wotan2

I asked my supervisor how the firm�s clients reacted to these harangues. She shrugged again. But it wasn�t hard to figure out. The firm�s clients were overwhelmingly females filing for divorce, alimony, custody and child support. No doubt the public whippings made the ladies feel secure and empowered in this �man�s world.�

In the afternoon, when I headed for the bathroom, I discovered this: a large sign on the men�s room door read �Boys.� The sign on the women�s room read �Angels.�

If the men�s room had read �Kings,� and the women�s room �Bitches,� the lawsuits and grievances would have flown from every corner of the land. The newspapers would have decried such blatant misogyny, pickets would have sprung up, and the Oregon State Bar would have started pulling licenses.

The next day, when I quit, my supervisor asked me why. I said, �I�ll never be submissive enough to work here.� I meant not only their law firm, but the entire diseased country. When they offered to pay my day-and-a-half wages, I told them to keep their blood money. I then had no job, no funds, and no rent money for next month. I did, however, still have my gonads.

The firm, by the way, is one of the most respected in Oregon � a virtual model for disempowered females seeking �justice.� It is considered a paragon of �progressiveness.�

Genderwar. Wotan�s coming.

A few weeks later I was walking in downtown Portland. I had a migraine, so against my better judgment I decided to board an afternoon bus for the mile ride up a steep hill to my miniature apartment � about the size of a modern kitchen.

Big mistake. As I boarded the bus, I saw that it was packed. Folks were standing in the back of the bus, and in the front was a group of ten or twelve middle-school girls, yakking up a storm. Fortunately, amongst them was one vacant aisle seat.

I flopped down in it and sighed, being careful to look straight ahead and touch no-one.

�Tsk. Tsk, tsk,� came from all around me. I stared ahead. Then the verbal assaults began. Not directly, of course. Instead, the girls began to talk loudly �amongst themselves.� The word �pervert� came up a lot, as did �asshole,� �freak,� and �sicko.� This for the offense of a weary middle-aged male having the effrontery to sit down near them.

Had I said a single word in defense, I well knew the consequences. The chivalrous male riders would have threatened me, and the driver would have booted me off.

Genderwar. Wotan�s coming.

At a county mental-health clinic in Albany, Oregon, where I�d previously worked as a file clerk, the women in the front office spent much of their time disparaging males, even in front of clients. One of the women proudly displayed her coffee cup with its message: �His snoring keeping you awake? Push harder on the pillow.� One day she shoved it in my face and demanded to know what I thought.

I told her the same thing I told the teenage girls in the park: �You are sick.�

I didn�t last long there either. No longer than I lasted in America�s universities, which have become bastions of misandry. When I sought scholarship funds to enter elementary school teaching � an area where males are desperately under-represented and needed -- the financial aid counselor, despite my outstanding academic record, told me flat-out: �Too bad you�re a male. I�ve got plenty of scholarship funds for women.�

No doubt. Merit is ancient history. The academy � like the rest of Femamerica � is no place for a male.

At one point, years ago, I thought that such blatant man-hating was simply my imagination and bad luck, that men in America generally weren�t being treated with such barefaced, smug cruelty. But I was wrong. They are being treated that way, and have been for decades. It�s omnipresent in our nauseating gynocratic culture. The difference between my brothers and I is that I won�t take it. I�d rather be impoverished, ill, and homeless, which is what I often the case. Small price to pay for my manhood.

Wotan�s coming.

Cutting off men�s� genitals while they sleep and throwing them out car windows is no longer sufficient for the West�s empowered woman. Men�s� emasculation now must be a public exhibition, funded by government and gloated over by propagandists who would shame Jivin� Joe Goebbels.

It�s not enough anymore merely to sever American manhood. Now an attendant art fest must be held upon the occasion, a new American holy day. Now, when we enter public buildings, we must have our penises shoved down our throats.