If you live in Dundas in The Hamilton area of Canada you might find here and there a poster on a pole or a wall. The poster might be about a new drawing class that’s opening up, or a band that’s coming to town, or perhaps even about a club of people who appreciate books and how they meet twice a month. There are all sorts of posters from gardening societies to boot sales, coin displays, guitar lessons and macrame courses. These posters live their lives telling their message to the folk who pause for a moment before walking by.
You’ve seen how it works. The person who posted knows that their message must share a common space, and everybody is aware that every post will have their brief time in the sun only to be covered by the new. It’s a busy cycle of come and go, and good manners make sure everybody has their say.
Well it’s supposed to be that way, even if you want to talk about the concept of ‘rights for men’.
Hang on a second. Pardon. I was thinking of a world where every traffic light is green, doughnuts and chips are slimming foods, electricity is free and gold dubloons rain down from your ceiling when you clap your hands. What I meant to say was this:
Well it’s supposed to be that way, except if you want to talk about the concept of ‘rights for men’.
Yes, there’s a different word there this time, and when that word is placed in the right spot it can mean a whole lot of wrong if you have the nuts to put this statement to the test. Last night in Dundas this statement was indeed put to the test and the results have come in from the lab – violence and a mystery.
Our resident MRA Dannyboy is the man who told me today his tale of a close encounter of the turd kind. He’s the MRA who experimented with the concept of equal postering rights, and although his story is not quite science fiction, it’s content is up there with the classics. You know? Boy puts up posters for a humanitarian cause, boy catches fuckwit (FW) destroying his posters, FW responds by threatening with his crutch, boy takes photograph of FW as it runs away from the crime, boy talks to cops and cops are on the lookout for the FW. Now the next bit is for that very same FW who is reading this page here on that monitor object what is displaying stuff on that net thing.
Hey fuckwit. I have some words for you and a question.
The words: You can run really fast but there are other things that are faster. The shutter of a camera is faster, a police report is faster, your image popping up on thousands and thousands of monitors is faster and so too are our brains. Most importantly FW, our response to your criminal actions will be faster, and that is to metaphorically nail those soft round jiggly things in your trousers to a hard square static thing called a police record if you try this crap again.
The Question: Why did you leave your house with crutches?
Now I would never be so rude as to ask a disabled person that question, and I look at this picture of you here as you run as Sea Biscuit’s dream, and I am seventy percent, even eighty percent sure you don’t need them. So if I am to go with the laws of probability I will ask you another question. What type of physically abled person goes about in public with a pair of crutches? Before you lie once again (the photograph of someone running with a pair of crutches clasped in their hand is an image of someone wanting to construct a false reality for the observer – the public) let me answer for you.
A fibbing bolus of mealy mouthed, suck-assed muff-praying, white knight bending, nappy filling glassy eyed, crayon toting bawling like a bub, air skulled, Plasticine spined, microsporon incubus of feminist quisling chicken-shit. That’s who.
Don’t believe me? Look at the picture again, and know also that I was going to add that the poor sucker you tried to assault described your face as one of, and I quote, “…pure rabid hatred.”
Admittedly, I can’t say that about you as it’s an objective thing only, but the other colourful adjectives I mentioned stand as they are. They are smack on the button accurate. Your actions are cowardly, dishonest and peurile. Your actions have the entitlement of a vicious kid who does the bidding of a bigger and more vicious kid, feminism. That’s the kid you serve, and the cost for you has by your own actions become more expensive, because like heroin the first hit was free. Now you pay forever, because I can only surmise that the combination of terminal fuckwittery and your tepid tea intelligence will not a Summer of awareness in you make. Not ever.
That aside, you might want to whisper to the other feminists in da hood that if they want to rip down posters that are pointing out that men make up 80% of suicides, or that a man will receive sole custody 10% of the time in divorce/ child custody proceedings, or that men make up 94% of all industrial accidents and deaths, or that 90% of all the homeless people are men, or that the suicide rates among men the ratio is 4 men for every one woman and in a divorce situation that ratio climbs to about 10 to 1, then they might be photographed by an MRA and then photographed again by the police after they take your fingerprints. They do this thing all the time. They are actually paid to process social miscreants when they get up to miscreanty things like ripping down posters. Poster ripping is considered miscerantyish to them, and they always have an eye and ear out for miscreantyishness.
What’s even worse than a miscreant is a felon. A felon is someone who breaks section 265 of the criminal code in your area. That code states, that a person has committed an assault when he/she attempts or threatens, by an act or a gesture, to apply force to another person, if he/she has, or causes that other person to believe on reasonable grounds that he/she has, present ability to effect his/her purpose.
Translation: You became a criminal the moment you threatened another person who presented no threat to you. Your actions make you the bad guy, and just like in the movies the police don’t like bad guys and that means you now have a problem. The best way to make that problem go away is to stop behaving like a douche-bag fuckwit. You see, the locus of control is now entirely with you. (no FW, it’s not an insect)
I hope our point is made beautifully and is as crystal clear as your transparently ugly motivation.
I still don’t know why you went about town with crutches. It’s driving me nuts.
A Chronology of Events – When a young man on crutches was caught and photographed tearing down MRA posters, then threatened Dannyboy with his crutch! Then he ran off. Click on images to enlarge