Growing up Irish in Boston, n*&%$#s were not the huge factor that they are or would become in most east coast cities. In fact, one event when I was a boy may well illustrate the path of masculine decay that has led to the pets of the [those who shall not be named] becoming the undisputed lords of the streets, which, when you think about it, is quite pathetic.
Myself and this other boy were duking it out, having a scrap, just getting started going at it. We would fight on the least pretext, the other boys gathered around shouting encouragement and whatnot. When all was said and done the combatants were as likely to emerge as friends as to harbor any real animus. There we were: circling, jabbing, looking for an opening and this car pulls over. I don’t recall what kind of car—something high end but not top of the line. This would have been perhaps 1990 late eighties maybe.
And this man, a somewhat sissy looking man I thought, not overtly masculine, gets out of his car, walks over and gets between us, saying something about how we shouldn’t be fighting and should make up and be friends.
Make up?
We weren’t girls!
Friends?
We were already friends!
There we stood, aghast at this, this faɡɡot preaching against the sacred rites of boyhood and a solidarity welled up. I piped up, now standing shoulder-to-shoulder with my erstwhile opponent, “You mean, you never fought when you were a kid? Is that what’s a matter with you?”
My opponent speaks up with a might less compassion, “Are you fucking gay or something? Are you a faɡɡot?”
The man is now backing away, horror writ small on his faɡɡot brow and we break into a chorus of abuse, “Queer, turd-burglar, cock-sucker, faɡɡot,” as he backs towards his car and speeds off with a look of incomprehension on his face. One has to imagine, that this was possibly some MIT fuck or some Ivy League piece of shit who eventually found his way into a think tank or a public policy foundation. Thinking back to that, nothing about the current state of American masculinity surprises me.
Paleface Sunset: A Guide to Cultural Resistance in the Age of Felonious
Off topic here but you may see how I got there. I once was going to sponsor a Little League baseball team in Berkeley, Ca. The city had approved everything and had gotten my deposit, tee shirts were being manufactured and then some little fruit on the city counsel noted that the team's prospective name was, in his view, obscene. The counsel argued a bit, back and forth, and weighed in on the little fag's side. I sold the team jerseys on line for a while. "The Back Side Spacklers" the team doomed by a peter puffer to never exist. Oh well, it's a sad day in our country and indeed, our democracy when one is disallowed to dream and realize that dream by people who feel superior to "breeders" not due to intellect or putting in a hard day's work but but what choice of genitalia they choose to imbibe, indeed poles that do smoketh. And while they are strutting all the worse aspects of a woman's bitchiness they then claim they "don't do fish" thereby proving the only discrimination that matters to them is you refusing to pick up the soap.