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/nɑndəsˈkrɪpt/
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The Cock.
I should be asleep, but my mind's going through some sort of remnant of the sort of manic episodes I used to have. Anywho, I was thinking about a lot of things, especially about, well, penises. And about being a man. I dunno. I just started writing, and thought I'd post it here. I was going to post it in Literature, but I am not really looking for a book review, just thoughts on whether any of it seemed true to you. Whether any of it made sense.
After all, it's more emotion than clear logical train of thought, but the essence of it is something I still strongly feel is true.
Quote:
NOT THE PROPERTY OF A LADY
Men are not born, we are made. We are molded out of shit and sewage, and whatever else one may find floating around. We are given small brains and big testicles, yes, lots of muscles and some intelligence, just enough to find ways to manage in this society of ours. I’m not going to cry about how our fathers beat the sensitive side out of us when we were young, in an honorable effort to turn us into men, men with a capital M, the kind of men that don’t ask, but take, the kind of men that kick in the balls first and ask questions later. The kind of men that make their fathers glad they were too drunk to use a rubber. Real men, not pussies. This all is of course emphasized by toy soldiers and plastic machine guns, action heroes and football, or baseball, or any other kind of ball.
Then, eventually, Mother Nature’s evil recipe will activate, and we will begin to notice the enemy, the girl. Suddenly Sarah from next door has grown a pair of titties, she has hips now, and probably something that you don’t even know about but surely have read about and want to learn about but aren’t even close to being able to comprehend.
But none of the rules apply. All those years we spent learning about three strikes you’re out and good versus evil, none of that shit matters because girls don’t play by the rules, or at least not by the same ones we’ve come to know. There are games, alright, but they’re of a different flavor, and we are at a loss as to how to beat them in them.
Our daddies took us to the woods to kill deer and rabbits and all that useless shit, but they never taught us how to score where it counts. Why? Probably because they didn’t have a fucking clue. Besides, why try and discourage us by telling us how incredibly difficult a battle we would be facing, and how the odds would be against us? When a soldier is getting ready for war, you don’t tell him how he’s got a snowball’s chance in hell of winning the war, or how he can go in with his biggest cannons and make the loudest bang, but in the end all that’s going to matter is how deep within the enemy’s folds his tongue can reach. No, no. Our fathers knew we would find this out for ourselves.
Don’t get me wrong. Women are wonderful. Women are a true joy, a true pleasure to have, and to hold, and to love, and to fuck. But they don’t understand us, and they’re not really interested in understanding us. To understand us would complicate their own lives, because they might end up realizing that there are things about us men that don’t need improving, that don’t need training. Things that are the way they are for a reason. A good, valid reason.
Women say that men are all the same, and while this of course is not entirely accurate, it is by and large quite true. But when they say this, they do not mean well. I’ll skip the sociological lesson and the bitching about cultural, especially religious influence on how men are being raised. Instead I’ll focus on one small, or big, thing.
Why women should not raise men.
We are little boys, like we were when we were young, but now we have a better toy, a bigger toy, something that is unique and exquisite and fun, and we don’t have to share it with anyone else – unless we want to. Unless we choose to. There is no way a woman could understand this right off the bat. If she did understand it, she might have to accept it.
A man’s penis is his core. It is his manhood. His masculinity. The essence of whatever else he is and has become. Let us not forget: a man’s primary function on this Earth is to dispense sperm. Biology tells a man to fuck as many women as he can and get them pregnant. Whether he wants to be a father or not makes no difference. This is Mother Nature, blame her. Is this ok, is this kosher? Well that depends on who you ask.
Women like the Cock, because of how it is used in a relationship between a man and a woman. They like it, they may even appreciate its aesthetic values, but they do not understand it. They typically fail to see the deeper purpose and significance of the Cock, its meaning to a man and his spirit, his strength and vitality, his confidence, his strength of mind, his approach, his attack, his conquest and his victory.
I find it amusing that even jaded women who dislike men or swear by eating muff will still stick a cock-shaped object up themselves in order to achieve sexual pleasure. You may not like the Cock, but you should not try and deny it.
Remember… Your father had one, too.
You need a man to raise a man. A woman can’t tell a boy about the Cock, not that men explain things with words either. But a man tells his son about the Cock with the way he carries himself, the way he acts among other men, the way he challenges himself and his surroundings with and through his accomplishments. His character, his personality, what he stands for.
That’s the Cock I am talking about. And there’s no plastic, jelly, or other kind of substitute for it.
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__________________
Who is John Galt?
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