A Confederacy of Broodmares

An excessively honest examination of female nature.

This is an idiotic piece to write, for a couple of reasons. The first reason is, inasmuch as it’s targeted at females, it’s an exercise in futility. Nothing falls on deafer ears than the suggestion to a modern woman that she is, after all, only a woman.

If you tell a man he’s got hardwired limitations...but, see, you don’t have to tell that to a man; not one with any IQ points to speak of, at any rate, because male nature requires a facing down of harsh truths. That’s how we built civilization. All those castles and coliseums and breathtaking monuments our ancestors left behind? All those societies that flourished and remained intact century after century? Yeah, that was men, and there weren’t any fucking Tony Robbinses or Jordan Petersons telling them their brain chemistry had to be just so in order to achieve their dreams. There was a promise of justice in the next life, and a promise of pain in this life—and greater pain if they didn’t get up and get to work.  

A presumption of personal irrelevance is a feature and bug of the male mind. That’s why, here in Clown World, male suicide is as common as perfectly healthy people testing positive for Covid. It’s easy to convince a man he’s useless, because the man, by default, as his genetic inheritance, sees himself as useless, unless and until he can prove otherwise. Guys didn’t willingly break their backs in mines and quarries for all those centuries, go out and get staved-in braincases and musket-balls in the bowels, because physical anguish is an end in itself.

Meanwhile, here in Clown World, what is the female of the species up to? As often as not, literally whoring; and when not literally whoring, attention-whoring. A female, it turns out, needs only permission, and faster than you can say “civilizational collapse” she’s stripped to the skin and seeing if she can get both ankles behind her head on a livestream. And if she doesn’t go that route, she’s dying her hair some toxic-waste hue, riveting metal into her face, dressing like a mental defective, barking into the void about her importance and empowerment.

And if you think the political right has natural antibodies against this sickness, just check out Fox News or your favorite online outrage mill. The lady anchors are either plastic surgeons’ pet projects and dressed like they got lost on the way to porn shoots, or they’re precociously perky twenty-somethings whose conservative philosophies run about as deep as Rachel Maddow’s cleavage. And if you think right-wing femininity is any better in real life, just check the social media profile of some paragon of maidenly virtue. Chances are her fashion sense will resemble what just a few decades ago was reserved for Skid Row hookers, and her insights, if she has any, will be the written form of the mirror selfie.  

“Thanks for tuning in. When you’re done masturbating let me tell you about the latest attack on traditional values.”

What we’re seeing with all this is the flouting of God’s most basic order—or if you like, of our most basic evolved order. And that order is simply this: women are designed, physically and hence psychologically, to be broodmares. Which brings us to the second reason this piece is idiotic. I mean, does it really need to be explained that the members of our species with milk glands hanging off the fronts of their torsos, with frail arms and cumbersome hips—with fucking incubators built into their abdomens—aren’t the ones who do the literal or figurative heavy lifting?

Women are machines, and their essential functions are (1) to invite sexual attentions, and (2) to gestate and nurture what results from those attentions. They only need the ability to make noise out of their mouths, evolutionarily speaking, to yell at toddlers toddling too close to cliff edges. They only need to understand language to have their duties and roles explained to them by the members of the species who habitually transform raw materials into sovereign states. Everything attributed to women beyond the bearing and rearing of young is flattery; vanity—social games indulged in by people who have created enough civilization that such games are possible.

Don’t get me wrong, women are what give life meaning. They represent what men cheerfully get broken and butchered for—namely, a biological future. Why do we romanticize them? Well, for one thing, because historically they knew when to keep both their yaps and their legs shut, which made it easy to regard them charitably. For another thing, their faces, their glands, even their scents—their general shapes and presences—are a narcotic. Human females, from the flowering into maturity to maybe age 35, are perpetually in heat, and by virtue of this, carry with them a reality-distortion field. The need to breed is a hard drug, and the dispensers of that drug have power that, at least currently, they don’t begin to understand. The power isn’t to mastermind, let alone build, suspension bridges or highway systems, or even to create great art; it’s simply to move men to do these sorts of things...to prove their male worth, in order to maybe, hopefully, get more than a biological contact high.

Is this unfair? It’s in perfect keeping with your own premises, you pinko halfwit. Taking the Godless commies at their word, we’re just animals, right? Well, then, our species has one job—to survive to maturity and leave offspring—and whatever gets that job done is morally right. For black widows, the male survives long enough to get off, and then the spider-bitch euthanizes him, gift-wraps him for herself, and puts him on the window sill to cool and be eaten later. If the spider-men began protesting, refusing to participate in the species program, guess what? No more black widows.

By the same exact token, to the extent we humans flout the species program, guess what? We’re failing to leave offspring, and we sure as shit aren’t doing the one thing that, as a species, sets us apart—building and maintaining civilization.

Corporate needs you to find the differences between this picture and this picture.

And the real bitch, so to speak, of this situation is that men are powerless against empowered women. Life generally, from the realm of rapacious microbes to the realm of primates with overdeveloped neocortexes carpet-bombing cities full of innocents, is shaped by violence. But women, of course, in what remains of Western civilization, enjoy diplomatic immunity from this regulating force. It’s “misogyny,” if not an actual felony, to shut them up or shut them down. Their only regulating force today is their own consciences, and due to the forces that have shaped us, lacking any outside discipline, women’s consciences are naturally feebler than their upper bodies.

Stripped of his authority, and pitted against a being whose moral sense tells her, every time, to eat that apple, the man is defenseless. His moral sense, remember, was forged in a world where, if he cut corners, his comrades figuratively or literally cut him to pieces. So the man instinctively self-critiques, falls back on honesty, seeks the proverbial square deal. Thus, when he enters into negotiations with a woman without the assumption that she will fuck him, figuratively and literally, just to see if she can figuratively or literally get a leg up, he’s destined to—figuratively in most cases—be casually eviscerated.

The unspeakably pathetic result of this world of 19th Amendments and strident skankery is that men—often even those with the testosterone levels of silverback gorillas—are held hostage by female social strategies. The goal in the Western world is no longer to avoid alien invasions, pederastic predation, or “Check Engine” lights coming on at 30,000 feet; the goal is to avoid...hurt feelings...or the mere performance of such. It’s not only impermissible to physically prevent the most preventable calamities, it’s impermissible to openly discuss the calamities’ whys and wherefores. Why? Because the septum-pierced slut next door might overhear and begin hyperventilating, and then your wife will tense up and turn on you, fearing you may be branded a bigot and get her exiled from the local coven of wine moms.

So men bite their tongues, grumble to each other, post shit like this online, fit themselves for nooses...and the collapse continues apace.

No irony. Literally worse than Hitler.

And, of course, no small number of men have adapted by out-womening women. Ostensibly male shitlibs regularly act in ways that make a sleep deprived two-year-old look like a stoic philosopher…and then, of course, as we all know, a subset of these men have found it advantageous to put on not just female behaviors, but female Halloween costumes, and wear them year-round.   

Even our supposed strongman leaders are policed by estrogenic hysterics. The dreaded Orange Man spent 2020 doing jack shit while the whole social order burned, because actually protecting our way of life, like with live rounds and concentration camps, might have triggered what? Even more violent commie tantrums? Even more fucking Hitler references on MSNBC? Even more pussy-hat marches? Trump was the aforementioned standard male, neutered and bumbling in a world whose ethos is now fundamentally feminine. Emotional meltdowns, or the mere performance of such, are our cultural currency, and the side that’s willing to spend most freely can buy and sell any mere, blathering billionaire.

I mean, look, I’m not saying women are evil. I’m just saying women are women. They don’t build, they gestate. Their minds are byproducts of their bodies, and their bodies are byproducts of the practical necessity for all humans to be grown within and fed from certain other humans. If we believe the experts—always a questionable proposition, but still...if we believe the experts, we have one or two hundred millennia of momentum pressing women to be scheming, fake, egotistical tramps. It’s how, since the human saga began, they secured the best genes for their offspring, and when that was the limit of their endeavoring, they provided an invaluable service to...mankind. But give scheming, fake, egotistical tramps the whip hand and...well, all I can say is, enjoy Clown World until the circus tents fall in on all of us...due to improperly fastened guylines.