Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Every Woman's Guide to Man Training

I am not writing this because I want you to hear. I am writing this because I believe it is right. I will write the truth as I see it; not as other people wish it to be to be seen. (Thank you John Scopes).

No man ever went to war on his own accord - he felt is was his duty.

Neville Chamberlain said, in 1938 - "In war, whichever side may call itself the victor, there are no winners, but all are losers". Neville proudly led Britain into World War II and resigned in 1940 after Germany invaded Norway.

Neville's wife, Anne, married him in 1911. He was already a successful business man and had sincerely expected to remain a bachelor and he often said that he never would have become Prime Minister without her support. Her main claim to fame was that she created a bright border of flowers to replace the drab London shrubs at No.10, Downing Street.

Now I'm not going to go on about the second war because that was the only thing of any significance that happened as a result of the first war, but I wonder what mysteries lurk beneath the motives for all the political maneuverings and human carnage.

As I often do when I am amazed and disillusioned by the incapacity of the human race to prove that it is not actually the 'inhuman race' in its race to prove that it is genuinely compassionate towards its fellow members, I begin to wonder why we bother to wage war.

History shows me that war is traditionally waged to extend or protect geographical boundaries. Every nation has a sovereign right to safeguard its inhabitants and allow them freedom of expression and trade. But why? Most of the physical attributes that delineate the areas of individual trading zones that we so often call countries, were decided hundreds of years ago. Because the threat of military annihilation has manipulated many small countries into subservience, they no longer have the will to improve their situation or the leverage to manipulate a more favourable position.

So it seems that any new wars are not really about physical expansion but more about freedom of expression - and to me that is exactly the situation that mirrors the "Battle of the Sexes".

There was once a popular author who theorised that Men were from Mars and Woman from Venus - I wish to dispute this. Women are not from Venus, that is a myth perpetuated by the propaganda Gods of the War Machine to placate the male model of the humanoid. No they are not from Venus, they aren't even from this solar system. They originate from some deep, dark distant cavern in the outskirts of the Universe called 'Manipulamano'.

Oh oh, I can feel the barbs of the femanoid rising to their defense and I sense their anticipation of the fight and the sweet thrill of satisfaction as they relish the agony they inflict on the manoid as he rides into battle with his balls in his hands and his guard down.

May God help us. He created Man in his own image and then ripped a rib out and created Woman and what did she do? She noticed that she had a few bumps and curves and orifices that were not quite structured in the traditionally accepted form of the breast thumping, ego breathing, dominating, appendage hanging, club swinging, foul smelling, undomesticated, hairy, unkempt version of the dick wielding, hole poking, self centered male beast.

Sometime around about the time when she figured out that the figurative fig leaf was scant protection against the throbbing gristle within the loin cloth it was decreed that if HE wanted IT, he was going to have to work for it. Hey, if you want this sweet little pussy to just roll on her back for a tummy rub, well goddamn it boy - you're gonna' work for it - and that's where the trouble started.

Now she wouldn't admit it and she certainly wouldn't say it but she had suddenly become afflicted with the malady of 'Dickus Envious' - (I'm sure Freud would be proud of me, but I disagree with his opinion that I want to get into my mum's knickers).

It became scathingly obvious to her that it was no longer acceptable to be wined and dined, beaten over the head and dragged off to a cave for a penile peccadillo. Things would have to change damn it. She was getting pretty sick and tired of being a collector gatherer, bending her arse over stupid little berries and vegies and washing loinclothes in the river in the pissing rain. And then she'd go back to the cave, hang a boiling pot of hash over a triangle of burning sticks and prepare to bend her arse over again so that the hairy old bastard could get his rocks off, fall into a restful sleep and disappear the next day into the wilderness to down a few of ales at the local Mammoth Slaying Mud Pit.

There just had to be a better way.

But I digress. What the hell was Annie Chamberlain doing planting pretty flowers when Neville was fighting the battle of his life to save his country. Come to think of it, what the hell was his opponents' current squeeze, Eva Braun, doing in the Bunker while Hitler was watching the size of his potential kingdom shrink as quick as his penis in a mousetrap. Or for that matter, lets go back a few centuries and observe a few other copulating examples of penile servitude and labial mastication. (I hope you're reading this Ms. Greer!).

What the hell was Napoleon Bonaparte thinking when he marched a few hundred thousand soldiers to Moscow, discovered that he probably couldn't get in and promptly turned around and marched his troops back home again - losing about half of them to death from the freezing cold or desertion? You call that man a conqueror - crap! He only had one thing on his mind : prove to that sweet little bitch, Antoinette, that his dick really could be massaged by his hand in his breast pocket because he was Emperor of the world! And the poor sucker died of lead poisoning - yeah sure - died from severe penile swelling caused by too much lead in his pencil because she wouldn't give over.

But I digress - again. The point is (and I admit the some of the facts as they are alleged to be, are deliberately distorted to protect the innocent), that I question what were the lovely beaus of these manly man weapon wielders were doing to the poor guys heads in the meantime.

It's strange that there are no armies comprising of women. Females don't appear to be sociologically inclined to band in groups, wield weapons and plunder, pillage and rape just to prove how tough they are - but they'd sure as hell be mean mother fuckers every fourth week. Many military complexities would occur when at any one time roughly 25% of them decided they just wanted to lie down and have a cup of tea and then at a moments notice, want to rip your balls off!

That's part of the beauty of the female race - they are just so unpredictable. But, beware, they have learned to compensate by exerting their biological mood swings in a manner that undermines the entire future of the male species.

Men need to be aware that they are the hapless victims of a sinister plot secretly waged by women to undermine their authority and their usefulness. Do not be distracted by the media hype declaring that men will soon become obsolete in their biological role as implanting seeds for their offspring - that is a clever ploy to encourage men to find new ways to entertain women to perpetuate the myth that they actually care about us.

Men have become subservient to the female aura - the mystery of the female orgasm has fostered the desire to prove that they can satisfy the female libido.In fact my research leads me to believe that men are inclined to believe that women are directly controlled by their regular biological and physical circumstances, that they are in fact slaves to their primitive genetic urge to seek out the best mate and reproduce - and that is all there is, everything else is an illusion.

An illusion! I hear you say - no surely not? Come on guys get your dick out of your hands and have a look around you. I'll summarize the schedule in point form as we follow the growth of the female from birth to death :

All babies cry when they are born only because they get a slap on the bum. Boys enjoy it - like "hey cool, I passed out for a bit - let's party". Girls cry because you disturbed their nap.

Little girls at kinder get jealous that they've got nothing to play with between their legs.

Little older girls at primary school wear dresses because they want to be able to show you (very quickly) that their knickers look real pretty.

Bigger little girls at secondary school have noticed the attention men give their mothers and mimic the preening, prancing, attention seeking habits their aging, strung-out, sexually frustrated role models exhibit.

At puberty, the mother lode take their innocent charges aside and relieve the stress of discovery of regular lunar inspired bleeding for the majority of their lives by delivering the news that they must be nice to find a nice man to breed with and have nice kids.

(Woops - that should be enough - where do the sweet innocents go from here?)

Suddenly, those lovely legs look even better with less knickers.

The discovery that she actually had the ability to restrict and regulate his copulating by feigning embarrassment over such a yucky thing as blood and such a silly thing as a headache.

The realization that multiple orifices seem to excite the male for no apparent reason offered a whole range of possibilities for male exhaustion and female multiplicity that do not lead to pregnancy but actually increase their status as playthings.

Awareness that boys like toys and seem to have control of their lives and girls can satisfy a demand that boys are willing to pay for.

The availability of sex toys that bypass the need for real penile penetration.

"Gee. I only have to open my legs and be able to cook a good meal and he'll do anything for me".

"Cool, I can stay home all day, not actually having a job and he will slave at the Mammoth Pit all day, make money, take me out, be polite just so he can slip that silly train in my tunnel and blow off some steam"

Pregnancy swells them to the size of a blithering, waddling, deformed, ugly, moody, baby mammoth and they wonder if they are still desirable.

After childbirth, the body does not quite return to its normal shape and it is suddenly apparent that there are other female predators taking an interest in their sperm store.

The post child female enrolls in the "Other Mothers Gossip Club" which is actually a pseudonym for "Lets Get Together and Share Stories of How I Fucked Over My Neanderthal Tosser For a Fortune Club" which is really a secret club called "Time for Another Drinkies Darling".

Lonely, sexually frustrated middle aged female pulls out all stops to recapture her youth by spending enough money on cosmetics, massages, joggers and lycra pants to put an entire generation of Nigerians through Medical School.

Consumption of alcoholic beverages increases to the point that her obstetrician starts wearing beer glass goggles so that she feels comfortable.

Suddenly it's no longer necessary to be a bitch because of the monthly cycle - now it's just good enough to be a bitch because they can.

And the most blessed thing of all - the dick wielding, chest beating behemoth doesn't realize that after working all his life for HER, he's going to die first, leaving her a vast fortune, house, car and retirement fund and complete unfettered access to all his desperately horny rich friends.

(Now that's a Wildlife Species Special I really wanna' see David Attenborough do!)

But I digress again. Although I still find it legally fascinating that you do more time in a personal prison for Divorce than you do in a real prison for Murder.

Are you beginning to see where this is heading - maybe not, okay.

Just remember one thing - there is a place in the universe that not many men understand, it is a place were few have the courage to go and few have had the opportunity to visit and return from unscathed. It is a place of confusion and delusion, a realm of deceit, a scene set for a disaster, a place where only the brave man will venture for fear of castration, and a place in a space that is a woman's place - and she wants it all.

And now I will take you back to the beginning.....watch the swinging watch and listen to my commands. When you awake, everything will be better once you listen to this:

Male and Female do no longer exhibit the accepted anthropological traits of Hunter, Gatherer, Collector, Nurturer (Margaret Mead - eat your heart out). We are now from here on in, only classified in TWO categories : Trainer and Fetcher.

The male has become a willing participant in the female training programme. Men are being trained to obey. Women don't really know what they want - all they know is that from the moment they are born, they don't have something men have - a PLAYTHING. So to compensate for their ignorantly self perceived deprivation they practice a game of manipulation and control. Face it, every girl wants to be a boy because he can DO things and GET things that she cannot conceive of and doesn't know how to get.

A women will spend her life not knowing what she really wants (she's not quite sure of her place in the world - evidenced by her obsession with cosmetic and fashion imagery and illusion). But she will spend an inordinate amount of time and energy searching for things that she thinks she might want.

The 'Man Training' programme is her way of controlling any situation to her advantage so that if, just on the off-chance that she finally does see something that she does want, the man who is so desperately clutching her bosom will not even question his motives, but instantly come to attention, chase and retrieve, just like a well trained pet.

Of course the root of the problem still remains nevertheless. She does not know what she wants, but as long as she has trained a man to fetch it, he will keep on fetching and providing even though it's not really necessary. Instinctively, his dick needs a home - and she knows it.

Now I am well aware that many will think that this all nonsense and I have no idea what I'm talking about. Well I am going to sum this all up with one example that I want Men and Women to think about.

When a man goes to stand and relieve himself in the toilet bowl, and the household members are also female; he instinctively knows (through diligent training) that he must lower the seat for the next delicate female derriere to comfortably position itself thereon in such a manner so that she will not soil her pretty little fingers by touching any part of the urinal lid or seat.

Well, f..k you princess, there's a new game in town, and you, bitch is gonna' learn it.

When a man goes for a piss, it doesn't matter if he splashes or squats, sprays or prays - all he's gotta' do afterwards is PUT THE SEAT DOWN AND THEN THE LID. The point being that she is now going to lift the lid herself - MAKE THE BITCHES WORK FOR IT. (she's going to have to DO something for HERSELF).

Besides which, you're covered dude. You put the lid down for hygiene purposes and you don't know who will be there next. This is ANTI-DISCRIMINATORY. Men should no longer be treated as lesser equals.I don't wanna put the seat down any more - "you freakin' do it". Goddamn it - I've never seen a female put the seat UP for me!

But, I digress again.

My point is that I need to remind you about the War, any Wars, all Wars. I don't think that Anne Chamberlain was really that happy with her garden out the front of No. 10 Downing Street. In fact, she probably wasn't really happy with the wedding ring, or the car, or the school the kids went to, or the fucking silver tea set, or her pissant (sic) husbands profession or handling of the country. No way was she happy with anything, but she knew she could be happier if she could get what she thought she wanted and she knew she had just the man to do it for her.

I can almost hear Barbara Bush whispering in hubbies ear - "I want Iraq". What the hell was Helen of Troy thinking, or Cleopatra or Mrs. Genghis Khan or Mrs. Stalin thinking, or Cherie Blair or Janette Howard or any of the other thousands of females who stood silently behind their powerful partners succinctly whispering sweet juicy promises of endless passion and devotion in return for a seat on the observation deck on the sinking stinking ship of greed.

Big things start off little. It doesn't take long for a female to realise that if a man can get her a bunch of flowers, he can get her a bunch of diamonds. If he can get her a piece of land and build a house, he can get her a country or few and all the chattels attached and maybe even an empire.

Female intuition is an amazing thing but their ability to survive, thrive and dominate is a terrifying thing - God help any man who incurs her wrath.