Contra MGTOW: The Tale of Nellie Oonsk

I met her in an arctic bar beside the Bering Sea,

     And through an alcoholic haze the world warmed up for me;

I wooed her and I won her, and I claimed her for my own;

     Between the white of earth and sky I wooed the Queen of Nome.

     Right here at the very beginning of this, I will state that I have been technically MGTOW since long before I ever heard the term, since becoming a celibate Buddhist monk well over 25 years ago. One of the many reasons why I have gone my own way is that I perceived long ago that too many, maybe most, modern western women are so messed up (partly by “empowerment”) that they are simply (or complicatedly) unreliable and not worth the trouble—and nowadays it’s even worse with the mainstreaming of downright depravity and the pervasive feminist conditioning in society inclining young women to see men as the enemy. Why on earth should a man live with a woman who, although emotionally she might love him dearly, has been taught intellectually to see him as the oppressor and the cause of all badness?

     Nevertheless, the following narrative is not intended to encourage any man to avoid women. After all, not only are men and women required to come together for the sake of perpetuating the race, but love is, as far as I can tell, the only thing in this world that makes life genuinely worth living—and although “romance” is certainly not the most reliable form of love, it is powerful and beautiful if one can find the right mate. Besides, human beings tend to have certain emotional needs.

     Rather, the following narrative is intended to point out one of the pathetic symptoms of some Men Going Their Own Way: it is about men, men’s rights activists I presume, who plaintively protest on the theme of how women are more physically abusive than men.

     According to statistics it may be true, for all I know, that more women hit men than vice versa. But it is a simple and obvious fact that men (genetically male adult humans) are physically much stronger than women on average—having around 50% greater upper body strength, and a body more designed for fighting, for example in having a longer reach—and men are also more aggressive. Consequently, an average man can beat the living daylights out of an average woman much more easily than vice versa. And a testosterone-fueled rage can, and does, send many women to hospitals, even to morgues. Besides, an actual man shouldn’t let himself get beaten up anyway. That last statement is a primary theme of the following story.

     Many years ago, long before I was born, say, the 1950s or very early 60s, my father was living in Alaska with a half-wild Eskimo woman named Nellie Oonsk.— At this point I will observe that if anyone objects to the term “Eskimo” on the grounds that it is politically incorrect, I will have something to say about that before I’m done, and anyway you’re an idiot for reading this blog. But I digress, so I’ll start again.

     Many years ago, long before I was born, my father was living in Alaska with a semi-civilized, half-wild little Eskimo squaw named Nellie Oonsk. One day my father was late coming home from work; the reason was totally innocent, like having to help a friend get his car started. But when my father entered his house, he found Ms. Oonsk standing there completely naked, brandishing a butcher knife, and mad as hell. She accused him of being with another woman, which he denied; but she wouldn’t hear a word of it and launched herself at him, literally trying to stab him to death with the butcher knife.

     My father was no coward, and he didn’t run; instead, he rushed her and managed to overpower her and take away the weapon—but in the process, while he was holding the arm that held the knife, she was able to use it to gash up his forearm pretty badly. Anyway, after getting the knife away from her, he thought, “Well, I’ve got her down on the floor and she’s already naked, so…what the hell,” and so he proceeded to have sex with her then and there. I remember old Dad explaining that, for this little semi-savage, being laid on the kitchen floor in a puddle of his blood got her more sexually excited than he had ever seen her before. She went totally ballistic.

     The really bizarre part of this story for me is that he didn’t throw her out of the house after she tried to kill him. They continued living and sleeping together. But some time later my father found out that Ms. Oonsk had prostituted herself with one of his acquaintances, for the sake of getting the money to buy him a birthday present. My father was indignant upon learning of this, and confronted her with it, telling her that if she needed money he could have given her as much as she needed; but she was indignant in turn, retorting, “Oh, yeah, you’re going to give me the money to buy your own birthday present!” So she literally tried to murder him with a butcher knife and he forgives her and lets her stay, but when she screws some other guy for the sake of getting the money to buy him a present, that was just too much. I don’t get this at all. For me the murder attempt would have been more than sufficient for Nellie to wear out her welcome in my home. But, I’m not as macho as my father used to be, and besides, he understood the situation better than me because he was there. It takes all kinds.

     The moral of this story is that if a man lets a woman dominate him, it’s his own goddamn fault for being an abused beta infused with soy products. Even in the days before feminism had culturally emasculated western men, some men were beaten by their wives; although these were usually in a drunken stupor at the time or else particularly weak, spineless fellows. And even they, after taking one such beating, generally had the option of going their own way. There is no reason why a man (or a western woman either) must subject himself to a second beating from his (or her) own mate. If he does so, in modern terminology, he’s simply a cuck. Any man who is regularly beaten by his female mate deserves to be beaten up by girls.

     But alas, we are living in a culturally castrated civilization, and most men are pale shadows of what their much more macho ancestors accepted as the fundamental requirements of basic manhood. Consequently, I have an idea, which could actually be feasible in the new form of feminized western society: Bring back polygamy! First of all, a factor that should be considered by the politically correct flocks of progressive sheeple is that polygamy is already basic to Islamic culture. And since Islamic culture is being imported at an insane rate by our globalist overlords anyhow, and since forbidding Muslims from having multiple wives might be Islamophobic, white men with the balls and the temperament for it should be allowed to have multiple wives also. The whole idea of polygamy should be accepted into the mainstream.

     Another supporting factor is that the whole concept of marriage has been thrown into chaos lately anyhow, with men marrying men and women marrying women, so that there seems to be nothing unconstitutional or politically incorrect forbidding a marriage from consisting of three or even several spouses in one marriage. Religions should be able to accept polygamy much more easily than same-sex marriages also, since Islam already accepts it, and the Bible also has plenty of examples of men marrying multiple women (although homosexuality is pretty much universally condemned)—wise King Solomon with his harem of a thousand wives and concubines immediately comes to mind. Eastern religions also have accepted polygamy much more than same-sex marriage; for example in Buddhist Thailand multiple wives are legal to this day.

     Thus not only would Muslim migrants feel more comfortable, which is of profound importance to the people they are replacing, but the relatively few alpha-type white men able to keep a number of western women in line (if only by inspiring them with genuine respect) will be able to take upon themselves the important task of propagating the race with their superior, virile DNA. Biologically, it would be good for the species. Meanwhile, the more beta-type MGTOW individuals are increasingly privileged with the option of feminoid sex robots—or, if they prefer, simple pornography and their own right hand (or homosexuality; to each his own). And if those sex robots ever become sophisticated enough to make good sandwiches besides, the angry feminists—those who aren’t lesbians anyhow—are in serious trouble.

(this isn't really Nellie; this is someone else)

APPENDIX ONE: ON THE POLITICAL INCORRECTNESS OF THE TERM “ESKIMO”

     Some time ago I happened to read in a dictionary the strange fact that the word Eskimo is now politically incorrect…despite the fact that it is the only really applicable term for these people in the English language! Technically speaking, the more PC word Inuit applies only to the arctic aborigines of eastern Canada and Greenland, not to those of Siberia and Alaska. The Eskimos of these latter areas are not actually Inuit and speak a different language from their eastern cousins. So, unless one wants to call an Alaskan Eskimo Inupiaq or Yupik, which almost nobody would understand anyhow, there simply is no correct word for the poor bastards. Political correctness has robbed them of a name, and they stand in shame, stripped naked of any means of referring to them. Too bad for them.

APPENDIX TWO: TWO CASES IN WHICH MY FATHER STRUCK A WOMAN

     My father, as implied in the narrative above, was rather a macho barbarian type, and was not a particularly virtuous person—although he did have a code of honor of sorts, which included these three precepts:

     1. Don’t kill an animal unless you figure you have a good reason. My father objected to unnecessary cruelty, and considered trophy hunting to be despicable.

     2. Never raise your hand against a woman. He did, however, occasionally add as a joke the additional clause, which he attributed to his gentle Baptist minister father, “your foot will do.”

     3. A promise made is a debt unpaid. As boys all my brother and I had to do was remind my father, “You promised,” and he would have to give in to us, assuming that he really did promise something, in order to be a man of his word.

     Nevertheless, not being a saint, my father did occasionally break his own precepts. And although he never mentioned actually hitting his Yupik mistress Nellie, he did tell me of two other occasions in which he did strike a woman, in both cases a wife of his.

     The first case involved his second wife, not my mother. Both she and he were heavy drinkers at the time, and they were driving home, in Alaska, after some recreational heavy drinking. Mabel, the wife in question, was beating my father as he navigated the icy road, until he finally admonished her with the warning that he was going to wreck the goddamn car if she kept hitting him while he was trying to get them home—she should wait till they were safe back in the house if she wanted to fight. So, she calmed down; and as soon as they arrived home and entered the house she started hitting him again. My father was a bruiser, and had been a heavyweight boxer in the army, and he had had enough; so he simply backhanded her across the face, once. She fell, or flew, onto the bed, and immediately became docile, realizing that he was much stronger and better at fighting than her. But when he hit her he suddenly heard something hard hit the wall on the other side of the room. He was horrified at the thought that he had just knocked out one of her teeth, and immediately began apologizing profusely. But Mabel just laughed and explained that what had hit the wall after the backhand blow was not a tooth, but one of her earrings.

     The second case involved his fourth wife, also not my mother. In this case the beating occurred in a restaurant. The two were having some sort of heated disagreement, Geri, the wife in question, made some cutting remark at which women are particularly adept, and my father, exasperated, simply grabbed her, pulled her over his lap, and administered a spanking right in the middle of the restaurant. Strangely, as was the case with Ms. Oonsk in the puddle of blood, his woman was immensely aroused by this humiliation, and was exceedingly affectionate for the rest of the evening. Feel free to derive whatever moral you please to this one. Female psychology is, allegedly, beyond the grasp of mortal man.