“Hollywood only makes two movies. The Boy’s Movie and The Girls’ Movie.” – Delicious Tacos
Modern Hollywood has a genius racket going where they actually now sell boy-movies written as girl-movies. Hollywood has hijacked and redefined the boy-movie to primarily appeal to girls in its writing and thematics with the idea that boys are only looking for familiar shapes and colors.
A boy wants to believe he’s seeing a boy-movie. This idea is easily satisfied by putting Iron Man or Spider-Man on the screen. The shapes are familiar and the boy is happy. This is all the boy is getting. Anything further is intended for girls (and maybe the social conditioning of boys).
While I should have called it a day after seeing Nolan’s masterful “The Dark Knight” (2008) in theaters, I maybe had one too many beers on the forth of July, and was convinced to venture once more to the movie-house and see “Terminator: Genisys” (2015), and of course had quickly realized that I had been had.
Even if the dire unavailability of parking in Jeanette’s neighborhood had made the task of meeting her at her apartment for sex seem daunting, only minimally rewarding, I always had a thing for girls who looked like the nerdy Chipette and this fact added a feeling of urgency to a situation marred with inevitable difficulty.
Parking matters; inadequate parking is as off-putting as a bridge or a toll, and I distinctly remember cursing the wind on an early August morning in 2006, drunk out of my skull, taking the parkway home because I was forced by law to relinquish my hard-fought spot, as per alternate side rules, and couldn’t find a new one anywhere.
How would I have explained this to a dutiful officer of the law? Would he have been kind enough to understand the inadequacies of parking in that god forsaken, asshole neighborhood?
I first joined OKCupid in 2006. While I had met girls in the past from local chat rooms on AOL, this felt archaic and pre-Socratic; OKCupid was the true monolith. After creating my profile, I browsed the site carefully, thoroughly reading profiles and perusing responses to the site’s very important questions about flag burning and eugenics. That’s when I came across Nikki and decided, what the heck, why not cobble together a message? She was pretty, she lived in my town, we had mutual interests, and we both seemed to think that “kissing in a tent in the woods” was idyllic.
I will never forget the cold January morning when my Elementary school gathered the entire student body in our shoddy gymnasium to watch a Space Shuttle launch; the year was 1986, the astronaut Cabbage Patch Kid was one of the hottest holiday items, and space exploration captured the imagination of a nation who still felt a deep sense of pride in being American.
The buzz amongst the students felt electric, excited to see the Challenger escape the surly bonds of the Earth’s gravitational pull and… in a flash it was over. And there was silence.
“And perhaps we’ve forgotten the courage it took for the crew of the shuttle. But they, the Challenger Seven, were aware of the dangers, but overcame them and did their jobs brilliantly.
And I want to say something to the schoolchildren of America who were watching the live coverage of the shuttle’s take-off. I know it’s hard to understand, but sometimes painful things like this happen. It’s all part of the process of exploration and discovery. It’s all part of taking a chance and expanding man’s horizons. The future doesn’t belong to the fainthearted; it belongs to the brave.“
Reagan gave context and meaning to the tragedy, and in doing so, provided a definition of “courage.” The astronauts were brave because they risked their personal welfare for something greater than themselves; the Challenger crew gave their lives to aid in “the process of exploration and discovery,” in order to attain the greater good of “expanding man’s horizons.”
Courage had a sense of lofty selflessness, and it was this noble trait that we collectively honored.
Women say rape is about power because that is how they primarily understand sex; an exchange of power. A woman can wield her sexuality to the detriment of a man- the proverbial carrot on a stick- in order to manipulate ruthlessly to her own end… or completely relinquish this power, taking intense pleasure in relinquishment, when a man exceeds her threshold of attraction.
It bears repeating that real rape is a vile crime on par with brutal assault and a notch below murder- as serious as a crime can get.
However, Fake Rape is an overt power-grab by abusing the cultural and evolutionary dynamic of men lacking inherent public sympathy while women enjoy a nearly infinite supply of it.
The mainstream media and feminists alike understand that people are inherently unsympathetic to men- in particular, men who have unauthorized opinions– and to easily sway a story in the favor of good Hollywood versus bad opinionated men, all they really need to say is “men’s rights activist.” Anything further is academic- the term immediately invalidates any argument presented.
The mainstream narrative will always deny that feminism has become institutionalized. If the narrative is that men are privileged, of course men who are looking to defend themselves as men in a system they see as bias against them would be viewed unsympathetically; as hateful, greedy, misogynist losers.
The system makes it clear that women are the oppressed class and men are the privileged class, always and forever. Women need our resources and support while men only need restraint and emasculation.
Make no mistake that this mindset is pervasive and trickles down to how our Education system is structured.
It was third period lunch- a bit early in the day, yes, but if that’s when you were given a lunch period, you were kind of fucked. So it’s 10:15am and I’m dipping french fries in mayonnaise, because that was “so European,” sitting with my friend Sally Rapehoax.
Sally was a boring and plain kind of girl, but in High School sometimes you’re stuck with the people you befriend in ninth grade. Fine, whatever, but my jaw dropped when Sally casually mentioned, “yeah, I’ve been raped before,” almost as if she’s telling me about her homework, or her favorite Nirvana song, or how profoundly connected she felt to “The Craft.” It all seemed the same to Sally, but my world slowed down just a bit…