The Post-Modern Meat Locker, From the Desk of an Alt-Right Woman, Part II

The biggest lie I have ever been told is that sex is not a big deal.

I am perhaps even more depressed by the number of men who have become complicit in this lie, than women. It is part of the feminist destruction, the culture corrupting scam, to convince men “that they have needs” and that a man’s value is not influenced by his sexual history. Men who have bought into this lie must believe that a virtuous woman is one who has been largely chaste, while his desirability as a partner is completely independent of whom he has slept with.

Of course, in the wake of every unfulfilled, unprincipled man who followed the needs of what was easy, are the single lost stilettos and smeared mascara streaks of those women he ravaged. A man seeking sexual diversity must pursue a new target every night he goes out – to do otherwise would inadvertently lead to a real relationship, which no lazy person would ever want – and assuming a few evenings a week to hunt, in an average career, the typical unprincipled man will have racked up conquered broads by the hundreds.

With the exception of some brief infections of reticent and unsatisfying monogamy, a man in his early 30s could be reasonably estimated to have sullied the reputation of at least a thousand women.

It is painfully obvious to anyone whose hormones have settled down that this phenomena gives permission for a man to make women less valuable, fucking the virtue right out of her before she vomits in an unfamiliar toilet and stumbles home, as well as creating the ready excuse for why he has not dated anyone long term (“I’ve got to sow my wild oats first”), and why he is still single with no prospects for a wife because any women of respectability got married already, and all the women left have been very much used and abused.

A man who believes this trope believes that he is free, just as the sexually indiscriminate woman does. He feels that he is doing what is in his nature, and that he is doing nothing wrong. He feels no shame, indeed, he often calls himself a “sex positive feminist” and waits for the pussy to rain down around him. He uses the auspices of the sexless feminist woman to become the self-same bad guy the feminists demonize. He willingly walks down the plank to be tossed into the chum, all the while insisting that his dick made him do it.

A generation has been saturated in this imbalance. They have been stripped of their familial ties to be farmed through a decade of education and shipped off to faraway colleges. They have been drawn away from their religious affiliations and fed a lifetime of lies about sex and relationships. And in their tragic twisting before the winds of reality, instead of staying their sexual inclinations to protect their virtue, this generation has invented “the hookup culture”.

The women do not even arrange their cutlets anymore, they show up in their unflattering tee-shirt dresses and “stocks and socks” to have sloppy sex with hipsters whose unwashed hair hides below an ironic fedora hat, and his music is deep and that makes him cool. Yet, there is no virtue in this life, because it is the sum total of decades of easy decisions. At every opportunity, these men and women have chosen the path of least resistance, of least effort, of fewest responsibilities, of fewest disappointments, of earliest rewards.

Where does one get, after 30 or 40 years of this? Probably a room in a rented house in Portland, an aimless master’s degree pursuit, and a part-time gig at a coffee shop. I suppose we should all aspire to retire so early. Think of the screenplays! So many screenplays.

We have been in this world, we have gone through these motions, and we have recognized that we are somehow just not buying this bill of goods. Somewhere along the way, as we waited for a text from a guy that would never come, as we were scolded by peers for putting in too much effort at school or sports, as our parents encouraged us to stay out longer and paid for us to go to colleges to “find ourselves” and we went to work like in Fight Club to do jobs we hate to buy shit we don’t need.

Somewhere within this dissatisfaction, we recognized that there once was a purpose for life, and this is not it.

What is necessary is to remind each other that the way to break out of this cycle is to simply say no. Say no to sending your kids to the funny farm while calling it school. Say no to the narrative that children must be separated from paternity, fraternity and eternity. Without the guidance of their parents, the pride of their nation, and the providence of the divine, your children will be stripped of their defenses. We have been young, we know that the temptation of rewards that are both quick and easy is very, very great.

I am a strange case. Sometimes, I feel as though I am a classical hero, who trained all my life for the opportunity to take on the greatest challenge of my age. Most of the time, I recognize that the person I have become is entirely dependent on the adults who raised me, and for that, I am grateful.

Sierra Robertson