A woman named Alexis tried to shame me Friday evening. I laughed at her.
I was sitting at a bar in Deep Ellum, chessboard at the ready, waiting for my opponent to arrive. An old friend, Daniel, introduced me to Lexi, a woman psychologist I would describe as a lovely 20-ish blonde were it not for her facial piercings and side-shaved head. Despite her damaged looks, Lexi was delightful to speak to and has full nerd credentials – she speaks both Star Trek and Lord of the Rings, upping her market value on the Fan Expo (formerly Comic Con) circuit.
After a couple of hours of beer and talk (chess buddy was running very late) Lexi invited me to a concert performed by a local woman vocalist. I declined (the booming, ear-splitting levels of all live music do not appeal to me) but Lexi was having none of that – she is charming and attractive enough that I’m not sure any man has ever refused her anything. I continued to decline until finally in frustration she told me to stop being “a pussy.”
That is when I laughed at her, identified myself as a men’s rights advocate, and explained that her attempts to shame me into doing something were futile and that emotional coercion was impossible on someone like me. Lexi looked stricken and immediately denied that her wheedling was coercive, but her efforts to ask me to the concert came to an end.
A few minutes later she departed and my chess pal, a dark-haired beauty I’ll call Judith, arrived. After a lively game, Judith was in checkmate, and I was headed home for some nachos.
Getting shamed by women used to hurt me like a chainsaw singing on a sultry summer’s day, but as I’ve grown in power and understanding through MGTOW and MRA work, I find I have also grown immune from being shamed for my choices as a man. This is a remarkably liberating feeling and the confidence one gets from it is superb. There is nothing like being able to make choices based on principles and understanding and not fear.
And speaking of jilted lovers, W. Bradford Wilcox, the dark character behind the infamous Prager U film Be a Man Get Married is back, doubling down on his dangerous and abusive assertion that men only become men when they sacrifice their freedom by marrying a woman – and that those who don’t are woman-haters.
Perhaps Brad fancies himself a patriot for his efforts at shackling men to harridans. Perhaps he is virtue signaling his white knightedness. The desperation in his writing seems to me to show a man too eager to redeem his own disastrous life choices:
Some of this, it seems, is about a kind of Peter Pan syndrome, where guys don’t want to grow up and settle down. Some of it is about a kind of individualistic hedonism, where guys don’t want to forego the opportunity to set their own work hours, hang out with their friends on their own terms, and score as much with the ladies as they can.
It is about not playing a rigged game in a poisoned system where a gold-digger can break your heart, steal your kids, and rape your wallet for the rest of your life.
Brad even acknowledges that no-fault divorce and the corrupt family court system are largely responsible for destroying marriage, but he still wants men to line up for this rancid meat grinder anyway. The shaming attempts are thick and rich: marriage skeptics hold “misogynistic views.” They are “Peter Pans.” They have “a complete lack of faith.”
We’re probably cruel to puppies, too. Or whatever.
Brad was wheedling men much like Lexi was wheedling me: to try to coerce us into doing something we know we’re not interested in.
Slowly and painfully, Brad will come to realize that being a bitch devoid of compassion is not the way to sell the poison that is today’s marriage.
Once you’ve repealed no-fault divorce, obliterated family courts and grown out your side-shave, Bradford, maybe then and only then can you start building your case for marital slavery. Again.