I find a kind of pleasant symmetry in the fact that a world full of wimminz searching for the impossible man has begat a world full of men searching for the impossible traditional wimminz.
But, as I see from the MSM, the cracks are starting to show, (http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2357072/SELENA-GRAY-Nick-Clegg-visit-streets-fatherless-kids-I-grew-up.html and http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2357192/Divorce-The-terrible-toll-making-divorce-easier-Children-likely-violent-drugs-underage-sex.html) but, as usual, what is concerning everyone is the thought of men who are not under the yoke, though of course this is never admitted directly.
For many alienated fathers with traditional views, the thought of their sons growing up without them is a thing of shame and a thing of tragedy, pity the poor boy child missing out of daddy’s love and nurturing influence.
In short, pity my son for lacking the sort of childhood that moulded me into the man I am today.
Really?
As the saying goes, be careful what you wish for, are you SURE you would raise your son in your own image, if so he would be as unsuited to life today as you and I are.
Shades of the ancient Chinese tradition of binding feet, so let us take a practical look at what happens to the boys who grow up without dad, without the moulding (because as we all know, skank ho single mommy can’t mould or control junior) influence of daddy or the traditional family unit.
Boys who, in short, are left to adapt in their own way to the environment they find themselves in.
Well, no respect for anything or anyone, wimminz, skank ho mommy, skank slut sisters, girlz, the state, authoritah, *higher* beliefs such as long term goals, etc etc.
They are likely to riot, to steal, to do drugs, to get wrecked on booze, to be violent, etc etc.
In short, none of the things we as Dad’s would have wished for.
But, it has to be said, ideally suited and adapted to the world they were actually fucking born into, not the world dad wishes they were born in to.
When they become adults, provided they do not try to fuck me over, which ain’t likely, my attitude is there is no “crime” that my boys can commit that I will vilify them for, there is nothing they can do to wimminz or the state that I will turn my back on them for, on the contrary, my job is to help them be Teflon, so none of what they do sticks to them, so that they have a chance to go on and be dads themselves.
That does NOT involve burdening them with a whole bunch of obsolete hokey about wimminz and the state and family life that *I* grew up burdened with, you wanna fuck your skanky slut half sister and burgle your skank ho mommy, any hole is a goal boy… just make sure your ass is covered.
Trying to teach my boys traditional family values is as outmoded as trying to teach them a trade as a buggy whip maker or oil lamp wick trimmer.
This isn’t fucking 1940 or 1950 any more, which is the shit I was taught in 1960 and 1970, and it was no fucking use at all to me, thankfully, because I did not grow up in the village and county and country I was born in, I got exposed to a bunch of other shit, that, at the least, opened my eyes to the possibility that there were other ways.
99.999% of all the trouble I got into in my life was down to me acting as though my mental model of how things were ™ had much connection to how things actually were, and not even considering the possibility that how things actually were wasn’t a fixed thing, but an evolving and changing thing in a state of flux.
Look at a 1985 ford car that has been dodging the scrap yard for the last 20 years, does it bear any relation to the gleaming jewel in the showroom with 3 miles on the odometer?
Look at a 55 year old skank ho granny slut with kids by four different men who has no idea how many cocks she has ridden, does it bear any relation to the cute and innocent apple of her daddies eye little girl she was at 5?
Look at Zimbabwe in 2013 as a place for a white man to ex-pat or emigrate to, does it bear any relationship to when it was Rhodesia (or Zambia, when it was Northern Rhodesia) in the 60’s?
This is all shit that fits comfortably and considerably within the average adult lifespan of any man.
I wouldn’t dream, in 2013, of trying to teach my sons how to emigrate to Zimbabwe today, or to buy the scrapheap challenge ford for 20k on hire purchase, so what the fuck are we doing trying to teach them about little girls being sugar and spice and all things nice and marriage and family and family homes and mortgages and having a trade and being a pillar of the community?
Seriously, answer me that fucking question.
Do you WANT to cripple your own kids, do you WANT to fuck up beyond all recognition whatever chances they have, do you WANT to make your son’s lives as big a misery as yours?
I could teach my sons everything there is to know about being a white man in Zimbabwe back in the day, when you could get so shit-faced in a bar in Salisbury (Harare) you staggered out without your wallet, and you went back there the next day and it was handed to you, not one fucking penny missing… and how would this benefit them if they went there today, and a black man who had never even owned a bicycle in their life pointed at my sons and accused them of stealing their bike, and they got arrested and given the option of emptying the wallet and fucking off out the country or rotting in a cell.?
Back along when you worked abroad in these places, everyone, without fucking exception, had three things;
- a second / duplicate passport (say the original was lost and apply for a dupe)
- a Rolex oyster. (preferably plain and in stainless)
- a small number of solid gold coins, didn’t matter what currency, but genuine minted solid gold. (unlike the oyster, which you carried with you at all times, these were stashed with the spare passport and other essential documents)
When the SHTF you could simply trade items 2 and 3 to get you to the nearest international airport and a ticket on the first plane out *anywhere* using item 1, with the clothes you were stood up in.
The dumb fucks took contracts paid in local currency and into a local bank, and left it there thinking all would be well… you might get out, your money never would…
It was thus a mark of the man who was smart and cautious that he still had the original Rolex he bought, the original Zippo, and the original Buck knife.
So instead of teaching my sons how to survive in Zimbabwe back in the day, teach them about how to get the fuck out of Zimbabwe, or anywhere else, at 60 seconds notice, no packing, no grab this and that, no thinking or planning because you already did that with the rolex and passport and coins and zippo/buck, just GET. THE. FUCK. OUT. NOW.
Get the fuck out doesn’t have to be a physical movement from one location on the globe to another, it can just as easily be “get the fuck out from under” as “get the fuck out”
I would *love* to show my sons Africa back in the day, or Asia back in the day, just as I would love them to see wimminz back in the day or family/marriage back in the day, but all those things are history.
Some people didn’t make it back then. They got fucked up.
I light a joss that I was fortunate enough to, and may be, in the fullness of time, around and able to pass some shit on to my boys that they can actually use in *their* lives.
