Pompous Misogyny on Parade, Part Eleventy Million Billion

Most misogynists, it would seem, are loath to admit that they’re misogynists. “How can you say I hate women?” they’ll ask. “After all, I love my sister. She’s not like the rest of those whores.” Or, “I just hate Western Women.” Or whatever fine distinction they like to make to pretend that their hatred of pretty much every woman they ever come across, or imagine in their overheated little brains, is something other than misogyny.

Then there are those who not only admit their misogyny but who are downright proud of it, thinking it’s a sign of their own personal superiority. Today, a pretty good example of Proud Misogyny, taken from the reactionary Christian blog Samson’s Jawbone.

Our intrepid woman-hater starts off by contrasting his brand of misogyny to the peculiar kind of woman-appreciation advocated by the PUA gasbag now known as Heartiste (but still known as Roissy when this post was written):

Roissy is fond of saying that he’s not a “misogynist”; no, learning the unvarnished truth about female psychology has given him a *higher* appreciation for women. Not so for me. Sociosexual philosophy has disillusioned me beyond all reckoning. Peering deep into the psyche of woman has rendered me grievously scornful in feeling and mercilessly unscrupulous in behaviour towards these unholy, ungodly beings. I venture to say that… I hate them. Yes, I hate them! And how could I not?

Did I mention that he has literary pretensions as well? Like a lot of reactionaries, Mr. Jawbone has adopted a melodramatic, vaguely archaic prose style that he evidently feels is the height of literary sophistication, but which sounds a lot more like the monologuing of some cartoon villain.

Oh, the vile criteria by which women judge menfolk! O, abominable, loathsome beings!

Is anyone else reminded of Newman from Seinfeld?

But Mr. Jawbone is just getting started:

A creature so damnably constituted as to admire a man for his “social dominance” – by which is meant his ability to waltz through an absurd series of meaningless, contrived riddles – rather than his work ethic, his self-sacrifice, his affability, his charity, his honesty, his justice – in short, his righteousness and integrity; such a creature deserves to be used and abused like a cheap street harlot – or better yet, a vermin-ridden ass – and discarded appropriately. Nothing more; she merits nothing better.

Here’s an actual vermin-ridden ass, having a nice scratch in the dirt:

Oh, but Mr. Jawbone isn’t done yet:

Words like “honour”, “duty”, “kindness”… those things that define goodness and rightness… all meaningless, meaningless to this wretched, wicked half of the human race. And do women who profess belief in something “higher”; women who should know better, afford any solace? No. Instead they show themselves as fraudulent, fickle hellcats who think good men are “weak”. So alas, I can no longer view the distaff horde with anything besides revulsion and contempt. They perjure themselves by their own words; they are beasts, deserving nothing but callous treatment and damnation; and I can wish nothing upon them but furious hatred, ignominy and a miserable passing.

What a cheery fellow!

I take no joy in penning the above – but I feel clean and spotless as the lamb. What else is to be said for a lot that believes black to be white, up to be down, and good men to be worthless? Poor Ashley Wilkes, and all good men.

Hate to break it to you, dude, but you’re not actually a good man. You’re a pompous dickbag. Oh, sorry, you’re a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy, worsted-stocking knave!

(Thanks to Shakespeare for that last insult, and to Quackers for pointing me to Mr. Jawbone’s post.)