“Godless Wollstonecraft”

Mary Wollstonecraft is a godless woman. Here is a woman that wants to appeal to reason. This is a woman using the dirty French as heroes and setting them up on pedestals. Do not let your wife read her tract, this new A Vindication of the Rights of Woman. In this book, she renounces some of the main tenants of Judeo-Christian faith. How can you trust a woman who writes, “very few, it is presumed, who have bestowed any serious though on the subject, ever supposed that Eve was, literally speaking, one of Adam’s ribs.” (Wollstonecraft 384a). Keep this away from your households.
Any woman who will go so far as to refute the scripture is not a woman who should be allowed by good Christians to walk this earth. It is written in the scripture that Eve was created out of Adams rib. How can we doubt the validity of the good book? It has been handed down throughout the ages to teach all men about the deeds of the great men who came before us. It sets examples of how we should conduct our daily lives and proceed in order that someday we may achieve paradise that lies before us. There is no man who can say that he knows better than our great lord. This book also teaches us of the great temptresses who have led to the downfall of men. Eve is the prime example of this. I do not have to tell men how her greed for the one thing forbidden her by our lord led mankind out of paradise on Earth.
Men have suffered at the hands of women for too long. Women have destroyed great kings. Our own Arthur was betrayed by the fair Guinevere’s deceitful nature. They are the natural subservient of men, and had been set forth on Earth to fulfill our whims and fancies, not us theirs. This Wollstonecraft woman is comfortable taking on, and challenging years of the natural order of things. “But, alas! husbands, as well as their helpmates, are often overgrown children; nay, thanks to early debauchery, scarcely men in their outward form” (Wollstonecraft 381b). Men shall be men, as boys will be boys. Did not Prince Hal overcome his early debauchery to become a great King and leader of men? Of course he did, and he stands as a shining example of what a man can be. She wants to debase us for our very own lack of innocence, but she fails to recognize that this is the very innocence that was taken away from us by that very first seductress. Do not allow, do not stand for such trifles in this female creature. Take heed and hold away from such incendiary ideas.
After such harsh diatribes, you would think that the foul woman was done with her attacks on the status quo. But no, alas she is further takes herself to attack the venerable institution of marriage. This is a union sanctified by the church and held up by years of tradition. Female children are brought up differently than male children. This would be considered a matter of course by most respectable thinkers. The children are on different trajectories in this world. A female is born into this world to be a wife. A male child is brought into this world to become a Man. Wollstonecraft argues against the time honored tradition of women “spend[ing] many of the first years of their lives in acquiring a smattering of accomplishments, meanwhile strength of body and mind are sacrificed to libertine notions of beauty, to the desire of establishing themselves” (Wollstonecraft 375a). There is no shame in a woman becoming a wife, or becoming a mother. This is the place that God himself intended for women when he stole the rib from our chest and granted us a companion in this life. For her to argue otherwise sets herself again in direct opposition to the all loving, all powerful God that we bow to on Sunday and pray to every day. The hubris of this woman is impossible to understand, and it would be folly to allow such ideas to spread to the classes of women in our society.
However, one has to question just how godless this woman is. She does hold forth and perpetuate some of the stereotypes of Mohammedanism. These people are heathens and deserve their place in the fiery hell that awaits them. This is a fact that is not in question. Any person that does not believe in the one God, the creator, and his son Jesus Christ does not deserve any sympathy in their eternally suffering fate. Do not be bowed into submission by a woman who disdains these people, while setting herself up for the same eternal torment. Her views are vile and caustic, and will lead to downfall. If your womenfolk have obtained this tome, or have started reading it, beware. Wollstonecraft is a radical of the first degree, and at her most base, she is a sinner indeed. Do not let them be swayed by her elegant prose styling, even if she herself promises to “avoid the flowery diction which has slided from essays into novels, and from novels into familiar letters and conversation” (Wollstonecraft 374b). The only thing sharper than this harpy’s talons is her pen, and the reader knows that a woman is easily influenced by a clever turn of phrase.
She tries to turn our great poets into agents of her own agenda, she subverts the Biblical tracts, and refutes their authenticity, and she wants women to act of their own volition. Ask yourself this, dear reader, what might become of our glorious society if we allow such ideas to run rampant? There is no end to the downfall of proper decorum if we will one single slippage. If women are allowed to become like men, and have their own thoughts and feelings and hopes and dreams, you never know who might be asking for the same consideration the next time around. It is possible that the beautiful noble savages in darkest Africa might want to appeal to the King’s reason and allow them to vote for themselves and control their own territory. It is possible that they will repeat the folly that the colonies in America have committed, and they will want to be free too. Many of our soldiers have died defending civilization as it is, and no one wants to repeat such actions. If we do not keep life as it is, everyday man will become further and further removed from God. People ask for control of their own lives, but there should be no condemnation of such desires. Their minds are simple, and they know not what they ask. It is our duty as men to forgive them their aspirations, and defend them from such polluting ideas that take them away from God; one of our duties is to keep Mary Wollstonecraft’s A Vindication of the Rights of Woman as far away from our loved ones as possible.


Work Cited
Wollstonecraft, Mary. A Vindication of the Rights of Woman. 1792. Class Handout. English 262.2. West Virginia University. 12 January 2004.

In the arms

He sits there, shifting nervously in the seat; fingering the tab of his newly opened beer. His seems troubled by the question, as if I had asked him about the stained rags lying close by the side of his bed. It’s puzzling, his anxiety.
“No, you won’t understand.”
Again, we goad, but are stonewalled.
And again we ask, again we plead.
No avail. It was another one of those late-night sessions where we ponder the fate of man as we try to find the bottom of as many beers as we can. Perhaps what we talk about would rival Plato or Aristophanes, if only we could record these matters before they fade as dawn awakens the new day. The only reason I remember this particular episode was John’s peculiarity in withholding information. Usually, when intoxicated, we can’t get him to shut up, always babbling on about topics too deep to ponder under the influence of “c –h-three-c-h-two-o-h” (his phrasing, not mine) and we have to beat him with pillows. He’s my best friend, but there are times when he must be dealt with.
“It’s not that easy to explain. I have a favorite place, but it doesn’t really exist here on Earth, or anywhere else in the galaxy.”
For some reason, I felt my grip on the pillow tighten. Luckily, he was quite for some time after that, but that opening intrigued us. It was the beginning of a path, but we wanted more. Actually, don’t tell him this, but we all respect him more than we let on, but being the baby of our group, he has to take shit from us.
“I’m not saying it’s something like a castle on an island on a cloud in the sky. My favorite place was once very real, but it wasn’t in a concrete place, but it was no abstraction. This was a very real place.”
Those were the kinds of things I was talking about earlier. He just, well, he’s just John.
“Oh, never mind.”
He also is reluctant to share his true feelings with people, even his best friend. You just have to know the right words to coax him. Usually, the word “pussy” is adequate, in the derogatory sense, not in the slang term for the vagina. Come to think of it, they’re probably one in the same.
“Come on, don’t be such a pussy, it’s a simple question.”
“Ok, just give me a second”
Presto. See, it works.
“It was a warm, comforting place, on that makes you happy, creates a warm feeling rushing all over you. There were smiles, lost of smiles, smiles without thinking. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t exist anymore.”
Ok, by either meaning of the word “pussy,” he’s there. The corners of his were watering.
“Soft flesh pressed against you. The warmth of respiration tingles your neck. Dudes, there is no place on Earth like there is in the arms of someone you love, and I don’t have that anymore”
With that, we grew silent. There was nothing else we could say. He may be a pussy, but that was raw emotion. Thus, the question moved on to me. He got and grabbed another beer, which was weird, because I seemed to remember him having a new one but five minutes ago. Maybe that boy drinks too much. Or maybe he just needs to find his favorite place again.

Valentines Day

Valentines Day

With these compressed sugars
in my hand, I have to ask,
“What kind of love story?”

What kind of times are these
that to speak of candy
hearts is wrong because
it implies silence
about so much else?
Every day a man dies.
He could have been me, and
I, should I feel guilty
at not signing the papers
that would have put me in
his stead, and it be me
wandering in the hot
climes of a foreign land?

Where is my love now, in
this hot city built on sand?
She writes letters telling,
“We will be together,
someday, after this farce
draws to its ultimate
end.” Yet I still wonder
what to make of love now.
It among the trees,
the poplars and walnuts,
reminding me of home.
Absent is the love I
left in my verdant hills.
And when I die in this
desert place, what orator
will stand back and say,
“Dulce et decorum est
pro patria mori? “