Real women don’t MARCH, we DO!

Yeah, I can’t believe American women are “still protesting this shit” either. So why exactly did these angry grrrrls march in cities around the country on Saturday?

Well, solidarity it was not. It really ran the gamut, starting with your typical disjointed feminist talking points. Equality. Challenging the patriarchy. Pushing the matriarchy. Abortion, free and on demand. And other various rainbow flavors of outrages and tax-payer-subsidized freebies, as one sign summed up well: “Girls just want to have FUND$.”

These chicks and their soy-boy pets were also out in pink fury passionately protesting Trump, of course. His alleged misogyny, hatred of vulvas and uteruses, perpetuation of rape culture, infringement of that noble human right known as birth control, yada yada yada.

Seething outrage still persists over the “pussy grabbing” comment Trump made in a private conversation to another famous man which was leaked by a cheesy entertainment-news show to a cheesy fake-news newspaper. Yet, no mention of the degenerate Harvey Weinstein or any of the other prevalent Hollywood perversions.

Like comic Dave Chappelle summed up: “To the female comedian who has said that Louis C.K. masturbating in front of her ruined her comedy dreams. Well then I dare say, madam, you may have never had a dream. C’mon man, that’s a brittle spirit.

“You think if Louis C.K. jerked off in front of Martin Luther King, he’d be like, ‘I can’t continue this movement?'” he added sardonically. “How the hell are you going to survive in show business if this is an actual obstacle to your dreams?”

Huh, turns out that #MeToo is a sham just like the insipid Women’s March I wrote about last January. All bluster, no balls. Who da thunk?! I mean, if you’re willing to sell your body, integrity, and soul and then remain silent about the supposed “exploitation” for 20 years to further your own career and secure fame, why should anyone care?

If you willingly choose to enable further harassment, assault, and abuse of your “sisters,” you’re not a silence-breaking heroine worthy of praise or Time Magazine’s increasingly ridiculous person-of-the-year award, you’re a narcissistic coward. Give your privileged status and all your money and awards back as penance for making a buck on the system you now castigate, and then maybe serious people would take you seriously.

But we’re supposed to believe that it’s the fault of Trump, or Trump voters, or just white men (which is pretty much what Oprah said) that Hollywood is a system of godlessness and ego, in which high-time-preference fools shun traditional norms, worship materialism and vanity, and then get pissed about the resulting sick and barbaric cesspool they’ve created?

On one hand, the marchers seem irate over feminism’s near wins. Destruction of the family, chivalry, courtship, gender, manners, civility, monogamy, motherhood, chastity, decency, language, biology, education, and every other vestige of Western tradition. It’s been a long and steady march, but the cultural revolutionaries have undoubtedly taken the hill toward nihilism.

I remember when I had to attend mandatory diversity training while working at the local daily newspaper. Even back then (probably around 2004 or 2005), before I was a mom, or a fully woke Christian, thin libertarian, and anti-feminist, I raised my hand to speak up to the totalitarian trainers and my brainwashed colleagues.

“Men just don’t get what we ladies want. Hold the door open for me, and you’re a misogynist pig. Don’t hold the door, and you’re a misogynist pig,” I tried to explain. “I for one feel sorry for men. We’re sending mixed signals, and they’re confused as hell. And it’s not doing anyone a damn bit of good.” That’s what you call a real “silence breaker,” folks.

Angry chicks want to dominate, yet be doted upon. They want to be in control, yet never go Dutch. They embrace a hook-up culture, yet don’t like the sex-with-no-strings-attached men that such deviancy attracts. They are impulsive, yet blame men when they contract an STD or get knocked up. They define themselves by their sexuality and private parts, yet don’t ever want a dude to look at them sexually. Pffft, what a cave man!

They seek weak men who are easily manipulated, yet are repulsed by them. They hate “toxic masculinity,” yet really desire strong, assertive, confident men. They say pink feminine products are sexist, yet embrace pink pussy hats.

They live in a society akin to that old Virginia Slims catchphrase, “You’ve come a long way, baby!” yet claim they’ve gone nowhere at all. It’s as if there’s a mass case of intersectional-induced bipolar disorder infecting half the population.

Not the once “fairer sex,” but instead a rabid and irrational half, which will punch you in the face for wearing a MAGA hat, but scream and cry that “you can’t hit a girl” if you fight back. An agitated half that will throw up their middle finger and screech “Fuck you!” in any non-feminist’s face, but abandon the pink-pussy ship at the mere hint of a challenge. This is precisely why they say logic is a tool of the patriarchy.

The “resistors” to made-up oppression are all too busy listening to cat ladies and blue-haired professors rant. Too busy poisoning the minds of young women in the dogma of victimhood. Too busy elevating themselves to be martyrs in this abrasive, unnatural, and unhealthy dystopia, which the media happily defends and disseminates.

If they actually cared about truth, the marchers would know that Trump has more females at senior levels in his administration than any other recent president, including Mr. Hope himself, Obama, and the High Priest of Presidential Knee Pads, Slick Willy Clinton. Five of Trump’s chick brigade are even at the cabinet level.

Honestly, I could care less about such meaningless stats. For one, I truly abhor Nikki Haley. She represents everything bad about a statist/feminist – self-serving, disloyal, unprincipled, hyper-emotional, opportunistic, and hubristic. Not a “lady” by any stretch of the imagination.

In fact, I may take to the streets just to protest the fact that Trump has a quisling South Carolinian, a turn-coat to the Palmetto State, an ungrateful Southern-by-birth buffoon serving as US Ambassador to the UN.

Really, forget tweets and “shithole” comments. What kind of message does it signal to the rest of the world when you have a pant-suited Benedict Arnold in such a high-powered position? Grow a pair and shed that dead weight, Donald.

My digression is a bit personal (I am an emotional female after all), but it also exemplifies the fact even though women do “make it,” feminists want even more. Success stories don’t mean jack to them; it’s collective conquest or nothing. The future is female, or sexism abounds.

And meritocracy sure ain’t good enough because competition is born of the patriarchy, don’t ya know? They’d rather bully men into becoming more feminized or just handing it all over. Gender and race quotas in perpetuity!

It’s almost as if they’re guilting men into some kind of faux gentlemanly behavior by portraying themselves as the weaker sex. Hmm. Bipolar for sure. Confusing as hell. And suicidal for the other half of the population, no doubt.

So why else had these grrrrls and their “I sure hope attending this rally gets me laid” allies gotten their panties in a wad this year? Same old thang. “Whore power” for sex workers. DACA, Dreamers, and open borders for all, forever, and for a final end to the systemic racism and colonialism bred of dead white men (a.k.a. life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness).

Environmentalism. Free the nipple. Anitfa, Black Lives Matter, anti-white supremacy, and anti-capitalism. And LGBTQ.

The fashionable “trans rights” movement was particularly at the fore, which was precisely why the pussy hats of yore were at a minimum. Too much white cis oppression was on display in 2017, announced the keepers of acceptable opinion.

Gotta ditch the stitch to prove your progressive street cred and not offend the supposed growing ranks of vagina-less womxm. Or else, get back in the kitchen of your bourgeois heteronormative life, bitch.

On the other hand, the cult of the ever-oppressed obviously flies in the face of reality. C’mon, grrrrls. Admit it. You really do have it soooo good.

Women have disproportionate protection of law (especially family courts), the hammer of statist regulatory bodies, the support of government-subsidized business loan guarantees, the rule of academia (pre-K through college), the mainstream media as their publicists, influential support in entertainment and the arts, and the brute force of the unhinged, miseducated, and effeminate masses.

What they lack in testosterone, the feminists make up for in emotional sleight of hand and outright statist tactics. Really, who needs a man when you’ve got the government as your sugar daddy? Trick normal tax-paying men and women to fund their own demise. Use men’s protector instinct and Christianity’s innate altruism to cast all that is good and virtuous into the pink ash-heap of history. Brilliant!

But from the perspective of a woman who understands the importance of faith, tradition, nature, and the fragile inheritance of freedom fought for and secured at great risk and sacrifice by my forebearers, I am thankful. I am willing to do battle to preserve the tenets and pass them down to my progeny, and I’m sure as hell not going to let any grrrrl stand in my way. (My hubby doesn’t lovingly call me an “alpha female” for nothin’.)

So while the marchers sound off about lying in the sad feminist beds they’ve made for themselves, real women do. We marry real men. We often walk away from the fictional empowerment of cubicles, empty corporatist careers, and material wants in order to tap into our inherent strength.

We have babies. Lots of ’em. We nurture, teach, and raise our boys and girls to be grateful for their blessings, robust in their principles, bold in their faith, loving in their essence, and unapologetic in their rhetoric. We raise fighters because we are fighters ourselves, and because this is a war for the kind of future we’ll bequeath to our children.

This past weekend I made one trip to an urgent care and then spent two separate nights in the ER tending to a scary viral infection my eldest son has in his right shoulder. Of all the medical professionals we encountered – including three doctors, two radiation techs, and multiple registered nurses, medical assistants, nurse practitioners, and physician assistants  – all were women, except for one MD and one rad tech. Well, that’s weird; I thought only men had access to such high-falooting career paths.

Honestly, I had forgotten that the Women’s March was even taking place. I was too busy caring for my kid. The experience was hard. And frightening. And exhausting. And it was a reminder of just how important my job is. Ultimately, it’s going to be okay, thank God. But I did what I had to do.

Real women are too busy living real, beautiful, messy, and unpretentious lives to be out protesting fantastical injustices and allying with radical special interests who don’t have our best interests at heart. We’re too busy taking care of the people who love and depend on us most. It’s often sacrificial, but it’s always satisfying to our souls.

We’re too busy receiving the undying affection and protection of husbands who would “swim through shark-infested waters to bring us a glass of lemonade,” as Dr. Laura used to say. We’re too busy helping shape our children into the confident adults of tomorrow. Men who are masculine, but gentlemanly. Women who are capable, but ladylike. All of whom are humble servants of God, but ferocious warriors for truth.

This can be a selfless existence, but that only helps to grow us into more spirited, compassionate, contented, and purposeful women. Feminism pretends to do that, but it fails. Miserably. So keep on marching to oblivion, grrrrls, and leave the doing to us.