I have no doubt that as I write this there are T-shirt companies out there with templates saying something like “I survived the 2020 Coronavirus Pandemic.” They’re just waiting for the all-clear to sound. It would be unseemly to be premature.
Of course, such T-shirts risk being insensitive, as someone viewing the T-shirt may be reminded that she lost dear old grandma to the virus and start bawling. (Note to T-shirt companies: pledge some percentage of your profits to some virus-related charity and your critics might cut you some slack.)
I don’t blame anyone for trying to make a buck, even if cremation vans with loudspeakers blaring “Bring out your dead!” start creeping through every neighborhood in the land. After all, the dead don’t need money. They’re not alive so they don’t have to earn a living. In one of his few quotable moments, Silent Cal Coolidge supposedly observed that “The business of America is business.” Reportedly, he uttered that 95 years ago, and it’s as true today as it ever was.
In times of pestilence, such a quote reeks of crass commercialism. But suppose we construe the meaning of business to mean “a specific occupation or pursuit” (The American Heritage Dictionary), not necessarily for profit. That would certainly include the business of all breeds and mixed breeds of wokeniks. B.P. (before the pandemic) I’d grown used to their continuous bleating. My day was not complete unless I came across some sort of social justice absurdity or atrocity on this or some other website. I reveled in these revelations even as I cringed. Then came the shutdown, which, in retrospect, was a three-week sabbatical.
Before being called back to work, I was blissfully out of touch for 21 days. In fact, I was literally out of touch with keyboards and computers. My sole contact with the mass media was to occasionally turn on the radio in the morning (“Traffic and weather on the 8’s”) to see if I needed a light jacket or a coat before I went out, all the while knowing that I didn’t have to go out if I didn’t want to. A pantry full of non-perishables, a few cases of bottled water, a refrigerator full of beer, stacks of unread books and unwatched DVDs, and a shitload of toilet paper can have that effect on a fellow.
I didn’t make an effort to avoid the news, but I didn’t spend much time on it either. But when I went back to work, again the keyboard and the computer were unavoidable. When down time beckoned, I couldn’t help but check out some of the websites I hadn’t looked at for three weeks. I was disappointed but not surprised to see that nothing had changed wokenik-wise. The motley identity politicians were still at it. To be sure, the pandemic has stolen their thunder but they haven’t gone away. Wokeniks never sleep. It’s not often mentioned, but one of the leading causes of insomnia is ideology.
Not surprisingly, all sorts of groups are pondering the pandemic and wondering how it affects their tribe. When the dust has cleared, will it boost or hinder the tribe’s agenda? What’s loss of life compared to loss of influence?
If Greenpeace folks had been around in 1912, the sinking of the Titanic would have interested them only insofar as it affected the marine environment. The smoldering wreck of the Hindenburg would be of no concern to social justice warriors in 1937. A shocked radio announcer famously gasped, “Oh, the humanity!” A social justice warrior would be shouting “Death to fascists!” But a lot of the folks on board weren’t Nazis. “Well, that’s what they get for associating with fascists.”
Well, there’s no reason why we in the manosphere shouldn’t be equally insensitive and self-centered when it comes to a timely disaster, so let’s ponder what the pandemic portends for our tribe.
The divorce courts may be closed now, but once they open up again, will anything change? Will men thrown out of work be thrown in jail because they can’t keep up their child support? Will saner heads prevail? Have they ever prevailed?
Of course, the feminists have to keep stoking the fires of dissatisfaction because the pandemic has put all their pet peeves on the back burner. And the longer the pandemic lasts, the less the chance that they can return to business as usual upon return. If the workplace shuts down, quibbling about equity in the workplace becomes academic.
Speaking of academics, it’s all quiet on campus this spring, with some pundits asserting that a number of marginal colleges will likely go down the drain, thus removing the platforms for numerous university wokeniks. How many gender studies professors and diversity deans will end up on the unemployment lines with dim prospects of re-employment int their chosen fields. Lotsa luck, ladies. I was going to be a smart ass and say you can always get a job in a massage parlor, but they’re closed for the duration.
I suppose the action on social media is still buzzing along, but a lot of females must be really miffed that they just aren’t getting any real-world attention from men. The young women are wasting their youth sitting at home when they should be out there boozing it up and bedhopping and doing all that sewing of wild oats that used to be the prerogative of the male of the species. No parties, no rock concerts, no free dinners from would-be suitors. No arena behavior at all.
The older single females with the ticking biological clock have now lost at least two eggs since this thing started. They are now at least two months closer to “GAME OVER,” more popularly known as menopause. Not to worry, ladies: Spinsterhood is powerful!
While the whole world is under lockdown or lockdown-lite to keep the lethal virus at bay, it just isn’t seemly to whine about one’s pet grievances. When people are getting sick and dying worldwide, bitching and moaning about manspreading isn’t likely to find sympathetic ears. From what I’ve seen on public transportation the last few weeks, seats are abundant, so manspreading is not a problem. Hell, mansprawling wouldn’t be a problem these days.
It’s a bit like a Japanese gourmet complaining about his sushi in the aftermath of Hiroshima. There’s no place for petty grievances and narcissism in the post-pandemic world. That doesn’t mean grievances and narcissists will cease to exist. They will just turn down the volume until it’s safe to turn it up again. If the wokeniks totally give up on agitation, their pet issues might go down the memory hole with Sacco and Vanzetti.
Of course, the ban on get-togethers of all stripes has robbed activists, agitators, and political theater types of their platform. Ironically, the Antifa folks were wearing masks before wearing masks was cool. Now they must wear masks in public but they’re not allowed to hold political rallies. Not that it matters because there is nobody on the streets they can beat up. Stay classy, Portland!
It also occurs to me that sexual harassment in the office must be way, way down. Even if you’re essential and still going into your office, there’s nobody there to harass even if you wanted to. So that particular topic is a dead issue, at least for the near future. In fact, I suspect that quite a few furloughed females would be more than happy to put up with a little grab-ass if it would restore their paychecks.
Come to think about it, what about attorneys who specialize in sexual harassment cases? They must be considering a change of specialty, as those cases will surely dwindle. Even when people go back to work, the social distancing thing will persist. Cavort with a cutie who’s a carrier, and you could be a dead pigeon! Oral sex can’t be performed with masks on. A condom provides no protection from the coronavirus. You can’t have sex in a hazmat suit. I guess a hand job is still feasible – but only with gloves on!
Heretofore, when a man decided to get intimate with a female, he worried about pregnancy or STDs. When the bars finally open up again, he will have to wonder if Typhoid Mary is sitting on the stool next to him. For a while, avoidance of women may reign. Like in second grade…remember? Girls have cooties! Keep away from them!
Of course, loss of employment means a disruption in income and that means a lot of men will not have the discretionary bucks to spend on females. The forging of relationships will slow to a crawl, the marriage rate will go down even lower, the birth rate will sink to unimaginable depths. A man who still has a good job will be more valued than ever. Such a man may get more female attention than ever…but remember those cooties!
So MGTOW may realize huge gains in a post-pandemic world. Who knew that MGTOW was ahead of the curve when it came to social distancing…or is it antisocial distancing?
But seriously, folks, after enough men have had a taste of going their own way, courtesy of the virus, won’t a significant percentage of them adopt it as a lifestyle?
Remember what I said earlier: a pantry full of non-perishables, a few cases of bottled water, a refrigerator full of beer, stacks of unread books and unwatched DVDs, and a shitload of toilet paper. Admittedly, it’s not as catchy as a loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou…but it worked for me. Nothing wrong with a jug of wine but I’ll skip the bread (cutting carbs, you know). As for thou, please maintain a distance of six feet. In fact, why not make it six yards. Better yet, six miles.
By now, I’m almost getting used to my mask. In fact, it’s hard to believe that there will come a time when I can go out without donning it. I just might keep wearing it ever after the all-clear sounds.
“Who was that masked man?” you might wonder if you see me plodding down the street.
Just another man going his own way.