Trump proves that anti-feminism isn’t enough

In the interest of fairness and intellectual honesty, I am going to have to say some unkind words about Donald Trump. At the very least about his new tax plan.

As regulars here know, I have been quick to point out when Trump has gotten things right. I lauded him for giving political correctness the swift kick in its genderless crotch it so totally deserved. I was ecstatic recently when he did away with the Deal Colleague Letter and all the sexual assault witch hunts it created. And I have barely had a chance to do my happy dance when I recently caught up with the news that he will appoint Penny Nance as his ambassador-at-large for global women’s issues. Nance has been trashing feminists and the butthurt political arm of the LGBTQ community for quite some time.

And yes, I know full well that Nance is from the neosimp, cuckservative wing of modern politics. I’m not fooled for a moment into thinking she gives a rat’s ass about men. Still, since Trump isn’t going to nominate Karen Straughan or Alison Tieman to the position, so I’ll enjoy Nance’s appointment for the pure spectacle of it, anticipating she will create a feminist purgatory and fill it with fresh souls.

Again, I’m not imagining an MRA-MGTOW victory dance about any of this stuff. Trump is a gynocentrist, and of all the positives he serves up as president, red pills aren’t one of them. He’s a man who buys trophy wives and doesn’t mind the millions it costs him when it’s time to trade in on a newer model.

Which may explain the big, blue pill he slid into in his newly proposed tax plan.

As we all know, the biggest problem divorced men who pay alimony and child support have is what to do with all the stacks of cash that are cluttering up their Beverly Hills Estates. At least you’d think as much from the way the President’s tax reform proposal aims at relieving them of some of those stacks.

The proposal removes the federal income tax deduction on money paid out for alimony. True, alimony itself is straight up government theft; another way to grab cash from the havers and doers and give it to the have nots and do nothings. And the tax deduction is just a way for the government to appear magnanimous while they bend you over.

But it is, after all, a tax deduction, maybe enough to help a lot of men keep food on the table. Of course, to people in Trump’s circles, losing the deduction isn’t even an annoyance. It’s just something they pay a team of other people to bother with — without breaking stride or breaking a sweat.

If Trump’s plan to reduce taxes passes, it will come with a sadistically stiff tax on every divorced, alimony paying man in America. Well, for 99+% of them, anyway. There is that small fraction of men who will litter the highways with fucks they don’t give from behind the wheels of their Maseratis.

…while they’re getting blow jobs.

This is how President Trump will help pay for his tax cuts. By taking money from men and giving it to women as personal income. And then tax the guy who it was taken from.

The women, of course; the one’s receiving the money as income, are not taxed for it. Oh, no. We can NOT have women paying taxes on their income. That’s the man’s job, says our patriarchal government.

Maybe the rationale is that since women don’t actually do anything to earn that money, then it would be wrong to tax it. Or perhaps it is some sort of reparations, like for the slavery women endured back in the day, just like happened to black people. I wouldn’t put any of that kind of thinking past feminists or their male quislings.

There is little else to say about the specifics of this oh-so-typical raw deal for men. Gynocentrists gonna gynocentric.

You can write your congressman if you like. You might even scratch out a few words on some of that cash you got laying around. Still won’t do you any good. The system is FUBAR.

The only saving grace we have is the larger lesson; the value in this story that proves some very red pill points in a very graphic way.

One, as I have jabbered about for some time, you could end feminism today and gynocentrism would still be the most oppressive force in our society. Men would still be getting screwed, MRAs and MGTOWs would still be getting trashed in the media, sexual assault allegations would still be acted on with brutal mindlessness by state functionaries, media across the spectrum would still be trashing men, boys would still be getting mutilated at birth and men across the board would still be getting raped in family courts while the society chants, “You go girl!”

All of this is so certain that “antifeminism is not enough,” was once a candidate for AVFM’s tagline.

Second point, every bit as important as the first. Let this be some icing on your reminder cake. Don’t get married. Just whatever you do, don’t get married. Marriage, or anything resembling marriage in the eyes of the law, is the most bewilderingly pin-headed move a man can make. It’s a government constructed honeypot, a gynocentric flytrap aching to snap shut on your scrotum.

That’s not cynicism, it’s fact. Even if you escape divorce and the clutches of family court, you are as likely to end up miserable as you are happy, probably more so. And the rules say that as long as you chase that pipe dream, you will work yourself to death to keep it going.

If you need any more convincing, please marry the nearest woman so some other poor schmuck doesn’t have to.

If you really want or need a woman to share a life with, I really suggest holding out for one with a moral code that prohibits her from allowing the government to place the loaded gun of marriage in her hand. You will most probably wait in vain, or you might get lucky, or you may find you have the right stuff to train a woman correctly. Whatever the case, the values driven outcome is so much better than being dragged by your cock down the suicide isle.

Finally, and visiting the first point yet again. Today’s politics; the modern versions of left and right, both want to cut your balls off. If you want to, go out and dedicate your life to pushing for shared parenting. Put your soul into it, your money and your time. Then count on the fact that you only have two outcomes that are possible. One, you lose, hands down, because the left will fight you on it like Kamikaze pilots — and the right will whistle and look the other way while it happens.

Or two, you get something passed, but only after it gets watered down to nothing, or until gynocentrists figure out a way around it. Despite decades of attempts on fixing this problem, there is still no such thing as a family court in any state in the US that treats fathers in a just way, or that doesn’t shake them down like Tony Soprano.

The only thing that will solve these issues is public demands, and we are light years from having that. For every red pill man out there, there is a thousand weak-kneed cucks and at least that many princesses, feminists, and purely gynocentric traditionalists.

The only thing that will create the public demand for change, is a change in the cultural narrative on a scale that does not appear possible. That, my friends, is a blessing in disguise. When you see the world for what it is, you wrest your life and your fate out of the hands of politicians. When your only refuge from the insanity is the one you create in your own mind, you can get comfortable there. You carve out your safe space, and I don’t mean that in a snowflake coed sort of way. I am talking about the real safe space, walled off by personal agency, accountability and wisdom. It’s the red pill man’s raison d’être.

To be honest, I still like President Trump. I’ve known exactly what he was from the start. And I still think hands down he is the best alternative to crooked Hillary that the current culture could produce.

But whether he is better, worse or no difference, it really doesn’t matter to me, politically speaking. For the most part, I’ve resigned myself to view politics as entertainment and little else. That’s what you do when you realize that the average politician is a reflection of the average voter. And the average voter is either a zombie, a moron or both. All you can do is enjoy the ride and hope you live long enough to see it burn down.

And of course, you can be entertained while you wait for the great fire. For that, we’ve stumbled on to a big, fat pay streak with The Donald. The most entertaining president who ever lived, or likely who ever will.

But in spite of his election, and in some ways because of it, the gynocentric machine rolls on, ready to consume your wallet, your balls and your blood. And that leaves us with the certainty of what any thinking man must do in this crazy, crazy world.

Set your course wisely, guys. Keep your hand firmly on the rudder. Know the waters you are in, and know how to swim. Your ass is yours and yours alone. Keep it covered.

 

 

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