Admission: I used to care. It used to bother me that black people were poor. It used to make me sad that Africans starve. I used to say “We need to do something” about genocide in Rwanda. And it used to make me sad that little black kids in the ghetto grow up without dads.
Let me tell you when I stopped caring. It actually had nothing to do with black people at all. It was all due to a young, white woman who briefly made a name for herself. I saw her picture everywhere, her man-like jaw thrust out, and her lips twisted into an ugly sneer.
Sandra Fluke was angry. And liberals were angry. Why? Because she wanted to have sex with some penniless bastard, and I didn’t really feel like paying for it. And the media was trying to foment national outrage that a boring, nerdy guy like me really did not like the idea of being forced to buy birth control so that some other guy could get laid.
For me, this was the “Ah-ha!” moment that made all the lights come on. Never before had it been so transparently obvious to me that liberalism is about denying agency to a “victim” class and demanding that white males pay for the consequences of all their stupid decisions. Sandra Fluke chose to go to a Catholic college. She chose to go into some fantastic level of debt and spend all of her other money on clothes and other bullshit instead of saving some money to pay for her monthly sterilization pills. And somehow, this made it my responsibility to make sure she could have consequence-free sex with some other guy.
Now while the TRS Death Panel has unanimously agreed that sterilizing feminists is a public good, I hadn’t quite gotten to the “agreeing with liberals for the wrong reasons” stage of enlightenment.
This one hit me hard because, as a male, being told I have to step up and pay for some other guy to bust a nut in the snatch of his choice rankles me on a primal level, especially as I wasn’t getting any at the time. Being told by some smiling asshole that it’s my job to sit by and idly pay for him to blow a load in some lantern-jawed feminist’s fetid cavern is such a humiliating cucking that it finally blew up everything in my brain.
Knowingly providing a woman with house, home, clothing, and medicine while some other guy fucks her awakened the last vestige of manhood that feminism had failed to kill off. And then it started to all unravel. One progressive-driven agenda after another appeared to me to be primarily to be about demanding that I pay for some woman’s life while some other guy fucks her. Aid for Africa? American men being taxed so African males can have sex. Welfare? Prosperous men being taxed so poor men can have sex. “Equal” pay? Take away the man’s pay and give it to the woman down the hall who will report him for harassment if he says, “Hi.”
It’s cucking all the way down.
A few pundits on the right asked the forbidden question: “So, Miss Fluke, why don’t you stop having sex with men who can’t afford birth control?” Despite them being mostly shamed into silence, the question never left my head. And then other questions followed.
Why can’t a single female choose not to sleep with penniless men? Why can’t black Africans stop raping AIDS across the continent? Why can’t gay men in New York stop having anonymous, unprotected sex? Why can’t a young woman register for Calculus I instead of Intro To Women’s Issues? Why can’t Muslims stop slaughtering rape victims like pigs? Why can’t a big, fat negro avoid robbing a convenience store and attacking a cop?
And with that, I lost my ability to care. If you want me to give a shit about your problems, do something to make me think you give a shit, too. Until that time, I will happily and gleefully vote for anyone who promises to let your children starve while you die of syphilis.