In 1990 I was 5 years old. I’m too young to have experienced a time when the Western world was not held down by rampant feminism.
I’m not a pacifist, but I would not die for my country.
I mean it when I say I would die for the people I love or respect, BUT…
- I would not die for hypergamy
- I would not die for group-think rule by females
- I would not die to save female in-group bias, their version of “equality”
- I would not die to save a feminist Establishment from the death throes it so richly deserves
- I will not die for manginas.
For most of my life I have been too chivalrous for my own good. If I saw a man and a woman in a violent altercation I’d automatically go to the aid of the woman (sometimes against odds that were bound to get me injured).
Not any more. To paraphrase one of my first ever comments on a social blog (forgive me if “social blog” is not the right term): if I had to choose between rescuing strangers (a man or a woman) I’d probably rescue the man. A woman needs me to rescue her like a fish needs a bicycle, right?
I have changed so much in the interim, I’m astonished to think that I made that comment only 16 months ago. However, this much has remained unchanged: I would still probably rescue the man.
Any society that makes things so bad for fathers that men (such as myself) decide not to have children is a society that deserves to be put out of its misery. It’s sick.
Corrupt, frozen Russia is looking better and better beside the madhouse that feminists have turned the western world into. The sight of American men in military uniforms walking around in women’s bright red high-heeled shoes (“to raise awareness of rape culture”) was the last straw for me.
I saw the Helen Clark government screw up the NZ military as well. Die for my country? No way. For the PPPs? Not a chance. Why should I put my life on the line to save shit?
The life of one man is worth more than all of the sick system he’s supposed to protect.
I would save the man.