A memory of a barber

Perhaps it is my age, and it is arguable that I am being nostalgic, but indulge me for a moment, if you please. Growing up, I remember my first trips to a barber; a small little shop filled with the smell of apple flavored tobacco’s and Birchwood soaps. The chairs were fine carved oak and decked out in worn red leather.  You could see about a hundred pictures on the wall, of old cars, and men in chairs getting a fresh lathered shave. These were masculine moments, where being a man was not only accepted but expected. Men came into this place and I would hear them mutter about the local ball club favorite, or brashly curse about something that was irritating them. These were the moments as I sat in the chair quietly, that brought a smile and a slight scolding while Vern, my barber, was trimming down my sideburns.

Today, finding a man’s barber is like finding a gold vein in a long abandoned mine, but you can find hair cutting Crapdonald’s just about on every street corner. Perhaps even worse, there is a beauty spa named “Utopia” or some such fucking place that bleeds those poor male slaves of half the paycheck they handed over to their feminist masters. It begs the question of what one of the most important things has been taken from men today. Perhaps we could sum it up in one phrase, the pride of being a man.

Because in the end, when you walk out of there, you will remember what it was like to feel good being a man.[/quote] Men have been told they are manipulative and selfish, that they are, in essence, raping, lying, cheating bastards, incapable of any compassion without a woman’s guidance. Alright, so maybe we bought into the lie, but more likely it was beaten into us by our master to which we foolishly said “I do.”  Hindsight being 20/20, you should have gotten into that sports car your buddy had waiting on you, when he hoped you would change your mind.  Because you never really thought about what would happen to you in ten years, when she “rediscovered” herself.

When dealing with the courts, the part time fatherhood, struggling to pay child support while slumping into depression over not seeing your children, it’s a miracle more men have not ended their lives over the trials this corrupt system has forced them to endure.

Yet men endure it, they take it, like they have hundreds of times over in man’s history.  Maybe it is because at the end of their enslavement, they find their balls again. Maybe they remember what it was like to stand on their own through the hard times, and find out that being who they are is good and decent and is worth being. Maybe they take a look around and found an old buddy who went through their experience too, and they realize the injustices being perpetrated on them by a misandric society.  Then they take a bigger look around, to shows of men being portrayed as idiots and buffoons on television, to being inundated with pink ribbons, while their father dies of prostate cancer – with no marches for their struggle. With that much misandry, and that much money backing it, how much more can a man do to fight that? He cannot even get a decent shave anymore.

Hey, I understand, it was easy to go spend a few bucks on a disposable razor, and a few more on some white shit in a can. “Real” men do not go for shaves when their masters need their nails done and we do not want to short the grocery bill. Real men do not object when those same masters tell them, barber shops are only for men, and therefore, sexist. You chauvinistic bastard, what were you thinking when you wanted your beard trimmed? I know, it was all about being the superior over women and keeping them down. That was what you thought. Something along those lines. Ya. Sure.

Alright, so maybe we bought into the lie, but more likely it was beaten into us by our master to which we foolishly said “I do.” Or maybe, you just want to find a place where a man could be a man again. A place where it was alright to curse about your favorite ball club playing like hell. A place where you could walk in looking like hell and smell like a man when you walked out. Perhaps it was a camaraderie, or maybe it was the old pictures, hell, maybe it was the fact that you did not have to worry about a judge taking away 75 percent of your check, or how you were going to get that toy for the holidays for your child.  It was a place where you had to trust another man who was holding a razor to your neck. The good part about that, was that you could trust him. He had your back, because you were on the same side. You were both men.  We have to remember that when we look around, at other men, and watch them get dragged through hell. We have to remember our camaraderie in this fight against misandry.

So maybe it’s time to look up an old barber, and throw the fucking Gillette five razor disposable out the damned window. You do know that five razors is not good for your face when just one good sharp one will do, right? I guess that is my point. So much of man’s pride has been stripped from him because he was just a man, that we do not even remember how to shave properly anymore. So when your buddy just lost half his paycheck to child support over false domestic violence accusations, and cannot make the rent because the other half of his check is still going to the mortgage for the house he cannot live in? Call him up, and take him to a barber shop and get him a good shave and haircut. While you’re at it, get one for yourself, and ask the man shaving you for good tips on shaving for men.

Because in the end, when you walk out of there, you will remember what it was like to feel good being a man. Then maybe you will feel strong enough to begin to help your brothers fight back against what made them feel badly in the first place. Because in the long haul we are going to need every good man we can get. The way I see it, might as well look sharp getting there.

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