Fighting the “War on Women”

People embraced, joined hands when I finally led the United States of Men on a peace seeking journey. I was to fight the last “Good Fight” on Earth. I waged war on Women to rally the morale. Before this “conflict” with Women, I had been simple: a boy. But now was time to flex my muscle, er, and those other ones too. I had seen other valiant men before me, continuously in war with the opposite sex. I had never ventured past enemy lines myself. I had seen the reports of these wars on news reels: bombs, rapes, POWs, burned bridges, letters to loved ones from afar, young soldiers who’d lost their lives or collective souls and limbs—these all took place before my eyes! I had warmed the bench until Coach called on me. He may have called me times before, yet I declined. Until now, that is. I feel born again.

This was War. Public consent was at an all time high for me. “Get em!” “Good Luck!” “We want their heads!” “Keep us safe!” After hearing these complimentary decals of pious driven pity, I was all the more steadfast in declaring my consent. Was this war in benefit of just me? Yeah, I was going to lay the foundation of “democracy” with my cronies’ help – an un-televised, underground DVD of a highly successful Gang Rape! But the citizens would be inspired and their worries would be slain. Of course, no one would truly know the former and I’d make them believe the latter. I would be, in society’s eyes, a man who’d taken the risk to besmirch the Feministas. After all this waiting, planning and pondering, I would see and, especially, taste what she was like.

“We need wars”, says the evolution of economics. Friction must occur, some hand to hand combat, mano e wo-mano. If there are no arms, battles, war stories—no perverse stimulants—then there’d no need for the raging male inside me. The perseverance of the military-industrial complex is crucial for us Men. Our survival as virile, self doting, men of attrition, depends on it. The more aggression we keep pent up, with all these stockpiles of ammunition, the more likely we are to lose out because of our impotence; we have to use it and if so, force it. No love or patronizing, then no propagation and consequently no future.

There needs to be war heroes. Medals, memories… there needs to be a constant reminder that they, these uncivilized, barbaric, gypsy, whorish women, need to be conquered. We intend to uphold Democracy. Yeah, right. But for sure, that’s what I will tell the world. I intend to rule them with my invisible “pimp” hand; invade her streets and shops and set up my favorable capitalism. They will talk, but in fear of me.

Evil does exist, in the form of a woman. She moans, groans, bitches, nags (I could go on), thwarts our capitalism, congregates in her own religion, “those times of the month” (what an excuse), “you just don’t understand” (ah, we don’t care to). They threaten our way of life and will harm it. They intend to sophisticate us: take us shopping, to an art gallery opening, to a John Mayer concert – what am I, gay! Don’t ask. Don’t tell. All we law abiding, conscientious Men ask for is a cooked meal of steak, ribs and fries and beer, weekly poker nights and Cheetos and television time to watch ESPN 24/7. They attack our freedoms because they are not free. We intend to keep it that way too. Woman must not be free. A hint of power, glory or the freedom to stretch one’s legs and she’ll ask for more, more, more; the requests wont end. So, entrusted Men that we are, will install a favorable democracy, a tomboyish Woman, say Jennifer Garner, to uphold our democracy over these wild and crazy, emotional and over zealous Women. The tomboy will give them varied “freedoms”. But we’ll be the ones really controlling them. Men are the puppeteers. Their livelihood is the flinch of a string away.

Men can dump Woman any day, to wage a war with some other damsel in distress. We love stressed out women with problems. Faults, to us, are everything. We prey on these faults and act on it. We use their faults to “uplift” and “remedy” Women while we secretly extract their goods and services. We when we’re done, we abruptly leave. The truth hurts, Women know, we just make up theories and reasons. The expert Commander and Chiefs before me know: once you knock down a pair of labia, the following are much easier. Having three or four wars, simultaneously, with Women is not unheard of or hard.
The hard part is staying hard. There will be those nights where you’ll ask ‘is this worth it, all this under the rug?’ It is my friend. If you know how much I’ve gotten because of my multiple “wars”, you’d do the same thing.

Women aren’t always the problem yet it’s these ideological Feministas who believe we have come to uproot them (we are and we’ve already begun). They think they deserve equal say. Yeah, they do. But then what? Our Manly way of life, economy and traditions may be overtaken by their newfound rights. They want the same power we have and they want to force us into submission like we have them. This is why we wage war: to keep control and to use Feministas and Women, alike, for their goods.

Critics of my “War on Women” are in a minority. Yet, their skepticism is growing as my soldiers land on her ground. What they say is there is no such thing as “War on Women”. To love, battles must never ensue. Be equals, give and receive. No sir! Lovers can coexist. Like mud! They’ve surly never been in battle and never confronted this multi-faceted sea creature, who, because of monthly iron deficiencies in her capital, leads her government appointed rebels to gas the common men of the lower class. Yes, this is her intifada. She has no care for those of another clan. I’ve been peaceful to her before with arms, money, support, has she forgotten me? Was I not there when she waged war on that Iranian man? I told her he was no good. I gave her advice, key pieces to make a man wiggle and writhe in pain. Diplomatic with women, I can’t be!?! I know I gave her promises before but, you know, I never intended to keep them. They say we want her oil. Well, I’ll be the first one to admit, behind closed doors though, oil is what we are for. That sweet, sweet oil! It makes me run. The smell of oil in the morning is so intoxicating one cannot be entranced into consuming more but some oil is intoxicating to the degree of a waterfall of vomit and/or developing canker sores.

They say we cast lies. What else do you want, the truth? You want me to tell you where I was last night, really? I tell you I stayed late at work. You need to accept that. I can’t say otherwise or else an insurgency will arise. Little time bombs will explode at anytime: in the car, at the grocery store, at the kids’ birthdays. Our families, our lives do not need that. Why do this? Do you like your life, your car, yoga lessons, Oprah? See, you enjoy these luxuries, right? Yeah, I do too but this luxury comes at a cost. If you or “them” were in control our society would be less rigid and less fun (for us men). The men must lead and lie to carry on the traditions.

Guantanamo exists because so some Feminista loyalists really need to be raped and tortured for the truth. We need that oil, when we want it and however which way we please! I’ll torture a woman for fourteen hours until I’m satisfied or over the course of a twenty-three year marriage. I am adept.

The “War on Women” will not be easy. It will take courage on the part of our Men. The ramparts and cells these women have built are deep. They are subversive, don’t give in. One tactic, as a our gloried General Jack H. Hilks claims to have seen many times on the battlefield, is one of the phony ménage a trios, “When a soldier is in the heat of the battle, he focuses on one woman. Too many may give him a euphoric high but ultimately leads to his death. The numerous enemies will swarm him and battle-axe him in unison thus he cannot lie to himself: be a one woman man. So, he’s engaged in a struggle for life with one particular woman. They fire back and forth, hitting and wounding each other badly but not enough to throw in the towel (they don’t want to either, they inextricably need each other). Then the woman introduces the soldier to her friend who attracts him all the more. This new woman is alluring in an indescribable way. So he moves her way and gets to thinking “Hmm, you and me and her?” The trap is set. The woman caught him red handed, the soldier is tossed aside. And yes, they resort to cowardice—terrorism. They are care free. They’ll give their life for Love, bluntly speaking, they are martyrs for Love.

They say they want democracy but as evidence of the hanging of their previous leader, they’re a rural, cruel, uncivilized bunch. These Feministas danced around his corpse like a scene in the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. We men never want democracy and neither do you. We create that ill-fated dream come marriage time. I do. And you better Do too! Okay, so We Do. And don’t think I didn’t think ahead of time.

“Peace”, I hear? I declare a nuclear war! You know what that means – it’s past the battered Woman’s shelter. Why do you think I’ve stripped your chances of ever growing or erecting an individual state for yourself? I’ve made it such: you act according to my rules. You’ve pressed many buttons, the wrong ones. I can push but one and …

Our Manly ways will seep slowly, like steam out of street water drain, into their societies. Our way of life will become a reality. They will adapt to a Man’s life. If James Brown hasn’t told you yet, “This is a man’s world.”