I have on countless occasion quoted and linked to Angry Harry's site. Mainly due to the fact that Angry and I commenced about the same time on the road of educating the general population about that lying hegemony. Angry has credentials as a Psychologist and could even be named as the instigator of the Modern MRM on the web as we know it today. So, got nothing to do and looking for something of interest where you can actually make some difference. The Men's Movement is waiting for you to start, join in and spread the word, be an MRA if you like, make new friends and you will never be on your own again. We have endless networks and with online access via Skype and other methods, speak to anyone you like for advice or help to get started..
Old Codgers Unite
So there you are. Somewhere around 57 years old.
Maybe a few years older. Maybe a few years younger.
Every morning you wake up too early and go to the lavatory because you are desperate for a pee.
You stand there, hanging over the toilet bowl; waiting and waiting. But nothing happens.
You start whistling an old tune to keep yourself awake.
Eventually, a trickle or two splashes somewhere beneath you, and you feel total relief.
So what felt like three pints of tea turns out to be no more than enough liquid to moisten a postage stamp.
You might as well have stayed in bed.
But you can't go back to sleep now, so you go to the bathroom to brush your teeth.
You look in the mirror in genuine astonishment.
"Who the hell is that?" you keep asking yourself.
"That isn't me. That really isn't me."
You cannot believe that the old codger who is staring back at you is you.
What on earth happened to you?
Where have you gone?
You look more closely to check it out.
You seem to have more hair erupting out of your ears and your nostrils than is growing upon your head.
Even your shrinking chest bears six wispy white hairs that are two feet long - and still growing.
You should really cut them down to size, but you want to see how long they will end up being - in the interest of science, of course.
The skin on your body is puckered and loosening.
You look like a bloodhound who has just received some very bad news.
The last time you had decent sex was somewhere back in the 20th Century.
With whom, you cannot remember.
But it sure as hell wasn't that Jezebel that you once called your wife.
Sex with her was OK till the marriage certificate was signed. But, thereafter, it was downhill all the way.
Or maybe you just imagined it all.
Anyway. You no longer care.
You haven't seen her for ten years, but her evil spirit still haunts you.
If only you had married someone else, your life could have been so very different.
But it's too late now.
The only time that a good-looking woman ever approaches you these days is to ask you whether or not you are feeling OK and if she should call a doctor.
You don't blame her.
You look like a corpse.
You rub your eyes and look down at your feet.
Your toenails have turned into lethal weapons.
So you reach for the scissors, but they no longer work on them.
You make a mental note to buy some tungsten-hardened cable cutters.
Not that you can actually see your toenails, because they are too far away and your vision is fading by the week.
So you give up on your toenails and brush your hair instead.
Job done!
You shuffle to the kitchen and turn on the kettle.
You hear the postman delivering the mail.
More bills, a parking fine and yet another new takeaway offering two pizzas for the price of one.
You wonder what the cat next door would taste like.
Better than the pizza probably.
You sit at the table, put your head in your hands, and you wonder where it all went wrong.
You follow the trail and it leads you right back to when you were in hospital.
Being born.
Since then your life has been one long tale of misery and woe.
Sometime misery. Sometimes woe.
Most of the time, both.
An occasional beer and the death of someone you hate is the best that you can now look forward to.
You'll be seventy in a few years time.
Probably riding around in a wheelchair.
Sucking your food through a straw.
Most likely you will also be dying slowly from some truly terrible disease.
If you are lucky, your body will be splattered on the roadside in a fatal car accident.
If not, you'll spend your remaining years slowly turning into a vegetable that feels pain.
So you think: What is the point in going on?
You sip your tea and wonder if there remains any purpose to your life.
And sure enough, there is!
All you need to do is to look back at all the feminist-inspired hatred that has been poured upon you throughout most of your life.
You have been portrayed as the devil himself.
You are a child abuser. A wife beater. A sexual harasser. A misogynist. An oppressor of women. A mindless moron.
The list is endless.
To add insult to injury, your country has been sold down the river by your politicians.
You have been forced to hand over a fortune in taxes to pay for numerous things that you never wanted and for ideas that you don't believe in.
Your pension has been gutted so that those who rule over you can live like kings.
Thousands of laws have been purposely designed to stymie your every move and to block your freedom to speak as you wish.
And right now, you have nothing much left to lose.
So my advice is that you go back and look in the mirror again.
Take a good hard look at yourself.
And then tell yourself this.
From now on, I am going to count for something.
From now on, I am going to make my voice heard.
From now on, I am going to do something that I should have done many, many years ago.
I am not just going to fade away and let them get away with what they did.
No more.
I have had enough.
I am going to fight them.
I am going to help to defeat them.
And I am going to try to pay them back for everything that they have done.
I might not be as physically strong as I used to be.
And I certainly don't look so good anymore.
But my age gives me the wisdom to know how to kick up a really good fuss.
.....................................
So, please join us on the internet, support the men's movement in any way that you can, and let us old codgers use some of our remaining years to give these revolting man-hating feminist bigots and their poodle boys exactly what they deserve.
In other words, let's give them hell.
And then if, perchance, you end up dying slowly of some horrible disease that mostly afflicts males and which, therefore, will have received only half the research finding that it ought to have received (because most of the medical funding goes on women's diseases - even when discounting the money spent on their reproductive issues) you will at least have done your bit to pay those scoundrels back.
