a classic & memorable rant by necsys

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Rant

Y’know, I’m trying to be more positive in my journal these days. Which is why I haven’t posted much. If you can’t post something nice, don’t post anything at all.

But today I’ve got a rant that just needs to be ranted. A few, actually, but I’ll cut it down to one.

Femihippinazis

I love women. I love damned near everything about them. What I hate about them is mostly society’s fault. Things like glitter, phrases like “talk to the hand” and all that other bullshit that is generally society’s fault, and not genetics.

I generally run my life on the “99.999% Asshole”, which states that “99.999% of all people, of every race, creed, gender or fandom, is an asshole. And probably a total idiot too”

That said, everything cool is an exception to that rule. Every cool chick is just one out of a hundred or a thousand. Every cool guy is one in a thousand. Every cool Star Wars fan is 1 in 1000.

You get my point.

So today’s target:

99.999% of Women who affiliate with Wicca, Paganism, or Satanism.

Now before you even start to get huffy and defend yourself, sit back and think to yourself… “this doesn’t apply to me, I’m the exception”. You’re probably lying to yourself, and that’s why this DOES apply to you.

99% of women in the industrialized western world are under this delusion that they are somehow important or have worth. They are of course wrong. The 1% that does have worth are doing things to help mankind in some way. They’re raising their kids in a safe, logical, intelligent, nurturing environment. Or they’re going to work every day and doing a good job in spite of the fact that her coworkers are a bunch of dumbasses. She’s curing cancer or splicing DNA. Or she’s just cooking dinner and gives a great blowjob and can carry on a decent conversation for an hour or two without mentioning makeup or accessories.

But the other 9 out of that 10 are… Well… Just dumb bitches. Just like 9 out of every 10 guys… Ok, 999 out of every 1000 guys… Are weak-minded, thick-headed dolts who have little more to contribute to society than the occasional sperm-filled gym sock or a slimy trail across any given paved surface. (Remember ladies, I love you more than the guys) (just kidding, guys) (no really, ladies, you’re my favorite)

What I really hate are the women who, instead of being a stupid blonde bimbo who waves her cave-o-wonderful around for gifts and trinkets from some neanderthal who will happily wave his wallet and his phallus at anything in possession of sufficient mammary glands, decide they would rather rationalize that they are somehow empowered goddesses who fornicate, not for money like a common prostitute, but to enslave men to do their bidding. (i.e. buy them stuff)

Of all the things the women’s rights movement wanted to accomplish, I’m sure it was to make all the women who were submissive, ditsy blondes who spent all their time on their back because men had power and they didn’t, turn into delusional, ditsy black-haired pseudo-pagans who spent all their time on their back lying to themselves that they somehow “turned the tables” on the guy that is currently spelunking in her gaping chasm.

I have no problem with prostitution. As far as I’m concerned, putting a $5,000 diamond on a girl’s finger and paying $200 for a hummer are pretty much the same thing. Why you pay the premium for supplemental nagging, I’ll never know. But let’s not kid ourselves here.

Since the dawn of man, guys beat their chest and caught the biggest brontosaurus they could so they could impress the cave girl with the biggest pterodactyl eggs in her bra. And the cave girls got their knees dirty for the cave man that brought home the biggest uncut rose quartz crystal he could accidentally find while he tripped down the side of a mountain trying to avoid a saber toothed tiger. Cave girls had low standards, and in that respect, little has changed.

Now our little cave girls look for things like a Mercedes or some nice Bling. A doctor or a lawyer. And our cavemen hunt BMW’s, Rogaine and Viagra to impress those big mammaries.

Because deep down, it’s all about that one special thing that a man and a woman do when they’re deeply in love, and share an indescribable spiritual bond, a connection beyond all others: Fucking. Deep, and hard.

But back to femihippinazis…

While the Britney’s and the Krysta’s and the Candi’s of the world drag it through the gutter for loose change, a more elitist form of woman raises up in their black patent leather platform heels and mock the lowly blonde bimbos. They toss their jet-black hair over their shoulders and cackle loudly that they are superior to these weak, subservient whores, that men bow before their feminine power, that the goddess within manifests its will in others with a mere glance or devious smirk.

Which is why they have myspace accounts to write poetry in, never ceasing to use big words like “sadness” or “desolation” or “sanguine lust”, in-between torrid love affairs that always end in gut-wrenching heartache and sadness because their man-slave decided to go get spanked by a blonde bimbo instead of them. Livejournal accounts to seethe in, and channel their goddess energy against their district manager for not appreciating that they came in on a holiday after 3 straight weeks of being out sick with their new, barely legal man-slave that has purple hair and “plays in a punk band, but not a crappy punk band, a punk band that breaks new ground an doesn’t play by anybody’s rules but their own. They’re called ‘I hate my stupid parents and I want to die alone with my Sega Dreamcast’. It’s supposed to be ironic”. Be sure to emphasize the word “Ironic” as though it’s a foreign word that only you know the meaning of.

That’s TRUE empowerment. Read 2 chapters of some Wiccan (circa 1960′s hippie book, see neo-Pagan) or Neo-Pagan (circa 1990′s hippie book based loosely on a Celtic aesthetic to which nobody can truly claim to know anything about because the original Celtic pagans didn’t leave much in the way of writing) or The Satanic Bible, and you’re well on your way to casting spells upon those that would harm you and bind their bitch asses to Wisconsin and back!

You are woman. Hear yourself roar.

After your crash course in Majik Spellz, you are prepared to dominate the male species. See how they cower before you like they do before no man. The same way they cower before a really tricked out Honda Civic, right before seeing the Lamborgini that makes them prematurely evacuate the contents of the shallow end of their gene pool. That Honda is DAMNED impressive, and makes them go “ooh! aah!” but it’s because they’re amazed, not by its power or speed, but by the fact you can take a tinker toy and make it go really fast, almost like a real car.

And that is how these men see the femihippinazi. It’s impressive. For a dumb bitch.

I’m sure Anton LaVey really wanted to promote the idea that being a cheap, self-deluded prostitute was vastly superior to handling yourself like a responsible adult. That instead of finding the strength to empower yourself, you must sap it from exterior sources that have dark, mystical aesthetic value to better suit the foul mood of your latest menstrual cycle, and construct a crystal cathedral of lies and delusions that you’re not a weak, worthless failure of a human being who can’t find the strength to lift their engorged vaginal tissue off of the sweaty dance club’s bacteria-laden floor.

So before you quit your well-paying, stable day job, and leave your life of loathsome responsibility and relative security, you have to ask yourself… Would the goddess within rather make $50,000 a year under a glass ceiling, or $100 a dance on top of a table?