Wow, I nip out to town for a couple of mahi tacos (diet cops, shut your yaps), stumble back to my desk, and discover that some dude named Jack has parachuted down to Savage Death Island, peered at the curious natives through a 2X magnifying glass, and pronounced (some of) us “smart.” Despite the fact that we don’t care for his “vague” antifeminist remarks. He then attempts to reinforce his superior status with an unflattering lampoon of the Blametariat, and to enlighten us with his unique male viewpoint. There’s also some other guy (“Flotsam”? “Fosdick”?) on another thread who’s really taking up some space with his unique male perspective.
Henceforth such dudes will be known as hanging chads.
These hanging chads, they really never get it. Because women generally, and radical Internet Feminists in particular, are to them some mystical, unfathomable alien species, they think we don’t understand them! It is hilarious, the predictability with which they all, without exception, every single time, enduringly and persistently, are compelled to lecture the ignorant Savage Death Islanders on the finer points of the superior dude civilization back on the mainland. Because if we just understood them, we would see how wrong we are to experience Chadly privilege as oppression.
“Don’t you see? When you attack our porn, it makes us insecure, because we love porn, wee wee wee!”
Yeah, yeah, feminism makes you insecure so you have to post insults, death threats, and boring lectures on feminist blogs. What a revelation. Knock me over with a feather. Ça alors, c’est une big surprise.
But here’s the thing.
Now, I don’t speak for all the feminists, or for the readers of this blog, but this spinster aunt doesn’t care about dudes at all. In fact, I have acute dude fatigue. The topic of Dudes In Society excites me about as much as expressing the dog’s anal sacs. Educational anecdotes concerning the Dude Experience monotonize me to the max. The rarefied and incomparable Heterosexual Male Perspective bores the living lobe lubricant out of me.
Because I’ve heard it all about 174.8 million times before, and hearing it again doesn’t do a fucking thing for me. It doesn’t make the world a better place, it doesn’t cut through waxy yellow build-up, it doesn’t clean toilets, and it for sure doesn’t enlighten me.
What all chads fail to grasp is that, as members of an oppressed class, we have always considered it a matter of survival and our No. 1 priority to grok the fullness of the oppressor. In fact, we’ve been grokking the oppressor’s fullness since the cradle, mostly without even realizing it. It hasn’t been too difficult, since we were all raised in the smelly nutsack of Dude Nation, and continue to be engulfed by and to marinate in dudelionormative swampwater all day, every day. If there is ever some little dudecentric point here or there that eludes us, not to worry; dudelionormative socialization protocols are in place to take us back to school and whip us into shape.
There is nothing about men that Savage Death Islanders don’t know. Nothing. We know all about your dicks and your glands and what gets you off and how you were socialized and the terrible strain of male privilege. We get all your dude-jokes. We know all your antifeminist arguments. We know all your porn-is-necessary justifications. We know how you behave when you perceive that someone of a lower caste has challenged your authori-tay. No need to explain to us that we are doing feminism wrong, because we’ve already heard it from the 495,312 dudes who thought of it before you were born. We know that you are not conscious of your own privilege. And we get that, because your invisible privilege derives from the oppression of women, you hate women.
It turns out that after a lifetime of prophylactic acquiescence to Dude Culture gavage, I no longer give a crap. I don’t give a crap if dudes like me, or if dudes like feminists, or if dudes understand basic elements of feminism, or if dudes support the feminist fucking agenda, or if dudes sincerely ask me to educate them about feminism when all they really need is a swift kick in the grill with the boot of basic human decency. I’d rather have a root canal than spend even 3 seconds trying to convince some dude that patriarchy exists and that I’m not just making it up because I’m ugly and can’t get laid. The only thing that interests me less than educating lazy-ass dudes about their male fucking privilege is explaining to fucking lazy-ass privileged dudes why I am not interested in educating them. And Jesus Christ, the ennui! The crushing, stultifying, soporific ennui! The ennui of writing “Chad, you seem like a nice enough guy, but you should really check out the Feminism 101 blog before calling me ‘irrational’ and alluding to the power of femininity.” The ennui of reading “your a bitch thats why feminism will fail.” The ennui of sifting through gibberish like “Our female ruling class & their collaborators are biggest criminals in history.”
God, the ennui! It’s like living in the goddam Twilight Zone episode where the train keeps pulling into the same station over and over and over.
Nothing wastes my time like a dude. And at age 51, I ain’t got all that much time left.
In other words, the less I see of dudes, and of the gruesome products of their corny-ass fetishes, and of their boring-ass pronouncements on my blog, the more pleasant my day will be.
Look, mang, sometimes a spinster aunt just wants to shoot the shit with interested parties about some stuff, without having to endure douchebags splurting out boring douchebag shit that means nothing to anyone except other douchebags who are trying to out-douchebag each other. She wants to shoot the shit about stuff like this:
That a world order predicated on domination’n’submission oppresses entire classes of people. That oppression is experienced by these classes of people as discrimination, violence, and hatred. That discrimination, violence and hatred are unhealthy and injurious. That a social revolution that obviates the domination’n’submission model will have the concomitant effects of liberating the oppressed classes and, it so happens, of neutralizing the arousal quotient of domination, rendering pornography obsolete.
That’s right. After the revolution, pornography will have all the allure of cleaning a lint trap. No dreaded “censorship” or “banning” required. It will resolve itself.