by Alan Stang
July 4, 2008
Many women, some womanoids and a few men are responding to my pieces on feminism. What you have been reading all these months, doing double duty as magazine articles, are sections from my next book, a companion volume to Not Holier Than Thou: How Queer Is Bush? You may recall that my wife, the Love Priestess, demanded I write that one, about the sodomite infiltration of the Republican Party.
This new one is entitled Why Women Are So Crazy: Not In Their Place. Yes, it’s mealy-mouthed – I admit that – but because the subject is so explosive, I am trying to avoid controversy. The Love Priestess has demanded the right to do a Foreword, but there is nothing to fear; I shall get the last word in a Preface. Meanwhile, let’s suggest some practical remedies.
We know that one of the main purposes – maybe the main purpose – of the conspiracy for world government is to destroy marriage, the real thing, joining one man and one woman. That is why the conspiracy is frenetically promoting all kinds of perversions and calling them “marriage.” The conspiratorial purpose is to destroy the idea – if it is everything, it is nothing – and the scheme is working. Marriage is already shaky. It will be gone when a man can marry a (male) giraffe.
The conspiracy for world government wants to destroy marriage because without it you have government-owned women and government-owned children raised in Nazi dormitories. Hitler and Stalin tried versions of this, but because they were amateurs compared to our domestic conspirators, and lacked the necessary technology, they could not make it stick. We are much closer than they ever were, as Child Kidnapping Services, unfamily court and the recent mass abduction in the former Texas demonstrate.
At this late stage in the conflict it will be a massive job to turn the horror around. The conspiracy got where it is, within a narrow breadth of victory, a mere breath at a time. It can be routed, but only in the same way. Nothing is guaranteed, except that if you do nothing about it, you will lose for sure. Look at all the little things the conspiracy has done. Each by itself is inconsequential, but they add up to victory.
For instance, women used to have various titles, a situation related to the fact that they have many names. A man is born with a name and it remains his name throughout his life. Even the most stable women have more than one name, so until recently we used titles to describe their status. A Miss was an unmarried woman. A Mrs. was a married woman. A Mrs. John Smith had a living husband. A Mrs. Jane Smith was a widow.
Yes, I know that most of you know all this. I am not patronizing you. There could be some young people among us and, believe it or not, they do not know it. Today, on the contrary, all women are Ms. I want to write the plural here but don’t know how. What is the plural of Ms.? Where did Ms. come from? As far as I can tell, it came from the magazine of the same name.
That would mean Gloria Steinem, lifelong CIA agent, and the moron author of the classic line, “A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.” After ruining the lives of God alone knows how many vulnerable women, lonely and childless because they didn’t need a man, CIA agent Gloria got married – to a man. Which may prove she’s a fish. Do you really want to think like a fish?
Which recalls that Gloria’s kind of womanoid doesn’t take her husband’s name because it is a man’s name; so she keeps the name she was born with, which she gets from her father, a man. In recent years, I have had occasion to talk with people in England, which in most respects is even more in the toilet than we are, but even the corrupt English appear to have retained Misses and their married counterparts.
When the Love Priestess found mail in our box addressed to a “Ms.,” she routinely would throw it in the garbage. I’m sure we lost a lot of perfectly good mail like that; maybe that’s why it doesn’t seem to happen any more. Imagine the result if everyone did something like it.
In a related phenomenon, newspapers used to enter a lady’s correct title to indicate her status, when printing her name. Now, they do not even use the bastardization “Ms.” Rather, they call her by her last name like a man. I haven’t been able to find the origin of this disrespect.
I suspect the New York Times, where the reporters put their pants on backwards for easy access and have been exposed as liars again and again. They have done everything they could to impose Communism around the world. Do you really want such people to govern your language? The good news is that the nation’s red newspapers – even the Times – are in the toilet.
We saw in an earlier lesson that a gentleman is a gentle man. A gentleman seats a lady at dinner. You do that by pulling her chair from the table, and gently pushing it forward when she sits down. You do this as an expression of respect. I do it routinely at home when the Love Priestess and I chow down. What? You do it when just the two of you are eating? Who would know what you did? We would. We do it for ourselves.
By the way, you should also rise from the table when she leaves to “powder her pretty nose,” and rise again when she returns. Another expression of respect, which is why the art no longer is taught. So arcane has this civilized practice become that, were you to do it today in public, some people at your table, puzzled, would probably remark, “Are we leaving already? We just got here.” Be discreet. If the other men at your table are ignorant, you don’t want to show off.
So much has been lost and must be restored. There used to be arbiters of manners, foremost among them Emily Post, who in a volume as hefty as Roberts Rules explained the nuances of etiquette. Did you know that even meeting a lady is an art? If she extends her hand perpendicular to the floor, take hold of it, but don’t squeeze it like a man’s. If she extends it palm down, it’s okay to kiss it.
Sure, pal, you laugh, but the kissed lady will feel an electrical impulse from the soles of her feet to the tips of her hair. Try it. Sometimes, she will extend her cheek. Go ahead and kiss it. Some Christian ladies will expect a light, brotherly kiss on the lips. Always, the lady decides.
Guess what, girls, it’s okay to be a woman. It’s okay to wear a dress. It’s okay to be feminine. If it’s okay to be a bull dyke, it’s okay to be a homemaker. It’s okay to have lots of babies. Don’t apologize. See lots of Maureen O’Hara movies and read Taylor Caldwell’s Growing Up Tough. If you are that kind of woman, you will attract a man you can lean on, who is more than a mere metrosexual wimp.
Today’s marriage in so many cases has been denigrated to the status of a passing whim. It used to be a solemn contract, something really important. When it was really important, people took it seriously. They worked at it. Today, when the slightest thing goes wrong, the participants bail without another thought. The governing principle appears to be what each partner can get from the other, rather than what they can do for each other. Our leaders have done this to us.
The Love Priestess was pregnant for years. For months at a time, she couldn’t see her feet. She was an ocean liner; I was her tug boat. I used to get down on a knee to put her shoes on and take them off. Today, when she says she wants something, I jump up and try to get it. I derive intense joy from doing things for her, serving her. I don’t translate what she does for me into points. For the same reason, when I want something, she runs for it. When my shoe lace is untied, she ties it. When I want a glass of wine, I bang on a glass and yell, “Bartender!” and she brings it.
There is a four letter word for all this. By the way, I don’t tell you all this to show off, but because obviously our experience is closer to us than anyone else’s. You have your own. All of these minutiae make a real marriage. In the communist government schools and the communist media, the conspiracy for world government is replacing it with paltry, casual sex. The conspiracy tried to replace God’s government – marriage – with Nazism and Communism, both of which the conspiracy created. They are trying to do the same thing here today.
Here, at no additional charge, is a technique guaranteed to maintain the excitement in your marriage. On special occasions like her birthday and Mother’s Day, you now give your wife a gift. Nothing wrong with that; it’s good. But however nice your gift is, your wife, eminently practical, thinks, “Sure, a couple of dozen roses are nice. But he had to do that! It’s my birthday.” If you didn’t you would be standing in deep kimchi.
Pick a day when absolutely nothing is happening, a day when you don’t have to do anything. On that day, shoot in a couple of dozen roses, or maybe a box of chocolates. You only need to do that a couple or three times to arouse a condition I call Creative Neurotic Anticipation, in which she is always on edge, always wondering whether this is the day.
Don’t overdo it, or it will become routine and lose its excitement. By the way, since you are smart enough to be reading this, you probably already know it, but, just in case, you will get much better results from CNA if no one else’s lipstick is on your collar when you make a presentation.
Again, the conspiracy for world government deserves to be where it is. It has worked assiduously for many decades, undermining marriage, the basic unit of civilization, using perverts for the purpose. We can only win with the same application, a dozen roses at a time, restoring genuine marriage to the supreme status it deserves.
P.S. The Love Priestess says most of this is nonsense, and she will correct it in her Foreword to the book.
[Announcement: Alan Stang’s new radio show, The Sting of Stang, will debut on Monday, July 14th, 7 to 8 a.m., Central, M-F, via Republic Broadcasting Network. To listen, go to republicbroadcasting.org and click on Listen Live. Call in is 800 313-9443. If you can’t listen at that time, do so via the archives, which are free. I’ll be talking about the various manifestations of the conspiracy for world government, its tactics, such as the illegal alien invasion, its purposes and its players, from Jorge W. Boosh on down.]