Posted on by Ian Mandalor

Feminist gives rousing anti-male speech from podium, stage, and sound system all built by men.

At the monthly ‘All men are pigs’ rally, feminist leader, Ariel Karnt, launched into a misandrist tirade about how men are, “Not good for anything,” ignoring all the ways that men have played a role in shaping her opportunity to have freedom of speech.

For a start, the microphone she used was designed by Emile Berlinger – a male. The loudspeaker system she spoke through was created by Edward W. Kellogg and Chester W. Rice – both males. The iPhone she announced the rally on was created by Steve Jobs – a male – and the Facebook page she promoted the rally through was created by Mark Zuckerberg – a male. All of which is only able to work thanks to satellite technology and the work of NASA, founded by Dwight D. Eisenhower – another male.

Naturally, Ariel is able to avoid pregnancy thanks to the creation of the pill by Dr Carl Djerassi – a male. She is also able to vote in elections thanks to a certain group voting for women to have this opportunity – that group being males.

Ariel also drove to the rally on roads designed, constructed, and built by mostly men, in a car that we originally designed by Henry T. Ford – yet another male. And lastly, Ariel came to be thanks to her father fertilising her mother’s eggs, meaning she wouldn’t be here without, you guessed it – a man.

So, for a movement that claims they don’t need men, men sure have created a lot of inventions they benefit from, opened up the public forum for them to vote and work, and also come in damn handy when women need a fridge or a lounge moved. Perhaps rather than attacking men, women like Ariel could be more grateful for everything we have done that she benefits from.

Besides, if all men are pigs, why do you want to be equal to swine?

Posted on by Ian Mandalor

A spoonful of sugar

The doorbell rang.

Drawing a deep breath, Michael ran his hand over his freckled, bald head. Pinching his ample belly, he tried to recall a time when he only had one spare tire, instead of the current set of four that ringed his mid-section. With a grunt and a groan, he eased up off the bed, all the while glancing down at the photo from his wedding day. As Michael stared at the young, thin, and more importantly, full head of haired man in the picture, the deep breath devolved into a sigh. Subconsciously his hand moved to play with his wedding ring, until he remembered that it no longer bound his finger or his connection to his former wife. Deep down he knew he wanted nothing more than to have her back, but he also knew he’d become a Rastafarian hair model before that happened. The sigh degenerated into the beginnings of a sob, until the chime of the doorbell chopped his melancholy short. This was no time for sadness; not while he still had the kids in the house. Considering the bitter pill he was about to swallow, this was a time for action.

Entering the kitchen, he kissed young Sally and helped pull the woollen jumper over Toby’s head. It was not often that Michael had access to the kids, and considering his time was running out, he knew he had to make the most of it. Straightening Sally’s dress, he placed two bowls and two glasses in front of them and set about organising breakfast. Having been a single father for over a year now, he was an expert at cooking pancakes, squeezing fresh oranges, and cutting off crusts. This morning’s meal however, needed only one utensil – a dessertspoon. Reefing the drawer back so hard that the cutlery jumped up and down with a loud clatter, Michael grabbed three large spoons and slammed the drawer shut with his hip.

The doorbell rang again. Ripping the top off a packet of Fruit Loops, he blindly splashed cereal into both bowls and turned towards the cupboards in search of the magic ingredient. As the pantry door opened with a loud creak, its contents sent a shiver of guilt through his cholesterol bloated system: packet food, potato chips, instant meals, and a dozen bottles of Bundy Rum – the necessary supplies of all certified bachelors. Ignoring the visual reminder that he needed to start a diet – tomorrow – Michael squatted and squinted before eyeing his prize. For standing at the back of the middle shelf, hiding behind 2 minute noodles and out of date Kan-Tong bottles, he found what he was looking for – two bags of Black and Gold White Sugar. Grabbing both in one hand, he smiled to himself and turned towards the children.

The doorbell rang once more. As Sally looked up at her father, Michael quickly dolloped milk into her bowl and followed it with a two-tablespoon sugar chaser.

‘Daddy, I,’ Sally began.

‘Just eat your breakfast, dear,’ he smiled, levelling three table spoons of white gold into Toby’s bowl.

Wincing at the oversupply of sugar, Toby placed his spoon down.

‘Ick,’ he said. ‘Too sweet.’

‘Well I’ve got just the cure for that,’ beamed Michael as he took the bag of sugar and poured it into Toby’s glass of chocolate milk.

‘Finish your cereal, son. Then wash it down with a nice big glass of sugar milk.’

Sharing a look, Sally and Toby shrugged and dug in.

As Michael set about enhancing every aspect of the children’s breakfast with sugar, the doorbell rang once more.

‘Who wants sugar toast?’ a hearty Michael asked, before helping Toby steer another spoonful into his mouth. Placing a chopping board in the centre of the table, Michael proceeded to pour sugar onto the freshly cooked toast before covering it with honey. As Sally eyed the toast warily, Michael knew what this situation called for – more sugar.

‘Come on kids, you’ve got one minute to finish everything!’

‘Daddy, my teeth hurt,’ said Sally.

‘Well, the only cure for that is an extra helping of white gold,’ said Michael, pouring the remainder of the bag into her glass. ‘Cheers, kids.’

As Michael held the glasses at their mouths to encourage them to drink, the doorbell rang repeatedly. Glancing up at the clock, the second hand finally passed the 12. It was now 7.00am.

‘Come on kids, we can’t keep Mummy waiting,’ beamed Michael. ‘Now, when you’re in the car, what do you say?’ he asked.

‘Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?’ they chimed.

‘Excellent. Oh, before I forget, I’ve got a surprise for you.’

‘What is it?’ an impatient Sally asked.

‘Present, present!’ an excited Toby began.

Reaching under the kitchen counter, Michael produced two rather large bags of fun size chocolate bars.

‘Yay, chocolate,’ they shouted.

‘Shhh, it’s a secret. Put them in your backpacks, and only eat them when Mummy isn’t looking in the car, okay?’

As one, Toby and Sally threw their arms around their father before racing to their rooms. Picking up his honey and sugar covered spoon, he grinned and waited for his reward. He knew it was coming, and he didn’t want to miss it. Just then the front door was assaulted with incessant pounding, as if the aggressor wanted nothing more than to break the door down. His earlier feelings of sadness were gone now and he savoured taking his time walking to the front door.

‘Who is it?’ he asked, upbeat and sunny.

‘You know who it is, Michael! Open the door!’ barked a voice.

Opening the door slowly, Michael’s face lit up at the sight of his ex-wife, Kyla. Tall, thin, well-kept and attractive, she had lost none of her good looks from her youth. Unlike Michael, who now resembled a doughier version of the Michelin Man.

‘Oh g’day, Kyla. What a surprise,’ he beamed, taking a second to lick the evidence from his spoon.

‘Knock it off. Our lawyers arranged this pick up time three weeks ago. Are the kids ready?’ she asked, looking over his shoulder as if he wasn’t there. As Kyla rudely ignored him, he leant against the doorpost to block her view. Michael was going to enjoy every second of this.

‘So, how’ve you been? How’s your new fella, Chad is it?’

‘It’s Brad, and if you must know we are both fine. Engaged, in fact.’

‘Yeah I heard. Mrs Kyla Macgregor – got a nice ring to it. Hope it works out better than our marriage. Then again, if it doesn’t you can always cheat on him like you did me, right?’ he smiled.

‘Are the kids ready?’

‘So, heading to Ayers Rock, hey? What’s that from here, like 12 hours in the car? Long way to go with young kids in the backseat,’ he pointed out.

‘Gee, I didn’t realise. You did make sure they got enough sleep last night, right?’ she questioned.

‘Oh, they’re awake, darl,’ he smirked.

‘Don’t call me darl,’ she snapped.

‘Okay, sorry hun,’ he grinned.

‘Jesus! When are you going to grow up? You’re such a child!’ huffed Kyla.

‘Takes one to know one,’ he smiled.

As Kyla tried her best to execute the breathing practices her psychoanalyst had taught her, she closed her eyes briefly before speaking.

‘Are. The. Kids. Ready?’ she asked, biting off every word.

Looking over her shoulder, Michael spied Brad exiting his brand new black sports BMW. So this was the man who was doing his wife. Ten years younger, fit, rich and good-looking, Michael knew two things: he instantly hated him and that he sure as hell wasn’t going to show any weakness in front of this prick.

‘G’day, Chad,’ Michael said, smiling and waving.

From under his sports cap, Brad gave a slight wave whilst speaking on his Bluetooth.

‘IT’S BRAD!’ she snarled. ‘KIDS,’ she shouted.

Appearing in the doorway like a pair of Energizer bunnies, Sally and Toby shouldered their backpacks as they hyperactively bounced up and down. Standing back up from his goodbye hugs, Michael noticed how lovingly Kyla was smiling at the children. It was a smile that promised unconditional love and, for a moment, Michael questioned his actions that morning. This was the woman he had once loved, still loved, and here was he standing in the way of her new found happiness. He knew he wasn’t easy to live with, and he understood a lot of the blame for their marital breakdown lay with him and his inability to let things go. But had he been justified to do what he just did? Two wrongs didn’t make a right and maybe, just maybe, she was right – perhaps it was time he grew up and started acting like an adult. Michael knew that if he continued down this road of immaturity and grudge holding he would estrange Kyla and ruin any chance of ever winning her back. Wracked with guilt, he suddenly felt the desire, nay, need to apologise for all his childishness.

‘Kyla, wait…’ he said softly.

Noting the gentle tone in his voice and the honesty in his eyes, she hesitated, willing to give him one last chance. Sorrow shone out from his baby blues and her breath caught in her throat. Reading the acceptance of her face, a glimmer of hope sparked in his chest. This was the way to win her back – sincerity. If he told her how much he loved her and how sorry he was, maybe they could start down the path to reconciliation. It was a beautiful moment of candour that they had not shared in years, and as one they paused to take it in – paused while their overactive children jumped up and down around them.

‘Look, I just want you to know that,’ he started.

‘Yes, Michael,’ she asked gently.

As he opened his mouth to say the words ‘I’m sorry’, Michael saw Brad take off his sports hat to reveal a full head of thick, brown, luscious hair. Suddenly his feelings of maturity and level-headedness were washed away by a sea of child-like, petty jealousy. He knew then that he was not only going to continue down his road of bitter, hateful resentment, but that he was going to break the speed limit doing so.

‘I just want you to know that I almost forget to give the kids these. Can’t have a long car ride without video games, right kids?’ he said, handing over two hand-held video games to the children.

‘Wow,’ they cried.

Before they reached the front step, loud explosion and beeping noises were coming from their games as Kyla stared daggers into Michael’s face.

‘Have a good trip kids. Bye Kyla. See ya, Chad,’ waved Michael as his children spun in circles.

Seizing the moment to race back inside and hide behind his front door, Michael revelled in his accomplishment – he had just orchestrated the worst car ride of Kyla and Brad’s life. Finally accepting the fact that he would never get her back, Michael licked the remaining grains of sugar off his dessertspoon, realising that the old saying was undoubtedly true – a spoonful of sugar did make the medicine go down.

The end.

Word count:    1,881

Finalized:     2nd July, 2011  

Posted on by Ian Mandalor

Thoughts are fluid – actions are not

Trent Gates from Washington DC made a decision at the age of 23-years-old to remove his penis and testicles to become what is known as a ‘Nullo.’ Trent states he has always felt different and that being completely smooth without genitals is how he wishes to live his life. Before I continue, as a libertarian – which I have come to realise is how to best capture my political and philosophical outlook on life – it is Trent’s right to make his own choice of his own free will. As a 45-year-old man, however, I cannot help feeling sad for this young man for his decision is one he cannot reverse.

One cannot help suspect that the rabid toxic-masculine sentiment being pumped into the cyber-sphere – and our greater culture atmosphere as well – has played a significant part in the confusion that young people feel towards their gender. The media dominance of terms such as ‘gender fluid’ and the belief that ‘gender is a social construct’, create more and more cases of gender dis-morphia by the day. The teenage years are a constant search for identity and these gender-fluid labels allow for young people to get quick and easy attention from their peers and family members due to the profound implications such a transition involves. Not to say people do not have genuine gender confusion or a genuine desire to go through a transformation process, or that they should not be allowed to do so. This was, is, and always will be a complex issue. But this young man, at an age when he’s still not fully formed his identity in this world (studies show males now reach full maturity at the of 26), has made a life-altering decision in part due to the culture of permissiveness and adulation around gender fluidity.

I feel so, so sorry for this boy – for that’s what he is. He obviously does not want kids at the age of 23 – but what about when he reaches 30? Or 40? Our tastes and preferences evolve as we age and I find myself disturbed by what is being pumped into the atmosphere and how it is influencing young people to make life-altering decisions that are irreversible. People regret the tattoo they get at 23, but at least they can reproduce if they so chose. Trent isn’t the only young person who is thinking about or undertaking irreversible decisions, cheered on by anti-male feminists and pro-gay movements, and he certainly won’t be the only one who comes to realise that their adulation and likes on Facebook are fleeting but the actions they undertake are permanent – not fluid.

Posted on by Ian Mandalor

The mathematics of the left

Divide and conquer

After the spectacle of the Senate committee’s attempts to approve Judge Kavanaugh, divisiveness has claimed another portion of the mainstream American cultural landscape. At this stage, the left have essentially annexed a portion of the country, akin to the West Bank and Israel, which should worry us all.

After six separate FBI background checks, the left suddenly ‘discovered’ a sexual assault accuser from back in July, Dr Christine Ford, and allowed the Senate hearings to receive testimony from her this week. Her accusations were outside the statute of limitations, and every witness she cited claimed they could not recall the incident or that it was simply untrue, yet push on with delaying the confirmation the committee did.

In order to stave of criticism from the left, the GOP appointed Arizona prosecutor, Rachel Mitchell, to question Dr Ford over a man because, in the eyes of the left, having a host of ‘old white men’ questioning her would simply not do. Once done, Senator Jeff Flake was accosted by angry protesters, demanding to know what he thought and claiming they sided with survivors. Senator Flake was informed in no uncertain terms that members of the protesters were sexual assault victims, as if every scenario is identical and no woman ever presents false testimony. Flake then opened the door to a further FBI investigation, supposedly limited to the time frame of one week. If anyone thinks the left won’t cry foul on day six of the imposed time frame and stall for more time – say long enough for the mid-terms to be over – you have clearly lost signal on your connection to reality. The Dem’s simply want to stop the appointment of a conservative judge to prevent any changes to Roe v. Wade. They don’t care about Dr Ford, or women, they just want power.

However, Judge Kavanaugh is guilty of a number of crimes in the eyes of the left, and this is where divisiveness has seeped into the marrow of the American body politic. He’s a male, an unacceptable crime in the #MeToo generation. He’s white, an unacceptable crime in the post-Obama divider-in-chief times. He’s privileged, an unacceptable crime in the left-leaning college campus culture. He’s old, an unacceptable crime with Millennial’s e.g. David Hogg’s contempt about old people not knowing how to send an iMessage which is why kids have to “fix democracy”. In short, Judge Kavanaugh’s gender, skin colour, stable upbringing, and age all disqualify him from any position in the eyes of the left, while his overwhelming qualifications and ability to do the job are completely ignored. Forget that to be nominated for the Supreme Court shows tremendous character, intellect, work ethic and community standing, if you don’t fit the archetypal leftist Facebook profile there is no way they can ever friend you. Ignoring facts and accomplishments over emotional name-calling, and somehow the left think the ‘future’ is female. Isn’t it here already?

Say what you will about the left, but you cannot question the mathematics of their approach because they sure have mastered the art of division.

 

Posted on by Ian Mandalor

Define ‘normal’?

Stormy Daniels

After speaking out against President Trump, Stormy Daniels said that she may never have a normal life again. Normal compared to what? Gang bangs? Bukake parties? Anal fisting? Which says a lot about the U.S. political system. Throughout her entire porn career she was revered for sleeping with countless men and women, but only once she stepped into the political arena did she experienced shame and guilt. It seems porn is less dirty than politics.

Hopefully once things calm down, Stormy, your life can go back to normal – getting double penetrated on a set filled with an entire film crew watching. Just like everyday, regular, normal folk really.