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.)
Also “dude”. Don’t do drugs, kids, or you’ll end up like me, calling your mother in law “dude” while she walk in circles round the Christmas tree staring at the pretty lights.
Well, dudes, I’m totally glad you’re being so radically accepting of what I thought was a random slip up. Bangalicious.
/powerchords
/wild hair
—
@Marie: It’s so very dreary and bleary and just a little sad
it makes me wonder wonder wonder if their minds have gone bad
not as in in need of therapy but as in bad
Evil Overlord bad
cooking up conditional constructions of reality somehow hinging
on misery and being pissed and quite amiss that everything’s miserly
/coffee
I end up calling people man or dude as default more often than I should :/ Personally I don’t mind other people doing it to me, but going to keep an eye for it.
@fibinachi
Coffee is good. 😀 Sadly it made your post slightly harder to understand… Coffee@! I love coffee!
Sowwyz I’m hyper. No coffee involved though, if I have some now I will never go to sleep. >:D
Power poetry coffee, oh my! 😀
Fellow Californian here. I say “man” all the time. I prefer “dude” as it’s almost gender neutral in usage.
“Is unintentionally mating fish okay? ”
Apparently? That’s part of why I’m all THE CONTRADICTIONS!
They do it themselves, and they don’t “know better”…
As for the whole “dude…man…” thing, my only issue is that “man” is used as a generic “you, over there, person I’m friendly with” whereas I’ve never heard “woman” used similarly, but rather as a snapped “woman! (Don’t you know your place?!)”
Can’t really blame stoners for that, just one of those general “gender, we be doing it wrong” things.
And Fibinachi won the thread.
Oooh!
Perfectus — is dude a pejorative against men?
Aw, I missed the trollsplosion. Come back, little troll, you were just starting to get funny!
Typical, innit? The one entertaining troll we’ve had in a while and he goes all shy.
Fibiniachi:
So what prevents the money from flowing right now?
I stumbled on this blog by accident, when I tried to find some advices on how to stay celibate I found those MGTOW websites, sadly they were full of scorn and didn’t have anything useful to say about this problem.
I judge this blog to be a – I can’t say it – cunningly deceiving naive souls by cute pictures of cats and leading them into all manner of depravity. So I repeat my stern warning: Do not be misled!
My politeness results from my intention not to hurt anybody, but I want to say frankly, what needs to be said. But never I could call one of my sisters a skank, whore or slut! Even if she is sinning horribly (as my biological sisters do 🙁 🙁 🙁 ) I will not allow loathing in my heart and she will be still one of my sisters, even, yes even then, when she would try, what can’t be done without the utmost wickedness, to seduce me and to make me falter.
And since we Cathars (contrary to wrong believers like Catholics) hold men and women as equal and equal in responsibility, all what I said is true for my brothers, of course.
Bodily fluids aren’t precious, we Cathars say “masturbation is not sinful”. Discard it where you wish, but not in the natural receptacle designed by the Demiurge.
It’s getting very late, I must go to bed now. Probably you’re right with contraception, I just didn’t recognize how feeble you all are, you really don’t seem to be able to refrain from it. So while you may corrupt your souls by your primitive desires (I say it once more: they are worse than homosexual acts), it is still better that you get your contraception paid and don’t make innocent souls suffer by forcing them in this corrupt world.
Argenti Aertheri:
The soul is incarnated in the body and uses the brain as an anchor to material reality, so it can recognize reality. Some creatures have better anchors than others, on this world humans have the best, and so the human soul has much deeper insights, although it is not fundamentally different from the soul in a fish.
Poe or Mr Al, definitely.
LOL
Damn, my summoning powers are awesome. 8 minutes. I should go see Granny Weatherwax for further training.
Oh no David, he’s onto you!
… or has he heard of the wiles of Basement Cat? :O
http://youtu.be/9koVJEKkHgU
Black cats are why I can have nice things. I so want one as a pet.
Cassandra – she won’t approve of the way you wear black, though.
I don’t think she’d be too thrilled with my jewelry either. Sadly I don’t think Magrat and I would get along.
I would consider Nanny Ogg as an option, but I already have a charmingly tactless British grandmother who sings filthy songs when she’s been drinking.
Thank for you taking the time to answer my queries, and good luck on your quest (If calling it a quest is appropriate – I mean to infer a intention of wishing you well with your stated goals in life).
I disagree with almost every single thing I have written, but you seem to have found peace with your beliefs – so good luck with it all.
—
As for everything else, yep. You are spot on. This is a nest of cats and depravity. And we are feeble nymphomaniacs who require others to pay for our ceaseless drives of fornication, because alas, on our own we cannot contain our primal urges to ceaseless reproduce. Alas, the curse of having DNA and the need for multiple vectors of reproduction.
—
As for the money flow? I’ll go with the old triumvirate:
Entrenched economic tradition, feeble models and conflicting national interests taking precedence over unification because smaller worlds are easier to manage.
—
Glad to know the Albigensian Crusade didn’t utterly snuff out your belief structure, though.
But does your grandmother have a cat like Greebo? And at least she waits ’til she’s been drinking to sing the filthy songs, I don’t think Nanny does. 😀
I wonder if Magrat wears jewellery these days? She chucked out all her stuff when she gave up witching for queening. She might have drawn the line at being decked in heavy jewellery of the royal sort as well as being in a farthingale dress.
Macavity’s a Mystery Cat: he’s called the Hidden Paw–
For he’s the master criminal who can defy the Law.
He’s the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad’s despair:
For when they reach the scene of crime–Macavity’s not there!
Macavity, Macavity, there’s no on like Macavity,
He’s broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity.
His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare,
And when you reach the scene of crime–Macavity’s not there!
You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air–
But I tell you once and once again, Macavity’s not there!
Macavity’s a ginger cat, he’s very tall and thin;
You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in.
His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly doomed;
His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed.
He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake;
And when you think he’s half asleep, he’s always wide awake.
Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity,
For he’s a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity.
You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square–
But when a crime’s discovered, then Macavity’s not there!
He’s outwardly respectable. (They say he cheats at cards.)
And his footprints are not found in any file of Scotland Yard’s.
And when the larder’s looted, or the jewel-case is rifled,
Or when the milk is missing, or another Peke’s been stifled,
Or the greenhouse glass is broken, and the trellis past repair–
Ay, there’s the wonder of the thing! Macavity’s not there!
And when the Foreign Office finds a Treaty’s gone astray,
Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way,
There may be a scap of paper in the hall or on the stair–
But it’s useless of investigate–Macavity’s not there!
And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say:
“It must have been Macavity!”–but he’s a mile away.
You’ll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumbs,
Or engaged in doing complicated long division sums.
Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macacity,
There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and suavity.
He always has an alibit, or one or two to spare:
And whatever time the deed took place–MACAVITY WASN’T THERE!
And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known
(I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone)
Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time
Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!
Macavity – The Mystery Cat – a poem by T S Eliot
The patronizing, particularly with the “but you’re feeble sluts” undertones, isn’t fucking cool. You’ve no clue why any of us defend birth control (or, more broadly, estrogen) and absolutely no clue about our sex lives. Coming in here with “stern warnings” about how we’re being misled by cats? That’s fucking cute. And I really don’t give a shit if you decide that my saying that proves how feeble I am.
And if a human soul is not fundamentally different from a fish, why is it okay from them to procreate but not us?
Oh and nobody, fucking nobody, here wants to seduce you. Don’t have sex if you don’t want, we give exactly zero fucks. But sure as the nose on my face, you do NOT get to tell us what we can and cannot do.
(Everyone else, do let me know if you want me to back off, but I’m angry now, and I have a whole well of righteous indignation built up by my “vacation” and I am bloody sick of being patronized)
I’d rather eat sand than have sex with that dude. Eugh.
Eh, if you need a pinata then go for it. I’m just going to sit here and laugh (at him, not you).