Category Archives: Opinion

Turning Dominoes into a Relay Race

Now that primary season has officially begun and a million breaths are being expended on the latest developments, I thought I’d distill it down for you as briefly and as cynically as possible.

Back in a 2007 interview General Wesley Clark related how shortly after the US’s 2001 invasion of Afghanistan he was told that the military had further plans to “take out seven countries in five years.”

Of those countries—Iraq, Syria, Lebanon, Libya, Somalia, Sudan, and Iran—three have since either been invaded or fallen into civil war and disarray. And while the timetable may have been off, which shouldn’t come as a surprise because of that old adage “the best laid plans of mice and men,” the most important takeaway here is that the process has spanned across two presidential administrations which on paper are as different as one could find.

That neocon George W. Bush seamlessly handed off the baton to hope-filled upstart Barack Obama should dispel any prospective 2016 voter’s illusions that “his guy” has the power or ability to change the script being implemented by career world-shapers operating behind the scenes. The dominoes have continued to fall under Barry’s watch.

The anti-war sentiment stemming from Iraq War fatigue that helped fuel a Democrat win in 2008 has not stopped us from destabilizing both Libya and Syria, leading to hideous humanitarian disasters all justified by the need to get rid of “a bad guy.” In one respect we have so much blood on our hands that it would only be right if we are one day somehow held accountable, but the broader truth may be that through the centuries empires are simply used as enforcers by the stateless puppet masters behind the scenes—before of course also being discarded after having lost their vitality and power. Yesterday it was the European colonial powers, today it’s the United States, and tomorrow it will be someone else.

So in this futile light it seems as if the only purpose in voting at all is on social grounds, because during the last 7 years of the Obama administration we have surely seen some sweeping cultural shifts (which on the surface might indicate an increase of freedoms and human rights, but the keen observer senses early-stage moral decay and disintegration of our national identity, all under the watchful eye of the surveillance state which misses nothing and records everything).

For nearly 15 years we have let our might be used to steamroll innocent countries whose only sins were that of geography and being imperfect, and our collective reaction has been either to double down on blind jingoism or to revert to a tribalistic hedonism intent on sticking as much ink, drugs, and other body parts into every crevice of one’s own body. How can we possibly “make America great again” when half of the population thinks the last 30 years of industrial dismantling can magically be undone by building a few new domestic factories? Can we really expect much from the army of baristas with stretched earlobes and chestplate tattoos headed back to school at age 33?

It’s a surreal time where one’s thoughts echo with the words “this will not end well” but in any grocery store you can find organic food and craft beer. For a pittance you can buy devices which give you access to the entirety of human knowledge and artistic output, but they can also be used to track and incriminate you. We’re standing on the razor’s edge of a shift in history where in one breath we’re being exponentially wrenched forward but then still find ourselves checked by baked-in biological limitations and prey to that nagging sensation that despite our savvy ways we too are merely players—or was that pawns?—on life’s stage.

Senility’s Choice

For those of us who have taken the Red Pill and awoken to the man behind history’s curtain, it is still no less shocking to see who are the American sheeple’s leading candidates for president. Whereas we skeptically minded veered off onto a more conspiratorial fork in the road several years back in an attempt to synthesize all of the seemingly random events that toss our world like a small raft in the ocean, the rest of the population has hummed right along according to the mainstream narrative and arrived at doddering socialist Bernie Sanders and raving corporatist Donald Trump as their putative men of the hour.

And while I’m certainly pleased that the Clinton vs Bush duel I had dreaded appears canceled, I can’t see in this other showdown any reason to be more optimistic about America’s mental health. The best way I can even account for what we’re seeing—Trump’s dancing girls in patriotic leotards, 30-somethings who never cared about politics before Obama now eager to make us “feel the Bern”—is that these two phenomena stem from the same source: that this election year is the senile dying gasp of the post-WWII American empire.

On the right we have the “silent majority” who traditionally pride themselves on piety, hard work, and duty both to community and, when called upon, to country. After seeing the culture crumble under Obama’s watch, and all the while being called hateful bigots for standing up for what was considered normal just 10 years ago, they have found in Donald Trump’s impassioned calls to “make America great again” a man to rally around that will give them the peace of mind to do what they do best: keeping their heads down and getting work done.

But the problem is that life does not give out trophies just for doing your duty. When you put on blinders in the hope that by sacrificing yourself the universe will honor you, it is this naivete that allows corrupt unseen hands to manipulate and abuse you. Living for “Honey Do” lists just makes you a mule serving unscrupulous people.

So for all these salt-of-the-earth folk who still believe the official 9/11 narrative—that it was a surprise attack by Arabs and not a world consciousness-shifting tactical operation carried out and enabled by several governments—it’s only natural that after 14+ years of region-destabilizing war they don’t pause to reconsider if invading another country is what we should be doing. They’re just as eager as ever to send the next wave of their offspring toward the prosthetic ward if you just give them a “strong leader” to justify their “noble” obeisance.

Meanwhile on the other side of the cultural rift that has been steadily expanding since the 2003 Iraq War protests, the Left’s prevailing motivating undercurrent of belief can be expressed by that Social Justice Warrior credo that “if there’s something we don’t like, we can and will fix it…now!”

In some wicked witch’s brew blending foggy memories of 60s campus radicalism with viciously totalitarian policy demands straight out of the grimmest dystopian fiction, today’s young liberal army which grew up in the soft-hand service economy of post-industrial America is a juggernaut of pushiness unbounded by the practical limitations that forced past movements to move at a reasonable pace.

Armed with hi-tech devices which can disseminate their message worldwide instantly and for free (whereas just 30 years ago it would require expensive paper and distribution logistics to make even a dent); buried under so much debt that the repayment process is more of a nagging afterthought than a time-sensitive imperative; and having excused themselves from any meaningful responsibilities by working for non-profits rather than starting their own businesses, these SJWs are as confident as they are nonchalant in seeking to quickly impose radical changes upon the rest of society.

Justified by some bizarre mash-up of “we hold these truths to be self-evident” and “by any means necessary,” today’s Far Left bypass all checks and balances in their race against the clock to make things right—especially now that Obama has less than a year in office, they are frantic to enact and make permanent these goals should (perish the thought) a Republican succeed him.

Among the tools at their disposal, our SJW saviors employ hot-button court cases, far-reaching executive actions, and social media guilt-and-shame campaigns to circumvent the slow, morphing pace of everyday change which tends to stick more lastingly than when something is rammed down the population’s throat. (The fact that America is still grappling with abortion 40 years after Roe v. Wade should have given everyone pause before again looking to the Supreme Court to resolve the gay marriage issue. No doubt many in Trump’s camp cite the latter as part of why they support him.)

In conversation and blog posts, SJW’s use innocuous words like “sensible” to talk us into a feel-good short term (themselves oblivious to the hellish long-term consequences), and employ throw-away lines like “I’m a wife and a mom,” as if those adjectives render someone’s beliefs or desires any more value than saying you’re a cab driver, gamer, or sorority sister. This insidious manipulation of words is so dangerous because at any moment these SJWs can innocently throw their hands up and deny any responsibility for the chaos they have unleashed.

So where do we stand? Barring any shenanigans by the Republican and Democrat parties during the primaries—and if you remember the submarining of Howard Dean’s campaign in 2004 you wouldn’t put it past them—I don’t see how we avoid this Trump/Sanders train wreck, which would be amusing if the fate of our country wasn’t tied up into it. You’d hate to think that assassination or a Ross Perot-style threat could force either man out of the race but after seeing how little rules have mattered to the power brokers over the past 15 years, we really shouldn’t be surprised by anything.

Of course, there are other big factors at play that might make 2016 the most interesting years of our lives. We don’t even know what the true state of the economy is but hardly anyone would use the word “optimistic” to describe it. Russia and China continue to make long-term power moves which foretell of a day with more worldwide parity, if not a weaker, second-tier status for the US.

Such inexorable macro trends which only point downward might in fact be why we’re faced with such a circus as Trump vs Sanders. The country has gone senile and lost its way. This election farce will be a tragic final act of the American Empire where the willfully naive do battle against the ankle-biting tyrants.

Postscript: The main wild card which interests me is the demographic shift as the white population ages and shrinks. I’ve seen firsthand the enthusiasm of the first- and second-generation Latinos here in the LA area. They also have a healthy sense of family and community which differs greatly from the dysfunction in blacks and also whites. No doubt as the Latino population grows there will be a battle among the political parties for their allegiance, and I don’t think it’s a shoe-in for the Democrats as it first might appear. Perhaps one of the two powerhouse parties will have to disintegrate and form anew to account for the millions of other new immigrants we’ve brought in from India, Russia, Africa, and Asia. Time will tell…

Rambling My Way to an Explanation of the Donald Trump Phenomenon

I sell vintage clothes and in the LA area a number of the wholesalers are Mexican, oftentimes having come here illegally decades ago. Just this afternoon as I was finishing up a long day in a hot warehouse picking merch, another wholesaler came by to pick up some clothing of his own. (It’s common for wholesalers to buy from each other when trying to fill large orders.) I’ve known this guy for years even though I don’t buy from him too much anymore.

So one time back in 2007 when I was at his warehouse I had a laugh with his teenage sons who were killing time looking up funny stuff online. They were all born here and are totally Americanized, by the way. When I was their age in the early 90s death metal and black metal were making their way around the world’s underground metal scene, and back then before the internet had merged us all into a sort of savvy, shadowless mindset, that stuff was pretty powerful and profound. But now some if it seems pretty ridiculous, like this video of Norwegian band Immortal’s song “Call of the Wintermoon,” which I showed to these young guys.

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One of them said it best with his exasperated reaction: “Who does that?!” You ain’t sending that kid anywhere.

So back to today, their dad the wholesaler asked me, “So Phil, how is your friend?”

“Who’s my friend?” I replied.

“Your friend Donald Trump! What do you think about what he’s saying?”

I had to laugh because at this warehouse run by a Mexican along with his 4 Mexican-born employees, I was now the default representative of gringos. I basically told him what I came up with in the last 2 posts on this site (here and here), that it’s too damn late for TPTB to undo their Faustian bargain and it’s probably all part of a plan to make up for stunted population growth. An even more jaw-dropping insight that’s probably not for polite company that I had the other day is that as the next generation spends most of its life working indoors “they’ll soon lighten up,” meaning it’s all really going to work itself out just as the emotionless, number-crunching policy wonks planned.

I finished by telling the guy not to let the news get him all riled up because they’re just trying to get ratings while they kill the next 6 months before election season actually begins. In the end it’s all just conversation anyway–in the utterly not sexy trenches of making a living outside of the corporate world where no one has 401Ks or sweet benefit packages, it’s all about finding and moving merchandise, and in that light I am no different than them.

For years I never understood why I preferred to spend my time grinding through the dusty piles in rag houses while surrounded by people who barely speak English when I could have easily chosen a career path replete with fully air-conditioned offices, the newest computers, and coworkers with far more than an elementary school education. But now that I’ve got 14 years of experience in the adult world–running businesses that I started with all the peaks and valleys, while also pursuing every creative avenue that got me fired up–I’m beginning to get a grasp on what mysterious core idea has been driving me so hard. It’s got something to do with fulfilling that age-old tale of young men going out to prove themselves, and maybe in this modern world with no frontiers and so many stifling networks to join, I found a way to hack through a wilderness by doing my own thing running a small business in the post-industrial wastelands of Los Angeles.

(When I think of all the health and safety code violations, cash dealings, and undocumented workers that constitute not just this microcosm but much of the whole undercurrent of labor that paves, installs, and maintains this state I can’t help but scoff at all the liberal armchair crusaders who, drugged up on NPR and the Daily Show and Huffington Post, think they know what the fuck is going on as they decry Volkswagen for fudging emission test results. They should come up to the jury-rigged wooden loft where I just spent an hour in sauna-like conditions poring through piles old Levi’s jean jackets and shirts because that’s where they were stored and only the man who puts in the sweat effort get the goods.)

Now to the point of this post! On the ride home a close friend who’s on the same page as me called and we got to talking about politics, sheeple, and what’s going on. Somehow in the course of our chat we got onto Donald Trump and I stumbled upon this thought: what if the whole purpose of this Trump phenomenon is to alienate an entire generation of young Latino voters and make them lifelong Democrats just like blacks have been for the past several decades? I believe that Trump has not been a Republican his whole life, and anyone who has his name on buildings in NYC and Vegas is not a “renegade” but a team player, so this would be a brilliant ruse to play that could potentially ensure Democrat domination for many years.

But then when I got home it occurred to me that it could actually be the complete opposite: that Donald Trump will be repudiated and essentially be burned in effigy by the Republicans as a demonstration that they are not racist, they’re not living in the past, and that they’re ready to face the future representing Americans of all colors, cultures, backgrounds, derpity do dah.

Regardless, I stress topeople in my life to ignore the news as much as possible and allocate all that precious mental bandwidth to what they can do with their own lives. The preposterous fake shooting of the local TV crew in Virginia a couple weeks back should be proof positive to anyone with open eyes that we live in an age of manufactured realities where our consent is steered by mischievous forces. Alison Parker’s father has been an actor for many years and said on TV that he would be “the John Walsh of gun control.” That line is ingenious, not something to be thought up on the fly by a grieving man whose daughter was allegedly brutally murdered on live television.

I call bullshit on it all. Mark it, dude.

Unimpressed by Donald Trump and Pretty Much Everyone Else

I have paid virtually no attention to Donald Trump’s recent unexpected rise to political prominence stemming from his “courageous” stance against illegal immigration. Part of me thinks this has shades of previous dog-and-pony shows where Republicans promised to “listen to the backbone of this country and take a stand.” Even if it’s different this time and Trump is riding a groundswell of real anger arising from murders committed by illegal aliens who have criminal histories, all I can think to say is, “It’s too damn late!”

For over a decade the country chose to enjoy the benefits of cheap labor as well as the materialistic hunger of America’s imported Third World shoppers. We made our bed and it consists of a large demographic shift already in progress. You can’t stop it now so get off the soapbox and stop proposing absurd solutions like “The Great Wall of America.” Hell, if the economy ever collapses we may want to walk south.

As a personal aside, the maintenance man in my building is a late 20s guy whose parents are from Mexico, and he himself was either born here or born there and brought here at a young age. Truth is he’s about as all-American as you can get and we have great conversations. Once he laughed to me that he would freak out if he had to live in Mexico now. A few months ago he was T-boned in traffic by a girl who ran a red light because she was texting–ya can’t have a more American experience than that!

* * * * *

I’ve been an idealist all of my life but each year experience and observation make me more of a pragmatist. Now I often mutter “that’s a bunch of bullshit” and have no patience for the platitudes and fluffy talk that define public life. The rigors of being a straight, white male small business owner in a time when society froths over everything that isn’t me–women, gays, minorities–keeps me pretty grounded and maybe that’s why I can give a no-nonsense take on things.

Because here’s a little insight: being “privileged” means never being able to have an excuse. If I fail I don’t have a network of advocates waiting in the wings to hug me and tell me I’m great just because I’m part of this or that group. No, I just have to stay focused and work, figure things out on my own, aggregate all the knowledge acquired over a lifetime, and keep going.

When a girl has a tech support problem she asks one of her many male adorers for help–he figures out the problem in hope that she will shine a ray of praise upon him, but ultimately what has happened is that he is now knowledgeable about something new and she has atrophied by riding the magic carpet of her charm. Compound that over a decade or two and it’s no wonder why men seem smarter than women and outperform them. We have to try harder in life.

Don’t even get me started on the outrageous meme that says “anything a man can do a woman can do better.” Oh really? I just spent the past 45 days setting up a new office and let me tell you, half the stuff I had to do a woman could either not do at all or would at least take twice as long. Like the desk I bought off Craigslist yesterday–I single-handedly was able to get all the pieces into the office and then built it by myself. A woman would either need at least one more person to help lift the pieces, but more likely would just hire a man to do the job. We are the wind beneath your flightless wings, baby!

I don’t even care whether someone can lift large, heavy objects or not. I stand in protest to the delusional state of mind that feminism has ingrained in women today to think that they can do things they are neither equipped or experienced to deal with. This explains the shocked expression on their faces in the viral videos where a woman provokes a much bigger man until he finally can’t take the verbal and physical abuse anymore and dumps her onto the ground.

For an adult male to behave like these women is unheard of–we all learned at some point in our teens that there are real consequences when you mouth off. In 8th grade I opened my big mouth on the school bus not realizing the guy I was insulting was slumped down in the back seat. We later had two fights over it and at the second each of us somehow had a “posse” backing us up, and after we had separated one of his boys–a guy 2 or 3 years older than me–shouted something about me calling him a racial slur, came over and gave me a punch-kick combo to the face which put me on the ground. I hadn’t said a damn word to him but he still kicked my ass. Ah, life lessons. Consequences. Learning the meaning of the word “no” as you are put in your place.

* * * * *

Well, it’s been another meandering essay! But I guess the conclusion would be to say that this is what you get from an honest, uncelebrated man toiling away in the shadows while everyone else seems to be getting pandered to or doing the pandering. A whole lot of flash and kabuki theater without much real actual work getting done. On paper Donald Trump may be a SWM like me but in truth daily life tells me I’ve got more in common with my wholesaler who walked over from Mexico back in the early 90s and now works 6 days a week, just like me.

Final note: My views have certainly changed in the 20 months since I began this blog. In some ways I’m sharper and harsher but in others I feel softer, more empathetic. I have endured and risen above the disappointments that seem to constitute the process of “second birth” that a man goes through as he leaves young adulthood behind and moves into his mid-30s, sights now set on 40 and beyond. Richard Rohr’s book “Adam’s Return” is a powerful parable on this necessary downfall; it helped me through a very dark winter in Portland a couple years back and I recommend it to anyone who has run the tank to empty and feels lost.

The Replacements

As I keep myself on task completing all the small steps that it takes to set up my business after moving back to Los Angeles, every time I’m out amongst the people I can’t help but be struck by how stupid and slovenly this country has become. Not only that, it seems as if America caters to the lowest classes, particularly those who recklessly crank out kids.

To paraphrase Victor Hugo’s axiom “To learn who rules over you, simply find out who you are not allowed to criticize,” the modern equivalent might be, “If you want to know who a nation prefers, see who the government subsidizes.”

Let’s look at the US government’s unwritten immigration policy over the last 15 years. Despite the countless Americans who lost jobs after big business moved our factory network wholesale to China, millions of foreigners have been allowed to legally immigrate from 3rd World countries in Africa, Asia, and Eastern Europe. Despite the alleged threat from Al Qaeda in the wake of 9/11 making closing our southern border a sensible move in the name of national security, this was never done and an unknown number of people have illegally migrated here via that route, primarily from Mexico and Central/South America.

Any visit to New York City gives one the odd sensation of being in some Star Wars bazaar: around every corner people born in China, the Caribbean, Russia, and beyond crowd the streets. Meanwhile headlines from around the country relate the chilling trend of cities and states far away from our southern border where Latinos constitute the majority of schoolchildren or the foreign-born population threatens to upset the political balance.

For years I have been banging my head against the wall trying to make sense of our country’s “do as I say, not as I do” approach to immigration. I saw right-wing pundits and politicians speak passionately as they took a stand to “defend the country,” but the complete lack of impactful policy changes leads me to believe they were simply actors put in place to placate “old America” and, most importantly, buy time as the massive foreign influx was allowed to continue. Democrats’ more welcoming sensibilities were also abused during this time.

So what could it all mean? What is this unspoken policy? I believe that after several decades of low birth rates due to Baby Boomer affluence, birth control, and legalized abortion our population was deemed by the bean counters to be on such an unsustainable crash course that the dispassionate elites who really run things determined that America needed to employ a redux of the waves of immigration that characterized the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Just as our shores accepted and assimilated unwashed hordes from Ireland, Eastern Europe, and Italy before the borders were closed in 1924, so too now the USA is taking a gamble with its cultural identity in the name of financial solvency.

How else to explain not the mere granting of permission to enter but the bending over backwards to accommodate all the New Americans? A hundred years ago if you came here from Poland you tapped into whatever network of your countrymen existed in your new city in order to get by, but now there are WIC cards, free medical clinics, Obamacare, an entire network in place to take care of you and especially your little offspring.

Yes, these first-generation children are most important of all because they are the future taxpayers, the ones who will ensure that ossified government programs like Social Security will stay funded. The added bonus is that whereas Americans whose families have been here for at least a few generations know and remember how this country is supposed to function, people who have escaped extreme poverty are more appreciative of First World comforts and less likely to challenge the government which has offered them so many carrots.

So I hate to say it but those of us who think that if we just buckle down and run our businesses tight and lean, that in a few years we will be able to create a nest egg to live comfortably–I just don’t know what kind of a country is going to be there once we cash out. Simply put, the self-sufficient Americans are being phased out. Our intelligence and insight make us too volatile for the country’s future managed, service economy.

Think about the complete transformation our society has undergone during the past 25 years. Mom and Pop are dead except for those who now scrape by printing eBay shipping labels in their home offices. Whereas Bill Clinton’s marital affairs were once a moral scandal, now everybody has their own sex tape. Tattoos used to be the hallmarks of hard-living bikers, underground musicians, and brave soldiers–now the average person who doesn’t have any ink is the odd man out. And finally, over the past 7 years America’s hearts and minds were persuaded enough to make gay marriage the “policy” of the land, yet we were not even allowed a moment to take it all in before the next big social agenda push began–and now a man who dresses like a woman (and also drives like one) is on TV winning courage awards.

It all seems to be moving too far too fast. Many of us who were considered normal 20 years ago now feel like anachronisms, and worse yet when we open our mouths risk being called bigots, homophobes, sexists, and full of hate. There’s no Elysium or Galt’s Gulch for us to run to either. The only poetic saving grace to it all might be the fact that there is no stopping the momentum, so those activists who today put down their placards after marijuana or gay marriage became legal in their states may find themselves on the receiving end of history’s juggernaut ten or fifteen years down the road. Today’s judge may be tomorrow’s accused.

So this seems to be the big gamble our controllers are taking as they employ population replacement and societal transformation on a grand scale: will they be able to fill their destabilization campaign’s void with the Socialist-Idiocracy-Nanny State of their dreams before a conservative, religious, and very human backlash lays waste to the good, the bad, and the ugly of the past 45 years?

By 2050 we could all be living in drugged-out androgynous harmony where our needs are taken care of by AI robots. Or we might all end up as farmers living off the land and completing the evening chores by candlelight. All I know is that there are certain characteristics baked into man’s behavior, and civilizations rise and fall in relation to how the human animal is treated by his society and government. I fear that under the guise of offering unlimited freedom we are being herded into a terrible new pen.

On Dennis Hastert and the New Americans

As you probably know, allegations of sexual misconduct emerged regarding Republican former Speaker of the House Dennis Hastert in recent months. It was a moment of clarity for me, thinking back on my naïve younger days when I was a loyal Republican and exasperated when politicians in positions of great power like Hastert inevitably proved weak and capitulating. This scandal cemented in my mind the following truth:

Dennis Hastert was not nominated for Speaker because he was a great patriot or eloquent statesman, but rather because there were stockpiles of blackmail against him that served to neutralize his effectiveness in office. He is not alone, this obviously is a timeless political strategy employed by those who circulate and broker in the corridors of power.

What particularly irks me is how for so many years fellow Republicans paid lip service to Americans who called for closing our southern border in the name of national security and/or protecting our sovereignty from the Anchor Baby phenomenon. But in the end no meaningful action was taken, no strong policy measures were set in motion let alone followed through upon.

I recently made the move back to Southern California which has a huge and growing Latino population. This area is reaping the consequences of DC’s endless talk while the realities of life in the American Southwest continued to play out. And guess what? I’d rather make a go of it down here amongst the “new Americans” rather than hold any allegiance to all these old white politicians with their repressed sexual desires and secret homosexual liaisons which are held over their heads like the Sword of Damocles.

And truth be told, first-generation Mexican-Americans might be the only people really happy to be here right now. They don’t have any of the politically correct baggage white people have saddled themselves with, this psychotic cocktail of neuroses and self-hate that will help phase us out over the decades to come.

So fuck them and fuck the creepy politicians. I’m a mid-30s, straight white male living in a society that only cares about women, gays, and now especially all things trans. I’m going to keep my head down and work hard alongside these Latinos who, interestingly enough, seem to be living their own version of 1950s America. When I see the bright faces of the young employees at El Pollo Loco and Carl’s Jr. fast food chains, I am heartened by their optimism compared to the self-destructive whites I lived amongst in Portland for the last three years.

Hell, maybe I’ll even marry myself a cute Latina and make some babies. That whole “hybrid vigor” thing certainly made for an interesting combo in my sister and me, this mix of my mother’s Anglo-Episcopalian stock with my father’s swarthy Eastern European Jewish genes. It just might be time for me to relearn my high school Spanish…

The Left is Eating Itself (and I Feel Fine)

The New York Times Magazine article entitled “When Women Become Men at Wellesley” describes a phenomenon in our society that is so psychotic that I may not have or even need the words to convey its significance. It boils down to this: colleges that only admit women are now getting stuck in the murky gray area of gender identity, and in the process many of the same catch phrases that feminism invokes to implicate The Patriarchy are now being used against the colleges themselves. The irony is as delicious as will be the fiasco some years down the road once this whole Far, Far Left experiment in feel-good wordplay has gotten so tangled up that it ends up choking itself to death.

It’s my understanding that the modern feminist movement was first about empowering women to strive for equal treatment with men. By the 1990s it had adopted an agenda of man-bashing, and in the 2000s a chorus of “You go grrl” pep talks filled women’s heads with impossibly lofty ideas that often burst horribly when coming into contact with reality—usually after one finally left the womb of Never Neverland University.

This whole transgender phenomenon is fascinating because it might knock the women’s movement right off its perch and tear the whole damn thing to shreds. When women who want to “celebrate” their transgender classmates also rely on the arguments once used by men to defend their own spaces under invasion, the cognitive dissonance might very well make their heads explode. When it was women themselves trying to kick down men’s doors then it all made perfect sense, but now as transgender people cite their own emotional needs in seeking to change women’s traditions, it’s getting near impossible for even the politically correct to keep tabs on the latest Most Favored Group.

And I love it. For decades men have been the pariahs where no defamation against us was too cruel, where the sins of The Patriarchy’s past justified any double standard that might pass over a straight white male. But now the very arguments feminists once so passionately made for women and against men are being refashioned for a new generation of outsiders not seeking to merely be tolerated but also embraced and put on a pedestal. Well, like a ship coming into harbor with so much momentum that even reversing the engines couldn’t stop it, the USS Feminista looks to be on a fatal collision course as its ideas play out to their logical end: the reign of chaos after all definitions and distinctions have been obliterated.

The NY Times article is quite long, complete with heartstring-pulling anecdotes about students who were born female but consider themselves male, so below here some of the choicest quotes which will have you at times shaking your head, laughing out loud, and ultimately feeling as antiquated and old-fashioned as Pat Buchanan.

First we have Timothy, a trans male student at Wellesley who found “himself” alone on a school ballot after the other candidates for various reasons dropped out. An anonymous Facebook campaign was launched in order to drum up enough abstain votes to deny “him” the seat:

The “Campaign to Abstain” argument was simple: Of all the people at a multiethnic women’s college who could hold the school’s “diversity” seat, the least fitting one was a white man. … “Having men in elected leadership positions undermines the idea of this being a place where women are the leaders.”

But here’s the rub:

[Timothy] pointed out that he has important contributions to make to the MAC position. After all, at Wellesley, masculine-of-center students are cultural minorities; by numbers alone, they’re about as minor as a minority can be. And yet Timothy said he felt conflicted about taking a leadership spot. “The patriarchy is alive and well,” he said. “I don’t want to perpetuate it.”

Oh my goodness, the tangled webs of logic we weave! Relatively speaking in this context, a man is the minority, so thank Odin that The Patriarchy is there like a sewer grate to quickly toss our contradictions into before anyone notices. Here’s some more:

The student body, [Wellesley’s website] says, is “2,300 smart, singular women feeling the power of 2,300 smart, singular women together” on a campus where “our common identity, spirit and pride as Wellesley women” are celebrated. Those sorts of messages, trans students say, make them feel invisible. “I just wish the administration would at least acknowledge our existence,” said Eli Cohen, a Wellesley senior who has been taking testosterone for nearly a year. “I’d be more O.K. with ‘We’re not going to cater to you, because men are catered to everywhere else in life,’ rather than just pretending we don’t exist.”

The convoluted logic of this hierarchy of blame is simply fantastic. Let me translate: “The university is being insensitive to its trans male students in an incorrect manner. Rather than ignore us because we’re a small minority, at least say you’re insulting us as payback for being such entitled men.” Right now I feel like a 16th century English king being greeted at his castle by fifty trumpets after returning from battle—this is simply glorious!

Let’s keep reading:

What’s a women’s college to do? Trans students point out that they’re doing exactly what these schools encourage: breaking gender barriers, fulfilling their deepest yearnings and forging ahead even when society tries to hold them back. But yielding to their request to dilute the focus on women would undercut the identity of a women’s college. … As a marginalized group fighting for respect and clout, how could women justify marginalizing others?

Yes, yes, yes! Once you’ve broken one gender barrier you simply cannot stop until you’ve broken them all! And sadly for women they’re next in line to be trampled by the acolytes on their holy pilgrimage.

Then we have the case of Laura Bruno, your everyday female Wellesley student, who got herself into a little trouble when she inadvertently offended trans male student Kaden Mohamed during a TV interview.

The interviewer asked Laura to describe her experience at an “all-female school” and to explain how that might be diminished “by having men there.” Laura answered, “We look around and we see only women, only people like us, leading every organization on campus, contributing to every class discussion.”

Kaden dropped this righteous salvo via email right down the throat of Ms. Bruno’s heartless inbox:

“I am not a woman. I am a trans man who is part of your graduating class, and you literally ignored my existence in your interview. . . . You had an opportunity to show people that Wellesley is a place that is complicating the meaning of being an ‘all women’s school,’ and you chose instead to displace a bunch of your current and past Wellesley siblings.”

Booya! Welcome to your insight into what it’s like to be an actual male, Laura. You didn’t account for every possible variable while making a statement, one person got offended, and now there’s hell to pay.

Laura apologized, saying she hadn’t meant to marginalize anyone and had actually vowed beforehand not to imply that all Wellesley students were women. But she said that under pressure, she found herself in a difficult spot: How could she maintain that women’s colleges would lose something precious by including men, but at the same time argue that women’s colleges should accommodate students who identify as men?

I wish I could turn these words into a sauce so I could just marinate in it for hours. Oh, the paradox. The irony. The car crashing at 100 mph into the wall. My real birth penis getting so hard…

But we can’t stop, the hits keep on coming, you can’t make this stuff up. Take the tale of Jesse Austin, who when returning to school after a year and a half absence, had changed considerably due to two years of testosterone injections.

Jesse no longer looked like a woman trying to pass as a man. His voice was deep. His facial hair was thick, though he kept it trimmed to a stubble. His shoulders had become broad and muscular, his hips narrow, his arms and chest more defined.
“Everything felt very different than it had before,” he said of that semester. “I felt so distinctly male, and I felt extremely awkward. I felt like an outsider. My voice was jarring — a male voice, which is so distinct in a classroom of women — so I felt weird saying much in class…”

Once spring semester ended, Jesse withdrew. “I still think of Wellesley as a women’s place, and I still think that’s a wonderful idea,” he said. “It just didn’t encompass me anymore. I felt it was a space I shouldn’t tread in.”

What’s this, did one drop of reason squeak through the cracks? Fortunately we have Beth, regular female student who like many felt that something was being lost when the school’s traditional mantra of “Sisterhood” was changed to “Siblinghood” to accommodate everyone’s feelings.

“Changing ‘sister’ to ‘sibling’ didn’t feel like it was including more people; it felt like it was taking something away from sisterhood, transforming our safe space for the sake of someone else. At the same time, I felt guilty feeling that way.” Beth went to Kris Niendorf, the director of residential life, who listened sympathetically and then asked: Why does “sibling” take away from your experience? After thinking about it, Beth concluded that she was connected to her classmates not because of gender but because of their shared experiences at Wellesley. “That year was an epiphany for me. I realized that if we excluded trans students, we’d be fighting on the wrong team. We’d be on the wrong side of history.”

Wow. We just watched a play-by-play demonstration of how Leftist brainwashing moves a person away from an honest feeling in her own heart first to a guilty sense of doubt, then leaps into a self-righteous rationalization that capitulating to the wants of a small minority somehow ushers them all into the annals of history. This is grotesque, it is appalling and tragic—I am chilled to the bone thinking about the mental parasite which is slowly killing our culture from within.

Even the most politically correct of male professors finds himself exasperated as the worm turns against a true villain, the use of those hurtfully exclusionary pronouns:

“All my life here,” [sociology professor Thomas] Cushman told me, “I’ve been compelled to use the female pronoun more generously to get away from the sexist ‘he.’ I think it’s important to evoke the idea that women are part of humanity. That should be affirmed, especially after being denied for so long. Look, I teach at a women’s college, so whenever I can make women’s identity central to that experience, I try to do that. Being asked to change that is a bit ironic. I don’t agree that this is a ‘historically’ women’s college. It is still a women’s college.”

But not according to our friend Eli:

When I asked Eli if trans men belonged at Wellesley, he said he felt torn. “I don’t necessarily think we have a right to women’s spaces. But I’m not going to transfer, because this is a place I love, a community I love. I realize that may be a little selfish. It may be a lot selfish.”

Don’t worry about it, you’re on the right side of history. Eh, sibling? Just as women selfishly pushed themselves into men’s spaces like golf clubs—those rare spheres where men could enjoy some time to fraternize away from their wives—now trans men find that serving their own desires trumps traditionally oriented women’s need to feel safe and comfortable. Do you see where this road is going yet?

But not everyone trans is acting so selfishly.

Last December, a transmasculine Wellesley student wrote an anonymous blog post that shook the school’s trans community. The student wrote to apologize for “acting in the interest of preserving a hurtful system of privileging masculinity.” He continued: “My feelings have changed: I do not think that trans men belong at Wellesley.” …

The reactions were swift and strong. “A lot of trans people on campus felt emotionally unsafe,” recalled Timothy, a sophomore that year. … Some accused the blogger of speaking on behalf of women as if they were unable to speak for themselves.

Aha, yes! Like Pavlov’s freaking dog some perfectly programmed Leftbots found a way to claim that a biological female, writing a nuanced op-ed piece from the heart, was somehow implying that women are inferior. This is completely delusional. I am actually genuinely sympathetic towards people whose minds have been so tainted that their thought process goes from point A to P (for Patriarchy, of course) every time and at light speed.

As the next excerpt shows, even the politics of interpersonal relationships on an all-female campus are changing, much to the chagrin of lesbians:

Another difficult conversation about trans students touches on the disproportionate attention they receive on campus. “The female-identified students somehow place more value on those students,” said Rose Layton, a lesbian who said she views trans students as competitors in the campus dating scene. “They flirt with them, hook up with them. And it’s not just the hetero women, but even people in the queer community. The trans men are always getting this extra bit of acknowledgment. Even though we’re in a women’s college, the fact is men and masculinity get more attention and more value in this social dynamic than women do.”

Wah wah for Rose and her fellow lesbians! They used to be the only novelty in town, coaxing curious straight freshmen to experiment sexually after a few drinks—but now Teena Brandon’s elbowing “his” way into the monopoly. Whatever happened to tolerance? But wait, there’s more!

Kaden Mohamed said he felt downright objectified when he returned from summer break last year, after five months of testosterone had lowered his voice, defined his arm muscles and reshaped his torso. It was attention that he had never experienced before he transitioned. But as his body changed, students he didn’t even know would run their hands over his biceps. Once at the school pub, an intoxicated Wellesley woman even grabbed his crotch and that of another trans man.

“It’s this very bizarre reversal of what happens in the real world,” Kaden said. “In the real world, it’s women who get fetishized, catcalled, sexually harassed, grabbed. At Wellesley, it’s trans men who do. If I were to go up to someone I just met and touch her body, I’d get grief from the entire Wellesley community, because they’d say it’s assault — and it is. But for some reason, when it’s done to trans men here, it doesn’t get read the same way. It’s like a free pass, that suddenly it’s O.K. to talk about or touch someone’s body as long as they’re not a woman.”

What’s this now? Women who dress and act like men being objectified by other women?! A double standard favoring women over men? No! I can’t believe! My brain feels like I’m eating Breyers mint chocolate chip ice cream, this moment is just too savory for words!!!

But sadly, that party is over. All natural born men who aren’t trans or post or anything else should drink a shot of espresso and read this next paragraph with eyes wide open:

Last month, Mount Holyoke College announced a more far-reaching policy: It would admit all academically qualified students regardless of their anatomy or self-proclaimed gender, except for those biologically male at birth who still identify as male. In a list that reflects just how much traditional notions of gender have been upended, Mount Holyoke said eligible candidates now include anyone born biologically female, whether identified as woman, man, neither or “other” and anyone born biologically male who identifies as a woman or “other.” The school president, Lynn Pasquerella, said she and her officers made the decision after concluding it was an issue of civil rights.

Did you get that? Everyone in the country is part of a special interest group except biological males who act like males. The target is on our backs! This is ridiculous. A coddlefest of staggering proportions. Double standards, preferential treatment, exclusion—anything to get a leg up on us everyday normal guys.

Well guess what? You can juggle and refashion words all you want and in the end you will still be right back where you started, except maybe without the breasts you decided to chop off. But you will never take away our natural physical superiority, the size and strength which we could use to rape any one of you on the street if we wanted, but instead we generously use to build your houses and your cars. You will never be able to replicate our deep spirituality and intelligence, which we could use simply to sit in the forest and contemplate the timeless mysteries but instead we generously use to invent your cell phones and create all the great works of art.

The hideous secret that in your shortsighted anger and childish jealousy you fail to understand is that only through millennia of being challenged by the rigors of facing reality and being accountable to it on an hourly basis have men come to be in this state of “privilege” you decry. While girls are protected and coddled and lightly punished and showered with free gifts simply for existing, every day a man plods through his obligations without an excuse maker or tabloid puff-piece writer around every corner to clean up his mess or aggrandize him.

And for the past forty years since feminism came onto the scene, you have only gotten weaker and more delusional while we men have had to keep the engine of society running while also bearing the added weight of alimony and losing custody of our children even when it was you who initiated the divorce. We have been drugged for not sitting still in a stifling school environment that goes against our nature. We have lost chances at athletic glory so that you could clumsily play our sports at half speed. We have been passed over for educational opportunities then watched as you left the professional jobs we should have had in order to stay at home with your kids.

And yet we are expected to keep drilling the oil, paving the roads, cutting down the trees, and opening your damn pickle jars because the truth—once the cataract of your word games has been stripped away —the truth is that we men possess all that is powerful and great, and rather than humble yourselves in appreciation for all that we give and create, you rebel against the natural order at the expense of us all. Because again, in utter obliviousness you don’t realize how little you would have to do to make all our silent toil worth it. A gracious smile, a colorful dress, a meal cooked with care, and non-begrudging sex are all it takes to recharge us to go back out again and face the harsh elements which you still can’t tame despite all of the hormone treatments injected into your thighs.

You need us. We only desire you.

Women’s Secret Biographies

When my best friend’s wife left him out of the blue it sent shockwaves through us all, because as he phrases it, “She was vetted.” In the six years since that paradigm-shifting day he and I have kept an ongoing dialogue about the mysterious underbelly of human nature in order that neither of us should find ourselves so badly blindsided again. A local news story this week in Oregon brings the lesson home writ large that any man can fall victim to a woman’s duplicity and sins of omission.

"Got me a newer model with more miles than I have!"

“Bought me a newer model… but she’s got more miles than I do!”

I was out of town on business all week and picked up the Willamette Week at my corner coffee shop this morning to see what was going on in Portland. I happened to read the cover story which suggests conflicts of interest that Oregon governor John Kitzhaber’s longtime girlfriend Cylvia Hayes might have in her dual roles as the state’s first lady and involvement with trade deals focused on sustainability.

The main impression I got from the article was that she’s an elite-minded phony whose core goals are typically what you find when you boil it all down: a) telling other people what to do, and b) insulation from a life of manual labor. She spouts the classic “I grew up poor” sob story to earn gravitas, and so self-righteous is her environmentalist mantra that she has even said, “I don’t work for the governor, I work for the earth.” Amazing to think that such smug platitudes can still hoodwink the masses, but so it goes.

Walking home after breakfast I kept chewing over this most revealing fact: she already had three divorces under her belt by the age of 35. Now 47 and engaged to Kitzhaber as of August after years as “life partners,” Hayes must have envisioned the next four years as her “rags to riches” coronation should he, a man twenty years her senior no less, win reelection next month, with nuptials sure to follow.

But in life high drama sometimes lies in wait near the finish line. Soon after getting home I stumbled upon this bombshell online that follows up on the previous piece. Apparently Ms. Hayes’s third marriage in 1997 was to an 18-year-old Ethiopian student who paid her $5,000 so he could get a green card. Hayes, 29 at the time and also a student, claims it was “an unstable period in my life” and that “I was associating with the wrong people.” Hmm, what people were these exactly?

Not only did she sweep this illegal marriage under the rug while building up her meticulous façade, she never once revealed it to Kitzhaber during all the years they’ve been together. He only learned about it this week after Willamette Week started digging into the court records—which always seem so dirty—and now all her big talk about the “work that I do on behalf of our environment and trying to make people’s lives better” will have to wait because “I need to take some personal time to reflect and address this difficult situation and to focus on my relationship with John.”

Yes, and what about old John, longtime politician with two divorces of his own to boast? Why, you’re now inducted into the Cuckold Club, a high ranking member of that rare class: Cuckold of the Decade. And even though your boo’s fling with Mr. Abraham B. Abraham was merely of the paperwork sham variety, it sure is instructive to all us Joe Nobodies that a man at the top with life experience and the winning smile can get the wool pulled over his eyes by a say-anything gold digger just like the rest of us.

Wah wah, got caught. Time for the perp walk!

Wah wah, got caught. Time for the perp walk!

I believe that somewhere deep in every woman’s subconscious there is a microchip that employs Outcome Based Logic to justify any type of bad behavior when it is exposed. In sweet Cylvia’s own words: “My decision to marry illegally felt very, very distant and far removed from the life I was building. I was ashamed and embarrassed. Therefore I did not share this information even with John once we met and started dating.” And there it is.

To paraphrase the logic: “I am an unaccomplished woman in my 30s with a sketchy past, so as I try to infiltrate respectable society I must keep my new identity squeaky clean, particularly in the eyes of this successful man whose coattails I intend to ride. Oops, now it’s ten years into our relationship and I never bothered to tell him so that he at least could politically strategize in advance to protect his reputation should my dark secrets come to light—not to mention his feelings! Oh well, I’m going to take some time off… don’t forget to vote Kitzhaber!”

Now let’s see her in action. First, in this patronizing little speech her delusions of grandeur about saving the environment intertwine perfectly with a public figure’s self-aggrandizing life story narrative—just remember that this impressively put-together professional woman yukking it up with the crowd is at the core really just another sexy little scammer taking advantage of people’s gullibility while keeping her own agenda moving forward. The whole thing is just so full of shit!

And now video of this week’s heartbreaking press conference where behind the crocodile tears we witness as the dreams of a poor child “who would bathe in Old Man Green’s pond up the road” are crushed by the Angel of Accountability, that cruel judge who inevitably finds us all to settle accounts. Even clever little girls who year after year walk away from their sins of expediency, who pause not after a flicker of their conscience but merely to touch up their makeup before rounding the corner to see what new doors their pretty face can open.

Century after century, men both great and poor fall for the mindless charming guile that nature has bestowed upon women. They smile at us and whisper promises, so we open our gates and dare to trust—and afterwards we somehow always find ourselves trampled on the ground, penniless, our reputations torn to shreds, our hearts crushed and confused.

There’s no clever out here—we’re looking at a stark and sometimes brutal part of life that just has to be meditated on personally by all men. We have to ask ourselves hard questions beforehand. How vulnerable am I willing to make myself? How thoroughly would I investigate a woman whose company I enjoy? Would I even have the strength to leave her if I didn’t like what I found out?

All kidding aside, a part of me sympathizes with John Kitzhaber right now. Not the politician, not the savvy public figure, but the man deep down inside who got played just like Samson, just like my friend, just like a billion other unknown men throughout history. It’s heavy stuff and all we can do is look at it right in the eyes.

What Men Can Learn from Ray Rice

If you were an obedient news watcher, your opinion of the Ray Rice scandal would be that he is a sinner who has every punishment coming to him, and that domestic violence against women is a silent scourge ravaging loyal girlfriends, fiancés, baby mamas, and wives across the nation. You would be eager to have a dialogue in this important conversation about what’s happening to all these innocent princesses.

But if you’re reading this blog chances are you’re not part of that mass of feel-good sheep who go along with the USA Today surface version of events, so let me dive right into some nuanced ideas that could have a powerful effect on how to approach relationships with women moving forward.

Surely this handsome young man can find a more respectable woman.

Surely this handsome young man can find a more respectful woman.

I think that deep down even a tough guy like Ray Rice has that same weakness all of us feel, the deathly fear that the woman we’re with will reject us. This fear causes us to put up with levels of disrespect and abuse that we would never take from friends, relatives, or strangers. I suspect that early on Rice didn’t establish with Miss Janay Palmer that he deserved to be treated with respect, so that later on in their relationship she felt she had license to walk all over him. In the hotel surveillance video that launched this whole firestorm, we see how she thinks nothing of casually smacking his face while drunkenly gliding toward the elevator.

[Here I must rush to make a disclaimer because every Beyond Leftist’s binary logic brain jumps to the conclusion that in saying this, it means that I think it’s all Palmer’s fault. Just keep reading and hear me out.]

Having seen Rice punch the woman—regardless of whether the punch or conking her head on the elevator railing actually knocked her out—and all of the terrible fallout, I am struck by this idea: He should have said to himself, “I am one of the best athletes in the world. I am wealthy, young, and handsome. I deserve better than to have to babysit a gold-digging drama queen. I’ll try to find a higher quality woman who will treat me like a king.”

He should have calmly taken her to their room and put her to bed, then gone down to the front desk to arrange for another room on a different floor of the hotel for himself. But instead the frustrated rage of not being respected by this woman got the better of him and it may cost him his NFL career.

And when I heard that NFL commissioner Roger Goodell might lose his job because of how the investigation was handled, the spreading carnage reminded me what happens in the Jim Jarmusch movie “Ghost Dog.” In this darkly comical “Goodfellas” meets philosophical Japanese samurai film, nearly the entire cast of male characters butchers one another after the mafia boss’s waify dumb-dumb of a daughter sleeps with one of his lackeys. In the end she lives and they all die.

All the men die because of this tramp.

All the men die because of this tramp.

The same thing also happens in the Sam Peckinpah tour-de-force “Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia.” Here a handsome player has gotten the daughter of a rich Mexican landowner pregnant and in pursuit of the million dollar bounty for his head over 20 men bump each other off. I’m not saying that the guys in either movie are the most upstanding citizens, but the women whose actions start the chain of events leading to their deaths are nothing more than young and horny. They are not virtuous or noble or even imbued with a strong personality that someone like Elizabeth Taylor would play—and any honor which the men die defending is no more than the same illusion that we all desperately want to believe in.

If we men don’t have the courage to say no to females when they misbehave, can we at least stop throwing each other under the bus? Believe me, I feel the cosmic gravitational pull that pussy holds—even a gay 1960s hippie who used to work at the frame shop next door to my office once lamented to me about “that wet hole”—but not being able to control ourselves is ruining our damn lives. When we buy a woman that first drink we need to put retaining our dignity first and foremost, otherwise we end up willingly knocking our agendas off track and having their whims dictate our lives.

I think this affliction spreads beyond just how we deal with women too. If you don’t have the courage to dump an inconsiderate girlfriend and your life revolves around placating the petulant child living inside a Barbie doll’s body, surely the wool is being pulled over your eyes by even smarter people than her. Look at all the stock market swindlers on CNBC making you feel like you’re missing out on the excitement of the trading room floor. The mortgage ads on AM radio shame you into seizing the latest refi “no brainer” opportunity—never mind the drain of property taxes and the potential threat of eminent domain, you’ve got to own a house to be a real American living that dream.

And before a man knows it, he’s locked into all kinds of long-term contracts that keep him so busy working that he doesn’t have any time to examine what’s really going on out there. By the time he’s parsed his paycheck into pieces for the IRS, 401K, investment portfolio, luxury car lease, and mortgage bill, he’s barely got enough money left over to treat himself to the jersey of his favorite football player. If the wife even lets him have a few hours on Sunday to tune out from the grind, now he finds himself being lectured to by alleged sportscasters about gun control, gay rights, and domestic violence. And his team is wearing pink uniforms to boot!

Another tiresome social engineering lecture.

Another tiresome social engineering lecture.

Do any of you look around at it all and think, I’m over it? I don’t know if I’m just entering the mid-life crisis or if it really is a bigger problem affecting us all. After years chasing success and women, winning some and losing some, I might finally have enough life experience under my belt to aggregate the data into a little sliver of wisdom. And my gut is telling me that life in America today consists of so much bullshit that it might be a lot less stressful and possibly more fulfilling on a personal level to sit on the sidelines as much as possible.

Besides, how much of what keeps our economy running is due to the labor of divorced men working jobs they’d otherwise quit were it not for the alimony and child support they have to pay under threat of imprisonment? What percentage of GDP retail spending actually comes from these ex-wives using their welfare payments on shopping sprees? What would our country look like if males were taught not to “get their mind set” on impressing an unworthy goddess but instead live for themselves? How much time and money do we waste on the front end wooing pretty women only to get roped into a decades-long, court-enforced yoke after they leave us?

Never in my whole life have I not been repulsed by the concept of prostitution, but after seeing the Antietam-like wasteland that the divorce industry has left in its wake I’m seriously beginning to reconsider. If men were quickly, legally, and relatively speaking, inexpensively able to get their sexual needs met, this train wreck of a system would change real fast. So is it any wonder that prostitution remains illegal? They need us dupes to keep plowing away in frustration, doing all the real work and sending checks to all those “independent” single mothers out there “courageously doing it on their own.”

Guys, the deck is stacked against us in every direction. While we try to claw our way back to some semblance of sanity and balance in our society, I say again, at least stop throwing each other under the bus.

Amnesty Without Borders

In light of the seemingly impending move by the Obama administration to grant amnesty to the countless millions of illegal aliens currently in our country, I have an even more generous and downright humane proposal. Rather than forcing people to actually make the treacherous and sometimes deadly journey through slums and across deserts in order to sneak into the United States, I say that we should simply grant blanket amnesty to anyone around the globe who desires to live here. Call it Amnesty Without Borders.

Now people in countries like Thailand and Russia and Nigeria who don’t have the benefit of Geography Privilege like those born in Central and South America, they too will be able to grab a seat at the free-for-all benefits buffet that constitutes life for the newest residents of the USA.

America’s native born population, a.k.a. The Golden Goose, apparently has no other purpose in life than the moral obligation to accommodate anyone on the planet who finds a way into their country. Their own dreams, culture, and way of life are literally of no consequence in the eyes of the political class and Chamber of Commerce types who are really responsible for our borders remaining so porous nearly 13 years after the 9/11 Psy-Op.

So hey, everybody … come on in!!! The politician whores want your vote, the empty churches want your soul, and the guilty Leftists want to give you reparations while simultaneously eradicating their own race from the map.

For anyone trying to take the eagle’s view on all this, anyone quietly offering a voice of reason by thinking about what the consequences might be—we are systematically being drowned out and ignored as if the forward momentum all but ensures that amnesty and whatever other steamrolling transformations are already a done deal. All I can suggest is to adopt the mindset that you live in a country that has temporarily gone insane, and you must simply ride out the storm while protecting yourself and your own mind.

I recommend reading “Fontamara” by Ignazio Silone. This powerful book chronicles one small Italian village’s victimization at the hands of Fascism in the 1920s and 30s. Written while Silone was exiled in Switzerland, it can provide a pillar of strength for you in knowing that you are not alone or the first to live through one’s beloved country morphing into a tragic, unlivable nightmare—and that one day things may get better.