Once upon a time “manliness” was measured by trophies. Whether it was saber tooth fangs, bear claws, pelts, sports trophies, or war medals. It was how many pieces of precious stones or metals one could afford. It was cheered for in the Colosseum. You couldn’t see a Crusader or Native American without them showing some form of loot, be it pagan gold, a weapon, or scalp taken from a defeated foe. Even the Samurai wore intricate armors and used masterfully crafted weapons to distinguish their greatness.
Every nation, every country, every culture had a measure of manliness that others could see, measure, and respect.
Because now tens of thousands of men tweet about how oppressed they are, how their feelings are hurt, or how society has done them wrong.
What a bunch of whiny little babies.
It’s as if thousands of beta-males/females are playing “Woe Is Me”, and whoever can play the biggest, or most, victim cards wins. Everyone is ‘one-upping’ each other over stupidity.
And if you were dealt the ‘worst hand’ of the game, which is apparently, being born a white male… you’ve got to grovel into the ground about how you are the worst of the worst. Then you’ve got to seek out forgiveness for existing. (You people are the most pathetic of the entire bunch.)
I’m a white male, and I make no apologizes for my genetic make-up because I didn’t choose it. I also make no apologizes for whatever my ancestors may or may not have done. (And being Vikings they probably did some bad shit at some point.) Because guess what? They did it. Not me.
Personally – The only thing I plunder and ravage are those Brazilian Steak Houses. (I ate four species of animals in a slaughterhouse of flavor last night.) I’m sorry I ate all your delicious meats and only left the cinnamon tainted bananas for the other guests.
But honestly – If anything, I ought to thank my ancestors. Because if it hadn’t been for them, I wouldn’t be here.
Think about it.
We’re all the result of survivors. Maybe not victors, but survivors. Maybe not descended from noble blue blooded lines of men who charged fields as Knights or Kings or what have you… maybe our ancestors were the guys who crawled over the battlefield slitting wounded throats and stealing boots… who knows?
But they were survivors. And considering that most of world history is full of tyranny, misery, filth, suffering, oppression, and folks barely eeking out a meager existence – that counts for something. They went through the real ringer. They experienced REAL hardships. I’m not talking about someone giving you a dirty look on a bus or cat calling after you as you walk down the street. Or about how Trump’s words on Twitter hurt you.
But REAL misery and suffering. Real hardships. The kind that made the life expectancy in the low 30’s IF you were wealthy. The kind of life where warfare, strife, rape, death, disease, famine, and plague were every day expectations or concerns.
Now you bitch when your latte doesn’t have the right amount of soy milk in it. Or about how the ‘white male patriarchy’ is keeping you down. Or how no one is supporting your transgender lifestyle.
Stop wasting your ancestors sacrifice and struggles to whine about how your thin skin feelings have been deeply wounded by mere looks, words, or thoughts. It’s unbecoming.
If you live in America, you’ve got it better than 99.9999999999% of the entire human race that has ever existed. And you’re wasting that golden, uber-rare opportunity, by whining about everything and everyone instead of thriving.
Suck it up buttercup. No one owes you shit. No one is stopping you from doing whatever it is you want. (Unless it’s mass murder, than it’s “Hello Mr. Glock.” Pew Pew!)
If you can’t make it in America today, you never would have made it anywhere in the world at any previous point in time.
P.S. I didn’t get drawn to hunt a Maine Moose this year. Sad face. It’s my second attempt, so I’m starting to wrack up some ‘extra points’ to carry over each year I apply. The only reason I mention this is because, A. I just thought of it and checked. B. You don’t have to be a hunter to be an Alpha, but there’s nothing wrong with washing animal blood off your hands once in a while and collecting ritualistic trophies.
I also put in for a bison and a big horn ram in Wyoming Super Raffle. (Because my Painted Desert Ram needs company.) Chances of getting drawn are about as good as being smacked in the groin by a meteor, but it’s relatively inexpensive to play. I think $20 to pick two animals. So I entered myself and my dad. I think he picked a bison and an elk… maybe? The drawing is at the end of the month. I’m pretty sure my odds are between nope and nada.
P.P.S. I feel like now is a great time to plug an old post I did called No, Women aren’t equal to Men. That one got pretty popular.
Did you know in ancient Sparta, the only Spartans who were allowed markers on their graves were men who fell in battle or women who died in child birth?
They held giving birth on the same level as dying in battle. The equality of the creation of life and the taking of life.
If something about that isn’t romantically poetic – I don’t know poetry. (I don’t know poetry)
There’s a joke that goes like this: What’s worse to go through – child birth or a kick to the groin? Answer – Kick to the groin, because a woman will think about having another child but no man will consider another kick.
Women will go through 9 months of misery followed by hours of intense suffering, all to bring an innocent little life into this world. During this time, men will fetch them oddities for their cravings and try to make them comfortable enough to avoid their justifiable wrath at what we’ve done to them.
That’s pretty awesome. We should celebrate the heck out of what you go through. This is further proof of your superiority.
But modern feminism, has taken this push for ‘equality’ to far.
Anyways. Here’s a link.
3 thoughts on “Once upon a time we hunted Mammoths…”
Great post 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Fuckin’ A dude, right on.
Just added ya to the Blogroll at Bustednuckles.
We gotta stick together.