Amanda Marcotte is running scared for the first time in her privileged life, and she should be.
The very day after the reports of the death of beloved actor/comic Robin Williams were breaking, my own beloved sausage-handler Amanda Marcotte was fuming. After dominating social media for years, feminism has been taking it in the metaphorical—um, cervix. As the celebratory mania of the Tumblr “Women Against Feminism” and related Twitter tag #WomenAgainstFeminism movement continued to trend and reduce feminists into an even deeper pit of screaming, misogynistic hypocrisy, a cultural icon of gentle humor kills himself.
Marcotte must have begun to realize that feminism was about to get in an even bigger pickle over the feminist policies (such as ignoring men’s suicide issues, harvesting men’s wallets, and stealing men’s children through divorce, demonizing as “weak” those men who dare to seek help, and claiming that failed suicides are somehow comparable with real ones) that either drove, or were complicit in, Williams’s suicide. So, little Ms. Mandy-cakes now says she wants to “end the ‘misandry’ wars.” The possible future juxtaposition of the viral image of Jessica Valenti rocking her “I Bathe in Male Tears” muumuu with Robin Williams’s funeral-goers could be the spirochete that shreds the last feminist brain cell, so widdle Misandry Mandy wants to “negotiate.”
Our Paul Elam was quick to blow her offer apart, and while I concur with his rejection of her specious offer, I break from Paul in that I don’t want feminism tossed into the trash. I want it pilloried in the public square until the heat death of the universe, so that all will remember the crimes of feminism and the heroes, women and men alike, who are forcing it fresh into the stocks.
Mandy-Muffin is not really serious in her offer, of course. It would be imprudent to assume that any feminist is ever serious about anything—feminism has become so two-faced, “meta,” jargonized, and brutally ironic that even its own adherents have no idea what it means any more outside of a dictionary. Feminists have become the serial killer’s mother who continues to insist “but she was such a sweet little girl!” Even the “Misandry” panties that Mandypants keeps pretending to lose on her rapey dates with RAINN aren’t enough to convince her that Misandry is a Thing—two years ago she wrote:
Growing up and wanting something from women and finding out that they can say “no”—despite the fact that they were put here to serve you!—is often extremely distressing to men. The invention of the nonsense word “misandry” goes back to this.
Now, one can change a lot in two years, especially if one takes responsibility and exercises agency—but these qualities are as absent in feminists as chain saws are to sharks, so Marcotte even puts “misandry” in scare-quotes in the title of her “proposal” to end the war over it.
Regardless of whether you are serious or not about ending the war, my sweety Marcotte, here is my answer:
There is one way, and one way only, that this war will end: with the complete eradication of the power and influence of feminism in human community. In other words, equal rights for men.
We don’t need your “proposals.” We are not interested in negotiation—the time for that ended in 1848 Seneca Falls when the early feminists demanded that their male feminist allies shut up and that male signatures go last on their declaration. These early mutations of “equality” made feminism into metastasizing cancer that must be destroyed.
The war will end with the universal humiliation of you and your feminist followers. You will be outed as the liars and bigots that you and I both know that you are, and were from the very beginning. You should spend eight years in prison for every fraud you’ve committed and twice that if it was a false rape allegation or a paternity fraud—and because of gender equality, it will be in a (formerly exclusively) men’s prison. That’s equality, right?
When you are eventually released, there will be lifetime “feminist offender” registries where feminists will have to report their locations to local authorities and avoid areas where children are known to congregate. That’s equality, right?
After your incarceration, the only jobs open to you will be those under harsh conditions where on-the-job death and injuries are commonplace—you know, men’s jobs. Your children, if any, will be given to the parent best able to both care and provide for them—and since convicted feminists will be universally recognized as the narcissistic liars that they are, that parent will almost never be you. That’s equality, right?
Unless men are granted the right to legal paternal surrender, a woman’s right to terminate parenthood will be revoked and you will be on the hook for 18 years of child support. That’s equality, right?
If you kill your children, it will be your fault and your fault alone. That’s equality, right?
If boys still have to do it, your daughters will be FORCED to register for the draft if they want to vote or receive government benefits. That’s equality, right?
If it remains legal for parents to have their baby boys’ genitals mutilated, then it will be legal to have baby girls genitally mutilated as well. That’s equality, right?
If you hit a man, he will be allowed to defend himself with physical force. That’s equality, right?
Alleged crimes among college students will never be investigated by campus officials EVER—they will be the responsibility of the same criminal and judicial system that everyone else has. That’s equality, right?
Your requests for special protections and policing will be ignored if they privilege you over your male cohort. The men you accuse of rape will get the same anonymity and full due process as you get—and rape shield laws will change so that your entire history of lying and making false claims will be fair game in any legal action. That’s equality, right?
If you get promoted at work, it will not be based on a quota but on merit, and if you want to fuck your way to the top, join a brothel. That’s equality, right?
And, horror of horrors, you’ll have to buy your own fucking blood-plugs when you grow up. Hey, I already have to pay for the earplugs I have to use whenever you repeat your mendacious feminist boilerplate for the thousandth time.
Because the war ends with equality, Amanda, the equality that terrifies feminists to their last dying breaths.