Once Aryan Skynet Goes Live It Doesn't Matter Who Pulled The Switch
In view of the unhappy news about Mindweapons’ sabbatical, I thought I would post something humorous but instructive for my good friend, sparring partner, and not-so-secret cyber-crush, Hipster Racist and his crew.
At the end of my fifth year of elementary school, the boys and girls were separated and herded off to different rooms by respectively the male and female coach. We girls got to watch some god-awful, cringe-worthy movie about entering puberty where we were assaulted with visions of hairy armpits and sweat stains on shirtsleeves. There was a question and answer session with the female coach.
As we rejoined the boys, I noticed that they were watching us girls warily and tiptoeing around us like they were walking on eggshells. I finally got curious and asked about the stuff that went on in the other room. Well, the boys got to see the same film … grosss … but during the Q&A session with the male (married) coach, he told them that, “during a certain time of the month, women get really, really, cranky and unreasonable. During that time, it’s best to just say, ‘yes, dear,’ and avoid them like the very jaws of hell itself!”
Girl power … on estrogen. Mwahahaha!
Are there any women out there who are as put out as I am that some stupid feminist bitched about the sexism of giving hurricanes (HER-I-CANES not HIM-I-CANES, you stupid bimbo) female names?
Is it just me or does anyone else notice that the years that hurricanes are named after females, they are the worst natural disasters on record and that the years hurricanes are named after males (himicanes?!) they sputter out into tropical storms?
“Himmicanes” seem to be more like men. They rattle their sabers, make a lot of noise, advance to the coast, pause, realize that it is going to be a major expense, not to mention pain in the ass for mankind to clean up, not to mention rebuild, and then they back off and fizzle out into tropical storms, figuring it was enough to scare the crap out of the humans. Hell, “Himmicanes” all but take mankind out for the proverbial beer after kicking mankind’s collective ass a little.
You see, DATGOY, the (Dark And Terrible God Of ironY – h/t to Cult of Diversity) does not like great traditions being tampered with. Hurricanes are like women, forces of nature … that can be destructive … especially during a certain time of month but I digress.
It seems to me that the hurricane’s semantics needed changing a little. If TIIC were going to make hurricanes less sexist, rather than giving them male names now and then, they just needed to call hurricanes something else.
I’m dating myself, but in my childhood, there would be television commercials about how “our product is so much better than Brand X.” And you would see the advertiser pointing to a box of Tide Detergent which stood right next to a box that was literally labeled Brand X. And people would figure out PDQ that Brand X was an inferior product, at least in respect to Tide Detergent.
But what if Brand X started calling itself Sparkly Clean? Wouldn’t it still be Brand X and still be inferior to Tide Detergent? One would think so, but never underestimate the benefits of rebranding with incurious, intellectually lazy people.
Right now, the WN sites are buzzing over the ill-effects of feminism. Men are at such a quandary with how to deal with it, that they have all these PUA sites where they go to “game” women.
I had a visit with my father recently and he got a little nostalgic about the times he had with me when yours truly was much younger. His favorite era, if you will was when yours truly was a toddler. He said I was a little scold (not surprising as I am a big scold now).
He also told me how I had scared the shit out of him at that age. My mother was in the hospital giving birth to my brother and my poor father made the mistake of giving the maid some time off for a few hours. He ended up rushing me to the hospital where I was diagnosed by an elderly doctor as “a little shrew.”
Can you believe it?! Little old moi?!
But here, as Paul Harvey would say, is the rest of the story. My father started it, sort of. He exercised his parental authority and refused to let me have my way over something, so I threw a tantrum and got so angry that I held my breath until I turned blue, necessitating the frantic trip to the ER.
The doctor examined me, found nothing wrong and told my father to get a spray bottle, fill it with water and keep it in the refrigerator, so that the next time I pulled such a stunt, he could douse me with the cold water inside the spray bottle. My father told me it worked like a charm. Curses to that old fart, the doctor!
Anyway, after reading yet another thread on the deleterious effects of feminism, it occurred to me that “feminists” have always been around. They had just been rebranded since Gloria “Playboy Bunny” Steinem glamorized them with her big specs and tight miniskirts. They were just labeled differently back then by our forefathers as: nags, fishwives … shrews. Erego, feminism is just another more dignified name for unrestrained shrewdom or shrewry, depending on how you like to word it.
The men of yore did not have the technology or the time to go to sites like Roissy, so they dunked their shrews and nagging scolds in cold water until they cooled off and calmed down. Which is probably what inspired that Dr. Old Fogey’s prescription for yours truly.
So my suggestion for men bemused by a feminist is to go back to calling that rose by its original name; SHREW, because before the rebranding took effect, men had had centuries of experience in creative management of the old brand; ill-tempered, irrational, hormonal females. And they did all this while building great civilizations and exploring new frontiers, too.