Part four of this series is about my classmates. Actually, it is about one specific, and particularly annoying, subset of classmates. I made a reference to gay black guys in the first article in this series. I don’t have any problem with gay black guys, or gay guys in general. If you’re gay, be gay. I’m not that interested in other people’s sexuality to begin with, but I’ve never had any grievance with gay students. There is another group I do have serious issues with though: effeminate men.
I sat next to the door on the first day of one of my history classes. While the professor was lecturing, one of the students gets up halfway through the class and heads for the door. He decided he didn’t like the class and wanted to cop out halfway through. So this hero waltzes up to the door with his hipster black-frame glasses, trendy haircut, and immaculate brown loafers. The door was one of those metal fire doors that you typically find in schools. So this man-child grips the knob and pulls.
But the door doesn’t open.
He pulls again. The door isn’t locked, it is just a little heavier than a conventional wooden door. He pulls a third time but the door doesn’t open. The professor continues to talk, but this sorry excuse for a male is clanking the door knob every time he turns it and is quickly attracting the attention of the entire class. He pulls on the door again, but still can’t get it open.
One of the girls in class motions to him that you really have to pull on the door to get it open. This hipster piece of human garbage continues yanking on the door for another full minute, but can’t get it to budge. The door isn’t locked or jammed, he is just pulling on it like a Nancy. Finally, in one of the most pussified acts I’ve ever seen in my 31 years of life, this disgusting excuse for a man concedes defeat and takes a seat. Just like that, he gives up on trying to open the classroom door, which is unlocked, and up and quits.
I was shocked and awed by this walking fetus that passed itself off as an adult. After he had disgraced himself and his family name, all I could do was hang my head in the collective shame of American men everywhere. What have we become?
This is why you may go to college, but you will not really be in college. I just took classes there; I didn’t hang out with these people. Not to say that there are not some great young Americans to be found in college, because there are, but many of them will make you question the direction that this country is going in. These pseudo-intellectual weirdos wearing their tight jeans or corduroy pants, thick black-frame glasses, and penny loafers without socks, will make you wonder what happened to blue-collar, red-blooded American men.
Let me digress for just a moment. I grew up around people who worked for a living, came home at the end of the day, cracked open a beer, and watched the ball game. When I was little, my father worked as a carpenter and my mom was a waitress. I’m not saying I grew up “hard” or something like that. I’m a child of the suburbs and was always looked after. This makes me wonder where all of these cuddled bed-wetters are coming from. When did the cool new thing become being some metrosexual loser sitting in a cafe talking about Foucoult? I don’t want to be anywhere near these eunuchs and neither do you.
Part four of this series is about my classmates. Actually, it is about one specific, and particularly annoying, subset of classmates. I made a reference to gay black guys in the first article in this series. I don’t have any problem with gay black guys, or gay guys in general. If you’re gay, be gay. I’m not that interested in other people’s sexuality to begin with, but I’ve never had any grievance with gay students. There is another group I do have serious issues with though: effeminate men.
I sat next to the door on the first day of one of my history classes. While the professor was lecturing, one of the students gets up halfway through the class and heads for the door. He decided he didn’t like the class and wanted to cop out halfway through. So this hero waltzes up to the door with his hipster black-frame glasses, trendy haircut, and immaculate brown loafers. The door was one of those metal fire doors that you typically find in schools. So this man-child grips the knob and pulls.
But the door doesn’t open.
He pulls again. The door isn’t locked, it is just a little heavier than a conventional wooden door. He pulls a third time but the door doesn’t open. The professor continues to talk, but this sorry excuse for a male is clanking the door knob every time he turns it and is quickly attracting the attention of the entire class. He pulls on the door again, but still can’t get it open.
One of the girls in class motions to him that you really have to pull on the door to get it open. This hipster piece of human garbage continues yanking on the door for another full minute, but can’t get it to budge. The door isn’t locked or jammed, he is just pulling on it like a Nancy. Finally, in one of the most pussified acts I’ve ever seen in my 31 years of life, this disgusting excuse for a man concedes defeat and takes a seat. Just like that, he gives up on trying to open the classroom door, which is unlocked, and up and quits.
I was shocked and awed by this walking fetus that passed itself off as an adult. After he had disgraced himself and his family name, all I could do was hang my head in the collective shame of American men everywhere. What have we become?
This is why you may go to college, but you will not really be in college. I just took classes there; I didn’t hang out with these people. Not to say that there are not some great young Americans to be found in college, because there are, but many of them will make you question the direction that this country is going in. These pseudo-intellectual weirdos wearing their tight jeans or corduroy pants, thick black-frame glasses, and penny loafers without socks, will make you wonder what happened to blue-collar, red-blooded American men.
Let me digress for just a moment. I grew up around people who worked for a living, came home at the end of the day, cracked open a beer, and watched the ball game. When I was little, my father worked as a carpenter and my mom was a waitress. I’m not saying I grew up “hard” or something like that. I’m a child of the suburbs and was always looked after. This makes me wonder where all of these cuddled bed-wetters are coming from. When did the cool new thing become being some metrosexual loser sitting in a cafe talking about Foucoult? I don’t want to be anywhere near these eunuchs and neither do you.
Real men can come in many varieties. They have names like John, Frank, Sean, and even Jack. They are Scotch-swigging soldiers, steel workers, miners, firefighters, and sailors. Examples of such men include Chesty Puller, Colonel Percy Fawcett, James Corbett, Carlos Hathcock, and many other notable soldiers, explorers, and assorted scalawags. In other words, if you are not fighting wars or discovering ancient artifacts deep in some rainforest, then I probably don’t want to hear your bullshit.
Back in the day, if you called someone a racial epithet you got knocked out. These days you get a Twitter hashtag.
My disgust with effeminate men is that they have basically quit real life and made a clear choice to live in some alternative universe filled with subjective realities where anything can really mean anything, where they can sedimentalize and spout meaningless feel-good slogans to the acolytes of their peers. You only get once chance at this thing called life, and these guys choose to be completely irrelevant.
Being a forever child guarantees that you never have to take a stand on anything, ever. Why would you? Everything is subjective. The man-child is chronically and willingly unequipped to deal with pragmatic reality. If you are not out there making enemies, then you are not really a man.
Perhaps there is a bit of arrogance on my part. The men we were used to working with in the Army were simply of a different caliber, and when you get out, you find that normal people and their normal lives just don’t make the grade. What passes for a man in everyday America will always be nothing more to you than a fancy woman wearing an expensive scarf. There is no point in wasting your time engaging with these people.
They’re useless, irrelevant, and completely uninteresting.
They walk the streets of America wearing ear buds connected to their iPhone, talking to themselves like a schizophrenic.
They are America’s walking dead.
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