Three years ago I wrote a post titled “Men’s Rights Has Become A Euphemism For Sexual Loser.” I argued that the movement is made up of manginas who refuse to improve themselves. Afterwards, a part of me felt regret for blasting them. After all, we’re all on the same team, in search of happiness in an increasingly male hostile world.
So I reached out to them. I commented on their blogs. I tweeted their posts. I endured their temper tantrums about how game “doesn’t work” or is “only for sluts.” I held out hope that they would self-organize and smash feminism in the face. But nothing happened. There was no action, no “movement” to speak of. In that time they only had one victory to boast about: the removal of a Huggies commercial that was deemed offensive to dads. The sad part is that the anti-diaper activism happened outside of the MRA sphere. They couldn’t even claim it was their work. They were the reporters who arrived late to the crime scene trying to pretend they still had the exclusive scoop, but the viewers at home weren’t fooled.
The biggest problem with MRAs is that they are not activists. They are pamphleteers. They believe knowledge alone will solve the ills of the world. They believe that merely reading about how men are getting shafted will improve the status quo. They believe that one-thousand of them typing away and producing ten-thousand blog posts will change society. Men will spontaneously rise up! They will fight the matriarchy! But they haven’t, and they never will. Their movement hasn’t produced any results, only little online playgrounds where sad boys can sit in the sandbox and helplessly watch girls play with the cocky boys who understand the rules of the game.
I looked in the dictionary for the definition of activist: “the policy or action of using vigorous campaigning to bring about political or social change.” What political or social change have the men’s rights pamphleteers brought? Say MRP in one syllable. That’s the sound they make every time they sit down and hit publish on another one of their turd rants, giddy at the prospect of changing the world when a cup of strong coffee accomplishes more change to their actual turds. They are not read by the influencers of our society. They don’t have the ears of politicians, professors, or journalists. They get the occasional snarky mention from Jezebel and think they’re accomplishing something when they’re actually being used as nothing more than fodder for female bemusement or page views that help make Nick Denton richer. Even the feminists, their supposed mortal enemy, refuse to debate them on equal footing.
There are 684 woman’s studies programs in the United States. How many men’s rights programs have the MRPs helped instate? Zero. How many pro-man laws have been passed thanks to the work of the MRP? None. How many real victories can they claim? Not one. The entire men’s rights non-movement can be boiled down to one middle-aged man named Paul Elam who is carrying the weight of a thousand pamphleteers on his suffering shoulders. That’s not activism, that’s following one dude’s blog. The difference they think they’re making by cheering the public outing of false rape accusers or “male shamers” is the same difference my sister makes when she reads an article in Cosmo.
I’ve made dozens of posts complaining of American women and feminism. I’ve read a thousand articles on the internet about how they are ruining society. Aren’t I just like the MRPs? Aren’t I just another professional whiner like them? There’s a difference:
I take personal action and encourage other men to do the same.
At the same time I was complaining that American girls are fat, I was blasting inside Polish girls with perfect bodies. I tell men how to sleep with such women.
At the same time I was whining about divorce rape, I was dating a Ukrainian girl who treated me like a king. I tell other men where to find women like her.
At the same time I complain that the American economy is in trouble, I was completing another book I knew my readers would like so that I could increase my income. I provide men with a forum that contains a lifestyle section to discuss money-making tips.
At the same time I was ranting against the Skrillex haircut, I was banging a Lithuanian girl whose hair belonged in a Vidal Sassoon shampoo commercial. I tell men how feminine women are like.
Instead of taking real action with their lives, MRPs are hoping the government will one day serve their interests and give them things that me and my readers are achieving on their own. I don’t need the government to pass laws against alimony. I simply won’t marry in the USA. I don’t need the government to pass laws promoting fair child custody laws. I won’t impregnate an America girl. I don’t need the government to increase punishment for false rape accusers. I’ll cover my own back. I don’t need the government to ban trans fat to lower the weight of the population. I’ll go to Poland. While they try to change the minds and culture of 310 million Americans with their WordPress blogs, I’ll be hitting on pretty girls in a Croatian bar. I’ll be living the life that I want instead of being entitled and waiting for the government to give it to me. In the same breath they call me a pussy beggar, they beg the government for protection from pussy.
Last time I checked, the government is not forcing me to interact with American girls. They are not forcing me to live in Washington DC. I can improve my station any way I want. The reason is because I’m from the motherfucking United States of America. If I can’t figure out how to improve my appearance, learn some game, make some money from an internet side business, travel abroad to fuck women, and find happiness in the world, then no one can. I don’t need the American government to look after my interests, because I can chase after my own. Instead of listening to Paul Elam tell me that men are getting fucked, I will step out of the house and find a girl who wants to get fucked by me.
Anything that a MRP wants right now can be achieved somewhere in the world. You don’t need the government to provide it for you—simply get on an airplane and make it yours. But they rather sob silently in the closet with a box of tissues while watching women get their pussies demolished by men who have learned skills they are are too scared or lazy to even attempt. Just like how fat women use the euphemism “healthy body weight” as a rationalization to be obese, MRPs use their illusionary movement as an excuse to sit on their ass and be a loser at life.
I know you are entertained by my occasional anti-feminist rants because I read your comments. I see my stat counter spike up whenever I take a hot steaming shit directly in a feminist’s mouth, but I also get dozens of emails every month from guys who thank me for helping them. They are getting more out of what they want in life because they are acting on the advice I’m sharing. Instead of complaining about the state of society and shooting loads of ecstasy all over the men’s rights subreddit, they are making changes to their life to grab that pizza slice of happiness that is undoubtedly easier for an American citizen privileged to be born in the most prosperous country the world has ever seen. The MRPs are wasting this economical advantage by spending all their time reading blogs by guys who have no idea how to help men achieve their goals.
I want to say I’m saddened that MRAs and myself are unable to co-exist, but really I’m not. They add no value to my life and give me no answers on how to navigate the modern world. They were faced with a choice: spend all their free time on blogs or approach a god damn woman. They picked the former. For that I have no respect for them. The storm has arrived and they are the dead weight that must be quickly tossed overboard to prevent the boat from capsizing.
The only true regret I have is that as part of the “manosphere” I’m automatically grouped in with those guys, who are even bigger losers than I could have imagined three years ago. By saying that I know they will hate me now more than ever. They will say I’m using “shaming language” and that I’m hurting their feelings, but they should thank me for this righteous shame because it’s the only way they will see the dead-end road they have taken. From the bottom of my dark heart I want to give them a piece of advice that I sincerely hope they take: before you decide to change the world, try changing your own life first.