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Masculine Presence
The Simple Solution to Sissy Polution

He had the body of a welterweight contender and the face of a Russian mobster in his 30-year prime. He picked me up for his girlfriend's own baby shower—Megan's daughter—as I was providing the ice and beverages.

When we shook hands he winced, complaining about a bad hand sprain sustained at his landscaping job and the inadequacy of his pain medication.

Was I talking to Daniro's younger stunt double from the remake of Cape Fear or had my grandmother been reincarnated in this unlikely form?

I held up my bend-fingered, bossed right hand and declared, "I know how you feel, I've broken this hand seven times and sprained the thumb severely twice and a severe sprain feels worse than clean break."

He looked at me aghast and stammered, "But, but, Mister Jim, that stuff is crazy, why do you do it?"

The conversation soon spiraled back into his many unaddressable woes and the chemistry of his brain, a subject of which he is a self-professed expert.

At the shower Megan asked me, "So what do you think of Baby's Daddy?"

"I'm thinkin' we're never winning another war on this planet—not if it takes boots on the ground."

She retorted, "I'm thinkin that this piece-of-shit better get his act together or this old Polish bitch is going to knock his wop teeth down his throat!"

I was in a lot of pain yesterday and didn't feel like making the roundtrip in and out of the Redneck Riviera to visit with Megan and her daughter and granddaughter, who has been wondering when I will return to fly her around the apartment in her plastic toy tray turned flying car.

But Megan's daughter, with full custody, was trying to discourage a visit from the absentee father, because the last time he showed up he was "high as a fruit-loop kite" and had somehow come into possession of a car and was threatening a visit.

All Megan said was, "Niki wants to know if you're coming down."

That was all I needed to hear to know what was up and I showed up in the afternoon, not wanting Megan to blow out a stent punching out her might-have-been son-in-law.

He has sometimes shown up to lose access arguments to Megan. But when he called to announce a visit, Niki said, "That's great! Mister Jim is here—You'll have someone to talk to about all your problems."

The zero then announced that he had a sudden engagement and would not be stopping by.

With these sissies that prey on the sympathies of weak women and fight mousey battles of will with strong women, all it takes to dissuade unwanted contact is a man, that will shake his hand, look him in the eye and suggest a walk in the woods behind the apartment complex.

To a large degree, the existence of such sad sack men in our society is due to fatherless and grandfatherless households, where there is no man to bar the entry of the false man. Simply being present, with honest concern for the sissy's prey, a direct-acting man serves like kryptonite to the baby-hearted deformation which passes for a man in this age of decay.

Equidistant Drowning Babies: Confessions of A Virulent Race Traitor

Add Comment
ShepNovember 28, 2017 4:10 PM UTC

Denzel seems to agree.
LynnNovember 26, 2017 6:46 PM UTC

There is no room in this story for female responsibility in mating and reproduction. Rather a large oversight, I'm afraid.
responds:November 27, 2017 1:21 PM UTC

I think, that in the slice of society I move in, that women under 40 generally exhibit dysfunctional mate preferences.
JRNovember 26, 2017 5:06 PM UTC

"He had the body of a welterweight contender and the face of a Russian mobster in his 30-year prime." Played on her sympathies? You mean gina tingles, right? Then she finds out he's beta and splitsville. This is classic reddit/redpill 101.