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We live in strange times. Never has maleness been more difficult, less socially acceptable, and more dangerous to one’s health, wellbeing, career, and liberty. A once-proud gender, a bit under 50% of humanity, has been, through the miracle of gender fluidity, the invention of new pronouns, legislation, public opinion and politics, reduced to uncertain pariah status, at least on the coasts, on college campuses and now in the halls of Congress.

Men have always comprised, by definition, the evil patriarchy, a club, cult, fraternity–write your preferred negative label here–merely by being born with a penis, but even that kind of biological membership by erection is now in doubt. Yet men still bear the blame, not only for being male, but for virtually every societal pathology.

As if being male were not enough, white males have it harder because of white male supremacy. They, beyond males of the brown, black, and various shades in between persuasions, are clearly the most destructive, malicious and outright evil examples of masculinity. Not only do they–we, for I daily live the horror of being, by an accident of birth, a white male–bear the shame of white male privilege, they contribute, more than all other males, to toxic masculinity. Yes, gentle readers, maleness is now a contagion, a pestilence, deadly by its mere existence, devastating in its effects, something to be eradicated by the wonders of modern feminism.

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Ah yes, modern feminism. Who can fail to be moved by the sight of endless–well, maybe a hundred or so–rows of women, marching in lockstep, wearing pink pussy hats? What man, ever so white and toxic, can ignore the message sent with bristly feminine strength by women dressed as female genitals, particularly when they add the crowning touch of representative public hair?

There is–dare I say it?–a war on men, a war in depth and scope, and soon, in casualties, more effective than the Democrat’s imaginary war on women. Of course, I’m only making these points because I am white, male, a supremacist, toxic, a card-carrying member of the patriarchy, and in general, icky, but I can’t help myself. I was born with a penis, and have, over the year, become attached to it–or vice-versa.

To be sure, it has caused me a bit of trouble. Particularly when I was younger, it sometimes overrode my brain and did my thinking for me. Like a highly tuned radar set, it detected female beauty from long distances, and forced the rest of me to seek it out, sometimes saying rather silly, desperate, and in retrospect, pathetic things–uh, me, not the penis. They’re not that advanced–yet. It caused me, quite against my will, to make the occasional clumsy pass, most of which were politely ignored or rebuffed, though occasionally, those passes bore fruit, to my delight, and to the apparent satisfaction of the young ladies involved, though I’m sure they now look back on what seemed to be mutually pleasant relationships with horror, because I’m toxic, don’t you know? But that’s just being male, and I long ago grew out of that sort of thing and learned how to restrain my lower brain, a skill most men eventually learn.

Somehow, Mrs. Manor was able to see beyond my maleness, and no doubt, holding her nose for decades, has managed to live with me, and my overwhelming supremacy. In fact, I know a number of women who have similarly taken pity on mere men, and for that I am grateful, though I’m not going to dress up like female genitals. I like female genitals–don’t get me wrong–they just don’t look good on men. Mrs. Manor thinks so too.

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We–men–knew we were in trouble during the Obama years. We knew it the first time we saw Barack Obama in mom jeans, riding a sissy bicycle. From there, things went steadily downhill until merely being male on a college campus was criminalized. That’s a state of affairs that, during the Trump era, seems slowly being remedied, but anti-male forces on campus are even slower to surrender their extra constitutional imperatives. Ostensibly male college presidents particularly have long ago surrendered any evidence of maleness—or of backbones. The crusade to eradicate the scourge of masculinity continues.

Now, we discover–apart from being privileged, supreme and manfully toxic–the mere accusation of a clumsy pass decades old is sufficient to destroy male reputations, careers, and potentially, to deny a legitimately won seat in the Congress. All such accusations have become “serious,” defining, and condemnatory, because all women must be believed. Some have gone so far as to suggest women never lie about something as grave as rape, a belief that has caused Rolling Stone Magazine no end of anxiety.  It also causes much sardonic laughter among honest, dedicated police officers, but they’re mostly extra-toxic males, so who listens to them? Having been one of them, and still carrying the baggage, I can attest that women do most certainly lie about rape, and pretty much everything else about which human beings can lie, but that’s just me being male again. Now I’m a teacher, which is similar to being a police officer in that everyone lies to you, but that’s a topic for another article. Women must be believed, even when they’re unbelievable–especially when they’re unbelievable, and double especially when they’re wearing pussy hats or dressed as vulva. What could bestow greater credibility than that?

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The ongoing war on men has had some positive effects, however. We have recently learned the Congress has long had a double-secret, and supposedly well-endowed (heh, heh–sorry. I’m male. Couldn’t help myself.) slush fund of taxpayer money for the sole purpose of paying off female congressional employees accusing congress critters of sexual harassment. Speaker of the House Paul Ryan, a being of indeterminate masculinity, has ordered an investigation to discover just what the policies and procedures of the Congress might be. He might ask Democrat John Conyers, the longest–in years–serving member of the House. He knows all about it.

In response to recent allegations of sexual wrongdoing, some as much as four decades old, the Congress has boldly, even toxically, swung into action. Democrats are condemning every Republican for, well, for being Republican. That’s what they do. Democrats have long wielded the pussy-hilted sword of feminism against Republicans to good effect, destroying the reputations and careers of many a man. Contemporary Republicans, demonstrating why they are charter members of The Stupid Party, are also grasping for the sword, the better to cut off their own, um, members.

One can only imagine the plotting going on in Progressive, feminist war rooms, painted tasteful colors with delightful window treatments. If only they can dupe easily dupable Republicans into driving out a sufficient number of their fellow Republicans, they can win back majorities in the House and the Senate. The icing on the cake would be establishing the precedent of denying Senators membership in the Senate for non-crimes committed decades before they became Senators. With that precedent in hand, Democrats would have a tool they could use to deny any Republican a congressional seat. After all, haven’t they all made a clumsy pass or two, touched someone or said something some woman didn’t like at some point in their past?

And if they haven’t, can’t we find a few women to say they did? Democrats are good at that. Just look at Hillary Clinton who paid some $10 million dollars to put Donald Trump in Moscow with two Russian prostitutes, peeing on a hotel bed. Trump, not the prostitutes, though I suppose they would have with sufficient financial inducement. That it never happened is just an insignificant detail; the accusation is all that’s necessary, because Russia! Granted, Democrats don’t have to live up to any moral standard, but that’s just the way things are, because Republicans, and particularly, because Trump!

The whole thing is getting more and Moore confusing. Take the case of Roy Moore. He’s accused, by several women, of malicious dating, perhaps even a bit of–eeeuuuuw!–kissing. Where, gentle readers, do we draw the line on Congressional membership? If we knew the sexual urges, thoughts, and practices of our members of Congress, would we pretty much clean house (and Senate)? What is sufficiently disqualifying? Accusations of toe licking? Foot fetishes? A bit of light, consensual BDSM? Are breast men acceptable–not that any man is acceptable these days–but not butt or leg men? How about men that tell dopey jokes about women? And what do we do with men that enjoy viewing the naked female body? If the latter is the standard, whew! There goes masculinity, except on the coasts, on university campuses and in Congress, of course.

Lindin is a Teen Vogue columnist. How good of her to be willing to pay that price…

Forget that silly due process, proof beyond a reasonable doubt, and rule of law stuff. That’s all a patriarchal construct. In the best feminine tradition, it’s feelings that matter, and all that “equal justice for all” stuff is white male privilege. Just ask any woman. They know all women must be believed and women don’t lie. Why, no woman has ever lied about any other woman, in history!

I wonder whatever happened to “I am woman; hear me roar?” These days, its: “I am woman, hear me shrilly scream or pathetically whimper and run to a safe space.” Women who, the recipients of a clumsy pass decades ago, are said to be struggling to put it behind them, to get beyond the horror. I’ve never seen women to be the weaker sex in anything other than general physical strength, but does a bit of bad male behavior really so scar their psyches? Is that what compels them to dress up like genitals? What do we make of women becoming infantry officers and fighter pilots? Is there something wrong with them?  Must they wear camouflage pussy outfits?

To be sure, unlawful behavior should be exposed and punished, but how much sexual harassment training can we stand? Do men really need to be told they shouldn’t stick their tongues down the throats of unwilling women? Do they really need to be reminded one shouldn’t grope unwilling women’s breasts or other parts? Do they need to be reminded certain topics are crude, stupid or insulting? And before you say: “some men do,” will merely telling such idiots what’s bad change their behavior? They really didn’t know that before being told? Didn’t they have mothers that taught them manners?

Real men, the privileged, supreme and toxic, revere women. They have no time for pseudo-men that abuse women, children or animals. In fact, they are often compelled to show such beings the error of their ways by means of close-range social intercourse, and not the friendly kind. Real men feel compelled to protect women. They live for a female smile, to hear their laughter, and to please them in any way possible. But that’s just the kind of thing that must be erased from a just, sisterly society.

Al Franken is a crude jerk, and a poor example of a man. I’d like to see him removed from the Senate because one less Democrat makes possible the easier restoration of limited government and the rule of law. But that would set a terrible precedent, particularly when we learn his supposed bad behaviors took place long before he was a Senator, and particularly since a great many other congress critters have been the beneficiaries of taxpayer hush money for their sexual misadventures. Truth be told, I suspect some of them have benefited many times. Emotionally, throw all the bums out, but law and policy made on the basis of emotion is always foolish.

I’m less than impressed by Roy Moore, but he stands accused, mostly of things that were never crimes, and all, long, long ago. Denying him, or anyone so accused, a Senate seat would set a terrible precedent, one with which Democrats, who are never held responsible for moral failings sufficient to merit an entire book in the Old Testament, would beat Republicans into perpetuity, ensuring permanent Democrat rule. Perhaps that’s why The Stupid Party is working so hard to help them establish it.

In the meantime, I think I’ll don a pink pussy hat and contemplate my privilege, supremacy, and toxicity. Maybe Mrs. Manor will take pity on me. It’s hard being male.