Tag Archive for sexism

white MRAs can’t dance

I was watching DaddyDaDa’s excellent “Treat All Women With Respect” this morning:

After boppin’ along to the chill tunes, I jived down to the comments to share the grooviness. Imagine my surprise to find a rewritten version of the song for men!

Drew NA wasn’t happy with the message of “don’t hit women”, so he wrote his musical response, “don’t take men’s money first you silly bitches”:

One, two, three four
No more men to be ignored

Treat all us men with respect
What you give, is what you get
Treat all the men with respect, I say

Heads up girls – I’m talking to you,
Men have it tough — so what ya gonna do?
False accusations are not the way to go,
No proxy violence — and no beating boys,
It’s just wrong – and illegal too.
Resentment grows from the abuse you do,
Men feel powerless from a lack of protection,
But men’ll still lend a heartful extention.

Show empathy — don’t throw stuff,
True love is not that rough.
Work your job — and pay for half,
Making us pay does not make us laugh.

Treat all us men with respect
What you give, is what you get
Treat all the men with respect, I say

Don’t be an evil momma and push him away,
Be honest — don’t lie about the father.
When we father, it’s just the beginning,
The courts and child leave the mother grinning,
Those are the tools for an 18-year pay day.
Fathers want to have time with their kids,
But we cannot, with no parental rights.
Reverse the vicious cyle – of abandonment, abuse
Let us know our child, love our child, and provide, too;
He might need us to respect you, too.

Treat all us men with respect
What you give, is what you get
Treat all the men with respect, I say

One, two, three, four
No more fathers from the doooooooor

Now gents out there —  I am talking to you,
If you say no when she comes onto you
It’s okay to say no, you’re still not gay.
Now put in the work to be good at school,
If you don’t — society won’t help
They ignore you to help that woman!
Don’t fall for a woman who isolates you,
A real woman will be happy you have friends!
Too many gentlemen end up feeling broken,
Repeating a cycle – that must be broken.
Respect yourself and leave her who throws stuff,
Find a good woman who won’t silence you

One, two, three, four
No more men abused at the store

Treat all us men with respect
What you give, is what you get
Treat all the men with respect, I say

Treat all us men with respect
What you give, is what you get
Treat all the men with respect, I say

Treat all us men with respect
What you give, is what you get
Treat all the men with respect, I say

One, two, three, four
We are men to be adored!

Personally, I’m happy to see members of the men’s rights community embrace music and other creative endeavours as a way to get their feelings out. My dream is to one day see noted feminists and MRAs duking it out in a sick-ass rap battle, and today we are one step closer to that dream.

8 Of The Most Idiotic Things To Come Out Of ‘GamerGate’

If you’re reading this, I’m sure you are a connoisseur of fine internet drama so I don’t need to fill you in on the recent Zoe Quinn shitfest. But if you want a quick refresher course, the KYM page is packed with hysterical diatribes about the destruction of gaming by a shadowy cabal of turbofeminists. Anyway, here are my favourite parts of “the worst week in gaming“, in convenient listicle form!

1. Wizardchan, a 4-part saga (click for big)

wizardchan-zoe-quinn-1 wizardchan-zoe-quinn-2 wizardchan-zoe-quinn-3 wizardchan-zoe-quinn-4

2. Phil Fish hacked (or WAS HE?!?!? (he was))


3. Boycott of products advertised on Polygon, including Kraft® Macaroni and Cheese


4. BREAKING: games journalism has people who know each other in it and they talk about each other and stuff


5. One brave warrior tackles a corrupt journalist head-on

6. A SHOCKING UPDATE! Stay tuned!


7. cum collage

How this works is I’ve had two possible pictures in my head for the past month. One that looked like some ransom-note collage of letters Scotch-taped over a cum-covered canvas spelling out “Zoe Quinn is the best person. Best possible person. You are a bad person if you think Zoe is not the best person.” And another in the form of a precision-carved jigsaw puzzle, for which all of the pieces I wasn’t missing fit perfectly into what seemed to be a subtly-worded message to the effect of “lol, ur an idiot, she’s a jerk, flip me over for list of dates and names of people she’s cheated on you with.”

How this works is I’ve been telling myself “Nah, that can’t be what the jigsaw puzzle means. Look, this cum collage Zoe gave me says so.”

How this works is Zoe gave me one more piece at the bar the previous night, because her only other option was to risk my getting a bunch more pieces from Nathan. That piece contained some fine print which read “The cum collage may not be entirely accurate.

8. no really, cum collage


BREAKING: MRAs suck at satire

Nick Reading Patriarchy Party Banner

Your misogyny is intriguing to me, and I wish to subscribe to your newsletter.

As we already know, it’s hard to be a man in this current politically-correct climate. You can’t call a woman a cunt without some shrieking harpy labelling you a “misogynist”. And when you try to stand up for your rights, those bitches laugh at you!

One organisation is trying to change this. Men’s Rights Edmonton is fighting back against feminazi mockery – by mocking themselves!

MR-E is no stranger to parody. This time, instead of lampooning messages like “please don’t rape drunk girls”, they’ve set their sights on the ridiculous and unjustified stereotypes of MRAs as rapists who think women are inferior to men and don’t deserve to be treated as people.

Their latest endeavour sees member Nick Reading pretending to run for city council under the “Patriarchy Party”.

Nick Reading Patriarchy Party Principles

The idea is this: if “the patriarchy” were real, none of this would be worth batting an eyelid over; it would just be the normal state of affairs. Since everything about this campaign is ridiculously offensive, the patriarchy doesn’t exist after all! Hooray! Feminists, your work is done here – put your bras back on and return to the kitchen.

If this sounds familiar, it’s because it was the starting point for Rick Westlake’s Comfort Girls. Through Westlake, we learned that a patriarchal society would inevitably reduce women to sex slaves and babymakers with no real power over anything.

You also may notice the similarities to another radical gender-hating parody: the SCUM Manifesto. Funnily enough, MRAs don’t like this one much at all.

Nick Reading profile picture

From my frequent trips into the Manosphere, one thing I find disturbing is how a large number of MRAs seem to believe that men are fundamentally evil but are too emasculated by modern society to do what they really want. If there was no risk of punishment or retaliation, the majority of men would be happy to treat women like objects. Women should, indeed, feel lucky that they can vote and drive and choose who they marry – if men had any say in the matter, those rights would be immediately stripped away.

Now, I’m as cynical as the next man-eating feminist, but something about that just doesn’t feel right. I have encountered very few feminists with such an awful view of the entire male gender, so it’s especially baffling that a supposed “men’s rights” community would rally behind people like Nick Reading who are doing more to hurt their image than any external group could ever do.

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

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.

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?”


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.”

Let’s Read Comfort Girls Chapter Two: Aw Phooey!

< Comfort Girls Chapter One

And we’re back! I’m so very sorry.

“Yeah. My voice doesn’t sound quite the same, though, does it? We’re pumping in heli-air, with a lot of helium. It makes you sound like Donald Duck. …Looks like you’re finished with this.”

I’m just posting this quote so you remember to read the rest of the book in the voice of Donald Duck.

“Other girls?” she asked, carefully … she didn’t want to get slapped again.

“Two of ’em,” he said. “We have room to process three at a time. Why pump down more cubic than you need?  We have three exam rooms, the head, and a lounge for the guys to come up to pressure. You girls bring us up to full complement, so welcome aboard.”

Linda felt a flash of resentment. Girls? She had a PhD, damnit! “I wish you’d-”

A massive hand grabbed her chin, shoved her mouth shut; strong fingers clutched her cheeks, painfully tight. “You wish nothing, cunt! Get some respect or we’ll beat it into you!” He shook her head, not violently, but enough to make the point. Then he relaxed the hand, though it still cupped her face. “Now what do you say?”

“I’m sorry.” He shook her head again. “You’re sorry, WHAT?”

“I’m sorry … Master.”

And thus begins Rape Number Two. Then three… then four… until Linda loses count. As the rapes slow down, Linda starts to wonder if the men have decided to rape the other comfort girls instead of her. Do they find her unattractive? The thought fills her with “a desolate sadness.”

Nguyen returns and leads Linda out of the exam room. She argues with him some more about her new position.

“But – my training! You know I’m a professional too!”

“A professional – what?” The contempt was heavy in his voice.

“A geneticist. A PhD. It is insane that you’d waste my skill.”

“Letting you practice that skill now would be like hiring Josef Mengele to run the Mayo Clinic.”


“You, of all people, should know the situation that led up to this. You and the rest of Radfem Hub – Miss Bio-Ninja Ninety-Three.” He knew that name? “Yes. With Violet Fliptree and all the rest of them. We set up the Orange network to keep track of you – all the politicians, the judges, the bureaucrats of course, but also the doctors, the researchers, the people in the background who might cook up an unconventional threat.” He smiled thinly. “You didn’t realize that’s why I joined your team? To make sure of the threat. And to find a way to counter it. We caught up with you – all of you – just in time.”

Those are the worst secret agent codenames. It’s also baffling that they would need codenames when the world was apparently run by radical feminists anyway.

Her voice was small, and trembled. “And why didn’t you … just … kill me?”

His smile was of bitter satisfaction. “Several reasons. One is to use you as an example. You’re not the first Radfem to be sentenced to penal servitude.” He put an uncomfortable emphasis on penal, rubbing home the obvious double entendre.


“The next couple of weeks will be your shakedown. Once you’ve settled in, you’ll have classes and training to make you better at your new job.””What kind of classes and training?” She regretted it as soon as she said it.He snorted. “Come on now. Classes in pleasing a man. Belly-dance. Massage. Erotic arts. The Kama Sutra. That should be obvious.”[…]”Reform school, Linda. A really severe kind of reform school. And it still is punishment. You’re one of the ones we really can’t trust, not ever again. But maybe we can reform you enough that you’ll fit in a woman’s proper place in our new society – and maybe we can get some good out of you while we try to reform you.” He stood up. “It’s time for bed. Do you need to go to the bathroom?”

“I’d better. Thank you, Doctor.” She made to get up, but he stopped her with a hand around her upper arm.

“There’s another point. You seem to be calling me “Doctor” as if you still consider yourself a colleague, and you’re not.” His eyes narrowed. “Wasn’t there something that you were told to call the men in this station, this afternoon – a title by which you were told to address us all?”

“Ah-” His grip tightened. “Ma- Master?” His grip eased.

Bear in mind it’s been about two hours since he told her to call him doctor. Men are so irrational!
Linda is still zipped into the rape suit and can’t use her arms. He stands there and watches her use the toilet.

“Finished?” he asked. Numbly, she nodded. He leaned her forward and wiped her with another of those ubiquitous wet-wipes. “Might as well clean you out, too.” He produced a douche bottle and rinsed out her vagina, then stood her up and dried her. The jumper’s gusset flapped behind her, like a beaver tail, as he walked her to the bed.

He made her lie down, and snapped a light metal collar and chain around her neck.


“Standard operating procedure with any comfort girl in private quarters.” He tugged at the chain, a little too strong to be playful, chafing her neck with the loose collar. “We don’t want you getting into things that are not yours. And you need to know that you can’t get at them.”

Rape suits, rape classes, rape beds… it’s this dedication to worldbuilding that makes Rick such an engrossing writer. The chapter ends as it began, with Linda tied up and raped into submission. You may have noticed a running theme here.

Tune in next chapter, where we will meet the other comfort girls and a possible love interest for Linda!

Comfort Girls Chapter Three >

Let’s Read The Comfort Girls Of Conshelf 6: 4/20 rape women everyday

I’m sure many of you are aware of the men’s rights and “anti-misandry” movements. While it might seem like reasonable position to take (equality regardless of gender; recognising that men are also disadvantaged in certain social situations), the reality is that nearly every men’s rights group is filled with the kind of hateful misogynistic assholes that feminism was designed to combat. Take the Artistry Against Misandry group, for instance.

Welcome to the first pro-male artist activist network. Within these pages you will find music, poetry, prose, graphics, cartoons and additional links, all of which are here to a cathartic release to men who are bombarded with misandry in their daily lives. We bring attention to and counter institutional, as well as social misandry in Western society, and are highly critical of those who instigate and/or perpetuate fallacious male-bashing.

Like the popular social inference that men are inherently lesser beings, the backlash to it isn’t always cordial. Many of the artists here have suffered misandric injustices and we only hope you walk away with a better understanding of our plight.

What kind of cathartic release, you’re wondering? Well, this:

'The bubble has burst... the Radical Feminists had pushed too far.' - lengthy blurb for Rick Westlake's Comfort Girls


Comfort Girls is a self-published ebook by Rick Westlake. It details the revolt of men against the matriarchy (since, of course, the patriarchy is a myth). Once men have established control of the world, they set out to build a newer and better society… by teaching women their place and executing dissidents. The luckiest female criminals are turned into sex slaves, but it’s OK: naturally, they come to love their new role in society as the bad ideas are raped out of them.

This is really one of the worst things I’ve ever read. So, naturally, I had to share it with the rest of the internet.

Be warned that the ebook is very hard to read: Rick Westlake is not much of a writer, to put it nicely, and he loves writing about rape. I’ve cut out some of the text in these excerpts to highlight the best parts but I’ve otherwise left it true to the original. If you want to read the unabridged version, once again you can find it here.

So let’s start reading!

Chapter 1

Linda Mayhugh stared out the narrow slit of the window at the grey scudding clouds, the streaming rain, the rough waters of the bay. Her hands clutched at her elbows, her thin shoulders trembling under the baggy orange prisoner’s jumpsuit. She stared and stared, conscious that this would be her last gaze at land and sky for years…

Maybe forever. She might die at Conshelf Station 6-D, a research and industrial outpost fifty kilometers offshore and a hundred meters deep. Why did men persist, insist, on going into such danger, even for the sake of the mineral riches they’d found on the lip of the Continental Shelf? Couldn’t they have let well enough alone, and worked to achieve the enlightened goals of the new woman President and her New World Order?

“New GIRL Order!” she remembered hearing some of those first rioters shout, in the beginning of the Misogynist Revolt. She thought she was massively lucky that night, managing to escape – she was a geneticist, not a politician, and her work on Project Y had been in the background. But when the Riots turned into open rebellion – and the police and the military threw in with the Misogynists – the Feminist State collapsed, and its hidden mechanisms of control were suddenly, almost instantly, unearthed and shattered and sterilized. And her key role in Project Y had earned her … what?

The bastards hadn’t even given her a proper trial, with a sympathetic judge and a jury of her peers. She had a military tribunal, and the hard-faced officers who heard the case had no patience for her fear and grief and pain. They had no appreciation for her skills, either, when they sentenced her to “ten years of penal servitude, in the Comfort Detachment of Continental Shelf Station 6-D…”

This is the opening of the novel. As we saw from the blurb, Linda was working on a genetic project to eradicate the Y Chromosome and kill all men (lol), thus freeing women from male tyranny forever. The irony of men using this as an excuse to force women into sexual slavery is completely lost on the author. It’s clear that we’re meant to see Linda as a whiny man-hating bitch with selfish views on the world, so I’m not sure why Rick leads with a description of how she has been inhumanely treated, unfairly sentenced, and has low prospects of surviving the next 10 years of imprisonment. It’s possible he thinks that this is how the justice system should work.

The door closed behind her. It had no inner handle. No doubt she was under watch in here, and they would burst in if she did “anything stupid.” She blushed to think of what the watchers would see … but there was no way out of this; and she remembered having “shown it all,” some years before, in the Naked Slutwalk Festival that the Sisterhood held with the first-ever, mandatory for all men, Walk A Mile In Her Shoes event at her college. She knew she looked good naked, because the boys teetering in their high-heels had gotten visible erections in their pants when she pulled off her C-string and shown her all, taunting them with her shouts of “You can’t touch this! It’s rape! It’s wrong!”

This is the message that men like Rick get out of Slutwalks: not “rape is never OK even if you think she’s asking for it by dressing in sexy clothing”, but “these fucking sluts should never have flaunted their bodies to us, they deserve everything they get”.

Linda has a heartfelt reunion with a doctor who worked with her at her genetics lab.

The speculum was cold, and he seemed to take a bit of pleasure in opening it too wide for her comfort. “At least you’re not a virgin,” he declared. “Some of us on your Project wondered about that. Your attitude.”


“Get down off your high horse, Linda. This is NOT your project. You know that.”


“DOCTOR Nguyen, please.” He withdrew the speculum. “Or just Doctor. You don’t seem to know your position here … ‘Doctor’ Mayhugh. Okay, you can sit up now. And put on this garment.”

What he handed Linda Mayhugh was … a shirt. A body-suit, actually, as she inspected it. It was made of a stretchy, shiny material, swimsuit material. It had long sleeves, a collar like a man’s dress shirt, and a long zipper down the front. It closed with snaps at the crotch. She wriggled into it, zipping it open just enough for her head, and tugged the crotch of it down so she could snap it closed. It fit her curves like a gleaming coat of wet red paint, and the bottom end of the front zipper reached below her navel. She tugged the zipper up to her throat.

“Why this, instead of something practical like a coverall? And what are these zippers for, on the sleeves?” She looked down at the two zippers, actually half-zippers that reached from elbow to wrist on each sleeve.

“The zippers. Yes. It’s a good time for me to show you.” Deftly he caught her right wrist, brought it to her left elbow, and zipped the sleeves together in front of her waist. Then he zipped the other two half-zippers together, leaving her arms secured in front of her and quite helpless.

He drew down the front zipper to her waist. Then he took a long piece of webbing out of a drawer and wrapped it around her, over her forearms and behind her waist, so the straps crossed on center in front. He tugged its tail through a square loop and lapped it back on itself, where it closed with a wide patch of velcro. “You might have tried to pull the zippers open with your teeth. Not now.”

“This is like a strait-jacket,” she whispered.

“Very much so. This is your uniform, as a member of the Comfort Corps. It is completely practical, for our purposes. It covers … enough. The sleeve-zippers provide us the means to secure your hands out of the way, when we choose. And …” He drew his fingers lazily from her collarbone to her crossed arms. “We can uncover you in an instant, for our pleasure. Make a fist, here.” He put a small bag over her balled left hand and secured it with a Velcro cuff, then did the same for her right hand.

Yeah, that’s right. It’s a RAPE SUIT.

“…Comfort Corps?”

“The name has been around for a while. You might have heard of it if you’d learned real history – not the “her-story” that you were spoon-fed in school.” He smiled, but it was the smile of a wolf. “The Japanese Army used it, during the Korean and Chinese conflicts that led up to World War II. It was their name for the special groups of Korean and Chinese women, Vietnamese women too, who were used to provide … comfort … to their troops. Put your feet in the stirrups.”

I’ll just leave it to sink in for a moment that a Vietnamese man is gloating about Vietnamese women being forced into sexual slavery by Japan. Also, “her-story” is the first of many Westlake-isms you will see in this awful excuse for a novel.

Shortly after this, Nguyen reveals he was at that naked Slutwalk and has dreamed of raping Linda ever since then. He takes the opportunity to explain the new status quo to her.

“This is where you start to learn,” he said, “about the only role that Men are going to give to you, any more. We’ve learned your poison. We’ve learned your tactics, and your strategy. We’ve learned how to overwhelm your strengths, and take advantage of your weakness. And we’ve learned the role that you must be put into, for the future.

“You have to be our chattels, our subjects, our slaves. We won’t trust you with any trace of power, or authority, or privilege. You’ll have to learn to be just a woman, and nothing more; a servant in Man’s house, a mother to his children, and a wide-open slut in his bed.”

“Now kiss me again. Open your lips to me. Open your soul to me.”

A very Gor-like rape scene follows:

He could feel the spasms of her coming. “Slave!” he said as her orgasm overwhelmed her.

“No!” she declared as the spasms eased enough for her to breathe again.

“Slave!” he said again, as yet again she came.

“No!” A declaration less definite – as her gasps, her struggles, were somehow even more inclusive of orgasm – of helplessness – and of that mixture of orgasm, helplessness, craving and hunger that Enlightened Womyn decried as “bondage to the Patriarchy.”

Enlightened Womyn fucking hate orgasms. Actually they hate everything; it’s pretty much a prerequisite for being a feminist.

“You can skip lunch,” Dr. Nguyen said. “Maybe a bottle of Ensure, later, if you’re good. … Did you feel your ears click just now, when you were swallowing? We’re starting to pressurize this space. Keep working your jaws and tongue and throat like that, as if you were swallowing, every few seconds – it’ll save you a burst eardrum.”And one last bit of advice, now, that will probably make your stay here easier. It will certainly help you survive it. And old Chinese saying – When rape is inevitable, relax and enjoy it.”

She heard the door open, but she didn’t hear it close.

And that’s Chapter One! Until next time, stay safe, and please try not to bring down the Matriarchy.