Category Archives: irony alert
Is there no end to the ways in which women oppress the men of the world? Over on A Voice for Men, Clint Carpentier reports – and I use that term loosely – on a heretofore overlooked form of anti-male oppression: the abuse of fathers in delivery rooms by women who are at that moment literally in the stirrups giving birth.
Yep, we’re talking about women who use 12 hours of labor as a convenient excuse to yell at, and sometimes scratch and bite, their husbands and boyfriends. Apparently, there’s an epidemic of women in labor cruelly attacking men from the comfort and safety of the delivery table.
Carpentier starts off his post by making clear that giving birth isn’t really the big freaking deal all the ladies think it is, anyway:
Giving birth is an amazing feat of zero skill, and it still amazes me. It amazes me that this is the epitome, the pinnacle, the supposed female trump card to all male accomplishments. A man lands on the moon with analogue technology and proves Galileo’s theory of air resistance, but never mind that, another woman gave birth, just as well as any other female animal on the planet. A man creates life in a petri-dish, but never mind that, some broad stole his sperm and created life herself.
Anyway, I’m not knocking the dangers of labor, men know all about the dangers of labor; there really ought to be a better word for giving birth.
And whatever alleged pain women undergo during so-called “labor” apparently pales in insignificance to the pain men suffer from being in their presence in the delivery room. Carpentier has managed to avoid this terrible fate himself – his wife went the c-section route, no biggie – but he has heard tales that would make your skin crawl:
I have … heard stories, have … seen the scratches and bite marks, on the fathers who braved the maternity ward. And these same brave men praise the bravery of the mothers of their children. They proudly display scars the mothers-to-be inflicted upon them during the ordeal.
I’m hoping these scars are only from fingernails and that mothers-to-be aren’t sneaking shivs into the delivery room.
Oh, also, sometimes women in labor yell really loudly:
Sometimes a father will reminisce amusingly about how he’d been temporarily deafened when she had screamed right in his ear for waxing sympathetically over her tribulations.
And apparently it’s only men who are the targets for this scratching and biting and yelling:
I hear these stories only from men. I know, men aren’t the only people comforting these women during birth; some women don’t have a man at the time. But what I don’t hear, are these stories from the female nurses, friends, mothers, sisters, etc, who are there to console and coach these single mothers-to-be. Why is it, I’m only hearing accounts of weathering physical abuse and injury from the fathers?
I don’t know, dude. Do you hang out with female nurses on a regular basis? Do you spend as much time drinking beer and shooting the shit with your wife’s female friends as you do with your own?
You see, if I am correct, and it is only fathers who suffer this abuse, then delivery of such injury is selective. I can see no call for it.
Really? First of all, you haven’t shown that this is abuse and not simply an accident. Second, how many of these female friends, mothers, sisters, what have you, were actually in the delivery room? Because that seems like an important variable to take into consideration before jumping to conclusions based on a dataset of some-dudes-allegedly-told-you-something-once.
In fact, fathers-to-be should avoid the maternity ward altogether, as they are obviously not welcome.
Really again? You imagine an epidemic of anti-male violence by women giving birth based on a couple of stories and a rather half-assed deduction you’ve made from it, and therefore conclude that 1) men should miss out on the birth of their children and 2) shouldn’t be there to comfort their wives as best they can during labor.
If birthing is license to mistreat, abuse, or injure a father in the witness of medical professionals, then what deterrent exists, preventing continued abuse in private? And for that matter, what indication is there that she doesn’t abuse him already?
Woah. Let’s just back up a little here. First of all, dude, you haven’t proven that “abuse of fathers” by women on the delivery table is actually a thing. You’ve offered only a few vague anecdotes – and these anecdotes don’t even make clear whether or not the alleged “ delivery of … injury” – gotta love that evasive wording – was deliberate.
Given the stress and pain of labor, it’s easy to imagine how a woman giving birth might accidentally scratch someone. Maybe the mother in question was holding onto her husband’s hand for support and dug her fingernails in a little too hard and left a mark. Maybe she flailed her arm backwards and accidentally scratched his face. We don’t know, because not only do you offer zero real evidence for any of your claims, but your second-hand stories don’t offer enough detail to know what was going on.
If endangering your own life once or twice provides license to abuse a man, what does that say about our society. Particularly when he endangers his own life as a matter of routine to support you?
Seriously? I know Men’s Righsters love to complain about the fact that many more men than women die on the job – though this complaining never seems to lead to any actual activism on the issue of workplace safety – but the fact is that most men, in the US at least, DO NOT WORK DANGEROUS JOBS. They don’t endanger their own lives “as a matter of routine.” They don’t endanger their lives at all by going to work, at least not any more than women do.
MRAs love to give themselves credit for bravery because they share a gender with a small number of men who do in fact work dangerous jobs. But I’m guessing there are not a lot of lion tamers amongst the Men’s Rights crowd. Somehow I’m thinking that most of them have jobs that mostly involve sitting on their asses in rooms entirely devoid of lions.
Anyway, if the overwhelming majority of men don’t endanger their lives by going to work, they endanger it even less by “braving” the delivery room. Men face no actual physical threat from women who are literally flat on their back, their feet in stirrups, in the process of pushing an entire human being out through their vaginas.
But, hey, women do sometimes yell rude things during labor, so maybe it’s possible that a few of them do scratch or even bite their husbands, though the latter seems like it might be a tad difficult logistically. Some might even do so on purpose. If so, there would probably be some evidence of this somewhere online, right?
Well, I searched for a while using every combination of search words I could think of. I found an assortment of disturbing headlines about men attacking women in and around maternity wards: Guilty: man who punched and kicked pregnant girlfriend outside Poole Maternity Hospital; Man charged with assaulting pregnant girlfriend, staff in hospital maternity ward; Man Throws Meat Cleaver Into Maternity Ward.
I found disturbing statistics about pregnancy and domestic violence, which often begins or increases during pregnancy; according to one 2000 study, some 324,000 pregnant women are abused each year.
On a somewhat lighter note, I found women wondering if it was normal to have a really itchy stomach after giving birth, and another person wondering “why is my bitch digging so much after giving birth[?]” (Don’t worry; they were talking about a dog.)
Amidst all this – and many hundreds of other irrelevant results – I managed to find one example of a woman scratching a man during childbirth.
On a page in which she provided all the gory details of her 28 hours of labor – along with numerous pictures of her newborn – one new mother also posted a couple of pictures documenting the scratches she’d given her husband while in labor. (I’m not giving out the link because MRAs. )
Brace yourself. Here’s one of the pictures, with the father’s face partially blurred out:
If you look very carefully you can see four faint scratches on his forearm. The blogger isn’t a native English speaker, but as far as I can tell from what she wrote about it, she didn’t give these terrible scratches to him on purpose.
Yesterday, several days after the twentieth anniversary of Kurt Cobain’s suicide, A Voice for Men took a moment to honor the brilliant musician who tragically ended his life at the age of only 27.
Well, not exactly. What they actually did was run a terrible poem using the anniversary of Cobain’s death as an excuse to launch an extended attack on the supposed evils of feminism.
Here’s the opening:
Feminists killed Kurt Cobain
Men my age are all the same
They hate themselves & feel ashamed
For what they are & cannot change
It gets worse. The poem, written by a YouTube MRA calling himself Laudanum Byron, continues on for another 104 lines after this. Only 13 refer to Cobain, and five of these are simply repetitions of the opening accusation: “feminists killed Kurt Cobain.”
The rest of the poem consists of an assortment of Men’s Rights talking points sketched out in the most melodramatic manner possible.
Men chastised, demonized,
Healthy males pathologized
A man is just a dirty ape
Longing, lust, desire: all rape
Your body is a loaded gun
And all that it has done is wrong
Like all too many MRAs, Mr. Byron lets his anger at women get the better of his logic. In the following lines, for example, he lashes out at women both for living off of the earnings of men — and for earning money of their own.
Now the girls get told get what you can
After all, he’s just a man
You’re right to think it’s right to take
Yes you go girl, you make him pay
The girls get taught they must get on
Like work empowered anyone:
To sell your life for dollar bills
Taking calls & stacking shelves
In offices & factories
Fulfilment sought in drudgery
Mr. Byron – no relation, one presumes, to the actual Byron – seems to have only a rudimentary notion of what a poem actually is. While most, though not all, of his lines scan, he has persistent troubles with the concept of rhyme, with his aabb and aabbcc rhyme schemes dominated by half-rhymes and quarter-rhymes and, well, the words have some similar sounds in them.
“Bills” and “shelves” don’t rhyme, or half-rhyme, despite both ending in the letter “s.” “Take” and “pay” aren’t even remotely close.
Admittedly, “chivalry” is a tough one to rhyme. But surely one can do better than “steeds.”
White knights, on their hobbled steeds
Still cling to laws of chivalry
Passed over by the queens they save
A joke to all the other slaves
When he pulls off an actual rhyme, it comes a surprise:
All of us the sons of Cain
Feminists killed Kurt Cobain.
But while we’re on the topic, it’s worth pointing out that feminists and/or feminism did not actually kill Kurt Cobain. (Nor did anyone else; the conspiracy theories suggesting he was murdered don’t make a lot of sense.)
Byron’s only “evidence” linking feminism to the suicide?
He screamed onstage & pierced his flesh
Put on make-up, wore a dress
Look, nobody knows for sure the reason or reasons Cobain took his own life, but he was a troubled man with a history of suicide attempts. He suffered from depression and from a painful, persistent stomach ailment. He was addicted to heroin. And as his suicide note made clear, he found the fame he had achieved to be something of an intolerable burden; he felt like a fake. Like a lot of suicides, Cobain’s could be seen as psychologically overdetermined; it could have been caused by any or all of these things.
Using his suicide to score cheap rhetorical points against feminism is not only dishonest but highly disrespectful to his memory.
To top off this gigantic platter of disrespect, whoever wrote the headline on AVFM didn’t even bother to spell Cobain’s first name correctly. It’s Kurt, with a K.
Below, “Byron’s” own reading of his poem. If you can’t bear listening to it — I only made it a couple of stanzas in before I had to shut it off — you can make your way to AVFM, or to YouTube, to read the rest. I feel safe in saying that Kurt, who considered himself a feminist, would have hated it, and A Voice for Men as well.
Do You Even Lift, B*tches? Men’s Rightsers fight the injustice of hypothetical women-only weight room hours
The latest outrageous assault on Men’s Rights? Well, according to more than a thousand upvoters* on Reddit, it’s this: some gym somewhere might be considering women only hours in its weight room to accommodate women who feel uncomfortable lifting amongst men.
A female MRA who goes by the name of stuck_at_starbucks came to the Men’s Rights subreddit with this tale of anti-male injustice from her local gym:
I was on the treadmill and saw two women start walking towards the weight room, then stop at the entrance and one if them said, “oh nooooo, we can’t go in there, there’s men!” They started complaining that it “wasn’t fair” that they “couldn’t use the weight room ” and took it to the front desk. The manager came out and told them that they were considering having girls only hours for the weight room.
Naturally, the Men’s Rightsers responded to this with the calm, reasoned comments for which they have become so famous. Ah, who am I kidding: they posted nearly 300 comments that ran the gamut from screechy outrage to, well, slightly-less screechy outrage.
So at this point you presumably all know about James Franco’s less-than-successful attempt to text his way into the pants of a 17-year old fan — which, if it wasn’t just a publicity stunt for his latest movie, which happens to be about a creepy teacher preying on a student, was pretty creepy for real.
You might have been struck by the, er, bluntness his approach, which could be summarized as the “I’m James Franco, are you technically of legal age in New York State, can I get you alone in a room with me right now, no I’m really James Franco, really” technique.
But what you haven’t seen yet is an analysis of Mr. Franco’s TEXT GAME by a recognized expert in the field. And by expert I mean our new friend Christian McQueen, the Alpha Playboy with the Obviously Fake Name.
Mr. McQueen asks the timeless question: Was Mr. Franco’s TEXT GAME desperate or just direct?
To some it may seem like he’s being ‘thirsty’, but is he really? Or his text game actually the type of game that high value men use?
After going line for line through Mr. Franco’s conversational gambits with the wary teenager — which, you may recall, not only failed to convince her to come to his room but also created a bit of an embarrassing scandal for him — McQueen concludes that Franco’s game was …. “solid.”
You see, when you’re James Franco, you can just go ahead and behave like some dude straight out of the CreepyPM subreddit, because you have “so many options, that [you] can go Ultra-Direct in [your] text game and many players who are on a great level utilize this.”
Don’t bother with small talk. Don’t bother with charm. All you need to do is state your famous name, determine if she is of legal age in the state you are in (and she was, in New York), and then proceed to work out the logisitics. And BAM, you’re in like Flynn. (Though one imagines that the real Erroll Flynn actually tried to work some personal charm into his approach with women.)
McQueen sums it up for us mere mortals:
[H]is ’game’ was not ‘thirsty’, but simply Direct. While not great, it was solid.
He is a celebrity, so it’s less about him using Game and more about him asking questions as though they are completing a transaction. She gets to fuck a celebrity and he gets her pussy. Simple.
Yeah. Except that none of that happened and now a guy who could have slept with any one of literally millions of enthusiastic volunteers over the age of 18 is now the poster boy for celebrity creepiness.
He could have been smoother and possibly gotten the bang, but he probably does not care.
Yeah. Unless this is all a publicity stunt, I’m thinking that he probably does care just a little bit now.
This is classic I Don’t Give A Fuck Game.
When your value is high and your time is precious, you don’t give a fuck if she rejects you. This is Next Level.
Well, if by “Next Level” you mean “an approach so crude and creepy that it not only squicked out the 17 year old fan that it was directed at but also millions of female fans who’ve now seen the texts online.”
He put out minimal effort to prove it was him, which was understandable considering she doubted it was him, and when she balked, he ejected quickly.
I guess he’s got a point here. It would have been even worse if Franco had stuck around and tried to pressure the fan to see him.
Remember gents, when your Game is tight and you have High Value, you can go Direct. Men of High Value don’t have time to be wasted. You may get rejected immediately, but you also won’t waste time with girls just seeking attention and validation.
You may, on the other hand, be exposed on the internet as a creepy predator. But I guess Men of High Value don’t care about that, which is why Franco didn’t go on Live With Kelly and Michael shortly after this broke to apologize for it all. Oh wait. He did.
Huh. That doesn’t sound High Value at all.
So our dear friend Heartiste, the white-supremacist woman-botherer, has assembled a little “Chateau Heartiste Crib Sheet of Game,” a compilation of some of his best pickup advice, boiled down to a few handy tips and clever one-liners that wannabe alpha males can use on the ladies during conversation in order to get their ginas tingling. (Sorry, that’s the way these guys talk.)
Looking at Heartiste’s list of “lines” I was struck by how generic and, well, frankly unoriginal most of them were, from standard issue negs like “nice shoes. Those are really popular now” and “is she always like this?” to old-school PUA cliches like “I don’t buy girls drinks but you can buy me one” and “what else do you have going for you besides your looks?” both of which come straight from peacocking PUA pioneer Mystery, the guy with the fuzzy hat and the long-ago-cancelled VH1 show.
Indeed, a lot of Heartiste’s “lines” are as old and stale as he is:
Don’t get clingy
Miss me already?
Hey, hands off the merchandise
If i didn’t know any better i’d say you were trying to pick me up
So I thought I’d do Heartiste a little favor and write up some new lines for him and his fans that are both more original and a bit more honest. Next time you’re in “da club,” Heartiste, why don’t you try some of these out? Some of these I made up myself; some are taken, or adapted, from things you yourself wrote.
Hi, I spend most of my life on the internet trying to figure out how to manipulate drunk women half my age into bed.
People on the internet know me as Heartiste. No, not Fartiste. With an H. No, it’s not a joke. I thought it up myself.
I like to call black people “darkies.” No, not to their face. Anonymously, on the internet.
I’m an alluringly savvy man self-assuredly parrying the clit-hardened jousts of intrigued women.
Too much outbreeding decreases charitable kin-feeling and incentivizes a decadent ennui that severs the citizen’s sense of obligation to his nation and co-ethnics.
A gentlemanly selectiveness honed by years of experience and psychological nimbleness has proved adequate at filtering out women likely to lay like dead fish in my roiling sea of sperm.
If anyone can usurp the lawyercunt in cuntishness, it’s the Twittercunt.
The walls are closing in on the lords of lies and their feels army of emotabots.
Whether our ruling class knows it or they bumble along like drug addicts seeking the next pleasurable injection of power at any cost, their sex-swapping project will turn the West into matricentric, female forager Africa.
Every time we had sex over the following weeks, it ended with her tucking her knees under her chin naked on the bed to quietly cry into the wrapped bubble of her body.
The only bond that matters in a woman’s heart is the one you caulk in her cock vault.
The ruling elites despise whites, despise the concept of whiteness, and despise especially the idea that the territory and nation and culture from which they parasitically suck the lifeblood was created and sustained primarily by white men.
The id of the Like Me Generation is a furry suit wrapping a toddler.
Women should avoid trying to be funny altogether and stick to maximizing the return on their authentically valuable assets. That would be your tits, ass, face and pussy, in case you were wondering.
That last bit was pure Heartiste. (As were the previous ten.) Like the women of the world, I can’t hope to attain such pinnacles of wit.
Roosh Valizadeh has made a career, such as it is, of teaching guys how to talk to women the Rooshy way. And not just how to talk to drunk women in clubs, where you’re lucky if they can even hear your clever negs over all the noise.
In his book Day Bang he sets forth his brilliant strategy for speaking to women in the daytime: start babbling to them about random crap like those slightly dotty elderly people who come up to you sometimes babbling about random crap.
No, really. You’re supposed to “open” with an “Elderly Opener” and segue seamlessly into “Elderly Chat,” taking your cues from the people who are the best at talking forever about nothing at all. “This is something old people excel at,” he writes.
They can have a one-hour chat stemming from an ice cream flavor because their life experience is so deep that they can seamlessly and casually connect it to a dozen other topics.
During the day I want you to think of yourself as a wandering, slightly confused old man who needs to gain information or knowledge. In my sock example, I played up that I was a style retard, incapable of buying a five-dollar pair of socks, when in reality I’m totally capable of making that decision.
And then – shazam! – you’re in like Flynn! Apparently women just melt for men who can’t figure out how to buy socks.
But it turns out that when there’s no possibility that the conversation will end with a bang, Roosh is far less interested in talking to women. Or at least in them talking back.
So much so that he’s not only banned women from commenting on his Return of Kings blog but, as of earlier this week, he’s also banning men who merely reply to women who happen to sneak past his anti-woman defenses and get in a comment or two before they’re banned. (He’s also banned “homos.” His term, not mine.)
Roosh’s announcement generated a good deal of discussion on RoK, mostly from supportive dudes glad that girls and talkers-to-girls are being thrown out of Roosh’s manly clubhouse.
Well, heck, that just means more women for me to talk to.
Excuse me, ladies, but I’m having trouble figuring out how these socks work. Do I put the delicious Pistachio ice cream in them before I put them on, or after?
Note: I really don’t want to give Roosh any traffc, but if you must, the link to his post is hidden somewhere in my post above. Thanks to MARK MINTER for alerting me to Roosh’s new policy.
So the other day some of the fellas over on Chateau Heartiste — one of the internet’s top destinations for racist, misogynist pickup artist wannabes — ran across a little graphic celebrating some of the lesser-known “[w]omen in science that you should know … and probably don’t.”
Apparently offended by the reminder that, yes, women have actually had some influence over history, one of Heartiste’s readers decided to make a graphic similarly celebrating the men of science. But while the original graphic contained pictures of only 12 women, this new graphic featured a vast sea of male faces, as if to rub in just how male dominated the world of science has been, and still is.
Looking at the graphic, Heartiste also thought he spotted another demographic anomaly: a preponderance of white faces. “That’s one pale looking pastiche,” he wrote.
“The Men in Science poster. A Snowvalanche of Whiteness,” agreed one of his commenters,”Bwahahaha.”
Huh. That’s weird. because when I look at the poster I don’t see a lot of white. I mean, if you blow it up a little you can see that the spaces between the various squares are white, but the squares themselves are all sorts of colors. Red. Pink. Black. Brown. Blue. Green.
Are a significant portion of the Men of Science from Mars?
And there’s another odd thing about this not-so-pale pastiche: it’s full of repeating patterns. If you look closely, you’ll discover that this isn’t one vast sea of male faces. It’s a small pond, endlessly repeated.
Specifically, it’s this bit (from the upper left-hand corner) pasted over and over.
Also, when you look closely at these alleged “scientists” they turn out to be real blockheads. Yep, if you zoom in a little further you don’t find an assortment of tiny Einsteins and fig-sized Newtons. You get this:
All hail the founding pixels of science!
Heartiste, you may want to get your eyes checked for bigotry.
Thanks to dashapants for bringing this wondrous graphic and its repeating patterns to my attention.
And that is just the beginning of a wondrous little exchange between a self-described “nice guy” trying out some bad boy charm on a not-very receptive woman on OkCupid who nonetheless deals with his ridiculous assholery with aplomb.
Note to “nice guy.” You might want to reconsider some of your assumptions. And work on your typing.
I found this on the endlessly fascinating, if often deeply disturbing, CreepyPMs subreddit, one of Reddit’s few redeeming features. You can read the rest of the conversation here, and the CreepyPM post here.
British Men’s Rightser to feminists: I will fight you until my dying breath! And so will my totally real ex-model girlfriend.
Meet Sasha. Sasha is an angry young man living in England (allegedly), with a super-HAWT girlfriend (allegedly), and a lot of opinions about feminism (not-so-allegedly). The other day, he decided to share some of these opinions with the world. Or at least with any of those feminists who happened to be reading the Men’s Rights subreddit at the time.
In a topic devoted to a conference on “lad culture” in British universities, Sasha lashed out at feminists for what he sees as their hypocritical attack on boorish, sexist “lads.” Hypocritical, you see, because these very same women allegedly have sex with posh men all the bloody time: