COTW winner is DavidTheGnome, who perceptively writes of the gleeful masochism with which leftoid whites immerse themselves,
I grew up in Bethesda Maryland, DC’s jewish/white liberal suburb, so I’ve been around them all my life. I’m also involved in the arts, which is probably more liberal than academia. I don’t want to throw my left leaning friends under the bus (that includes my “conservative” ones) but the more I see of this pathology, the more disturbed I am by it.
I mean, I don’t get into frothy political shouting matches with people in my social circle (although they know I’m not like them in many respects, and every now and then we go at it to a certain degree) but there’s just something profoundly dark and ignoble at the heart of what I used to consider a somewhat silly, effete and thoroughly conformist ideology.
All the hysterical posturing, the crazy eyes they get when a topic gets too close to the edge. I’ve seen genuine terror in some cases, child like saucer eyes (and these aren’t bad people, and I don’t personally know any who could sink to Coopers level) but as every year goes by they seem to get worse whenever animated by these ideas. Kerry Bolton wrote a good book “The Psychotic Left” and details some of its most prominent personalities. It’s really horrifying, but great, all his books are great.
I’m on an evo-psyche and fantasy series stint at the moment, but I wouldn’t mind reading a book that went about mining the depths of the liberal bobo heart. I suspect at the center lies some kind of ravenous, stygian chimera, vacillating between states of paralyzing fear and impotent rage. It eats culture and shits hypocrisy.
My edumacated guess: The leftoid mind, honed over millennia in NW Europe under manorial and outbreeding conditions, is today a fish out of water. Diversity — real diversity — is finally at their doorstep, and that precious altruistic mental module just doesn’t know how to comport itself in the teeth of a daily reality that defies its prescriptions, its hopes, and its preening self-righteousness. The result is a lashing out — although in this case it’s accompanied by a “lashing in” — against intruding crimethink and the tiniest deviations from their increasingly manicured ideological boundaries.
COTW runner-up winner is mts1, writing about the utter lack of desire that men feel for challenging women.
“An unevolved man or a boy will always want the simple girl. He doesn’t want to have to work hard for anything, especially not a relationship. He doesn’t want to be challenged or confronted.”
I am challenged and confronted every day out in the world, at work, and the commute to and from it. The only challenge and confrontation I want at home is the job of raising children, and I want a wife as a co-pilot in that, not an enemy combatant. But I come and go from MGTOW, each time trying to find someone who’d be that safe harbor where I can rest my warship’s crew, get the maintenance and repair my ship’s needs, then come morning I go to battle again for that safe harbor. This warship can take a lot, but even the USS Enterprise needed basic maintenance to make it the length of WW II. But each emergence from MGTOW ends up in “yup, touching fire still burns the hand” and so I stayed single. The incredible drive to have kids is the sole reason for leaving MGTOW from time to time. But the demanding harpies who have a number of kids by whomever, but laugh when I ask if they’d think of having more by me this time, drive me back into sweet solitude. They don’t realize I have but one sole freaking job for them, make that “down there” make me little ones, and in return you got me for life. They have 101 hoops for me to try to jump through that’ll allow them to keep me if I get 100% right; I have but one for them and they can’t do even that for me. On the other side of town, every gangbanger has a slew of baby-mommas and a line around the corner of girls dying for him to put a bun in their oven…
These entitled women think they know from “intelligent, strong woman.” My grandmothers came over from the Old Country when told to do so once their respective husbands established a nest egg in this country after working a bit where they hot-cotted it with a dozen other day laborers in a cold water flat, then graduating to a mill job. One raised 8 children (birthed 12, but 2 died stillborn and 2 by flu), the other 7. Then came the Depression. One nearly lost the house he built from a kit, the other lost his, and went to another mill city on a relative’s tip, then hailed the wife to bring the kids once that worked out. Yet blowing up the marriage was not even thought of. These were hard bonded families and the kids still had mom AND dad even if a bite of bread and a cup of watery coffee was every day’s breakfast. Then came WW II and though immigrants, every son on each side served, even to the last sole surviving sons, which was an out back then. And momma at home worrying over each son, luckily, none got the gold star. That is strength, and always finding a way to raise the kids and care for the husband and keep her own wits, that’s intelligence. Yet those “shackled, enslaved” women, I never heard a word of them being bitter, instead, their families were their lives, and they died happy and fulfilled. Today’s modern, independent, strong womyn, I wouldn’t give her a week in either grandma’s shoes without a nervous breakdown herself and a legion of Ritalin addicted trainwrecks for progeny. Strong, my ass.
Strength will take a vacation when it’s not tested. I wonder if the modren woman, should she be tested like her grandmother, would find a hidden well of strength to draw upon. Maybe that’s what pampered, tartphone-strapped women need: To be tested. Pushed forcefully out of their maudlin malaise so that they can recapture that happiness which eludes them at an accelerating pace. I leave it to the reader to draw the obvious game parallels. (And biochemical hormesis parallels.)
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