When I was still in my twenties, for several years I had this wonderful boyfriend; I’ll call him Gregg—he’s the one we’re all waiting for: tall, blue-eyed, with this thick black hair, all smart and sensitive, an inveterate graduate student who used to rub my feet at the end of the day with a lovely pink peppermint lotion from the Body Shop. It was young and romantic. You’d have thought we were happy. I think really we were happy. He was good for me: People met him and liked me better because I was going out with him; his sweetness redounded to me like a sunny day on a dark sidewalk. I could have and probably should have spent the rest of my life with him, might have avoided scenes like the time some guy I was seeing later on chased me down Topanga Canyon with a hot frying pan, screaming at me something about learning to make my own goddamn omelets. In other words, had I just stuck with the good boyfriend, I could have prevented a good deal of extraneous craziness.

But something went wrong—terribly wrong.

…

The idea of forever with any single person, even someone great whom I loved so much like Gregg, really did seem like what death actually is: a permanent stop. Love did not open up the world like a generous door, as it should to anyone getting married; instead it was the steel clamp of the iron maiden, shutting me behind its front metal hinge to asphyxiate slowly, and then suddenly. Every day would be the same, forever: The body, the conversation, it would never change—isn’t that the rhythm of prison?

…

I was temporarily credentialed with this delicate, yummy thing—youth, beauty, whatever—and my window of opportunity for making the most of it was so small, so brief. I wanted to smash through that glass pane and enjoy it, make it last, feel released.

And so, I cheated on him. With everyone I could. Bass players, editors, actors, waiters who wished they were actors, photographers. And everywhere I could, like that Sarah Silverman and Matt Damon video: on the floor, by the door, up against the minibar. I couldn’t sit still or stand still or lie still. And I didn’t want to lose Gregg either.

…

Months later, when Gregg found out for sure what I was doing, when he went through files on my Mac and found letters never sent to this lover or that one, he didn’t want to make me feel better anymore. He threw a two-thirds-empty bottle of Stolichnaya at my head when I finally found him at a friend’s house. He told me, I was your only chance at happiness—now it’s over for you.

Age is a terrible avenger. The lessons of life give you so much to work with, but by the time you’ve got all this great wisdom, you don’t get to be young anymore. And in this world, that’s just about the worst thing that can happen—especially to a woman. Whoever said youth is wasted on the young actually got it wrong; it’s more that maturity is wasted on the old. I was both emotionally unkempt and mentally unhinged—deeply depressed, drugged, sensitive, and nasty all at once—during the years I was supposed to be spousing up.

…

Now that I am a woman whom some man might actually like to be with, might actually not want to punch in the face—or, at least, now that I don’t like guys who want to do that to me—I am sadly 41. I am past my perfect years.

So here’s the funny thing: There seem to be more men coming around these days, and they keep getting younger as I get older—I’m an interesting, mature woman to a man in his twenties, while to a guy my age, I’m just jaded—but I think they are falling in love with a person I used to be, with a girl in a picture, with an idea or an image, not with who or what I am now. Because with every passing second, I feel I am less physically desirable, even though I’m finally, in fact, a desirable person. It makes no sense, it’s not fair, and it sucks.

But eventually, at some somber and sobering calendar date, most of us lose our looks and likewise one of our charms—and I will lose mine. At which time, for me at least, there won’t be much point to life anymore at all.

…

I don’t want to look back at what was, tell stories of once upon a long time ago, of what I used to do, of the men I once knew way back when, of 1,001 rapturous nights that were and are no more—I don’t want my life to be the trashy and tragic remains of a really great party, lipstick traces on a burned-out cigarette at the bottom of a near-empty champagne goblet. Sex and sexuality, at least for me, are not some segment of life; they are the force majeure, the flood and storm and act of God that overtakes the rest. Without that part of me, I’d rather be dead. And I know all I can do right now is hold on tight to the little bit of life that’s left, cling to the edge of the skyscraper I’m slipping off of, feel my fingers slowly giving way, knowing I’m going to free-fall to a sorrowful demise.

Maybe I would not have to hold on with such tough white knuckles if I’d done things right when I was still young.

Oh, to be 25 again and get it right. People who say they have no regrets, that they don’t look back in anger, are either lying or boring, not sure which is worse. Because if you’ve lived a full life and don’t feel bad about some of what you did, pieces are missing. Still, there are some mistakes that one is eventually too old—either literally or spiritually—to correct. I can’t go back.

A couple years ago, Tennessee State Representative G. A. Hardaway proposed a bill that would require mandatory paternity testing at birth for all children born int Tennessee. Hardaway’s argument was that every child has a right to know who its father is, which seems reasonable enough, especially given the high rate of contested paternity, out of wedlock birth and cuckoldry in the United States. However, the bill faces stiff opposition from women, who believe it is their right to determine who the child’s father is, rather than genetic reality.

Now, a new bill requiring evenly split custody in the case of divorce has come up in Tennessee as well. Of course, women’s groups are bitterly opposed, claiming that it will grant “abusers” (i.e., anyone who stands in the way of women getting exactly what they want all the time) too much power in divorce. Men overwhelmingly support the bill, as do a number of grandmothers, who have been stripped of access to their grandchildren by selfish, vengeful ex-daughter-in-laws.

Evenly split custody is mandated in much of Europe, including the ultra-feminist nation of Sweden, so obviously it does not portend the return of patriarchy or anything like that. However, it could go a long way toward healing fractured bonds between fathers and children, and eliminating punitive child support obligations that would probably be best replaced by actual parenting, which, although very tough, is far more rewarding than having the state seize money and give it to one’s ex to spend however she pleases.

It is interesting to see Tennessee tackling this issue, which other states are largely avoiding. In my opinion, Tennessee’s cultural heritage as a border state where several different cultures converge gives it some perspective and freedom that others may not have. Tennessee is neither strictly Protestant and conservative like deep South states nor hyper-feminist and liberal like many Northern states. Additionally, Tennessee has a large black population – mostly Democratic, of course – which has been hit very hard by dysfunctional family law. If there is any group in America that has been disproportionately alienated from its children and hurt by liberal divorce laws, it is black men, who are all too often summarily evicted from their children’s lives. We all know how that’s worked out…

When we think in terms of politics, it is important to see through partisanship and understand the complex nuances of American culture. For example, while I, personally, may despise the Democratic, feminist Senator Patty Murray of Washington State, I find myself strongly agreeing with G. A. Hardaway, a black Democrat from Tennessee. Likewise, Mike Bell, the white Republican Tennessee Rep. sounds like a good guy to me. I don’t care about “Republican” or “Democrat” — I care about whether or not they support my most basic rights as a man and father. If men begin to develop some consciousness about important issues like paternity testing and custody, we can make an appreciable difference in the lives of millions of men. It is The Spearhead’s mission to help plant the seed of that consciousness in men around the world.

In The New York Times Magazine, Peggy Orenstein explores the trend in California for educated women to take fully to domesticity, going even so far as to raise their own chickens. Ms. Orenstein seems a bit perturbed by the development, as though she is afraid that she couldn’t hope to keep up with the neighbors in the chicken farming department, what with her freelance writing job. California is a state of fads and trendiness, so her anxiety is likely quite real; if one can’t keep pace with the latest in California, it entails a loss of status that must be unbearable for the Orensteins of the world.

As for raising chickens, it is not the most difficult job in the world. I once had the opportunity to raise a chicken after my cat brought home a chick from a wild flock in the neighborhood (yes, we do have wild chickens in Seattle, although even most Seattlites don’t know about them). I couldn’t discern the bird’s sex, so I named it “Pat,” after the androgynous character on Saturday Night Live. Fortunately for me and my neighbors, Pat turned out to be a genuine female chicken, and I built her a little coop to nest in. She was a wonderful, funny little bantam, who amused me to no end as she ran back and forth clucking in the backyard. As a very territorial animal, any other birds who tried to fly in to eat her food were promptly chased off with extreme prejudice. She was also affectionate, and constantly pecked at the window in an attempt to gain entry to the home. Of course, given her lack of toilet training, this was not going to happen.

Eventually, poor little Pat was murdered by one of our local masked bandits — a vicious raccoon who only survived because it is illegal to discharge firearms in the city. Next time I get a chicken, I will definitely be more careful about locking up the coop.

All that about chickens aside, what is most curious about Orenstein’s article is that it brings up the feminine conflict between work and domesticity that has been raging since women entered the workforce in large numbers. Many women want to have it all, but even they know this is impossible, so they expend huge amounts of effort rationalizing their choices, whatever they may be, and making an argument one way or the other about which choice is superior. Usually, the pro-career women win the argument because, after all, who else has all that free time to write for national publications? That isn’t something one can do with small children tearing up the house, chickens to tend to, or a garden to grow.

So it is perhaps unavoidable that Orenstein, the important writer, eventually passes negative judgement on the idea of hearth and home, concluding by calling it a “gilded cage”:

I understand the passion for a life that is made, not bought. And who doesn’t get the appeal of working the land? It’s as integral to this country’s character as, in its own way, Wal-Mart. My femivore friends may never do more than dabble in backyard farming — keeping a couple of chickens, some rabbits, maybe a beehive or two — but they’re still transforming the definition of homemaker to one that’s more about soil than dirt, fresh air than air freshener. Their vehicle for children’s enrichment goes well beyond a ride to the next math tutoring session.

I am tempted to call that “precious,” but that word has variegations of meaning. Then again, that may be appropriate. Hayes found that without a larger purpose — activism, teaching, creating a business or otherwise moving outside the home — women’s enthusiasm for the domestic arts eventually flagged, especially if their husbands weren’t equally involved. “If you don’t go into this as a genuinely egalitarian relationship,” she warned, “you’re creating a dangerous situation. There can be loss of self-esteem, loss of soul and an inability to return to the world and get your bearings. You can start to wonder, What’s this all for?” It was an unnervingly familiar litany: if a woman is not careful, it seems, chicken wire can coop her up as surely as any gilded cage.

Orenstein’s rationalization may work for her, but I suspect that the phenomenon of many women choosing domesticity over career will not end any time soon. It is, after all, as timeless as the broodiness of the hen, who gathers her chicks under her wings as the sun sets.

People’s behavior when in a position of power can be very revealing, and there are few more stark examples of difference in power than the relationship between jailer and prisoner. According to the Justice Department, female prison guards are more likely than male prison guards to have sexual relationships with inmates. There are several reasons for this, the most important being the fact that male prisoners are, on average, more attractive to the opposite sex than female prisoners, and, of course, that men comprise the overwhelming majority of prisoners in our country, but none of them excuses such a breach of responsibility.

Unsurprisingly, female prison guards usually describe their incarcerated lovers as the aggressor, and often claim they had relationships out of fear. I’m sure “fear” may be something they genuinely felt, but there is a strong correlation between fear and sexual arousal in women, as suggested by Rielle Hunter in her interview about her lover John Edwards. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if many of the women who work in prisons choose to do so for the thrill, just as women are drawn to horror movies.

In Montana, inmate Michael Murphy, a con artist, managed to initiate relationships with five different women, including his therapist. I suspect, but do not know, that he and his lovers were only caught because one of them became jealous of the others. It seems that con artists are the penultimate alphas, as their sociopathic tendencies are irresistible to women. This raises the question of whether women should be allowed any interaction with male prisoners at all.

These issues aside, the most disturbing aspect of these cases is that, according to Martin Horn, former head of NYC’s corrections department, there is a double standard at work when female guards abuse their positions of power and initiate relationships with male prisoners. In these cases, although the women may lose their jobs, they are rarely prosecuted, and are usually treated as victims of male prisoners. When male prison guards have sex with female prisoners, on the other hand, the consequences are more severe, and the female prisoners are treated as victims.

Horn deplores the inconsistency:

“As long as we have a double standard we are going to see these kind of behaviors,” Horn said. “It is a very slippery slope we go down if we say we are not going to hold female officers to the same standard.”

When white knighting extends even to people who fraternize with criminals, it is clear that our society cannot handle so-called gender equality, which is a fraud of a concept that serves only to reinforce irresponsible female behavior at the expense of men.

Usually, when we think terrorists, we think of men.  However, there are women terrorists too.  And they aren’t just coming from the Middle East.  Colleen LaRose, a middle aged divorced woman from Pennsylvania who went by the name “Jihad Jane” and “Fatima LaRose” online, was arrested for conspiring with other terrorists to assassinate Swedish artist, Lars Vilks.  (Lars Vilks is the artist who created the cartoon of Muhammad as a dog.)  LaRose traveled to Europe last year to train with and assist other terrorists in their plot to kill Vilks.  She was arrested when she arrived back in the US.

LaRose’s arrest was due to the work of the Jawa Report and Youtube Smackdown who have been tracking supporters of terrorism on Youtube and twitter and having their videos on Youtube flagged for removal.  She spent a lot of time on Youtube where these groups discovered her calls for violent jihad on Youtube and her use of twitter to raise funds for terrorists.  You can read more about how LaRose was tracked on Youtube from the Jawa Report.  In that link, the Jawa Report has described LaRose as a “middle aged sociopath woman desperate for love, lonely and isolated”.  The Jawa Report has more about LaRose here.

It turns out LaRose wasn’t the only American woman involved in this terrorist plot to murder Vilks.  Jamie Paulin-Ramirez, a 31 year old medical assistant, originally from Colorado, was arrested recently with several others involved in this plot.  She was later freed, but still may face charges.  Ramirez’s story is somewhat similar to LaRose’s.  Last year Ramirez started spending a lot of time in Muslim chat rooms where she met LaRose and other extremists. In September, she left the US for Ireland to marry an Algerian man taking her son with her.

This is a still developing story.  Originally, when I was going to write this post for The Spearhead there was only one American woman identified in this terrorist plot.  We’ll see what happens.

Today in GQ, Rielle Hunter tells her side of the sordid story of her affair with John Edwards. She expresses her undying, profound devotion to the lying scumbag, proving that there is still such a thing as true love in America — as long as it involves a sleazy, cheating alpha and a scheming tramp.

Ms. Hunter poses with her daughter, and then suggests that Edwards swept her off her feet. So much, in fact, that she couldn’t resist sleeping with him the same night they met. The article goes on for ten pages, so it’s a painful read. GQ, supposedly a men’s magazine, and the female interviewer (Lisa DePaulo) give her kid glove treatment. More than anything else, it’s a justification for infidelity from a woman’s point of view. Rielle loved him, and it was so profound, so it’s all OK. She describes cheating as “pulling off the band aid,” and goes on and on about how honest John Edwards is…

Because the article is little more than a long, hormonal gush, it’s hard to say it’s worth reading, however it does give some glimpses into the female world of self-delusion, prevarication and logical contradiction. I’ll give a few examples below:

Why do you think he loves you?

Um… How do I answer that? [long pause] I mean, I could give so many answers. I could give a spiritual answer, that I reflect back to him large parts of himself that were unconscious. Like, he’s a huge, huge humanitarian. He is very kindhearted and sweet. He’s very honest and truthful. And all of that was hidden.

Edwards the honest humanitarian, and…

And wasn’t that when he was asked if he loved you and he responded by saying there was only one woman he ever loved, Elizabeth?

I believe so. Yeah. I mean, it was very painful. Because I had this thing in my head like a lot of women, where you want your man to stand up on a cliff and scream, “I LOVE HER.” You know, the knight in shining armor. And that wasn’t what was going on.

Did he call you after the interview?

Yes. And I said, “Ouch, that hurt.” And he said, “I’m sorry.” And “It doesn’t mean anything.” And it didn’t. I know he loves me. I have never had any doubt at all about that. We love each other very much. And that hasn’t changed, and I believe that will be till death do us part. The love doesn’t go away. It’s unconditional. It’s unconditional on my part, but our connection is profound. There’s a lot of passion there.

Edwards the lying sack of sh-t.

Below, Rielle describes a seismic gina tingle. It is a “magnetic force”:

I sat on the other side of the room. I wouldn’t go near him. And he kept saying [she mimics his southern drawl], “What are you doin’ over there? Come over here. I can’t even see you. Come closer. I won’t bite you.” I was just—there was sooo much attraction and sooo much… I want to say love, but it wasn’t love at that point. You know, it was just this, this magnetic force field like I had never experienced. It terrified me. Absolutely terrified me. And, um, I eventually walked over to his side of the room. [laughs] He was pretty relentless. And that’s all I’m gonna say on that! Now fade to black!

Rielle completely disavowing any responsibility for the destruction of Edward’s marriage:

How were you able to reconcile learning these things about her, from him, at the same time knowing that she’s ill?

Well, his relationship with her and the problems in it really had nothing to do with me. You remove me from the equation and they still exist. They existed before I was there. They’re still existing. His dynamic with me is completely different.

Here is possibly the biggest whopper Rielle tells in the entire interview:

What was your reaction when you found out you were pregnant?

I was shocked. I was 43 years old, you know, and pregnant? And I had never been pregnant in my life. Didn’t think I could get pregnant.

I know a lie when I see one, and Rielle Hunter must have been praying to Gaia that her rapidly expiring womb would bear such golden fruit. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if it came to light that she was popping fertility pills at the time.

Edwards, on the other hand, was not so thrilled:

And what was his reaction?

He was always very gracious about it. And always said that he would support whatever decision I made. But I believe on some level he was hoping I would get an abortion. Because he didn’t—he wasn’t happy about the timing. Which is understandable. [laughs] He was married and running for president. And I find it interesting that my daughter thought that would be a good time to come into the world. That daddy was running for president and married to someone else. “Gee, I think now’s the perfect time.” There’s something to be said for divine timing.

Divine timing indeed!

If this was God’s doing, He must not have been too pleased with John Edwards.

Here is Edwards’ reaction when he finds out he’s about to be a daddy, and everyone else is about to find out, too:

How did the whole plan go down for Andrew to claim paternity?

It was Andrew’s idea. The first time Andrew said it, I was on the phone with Johnny, and Johnny was screaming at me about the National Enquirer finding me and photographing me. He was very angry. And Johnny doesn’t scream. He’s not a screamer. But he was screaming at me that day, and Andrew suggested, right then and there, “Hey, tell him that I’ll claim I’m the father.”

Additional bits of information, such as Rielle’s interest in astrology and her youthful penchant for cocaine, are peppered throughout the interview, but it’s really only remarkable for being a portrait of a common, American skank. There isn’t too much to be gained from it, but it does show what’s behind the sparkle in the eye of women who gravitate toward power and success.

Ah, the times! It’s all a farce, I tell you.

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One of our most beloved peddlers of female pap, Oprah Winfrey, recently published an article in her magazine (linked by CNN, of course) about women who are deciding to move out of the marital home while remaining married to their husbands.

In the article, Jean Morgan, a woman in her early 50s, wrote that she simply decided that once her sole child reached 21, she was no longer in the mood to make marital compromises:

Must compromise, if it’s no longer necessary or practical to preserve the family unit, be part of the equation in a marriage? Not sure, not sure, not sure, not sure.

So, she simply decided to move out and get her own apartment.  Morgan claims she has no interest in having sex with other men, but simply wants her own “space” (yep, we’ve heard that one before, at least some of us have).

The article goes on to detail other women who live apart from their husbands by choice, so that they can be “independent”.  Frankly they seem to me to be tired of marriage but want to retain the legal and financial benefits of being married.  The author muses:

And marriage—even my sometimes difficult marriage—has in many ways been good for me. My husband’s interests in art and in India have widened my own. Our joint incomes allowed me the gift of a flexible work schedule while raising our son. Most important, he and I have encouraged (or at least tolerated) each other’s emotional growth and enjoy an appreciation of that. But now…

It doesn’t take very long until we get to the real agenda of the article however:

It turns out that among the masters of supple, long-term, enduring attachments are gay men and women. “The successful gay relationships I’ve seen are better than successful heterosexual relationships,” says Judith Stacey, PhD, professor of sociology at New York University and senior scholar at the Council on Contemporary Families. That’s partly because gay couples—without the social scripts, rules, and conventions that bind heterosexuals—can negotiate more honestly and openly about what works for them in a relationship. According to Stacey, a lower percentage of homosexuals have long-term relationships than heterosexuals because there’s little institutional support, but those who do navigate them more creatively. Their relationships are, in a way, custom-made. “Our scripts for marriage are limited and trap people when they don’t have the courage or the creativity or the resources to be able to imagine and implement an alternative,” said Stacey.

And there you have it.  The trouble with straight couples is that they do relationships wrong. In reality, straight couples should learn from gay couples, because gay couples are better at relationships than straight couples are.  We can expect more of this nonsense from the female and gay psychology and therapy communities as gay marriage becomes increasingly accepted in the US:  more insistence that straight relationships become like gay ones so that women can be more free-wheeling and so preciously “independent”.  The kind of independence that comes from leaving a boring suburban home with a husband in his late 50s for an exciting urban apartment where younger, more vibrant people live — all the while still being married and benefiting financially and legally and so on from the marriage and, well, getting around to seeing your husband when you feel like it.  It’s clear whose “flexibility” this arrangement favors, even on its face.  The woman gets her “freedom and independence” while retaining the benefits of marriage and husband … while he gets to put up with it and shut up, otherwise she’ll just rape him in divorce court financially for having been the hard worker that allowed his loving wife the “flexibility” to work from home.

Of course, not a word in the article from the husbands themselves in these arrangements, other than a perfunctory shrug:

“And your husband?” she said. He’s not happy about it, but we’re talking about it, and he’s accepting it, I told her. She shook her head. Then she said, “I’ve seen it all. I’ll write you a move-out letter detailing your agreement.”

Readers of  The Spearhead will, of course, recognize well the situation presented here for the husband.  Of course he doesn’t like it — what man would?  It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that having your wife move out of the house is a *bit* of a problem, even if she claims not to want a divorce or to seek out other men.  Both of those things may, in the end, be true, yet what is essentially happening is that the wife is participating in the financial benefits of the marriage while living alone.  It’s quite telling how the author is appreciative of the fact that her husband’s work and income allowed her the “flexibility” to work from home — something which she is now rewarding by moving out of the house against his wishes so that she can rediscover herself and be independent and all rest of that female empowerment bullshit happily peddled by the likes of Oprah Winfrey and Elizabeth Gilbert.

Not that the readers of this site need to be re-warned, but let this article nevertheless stand as yet another warning to all men who are considering marriage in today’s cultural and legal environment.  Even in marriages that are long-lasting, and even where a wife does not for whatever reason want to divorce, you may still find yourself being effectively “left” holding the bag once your usefulness has come and gone.   Despite the grating nature of the sheer narcissism of the article, nevertheless it serves as a useful reminder to men of just what kinds of things can happen, even in seemingly “working well enough” marriages, and what you can expect from today’s women.

Harriet Harman, Britain’s top equality commissar, is pushing an “Equality Bill” that would criminalize stereotyping based on gender, even when accurate. This will certainly put gyms in a bind, because insurance costs are sure to go up if they are barred from warning women about the dangers of freeweights, which can do significant damage if improperly handled. Although not explicitly stated, other implications of the bill might include criminalization of urinals, because they discriminate on the basis of gender.

Harman is apparently widely-hated in the UK, but has a great deal of power. She once bragged that there would not be “enough airports for all the men who would want to flee the country” if she became PM. As an American, I am curious as to how this woman, who is even worse than Hillary Clinton, has amassed so much power.

After reading about what’s going on in Britain, I can now understand why this poor British expat lost his marbles and went on a rampage in Japan:

One might think that people writing for influential publications have enough common sense to understand that legislation is no cure all, but perhaps this is too much to ask. In the Huffington Post, writerette Holly Kearl demands that “harassment” of women be regulated just as it is in the workplace. Examples of harassment include: “acts like leering, whistling, honking, sexual comments, sexist comments…”

As offensive as boorish behavior may be to some people, I can imagine that there could be some confusion in interpretation. What exactly constitutes a “leer,” for example? Is all honking at women harassment, or could it be that the clueless bimbo with the mobile phone glued to her ear is drifting into somebody’s lane? And what constitutes sexism? I can imagine some poor beta fool getting hauled in front of a judge for opening the door for some angry feminist on PMS.

Once, when I was about 18, I was walking to a girlfriend’s house in an inner-city neighborhood late at night, and a woman happened to be walking in front of me, taking the exact same route I was. I kept walking, about a half block or so behind her, thinking little of it. When I had almost arrived at my destination, I noticed she had picked up her pace a bit and was looking over her shoulder from time to time. I didn’t really care, and continued on my way. By the time I was at the apartment, she was virtually running into her own place, which was directly across the street from my girlfriend’s. I stood in front of my destination, finishing a smoke before ringing the doorbell. Just as I was ready to go in, some guy opened a window several stories up in the apartment building the frightened woman had entered and started yelling at me about “stalking.” In somewhat rough language, I explained that I had every right to walk from one place to another, and told him to mind his own business. He shut the window and left me alone.

If there were some “harassment” law, I imagine I could have been arrested and brought to court just because some woman was frightened that a man happened to be walking behind her at night. It wouldn’t matter why the man was walking behind her, because in the feminist world all it should take to have men arrested is a “feeling.”

I, and probably most American men, think it’s in poor taste to hoot or whistle at women. However, I’ve noticed that plenty of women rather like the attention. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve seen television ads where a woman buys some new shoes or something and all the construction workers leer at her, much to her satisfaction. The funny thing is that the women who like this would probably be all in favor of a law against street harassment themselves, because this would give them the power to make the men stop in case it didn’t feel right. For example, she might not call the police if some strapping, young Navy officer propositioned her from across the street, but if a pasty, thin nerd remarked that she had a “nice dress” she’d call in the boys in blue to give him a concrete sandwich and dislocated shoulder as they wrestle him into cuffs.

I have a friend who, when we were teens, used to engage in what might be called harassment under Ms. Kearl’s definition. It embarrassed the hell out of me, because as we were driving around, he’d proposition every good-looking girl he saw. He was a good-looking guy, so they just loved it. Unlike me, he had absolutely no shame, and would simply blurt out whatever he thought upon seeing women. Sometimes, he’d see a woman with an unfortunate hairdo, and he would make hilarious comments about her hair and laugh uproariously. Unsurprisingly, like most young rascals, he had been raised by a libertine single mother. Would insulting women be illegal under an anti-harassment law? I’m sure it would, and my scamp of a friend would have ended up behind bars many a time for simply saying what was on everyone else’s mind.

Although it is conceivable that these laws might be passed, how would they be enforced? Accusations of harassment would probably swamp 911 lines, and we’d have to at least double police forces to enforce them all. Do women realize how expensive cops are? In a big city, it probably costs about a quarter million per patrol officer per year, taking salary, equipment, administration, insurance, training, facilities, pensions and legal costs into account. That’s a lot of money. Of course, that isn’t even taking into account the costs of prosecution, incarceration, legal defense, etc.

Finally, there is the issue of civil liberties. Is an expression of desire, if it does not include physical assault, protected speech? Probably, but since when did a feminist care about the Constitution?

Hopefully, people are starting to realize that if feminists have their way, not only will we be legislated into a police state, we’ll be sucked absolutely dry to accomodate the feelings of women who demand that every aspect of their lives be defended with force of arms and law. We are already starting to reevaluate out profligate consumer culture; isn’t it about time we question the voracious hunger for entitlement our women have developed?

Chances are you’re familiar with Saturday Night Live’s Tom Brady sexual harassment skit.  If not, you can watch it at this link.  While Saturday Night Live is trying to be funny, they end up presenting a very accurate portrayal of how “sexual harassment” really ends up working.  This is particularly true with the “three rules” they came up with to avoid sexual harassment lawsuits, “Be handsome.  Be attractive.  Don’t be unattractive.”

With this weekend’s episode Saturday Night Live has done it again.  This skit is a spoof of a commercial for one of those home security companies.  Watch it below:

While this skit is a hilarious spoof, it shows how unreasonably paranoid women have become of men.  You have a guy who was at the woman’s party break into her house 20 seconds after leaving the party in addition to her grandfather, her rabbi, a couple of boys, etc.  Why does this skit have a basis in reality?  It’s because feminism produces propaganda that men everywhere are out to get women, and the skit hits on this by talking about how if you’re a woman “most men want to kill you”.

One thing that makes this funny is how it doesn’t make sense.  Why would a guy already in a woman’s house leave just to break in 20 seconds later?  That even more true with the woman’s grandfather.  How would a couple of nine year old boys break down her door so quickly?  We know such things but, the paranoia of men that many women have is not rational.  A woman’s grandfather or a nine year old boy isn’t a threat to a woman.  Feminists produced and continue to produce anti-male propaganda that men are out to murder, rape, and/or assault women, but as we know it doesn’t reflect reality.  It makes no sense that a guy already inside a woman’s house would leave and then break in 20 seconds later.  However, there are plenty of women who believe such things.

What’s very ironic about this skit (and still very true) is how despite this woman’s paranoia about men, she is still dependent on men for her protection.  The office of “Broadview Security” is staffed by men.  This also is very poignant.  While feminists have produced all this anti-male propaganda to make women paranoid about men, their protection is still dependent on men.  This includes male police officers and male legislators who produce anti-male laws for feminists.  In the woman’s paranoia had any logic whatsoever, she should be just as afraid about the men from Broadview Security breaking down her door.

In conclusion, Saturday Night Live has created a skit (probably unintentionally) that shows the levels of female paranoia against men that many women have today.  Just like with the Tom Brady sexual harassment skit, it tells truths about the subject that only humor can deliver over feminist dominated media.