Search Results for: Pussification

Premature Ejaculation

Men & Women, Pussification Parade

Happily, I speak not using the current meaning of the word “ejaculate”, but from the Latin combination of ex  (out of) + iaculere  (throw).   So in the traditional sense, I mean to “exclaim” or “cry out”.  (Incidentally, the same is true of “exclaim”:  ex + clamare — to shout.)

And all because of this statement:

Sean Penn has claimed “cowardly genes” have led people to “surrender their jeans and put on a skirt”.  The actor was asked about his views on masculinity by the Independent, after stating that he “believes that men in American culture have become wildly feminised” in a prior interview.  Asked to clarify his comments, Penn said: “I think that men have, in my view, become quite feminised.”

Now, not that Sean Penn should be taken as an authority on anything, of course, but as Longtime Friend Trevor (who sent me the link) remarked:  “You were vilified for saying the same thing years ago.”  And indeed I was, when I published The Pussification Of The Western Male lo so many years ago.

What’s really interesting was that I was complaining about the girlymen of the 1990s;  the girlymen of today would make those guys look like John Wayne by comparison.

And rather than link back, I’ve decided just to re-publish the old thing under the fold: Read more

Ahhh Those Old Wounds Just Never Heal

Snowflakes

From some guy, not one but four (consecutive) emails about The Pussification Of The Western Male :

re-reading your famous column and i gotta say, you’re a truly repugnant human being, and I’m glad your wife is dead.

…followed by:

i mean that from the bottom of my heart

… then:

she probably hated you

and finally:

fascist fat fuck, i hope the diabetes takes you out soon.

Back when Pussification was still freshly published, I got far worse emails, so this isn’t even decent invective.

Rough guess:  age about 19, at college doing some worthless “Studies” course and could well still be a virgin.  (Age revealed by lack of capitalization, level of outrage ditto.)  Otherwise, it could have been written by his “Studies” professor, but the grammar is usually better in cases like that.

Also, note that he had to send me his invective across four emails — i.e. delivered in Twitter-sized bits.  Dead giveaway of his age, right there.

I could publish his email so you guys could have some fun with him, but why bother?  No point wasting anybody’s time on this twerp.  I don’t even have diabetes.

Oh, and Mr. Burns, help yourself:

Whiny little bitch.

Polls Apart

Crime, Politics, Pussification Parade

I see this from the Rassholes:

Voters are ready to jail or fire senior law enforcement officials who illegally targeted President Trump.

This is all part of the pussification of American society, because I’m pretty sure that if the polls were taken exclusively among my Readers and those of similar ilk, “jail” would disappear altogether and be replaced with “hanging, drawing and quartering”, “scourging” or “flaying”, with the tender-hearted among us (there may be one or two) favoring “tar ‘n feathers” and similar, more-humanitarian punishments.

We are, after all, talking about sedition if not treason.  And it was either started by, or actively condoned by, the guy at the top at the time.

And if you don’t at least smile grimly at the thought of Comey, Brennan, Clapper et al.  being the featured attractions at a noose party, I don’t wanna talk to you.

Me, An Influencer? Right

The Gun Thing

I’m sometimes asked why I don’t try to “monetize” this website — i.e. earn good money from it — because many people consider me something known as an “influencer”.

I’ve always thought the word’s closest synonym was “product pimp”.

I supposed I have influenced people to some degree;  certainly, this email’s theme is by no means uncommon:

“Kim, before I started reading your blog, I thought I was doing okay, I mean with my guns.  I kept my dad’s old service revolver in the drawer next to my bed (which I hadn’t fired for over a decade, by the way).  I had an old Marlin .22 rifle for dealing with pests on my property, and a 12-gauge shotgun that Dad used to go bird-hunting with.  I doubt whether I had more than a couple boxes of ammo for each.
“Then I found your blog because of the Pussification  essay, and as I read more and more of your writing, something changed in the way I look at guns.
“Now I have about 15 handguns of various calibers,  six (SIX) .22 rifles ranging from a “sporterized” Ruger 10/22 all the way up to an Anschutz 54 (which I use for competitions — yes, I compete in NRA Smallbore now).
“Don’t ask me about centerfire rifles.  I started with a .30-30 lever gun, and now own several mil-surp Mausers (thanks to your continuous praise for them, my favorite is a Venezuelan in 7×57) as well as another four in various calibers.  I’m not much into shotguns, although I did buy a couple pumps which I keep around the house and garage, just in case.  You know what I mean.
“But that’s not the worst, even though my wife of thirty years has put her foot down and refuses to let me put another safe in the spare bedroom which is now where I clean and fiddle with the guns.  The worst is that I’m running out of space to store the ammo.  Every year on National Ammo Day I buy about ten thousand rounds of various sizes, and that’s not counting .22 ammo which I buy on pretty much a monthly basis, a few thousand at a time.  I don’t know why because I think I have close to 100,000 rounds of .22 stored up, but I shoot so damn much of it, I’m scared of running out.
“My life has become much more enjoyable, but I am now considerably poorer.  And it’s all your fault.”

If that’s what being an influencer means, then I guess I am one of those.  What gets in my way is that I have always steadfastly refused to endorse any specific product, simply because I don’t want to paint myself into a corner.  What if I’m (say) a Savage endorser, and I hate one of their new products?  I should point out that I’ve been approached on several occasions by various manufacturers, but as soon as I lay down my conditions, the offers are withdrawn.  (I told one guy that I couldn’t understand why he was interested in me when practically every writer in the gun mags was sucking his dick already.)

So I guess I’ll never become one of these product pimps, either by choice or because, as far as I can tell, all my Loyal Readers have personal arsenals and ammo supplies which exceed that of the writer above and they don’t really need much “influencing” at all.  The market for my influencing, in other words, is almost non-existent.

There is one group where I have been a major influencer, but I’m saddened to have been one.

Over the past sixteen or so years I have probably taught close to two hundred women to shoot, and I’m sorry to say that at least a third have been women who were being victimized by vengeful ex-boyfriends or ex-husbands, and who felt the need to protect themselves by owning a gun to fend off these pricks.  I taught them to shoot, and helped them pick the gun which suited them the most, and in a couple of cases actually lent them one of my own guns if they couldn’t afford one right way.  One girl, who was 19 at the time and was in danger from some asshole stalker, kept my loaner gun for three years  until she was finished college and got her first job.  Then she bought the gun from me out of her first paycheck.  (In case you’re interested, it was a Ruger SP101 .357 Magnum and I charged her a hundred bucks for it.  It’s not like she became a thoracic surgeon or something.)  She was/is an outstanding shot, and she still writes to me on occasion, sending me pics of her latest targets.  I pity the fool.  

Sorry, I veered off the topic there for a moment.  Back the the influencer thing.

I admit that I’d like to make money off this website — I mean serious money — but it seems that most of these other product pimps do their thing on FaecesBook, Twatter or InstaCrap, and I refuse to be part of those platforms [200 reasons omitted].

Whatever.  As with so many things, the price of entry to this game isn’t worth the possible reward, so I’ll never become one of these people.  I can’t say it bothers me that much.

Oh, and Samuel, if you read this post, I took the liberty of cleaning up your grammar and taking out the insults.  And let me know how that new P938 works, willya?

Isn’t That Special?

Bad News, Pussification Parade

“Never marry outside your class.”

As a conservative man, one of the old customs I’ve always respected is that nobility / royalty always kept a closed shop when it came to marriage.  If a royal princess came of marriageable age, some other royal prince would be found — mostly in Europe — to be her husband, and ditto for the future Earl Whatsit to find himself a brood mare wife among the dozens of well-bred girls available either locally, or else abroad.

Yes I know, such customs have led to inbred morons and black sheep in the various families, but over time, the benefit of said unions have outweighed the potential disadvantages.  Both parties know the rules of the game, and behave accordingly.

There have been some notable exceptions to this rule, of course, most notably in the case of Prince William’s wife, the former commoner Kate Middleton (now the Duchess of Cambridge) who will one day became Queen Catherine of Great Britain.  As a commoner-turned royal, she has been an outstanding success and is a tribute to Britain’s Royal Family.

Credit: Euan Cherry/WENN.com ORG XMIT: wenn29585715

The same cannot be said for the other prince (William’s brother Harry) who not only married someone way below his class, but a foreigner to boot, who not only has no background in the vagaries of Britain’s class system (not always a Bad Thing, mind you) but also seems determined to inflict her New Age / New Woman bullshit on the long-suffering Windsors.  Hence:

Once he was a beer-drinking bachelor with a penchant for fast food, who was most likely to be found at the heart of the party.
But then our action man prince met a free-spirited Californian actress living by the ethos that most things can be ‘cured with either yoga, the beach or a few avocados’, as she wrote on her now-defunct blog The Tig.
And the rest, as they say, is history.
Ever since Prince Harry met Meghan Markle something has changed. Last week they were spotted leaving a Notting Hill wellness shop which offers ‘energy healing’ and meditation with ‘singing bowls’.
Then it was revealed they had stayed at Heckfield Place hotel in Hampshire for three nights. It boasts an organic ethos, a yoga studio and a spa offering ‘all-natural treatments’, and holds mind-expanding talks on subjects such as ‘How the world thinks’.

And it gets better:

The Duchess of Sussex has delivered an astonishing snub to the Queen’s highly-regarded doctors, insisting she doesn’t want ‘the men in suits’ to oversee the birth of her first child.
The Mail on Sunday can reveal that, in a significant break with Royal tradition, 37-year-old Meghan has appointed her own delivery team, led by an unnamed female doctor.
Royal Household gynaecologists Alan Farthing and Guy Thorpe-Beeston – who is a specialist in high-risk births – attended at the arrival of all three of the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge’s children. They are among the best in the world but neither has been given the leading role in Meghan’s care.

FFS.  The only was this could get any worse would be if the “unnamed female doctor” turns out to be that chick from Gray’s Anatomy.

Look:  Britain has had a long and storied tradition of eccentric royals, most of whom were kept out of view of the public (unless they were actual monarchs, in which case they were kept more or less in check by Parliament).  And over time, their effect on the Royal Family has been either minimal or else forgotten.

Nowadays, of course, there is no privacy for Royal Loons, and the tabloid press (no longer restrained by lèse-majesté  laws of old, more’s the pity) seize on every little eccentricity and bray it out loud to the world.

In the grand scheme of things, of course, none of this matters — especially to us Murkins, who look on these goings-on with, at best, bemused indifference — and in centuries to come, the Pussification Of Prince Harry will be (perhaps) just a footnote in someone’s book about royal foolishness.

But for those like me who are interested in things like tradition and long-established customs (especially when they’ve been proven to work), this dim-witted modernist broad has done more damage to the Royal Family than Hitler’s bombs.

AP Photo/Evan Agostini