Only men have the capacity for arseholery. Women do not. They are angelic and sacred creatures, and no woman would ever refuse the father of her children to see his children. It is only ever a father who would refuse to see his children. For fathers are deadbeats. All of them. Besides, women are better caretakers and so obviously they are the ones who should have full custody of the children, and her word should be law.


This line of thought implies that women are not human beings. It implies that women are some morally superior entity, one step above men on the evolutionary ladder. At least in the morality department.

And this is bullshit.

Just as men can be flawed, women can be flawed. And women using their children as a shield in divorce-court is not unheard of. Far from it.

But: we do not listen to the experiences of men, nor do we believe in the experiences of men. So when stories like these are told, they are either not heard or not believed. Speaking about it brings the feminist whip-crackers out in full force, ready to whip anyone into submission by claiming that pointing this out and speaking about it implies that this is something every woman does, and that this is something men say to subjugate, enslave and abuse women. Also: it is an attack on all women everywhere, and that is the worst one could possibly do. Women are a protected class, you’ve got to understand.

If a man fights for custody of his children, it must be because he is an abuser of women. He just wants to hurt the mother. It is never the other way around.

Divorce courts are heavily biased towards the mother, towards the woman. Much for reasons of feminist lobbying. Big and powerful feminist organizations fight against equal shared child-custody, on the basis that it hurts the mother and the child for mothers are the better caretakers. And other such nonsense.

Then the same feminists will claim that it is misogynistic of the courts to assume the mother to be the better caretaker, and so it really is the fault of men – that is the patriarchy – that fathers do not get equal custody rights.

Which is very interesting, and the best case I have ever seen of a self-fulfilling prophecy. As well as dubiously implemented hypocrisy. Though, of course, it does not matter. For that is one feminism, not the true feminism.


And the herp did derp.

As it is known to do.

And here I sat, thinking that the best course of action would be a default 50/50 shared parenting. That would be the most equal outcome. And to get rid of alimony, of course. For that is the most preposterous stupidity; the most bass ackwards thing to still be a thing in this tainted and fragmented current year of ours. Though, as one should well be aware of by now, equality – when spoken by feminism – does not equal equality.

I doubt any changes will be made or seen, unless the experiences of men are listened to and taken seriously. This is difficult to do. Because the experiences of men are so often shooed away and neglected as being of no importance when they are not pissed away as lies, fibs and bullshit designed only to hurt women. Because everything is only ever about women. Feminism has had decades of social engineering in which they have tricked our societies into believing that all men everywhere are extraordinary privileged. This makes it even more difficult. When this has been taught in schools – taught to children – it is not easy to unlearn. It becomes a baseline belief; a foundation for their worldview.

The apex-fallacy called. It wants its straw-man back. And its logical fallacy.

The above must necessarily lead to the experiences of men not being told. Who, in their right mind, would wish to share their experiences – their deeply personal, troubling and difficult experiences – when they are either waved away as lies and bullshit, or simply ignored by just about everyone? This is often the experience of men when trying to share their experience. Dismissed out of hand and outright waved away as lies. Or, of course, painted as an attack on women.

If you have not done so already, I would recommend grabbing a copy of the wonderful book “Sons of Feminism” (, edited by the equally wonderful Janice Fiamengo. This is a collection of the personal experiences of men. It is a difficult book. As well as being a very good book. It is even inspiring and uplifting in ways which I can not properly explain. It is more of a felt sensation than a tangible and easily definable sensation. At least it was for me when I first read it. It is phenomenal, and it was a brilliant idea.

That book is one of the main reasons for me doing what I do, though there are quite a few reasons more – as there always is. This one kicked me over the edge, right out of my hibernation, one could say.

I believe that, if men’s rights are ever to be taken seriously, there is a need to talk about our experiences as men. The feminist hordes wanted to make the political private and the private political.

Which is a god-damned bother, in all honesty.

I have been in opposition to this nonsense for quite some time. Yet, it is what they did. And so maybe we ought to take them on their word and turn it about – to make them live by their own rules and their own wishes. To properly show that equality means exactly that: equality in all. That is to say: equal treatment. Equal treatment would then mean that the personal experiences of men is to be granted the same treatment that the personal experiences of women is granted. If not, feminism proves itself – yet again – to be a force for anything but equality.

Men need to talk about their feelings more, they say.

Then they attack, ridicule, smear and shame when we do.

I bathe in male tears, I drink male tears.

And other such misandrist piss-pottery.


Men must talk about their emotions!

I oppose the killing of all men, on the grounds that it is a disturbing thing to say and to do.

No, not like that.


Can’t even take a joke, lol, masculinity so fragile that I bathe in male tears.

Well, then, ignoring for a moment or two that men do, in fact, talk about their feelings and experiences (and would do so even more, were it not for feminism dismantling any and all male-only spaces on grounds of muh discrimination), albeit in a way and in a light not accepted by the feminist brigades and their mighty state of hysteria, I propose that men do.

That we speak openly and unashamed about our experiences in the feminist culture we inhabit; in the misandrist mass-media-manipulated moronic culture of ours, where equality only ever means whatever the feminist forces of frail and fragile femininity propose that it means.

Mind you: I am not proposing that men, in general, take part in the current climate of victim-culture; the woe-is-me fuckery that all and one are so engulfed and devoured by.

Far from it.

There is more than enough of that stupidity going around. If one has been a victim of something, the best thing one can do is to get over it and stop being a victim of it. One can never overcome something if one perpetually makes oneself a victim of it. Granted; for some people, I can see where the temptation lies.

It is far easier to live a life devoid of responsibility for anything, up to and including the course ones life has taken, by merely pointing to some victimhood and stating that this – and this alone – is the core reason for them fucking up at every turn. It is, at the very least, much easier, or, well, safer, than overcoming trauma and trials and tribulations. Overcoming trauma, trials and tribulations is excruciatingly hard work. Believe you me, I know. I have a handful – or more – of traumas myself, which I have spent quite some time overcoming. Some of which I have not yet gotten over.

I refuse, however, the cape of victimhood and the dunce-hat of the victim mentality. This does not mean that my story shall never be told, my experience never shared. For there is a difference in presenting a story and painting oneself as a perpetual victim.

What I propose is not the victim-culture shenanigans, but an honest, decent, rational and not least of all truthful sharing of our experiences within the feminist culture, within the misandrist male-bashing, male-hating culture.

The truth, such as the truth is. And nothing but that.

The more stories that are told and that are shared, the more it will have to be heard, until it can no longer be ignored. Until it has to be heard. Until it has to be shared and understood that not all is milk and honey in the land of men.

That it is, in fact, quite the contrary.

That, maybe, it is about damned time to give some due consideration to the plight of men; some understanding about what men go through and some empathy to boys and to men. That is not bloody god-damned fucking painted and presented in the tainted twat-light of feminism, wherein the biggest problem men have are their masculinity – their core nature, in fact.

I tell my own experiences on occasion, though I admit to often chickening out of it. For reasons of it being dismissed and waved away so easily. That is, however, what happens every time one goes against the feminist narrative. It is dismissed. For feminism is the word of the day, the dominant ideology and the most magnificent and most malicious church there ever was; great and terrible. And it helps both men and women, despite not being about helping men, except when it is about helping men as well, which is not now, but then, or there or not now, but after, and trickling down and much mulchy.

At some point, the truth will come out and reality will present itself. One can only hope that this will happen sooner rather than later; before it is considered illegal to speak such as we in this loosely knit movement do.

Considering that “misogyny” is proposed to become illegal in Great Britain – whatever the hell that means – and considering the rise of the hate speech laws, I am frightened that it will soon be considered misogyny to merely oppose feminism; that non-feminist writings, anti-feminist activities will be considered hate-speech and so become subject to penalties. Which would not surprise me. Those that can not win through honesty will win through suppression. Suppressing the freedom of people to speak their mind – as hate-speech laws do – is exactly that. Turning “misogyny” illegal could only ever mean deeming it illegal to oppose feminism. For misogyny, as we all well know, means whatever a feminist says that it means. And this includes attacks on feminism. For feminism has turned feminism into a term that means “women”, not the ideology of feminism. Just as equality means whatever the hell a feminist says that it does in the heat of the moment, misogyny means whatever the hell a feminist says that it does in the heat of the moment.

And misandry, on the other hand, does not real and is not hateful. For if that was to be made illegal – which I do not for one second propose that it should be, except if misogyny is made illegal – feminists would not be allowed their platform of speech. For they do think about and talk about men all the bloody time, even when they claim that they don’t.

And that is that for this particular radical and rebellious ramble. I hope you enjoyed it. Join me next week, if you so please, for more of why I am an anti-feminist. It is closing in on the end for this particular series, I believe. What the future holds will be interesting, I hope.

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  • Moiret Allegiere, 11.01.2019

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the Comedians Will Save Us All!

«Prayer», 2020

Do it over again.

Be a comedian.

Make people laugh.

The comedians will save us all. Irreverent humour will kick us back into sanity, or a slight resemblance thereof… pissing off all the right people, slap-happying generations out of looming irrelevancy into close-fisted understanding.

The madcap laughs at the man in the corner, from blue-shaded crispy-burnt stand-up stages, beautifully tuned to not give a fuck; a universal disharmony manufactured in twisted, warped minds that saw insanity take the reigns of snot-nosed society primed for perpetual infancy. And so, through laughter, see fit to tune us onto the drop-in sounds of universal harmony.

Do it over again.

Be a comedian.

Make people think.

Seven-word stints and sticks of shock that break the self-indulgent mind-melt bones of hysterics and censors and morons, that make the pointy-fingered claws belonging to the twelve-fingered cult of woke melt and roar and rage and riot in the streets is the voice of the resistance – if you will allow me some colourful language.

When they come for the comedians, the clowns, the fools and the jesters… when they come for the satirists and the playful wordsmiths whose words and works and wondrous banter cast rays of laughter and so shine a light on that-which-we-shall-never-speak-off, the woke prove themselves to be morally broke, emotionally fractured, censorious forces seeking dominance and control above all else and all others due to their own lack of understanding, empathy and compassion.

Do it over again.

Be a comedian.

Make people blink.

The comedians will save our souls, our hearts, our minds… and our culture itself. They will save our souls from tyranny and terror, our hearts from safe-zone-sheltered septic shocks, our minds from pressure-cooked implosions, our culture from self-censored, self-muted cultural, intellectual, artistic stagnation.

You can still laugh, they’ll say, the clingers-on and hangers-on, the disciples of this crap-tacular church of woke, you are exaggerating. Perhaps, perchance, mayhaps and may-dance we can still laugh… in our state-sanctioned, government-granted, woke-washed and wilfully wasted fifteen minutes of magnificent mirth – the allotted timeslot for merriment and mercy in which our finely tuned and synchronized laughter will allow for sterile sniggers at jokes deemed worthy to see the light of day, all reverent and clean and respectful to all those who have decided they are hoisted above crude humour and jokes; who have decided that they are better-than.

Do it over again.

Be a comedian.

Make people cringe.

In the eyes of the fool and in the hands of the jester lie the truth about the King; that the King is naught but a man himself – essentially no better or worse than the fool, the jester, the clown and the peasant. In the work and spectacular chicanery of the fool lie the beating heart of the matter: no-one and nothing is above criticism, above jokes, above humour; no-one and nothing is above flaws, faults and failures.

Humour at our own expense force us to see ourselves; force us to laugh at our own silly little idiosyncrasies, habits and behaviours. As such and in that new light of laughter, we learn that we must never take ourselves to seriously. Laughter is a gift granted from the hands of God himself, for all but those who choose to take themselves way too god-damned serious… and those who take themselves way too god-awfulled serious are the ones who need to laugh at themselves the most. Hence the fool, hence the jester.

Do it over again.

Be a comedian.

Make people see themselves.

Those who attempt to censor the comedians; the kings that would silence the fools, the monarchs that would kill the jesters, are the ones who would – if they only could – reach into the minds and hearts and souls of the plebs and peasants, the unwashed masses, the blue-collared slobs… that would wish to control their thoughts and words and deeds down to the minutest detail. The greatest enemies of tyranny are the satirists, the comedians, the clowns.

Those who seek to censor comedy, satire, jokes and humour are the ones who need to be satirized the most, who need to be poked fun at the most, who need to see themselves the most… in order to understand that they are no better and no worse than the guy whose irreverent laughter they would seek to punish with laws, with strict judgements, with social death, despair and decay.

Do it over again.

Be a comedian.

Make people true.

Those who do not understand comedy will always seek to shut it down, on account of offence and nothing but – as though taking offence gives them the moral high-ground, as though refusing someone the right to speak their mind and laugh at that which is their right to poke fun at if they so wish is morally just and true and right… as though ripping the tongues from the mouths of comedians is more morally justified than telling a crude joke…

Jokes are mirrors and reflections of society; humour is the pale-blue pool of water in which we see all the flaws and faults and terrors of society, wild, wicked and weird as it is, and learn to live with it as it is; transcending trials, troubles and tribulations through laughter, understanding and accepting through humour the many pitfalls and dangers that wait in this barely contained life of ours, where the wilderness and the barbarians are just a stone-toss away, are merely three days lack of electricity away.

Do it over again.

Be a comedian.

Make people people.

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  • Moiret Allegiere, 08.01.2020

Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Kindle:
Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Paperback:

Howling at a Slutwalk Moon, a collection of previous blog posts:
Vol 1 Paperback:
Vol 1 Kindle:
Vol 2 Paperback:
Vol 2 Kindle:
Vol 1 Illustrated Paperback:
Vol 2 Illustrated Paperback:

Other links:
Redbubble shop:

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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  • Moiret Allegiere, 04.01.2020

Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Kindle:
Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Paperback:

Howling at a Slutwalk Moon, a collection of previous blog posts:
Vol 1 Paperback:
Vol 1 Kindle:
Vol 2 Paperback:
Vol 2 Kindle:
Vol 1 Illustrated Paperback:
Vol 2 Illustrated Paperback:

Other links:
Redbubble shop:

New Year, New Updates

«Rock N Roll»

Happy new year, you filthy animals!

The current year has come and gone. Just as the current years have done since proper recording of time began. And in this new current year, which I meet and greet head-on with a body reeling from the shock of moderately priced champagne and cigars, I hope that we shall see a current year far better than the current years that have gone before. This despite the current year meme probably being a dead meme at this point in time. Not that this matters all that much. I never was that hip to begin with. Staying behind the current trends is par for the course when living in my body and with my mind. I don’t have time for trends. Trend-hopping seems so unstable and unreliable… as though one lives in a constant state of flux, bouncing hither or dither according to the whims of the great trend-setters in the sky or in the ivory-towers of supreme entangled enlightenment.

The current year of 2020 will be dubbed, I hope, the year of the hindsight. Hindsight being, as we all well know, 20/20. Maybe and mayhaps we shall roll back the madness a bit, stay the tide of insanity and refuse to be ruled by greyscaled academics and cowardly politicians who shake and shiver at the mere trembled ire of the feminist and social justice warrior scorned… those who claim to speak on behalf of all and one… as long as all and one can be neatly defined by supremely superficial characteristics where all are the one and one are the all. Mayhaps and maybe we have learned to not buckle down and listen to insane demands from insane cultists locked within the magnificent jaws of tribal warfare; manufacturing the very thing they claim to be fighting against in order to have something to fight against so that they have some meaning and relevancy in their life and in their cause. Their cause and their life being one and the same for reasons of… hell if I know… lack of imagination, perhaps and perchance?

And all the accumulated filth of all their sex and murder will foam up about their waists and all the whores and politicians will look up and shout “save us!”… They had a choice. All of them. They could have followed in the footsteps of good men like my father, or president Truman. Decent men who believed in a day’s work for a day’s pay. Instead they followed the droppings of lechers and communists and didn’t realize that the trail led over a precipice until it was too late.”

At the end of the day, in all actuality, new years eve and the next year means absolutely nothing. In the grand scale of the thing, it is nothing but yet another ritualistic celebration… ultimately pointless, futile and meaningless. Things go on as they go on, never-minding the change of this or of that, never-minding whether the year flows into the next, as time flows into time into time time and time again. Over and over again. It is what time is; another human characteristic: the need to define and to understand and to neatly label everything and mark the label with celebrations and rituals.

Which I love.

To my fractured mind and ruptured body, we could do with far more rituals in our western societies than we currently have. We hardly mark and celebrate anything in our lives, just go from this and to that with merely a slight celebration tossed in at certain points in our lives, only to go back to going from this and to that; waves lapping at the shore, withdrawing and lapping again and again, time and time again. Straight from this and right into that with merely a small pause between this and that as if tossing the dog a treat on occasion. Seldom do we stop, properly mark, celebrate and enjoy a moment in time or in life for being that moment in time or in life. The moment is never worthy of our attention for more than a split second; a quick moment. And then forgotten, as though it never happened and didn’t matter.

And so, on it goes, the grind, the eternal grind. Clap clap clap, snap snap snap, now now now. Do this, do that, do this and that and do not stop and do not pause and do not consider and do not for one second merely enjoy. For there is always more to be done, that has to be done, that you must do before you can enjoy. And then you die, wondering when in all this mess of life you found the time to do nothing but enjoy. With 20/20 hindsight, the value of a life well lived and beautifully spent seems very clear and obvious indeed. Too bad it was lost in the perpetual grind.

Alas; yet again, I took to rambling when I should have been focusing. Stream of (sub)consciousness does have its drawbacks from time to time, as do freeform (dis)association.

I was thinking of wishing a happy new year to those who consume the material of this blog or of this channel; warm wishes for a happy new year and a big thank you for the year that just flew by in a fit and in a flurry. The current year is always a struggle. Until one realises the futility of the struggle and so get engulfed in the stream instead; becoming like water, as the Taoists would say. Which, admittedly, is an incredibly difficult thing to do. Particularly so when steeped in the waters of insanity, gender-politics, a looming threat of tyranny and the collapse of society such as we know it. Which, as the enlightened observer would know, is more or less all I do with this blog and with this channel. Which makes the aforementioned so much more important. A healthy detachment; separating personal life from professional life as best one can and enjoying the moments in the personal life whilst simultaneously enjoying the moments in the professional life. That is if my ramblings, rants, ravings and writings can be referred to as professional, of course. I believe that they can, but I am clinically insane according to some and full of piss and vinegar according to others, so what the hell do I know? Less than I believe that I know, yet more than some people would admit that I know, I suppose.

The year of the immaculate hindsight will see some changes on this blog and on the BitChute and YouTube channels. Not that heavy, mind you, but enough to warrant some forewarning. This will be a year of change in my personal life. All for the good, mind you, but still things that demand my attention so that I will not be able to update as often as I did in the current year of 2019. I may have to settle for one meagre update a week, with a few pauses in updates here and there. This is just as things will have to be in this year of the flabbergasting hindsight.

To be clear: I am not going mellow or anything like that. I am still full of clinically insane piss and vinegar, full of righteous anger and full frontal fury. Maybe even more so. I had a good cathartic run with my ramblings last year – if I may be so bold as to admit to the selfish nature of my ravings – and it has done me a world of good. Hopefully, other people have found some enjoyment, enlightenment, information and catharsis in them as well. Hopefully, it has done other people some good as well. Hopefully, more people will come to enjoy it. I, for one, have no intentions of ending it any time soon.

A small audience and few views are of no concern to me, in all honesty. What matters is that it gets heard, it gets seen, it gets out there. Were I doing this merely for popularity, I would most certainly not be writing about the topics I write about.

In March, or thereabout, I am releasing yet another collection of my ramblings as a book. Through Amazon once again. These are all ramblings that are freely available on my blog and on my BitChute and YouTube channels, though collected and cleaned up a bit.

Not all I wrote last year is collected there, however.

I had a hard time psychologically – which translates into severe pain in my entire body as well as my psyche – early in 2019, and so my raving ramblings suffered a drop in quality in which I repeated myself far too often from one week to the next. Those that are too similar, that are marked by repetition as a result of pain and fatigue, are not included. Though I humbly believe it is a damned good collection nevertheless.

Releasing books such as this is how I attempt to gain some revenue from doing this thing that I do such as I do it. I am very grateful to those who have bought the books of yesteryear, and will be very grateful to those who buy the books of this current year. It helps keeping the blog and channels going such as they do. There are more than one book being released this year. Three are planned, though there may actually be four – depending on how much I am able to write and edit throughout the year.

And that, I think, is that. Warm wishes for a happy year of the hindsight for all of you.

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  • Moiret Allegiere, 01.01.2020

Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Kindle:

Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Paperback:

Howling at a Slutwalk Moon, a collection of previous blog posts:

Vol 1 Paperback: Vol 1 Kindle:

Vol 2 Paperback: Vol 2 Kindle:

Vol 1 Illustrated Paperback:

Vol 2 Illustrated Paperback:

Other links:

Redbubble shop:








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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It is Getting Increasingly More Difficult to Not give a Fuck:

«Afternoon Greetings»

It is getting increasingly more difficult to not give a fuck.

The Circus is back in town again.
The wide-eyed clowns are drooling again.
The thrice-fisted theatre is back at it again.
The shadow-gallery strokes its lack of cock,
then rubs its paramilitary cunt
rough and raw and ready-red,
complaining about an impotent
maladjusted male malcontent.

It is getting increasingly more difficult to not give a fuck.

The Circus is back on form again.
The wide-eyed penitents are singing songs again.
Thrice-lamented eerie tunes that lost their rhyme,
that lost their rhythm and their reason,
in raw and rough ready-read
illiberal indoctrination,
chronic cerebral constipation:
so-called malicious masculine omnipotence.

It is getting increasingly more difficult to not give a fuck.

The temperature is rising again.
The hot-headed heat-seekers seeking heat again.
Thrice-cursed and shellshocked from safe-shelter-zones
that sang in rhythm and in blues
two-stepped grim-faced tango-hues;
that spoke as messengers divine,
smote down those who drew a line
in the sand, who showed they had a spine.

It is getting increasingly more difficult to not give a fuck.

The bayonets are rustling in the leaves again,
the circus-tent burning in the streets again,
Thrice-hung, drawn and quartered in the sheets again.
Tranquil telepathy spread from the podium;
dyed danger-hair whose longing for odium
saw neither here nor there an end
to anything but society and ruptured sanity;
to start fresh and new this age of vanity.

It is getting increasingly more difficult to not give a fuck.

The censors are back in tune again.
The institute for higher morality shaking in their boots again,
thrice-unfucked morality-policing busy beaver-bees again,
that stepped out of time, then out of line.
Fourth Reich rising dimwittedly from the heatwave;
free speech in dire need of a close-knit shave:
to celebrate diversity and one-pack liberty
must we then throat-fuck free speech as a necessity.

It is getting increasingly more difficult to not give a fuck.

The eunuchs sing of love again.
The old-gloom snake-oil-schools back to caning again,
thrice-well-wished pedagogues knitting blindfolds again,
to allow for free-hand fondling of tranquillised kids.
Smarmy teachers propose unilateral castration,
blind with penis-envy or brain-fucked into devastation.
Boys with glitter-eyes whisper free-form castration-blues,
damaged by institutionalized flag-pole emasculation.

It is getting increasingly more difficult to not give a fuck.

The inquisition is back at it again.
The inquisitive minds seek incessant incestuous notes again,
thrice-fondled tight-arsed censorship again,
to sing and speak in babbled monochrome plague-verse.
Dogwhistle whispers mark high-street hysteria;
sussuration of surveillance run through academia,
murmured watching of the populace in social media,
drifting ever so slowly into intellectual euthanasia.

It is getting increasingly more difficult to not give a fuck.

The actors are back in town again,
the acted-upon are in their webs again,
thrice-bejewelled and forgotten in the night again,
token band-aid for the broken boys and men
whose long lingering grey-cloud despair left them hopeless,
whose pre-approved time-stamp patterns left them homeless,
whose hounded backs were caressed by globalist whips,
whose suffering were then reduced to political quips.

It is getting increasingly more difficult to not give a fuck.

The Psy-War is back in town again,
the opium-wars back in bloom again,
Thrice-removed, remodelled, yet the same again.
Thirsty multi-tentacled social justice rape-rage;
feigned political correctness, virtue, inclusivity, morality
is opium for the people by virtue of profane hypocrisy;
morally bankrupt castrated Marxist hay-fever songs
designed in nihilist postmodern utopia-bongs.

It is getting increasingly more difficult to not give a fuck.

The Opiate dreams back in form again,
the opined heroines heroin-dance in smouldered ruin again,
Thrice-overdosed and equal-opportunity-ravaged again.
Ten young boys with child-like drag-queen dreams;
society and civilization now reduced to edgy memes.
A pock-marked trans-kid, vegan-cat, imbecilic present;
a skull-fucked, brain-slapped, haemorrhaging slow descent
into catatonia and the high heavens of prolonged dementia.

It is getting increasingly more difficult to give a fuck.

  • Moiret Allegiere, 11.12.2019
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