Archive for November 13, 2012

Comfort Girls Interlude: Artistry Against Misandry

< Comfort Girls Chapter 4 & 5

Today we’re going to peel back the layers of the Men’s Rights movement and expose its delicious misogynistic core. Let’s look at Artistry Against Misandry!

Trigger warnings: alliteration, typography abuse, Geocities

Artistry Against Misandry Men's Rights Home Page

Website design? What’s that?

We’ve already looked at the site description in a previous post, but let’s take a quick refresher on AAM and read the Mission Statement:

This website raises awareness of misandry in western culture by supporting the Men’s Rights Movement through various artistic mediums.  This site will proudly endorse and display thought-provoking artistic works submitted by Men’s Rights Activists.

Indeed, AAM should be proud of these thought-provoking artistic works:

Historical Misandry in Pictures by Rod MRA-London Collage

Historical Misandry in Pictures, by ‘Rod MRA-London

Alternate title: “I pasted some shit from Google Images into Paint and called it a day”. Don’t worry, the other AAM contributors put a lot more effort into their work!

Europa Phoenix Mangina Misandry Art

Mangina, by Europa Phoenix

“Feminism as a cult” is a motif you will see repeated in many of the art submissions on AAM. Europa takes it a step further in this next piece:

Bullshit Stinks by Europa Phoenix Misandry Art featuring the KKK

“Bullshit Stinks!”, by Europa Phoenix

Europa at least appears to base these images around concern for men rather than hatred for women, but you’ll soon see that this is the exception on AAM.

When a woman tells you she's tired... by Reality

Untitled, by Reality

Now this is the real driving force of the men’s rights movement. Not “men deserve equal rights”, but “women should learn their fucking place.”

Feminism Empowerment Misandry Art by  Reality

Empowerment, by Reality

But enough pictures, let’s look at the wonderful ways MRAs express themselves through the written word. Besides Comfort Girls, AAM hosts poetry and fiction. It’s all as delightful as you would expect, but here are my top two.

AAM Award For Excellence In Poetry:
Entitlement, by Izzey

 

Pursed lips in the mirror
Slicked with ‘Revlon Red’
Tonight’s the night she snags him
Into entitlement dread

He takes her out to dinner
And buys her sparkling toys
Unbeknownst to future actions
A princess bitch deploys

She works her magic quickly
He’s walking in a trance
A couple of children later…
They’re doing the courtroom dance

The judge says “She’s the momma;
You have to pay the price
Give her the car and condo
And the paycheck, will suffice”.

“You’ll see your kids bi-monthly,
And put up with all her clamor
You’d better follow orders
Or we’ll put you in the slammer!”

It’s hard to put my finger on the best part of Entitlement, but the line “a princess bitch deploys” is hard to beat.

AAM Best Original Fiction 2012:
The Penis Comeback Monologue
, by Jack Riley

This is one of two pieces centering on the Vagina Monologues. The story begins with three “young, handsome, intelligent men” drinking beers and talking about orgasms. The men have just learned that women can have multiple orgasms, and sometimes even whole body orgasms!

“I’m tellin’ ya,” Seth continued. “Women have us men beat. All these years, I thought it was so great being a man, with a penis between my legs—turns out, women have it even better down there, by multitudes.”

You can totally guess where this is going.

The next morning, something strange happened… all three men woke up with vaginas!

A mysterious letter explains that they will have full use of the vaginas for seven days, after which they can choose to keep them or return for a full refund. But it turns out that being a woman is not all it’s cracked up to be!

“I miss peeing standing up,” said John. “And it’s hard keeping it—fresh—down there. I liked having a big clean thing that hangs down there instead!”

“I’m so fucking horny, and I can’t COME!” yelled Ted. “Where’s the release?”

“I got really close a couple of times, I swear,” Seth said. “But then—nothing!”

That’s right! None of the men can achieve orgasm, and they all miss their penises very much. Seth’s extensive research into the female orgasm reveals that some women are unable to achieve orgasm at all because of their genes, and all three conclude that they should stop buying into feminist propaganda about how awesome vaginas are. Vaginas totally suck!

The next morning, all three men get vagina refunds and spend the whole day enjoying the superior male orgasm. Moral of the story: WHO CARES? DICKS!!!!!!!

We’ve come to the end of this rollercoaster ride through the Manosphere. I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I did. If you’re hungry for more, there’s a lot of content I didn’t have room for including music and video! Otherwise, your regular Comfort Girls posts will resume later in the week.

Let’s Read Comfort Girls Chapter 4 & 5: Love Gravy

< Comfort Girls Chapter 3

Today’s installment is a two-parter. I don’t want to rush through this absolutely riveting plot setup but Rick really hits his stride later in the book, so by comparison these earlier rapes are quite mundane.

He had put the jumper back on her, right there in bed. Under it, she was sweaty and rumpled from the night’s … she couldn’t call it “rest.” He had made her suck him off, and kiss and lick around his body, and after they fell asleep he woke her at least twice with his cock. But in the morning, she’d awakened to find herself snuggled to his side, her arm across his waist, his firm warm shoulder as her pillow. “Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” he said, and his voice and his smile were tender. She’d reached up to kiss him, and he’d kissed back, and the lovemaking was like her mother’s old Harlequin Romance books described a girl’s wedding night. O Mother God, how sweet.

Linda must have been reading a very different type of Harlequin novel to the one I remember… hell, who am I kidding? Half those books are all about women being kidnapped and falling in love with their rapists.

She heads to breakfast and gossips with her fellow sex slaves. They’re all fairly unremarkable except for the Token Australian, Mavis. Rick writes her with as convincing an accent as the Token Swedish Girl. Linda still doesn’t understand her new position, so she cries to Mavis about her many rapes at the hands of Chuck. Mavis is not impressed.

“Now, what did he do? Really? You were making his bed, y’say. Bendin’ over, making a perfect target-of-opportunity. So he grabs yer hips, unzips, and puts his guided muscle right into the spot marked double-X. Does that describe it?” Mavis smiled knowingly.

“Didja come? Didn’t ya come? Even when he raw-doggied you, bent over the edge of the bed?” Mavis spotted her blush, and she patted Linda’s hand. “Of course you did. I know the Shark too. I know he gave you a good rooting. Or three.” Linda took a deep breath, and nodded.

“There ya go, Linda. You’da gone for Sharky in a minute, after a few pints in a pub. Here, you’re getting the same thing, just without all the razzamatazz.” Mavis suddenly looked up with a leer. “And more important, the more you take it for the good, the better it gets.”

While that may seem like ironclad logic, it doesn’t convince Linda and she throws a tantrum in the dining room. The station cook, Soupy, takes her away for some private lessons… and a sob story!

“Look. I ain’t no Pee Aitch Dee. I went from high school to the Navy, and I spent my twenty cookin’ in submarines that was doin’ things that are still top-secret. My wife raised our three kids with me only home about six months of the year; the rest of the time we were out on patrol.

“It was lonely for me. It was lonely for her. But I didn’t have anyplace to go, lookin’ for some fun. Not while being cooped up with a hunnert men on a boat three hunnert feet long. You got the idea of that? It’s a lot like the Station, here.

“One day I came home to an empty house. No wife. No kids. Not even a stick of furniture. Just her divorce papers and a bill for child-support that left me completely broke. I found out later she’d run off with some officer who went PCS to Kings Bay and took her and the kids with him. Never saw any of ’em again.”

Who would have guessed?

“You’re new to the Station. New to the Comfort Corps. When I took your hands, you were scared. I don’t think you’ve had any good loving for a long time. Maybe not since you grew up.”

Gently he took her by the shoulders and swung her around so her head was in his lap. His hand was gentle on her cheek. “I’d like to do something about that. Maybe I can teach you something. Relax and come along with it, honey.”

Yeah, you know where this is going.

It sent a thrill down her body, a shudder down her spine; her nipples tightened almost painfully, and she felt a twitch in her vulva.

O Mother God, the sensations. Her vulva strained, shuddered, and she knew she was on the brink of an orgasm.

His hand, resting now motionless on her vulva, soothed the aftershocks that quaked in her body.

“Vulva” does not really have a place in erotic literature. It’s actually the first time I’ve seen it used in a sex story, and I read a lot of porn.

Soupy was plump and hairy, with what amounted to ‘man-boobs’ that had almost-girlish nipples.

Man-boobs? Yeah, not doing it for me either.

She was conscious of her vagina, her labia, gaping under her.

You know what? Let’s just make a list of words that should never be used in porn.
– Vulva
– Manboobs
Gaping

And with that, we’re at the end of Chapter 5! Next post, we’re going to take a break from Comfort Girls and examine the rest of the Artistry Against Misandry website.

Gary Busey just retweeted me

Gary Busey Twitter Retweet (!!!)I will treasure this moment forever.

Let’s Read Comfort Girls Chapter 3: Manreading a Manpost on the Manternet

< Comfort Girls Chapter Two

In Chapter 3, we meet more of the cast of America’s Worst Sitcom Ever. Linda is called to a meeting with the other new recruits and the station’s medical officer, Doctor Jenner, does his best to make the girls feel at home.

“I wish I could say ‘welcome’ to Conshelf 6-D. I can’t, really; it’s not quite appropriate. You aren’t exactly what I would call “welcome guests,” or even “welcome workers.”

Majken, the Swedish blonde, spoke up. “I wish to know why we are here. Why we have been treated so.” The others started to raise similar voices –

He shouted, over them, “SHUT THE FUCK UP!” They fell silent. “That’s better. You are not to speak, any further, unless I ask one of you a specific question. And then you’d better answer it clearly, concisely – and briefly.” His guts still twisted, a bit, when he put a woman in her place. But he’d thoroughly de-indoctrinated himself from any “feminist-supporting viewpoint” when his wife divorced him, two years ago, and took his house and most of his salary in the settlement

You’ll notice that “evil bitch wife ruining her husband for absolutely no good reason” is a very common theme in this book. I’m sure that has nothing to do with Rick Westlake’s personal experiences, though.

Majken, let’s start with you. I want you to watch this video. And you can offer me any plea of why this doesn’t pronounce your guilt.”

The four of them watched, Dr. Jenner on his screen, the others on a projection behind him. They watched Majken shoot a newspaper-reading man in the chest – then take an axe and cleave open his head, and scoop up a fragment of his brain on a cracker, and eat it with obvious relish.”Did you actually eat a piece of his brain, Majken?”

“No, no, it was calves’ brains, it was posed, you have to understand-”

“The body of Lars Siggurdson was found six weeks after this video first appeared. He had been shot, in the exact place and from the exact angle we see in the video. His skull was cut open in exactly the same fashion. And his brain was damaged in a fashion that matches this video.” He stared at her. “All of this was covered in your trial. You were found guilty of his murder.”

“Vad – Vad i helvete! How can you be so fuckin’ sure? And vat the hell, he vas only a stupid man to begin with.”

This is one of the few times Rick remembers to write Majken with an accent.

“Now it’s your turn, Deirdre. Do you deny this post on the Radfem Hub website?” He projected one of her most impassioned rants, one that championed the notion of setting white-knights against the legitimate complaints of men’s right activists – including the plot to track down a few key web-sites and kill their administrators. A couple had narrowly missed being assassinated, in fact.

She watched the presentation impassively. Finally she said, “I protest this. You have no jurisdiction over that content.”

“On the contrary,” Dr. Jenner responded. “And this is just a small parcel of the evidence that caused the Tribunal to send you here. Do you deny that you paid a contract killer – or rather an FBI agent posing as one – to assassinate three men who have prominent Web sites in the Manosphere?” She sat mute. “I concur with your sentence. Take her away.”

I’m crossing my fingers in hope that men have renamed everything in the world to be more male-centric since taking control of the world, just like freedom fries.

“Can I get a manburger with frenchman fries, hold the tomantoes – oh, and a Mantain Dew?”

“No problemale, sir, that will be eight mandollars. Please drive penisward to the next mandow; have a nice dude!”

It’s Linda’s turn for the third degree and she pleads innocence:

“Master, I had hoped to change this planet into a Gentle World, where we could feel safe – a world without fear, without hurt. I wanted the best for the World, and its inhabitants.”

Dr. Jenner leaned forward, with a scowl. “Then why on Earth did you try to devise a virus that would kill off men, by way of their Y-chromosome?”

WHY INDEED!

Dr. Jenner stared at her, like a man staring down a loathsome vision. As if he was staring down, negating, refuting, her Womynhood – and even her humanity.  Finally, he spoke.

“Project Y was no less than the most callous, most destructive imaginable crime against humanity. It was no less than sexual genocide. Furthermore, our ecologists have recognized that the Project Y virus could have spread to other species.

“Had you any idea of the enormity of this crime? It actually goes beyond genocide. You could have destroyed all life on Earth.”

Linda looked blankly, overwhelmed, at Dr. Jenner.

Typical female geneticist: smart enough to create a virus that can literally destroy everything with a Y chromosome, but too stupid to know that animals have that chromosome too. Women, am I right?

The interrogation ends when Rick Westlake’s self insert a completely original and new character enters the room.

“Chuck? Please come in.”

A tall, slim, well-muscled young man entered the office. “Hi, Doc. This the new girl?” He smiled at Linda, who simply stared back.

Dr. Jenner cleared his throat. “Before you take her, Chuck, have a look at this.” He gestured at his screen, and the damning summary of Linda’s dossier.

Chuck glanced at the screen, and lost about three-fourths of his bonhomie. “I’ve read it. But thanks for the reminder, Doc.”

He turned his eyes back up to the girl, and got back about half of his smile.

Don’t make me use maths to work out his grin; I’m just a silly girl!

Chuck treats Linda like a person – the first time in the book that a man hasn’t raped her immediately – and they sit down in his quarters for a lovely conversation over dinner (freshly caught shark). He still has to enforce “the rules” though, which means she has to sit with her crotch pointing at his face and call him Master. And he has to remind her that she still isn’t really a person.

“But there’s another thing, an even-more-so. You are intelligent. You wouldn’t have gotten in at the Genomics Institute if you hadn’t been qualified. But your emotions – you, all of you women, have lived all your lives at the emotional level of a spoiled brat. A kid.” He looked across the room and sighed. “Our psychologist here is playing a gamble that life as a comfort-girl here might teach some of you better.” His eyes bored into hers, at once daring her to speak up and warning her against it.

So basically, you have to rape the immaturity out of kids. A heartwarming sentiment, since Chuck has his own little girl up on the surface. He asks Linda about her own life:

“I grew up in Washington, DC. In the suburbs – Wheaton. I got interested in science from my mom; she worked at the Department of Agriculture.”

“And your dad?”

Linda frowned. “He left when I was five. We were living in Denver, up till then. They had a fight one night, and the cops took him away. I saw him a couple of times after, then we moved to DC.” Her frown deepened. “He never cared about me. Mom said he was a cheapskate anyways, a deadbeat.” (Yeah, sure, Chuck thought. Wheaton, Montgomery County, on a single mom’s salary. Bet she cleaned him out good before the move.)

“Brothers and sisters?”

“A sister, Jill. She’s six years younger than me.” (Oh, brother. A “step up” for her mother. Bet I know why she divorced.)

Remember, in Rick Westlake’s world there are no deadbeat dads: only lying gold diggers.

We meet another girl, briefly:

“Julie is one of the first girls on Station. She worked her way through college waiting table at Hooters, or some breastaurant like that.”

That’s right, even more lexical possibilities… or possiboobities.

And the chapter ends on a high note when Chuck ties Linda to the bed and makes passionate love to her.

He gazed down at her. “You’re not my daughter,” he said. “She won’t grow up like you, she’s learning better from the start. My dad and mom are taking care of that while I’m down here. You’re a comfort girl, and it’s night-time. It’s time for me to put you to work.” He lifted his shirt over his head, dropped his trousers, and took off his briefs. His cock was rampant, and it bobbed as he stepped over to the bed and sat down. He leaned back on his elbows. His own legs were wide, and there was contempt in his smile. “Let’s see how you are at sucking dick. Comfort me.”