Today I’m feeling lazy, so I’m just going to pass along some thoughts from Mark Minter, a fellow best known, insofar as he is known, for leaving melodramatic manospherian manifestos – look, three “m’s” in a row! — in other people’s comments sections. I’ve written about him before — twice! — and he’s recently returned to his old habit of leaving his droppings in the comments here.
This little masterpiece of purplish prose, however, was left in the comments section of Roosh V’s Return of Kings blog (and brought to my attention by a commenter here), where he gets a much friendlier reception than he gets in these parts. His topic: Returning to the United States after spending time abroad. (I’ve cut out big chunks of his comments, as Minty is a tad long-winded.)
I have been back 3 years and I do not seek to engage America in any way. I stay home, on the internet. I shop in the middle of the night for food. When I must be out in the day, I move quickly, efficiently. I interact little with this society that I am no longer a part of. Some of that is age but a lot of is that I have killed my American self and I feel no affection for it, no loyalty to it, and I shall discard it forever, soon. The only connection is feel to it is you, you band of renegade rebels to whom I feel a kindred spirit.
We few, we happy few, we band of douchebags!
Despite the claims of feminists, America is the Matriarchy, the land owned and dominated by women and their mangina menservants, their guards, their infrastructure that so caters to them, their laws.
Yes, it’s true. Along with its mangina manservants — hi, everybody! — America has a Matriarchal Infrastructure. For example, this power plant, located just outside Dacron, Ohio, is devoted entirely to providing electricity for women’s Hitachi Magic Wands.
Anyway, back to Mark’s riveting ruminations:
You see it when upon landing in America. In other places, immigration is almost a “lip service”, a gang of sorts to get money from you when you arrive and when you leave. The security you must pass, when entering. is almost a joke compared to what you encounter when you arrive in America. And it is far greater when you leave, those airlines and airport security forces have a procedure that is not so much that the idea of the country you are leaving, but rather the dictates of America, and its women.
Clearly, only women want border security. If it were up to men, anyone could just waltz in no questions asked, carrying bombs, heroin, large snakes, strange insects, bootleg t.A.T.u. CDs, what have you.
And here you are not a man, but a functionary, a manservant, a slave to women. You see it when you arrive, you feel it, you know it, that stripping of your masculine dignity that begins the moment you leave the plane and enter an American terminal, that herding, that loss of the you that is you. And you see it as you come out on these clean, lit streets, this great giant boring shopping mall, all designed for women, all policed for women, all at the behest of women and those manginas that have bought in … .
Damn you, America and your good lighting! Fuck you and your infernal lack of litter!
It is more than merely cultural, more than social, it is even biological. This matriarchy has dominated even nature here, controlled every last aspect, even the dirt, even the germs, all of the animals, and certainly, all of the men.
It’s true. ALL OF THE ANIMALS. Even my cats are women. Spoiled, pampered women who expect everything handed to them on a silver platter!
Well, not so much a silver platter as little paper plates. Also, I make them poop in a box. But you get the idea.
If you stay, you will remain in angst, a slave to women.
When I close my eyes the image I see is elsewhere.
Weird. I see the completely unilluminated inside of my eyelids, which is not a terribly interesting view.
And when I die, the fact I got to live elsewhere for a time, will dwarf what I feel about here. It is the basis of my rants about marriage and this American life as a married man being insipid, stupid, and a waste of the life of man. Because it ties you to here, it chains you, it removes your option, your hope, that you might leave, and seals your fate as a slave.
So, I guess … don’t get married then? Problem solved!
I don’t think the women of Matriarchal America are going to miss out greatly from you removing yourself from the marriage market. So, seriously, go right ahead.
NOTE: There is no Dacron, Ohio.