Furthest Right


I’m probably going to lose 90% of my audience with this one, but it must be said, so I must also wish well the departing 3.6 of you.

Feminism is like most modern politics a giant fraud.

It is a surrogate for real politics, which involves achieving aims. Not a constant struggle, but an achievement of something that you slowly make better.

Feminism instead is eternal jihad because it takes a paradox, breaks it in half, and points the opposite ends at each other. The result is like a see-saw floating in space: as soon as you reach one extreme, the thing flips and you’re at the opposite end heading back from whence you came.

If feminism is politics for women, the rules were written by a pimp.

The basic ideal behind feminism is easy to guess, because it’s the same ideal behind every modern political agenda: equality. In this case, equality for women.

Who defines equality? Well, that’s the other side of the paradox — they imply it’s a blank slate, but they really mean (wink wink) that the newly equal get everything the old equal got, with none of the work load. This is exactly the same as every other modern philosophy that pits a group — men, women, blacks, whites, poor, rich, Jews, Muslims, New Agers, homosexuals, potheads — against everyone else.

“We want our equal rights,” they say.

That sounds good, so everyone else rubberstamps it.

But it’s never enough because it’s a paradoxical viewpoint. You want equality which cannot be defined, so it must be compensated, but in turn that creates greater inequality.

Every bit of wealth or power you transfer from the favored group comes at a cost. That cost is either the penalty to people who aren’t with the political agenda, and so are not the new elite, or the cost to society at large when you make functional systems dysfunctional for political reasons.

Either way, like the Soviet state or post-Revolutionary France, you slaughter a working thing for a mythical illusion — how come militant atheists aren’t all over this? — and then because things are worse, you demand more of that good ol’ equality. Put it in this fat vein right here.

Feminism falls right into this trap. How do you become equal to a man? You get the same stuff: the same roles, the same behaviors, the same entitlements, the same privilege, and the same expectations.

In doing so, you’ve cut out any need for the male to take into account your needs. You are, after all, now expected to be just like him, so if he’s fine with the situation, you should be too because you’re “equal.”

Guess we should have defined that term before the revolution. Oh well.

Now we consider how women and men interact: dating, friends and family. How do these change?

  • Dating. This becomes entirely transactional: it’s like two men deciding to sell a car to one another. What’s the price? Dinner and a movie? Tickets to see the Sonic Youth reunion tour? Done deal. He wants sex or companionship, and then he’s done; she should be, too. But this has made her an interchangeable part. Why stick to just one? In fact, why put yourself at financial risk by using one more than once? Use and move on. And if you’re fine with it, she should be too.
  • Friends. The situation is now totally politicized. If he lends any support, acts even slightly chivalrous, or notices she’s female, he could be in danger of violating political correctness. So the stilted awkward friendship becomes pro forma, and when he really wants a friend, he hangs out with his buddies — where he can say anything. Friendship as anything more than a sitcom-styled group of drinking buddies goes out the window. And if she wanders off with some guy who he’s certain will rape her? He’ll go to jail if he speaks up and she gets upset, so — tallyho, rape away!
  • Marriage. Like dating, marriage becomes transactional. She is offering something via social contract made with him — not with God, not with the German culture, not with a sacred role in nature — and so he is only bound by that contract. Even more, the interchangeability is still there. Sex is, once analyzed, basically a commodity like running water: unless it’s bad, or exceptionally refined, it’s all about the same. If anything goes wrong in the relationship, he should move on — and will, since there’s another transactional vagina awaiting him. Watch the laws change: men are about to tear apart the legal definition of marriage to end their unbalanced obligations.

This is where what the MensRights/Pick-Up-Artists of the world are on to something called “Game,” which is a smarmy word for the politics of sex, which is basically the politics of interpersonal power. Game means keeping the upper hand and getting what you want.

As said above, the rules of feminism were written as if by a pimp. Feminism destroys female Game by making it into male Game. Women and men are both trying to negotiate from a position of authority; this reduces the transaction to a very short-term prospect, since either loses if they commit to anything more than the immediate dinner-for-diddlin’ trade.

This is unbalanced because as we’ve already seen, sex is interchangeable. The man now has zero obligation to stick around, and in fact has a fairly big disincentive, since his modern woman has been around the block a few times. He loses if he commits, so the only ones who commit are losers.

Women have lost any special role they once had. They are now like coworkers, video games, cars and apartments: when you get bored with one, move on. Even more, since they are all of low value since they hand out the sex for free, take what you want and then move on quickly.

As time goes on, the woman and man may want a relationship — but to the man, that’s now a transaction too. While the good times roll, you can be a couple. When that’s over, you remember how little it anchors you — you’re penis #642 down that soft tunnel, another passing visitor — and you move on.

The result is neurotic women who give up all their sex, wear themselves out on child rearing, and then spend the rest of their lives alone, surrounded by photographs of what might have been. Somewhere, a pimp laughs, filling the night with his cynical sarcastic guffaws, as the city grinds on.

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