Once upon a time, you may recall, women were denied the right to vote, couldn’t own property, were prevented from having careers of their own. Well, it turns out that all of these pesky “restrictions” weren’t really restrictions at all! They were protections that men provided women out of the goodness of their hearts. Men protected women from the terrible burdens of voting and property-owning and so forth, because they just cared about women so much.
Or at least that’s what a lot of Men’s Rights Activists seem to think, judging from this highly edifying discussion in the Men’s Rights subreddit.
![rogersmith25 325 points 1 day ago As I read /r/mensrights[1] more and more, it is becoming increasingly clear to me that the primary female privilege is empathy. If a woman or girl is hurt, people care. If women are kidnapped, there is international media attention. If women are killed, their deaths are highlighted. If there is a conflict between a man and a woman, then people will jump in to defend the woman. If women are under-represented in an area, people want to take action to make things "equal". If a man is hurt, it's funny. If men are kidnapped, we hear silence. If men are killed, their deaths are glossed over. If there is a conflict between a man and a woman, people will attack the man. If men are under-represented in an area, the president will call it a "victory" (as he did regarding the female majority in colleges). Basically, people are programmed to have more empathy for women than men. 200 years ago, that empathy manifested itself in keeping women safe from harm by having them stay home to raise the family rather than die on battlefields or toil in mines. It was empathy not misogyny that kept women from having careers. Present-day, work is safe in offices, so today we have campaigns for women to earn more money and yet have more "balanced" lives where they can both raise a family and earn an "equal" career and, in other words, "have it all". permalink save report give gold reply [–]sierranevadamike 82 points 23 hours ago wow... as a history major, I never looked at the "repression" of women throughout history as empathy rather than misogyny. I NEVER considered this option.. blew my mind.. thank you](https://i0.wp.com/www.wehuntedthemammoth.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/empathy1.png?resize=567%2C594&ssl=1)
It wasn’t just sierranevadamike who was “blown away” by rogersmith25’s comment: the Men’s Rights mods were so impressed that they reposted it and pinned it as the top post in their subreddit.
Apparently every day is “Opposite Day” on the Men’s Rights subreddit.
EDIT: Here, courtesy of Cloudiah, some more pictures of girls and women protected from that big nasty world out there.
The joke will be that the people salivating for a mad-max style apocalypse will find one. They’ll survive by the skin of their teeth, fighting off zombies and cannibles as they defend their hovel of a home. Ten years will turn them into grisled war veterans, shades of their former selves but alive.
And just over the hill will be the new city society has rebuilt.
(By the way, I’d be terribly useless on my own in an apocalypse. Never been in a fight, never spent a night without a comfy bed, and my profession of software programming would be pretty useless without a laptop. I feel like I could get along pretty well though… maybe I’ll be the cook that puts together elaborate menus I dream of one day making while serving the same gruel I serve every night…)
kirbywarp- I am equally useless but in a mad-max style apocalypse, my job would be to bring people the daily joy of Bootsy.
Brain bleach time: 🙂
redpoppy, ooh ooh ooh! We could start a cult! Mad-max style apocalypses always have cults, right? And it’s topical and modern because anime kittens! We could be living our lives dedicated to our lord and master Bootsey, who will one day descend to earth and rapture us to the mystical land of Intor Nets where there are literally millions of kittens and some weird thing called a cheezeburger that everyone can has!
My mind keeps going back to that book (and movie), Alive…where it’s co-operation that keeps the survivors of the Uruguayan plane crash in the Andes going, for ten whole fucking weeks on an arid mountain right next to a volcano. They had no provisions on them other than a few snack-type items, and some duty free wine and rum. Even when they had to scavenge the corpses of those who were killed in the crash (and a subsequent avalanche), it’s still a tremendous co-operative effort that kept those guys going. Even the strongest of them wouldn’t have made it without the help of the others.
Somehow, I get the feeling the so-called survivalists have forgotten THAT true story.
kirbywarp, you complete me. My soul is ecstatic right now.
Oh, also, I read that “At the End Of the World comment” and giggled a bit.
Anthro 101 is right! And there’s something else too.
See, this is a bit odd
It’s the Apocalypse, and for some statistically improbable fucking reason, I’m not dead yet. Maybe those hours fighting people with a sword somehow translated into being able to survive, or all that fucking cardio, what do I know. End of the world types always go on about the need for physical superiority over the huddled masses of less-abled folks who they will mercilessly cut down in their bid to secure ressource.
But I digress.
It’s the Apocalypse, and I’m not dead, and for some reason, there’s enough people alive that they’re forming marauding gangs of murder-rapists. Who are… leather-clad. Because fuckit, they saw Mad Max and lived for this moment. So they all have axes and banging hoods and those punk mohawks you always get in the end-of-the-world-scene.
And they’re kidnapping people. So walking down the burning city streets (That have been on fire for weeks now, since there’s no fire department to put them out, that’s how fire works, right?), they spring from some hidden crevice of broken up asphalt and the doomed dreams of civilization, and they decide to kidnap my friends.
Who also survived, because this is that kind of apocalypse.
So as as the leather enthusiasts with axes they are, they decide to kidnap my friends who are all prettier than me. That’s the only likely thing in this scenario, unless they’re into waifish danes or something.
OKAY; SO ALL THAT SETUP.
What is more likely? Everyone in this situation going “Holy hell, these leader-clad marauders straight out of the latest shooting of Mad Max is trying to kidnap my friends, the people that I like, and I should do my damnest best to help them, because I don’t want my friends that I like to be forced to wear leather in the post apocalypse!”
Or me smugly going, as they’re all dragged away
“Hah, serves you all right for reading that book about gender equality, mwahahah!”
?!
—————–
Seriously, what gives? That’s the weirdest thing. Not so much the retributive, vindication of their manly superior strength when the female support system of civilized society fails, but the notion that these people, who are colonist together, wouldn’t help each other? Why? Just to prove some arbitary point about gender relations?
His premise is literally that he’d be willing to abandon the people he works and lives with in at the end of the world if they were the least bit uppity to him. It’s the sort of hilarious accidental detail that just isn’t really the least bit accidental or even remotely hilarious. At least if he’d started his flunkered premise with some random “You see a complete stranger you don’t know and owe no allegiance…”.
But no. This is specfically a fellow colonist his dudester is happily arguing to abandon to roving banker gangs in the inferno hellscape that is Los Angeles in case she wanted something like “equal” rights.
That’s amazing
RE: Fibinachi
Why in the hidden names of ten thousand demons would you come back for a second shift working at a pizza place with clearly possessed animatronic monsters.
I actually find that kind of hilarious, since you are getting paid WELL below minimum wage for that job. ($120 for five days of horrorshow is $4 an hour. I babysat kids for that amount when I was a teenager!) And if you make it through day six, you get a fifty-cent raise and an “Employee of the Month” award. That’s just insulting. (If you make it through day seven, you get fired. Which honestly is the best thing that could happen to you in that game.)
RE: kirbywarp
the mystical land of Intor Nets where there are literally millions of kittens and some weird thing called a cheezeburger that everyone can has!
I like your fantasy way more fun than the one the others guys are pushing.
@Fibinachi: and they think they have the moral highground.
If you want a good horror flick, you can’t go wrong with The Shining (the original film).
They really seem to think that feminism means that no man can ever help any woman ever, because that’s bad or something. When uh, cooperation is awesome, it’s just when that “man helping woman” starts coming with a lot of icky strings like, “Well, I helped you, so you shouldn’t vote, or get a job, or be able to own property,” THAT’S when people start getting uncomfortable.
Their ideal scenario is man helps woman to (whatever), and then man helps himself to woman’s body.
Speaking of dudes imagining post-apocalyptic scenarios that would force the ladies to love/respect/obey them:
I’m doing this whole comment on my phone. I fear the blockquote monster…
Woot!
So this is kind of off topic, but thanks to TheBluePill, I found a thread all about red piller’s fears of high estrogen, and it is fucking hilarious. (Though I should warn you about some misgendering of trans people, and red pillers being redpillers.)
http://www.reddit.com/r/TheRedPill/comments/2dt4h4/what_steps_to_you_take_to_minimize_estrogen/
They’re all “My precious bodily fluids” and I’m like “LOL.”
My mom did go hormone-free milk when I was in fifth grade when my sister started developing, but it didn’t seem to work for either of us. Anyway, I was already a c-cup.
So, in summary: FEELINGS WON’T HUNT THE MAMMOTH FOR YOU! ONLY MEN CAN DO THAT!
Seriously, I want to introduce them to some of the lesbians at my husband’s church. Those be some tough old ladies. They seemed to do just fine.
Also, god knows when I read “controlled and aggressive violence,” I think, “explode.”
wordsp1nner, that is hilarious. My favorite exchange:
Response:
Yea. it’s all just to protect us poor women from the evils of the world. It’s a slippery slope, and this is one extreme end of it:
“The conditions imposed on her clothes and grooming was only to end the pretext of debauchery resulting from grooming and overdressing,” said the Islamic State in a statement.
“This is not a restriction on her freedom but to prevent her from falling into humiliation and vulgarity or to be a theater for the eyes of those who are looking.”
ISIL in Iraq, explaining why women are now forced to wear full-face veils. Feminism still has a long way to go, if you look at the world-wide picture.
The part I find hilarious about their “mad max style” apocalyptic scenario is contemplating the reaction of these dudez if they were in that situation and a woman saved their lives. I’m trying to figure out if they could live with the shame of having to admit their neanderthal ideas about men and women were wrong, if if they’d end up committing suicide-by-zombie/pillager rather than admit to being saved by a girrrrrrrl.
(FTR I can think of at least two women I’d want to be in that situation with, both of whom know Tae-Kwon-Do and would handle themselves in a fight far better than I)
My favorite part is the obsession with women’s birth control (which isn’t the biggest source of estrogen in water, anyway). It means that I have been actively misandering on and off since middle school.
Who knew not wanting to be in horrible pain was misandry?
Now I have the implant, so I can go poke my misandry whenever I want to.
Bwhahaha, these guys think GMO pot is a thing that exists.
Only in the sense that selectively breeding marijuana has increased the THC in pot, but that was all done using old-fashioned (thousands of years old) techniques of genetic modification that would not require special labeling.
Agriculture: respect it, motherfuckers.
But sure, call it GMO pot. I’ll just laugh harder.
Granted that I don’t have a penis and all, but I’m still pretty sure that you’re doing it wrong, dude.
The fact that they’re terrified of traces of lady pee getting into their body via open pores from a hot shower is the funniest thing I’ve read in a long time. I mean, I know people talk about opening up your pores, but a hot shower doesn’t turn your skin into a colander.
Random ass-fiction time! (warning: very little ass and quite a bit of darkness)
Derek knew this time would come. All those in the cult had faced their fear of death, become intimate with the spectral hand just behind their shoulder, pointing ever onwards towards fate. They had to, to survive these wretched times. Derek had lost count of the bodies he had seen strewn across this desolate landscape so long ago that he even forgot why he started counting in the first place. Yes, he knew this time would come.
He just thought it would be his corpse laying on the road.
A gang of marauders had been terrorizing the area for quite a while now, bound up in strange leather with strange hair cuts, riding beasts of steel and gasoline. They’d come roaring through the night, and anybody brave enough to stand and fight were simply mown down like the few remaining weeds in the dust. Derek couldn’t fathom how the gang could find enough nourishment and fuel to continue their raids. Maybe they owned some secret farmland somewhere in the wastes. Maybe they blazed in the night setting fire to everything not already on fire just for kicks.
Derek and Pierre had been scouting some lands far from Bootsy territory, searching for potential inductees or abandoned supplies. For the most part, they laid low, having learned how to move across the moon-lit dunes and rubble piles quickly and silently, a skill that came in handy more than once. In all fairness, the marauders were easy to avoid. An untrained ear could hear their engines screaming from a mile away, and their ever-burning torches were easy to spot from a distance.
The marauders didn’t care. They were strong, they had chains and spikes and axes. They could roll into a civic center and find only a ghost town, the residents having long since scattered. Not that they didn’t live up to the terror they induced. It had gotten to the point where Derek had heard rumors of the marauders seeking out people to cut down, because nobody would fight them any longer.
Pierre hated them. He had seen the gang at work first hand, seen them burst into the home of a family that didn’t heed the warnings. Not that the cult didn’t have it’s own dark secrets, but no cultist took such joy in the slaughter.
And then there was tonight. Derek and Pierre both heard the roaring, and Derek moved quickly to gather whatever supplies he could carry. Pierre stood up and stood still. Derek remembered his eyes reflecting the fire light, as if they could pierce the darkness and strike the heart of every single Honey Badger at once. Derek urged his partner to leave, but Pierre stood still.
The beasts of metal were soon upon them, and Derek felt fear overwhelm him. Not fear of death, mind you, but the Honey Badgers could inflict pain far worse than death. His heart wrenched as he dove out of site just as the marauders crested the hill. He watched from the bushes as Pierre brandished his knife at the oncoming gang. He saw the leader of the Honey Badgers, a brutal beast of a man (with a very cute butt), and saw his face light up like a child eating his first piece of chocolate. The marauders accelerated, their leader hefted a spiked club in the air, and Pierre stood his ground.
Derek felt like a bomb had gone off as the two clashed, flinging both pierre and the maurader leader through the air, landing with a sickening thud. The Honey Badgers turned off their engines, and all was silent.
The leader lay dead on the ground, a silver knife in his chest.
Pierre lay still, still breathing, somehow miraculously having missed the club.
The Honey Badgers stood stock still for a moment in the silence. Their leader was dead. It was as if their blood-addled minds couldn’t process the idea.
Pierre coughed, and the night exploded again.
The enemy was not dead; that is something they could process. Whooping, they lept off their mounts and shook the earth as they stampeded toward their prey. Derek shut his eyes, trying not to breath while the screams of his companion echoed in the night.
After an eternity, he heard the engines rumble to life again as the Honey Badgers rode off. Derek made sure they all had left before emerging to survey the damage. The leader of the gang was on the ground, a knife in his chest and a pool of blood beneath him. And there was pierre, a couple steps away, barely breathing but fading fast.
Derek felt blood surge through his body as he ran to his friend, and felt that energy collapse as he fell to his knees at Pierre’s side. Pierre’s mouth was moving, whispering something in between ragged breaths, and Derek recognized the death prayer. It was a litany of hope, repeated at the end of every service in the Bootsy cult, a pleading to move on towards a beautiful afterlife away from this doomed world. The response to this pleading was always “Not yet, not yet.”
And now, at death’s doorstep, Pierre made his final request.
“Ca… C…”
Derek saw his tears before he felt them splashing onto Pierre’s dusty robes.
“Can… Can I haz… ch.. cheezeburger?”
“Yes,” Derek responded. “Yes you can.”
Pierre smiled for the first time in three years, and then he was gone.
… What does that even mean? “Does soy increase estrogen?” “No, it turned my penis into a literal cock carousel.”
I really don’t get it.