So, I was standing in the checkout line of a Walmart Neighborhood Market, staring off into space and lost in thought: I was mentally rotating n-dimensional objects though an n-1 dimensional space in an effort to nail down a deterministic algorithm to generically solve the otherwise intractable mathematics problem known as the Travelling Salesman, when a woman I’d never seen before grabbed my arm.
My mathematical musings fell apart like the fantastical details of Jackie Coakley’s Rolling Stone rape hoax.
“Can you tell me if that brand of butter is good quality?” she yelled, pointing at the two-pound 2-pack of Land O Lakes® salted sweet cream butter waiting to be scanned with the rest of my fortnightly grocery haul.
I’m serious in my commitment to MGTOW (Men Going Their Own Way) principles – I hadn’t spoken to or even looked at a woman in real life all that month, nor did I care to. Yet, once again, I was being vaginterrupted – imposed upon by a woman to solve her problems like a slave is directed to massage the mistresses’ wretched, fungal feet.
Land O Lakes® butter is a domestic American brand of consistent quality; a mildly flavored butter that ranked mid-range in one taste test. The 2-pack was on sale for well under $5 for 2 pounds, which made it an incredible value even for an aggressive discounter like Walmart.
I considered just walking away without answering, much like that sullen chick with flabby arms did in the infamous (almost 40 millions views) YouTube video entitled “10 Hours of Walking in NYC as a Woman” that demonized men of color to the delight of both white racists and feminists everywhere. The problem was that I was both trapped in line and low on food (beer) at home; I didn’t relish the thought of having to return to the store later to redo all my shopping.
I also considered a number of rude rejoinders that would not have worked out well for me – a dozen other shoppers were gawking at the woman’s outburst, waiting to see if I would surrender to her butter lust or fight back. In the end I gave in to the inevitable brain-rape and I told the entitled harpy the reasons why my choice of that butter was a good one.
I felt so sullied, so used. I just wanted to run home, shower, collapse into a fetal position and die.
Women in our matriarchal culture feel entitled to use men as walking brains or walking wallets – a process known as “cash-calling”: taking cash out of our wallets or cashing in on men’s superior knowledge and logical reasoning skills. Women see men as resource-objects to be used and discarded at will without ever considering that men are also sexual beings that get enervated by being judged by cash-calling considerations without sexual recompense.
Had that woman in the store respected me for my male sexuality, she would have written her question on a flashcard, then dropped to her knees, unzipped my pants and started blowing me while she waved the flashcard question in front of my vision. I would have been happy and even grateful to help in her evaluation of the merits of butters had she taken such a thoughtful and honest way of compensating me equally for my help but no, she brutally just took what she wanted – my mental labor – and left me hanging soft and dry.
Now, there are good, strong and brave women in the world who are aware of men’s sexual needs and take great care to only interact with men on a transactional sexual basis. I’ve seen these women on street corners, leaning on lampposts with one knee out; dancing in gentlemen’s clubs; and flirting with professors both during and after class.
These are the women who earn men’s respect – they understand men and our needs. They grasp that real equality means an eagerness to trade for men’s resources by giving men sexual favors – what men really care about.
Meanwhile, feminist assholes blather on about how poor, feckless women should get stuff for free – more comfortable abortion clinics, more protection from whatever happens to be scaring them at the moment, free tampons, free birth control – the list of demands from the feminists seems to grow every week without a hint that they are willing to put sexual or other goods for men on the negotiating table.
The smallest suggestion that men have needs, too – especially sexual needs that feminists are woeful at meeting – sends these feminists into apoplexy. They see men as beasts of burden they can exploit at will without even an actual touch of gratitude or the offer of a blumpkin.
It is brutal exploitation of men. It has to stop.
Some feminists are keen to blame the victim, claiming that men should create some sort of “patriarchy” – a sort of parallel to the generally accepted matriarchy, one gathers – that encourages men to keep their sexual needs under control around women, even as women adopt more mentally intrusive and provocative clothing (or lack thereof) styles that vaginterrupt men suggestively and aggressively with no actual sexual follow-through.
They insist that men and male sexuality are somehow “toxic” and “rapey” even though women rely on us for our resources and men’s ways of wisdom in building civilization for them, and populating that civilization via the children conceived by the creamy tears of our loins.
So women, teach each other not to bother men. This is your responsibility and no one else’s.
If you are interested in a man’s help, give him a coy smile and if you are worthy of his valuable time, he’s sure to come up to you and slap you on your assets.
And, we have to note for the inevitable quote miners: this article is satire, a satire of feminism. Deal with it.
About August Løvenskiolds
Once
he stumbled onto GirlWritesWhat's videos, August Løvenskiolds, aka The
Bibo Sez, started eating red pills like they were tic-tacs. He likes
debating feminists, but knows this stage will pass soon enough.
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