La storia di un uomo che credeva che il femminismo fosse qualcosa di buono, e che ha capito troppo tardi che è invece una associazione a delinquere. Per fortuna in questo caso non hanno abusato di nessun bambino.
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Il etait une fois, not so long ago, when the evil penis may have called himself a feminist. Yes, you read that right, as hard as it is for me to say now, I was a total mangina; white knight. However, I look back upon that time of my life now without anger, bitterness, resentment, shame or guilt – not to say that I don’t feel these horrible emotions because I very much do. You see, I was just innocent and naive. Ignorant of the truth, totally unaware of the war that is very real and is very really being waged against all ‘evil’ people everywhere as we speak. You may think this is crazy, you may eventually think I’m a radical extremist or crackpot misogynist. Call me what you will, it will never remove me from my experience or the resolve I have been forced to adopt to simply continue to live.
Does that sound melodramatic? If it does then before you commence your inevitable diatribe of calling me a self-pitying loser, maybe consider that you have misandric tendencies, and think that men shouldn’t be allowed to feel pain, suffering, desperation or any other emotion for that matter. I invite you, dear reader, to analyse my experience and conclude that you wouldn’t have felt or still feel the exact same way. Even if you are the hardest of feminists, with as little sympathy for men as you hold for Adolf Hitler; I dare assert that you, of all people, would still feel exactly as I do. You might even join the men’s rights movement yourself, and take a stand against misandry, as I have.
It is widely accepted, if you want to believe it or not, that men are evil. My experience has taught me as much, and if this anecdotal journey doesn’t teach you the same, then you might just have to discover it the hard way, or remain ignorant forever more. It is totally up to you but, as Confucius once said, “Ignorance is the night of the mind, but a night without moon and star”, I am simply trying to illuminate the sky for you.
I love women, always have done. The first woman I ever loved, and still do, was my mother. Not in the Freudian sense but the purest human sense. My father was abusive to her, and by that I don’t mean abuse by the standards of today’s feminist hysteria – I mean real abuse. I saw my mother with her face swollen to double the size it should have been. I saw her with black eyes and a broken jaw, I saw her lose the entire being she was, reduced to a pile of scars – physical and emotional, with no friends, family or way out. I fully understand that men are not all angels, and can be abusive, however this label of abuse has been expanded and twisted beyond recognition. This relentless expansion of the term makes me feel very sympathetic to my mother, and others like her, as it trivialises their experiences. What a modern woman might complain about really doesn’t warrant the same label, not to say that such a woman can’t be the victim of actual abuse, that would be an absurd position.
When I was at university, I got into my first serious relationship. We stayed together for around two and a half years, and the whole time I did everything I could to appease her and make her happy. This was my job, I thought, to defer and to serve. To put her on a pedestal and to do everything I could to protect her sensitive emotional state. My preferred appellation for her was ‘princess’, and my ultimate motivation was to be a good boyfriend, unlike my own father. I can say this with complete confidence and total honesty; sure I wasn’t perfect, I had bouts of jealousy and could even be a little grumpy at times. Alas, I am only human, and am as subjected to the realities of my body and the pressures of life as anyone else. If you were to ask the lady in question how the dynamic within our relationship was, you would get a very different story – and I only know this because she sat in a Police station, eighteen months later, and gave a sworn statement to them about my unilateral abuse of her, but more on that later.
After we broke up, by her initiation, I was very upset – you may even say distraught. I questioned my own value, my worth as a human, and contemplated suicide on more than one occasion. If you think I sound like a wuss, I make no apology, and I would never feel one iota of shame if you screamed it right into my face, in front of the entire world. Men feel pain just as much as women, and often more. I for one am not afraid to admit this. Hell, I’m exposing it for the entire world to see. This pain left me in a more than slight quandary, wondering what to do with my life, and my heart.
I left university, and became qualified as an English teacher. I got the first job I applied for and I really enjoyed it, it even made me glad of the fact that I had borrowed £18,000 to put myself through an otherwise pointless degree course. My dear mother was ‘oh so proud’ of me, and her pride filled me with the same. I discovered what people might call Game, and my social life changed dramatically. I learnt that pandering to women didn’t make them like you, that I had to be, amongst other things, more self-assured and apparently selfish, more assertive. Suddenly I had lots of attention from women, my ex was a distant memory, and I secretly fantasised about bumping into her around town with one of my new hotties, to make her jealous and realise her colossal error.
I met a new woman, and we started a relationship. She was very beautiful, much more so than any other girlfriend I’d had, my new skills had catapulted me into contention for the most desirable of women, and I felt great. This lady was foreign, and very attentive and charming, adding to her obvious beauty that everybody noticed and commented on. I was sold almost instantly. She told me many stories about her life in her country, about how she was abused by her brothers, and how she feared for her sister and mother because of them. Although I had learnt about how to attract women more efficiently, the chivalrous streak inside me still urged me to help the damsel in distress.
We decided to get married. That way she could get a visa and wouldn’t have to go home. I would keep my beautiful girlfriend and we could have a great party to celebrate our love. ‘What could go wrong?’ I asked myself, how little did I know. I paid for everything, and my wife-to-be sat at home on my salary. I didn’t complain – I still wanted to be a good partner and thought it was my duty to provide for my family. Two months after we got married, she made a false rape allegation against me. To describe my emotional state at that time would be impossible. She then contacted my ex-girlfriend and somehow convinced her to make a statement about me to the police, which she duly did. Not one thing said by either woman could be in any way proven, in fact there was strong circumstantial evidence that it wasn’t true.
This didn’t seem to matter to the police however, and I was charged with the most heinous of crimes. There was a lot of back and forth to court, but luckily I was given bail with the condition that I didn’t contact either woman, and I continued my job – with the support of my employers who knew that this couldn’t possibly be true of me. Over the next six months my wife constantly harassed me. She would call me at two in the morning drunk telling me how much she loved me and how sorry she was. She would come to my school and to my local pub where she knew I would be. I called the police several times to tell them that this was the case, but they weren’t interested. ‘We are prosecuting you Mr Evil Penis’ they said, ‘not helping you’. My solicitor twice wrote to the Crown Prosecution Service telling them about the harassment, we received no reply.
In an almost impossible position, I did what I needed to do. I started recording the phone calls that my wife made to me, and printing screenshots of her facebook page where she was sending messages to me. I allowed her back into my life, and into my bed, and recorded everything. I needed a defence, and nobody was willing to help me but me. I had nowhere to turn. I was an evil rapist – who would sympathize with me?
This went on for a few weeks, and culminated in my wife trying to destroy my evidence by breaking my computer. Fortunately I had back-up copies of everything. After she went to tell the police that we had been talking and sleeping together, rather than take this as evidence that it might have been a lie in the first place (who would ever wilfully go to their rapist’s house and have sex with him, months after the allegation was made?), they came and arrested me for perverting the course of justice!
I told the police about my recordings, about her harassment and a whole catalogue of things she had done and people that could verify my story. Do you know what they did? They ignored everything! I was remanded into custody for six months, losing my job, my career, my house, my entire life. Everything that I had worked so hard to achieve was now worth nothing. It was gone. Let’s get this straight, just so there is no ambiguity; the police and crown knew, for a fact:
On top of all of these seemingly obvious indicators of my innocence, the police:
When the case finally got to court, it was dropped like a hot iron. Yet that didn’t stop the good old government:
Why? How could this happen to such an obviously innocent man? How could the law be so skewed that this could happen?
I asked the officer in case after… and you know what he said? And I quote:
“The police are heavily criticized when it comes to the rape cases. Women’s groups insist that the maximum number of alleged rapists are prosecuted, our hands are tied”
So I did a little research, these women’s groups he spoke of, were feminist activist groups. These people were (and still are) relentlessly campaigning to make things even worse! It would be easy to blame my ex-wife for what happened, but the reality is this:
Crazy people say crazy things all of the time, you cannot avoid this. However, it is the police’s DUTY to discern truth, and to protect the VICTIMS of crime. The only reason they don’t in rape cases (and those of alleged domestic violence, they are one and the same issue) is because of this unyielding pressure from fanatic man haters – feminists.
Any amount of research into the legislation regarding gender issues and ‘violence’ or ‘abuse’, anywhere in the western world, shows you that men are classed as evil. Read about the Duluth model. It doesn’t matter if I actually was abusive or not, all that matters is that a woman says she has been hurt by a man.
So… I take a stand. Does that not make me a good man? My life was ruined by feminists. Just like any number of false rape victims, victims of family courts, men who die from prostate cancer, boys who are undervalued at school, men who commit suicide, victims of parental alienation, victims of divorce. Yet the lies of feminists keep coming, ‘1 in 4 women are raped’ Nonsense! ‘100,000 women a year are the victim of sexual assault’. Nonsense! These, along with any number of ‘fem factoids’, aren’t what you could call myths – they are OUTRIGHT LIES, AND THEY ARE DESTROYING THE LIVES OF DECENT, NORMAL PEOPLE EVERYDAY.
Is this a delusion of discrimination? Can you blame me for wanting this to never happen to any other innocent man ever again?
I didn’t think so.
Am I bitter, resentful, hurt, desperate, sad, angry?
You bet I am, and so would you be.
Fonte: http://evilpenis.blogspot.com/2011/03/making-of-misogynist.htmlLetto: 3201Tweet