Tuesday, 12 April 2016

THE GUARDIAN - A Crisis of Masculinity !

The following is the unedited version of an exposé currently featured in the 19th revised edition of Malleus Maleficus'  [title withheld] *** (see below): If you wish to report intrusiveness, racism or inaccuracies, please email MalleusMaleficus@aol.com  To make a formal complaint under IPSO rules please contact IPSO directly at ipso.co.uk .  
"Of man there is little here: therefore do their women masculinise themselves. For only he who is man enough, will - save the woman in woman." 

  Then the screwballs: Helen Lewis, the deputy editor of the New Statesman, ever on the brink of another orgasm, and the public moralist Gaby Hinsliff, duly impregnated by her long-term association with The Guardian, such as has often been linked with  elongated foreheads, narrow

limbs, skinny face, turned down mouth and a permanently disapproving Y-chromosome, a gene apparently attuned to the ascetic sense of 16th-century Calvinist heretics.  And finally, there was my friend Andrew Sullivan: “a married homosexual”- in his own upright words – “who still clings to the truth of the Gospels and the sacredness of the church.”
            In short, the perfect spouse.
            “Just because you are saving yourself for your husband, doesn’t mean we can’t have platonic sex,” Gaby  cooed sweetly, slipping one arm under his elbow. And Andrew for his part told Gaby touchingly, if rather optimistically, that he would rise to the occasion. Helen Lewis then wanted to  know
what constituted “consummation” of a gay or lesbian marriage; whereas I, with my gift for missing the point, began to wonder if Alice Arnold was ‘the wife’ of Clare Balding, and Clare Balding ‘the wife’ of Alice Arnold, what happened to the good old-fashioned ‘husband’, anyway? Or was there something weirder at work? I only ask because I always thought the fundamentally complementary roles of wife and  husband would be the  provider of procreative delight as well as a celebration of civic virtues. For the thing that chills me most about same sex marriage, is not Clare, or her passion for Alice, but the people who call it a natural human right. Indeed, it is a measure of the pseudo-social dominance the gay rights movement has achieved at this time that the ‘vociferous’ minority all but outnumbers the silent majority.  And this troubles me. It troubles me because it is evidence of a continuing and historical, specifically dysphoric decline.  Common sense has retreated in the Western hemisphere. In its place there has arisen a desire to demonstrate that a 21st century marriage mock-up has a self-supporting structure of natural rights that can exist even without the pro-creative foundation that has given the bi-polar union life. The only problem is that this is utter bollocks. An omen of human disaster. At its heart, moreover, is a tale of fear that no amount of legal argument will be able to appease. To put it delicately, coitus per anum, per os, or inter femora,
produces no offspring.  And to describe the social recognition of a same sex civil union as a ‘marriage’  does not do justice to either the scale or the nature of  marriage as a procreative relationship between a man and a woman.
              Nor is this a ‘homophobic’ issue. We are now in the realms of cultural anthropology, or what its apologists charmingly call“life-style transitioning[2],  where  everyone is convinced that men have got to stop trying to be men, that “the old idea of being a tough, silent, strong man who never cries has lethal consequences,” at least when judged by  the significant rise in male suicides. So, the self-harmers, anorexics and the suicidal are persuaded to meet, share their experiences and encourage each other, when my own view is that the celebration of a physical difference also recognizes that seemingly ‘unequal’ biological attributes might be complementary rather than contradictory. Or that there is a hint of the equality of the grave in this contrived egalitarianism. The demise of a civilization that is bulimic, suicidal and riddled with tics and angst. Welcome, then, to End of Days, the virtual-equality world that is taking the planet by storm.
            Once we had cleared security, we were ushered in and up to the visitors’ gallery overlooking the United Nations security council chamber. Eleanor Mills who had just received “The International Alliance of Women World of Difference Award” (‘Difference’ stood for progress of thought), burst out airily that women were “free to embrace their sexuality.” Yes, absolutely. Pity to waste such an endowment.  As one of the most sought-after campaigners on feminist issues and an obvious candidate for  gender quotas, Eleanor might have been well advised to keep a low profile and eschew making statements that could easily be said to compromise such quotas. There was pain as well as pleasure in intimacy, she said  but went on to emphasize the need for  loving consensual acts – “albeit of a raunchy nature” – rather than sex as a meaningless recreation. “We may not want to acknowledge the porn monster in our midst,” she cautioned,  “but to tame it we’re going to have to.”
           Poor Eleanor. Her knowledge of the porn monster does not seem to have been based on any actual contact with it. Nor does she appear to have grasped the fact that the ‘monster’ might just be another example of that most notorious of human  errors, the inclination to confuse the symptoms with the cause; or, indeed,  that to “counteract the ubiquitous porn” with “hot but loving sex” would not be a priority for law-enforcement.
            It is hard not to wince, but PinkNews campaigner Benjamin Cohen, when not boasting about being gay and cool, took issue indeed with what Eleanor called “a smorgasbord of perversion”, his face a picture of indignant scorn. “I got a little tired of people asking me to send them used underwear,” he said, referring to a picture he posted on Facebook. “However since I did, my fanbase has shrunk from 100,000 to 60,000.”
                                     The  fanbase was intrigued but by no means delighted!
...and please tell the sniffers to bloody well man up !

[1] ©Rod Liddle



Alicia P. said...

Close enough, I guess. Telling a Guardinista she looks thin could be irritating. It's a bit like telling a crack whore she looks wasted, erm...

Sonja & Susanne said...

Don’t let the buggers grind you down, Eleanor, we are with you!!

Bill Ballantine said...

The Guardian can claim a few heretics; but no saints or thinkers, annd if David Baddiel is (said to be) behind this, the painful truth is that the reading public has got the "Guardian" it deserves!