Reflections on Modern Masculinity

So as we near the endgame of the eugenic Zio-fempire, males and their behaviors are splitting into some quite strongly identified groups. The typical run-back-into-Mommy-and-the-empire gameplan leads right back into the gurrumiao, eyeri, and pariguayo paradigms. These are nothing new, and are no longer our concern. What we need to look at is the new morphs within the “liberated, free autonomous male” claims.
The first of these is what has been called the Metrosexual. In touch with his “feminine side”, and “secure enough in his masculinity to be feminine”, the metrosexual is not adverse to manicures, pedicures, and coiffed pubic hair. He cares for and displays his body in careful ways, as if he were a muscular teen trying to catch a chickenhawk sugardaddy. He gushes emotion when he is “supposed to”, and is always sure not to ever have a deeply held opinion or conviction, and to never ever offend anyone. Political and Environmental Correctness is his Gospel, and with his metal water bottle, organic vegan diet, and recumbent bicycle, nary a polar bear will drown because of him and his carbon footprint. He bikes everywhere, in tight spandex, to show off his shaved and greased gym body (the egg-white protein bars and imported Chilean organic blueberries will remain secrets, as will the steroids and plastic surgery for the parts that “just wouldn't go for it”), and show he Does It For The Future. He is a master at witty conversation, bordering on female gossip, and is devastating with his bon mots and latest celebrity news. He breaks into Broadway showtunes at every possible cue, and Lezzie Liz Smith's got nothing on him. Oh, and he is 100% STR8 (but not narrow...)

The second of these is the Kicky-Punchy-Pussy-Boy. KP2B obviously likes guys over girls, socially and erotically, but needs to be “normal”. He needs the societal approval to stroke his fragile ego, to give him a sense of significance. So, when you can get him away from the dairy barn and his harem of heifers long enough, you might get a mumbled “yeah, I'm Bi, but I prefer girls...” from him. Even if his girlfriend doesn't tip the scales at 4 and change, she is still just a beard, and not the shave-able kind. He absolutely MUST have a girlfriend, or people will “mistake him for gay”, or call him “a false positive”. KP2B is also into sports, martial arts, and bodybuilding- any excuse he can think of for a situation where it is “normal” and “accepted” ways to be in close, physical context with other males. The all-male time is super-precious to the KP2Bs, and they will do ANYTHING to get it- except challenge their cows. Evolved a bit from the mom's-basement-dwelling D&D geeks of the 1980's, these guys put every experience and everyone they meet in the context of MMA, boxing, or weightlifiting “fitness”. Whereas the Dungeon Masters used to encode their chat with “he's like a Dwarf fight 9 versus a Warlock power 30, dude”, these guys refer to what “work” the others “need to do”, people's bodyfat and testosterone levels, and which one of this week's diet and workout fads would be best for their somatotype. Eat Right 4 Ur Bloodtype, anyone? Paleolithic Diet Party on My Bitch's Pussay!

 "the reality"

Then there are the Anime fan boys repress their maleness and instead express their pent-up testosterone by watching overpowered cartoon characters fight to the death in such an exaggerated expression of aggression, that the earth usually explodes. They go into escapist fantasies of grandeur in order to escape their reality: timid, insecure, and unhealthy. They’re the new generation of Trekkies and D&D players, only they’ve decided to latch on to the most bizarre aspects of Japanese culture. The Japanese created Anime because they live in an environment that represses emotion and masculinity, and at least in the US, the youth are eating it up. These boys just LOVE other men's chopsticks.
For their sacred Hello Kitty Haute Couture, they must do a wax shave down, round out and blue-ify their eyes, and get a six-pack only a 12-year old could love. These masters of FullMetal Alchemy would be so much happier if they could find the Philosopher's Stone so they could get their guatiaos out of the metal armor their souls are stuck in, and together they could go rape the Nanjing Men's Football League. In full costume, of course.

The next kind of Modern Male is Mommy May I? The MMI is entangled with a nasty, controlling, psychotic frigid bitch- shes the kind who expects (and gets) him to worship her and her passive-aggressive insanity, and then acts like he's not even there. She is the truest form of cat, a total cunt. When her lap-boy hugs her to console her, she sneers at him, laughing at his weakness. She has complete and utter total control over him- she decides what he can and can't eat, when he can eat, what. he can do in his free time, and who he can be friends with. She runs protests over people she feels threatened with on his facebook friends list. Any past love interest- real or imagined- is forbidden, as Mommy Cunt can't handle ANY potential threat to her hegemony. She is bi-polar insecurity to the max. Max as in Maximum Security prison. If he dares not be where she wanted him for 5 minutes, she will call him until he answers his phone, and explains just what the hell he is doing. She is only empowered because he needs to be loved, and they are a perfect passive-aggressive pair. He for his part will openly bitch and complain to the few friends he is allowed by her how bad it is, and she is evil and crazy and killing him. A friend of his who dares make the suggestion he leave her, and that's it- the friend is history, the demands of the Mommy Cunt ALWAYS win. He allows this because he feels like shit about himself, and because he might just have the super-power to make Mommy Cunt HAPPY, even just for a few minutes. In the passive-aggressive ping-pong they play, she is a damsel in distress, and he is the super-hero, but not too far with it, or she'll lose power, and will actually owe him some love.

Next up are the Milktoast Husbands of Convenience and Domineered Fathers. These blokes got married because “it was the right thing to do” (read: Mommy and Daddy said I had to). Social pressure to do the Noah syndrome was strong, and she “seemed nice”, so “why not”? Sometimes, one even gets kids out of the deal, usually after one of his occasional “regressions” into male-male erotic encounters (otherwise the energy isn't strong enough). He stays married because “why not, it's not that bad”, which is basically convenience or laziness. Better to stay with the evil you're in than tackle a new one, right?
Lord of the cliché, the HOC always has the best “logic” (read: retro-excuse) to rationalize why it's not so bad he's stuck. I mean, once you're married, and it's not horrible, why would you need to end it? That would just bring more trouble. More trouble like the elderly gay-men's encounter group in a local urban center's LGBITWXYZ center, where all they do is whine about how could they have stayed married for so long, and even had kids and grandkids? Didn't they know? Oh well, if they stayed that long, things mustn't have been that bad... they were just rocking the boat. Not like me, I stuck with it. Sometimes you have to stick with something for the greater good, right?

Then we have the Coffee-Shop Revolutionaries. These are the boys for who the Idea is more important than life itself, which is why they never manifest or complete any of their ideas to fruition. As they sit, medicating their ADHD and neuroses with expensive, obscene decaffeinated drinks, trying to impress that one “It” girl (who just seems to get “It”), they forget to bathe, they forget social skills, they forget to eat, and, most of all, they forget to think. As their bodies waste away between mocha lattes, what remains of their humanity is devoured by the coquettish sex kittens who remain right there but oh so unavailable.
Maybe his next Idea will impress one of the vapid sluts long enough for him to bust a load of his best idea ever all across her smarmy, smirking face. She of course thinks all of this is silly, and is just leeching off him to get another free $5 cup of specialty coffee, but keeps nodding her head in a just so rhythm, until he thinks he should by her yet another espresso, as she might be on the verge of going down on his big next great throbbing Idea. His darkest, innermost secret- he isn't serious about any of his Ideas, they are all so existentially silly and undoable, but maybe, just maybe someone else can take the craziness, and go do something similar with it. It's not about him, man- it's the IDEA that's important. Let someone else save the world, not him. He's too busy trying to put two in the pink and one in the stink.


Next up is the Freaky Religious Zealot. This poor fucker got so indoctrinated in some Molochian shitpile, he believes his body and erotic energies and urges are evil and dirty. He will struggle within himself, denying everything, so that he may “remain pure”, and “walk closer with God”. If he is a member of a cloistered community, he will have it much worse, as the demand for conformity will overwhelm any realizations. If he is a free-range chicken, he may get exposed on Satan's Internet to Other ideas, heretical ideas, that will ruin his chance of Salvatory-Nirvanah.
 Since the brainwashing runs long-term and deep, even if he leaves the original community of believers, he will end up in some other cult, possibly even weirder. Assemblies of God to the Ramah Lama Ding Dong Dorje of Tibet to the Heaven's Gate cut-your-evil-man-balls-off-to-find lord-la to Scientology. (Isn't Scientology where all religious gay boys end up? Xenu just LOVES closet queens- just ask Cruise or Travolta). In all of these, he will search for the love, affection, and acceptance that he (and all males) so truly need. Unfortunately, the Love of God in these viper dens is conditional, God loves you, We love you, as long as you're just like Us. If he begins to find acceptance and love, there will always be something missing- there is no physical affection allowed, except between breeding pairs, to make more of God's Chosen Worshipers. They forget Krishna, Siddartha, and Jesus all had all-male entourages, and were quite loving with them. They also forget Jesus' own words- “Wherever two or more of you are gathered in my name”- nothing about conformity in a large cult.

Then we have the Skinhead Oi Boi- this scrounging manhood knows nothing about actual socialism or NSDP history, he just likes the "butch" feel of para-military gear and the tribal sense of belonbging to a rugged group of guys. He of the chrome dome, and long goat beard (and usually braided eyebrows) tries to hide his vulnerability to others by scaring the shit out of them. He likes white t-shirts because they show off the male form, with the belt cinching the waist (even when he's got a gut), and his beloved oxbloods. And NEVER forget the braces! Every good want-to-be poser fascist just absolutely needs a set of crimson or orange suspenders, this season's ultimate manly accessory! Wallet chains are just soooo 1990!
A few miscellaneous Satanic or 88HH tattoos, and he's ready to go romper stomper on your ass, or, if truth be told, you can go romper stomper on his ass, he'd like that much better.
Without realizing it, he proudly wears his Mjoilnir, for Folkish pride- Thor's Mighty Hammer, also a powerful traditional masculine phallic symbol- a sign of the Power of Man.
He is of he kind that has two beards- the shag on his face, and a pale cow he pretends t shag, no Nazis are Fags, although he likes to play and fire any trouser Mauser he can get his meaty paws on. He is related to the Biker Gang guys, who are his not-so-distant kissing cousins.
Both will rally round a flagpole or a group of men any chance they get, the smell of wet leather and unwashed beef make them tres hard!
Arms up in salute! Heil, Seig Heil,
Phallos Rises!

The last one for now will be The Wandering Sailors, or the Frat Brah's. These are the guys who have the ultimate Peter Pan syndrome. They are forever twelve, and not in a good, playful way. These guys need yet are unable to handle their own tribal masculinity, so it runs over like a clogged sewer pipe. They become hyper-masculine caricatures, so very Jersey Shore. They binge drink to numb their uncomfortable yet powerful emotions, they use status symbols such as their cars to flash their nascent masculinity, and must, above all, have loads of drama-loving bitches to “smoosh”. These gals must be DUMB, dumber than the Brahs who date them, and that ain't easy. The gals need to be dumb to not realize that all these boys want is the next Double Penetration so their cocks rub against each other, and their balls bounce off each other. The dumb blonde in the middle of this cock sandwich might as well be vinyl with “Made in Taiwan” written on her inflate plug. She is a ho only there for show, these knob gobbling frat boys would be so much happier without her there. She is cast in a bukkake target role only so others won't talk. If these boys were real men, they'd get over it, and not need the plastic princess. At least if they ditched the Bimbos, they wouldn't continue to face animal cruelty charges for trying to choke them with their 3-inch steroid penises. These G0yboys may be the closest of all to true Monkey Brothers, even with their shaved torsos and pits, and them walking around in clouds of Axe.
Notice among all of the above examples, there is NOT ONE who is actually an autonomous, self-actualized, natural male. All of the above modern pathologies are based on the identity of the non-male, and keeping the non-male happy so he can win it's approval and permission. What makes it even worse is that most modern men are blends of more than one of the caricatures above. It makes the situation even more tangled and difficult.
So, my challenge is this- instead of trying to defend whichever of the pathologies above you are hopelessly tangled in, simply get the fuck out of the mess you are in, and free yourself. The longer it goes, the more entangled and complicated it will become. No time like the present- unless of course you like the way things are...