Archive for the ‘Women’s Wrongs’ Category

Team Womyn, I’m talking to you.

I’m talking to your great-grandmothers who rioted in the streets, smashed storefront windows and torched manor houses, for “Women’s Suffrage.”

I’m talking to your grandmothers who took over the factory jobs of the “home front,” in World War II,  so the men could join the military, and fight – and die – on the battlefront. (And who sent their “Dear John” letters when they took up with some 4-F draft-dodger in a zoot suit.)

I’m talking to your mothers, who protested and marched in the streets about “Equal Rights” and “Women’s Lib” – but drove out the Equal Rights Amendment because it might have reduced their historical “feminine privileges” in the interest of the self-defined, selfishly-defined “equality” that was just an excuse for greed, arrogance and contempt.

And I’m talking to you, the recipients of all the fruits of these actions – all the goodies and privileges and overbalanced “equality” that has been given you by the legislatures and the courts. You have the right to any job, anywhere, and the privilege to skip over tough entry-level jobs and go straight to administrative “boss” positions. You have the right to go anywhere and the privilege to have your own “ladies only” spaces free of men. You have the right to have your man turned out of the home he’s buying for you and your family, at the whim of an unproven accusation, and the privilege that Government will force him to keep paying the rent or the mortgage.

Yes, you’ve won it all – you’ve got it, and everything that comes with it!

But there’s something missing, isn’t there? With all that you’ve won, there’s something still missing.

You have won complete control of the workplace, between Affirmative Action and “Equal Pay For Equal Work” and your Sisterhood in all the Human Resources positions. You’re the first to be hired and the last to be fired, and you can get rid of the male competition just by alleging “sexual harassment.” You will be believed, even if your claim is bogus, just because you’re a woman.

You OWN the court system. Where a man might get ten to twenty, you’ll get parole and counseling. Britain’s legislators are even talking about closing the women’s prisons completely down. And Family Court? Solidly in your pocket.

You are the Favored Sex in the church.  Pastors write their sermons with you in mind. They uphold your sex as the paragon of good and of virtue, and if there’s something wrong in your relationships they’ll side with you in a heartbeat.

You own the college system. Nearly two-thirds of the student body in the American college system are women. Your professors, teachers and instructors are mostly women, too – those men who still remain in the profession are scared of your shadow.

It looks like you’ve got it all. But something is still missing … where are all the “good” men?

Where are the guys who were supposed to flirt with you, and court you, and build you up, and support you, and protect you, and … dare you say it … marry you, and take care of you for life (even after you divorce them)?

Where is the boyfriend, the “special guy,” the man who’s ready to meet you at the altar? Where are the candidates to happily-ever-after with you?

We’re elsewhere. We’re voting “Absent.” We’ve gone Galt. We’ve retreated into our Man-Caves and disappeared.

After the centuries and millenia within which we strove and worked and killed ourselves to make this world comfortable for you ladies – and during which we exerted ourselves in every fashion, every direction, every possible way to praise you and uplift you and put you on a pedestal for our worship (think Shakespeare’s sonnets, as a bare and primitive minimum!) – we are completely weary of the message you’ve been spouting for all these years: You regard us as defective, and you want no more to do with us. After listening to the rants and rhetoric of your spokeswomen, echoed and re-echoed in the Main Scream Media for the past fifty years, more and more of us are taking you at your word. We oppress you with our help, our presence, our “objectifying gaze?” A woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle? It’s all our fault? Okay, we get it, we are removing ourselves from your presence.

How many of the guys you snubbed and spurned, the guys you dealt out of the rotation, actually have the decency and self-value that might have made them into faithful, hard-working, nurturing, instructive FATHERS???!!! You’ll never know, because you and the Courts denied them “fatherhood” from the git-go. You’ve managed to get the Guns Of Government to back up your claim – that “fathers are meaningless and worthless” and that “Women Are The Perfect Care-Givers, so long as the Bastard Man is forced to pay for our care-giving and pay extra for babysitters while we go out in search of Alpha Cock!”

It’s too late to ask, now, for our help and support.

You want to Have It All – meaning all the privileges, all the “rights,” but nothing even remotely resembling “responsibility.” Trouble is, that “responsibility” is inextricably, innately wed to the privileges and “rights” that you want to claim. They are represented by “everything that comes with it” – which is shorthand for “now you’ve got to do that hidden work, that men have always done in the background, to keep everything running!”

Well, now you’ve got it all – including the responsibility you wanted to evade, the children and teenagers you want someone else to bring into line, the “corporate career” that those 1960s “Mad Men”  would have gladly taken up on your behalf so you wouldn’t have to worry your “pretty little head” about it. You may find that statement “patronizing” – I meant it so. But in fact, it echoes the sentiments of that long-ago time, when men strove to spare their wives the problems, the upsets, the stress they were undergoing in the workaday world; they LOVED their wives and wanted nothing so much as to promote their happiness and leisure and all of that.

Now it’s your turn at bat. You’ve got all the benefits, all the “rights” and privileges and judicial protection and advantages, that our poor society had left to bestow. And you’re complaining, that these “rights” and “privileges” and “protection” and “advantages” aren’t worth a rat’s ass if you don’t have a male slavey out there to do the work you dislike.

Sorry, darlin’s. It’s up to you, now, to repair the “broken plumbing” of Society. Your “male slaveys” are abdicating, abandoning, their role as Society’s plumbers, re-wirers, repairmen and valets. You’ve told them – told US – shown us – dictated to us, again and again and again, your spurning and scorn for our efforts, our dedication, and our effective work to keep Society running. Enough. You can fix it better? Go ahead and fix it.

I wish you luck – you’ll need it!!


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I am old enough to remember flat, wooden-board swings in the playgrounds of my childhood. A flat wooden board wide enough for an adult’s hips, hanging on sturdy steel chains from a really high (to a child’s eyes) frame. A kid could really pump high on one of those swings, high enough to feel himself almost floating above the seat at the top of its arc, high enough that I never dared jump out of it at full swing. High enough to be scary; high enough that a fool or a daredevil could get hurt on it. Boy, they were fun.

I am young enough to remember when they swapped those wooden boards for thick flexible straps like little hammocks. They weren’t made for a kid to pump them, to swing high and feel the excitement. I couldn’t get a good swing out of them, anyways. They were made to keep a kid from falling off. They were ‘playground proofed’ to keep a kid safe – an admirable goal, I assume – but they had a hidden cost: A kid couldn’t fly high and get the thrill. And nowadays, when I look at playgrounds, I see that so much has been done to ‘keep a kid safe’ that it’s hardly possible for a kid to have fun on the stuff any more. They were designed for mommies, not for kids. And they’re deserted.

Well, it’s more than playgrounds that are ‘playground proofed’ nowadays. We find this same ‘protecting from consequences’ as a major, almost a prime, goal of modern society. What’s even more striking is that this ‘playground proofing’ is being conducted, directed, mandated, for the benefit of one class of people over another … a privileged class that has been historically protected from their bad choices, from their folly, from their mistakes and their consequences, by the other ‘class’ which were carefully taught the goal of keeping them safe, and warm, and comfy, taking care of their needs, and protecting them from harm, even if that meant protecting them from their own folly and not giving them the chance to learn from their consequences. But their bad choices and folly and mistakes have gotten so out-of-hand, their ‘needs’ so overblown, their demands so greedy and their complaints so outrageous, that more and more of the ‘underclass’ is turning its collective back on them and leaving their care and protection-from-folly to the hands of the Mommy State.

The name of the privileged class? Woman.

And the nature of the privilege, the protection, the coddling under the names of entitlement and empowerment, is such that it puts women into the role of the chronically childlike of our society – the children who don’t have to grow up emotionally, because the underclass – men – will be expected and shamed and even forced to carry their load.

This starts, remarkably, in the playgrounds and the schoolyards. Little boys are into rough-and-tumble games, and when little girls get into these games they’re prone to being rough-and-tumbled themselves. A little girl cries with a skinned knee – and the Adults are all over the boys with shaming and punishment. Never mind that Jill gave Jimmy a black eye, then danced away sing-songing, “Can’t hit a girl!”

Little Jimmy should be ashamed for earning that black eye. Obviously it’s the boys’ fault, no matter who started it. And if some games are too rough for the little girls, then the boys shouldn’t be allowed to play them either. Oh, and by the way – little Jill came home with that knee that she skinned on the blacktop. You need to put down a heavy soft layer of tanbark so that won’t happen again. And those swings aren’t safe, and that thing, and that, and the teeter-totter discriminates against heavy kids on one end and light kids on the other.

And little Jimmy, who worked off his energy in those now-banned boys’ games? He gets ‘diagnosed’ with ADHD because he can’t sit still any more. He’s fed Ritalin to make him sit still, never mind that he’s listless.

Along about puberty there’s a new game in town. The boys get interested, and the girls get interesting. It used to be a father’s job to protect his Little Red Riding Hood from all the Big Bad Wolves showing up at the family door … but now so many Fathers have been excluded from their children’s lives that the State has to step in and playground proof the innocent young things from harm (or, rather, from their own folly). More entitlement, empowerment and protection for the young ladies, while the boys are blamed and shamed and punished for just having gone along with the young ladies’ lead. I mean, now Sheila is old enough to dress up and make herself up like those ‘Bratz’ dolls she played with as a kid. How can it be her fault that Sam got a little fresh with her at the high-school dance?

Shiela can come-on to her heart’s content, but she is “proofed” from the consequences of her actions. Mommy State to the rescue, with laws and rules and regulations that penalize the boys in the name of protecting the girls.

Then you get to that magical stage – adulthood! There’s another wild and delicious game in town, now, called ‘alcohol.’ Bonnie can get that delicious dizzy feeling she used to get, spinning in the playground, out of a glass. And it makes the sensations of kissing and getting all-snuggly with a boy even more delicious. The Bratz costume is even more effective as bait, now that she’s got real curves to pack into it, and she’s getting lots of attention from the boys – from all of the boys, drat it, not just the ‘Big Man On Campus’ she really wants to hook.

Back in my college days, if Bonnie woke up in Ben’s dorm room, Gentle Ben, rather than in Dirk Studly’s, it was embarrassing and disappointing.

Now, it’s date-rape. And when she goes to the Campus police about it, Ben gets kicked out of the university – no trial, no questions, no chance to defend himself, and anyway, all his defenses amount to guilt in the eyes of the Powers That Be. Remember, ‘Dear Colleagues,’ it is your duty to protect Bonnie from harm, or harassment, or an unwanted kiss from the wrong guy. She’s not a ‘bad girl,’ after all, even if she was wearing the uniform, talking the talk and walking the walk.

And it goes on like that, out of college and into adult life. Women are insulated from the consequences of their actions, and they can and do reap untold benefits from the actions of the men around them. ‘Can’t hit a girl,’ with all the insane bias that implies, gets enacted into the Law of the Land, with the Violence Against Women Act in the USA, the Australian Government’s National Plan to Reduce Violence against Women and their Children (The Plan); the misandric legislation of dozens of countries, designed to protect women at the cost of punishing men – down to the point of harnessing them to be financial draft-animals, the economic slaves, of women and the Nanny State that so carefully protects its own.

Actions have consequences.

Playground proofing has consequences, too. The consequence is that the boys are leaving the playground – leaving its padded girl-friendly surfaces, its consequence-free zones, the shaming and blaming of the supervisors, to go play somewhere else.

They’re growing up to be boys who don’t trust girls, men who are more and more likely not to pursue or hook up with women, or who do so only with the intention of sexual relief; men who are choosing not to ‘man up’ but to ‘man out’ and leave the protected, pampered, coddled, ‘empowered and entitled,’ spoiled brats in adult bodies, to face their own consequences – alone.

A tip of the hat to Dr. Tara Palmatier of shrink4men.com for coining the term “playground proofing” and inspiring this article.

(This article was originally published by to A Voice For Men; their version is here.)

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I went to visit my Dear Auntie this afternoon, and to take her out to lunch, to a restaurant she enjoyed when she still had sense enough to enjoy it. I parked in the garage below her ‘assisted-living’ residence, carded myself into the access stairwell, punched the code to gain access to the first floor and the stairwells, and punched another code to gain access to her floor in Memory Care. Then I went down to her room, gently but firmly directed one of her neighbors (a man who didn’t seem to have any idea of much of anything) to sit down where he wouldn’t be in Dear Auntie’s way, and knocked on the door to her room.

“I’m so glad to see you. Where’s the other Ricky?” she asked.

I’m damned if I know, Dear Auntie.

There have been a goodly number of people in my life who have acted as if to persuade me to fetch out, to deliver, ‘the other Ricky.’  They have ranged from people who sought out a more assertive, more macho Ricky, to those who sought out a more accommodating, more supplicating, more pussy-begging Ricky, to those who simply sought out a Ricky who would cast himself loose from his mother’s apron-strings. Then there was my mother, who rejected the very idea of a Ricky who might have his own desires, independent of her needs and wants and wishes.

It is fifteen days short of the tenth anniversary of my mother’s death; pretty close to the tenth anniversary of the day her last best friend, Pat, and Pat’s husband Jake, went to lunch with us on the last day my mother was able to do so. Pretty close to the day we went out for a ride, and she asked to see our airplane the Snowbird, and I pulled up close to its propeller and she patted it goodbye.

I am hurting, to hear my Mom’s sister ask ‘where is the other Ricky.’ It hurts when I wonder, who on Earth or beyond it could indeed be ‘the other Ricky?’ Her brother? Her son? Her imaginary playmate, in the cloudy impenetrable maze of her own dementia?

We went to lunch at the restaurant she’d loved best in the last months of her sanity. Becky, our friend among the waitresses there, found us a table adjoining her area, and she brought her own supper to that table after she ended her own shift. She was oh-so-kindly to my Dear Auntie, while she ate her dinner and Dear Auntie fumbled around with the ice-cream that I’d brought her after she finished her proper meal.

I don’t know how long I’ll be able to be Dear Auntie’s ‘other Ricky’. I do hope that I will be able to progress from that, to a reality and a space where it won’t matter who I am … and, as Jimmy Buffett sang it in One Particular Harbor, “when I see the day when my hair’s full gray, and I finally disappear.”

There ain’t room for two of me in Dear Auntie’s life, or in any life I can envision for myself after Dear Auntie shuffles off this mortal coil and Goes West.

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For the last five years, Vladek Filler of Ellsworth, Maine, has been fighting for his freedom, against a corrupt, misandric prosecutor who tried to get him imprisoned for rape, on evidence that amounted to little more than the ‘she said’ testimony of his bitter, estranged wife. Hancock County Assistant DA Mary Kellett’s chicanery in prosecuting – or may I say ‘persecuting’ – Mr. Filler has gotten more than local, but national and even worldwide attention, and it raised enough of an outcry that the Maine Bar could not ignore it; she faces a hearing for prosecutorial misconduct at the end of August. Mr. Filler is the plaintiff in this matter, and he is scheduled to testify in Kellett’s hearing.

During that selfsame time, Vladek Filler will be incarcerated in Hancock County for the one charge Kellett was able to make stick – allegedly throwing a glassful of water on his then-wife, Ligia Filler. He will be in the control of the prosecutorial office where Kellett has been serving up this style of justice. How convenient … for Kellett, and her like-minded boss, Carletta Bassano, who has been doing all she can to shield Kellett from the scrutiny and discipline she deserves.

I fear that the timing of Vladek Filler’s sentence was set up so he can be bullied and intimidated out of giving testimony in the Kellett hearing. I fear that there is an unchecked culture of corruption in the Hancock County prosecutor’s office, and there has been ample evidence of misandrist behavior on the part of this office in the past.

In fact, I fear for Vladek Filler’s safety, if he is being held in Hancock County at the time of Kellett’s hearing before the Maine Board of Overseers of the Bar. Having him there would provide far too easy an opportunity for ‘something to happen’ to him, denying him his voice in the hearing.

Vladek Filler’s conviction should be overturned and stricken from the record. Absent that, he should be pardoned, in view of the suffering he has been put through by Kellett and her boss.

At the very least, his incarceration should be postponed until after the Kellett case is closed. If the Hancock County authorities won’t permit that, then his treatment and condition in there hands MUST be strictly and closely monitored by State officials who are not affiliated with the Hancock County prosecutor’s office, the Ellsworth Police Department, or any other local law enforcement agency.

There appears to be an unchecked culture of corruption, a culture of misandric behavior and persecution of men, in the Hancock County District Attorney’s office. They have Vladek Filler in their clutches, and I fear for his safety.

More information can be found in Gentlemen, Start Your Keyboards, A Voice for Men, 3 August 2012.

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Keyster, a frequent commenter on several mens’-rights blogs, came out with this thought-provoking statement a while back. If I remember correctly, this was on The Spearhead:

If men are purely optional to women, then why can’t women be purely optional to men?

Because independent women are heroes.
And independent men are zeroes.

A man “needs” a woman.
A woman doesn’t need “any” man.

“A woman doesn’t need ‘any’ man” …?

I have seen a few women, in my life, who “didn’t need a man.” The only one who really stands out in my mind is my mother … and that, chiefly because she raised me without a dad.

I learned, from my mother, and my grandmother (the materfamilias of our household), that “men aren’t necessary.” This I learned by example, because I didn’t have a male role-model to “help me become a man.” Yeah, I’ve got the Y-chromosome and the danglies that go with it, but does that make me … more than just a “male” … a MAN? Read on, and judge for yourself….

I learned, after I left high-school and went to the seminary of the church where Mom had paid-up enough money for me to take the “Minister’s Program,” that my biological urges were something to be “transcended.” I’d learned this since age 12, when my gonads changed … but the Spiritual Call was supposed to flatten out my sexual urges and transmute me into an Androgynous Neutered Advanced-Being Spiritual Counselor. I did my very flat-out best to accommodate to this ukase. Honestly, truthfully, faithfully I did, and I have no idea who might have been shtupping the women I was counselling, honestly, truthfully, faithfully, really I don’t!!  I only know that I didn’t touch them.

I learned, from my religion, that I was a spiritual being who was damn-well supposed to be beyond sex.  Especially because I was in-training to be a Spiritual Counselor … and never the hell mind that my real father, not the guy whose name was on my birth-certificate, was the “exception that proves the rule” that a Spiritual Counselor in my religion was ordered to keep his paws the hell off his “preclears!”  I comported myself in accordance with the demands. I kept my own zipper zipped and locked, in accordance with The Auditor’s Code. I didn’t get ordained, though, and I didn’t do my internship, because I couldn’t afford to go on with them – I needed to get a job.

Certainly, I was a Zero when I left them and started work as a “Technical Aide” with the Federal Government. No glory in that, just a paycheck.

Some years later, I graduated past “being a Zero” with a couple of women. One of them was far, far more experienced than me “in the clinches” … the next was less-so, but circumstances after our first time eventually changed our romance into a Let’s-Just-Be-Friends situation. How swiftly I went from being her Hero … to being just another Zero.

Meanwhile, Society itself was being reshaped, to reduce men at large from Heroes … to Zeroes.

The first great reshaping was started by the Vietnam War. The previous wars in the public’s memory had been serious conflicts, taken seriously; the veterans of World War II and Korea were treated as heroes, as were the “boys in blue” of the Air Force, on the front line of the cold war. But many did not see Vietnam in that same light; and too many of the boys who got back from that campaign were treated with contempt. Treated as zeroes.

Then came the “Women’s Liberation” movement. It seemed to a lot of men that it was mostly about women liberating their vilest bad nature. The party line was that women wanted all the “privilege” they saw as being enjoyed by men – equal pay in the office, equal opportunity at the hiring time, equal access to college, to loans, to mortgages, to professions. They wanted to break down all the “artificial differences,” and ignore the differences that can’t be broken down because they’re hard-wired into male and female nature. Oh, and they made it clear that they regarded most men as “the enemy” and the top-rankers as “the competition.” They demoted a whole lot more men from heroes to zeroes.

Next came the revolution in divorce law, the “No-Fault” divorce – which is more accurately labeled as the “His-Fault” model. Along with stripping the husband of his kids, his rights, his house and most of his money in the settlement, the goal of this system is to strip all men of their last shreds of “equal treatment under the law.” And of equal compassion under Society. This stage is still ongoing, but meeting with stiffer resistance as more men recognize the battle and join forces against the new tyranny – the tyrants whose rabble march in slut-walks, or cheer as manginas from the sidelines.

I won’t bother to recount the way I went “from Hero to Zero” with either of the two following American Women on my roster, nor speak of the couple of chicas in South America who offered me their favors. I will say this: By the time I was 50 years old, I had accepted that I would never again be a Hero, and I would forever more be a Zero to the ladies.

My last couple of attempts to reach “the sweetness” have been with women who were completely and entirely incentivized by my money. Cash at the counterpane, dearie. Call them prostitutes, as they are, but you of the Femmunist Brigades will call me much worse. You’re already blaming me, and my fellow men, for the fact that some women are willing to trade their sexual favors for a man’s money; under the “Swedish model” you would jail, and prosecute, and fine, and imprison the man who offers his own hard-earned money for an hour of “the sweetness we’ve been dying for.”

A Voice for Men put it well in Male sexuality, un-demonized (4 May 2012):

We starve men, then shame them for their hunger and then when they reach for what little food is within their grasp, we smack their hand away.

The pessimist in me sees this as the final chapter in the old tale of the “battle of the sexes.” That battle is over for me, and I have left the gene pool. I am preparing to depart the land of my birth, and seek refuge from the craziness in another land. Maybe I will follow Odysseus, and Joshua Slocum, and others who have sailed away and finally vanished from human ken.

We men are less than Zero in your view, aren’t we?

I, for one, have ZERO (in honor of my social status) for you.


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This afternoon’s e-mail included a SAVE E-Lert about the U.S. Preventive Services Task Force draft recommendations to screen for intimate partner violence (IPV) in healthcare settings … which recommends that ALL women of childbearing age should be so screened, and no one else. This is despite plentiful evidence that men are little less likely to be the victims of domestic violence, and that there are studies that show this screening can be as productive as the approved task of screening women.

“Well,” the pundits say, “why should we pay any attention to women’s violence against their men? The men are bigger and stronger, they have better jobs, they have the upper hand … don’t they?”

Well, not really. And the ‘e-lert’ linked to a quite surprising article from the National Institutes of Health, “A Closer Look at Men Who Sustain Intimate Terrorism By Women,” which basically helps put the lie to the “man is violent, woman is victim” meme that pervades the Domestic Violence Industry. The authors, Dr. Denise Hines and Dr. Emily Douglas, looked into the cases of 302 men who had sustained severe IPV in 2009, and sought help.

Their conclusion: “Contrary to many assumptions about these men, the IPV they sustain is quite severe and both mentally and physically damaging; their most frequent response to their partner’s IPV is to get away from her; and they are often blocked in their efforts to leave, sometimes physically, but more often because of strong psychological and emotional ties to their partners and especially their children.”

Does this sound familiar to you?

“Intimate terrorism” has been studied mostly through the belief-filter that men are the aggressors, the controllers, and that women are the victims. Some of the more famous such studies were compiled from and supported by research among women in shelters and men in ‘batterer treatment programs,’ which is a grossly-biased sample from the get-go. Moreover, where are researchers going to get funding for their studies? Is there any grant-money out there for studying men who get beat-up-on by their wives and baby-mammas?

(Isn’t that the song of a summer locust I hear?)

Men have been brought up, through the history of civilization, not to hit women or treat them with violence. Women? (There’s that summer locust again. They’re louder than the crickets, in July.) Women are likely to hit first, and likely to use impromptu weapons; the stale old cartoons of a woman cold-cocking her husband with a rolling pin or a fry-pan were funny because they told an unfortunate truth. And intimate violence from women is laughed off by the cops and the courts – or worse, blamed on the man’s imputed violence, so that he gets hauled off, not her.

Now think about it: What if you had poured your earnings into buying a house that ‘She Who Must Be Obeyed’ would take away from you in a divorce? What if you loved your children and could only protect them from her violence by being the ‘lightning rod’ that diverts and receives her wrath? What if you knew the Family Courts were utterly biased to see her as right and the man as wrong?

Would it look so easy to walk out on her Intimate Terrorism?

(There are copious links within the study to cover my assertions.)


A Closer Look at Men Who Sustain Intimate Terrorism By Women, by Denise A. Hines, PhD and Emily M. Douglas, PhD. Hosted by the PubMed Central archive at NIH’s National Library of Medicine.

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I ran across that phrase – “man, as utility device” –  while I was following the comments to an article on The Spearhead – Decoding The Behavior Of American Women. Codebuster, the author of the comment, had this to say:

Even more insidious than hypergamy in the sense of women choosing better is hypogamy in the sense of women choosing less. Let’s face it… women do often seem to go out of their way to choose bottom-feeders. But in the end, both hypergamy and hypogamy are ultimately related to the same one thing… man as utility device. When a woman chooses an idiot with neither looks nor brains, she is ultimately only choosing him because he is more predictable, less likely to stray and less likely to threaten her delusions of moral of superiority.

Men, we are told, select the women they will pursue solely on the basis of their lust. Do I prefer blondes, brunettes or redheads? Do I prefer a pretty “girlish” face, or a sexy “womanly” face? Do I prefer big, ripe, womanly tits, or do I prefer small, girlish boobies that are less likely to sag when my love-object grows older? Do I prefer slim, shapely legs, or do I prefer a ripe, sexy ass?  Expressing any of these preferences would be held as evidence that I am “objectifying” women, seeing women only as sex objects, judging them only by their physical assets. There’s a special word for that, “lookism.”

And yet, somehow, it’s “not sexist” when a woman dresses to show off her curves, in a silky blouse unbuttoned to show off her cleavage and a short skirt to show off her legs, with paint and powder to enhance her looks and perfume to enhance the bait  … and goes to the office dressed like that. Showing off her goodies in the workplace is “empowering.” Admiring the view, though, is “sexual harassment,” unless you are one of the favored few that she wants to attract.

What makes you one of the favored few? Her perception of your utility. If she doesn’t see you as valuable and useful, and usable, you’re a sexist creep for even letting your eyes stray her way.

In the feminist view, You Are The Enemy. Your Y-chromosome is viewed as a genetic flaw, one that contaminates your bodily structure as well as your mental and emotional characteristics. Your size and strength are constant threats; your penis is seen as nothing more (or less) than a tool of oppression; your sexual interest is dangerous, and your sexual response is tantamount to rape. Never mind that you are in control of yourself, by means of your intellect: Women can’t feel the power of the male mind; at best they label it another “difference” to be hated, or feared, or scorned and dismissed.

But if your strength, your intellect, your imagination and your power can be turned to a woman’s favor, you can make her life much easier and much more secure. If you can be tamed, you will become a valuable … utility device.

I was an “utility device” for my mother. She was 38 when I was born, fresh from divorce, without a “putative father” for my sake. By the time I grew to adulthood, she was nearly sixty – and I was ready to pay my way and hers, as I did for the following twenty-eight years, especially while the nubile “girls” of my generation were marching in the streets with placards that denounced any trace of male behavior as “The Evil Of Masculinity and the Patriarchy.”

By the time there were women who recognized some value in me, I was “beyond the pale” because I acknowledged that “Mom NEEDS me.” And Mom’s well-being and happiness were more important to me than that of the “potential girlfriends” out there. Stockholm Syndrome? Maybe. But I took good care of my Mom, clear to the end, and that leaves me able to regard myself in the mirror with a certain amount of self-respect.

Sexist? Follow the hot-link.

The women of my adulthood, of the Seventies and Eighties, were insistent upon getting everything for themselves. They did not want to marry the CEO, they wanted to be the CEO – and they insisted on it, heedless of the fact that they had no idea what a CEO did, or what made a good CEO valuable to an organization, or anything of the sort. They might as well have demanded to be bowerbirds; a function that might have worked better for them, as they seemingly had their attention on “presentation” far, far more than on “nutrition” or “the menu.” Women could insist on all the “prettyfication,” if that’s acceptable as a word, of the structure and engineering and heavy-lifting that had been performed by men since the origins of genus Homo. Women insisted that this “prettyfication” was far, far, far more important than the man-devised, man-built, man-maintained structure that it decorates.

A man is a “utility device” that fulfills Women’s – or a woman’s – needs or wishes or desires. He may fulfill her survival needs, by providing food and shelter for her and her children. He may fulfill her status wishes, by working himself to death for the sake of her House Beautiful, her fine clothes and fine car and fine jewelry. He may fulfill her desire for excitement, by being the big rough tough thug that she “has managed to tame.”

Anything men build, make, or do, in this women-first model, is regarded (or disregarded) as “mere utility.” And therefore it is that men – that Man – is regarded, or disregarded, as “merely the utility-device.”

I, among others, am aware of this disregard.

What if I choose not to obsessively offer this “utility” to others?

What happens to “your society,” ladies, if I retreat from it; if I decline to provide for you, by the sweat of my brow and the blood of my self-sacrifice? What happens when you have fewer, and fewer, and yet-fewer “self-sacrificing” White Knights, and those knights find fewer and fewer victims to deliver to your blood-soaked altars? What happens when Men decline to continue in that role of “utility devices”?

I will not claim to be speaking for other men when I say this. But I claim my own utility, and the fruits of it, as my own, alone, and I will not offer them to any woman who is not bound to me by blood and necessity. (There is my aged aunt, but I’ve provided for her by moving her into an Assisted Living facility where they’ll take care of her, and feed her, and protect her, and keep her from wandering away. She is in such witless condition that she must be kept from wandering away.)

One of these days … I am going to have my last “blood obligation” sloughed off of me, by Dear Auntie’s death. By then I hope to have sold my own house, used a moiety of its equity to buy an ocean-worthy boat, and prepared myself to get out of Dodge. When Dear Auntie goes west, I hope to be prepared to sail South … and, eventually, Beyond The Sunset.

Ladies, you can go forth and fulfill your own needs.


No to the stick, no to the carrot (A Voice for Men, 19 May 2012) – John The Other points out, very pointedly, the more and more evident path that men are taking in the “sex-object vs. utility-object” conflict: Just Say No.

Clues on Marriage and Sex During Roman Empire (The Spearhead, 20 May 2012) – A long quote from Tacitus, describing marriage and chastity among the German peoples in the Roman era, shows by contrast how the Romans treated marriage … and frankly, our modern society looks very much like Rome in decay.

The Fall of the Female Gatekeeper (In Mala Fide, 15 May 2012) – The female is the gatekeeper who determines the future of the human race – she’s the one who chooses the father of her children. With this power comes great responsibility. Are the women of today handling this power responsibly?

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