When I say “feminism,” what’s the first thing that comes to your mind? Hm?
Unfortunately, I can’t hear you through the Internet — although I’m sure that whatever you said, it was urbane and trenchant, perhaps even a wee bit risqué, but still in good taste — so in this, as in all matters touching the eternal struggle between the sexes, I must turn to my own masculinity mentor and personal Iron John, Admiral Ackbar. The Admiral, whom I found in a sylvan glade, naked but for a loincloth and dripping sweat after a particularly energetic and purgative drum circle, obligingly considered the word “feminism,” swishing it around his thin-lipped, tentacle-fringed, piscine mouth like a fine Chardonnay, before finally concluding, “It’s a trap!”
Of course, the Admiral thinks everything is a trap, from escalators to Circus Peanuts, but in this case, he’s correct. Thanks to an enterprising hacker (probably the same guy who exposed the Anthropogenic Global Warming scam) we now have conclusive proof that the entire Women’s Rights movement, from Seneca Falls to the Lily Ledbetter Fair Pay Restoration Act has been an elaborate fraternity prank, engineered by this guy:
Matt Patterson (whose Omega Theta Pi name is “Blueballs”). According to his bio, “Matt Patterson is an author and analyst whose work has appeared in The Washington Post, National Review Online, and Pajamas Media, among others. In 2009 he was named a National Review Institute Washington Fellow.”
I’m not sure what, if any, credentials or achievements are required to become a National Review Fellow (although I myself was deeply honored to be named a Maxim Institute Dude in 2005), but I assume it means that in lieu of carefully verified facts and exhaustively annotated research, Matt is simply allowed to make his own gravy.
“From 2008-2009, Matt served as research assistant to Charles Krauthammer.” I believe this is a slightly more polite way of saying “Matt spent a solid year sprawled on the sofa in his sweatpants, watching daytime TV and eating Trix cereal out of a soup tureen.”
“In the 2008 Republican primary race, he served as policy communications coordinator and a state political coordinator for the Rudy Giuliani presidential campaign.”
This isn’t a resume, it’s a confession.
“Matt is an honors graduate of Columbia University, where he studied ancient Greek and Latin, and has performed across the U.S. and abroad as an award winning sleight-of-hand artist.”
This either means he’s a crappy magician or a talented masturbator. Anyhow, let’s sit back and listen to Matt’s tale of how he Punk’d Sojourner Truth and Betty Friedan.
Confidential Memo
To: All Men
Re: Operation “Feminist Movement”
Men, our long twilight struggle with the opposite sex is over. Our victory is total.
It was the War to End All Sex. In Flanders fields the poppies blow, and that’s the most action Matt is going to get, our long twilight struggle having become a fairly brief wrestling match with a Fleshlight.
Can you believe the way things used to be? Remember when our fathers and grandfathers would drag themselves to mind-numbing jobs every day, having the sole responsibility for the feeding, clothing, and housing of their entire family?
And things were no easier before marriage, when men’s quest for sexual satisfaction was all too often hampered by the widespread moral code which taught women not to give out the “milk” for “free.”
Fortunately, that was never a problem for Matt, since he’s lactose-intolerant, if you know what I mean.
Well, that state of affairs just wouldn’t do. So we men came together and did what we do best — formulate and implement a plan. First step, design the perfect world, the perfect male world. We decided such a world would consist of two things: less responsibility and more — and no-strings — sex.
Unfortunately, the world decided it would consist of pay-per-minute Internet porn videos and microwavable Chicken & Cheese Chimichangas.
Brothers, have we succeeded.The amazing thing, really, is how easy it was, how fast the old world of obligation and responsibility dissolved. The first, crucial step, of course, was convincing women that they had it bad, that our jobs were “intellectually stimulating” and not the soul-crushing monotony that they in fact were.
Kind of a tough case to make when your job description is “research assistant to Charles Krauthammer.”
It worked, and soon women were clamoring to join us on the job. It seems never to have occurred to them that we could have so easily prevented them from doing so — and yet we didn’t.
It’s just like in high school, when Matt cleverly enticed Doug Flanzer into sitting on his neck and punching him in the head until Doug’s class ring made the back of Matt’s skull look like a phrenology chart. Once again, Matt had lured his opponent into a trap!
Right away, women at work began to solve our problems. First, men and women interacting more frequently inevitably led to hanky-panky, which led to the breakup of families, which led to less responsibility for us.
“Thanks to wage stagnation, I’m getting laid more than ever!”
But that was only a start. To really fix things, we had to root out that old bourgeoisie mentality that had in previous times kept girls frustratingly modest and chaste. And what better way to do that than to convince women that the most reckless elements of our sexuality — the promiscuity — were in fact the correct behaviors, which had to be imitated in order for them to be “liberated”?
Matt Patterson: Male Slut
Amazingly, they bought that, too.
Until Matt pulled his scam, most women regarded the clitoris as purely decorative.
Unfortunately, our sister selves
Our–? Yeah, okay, whatever Matt.
…are less suited to such behavior, which can cause painful and lasting tears in the feminine soul.
Soul, hymen — what’s the difference?
But no matter — we were also able to convince them that there was no such thing as a “feminine” soul, any more than there is a “masculine” soul, and that both sexes are equally suited to all things.
It’s hard to believe women fell for this, when it was God Himself who decreed that the soul shall come in two flavors.
(Many of you said that women would never buy this, that the accumulated history of our species speaks to the deep and abiding difference between the sexes, a difference which has benefited both sides from time immemorial. But I was sanguine about our ruse — have I not been vindicated?)
From time immemorial until the early 1960s, women flatly rejected our efforts to fool them into having careers. Fortunately, one of the side effects of the Pill is gullibility.
Men, “Operation Feminist Movement” has worked, and more swiftly and completely than many of you thought possible. Mere decades ago, we spent endless hours and countless dollars before marriage courting and wooing; after marriage, we shouldered the entire financial burden for our families.
Matt has spent the bulk of his National Review Institute Fellowship fact-checking Leave It to Beaver, and is now up to Episode 118, “Beaver Won’t Eat.”
Now, after marriage, women can be expected to pay for half of everything, which is to the good, because video games are expensive. But, as more and more of you are discovering, why bother with marriage at all anymore? You can stay up all night, hang with your buds all the time, secure in the knowledge that on any given night you can be sure to find a willing woman, a woman who has likely been taught, conditioned even (by other women!) to expect nothing from you in return — and that this is a good thing.
“Dear Pajamas Media: I’m a Fellow at a small Northeastern Institute. I never thought your articles were real, but a recent experience changed my mind. I was hanging with my buds, when suddenly a willing, well-conditioned woman bumped into me on the street and her massive, Triple-E bosoms knocked my inhaler into the storm drain…”
Is it any wonder that, according to recent research, women these days are “becoming less happy relative to men” across all age, income, and marital levels? No, this shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone, although the unhappiness of the modern woman seems to be taking many of them by surprise. After all, don’t they “have it all”?
I think we should give Matt’s question very serious consideration, especially since he came all the way from 1982 to ask it.
No — it is men who now have it all.
Congratulations, brothers. Our day is at last at hand, a day of no responsibility and easy mating access as far as the eye can see.
Matt, don’t Bogart the Fleshlight.
Sure, there are downsides. Civilization has now entered into free fall; those masterpieces of art and science and literature, for which men have been almost exclusively responsible, have ceased to issue forth from our minds and hands — and is it any wonder? Such pyrotechnics are no longer necessary to impress women, which, really, was the only reason we bothered.
Michaelangelo was often heard to remark that the Pietà was “a total trim magnet.”
High culture seems a small price to pay, though, for the loosening of morals and duties which has brought our present Sex and the City-fueled bounty.
So sit back, men, and enjoy the slide. It’s Miller time.
I’ve never met the author, but judging by his work, I suspect that Mr. Easy Matings’s sexuality never much progressed beyond that tingly feeling he got from the Slide ‘N’ Slide when he was ten.
Anyway, thanks for the sleight-of-hand-job.
That smug look on his face is in reality the expression of a virgin. His writing is an attempt to get back at all those young people who are having sex and enjoying it. How dare they? If he asks aloud, “Who loves me?” the response is his silent but perverted naughty hand molesting him. He is convinced that the reason he is still a virgin is because he chooses to be. Right…. He’s looking for the “right fascist pig girl” to authoritatively punish him for hanging out with naughty hand for so many years. No one told him that too much naughty hand causes beastiality fantasies and within only a few months, insanity.
Left by purpleOnion on December 3rd, 2009