Many feminists, and other morons, posit that ‘if women ran the world, there would be no wars,‘ and often they base these hollow words on weird theories like ‘testosterone in men causes violence,‘ and that men, by their very nature are deviant, and have a need to kill.I think, maybe, these women who use testosterone theories should go to the zoo more often, and watch bonobos (NSFW-unless you are in Eagan, Mamasota, or apparently hahahahahahah Las Vegas Nevada, and, apparently–is it Dublin now?–or Toronto–you peeps do this for a living, right?).
Or, maybe, go to the circus, and visit the tattooed lady! The one with the beard. Because certainly, in the last several weeks of my existence, tattooed ladies have been showing up, like clockwork, every time I try to earn my living.
And they all outweigh me by like, fifty pounds, at least. And they all have more ‘drive’ than I do, for sure. I can tell by the tattoos they wear, many of those in gang style, boo’s name on their necks, the bicep wrap–you know, all of the predictable fauxminist stuff of newly empowered state-women who are working in sync with the raccoons to destroy my pond.
Me, a little goldfish, has somehow attracted egrets, and pond destroying raccoons to my little corner of the world–and they are sooo hungry! Hungry hungry hungry, indeed.
Yet science directly contradicts moronic statements about testosterone: in fact, men have a Y chromosome that is in fact a relic, or a mutation of an x chromosome somewhere along the evolutionary path. Women, of course, have two x’s, while men have one x and half an x–can you picture that?
AND, that mutation had a reason, because everything in evolution has a reason. These reasons are called “adaptations.” And species are sure HUNGRY hungry hungry. Probably, if the coons are to be believed, they seek what is easy to catch, and what is apparently, very visible–like the glint of a goldfish fin.
And yet–AND YET–the coons didn’t show up, or get rambunctious until I added that sooper fishy smell to the pond–CRAPPIE minnows! Little ones, and one big huge one. The smell of fish, then, and especially fish that they like to smell, are used to smelling, and seek out in order to smell, and then, eat-that is what attracts them.
Now, some if not all evolutionary adaptations have a purpose–and that purpose nearly always has to do with survival of the species.
Now, I am not going to get into deep science, nor argument over evolution-did humans evolve from fish???!!!???
Ask your wife/wives/husband/husbands. And for the rest of the girls who are married to the government? Fuck, you are too stupid to know what human relationships beyond tooth to meat are about (apologies to any woman I might have offended with that last phrase–after all, I respect women who have lost husbands to war, workplace mishaps, cancer, and so forth, women whose children were truly abandoned by men–which is statistically, empirically one of the rarest events of human breeding and family making–; and women who through American social programming landed themselves like heroines on the first bit of sperm that they found in the war between the sexes–only later to figure out he was a hand grenade of bad social programming) .
Nor will I engage in discussion of boys versus girls-a particularly odd American sexual dialogue painted in blue and pink–a social adaptation that is itself a very useful evolutionary trait, the enforcing of sex roles, and then, the pitting of the sexes against each other generation after generation, which is a time tested, proven method to generate tax payers and the wombs and warriors that America depends upon to ‘keep it strong.’
And, this trait–a trait that has fueled the war industry and fed human bodies by the millions and millions into the pyres of international wars all over the world is one that feeds many many so-called social service organizations, NGO’s and so forth.
But the truth is, those who are closest to funding the next ‘peace,’ are those who are most deeply entrenched in the bed of international war machinery–and that includes any and all women’s organizations, anywhere. In fact, women’s organizations ARE a militarized, militant force that sleeps with, and otherwise fosters the war industry and that willingly feeds children to it, despite us here in the west knowing that there is a better way–that industry thought to be male and patriarchal, and all that other feminist crap is in fact, led by the Queen of England, and women like Hillary Clinton.
Pink, and blue–in military drab, with nice smiles, no visible lipstick, and a spare, artificial but battle worn phallus or two in their back packs, just in case….
But just for now, just here in this moment, I am reminded that their are far fewer organizations devoted to ending the use of chemical weapons on children, and far fewer, particularly feminist organizations that are even willing to shift their paradigm to topics like ending war itself, than there are women’s organizations that are hyper focused on intact ctitori in tall, erudite Somali women, and who are asking pertinent questions like “how can we end prostitution, and women who are in relationships with ONE man–and get women to work for us instead of some man, for the betterment of the world of women, and to put her body–and of course, the moind it carries!! to work for ‘everyone?’ And especially to work for US?
Deformed children are just not sexy enough to sell magazine covers. They are not pretty enough to catch the eye of the multi-national, internationally funded women’s organizations to find the time to speak about, apparently.
Or, maybe, the wankers of the world have stood directly in the way of enabling women to gain further access to the children of the world? Maybe, the individualists, or the libertarians, or the local agents who merely act as guides, but never take the trip are to blame?
Maybe the outliers–or the mentally ill? The MAsons? Because surely, the order of the Eastern Star has nothing to lose, wouldn’t you agree? They, no doubt, are heroines–mobilizers, and militantly responsible for the mop up ops, after the bombings?
And maybe–just maybe, that is because white women’s feminism is a lookist enterprise, that relies upon standard pink and blue narratives, and defaults only to purple when pressed–because none of them have ever heard of fuschia, lime green, or chartreuse, apparently.
I personally don’t care whether a woman is white, black red or purple–ya’ know?? They are individuals, despite that trope of color. Yet sadly, recently, one woman told me she wanted enough money to go to beauty college–but I suspected she was being pimped–and that, to the narrative that surrounds this paragraph–and I lose, every time. I’m just a fish! What can one goldfish do in the world-YOUR WORLD
Or, because they are just pigs as well who pander for dollars only at the lowest denominator-that which can produce more soldiers, more wombs and more warriors for pink and blue.
Thankfully, the era of white women’s feminism is at it’s furthestmost horizon, about to fall off of the flat world that they spoke for, for so long.
AND, thankfully, there are other women’s narratives that are, in the very least, accountable, and possibly equal in their terms, their terminology, and their day to day observations of reality.
Put another way–my how times have changed: brown, asian, and ‘other’ women are more likely to do life for cutting the dicks off of men than are their white, man dick cutting predecessors.
LOS ANGELES, California — In August 2011, Catherine Kieu Becker, a Vietnam-born woman also known as Que Anh Tran, brutally attacked her husband severing his penis. At that time they resided in Grove Garden, California. Today, nearly three years later, Becker has been convicted and sentenced to life with the possibility of parole after seven years.
feminists from foreign lands are not as hungry to rip mens dicks off, and eat them, hoping as they do to grow one of their own, like a watermelon in the belly grows babies in the great white west (and lots of babies-72% these days without fathers, because the war industry has supplanted cops and soldiers into the homes of every kid via TV, and rendered men powerless to fight for the rights of their own kids-with the help, of course, of women.) http://ayannanahmias.com/2014/06/27/becker-sentenced-to-life-for-cutting-off-penis/
When Loreena Bobbit lopped her mans cock, al she got was a slap on the wrist–a nod from her jury that white women had paved the way for-white female privilege. So, brown, asian and other girls beware: white female privilege does not transfer.
Meanwhile these same women had no compunctions about dropping depleted uranium on Iraqi children–not one women’s organization that I am aware of spoke up while that was happening. Apparently, those kids aren’t pretty or white enough to speak out for–and they certainly aren’t from female led households, as they are in the west either–a lose lose for those kids, I guess.
Because all the empowered women of the west were too busy ‘freeing themselves’ from patriarchal oppression via cozying up to the politics and police who enforce’enfarce at the local level and the military industrial complex at another level, as they willingly incarcerated their husbands, lovers, sons, fathers, and every other man that might have had a clue that war as we know it is a corrupt enterprise, with women it’s prize–and even fewer of us knew that women’s organizations are surprisingly willing to stay silent as bombs drop in other children’s beds.
It is that cozy relationship–between American, and other western women who sleep with their own children, and keep men out of the house, that leads to war machines in other children’s beds.
Put another way? There’s just way more money to be had staying silent, and sleeping only occasionally, of course, with cops and other militarists and their philosophies.
notes to self: 1) today’s traffic stop outside my house, one of many caught on camera (I sometimes fantasize that I might be a hero some day-that, if some cop got whacked outside my house, I could save them with CPR–but every time I think about renewing my CPR training, I remember how many times I was laid on the pavement, and all I got were bullets, tickets, and Tasers in my back)-a large white woman in a red dress in a large white van, pulled over by a white cop.
He approaches car, no hand on gun, body language relaxed. Small talk, goes to front of car for tab check, returns to car window, license handed over, goes back to car to run plate.
Woman gets out of car, goes to rear of van, opens rear van door, pulls out large purse, returns to car, places large purse on passenger seat.
Returns to car, officer gets out of car, returns to driver side window-no citation, hands license back, pulls away. A minute or so later, woman drives away.
I dunno–I have never EVER gotten out of a car when pulled over. In fact, each and every time I can recall being pulled over, I was admonished to “stay in the car.”
In fact, this admonishment is part of the training (right, boys and girls? My dedicated fan base–you know the drill, right. Um, yah.)
Well, this is what is called privilege, in it’s most elementary form–the ‘right’ to not be a suspect.
And what was in that purse anyways? It was big enough to hold 5 jugs of moonshine; or seven boxed Desert Eagles; or four and one half pounds of weed; or a small nuclear device.
Or, the remains of a human infant, neatly packaged in saran wrap. Or, depending on her proclivities, desires, and capabilities–especially with in vitro being all the rage these days!–that huge bag could have held the bodies of four infants, wrapped in bedsheets.
Yet seldom, if ever are profiles accurate, and almost always, the weight of profiling falls on other people, and that, for generations.
That profiling, ahhh. There’s the rub. Science has known for decades-generations, that profiles begin a narrative that is inevitable–and yet, has devoted almost all of it’s time sleeping with the women who sleep with the war machines. Odd paradox, that.
notes to self 2:2) At 11:56 p.m. some moron slows his loud truck in front of my house, yelling ‘you’re gonna go to jail!’ and ‘ I will see you…’ voice breaking off, shouting some garbled unintelligible stuff that I could not understand due to what sounded like vibrations on my fish bowl, or possibly that damned guinea pig in the shady part of the house outside my bubble, rumbling again. It squeals and rumbles and bites the edges of it’s house when it is hungry.
And me? I can just race around the edges of this glass bubble, and gargle at the waters edge (no one ever hears me), or poop really long, golden turds the size of my intestines (no one seems to get the clue that means my intestines are empty).
Or–and this almost always works to get some food: I wait and I wait and I wait. And that seems to work, because when the sun comes up, my waiting seems to make the people in the house notice my racing around, and my gargling at the waters edges!