The following is taken from Doug Giles’ best-seller, PUSSIFICATION: The Effeminization Of The American Male
Back in the caveman days, if some cave bastard from some other tribe tried to steal a man’s brontosaurus ribs, or the wheel he just invented, or his hot cave-woman, or they tried to harm his snaggle-toothed cave brood, the man under attack would find the nearest pterodactyl bone and commence beating the living crap out of said thieve-nous cave thug.
And he would usually beat the moron to death. Like in splat.
And if he didn’t kill the cave thug, he would’ve definitely left one of those massive, cartoon-sized lumps on their head.
The aforementioned was what was considered normal for man up until the 1960s when the man-haters began the systematic emasculation of the male collective, trying to eradicate any and all semblance of this primal, protective funk from their constituent junk and turn them into a squealy, 21st-century-hipster liberal.
Indeed, primitive man understood that to him belonged the responsibility not only to provide for himself and his family, but also the duty of beating the shit out of any man or animal that threatened his family’s existence.
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