Roosh has repeated categorically that he will not have children with an American woman, while in the next breath he glorifies "raw dogging" as many women as possible, including women he frankly detests. A few months ago, I felt compelled to remind his impressionable young male readers that unprotected sex was likely to lead to unplanned
fatherhood. I figured Roosh would delete the comment; in fact, that comment may have led to his blocking my IPO.
Back when I worked at an abortion clinic, I would sometimes ask young girls (15-16 year olds, typically) why they hadn't used contraception, and the answer was usually to the effect, "I didn't want a baby, so I didn't think I could get pregnant." This kind of magical thinking is a part of the adolescent's natural egocentrism, of course, which often leads to lamentable consequences. Some adolescents are exceedingly responsible about their behavior, but we can't expect that most will be, and it's not their "fault" when they're not.
By the time a person is in his early twenties, the prefrontal cortex has had a chance to develop and get connected with the rest of the brain. That's why "21" is a reasonable age at which to grant legal adulthood. Unfortunately, our pesky sexual impulses continue to override common sense for a long time to come. It may take years of experience to understand that "something that feels so good" may not, in fact, "be so right."
The Misogynists talk a lot about "sperm jacking," whereby devious women trick
unwitting men into impregnating them, thereby guaranteeing the mother
the right to suck her victim dry of child support for the following
eighteen years. Unlike most of the manosphere fodder, it's not a baseless fear. It does happen.
Late last night, as I was leaving the athletic club I've recently joined, I was waylaid by a young fellow working the front desk. (Part of becoming a fat old lady is that everyone under 30 now perceives me as a maternal figure, which is kind of touching but also kind of annoying.)
While I was trying to browse the pool schedule, the kid launched into a story about his personal travails with his "baby mama." In the span of twenty minutes I learned all this: He had once been a happy chap with a promising career as a Red Bull sales representative. Apparently Red Bull has aphrodisiac qualities I was hitherto unaware of: Every day, flocks of pretty girls laid siege to his cart, demanding free samples. To his surprise (and mine), there are Red Bull groupies. As a result, the poor guy had more pussy than he knew what to do with. And all of this went to his head (and nether regions).
One lass came back for more than the Red Bull. She told him she was a 22 year old university student on the pill; as it turned out, she was an 18 year old high school dropout who had decided to have a baby. Six weeks later, he learned he was going to be a father. And that's when the nightmare began. Because allowing for hyperbole, even if only half of what he related to me was true, she (and her parents) sounded like absolutely terrible people.
The kid didn't want this pregnancy and he wasn't consulted, but he was willing to "man up" and take responsibility. Over the past two years, his efforts to establish a relationship with the child have been thwarted, yet he has grown emotionally attached to the child, and would like to be a good parent. He and his parents have already poured $18,000 into the legal system in an effort to gain more access.
He was practically in tears last night because he had just learned his son had been taken to the ER with a dislocated elbow. My eyebrows shot up: How did that happen? Well, the child had been trying to play with his mom's laptop, so mom had picked him up by one arm and swung him away from it. "Poor little guy!" the young man fretted. "I hope you're documenting everything," I said.
I also said, "I hope things get better. Don't give up. Your son needs you in his life." I was trying to say all the right things, but what I really wanted was to quit listening to this saga. It was harshing my post-workout mellow. I also resented hearing this kind of story right now; when I am so furious with the MRM, the last thing I want to entertain is the notion that men do have some legitimate grievances, and Father's Rights are definitely an area where changes are called for.
Obviously, forcing anyone into parenthood is unethical, to say the least. As a woman, I know that being pregnant against one's will is like being pushed on to a train you can't get off of. Desperate women will risk death to jump off that train. Knowing this as I do, how can I not feel some measure of sympathy for guys secretly giving their pregnant girlfriends abortifacients? It is unfair.
Biology is unfair in general. The legal system is sometimes unfair to men. It sucks, but that's the way it is. Meanwhile, as Annie Sprinkle says, "Learn to love latex!"
I can relate only too well to the foolishness of adolescence as I did a lot of crazy things then myself (thankfully none of them with horrific life-altering consequences, and at least they give me a lot of good stories now!). Perhaps the dumbest thing I almost did then myself was start getting tattoos as soon as I'd reached the legal age for that kind of thing (18 where I live); what made me realize in retrospect that that would've been a very bad idea was the fact that my idea of what would've constituted a really cool tattoo (ie something I'd have had on me for the rest of my life) changed on a weekly basis!
ReplyDeleteYes, I too have noticed areas where the MRM sorta, kinda might have a point - unfortunately, of course, they end up doing way more harm than good by using whatever legitimate grievance they've highlighted as an excuse to spout more of their reactionary, misogynistic garbage, thus causing said problem (and anyone who might actually want to do something constructive to tackle it) to be forever tainted by association with them. They also - surprise, surprise - don't seem to actually want to help any guy who's been screwed over by the system, and whose cause they supposedly champion. I remember once coming across the sad story of a young man who, like the individual in your example, had royally messed up his life by getting involved with a woman who'd really been no good. He'd sought help and useful advice from a bunch of manosphereans who, instead of giving him either thing, had simply poured scorn on him, saying shit along the lines of, "Sucks to be you! LOL!"; "It's your own fault for not learning Game*!"; and "Enjoy the rest of your miserable life, loser!" Charming bunch of fellows, eh?
On a somewhat lighter note, I was just as surprised as you to learn of the existence of Red Bull groupies. The first thing I thought of that might explain this fascinating phenomenon is that there's something addictive about that shit.
*Because as the manosphere has surely shown us, learning GAME (whose sheer awesomeness can only be conveyed by typing it in all caps - if only I could write it in huge, sparkly letters as well!) is the single most effective thing any man can do to ensure that not even the slightest bit of misfortune ever befalls him. Indeed, I wouldn't be at all surprised if these clods have their own version of the 23rd Psalm which goes, in part, "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: FOR I KNOW GAME MOTHERFUCKER!"