As to contempt for traditional masculinity, I have none. I don’t even know that anyone can tell me what it means (though many try). I’ll save my contempt for stupidity and chosen blindness. Let the “patriarch’s” of the word have their folly. It matters not to me. I will be busy surviving as they march themselves and their unfortunate progeny into the grinding halls of family justice. We’ll call it intellectual culling, and the world will be better for it.
The population of men, according to the second wave feminist, had to be reduced and controlled. Valerie Solanas was not the only feminist to propose this. Her SCUM Manifesto was simply the most extreme and most widely known.
As polite and tolerable, Clark Kent follows a script of behaviour that allows him to fit in. He animates himself using the exact opposite of invulnerability.
“Women have always been the primary victims of war” said Hillary Clinton, while at a conference on Domestic Violence in San Salvador.
Where women naturally excel – homemaking, early childhood care, beautifying, verbal communication, emotional expression – they ought not to go anymore, according to feminists. Put on some pants, girl, and grab that power drill!
Gay men who think that feminists are really their advocates are nothing more than window dressing; useful idiots used to garner public approval from the egalitarian minded.
According to an article in The Washington Post, the names of military men who commit suicide as a result of the trauma with which they suffer are not being listed on memorials to the ongoing War on Certain Kinds of Terror. The surviving families are quite understandably upset. There is another aspect of this story that is telling.
It must be nearly a year ago that I got the following email from a fellow MRA. I say it was an email; actually, it was a bit of a rant, and a rough draft for an article idea. The man who sent it to me never quite finished it. I think I understand why. …
Doubtful Sound in New Zealand is one of those places you should see before you die. The scenery is enough to eclipse any of my paltry attempts to describe it, but I can try to tell you what I saw; scattered, small emerald peaks rising out of placid, reflecting water the color of tea. Still …
For 13 years I worked as a case manager and investigator handling child abuse cases for one of the largest child welfare agencies in the U.S.. During that time I saw the results of some of the most horrific violence and abuse imaginable. I saw the striped scars from shoulder to heal on the back and legs of a …
