Feminism is a deception perpetrated on women, in order to make them the front-line troops in a Communist Revolution. If you don’t believe me, read Gloria Steinem: ‘the only thing Marx got wrong is that the means ARE the end’.
The sex-doll issue, which was bubbling in the news-feeds as feminists set it up for attack — until COVID-19 stole the show — is illustrative of how they use sex to exercise power over men. No women are harmed in a sexual exchange between a man and a piece of plastic, yet somehow it is still ‘demeaning to women’ for this to happen. How is that even possible? It’s a SEX TOY.
(I wonder, with my tongue a little in my cheek, if the same rules would apply to dildos, rabbits and vibrators, as are popular with the darling feminists themselves? Or is this just another double standard? Silly me, of course it is. These are WOMEN we’re talking about.)
When you teach women that they are the same as men, then there are consequences. Making them into masculine not-women is just the first.
Women begin to think they should perform an ersatz masculinity. This is pronounced in corporate or military situations, where rank matters. How can a promoted woman give orders to a man? Only by performing masculinity. Then, if you fix the game so these not-women can win with less effort than men, which in most scenarios is the only way they can, it gets worse.
As a result the route to success success becomes ‘being masculine’ when it should mean ‘being a great mother’. The more masculine women are, the more success they are likely to be given, in our culture, while motherhood is decried as an impediment to their ‘careers’. (By which they mean ‘jobs.’ Equality of exploitation in wage-slavery, what a victory.)
But at the same time, masculinity repulses men and mothering qualities attract them. (see Freud.) So men begin avoiding these women as sexual partners. I mean, who the fuck would marry Cathy Newman? So career success, for women, increasingly equals ‘catastrophic personal life.’
The Greeks deeply appreciated the sexual allure of beautiful boys. I mean that old goat Zeus even kidnapped one, Ganymede.
The Romans, too, enjoyed them at every level of society. Beautiful boys were imported as slaves by the thousands, to satisfy the Roman desire for them. These boys were coiffed and dressed as girls. They were ladyboys — whether they liked it or not.
The Islamosphere is so passionate in its male love for beautiful boys that the Prophet himself commented upon their allure. The Ottoman Empire was legendary for its enthusiasm for boys, suitably feminised; ergo, they were ladyboys.
It’s well known that women live longer, on average, than men do. Partly, of course, this is due to the fact that men tend to have more dangerous jobs, in our modern world.
That was not always the case: until little more than a hundred years ago, men’s life expectancy was relatively much longer, because of the high levels of death in childbirth. But most men don’t die in mining accidents or in wars. So what actually kills men? Could it be that not having sex is what kills them?
Today is not the first time that feminism has threatened to destroy civilisation. It’s very interesting to note, if you study the mythologies of the ancient Levant on which Christianity is based, how the Goddess, symbolic of women, became identified with Satan.
The serpent and the dragon (just a bigger version) were always creatures of the Goddess. The day aspect of the Goddess in Sumerian mythology was called Inanna (later Ishtar) whose uncle, Enki, was her closest ally. Enki frequently appeared as a snake. Feminism is just the modern version of an ancient evil.
What is ‘sex tourism’? It’s a subject that generates a great deal of copy and little enlightenment. Is it just ‘mongering’, the practice of buying sex, but this time in foreign lands? And if it were, why would there be anything wrong with that?
Is it any sex abroad? Is having sex when you’re on holiday ‘sex tourism’? What about if you live abroad and occasionally have dalliances with the locals? Sex tourism? What about, in the same country, if you marry a local? Still ‘sex tourism’?
What does ‘sex tourism’ actually mean? Is it really a thing, or is it just another nasty epithet that the lowest of the low, rabidfems, use to try to shame men into behaving by the rules that they and other feminazis set, without ever getting a say in defining those rules? Can women be ‘guilty’ of ‘sex tourism’, or is that just holiday fucking?
A fell cauld wind wis sauchin ower the muir as the bonny wumman gart her wey tae tryst her jo. For the necht wis Februar the fowerteen, an aabody kens at’s the necht for luve.
She wis winsome eneuch, tho the first blush o youth, it maun be said, was left ahent her a lang while syne. A body mecht hae speirit at himsel how comes a lass o sic natral attractions hidnae been wad this mony a lang year.
At last she reached the spot ablow an auld aik whaur she an her jo hiv met this necht mony mair years nor either of them wad care tae hink on. Her jo wis aaready there, a puckle fashit, ye mecht hink, wi the wye he wis stridin up an doon, his een flashin faniver he luikit up.
“Ah, here you are, at last,” he intoned, as the lass presented hersel.
Featured Image: Restenneth Priory, Forfar, Angus, Scotland. Pic by Rod Fleming
Not for the French the quaint Anglo-Saxon habit of neighbouring towns staggering their half-days—or even taking half-days in the first place.
On Monday, the whole of France is as dead as that chap they poisoned on St Helena. You know the one. In fact, I think he was responsible for it. And of course, the reason is quite fair; all the shops are open on Saturday so that the people who don’t work in shops can do their shopping, and why should the commercants and their staff not enjoy a proper two-day weekend?
“No,” I cried, and summoned up the best of my then limited French, “Cas d’urgence!”
But this made no impression on the battle-axe, who shook her head again, pointed to her watch and mouthed “Quattors heures et demi.” Whatever my emergency was, it would h
ave to wait another 150 minutes.
Aghast as she began to turn away again, and now completely at a loss for words, I was once again reminded of the sheer brilliance of my wife in situations like this. Knowing that she could not hope to plead her case in French, she had slipped over to the car, unstrapped Calum, and now appeared with him in her arms; when she knew she had the dame’s attention, she lowered the towel wrapped around him to show the lad’s bare bottom, and just said one of the few French words she knew by heart, because she needed it so often. “Couches!”
One thing the guidebooks never bother to tell you about France is also one of the most important of all that you should know. In fact this piece of information is so important that my imparting it to you, as I am about to do, is worth the price of the book of all this. So perhaps, if you’ve borrowed this from a friend, you should skip to the next chapter right now. (I jest.)
So what is this invaluable knowledge that no-one should travel in France without first having assimilated? Just this:
Everything Shuts At Twelve. For Two Hours. At Least.
That’s it. Outside of the major metropolitan cities like Paris and Lyon, and maybe even Marseilles these days, if you ain’t got whatever it is you were looking for by the time the midi rings, you can forget getting it until two o’clock at the earliest.
Believe me, you will not be in France long before you realise how much this immutable chronology affects life.