You might have tried to avoid it. I’ve tried to avoid it. The endless, navel gazing, fretful handwringing concern over the state of American, and by extension the world’s…masculinity. Men, purportedly are being left behind, women searching for “real men” can’t seem to find “any” on the left side of the political spectrum (we can call this The Gwen Stefani Paradox) and there is, somewhere, probably right where you are a silent, but declared war on boys.
Joe Rogan is hunting and eating wild game because of the likelihood that it increases testosterone, sort of like the steroids he also extols. Testosterone replacement “therapy” or TRT is de rigueur for men of a certain age and despite silence being one of the supposed manly virtues everyone even whistling their way by it hasn’t been able to shut their mouths about it.
And yet…methinks they doth protesteth too much. Chris Rock, the comedian, in one of his routines had mentioned the singer Rockwell, he of the “There’s Somebody Watching Me” hit song. A few years after the song and Rockwell’s star had crested Rock revisited with the riposte “nobody’s watching you Rockwell!”
[W]omen are also opting out of owning their very own halbermensch who can’t get their acts together enough to use doorknobs.
Well, this is like that. We’re hearing a lot of “masculine” complaining but not seeing a lot to back up the complaints outside of a misguided sense that changing how we use pronouns may reveal in us a propensity for a heretofore hidden desire to fellate our fellow travelers. The numbers of trans women, that is previously biological men who are blowing the whole program by becoming women, seem to suggest in this Internet war of words that surrender takes many forms.
And this is all before we get to the woeful stats connected to the numbers of men graduating from college or post-college, able to secure and maintain gainful employment and placement in the now-no-longer-burgeoning middle class. Which, as it flows downhill results in fewer marriageable partners for the women who are, in general, just killing it.
This is pre-marriage. Post-marriage, ask any divorced woman, how it’s hanging on any of the online dating platforms and it’s dire enough that there isn’t a single media organ that hasn’t written about it.
Inevitably then there’s a cut away to the Japanese deal with hikikomori, where men are not even leaving their rooms. Like, ever. With a resultant panic piece about plunging birth rates in Japan because women are also opting out of owning their very own halbermensch who can’t get their acts together enough to use doorknobs.
“We can’t say anything anymore!” He was aggrieved and his knit brows reflected that this was no sham emotion. He was mired in a full belief that he was now unable to communicate, in English, for fear of running afoul of the hidden lefty police poised to cancel him, a program manager at Youtube.
“What do you want to say that you feel like you can’t?”
“Well, I can’t compliment women any more!”
“How many women are you complimenting when you’re with your wife?” I ask. He owns four houses, vacations in Belize, his wife and his kid are both catalog cute, and the wife’s salary outpaces his.
“I don’t, because I can’t!”
“How many times have you not been able to? Surely you must remember a few.”
He couldn’t. Because he hadn’t. It was just an Internet meme that was extending itself into four dimensions. A talking point when there’s nothing left to talk about. Because if there was something left to talk about I would have said that I had went to a party, saw a woman who was wearing a pretty banging necklace and at some point during the conversation I felt perfectly reasonable saying so.
“That’s a pretty banging necklace.”
“Why, thank you.”
Women, who he stated “wanted” him, were simply “spermjackers” and he needed to stay ever vigilant.
In, out, no one got hurt, nor did I immediately start fellating other men. And in no way were my masculine urges curtailed.
“Bitches are a waste of time.”
This guy, not the Youtube guy, was a self-described Incel. Involuntarily Celibate. He had also fashioned an acronym that indicated he was a Man Going His Own Way. He had turned his back on masturbation or any kind of sexual ideation that had at its center an erotic understanding of women that he maintained that he was biologically directed toward, but that like Nietzsche suggested, it was a biology that he would rise above.
He didn’t stop there. Women, who he stated “wanted” him, were simply “spermjackers” and he needed to stay ever vigilant. He was also 5’4” and 265 pounds and admitted that he might need to lose “a little” weight. But that he hated going to the gym. Because: spermjackers.
For all of his commentary regarding distaff wastes of time, he seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about them and the ways in which they were dedicated to both minimizing the masculine and maximizing their access to it. Through language, sports, social achievement.
It was a bouillabaisse of grievance and it made my head hurt to read his DMs. Because, the reality is, and remains, that nobody’s watching you Rockwell. There’s no hidden cabal or union of incredibly crafty yet totally stupid women bent on the destruction of all that is masculine.
But through all of the sound and the fury things start exerting themselves. Anecdotally, yes, but still. A goodly number of complainants, and again, anecdotally, came from wealthy families. A few of them had turned their back on higher education, about half of them were MAGA-leaning and most hadn’t had a steady heterosexual relationship of any kind within the last few years.
What they did have were doting mothers, unfettered access to video games and successful fathers willing to fund their explorations into unfettered access to video games. And so it seems that it’s less that the world is holding them back from their just masculine desserts and more that they are holding themselves back from competing for them. Because they never have. And if things keep breaking their way, they will never have to.
Kind of like that guy in the bar who would fight you, but he just got expensive dental work. Or he doesn’t want to hurt you. Because he “does UFC.” Or like the consummate patron saint of this ilk, Elon Musk who would fight Zuckerberg, but he really should have some surgery first…but after that? Oh. Watch out.
But if we’re going to play the blame game, and we’re going to play the blame game, I’m turning an eye to The Internets where not only are their reedy voices amplified and multiplied by the other cringing whingers, but by sheer dint of numbers they begin to feel a certain amount of, dare we say, strength?
Which to a certain degree would explain Charlottesville where khaki wearing business majors took to the streets and proclaimed that “Jews will not replace us!” before running down counterprotesters in a “manly” show of offensive driving skill. James Alex Fields Jr., the car driver, was in his early 20s when he decided to plow into crowds of humans, killing one woman. His defense attorney claims it was to avenge the death of his grandmother who was murder-suicided by his Jewish grandfather.
The jury, despite Trump’s belief in good people on both sides, gave this side a sentence of life in prison. Which is probably a real good place to exercise all of that involuntary celibacy and men going their own way without the undue negative influence of the incredibly crafty yet totally stupid women that caused his downfall.
For my part though? I’m just happy to have a little peace and quiet, a little less mewling about how unfair things are, and to be spared the irksome sight of able bodied men in their 20s manufacturing excuses/reasons for nonperformance.
So, if you’re a man still in possession of a penis and testicles that belong to you, I think it’s safe to say the crisis has been averted. Yes?
OK…here’s a big letter A…announcement…if you’ve already pre-ordered the memoir A Walk Across Dirty Water and Straight Into Murderer's Row, from Amazon? Or the Bookshop.Org dealie: Here?
You will now not get the book until OCTOBER 12, 2023.
There was some screw up, though it should be noted that it was not MY screw up. But there are a lot of moving parts in getting this monster out. In any case this is not about blame. It’s just an announcement.
So that’s the bad/drag news.
The GOOD news? Feral House is STILL planning on special, SEXY giveaways to accompany the book. Which you should STILL do the right thing and pre-order right now if you haven’t already done so.
Thank you for this. Not possessing the requisite penis and testicles, I was uncertain whether or not it was okay for me to weigh in on the subject. It has alternately baffled and annoyed me for quite some time, however, and I'm glad that *someone* finally said what I've been thinking. <3