So it would appear, at least according to Madam Albright, a great number of the women in New Hampshire went straight to hell last night. In hell and feeling the Bern, no doubt. Let’s do some very simple math; the aging socialist got sixty percent of the democrat vote last night; if we assume for the sake of brevity that half of those voting were women, well, that means that thirty percent of all of the women who voted the democrat ticket are now living in the zip code of Mephistopheles. And all this apparently, to meet some really hot hipster dudes who are also feeling the burn.

Listen closely and you'll hear Connie singing "where the boys are."

Listen closely and you’ll hear Connie singing “where the boys are.”

Puzzling to say the least; no, not the appeal of any one campaign or another. No, from the perspective of a man, I wonder just what the hell the message of feminism truly is. I can’t pin it down, but at least I can take comfort in the fact that it’s not just me; old Gloria and Madeline don’t seem to have it pegged either. I used to think that is was a rebuke of everything man-hood. At least that’s how it used to appear. Women wanted to be everything a man was; well at least all of the things that they thought were positive. They hated men because according to feminists, we “think with our dicks.” Fast forward. Now it’s important to think with your vagina. Used to be that feminists believed that sexualizing women was the worst trait in men. Fast forward. Now you can’t watch any one of the young ex-Disney performers without them showing off their assets. But that’s celebrated as empowerment. Honest ladies, I don’t peek though. So just who are they displaying their duck lips and enhanced pumpkin-shaped derrieres for? Strippers used to be denigrated by feminists. Now they give them Oscars and Grammy’s. Go figure.

If it’s all so confusing for the ladies, they should take a look at the men in their lives. Or if they don’t have a man, maybe it’s because we’re often not quite sure what you expect of us. Or even if you want us around at all. After all, we’re just as useless as bicycles to a fish. Well except for that “dying on foreign lands” thingy, and running into burning buildings and spiders in the tub. This goes beyond the “what do women want” meme. Want to be in combat? Okay, as long as you don’t have to meet those stringent requirements. Same goes for being a fireman or a cop. Then you’re all in. if I hadn’t registered for the draft, I wouldn’t have been allowed to get those wonderful college loans that Bernie’s supporters don’t want to have to pay. Oddly, my sister never had the same requirement. (Poor thing was just as saddled with them as all the rest of us..) Time to sign up for the draft, ladies. All things being equal and all.

Was feminism about their strength, their possibilities and the opportunities that women wanted? Why would women be told that a man in their life was that last thing they should need; that women can and should take care of themselves. Heaven forbid you try to pay for a lady’s dinner; how patronizing. Assuming she needs to be taken care of? Misogynist asshole. Heaven forbid you try not to pay for her abortion. Wait, what? Women don’t need a man to take care of them; they only need government to do so. Ah, women never said they don’t need a daddy. They just prefer a nameless faceless one, chosen by other women who get to define, randomly and inconsistently, just what the hell it means to be a woman. Literally. Just ask Glamour. They have it all figured out. Except I guess, that part about voting with your vagina.

Maybe it was all misread on my part. Why in the world would women want to become more like us, more like the dreaded man, what they had despised so much? After all, once you became that which you hated, would self-hate be far behind? Or was self-hate what drove you in that direction in the first place?

Feminism was merely a ploy to separate the sexes from one another in an attempt to build a voting coalition. Period. Go ahead and argue that point all you want, but I and a lot of other men my age spent most of our lives on the receiving end of hate directed towards our gender, often times for things we had never done. Well, I am truly sorry however, for giving you my seat on the bus and opening that door for you. My bad. Misandry is acceptable as a political tool; it does nothing as far as human relations between the sexes. But that’s okay, you don’t need us anyway. You’ve pretty much made that abundantly clear. Well, you need some of us, at least sometimes. You’re certainly willing to give ol’ billy-boy a sloppy knob if he promises to vote the way you want him to. Trading sexual favors? Thought that was demeaning. Feminism is all about situational ethics. Shit, now I get it. That’s why you can blindly support a woman who takes large sums of money from governments willing to give a woman hundreds of lashes for showing her ankle. A woman who giggles about setting free the rapist of a thirteen year old girl. A woman who hides behind the feminism that’s supposed to unite all the uteri of the world, claiming that every woman has the right to be believed, unless of course she’s attacked by one of those preferred members of the replacement daddy-class whom feminism seeks to marry you to.

Sorry, but I’m no fan of socialism; learn your history and maybe you’ll figure out why. Ponder for a minute why people are dying to cross over our borders to get here, but for the last hundred years or so, they were being shot trying to cross their own borders to escape socialism. No matter, vote your conscience. Your own individual conscience, not the collective conscience handed down from on-high by people who view you as nothing more than a set of reproductive organs that can be persuaded to move as an indistinguishable herd. At least I’m very pleased at all the young ladies, old ladies, skinny ladies, chubby ladies, ladies rich, poor and maybe a few not-quite ladies who felt the Bern last night. They spit in the eye of the old feminist guard who have done nothing but teach them to despise men and might very well have reclaimed what had originally appealed to us all about feminism; the individuality of the American woman, her independence, her strength and her will. And who knows, they probably met a few nice guys too.

Meanwhile, somewhere in a campaign office in snowy New Hampshire, someone is wondering just what in hell happened…

The Iowa Caucus is in the can and the New Hampshire primary is looking us square in the eye; yay… I guess we didn’t get enough of the white stuff Friday to keep the locust swarms at bay. Hey Jeb! Just a note; sending me three copies of the same mailer each time only tends to piss off the mailman and me. Dumbazz. Cruz comes out on top in Iowa, Trumps comes in second, Carson get hosed, Rand quits…and somehow, Rubio gets all the momentum and notoriety coming into Nude Hamster. And the GOP claims there is no real “establishment.” Hey, new summer pool game; get a gang of eight kids, put them in a backyard pool. They close their eyes and yell Marco! When they open their eyes, every kid from the surrounding three towns is now in the pool yelling Rubio. None of them ever have to leave, but Marco promises that we’ll be enforcing tighter curfews in the future.

Feeling the Bern since 1848....

Feeling the Bern since 1848….

I’m not sure about you, but I want the phone number of the guy in Iowa who tossed the coin on the democrat side; the guy has gotta pick my lotto numbers. After a tie in at least six precincts, the coin seemed to drop on the right side for Mrs. Clinton each of the six times. Of course, not only was the vote too close, it may have been questionable to begin with; but such is the luck of the Clintons. Sorry Bernie fans, close but no cigar. It doesn’t really matter anyway, the night went to Marx and he wasn’t even on the ballot. (Well, he was in spirit.) Pretty much a regular socialist election after all. Deny it all you want, but the majority of the democrat party can’t define socialism and neither can Bernie’s die hard millennial troopers. Free stuff though; that they understand.

I blame my parents generation. And maybe even parents who are my age with voting age children. We’re the ones who have given these mindless young adults the idea that anything they want but don’t have will be given to them. That if anyone is more successful they are, then those people are evil and greedy and should be forced to give their “fair share.” I had a typical conversation with one of the Bernie clan; he reprimanded me by saying he’s supporting Bernie because he’s sick of people dying in the streets since they don’t have health care. And there you have it; emotional blocking, I hate people and want them to die in the streets, all because this ignoramus hasn’t done any research into “democratic socialism.” Google Venezuela please. Oh by the way; the fact that government health care is funding the deaths of hundreds of children everyday does not bother him the least. Not in the streets however; in the offices of the publicly funded private organization that progressives cling to at all costs. Bitter clingers.

Fair share; hmmm. Bernie uses that term quite a bit. All progressives do. Hillary did recently when she announced her “out Bernie-Bernie” maneuver, offering to raise taxes on those earning over five million dollars. Their fair share. Of course, it’s not a tax; it’s a surcharge. Yay! Fairness. And she’s not going to raise taxes to do it.

For those wandering around with your “feel the Bern” t-shirt on, take a second and think about the free stuff you’re expecting. Free health care means that eventually, someone has to give up something for you to have it for free. Yes, I know that’s a hard concept for some, especially the same generation who will eventually have to pay back everything that’s “free.” But that’s socialism, Bernsters; the collective gets to decide the value of your labor. The most basic human right of all, the right to the fruits of your own labor, belongs to everyone but the individual. Maybe it’s the nurse who works sixteen-hour shifts. She should work for free. Free college tuition? Hey great. No one needs to get paid to teach. Two things; first, if everyone gets a degree, they essentially become meaningless. Everyone has a belly button. Same thing here; not unique and you get one just for going through the process. I realize that this argument probably doesn’t have any impact on the “participation-trophy” generation, but it won’t be “fair” that some will pass and get a degree while some won’t; socialism demands equal outcomes. Everyone’s going to get a degree; and probably a belly button just in case, since they’re free.

Secondly, Bernie appeals to this generation because he’s as pure as the driven snow in Siberia; he can’t be bought by PACs and special interest groups. Washington is too cozy with big money, votes being cast in favor of firms and industries willing to fund the activities of both parties. Bernie could never be bought like this. His supporters however, are more than willing to trade their votes for this or that free program, essentially acting the part of the whore they see in everyone else. Sadly, these useful idiots can’t or won’t admit that they’ll eventually have to pay for it anyway. Ah, but it feels so good to vote for someone like Bernie; he won’t take money from a super PAC for his vote.

For your vote however, he’s wiling to give you things that don’t belong to him. Democratic socialism rocks, dude…..

I’m boycotting the Oscars this year; well maybe, technically I’m boycotting them. Well, honestly, I’m not boycotting them per se, but I’m definitely not watching them, so there. I’m making a statement, you see. Speaking truth to vapidness as it were. Problem is, I’ve never watched the Oscars. Usually, I’ve had other, more exciting things pressing like watching mold grow on bread, getting a colonoscopy or counting the hairs on my forearm. You know, things that have value.

Not sure what color that Oscar is...

Not sure what color that Oscar is…

No matter how hard they try to convince me otherwise, the gaggle of self-absorbed, hypocritical narcissists called Hollywood have never held any special place in my life; certainly nowhere near the level they think they have, or think they’re entitled to. But forgive them; they spend most of their days working in the land of false realities; it must be hard to go home and realize that you’re no one’s frigging hero after you’ve pretended to be one at work for six weeks straight.

I’m sure Will Smith is a nice guy; probably. I actually don’t give a crap. I give him my money to read what others wrote. Not that he isn’t entitled to his own opinions mind you; but I have no reason to take his opinion and run with it like so many other bootlicking followers on the left. He’s spent most of his life being applauded and paid rather handsomely to memorize and regurgitate opinions and narratives of others who wish to do more than just tell a story; no, they’d rather propagandize, divide and belittle this nation and the values that have made it possible for empty vessels such as Mr. Smith and his wife to succeed.

So anther instance of pure racism rears its ugly head. Because Mr. Smith is black, and that obviously pisses off whites, he’s not going to get his gold. Got it. Obvious racism. Yeesh. Maybe blacks need their own Oscar show. No, I’m not joking here and I’m not off base. Did Dr. King march across the bridge at Selma so kids at Mizzou can segregate themselves? Is this what they are being taught, not at the colleges, but within the homes they are raised well before they get there? One would guess that Rosa Parks wasn’t protesting Jim Crow segregation on that Montgomery bus; hell no, she didn’t want to sit in the front, she wanted her own separate bus.

So the comedy continues. As soon as the familiar cries of racism dropped like carrion in the middle of a warm, country back road, those opportunist vultures of social justice swooped in to pick and pull apart the rotting carcass, oblivious to the fact that they were feeding on their own while they spewed their venom. One voting member of the Academy, Mark Reina, wondered if he too was being accused of racism, his homosexuality and melanin quotient notwithstanding. Do you really need to ask that Mark? You and your progressive friends have been assigning your interpretations to others motives for years as a way to silence opposition and intimidate those who hold a viewpoint which you find distasteful. You know the drill; come out and apologize for your transgressions, tell us where you’re going to therapy, hand one of the Reverends a little something under the table and maybe, just maybe you can put this all behind you. If you miss the sympathy in my tone, then maybe you’re smarter than I thought.

So now the jockeying is on; some will boycott, some will not. Some were going to but changed their minds. Those pointing out the hypocrisy of the boycott are being boycotted for standing up against the boycott. Stacey Dash points out that the BET awards are based solely on skin color, again segregationist, and she’s the one with the problem. Stephen Verona, another voting member outraged at being called a racist, points out that the Oscars are to honor talent. Of course, he’s a white guy so what does he know. He also points out that you can’t watch an NBA game without noticing the disparity between blacks and whites; but hey, Spike Lee, who is more than likely sitting on the sidelines at one of them, is okay with that racial outcome. Get ready Stephen; retribution for opposing the orthodoxy is usually swift. I expect to see your twitter apology anytime now.

If an old, red-neck white guy sitting in some dingy, single-wide was commenting that he couldn’t get a job because of “them blacks” you’d call it what it is. Like it or not, if the guy is a millionaire black man sitting in some multi-million dollar mansion complaining that he couldn’t get his participation trophy because of “them whites,” then it’s absolutely the exact same thing; I don’t care if you’re Spike Lee, Stan Lee, Bruce Lee or Robert E. Lee. So, deal with it Will; you’re a fucking racist. You’re in good company however; just check the boycott list.

So, I’m not a big fan of the Oscars. Too much pomp and silliness. If this keeps up though, we’ll end up having a few more categories; “token ethnic in a musical;” “Leading transsexual in a comedy goes to…” And even though I never watch the Oscars, I always puzzled at the winners and losers in the past. Maybe it’s just my tastes in movies. But I’m sure that the new Oscars will be nothing more than a statue given to those who bitched and whined the most. Or maybe it will be nothing more than a participation trophy given to any victimized minority who happens to show up; no experience necessary. You know, just to make up for past sins.

Well shit, then let’s just call it the Nobel Peace Prize….



Yup, it’s the silly season up here in New Hampshire. Every yahoo who thinks that they have a shot at, or deserves the keys to the white house is taking up extra booths at our favorite diners or harassing us with hands out, ready for the shaking as we try to scurry into the mall and out of the dammed cold. Every one of them wants to be your friend; well, at least for the moment. So I wasn’t surprised to get an invite to a poker night themed “Betting on Bernie.” Poker night? Yeah, I’m in. I never need a reason to voluntarily give other people my money under the guise of a night of fun and relaxation.

Well, at least there are no white chips…

I arrived a little late and the only seat at the table was smack in the middle of the other four players. To the right of me were a young woman and a middle aged bearded man. They both smiled affably as I took my seat. On my immediate left was a gentleman who seemed rather nervous and never looked up from the table to acknowledge my presence. On the side of him was a young man with baseball hat askew on his mop of hair, busily rolling a joint while he held a lit one tightly between his teeth. He smiled and looked up at me, his eyes barely visible as slits, gleaming a violent red. He grinned and nodded then went back to his task, muttering something under his breath about stick and stems. Hey, that’s okay, to each his own. Personally, I was looking for a tumbler of vodka; unfortunately, to no avail.

The dealer looked at me and introduced himself as Wayne from “Black Lives Matter.” Not quite sure what bearing that had on the game, but I told him my name and said it was nice to meet him. He asked me if I was employed. I told him yes. He told me buy-in would be twenty dollars, and I parted with the last of the cash in my wallet. He pushed stacks of chips in front of me and turned to ask everyone the same question; everyone except the gentleman to my immediate left. All said they were unemployed and he pushed their chips in front of them without asking for any money. When he was done, he pushed another half of a buy-in in front of the woman.

“Can I ask why no one had to pay the buy-in but me?” I quizzed him. “Sure,” he said. “They’re all unemployed so they get a subsidy. From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs. Understand?” He looked rather annoyed and his eyes never met mine as he shuffled the deck. “Um, yes, but you gave this young lady another half a buy-in more than the rest of us? Why is that?” I prodded. “Listen,” he told me firmly, “she’s the only woman at the table. Her gender is under-represented, so we try to assure that a woman has an even shot at winning. It equalizes the table.” I thought about this for a moment and when I looked around, everyone was sending me daggers. Best I just keep my mouth shut and go with the flow.

He dealt the cards and I picked mine up to sort them in my hand. I had two starfish, one tuna, one squid and one crab. Huh? The cards were two-toned, only gray and green, no numbers anywhere on the face. I chuckled at the joke and when I looked around the table, I quickly realized I was the only one amused. “You’re serious? I mean we’re playing poker, right?” “Yes,” he replied curtly, as he turned to instruct the lone woman to place her bet. “Wait, wait, wait, wait..” I interjected, “how are we going to bet with no numbers, no face cards either?”

“Listen,” he told me,” “you’re struggling with your “bicycle-deck” privilege so I’ll explain this to you slowly. No card is any better than any other card; all cards are of equal value. We value all cards the same. Face cards are patriarchal and oppressive. What gives one card the right to be a king or a queen? Who gets to decide that? Certainly not the masses. We are striving for a truly color blind game; no one color should oppress any other, except that we don’t want any cards that are white. Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of the game quickly. Stop with the micro-aggression. This is a safe table.”

Okay, I can figure out “shut the hell up” when I hear it. I watched as the woman bet a hundred and tossed her chips into the middle of the table. The gentleman next to me called her bet and likewise, pushed his chips forward. I looked at my cards then at the face of the dealer, not quite sure what the heck to do, but hey, I was sitting on a pair of starfish. I raised her another hundred and pushed my chips into the pot. The quiet gentleman next to me just nodded at the dealer but never touched his chips, never folded his cards. The stoner at the end wasn’t paying attention, never looked at his cards, and when he tried to put his chips in the pot, he spilled half of them on the floor. The dealer had to count them for him, determining that he had miscounted anyway.

“Hey, wait a minute, this guy never called or folded,” I asked the dealer, pointing to the gent on my left. “That’s okay,” he told me. “He’s an undocumented player. Where he’s from, it’s against their beliefs to gamble.” “You gotta be kidding me,” I proclaimed, maybe a little too annoyed. “How the heck is he going to play poker and not gamble? I mean, if he wants to sit at the poker table, shouldn’t he be willing to play by the rules of the table?” “He is playing by the rules,” the dealer informed me. “Just not the rules of some dead white guy. What makes your values any more important than his? We respect his beliefs. All cultures and their values are equal. Anyone can sit at the table, regardless of the rules. It makes for a more diverse game.”

By now, it was clear that I was the skunk at the party. Even though I was the only paying skunk. However, It was determined that I had in fact, won the hand. I’m not sure why. The woman had a pair of sharks and I would have assumed that sharks beat starfish. But it was determined that sharks were too predatory and therefore, my starfish pair was a much more uplifting hand. The dealer counted the pot and gave me ten percent of it; the remaining ninety percent he distributed among the other four players.

That’s how the night progressed. Every pot was equally divided among the other four players after I was given 10 percent. At one point, I had a pair of dolphins which, I had learned in previous hands, was the one card that seemed to beat everything. I was wrong however. The stoner was holding what appeared to be a hand-drawn picture of a polar bear and everyone agreed that the card was so rare as to be endangered; he was awarded the pot. I protested, claiming that we couldn’t just alter the constitution of the deck. I was strongly reminded by the young woman that the constitution of the deck was living and breathing; any animal could be found in the deck, even if it actually wasn’t in the deck. It was very relative and situational. At about this point, I realized I really missed that vodka.

The game was called around eleven thirty. I looked around the table and realized I was the short stack. The undocumented gentleman to my left had the bulk of the chips. He never bet, never put any chips into any pot, never risked a stake and his pile was at least three times the size of mine. I had to assume he was the winner. “Wrong,” said the dealer. “We don’t pick winners and losers here; everyone wins.” He proceeded to hand everyone else a twenty dollar bill, what they would have committed to buy-in if they had in fact paid in the first place. He gave me two dollars back. He told me I was taxed at the ninety per cent rate. He handed us all a participation gift before we left; mine was a “feel the Bern” bumper sticker which I promptly affixed to the rear of one of the four Priuses in the parking lot on the way out.

They were gracious enough to ask me if I’d like to join them in the spring for some golf; “Driving for Bernie” would be the theme. I had to refuse. I imagined a fantasy-land putt-putt course somewhere with cups the diameter of basketballs, left hand only clubs and I was sure I’d have to part with ninety per cent of my balls.

Leftist policies towards women are always a puzzle. What I find the most amazing about them is how poorly they workout for women in the long run and how eager many women, especially those on the left, are to blindly support them. Support them I might add, with a fervor that borders on…well, let’s just say it’s almost misogynistic.


So am I intolerant for taking him at face value?

Like Angela Merkel. She convinced the women of Germany just how ducky it would be to import millions of folks who happen to support an ideology that oppresses women, but hey, it’s just one voting block competing with another right? Moral relativism and all that. So now, Merkel is trying to convince German women that the 600 attacks in Cologne on New Year’s eve were just…just what exactly Angela? Surprising? Maybe to the left. Unexpected? Not so much. You fought to import millions of new voters who have absolutely no desire to assimilate into the western world which they are infiltrating, bringing with them a religion or political ideology that subjugates women and you’re surprised? Caught off guard? Yes Angela, you and a couple of hundred women out enjoying the freedom of the western world in Cologne were quite surprised. The ladies who now cast glances over their shoulders while navigating the terminals in Cologne had better avoid Islamophobia. Or any other rational act it would seem. Why, that would just be progressively intolerant of them.

Of course, the press did its best to keep this quiet for as long as possible. Or maybe they too, couldn’t bring themselves to admit that the political point of view they have been marinating in for so long is destructive to the rights we in the west have come to take for granted. After all, a little socialism only means a little tyranny, right? Import enough of these innocent, oppressed “victims of the west” and you too can enjoy a whipping for being out without your male escort or seeing the city skyline as they toss your ass off the roof for being a male escort. Islam discriminates equally. When they come to your country, be welcoming. Be somewhat less provocative in your dress. Get used to it. Once they reach critical mass in your country, you won’t be able to decide for yourself what that means anyway.

As soon as these miscreants get a foothold into polite society, they whine about being oppressed as minorities. That’s why you end up with pockets of sharia law and no-go zones all over Europe. (You know, places the left insists don’t really exist but won’t step foot into?) And of course, once they become a majority, you can kiss your minority rights good-by. Put on your burka and sit your ass down.

Will it be any different here? Not a chance in hell. The left continues to force these non-assimilating refugees down our throats, not even telling the governors of the various recipient states where they are headed. Betcha it ain’t the beltway. Which rights are the women of the United States willing to give up? Come on ladies, at least half of you have “white privilege guilt” to expunge, don’t you? Take the step back and let someone else ahead of you in line for a change. Pretty soon you won’t have to worry about driving; you won’t be allowed. Won’t have to worry about the job either. You’ll only have to worry about whether or not you have too much ankle showing or whether you’re keeping your eighty-three year-old appointed husband happy. Oh maybe not next week, silly. But soon ladies, soon. You think they’re importing them in just to do the jobs us lazy, old, unemployed white men won’t do? (Or can’t do ‘cause we can’t quite find those jobs we hear about?) No Ladies, this is all to replace you. You’ve run your course. The left isn’t concerned one bit about you, your struggles; they’ve moved on. They’re just not that into you. Hell, they can make new women anytime they want. A couple of silicon bags, a fancy floral print and you’re good to go.

Surely the progressive female champions will be there for you, won’t they? Well, with the exception of the mayor of Cologne, Henriette Reker who feels that if you just tried a little harder not to upset your new minority overlords, everyone would get along just fine. Simply ignore that little fact that under Sharia, it’s okay to rape infidels. Adopt Reker’s “code of conduct” and make your visitors feel welcome. You’ll still be an infidel, but hey, Islam means submit and so does progressivism. Or maybe we can look to the progressive champion for women in this country who told us that “every survivor of sexual assault deserves to be heard, believed, and supported.” (Some restrictions may apply. Coverage does not apply to interns or bimbos. See your presidential candidate for absolutely no clarification.) That is if she’s not too busy giggling over getting the rapist of a twelve year-old girl released. Of course, we have to keep this in perspective regarding the left’s support of all things woman; after all, if you drag a hundred Deutsche Mark through the Cologne airport, you never know what you’ll find. The left is perfectly willing to make and keep you in victimhood as long as it’s profitable. Other than that, you’re on your own.

If you’ve spent most of your life believing that the west and the United States in particular are such horrible places that we need a little more “diversity” to fundamentally change for the better, I invite you to spend next New Year’s eve partying with your replacement victims du-jour in Europe. Just don’t bring your yoga pants.

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