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Go Tell The Spartans
'Sorry Sir, Last Stands are Now Being Handled by Social Services', with Hawaii Update
© 2013 James LaFond
A lady at a party today asked me for a link to this story about the terrible abuse of her grandson. On rereading this I could not recall what book—if any—I had tagged it for back then, when it was written in 2013, so will include it in the appendix of Masculine Axis.
“…That extension is…three-six-two...”
“…Yes, Diocles…”
Dio-cles, properly Diokles, means divine [dio] honor [kles].
“How many Persians are there again?”
“Oh my, that is most certainly an OSHA violation. Based on your training and equipage you should not be expected to stand against more than three foes.”
“That is correct. Now, before we forward your complaint to Legal Services, I need a few details. Was your insertion amphibious, airmobile or mechanized?”
“What! You marched?”
“Oh my, that isn’t even legal anymore. I will also patch you through to Physical Therapy.”
“What, the enemy is sending in fresh troops and you have no relief? Listen, Diocles: make sure your commander signs your overtime slip…”
“Leo who? I’m sorry, Diocles your connection is breaking up. When Mister Katzenburg finds out that this Leo-whoever did not have a landline installed at that wall—which I’m sure the Locrians did not build to code—he will definitely take your case!”
“You’re welcome, Sir—and please, put on your sun screen. Skin cancer risks are grave in that latitude.”
“What? Persian arrows are not FDA approved for sun block! Diocles, Diocles!”
Diocles famously quipped, when told the Persian arrow flights blotted out the sun, that the Spartans would be able to fight in the shade.
“Betty you would not believe what Spartan Inc. puts their employees through. Send an investigator out immediately!”
“Put Alvin on it. These guys sound like they have gender role issues.”
“It's a spa north of Locris, begins with a T, h—just Google it.”
That might sound kind of far-fetched to you. But is it, really?
The fantasy of the bravest Spartan having a smart phone conversation with a social worker is in fact a loose interpretation of the record, on my part, to make a point and prepare you for the following:
5/30/14 update.
Judge Kathleen Watanabe just sentenced Robert Demond of Kilauea Hawaii to one year of probation, a $200 fine, and a parenting class, for the criminal act of making his son walk a mile—rather than drive with him—home from school. Demond claims he was disciplining the boy for not answering him. Watanabe claims that traffic and child predators [our own Orwellian Asiatic horde] now make such traditional measures unsafe. So, if Demond loses his car, and cannot afford to pay cab fare for his little master, will he be jailed if his son walks a mile? No wonder we can't defeat medieval holy warriors with jets, tanks and robots.
Mommy Nation
A few days ago I was visiting with Gene, a hard-working single father, his son, a two-sport two-job 16-year-old high school student, and a group of older women. As I am known to be an extreme pedestrian, for which my sanity is often questioned by these good folk, I was told a tale that surely has my Grandpa Kern rolling over in his grave. Grandpa walked fifteen miles one way to work and back every day in the 1920s. He once dropped me off by a corn field as a teenager on Route #1 and told me to walk, and not turn back around until I got a job. Twelve miles later, surrounded by crumbing urban blight, I got a job and turned back, assured that I would not be vilified, but in no way expected to be complimented.
How things have changed.
Gene’s son has been working on getting his license, but has to log more drive time before he can drive to school. He is therefore dependent on the school bus, operated by a contractor, who employees slackers. The driver on this particular route typically shows up twenty minutes late or twenty minutes early and does not wait on students.
Once again, a couple of weeks ago, Gene’s son found himself stranded. Having grown tired of returning home and facing parental scrutiny, and not wanting to call his father away from work, he committed the gravest sin against modern America that a youth can commit: he walked to school! I was glad to hear this, as it was certainly character-building, and honestly, at about 260 pounds, this kid needs to shed a few. The walk was six miles, I think.
Did anybody pat this young man on the back and compliment him on an action that, years from now, if repeated, might save him from losing a job if his car breaks down?
Oh no. Gene was contacted by Child Protective Services at work, embarrassed and made out to be an abusive parent. He had to leave work—compromising his livelihood by at least the wages he failed to earn—and was interviewed by the protectors of his offensive lineman-size "child" who is diligently breaking with postmodern form in an attempt to be a "man." Oh, excuse me. ‘Man’ is now a politically incorrect gender-based term. I meant to type ‘adult’. Gene was informed by the functionaries of our Nanny State that "It is against the law for a child to walk more than one mile to school in Harford County Maryland."
Let that sink in.
It is the law.
Walking, for which we are better designed than any other function a human can perform, is being legislated against.
What I did when I was six-years-old is now against the law for young men being scouted by collegiate football programs.
What was the response around the table?
Gene and I were angry. Everyone else was surprised. But, upon consideration, it was judged by the gathered mommies a terrible imposition upon the fragile child that towered above his father, to expect him to use his body for that one thing most suited to human anatomy, walking! Three offers from middle-aged to elderly women to give him a ride at a moment’s notice, assured this young man that he will never have to walk anywhere again.
2,500 years ago a Spartan mother would give her son his shield and say, "Come back with it or on it."
Now, with the outlawing of masculinity and even physicality—a precursor to the hated socio-physiological disorder that is manhood—we have come full circle, from wolves to sheep. The American society that spent 300 years hunting down and exterminating the proud warrior nations that once ruled this land now produces young "males" who are legally barred from a walk to school!
The ironic thing is, in two years, this "child" will legally morph into an adult, who will then be sought out by military recruiters. If he succumbs to their appeals to his suppressed masculinity, and the bounteous offerings of subsidized college, and he ends up serving in a combat role, what do you think that will do to his mind?
You see, in our legalistic society, only one second on the clock separates a helpless child from a recruitable war-fighter.
The Sedentary Subversion of Our Design
“It [behavioral law] kills what it means to be a human being. But the people that enforce it don’t have to live by it, because they have the money to live above it [the law].”
-Monty, the "Grousing Sedan Driver"
Healthy societies universally recognize a "youth" stage, setting a place at the social table for the adolescent person, particularly the male, who must be taken from his mother’s care and placed under the guidance of men. Our public school system, legal apparatus, and welfare institutions have been designed to take all masculine influence away from public life. Not only does the adolescent male never get handed off from mother to father at puberty, but our mother-based society mothers us all. On a gut level women of reproductive years know this to be true, and know it to be wrong, when they refuse to date men who live with their mother.
I could go into an entire anthropological discussion here, but it is not necessary. If you are wondering what damage to our culture this "mother government" social structure can and has done, look at the back-stories of convicted violent felons, and repeat violent offenders.
How many had a father at home?
Very few, and of those who did, you will certainly find that the father was not a good parent, or possibly a criminal himself. Virtually our entire criminal class is drawn from large urban centers where it is essentially illegal for the father to live at home, for this would nullify most welfare benefits enjoyed by the single mother.
When the Amerindian warriors were offered government rations to come live on the reservation, instead of hunting for their food, they knew on a gut level that taking a handout was the material reward for selling their soul. We, with our "mother nation" ethos, have not fought against the hostile takeover of our way-of-life. We have taken the handout.
A woman once grew angry with me for not accepting charity [a bag of food from a church pantry]. To me, in my anachronistic mind, that bag of food was the Devil’s own hand-basket—the Dark Lord’s ring. When I refused, she pressed me, and I responded, “I would rather starve than sell my soul.”
She laughed, the pretty little echo of our materialistic mothering social paradigm. When I looked at her I saw only emptiness in the form of that cozy nesting instinct that serves ultimately to bind us, and to wed us to the causes of evil men. This is what made Eve so frightening to men more primitive and masculine than we. She was a deeply wicked figure to the ancients. Her metaphor is all but lost on our current coddled consciousness.
Richard Burton, caustic social commentator and cultural apostate of the 19th Century, called the British version of this overweening mother society “Mrs. Grundy.” He travelled the world, seeking adventure, in order to remain a man by way of escaping a social model based on tea parties, domestic trivia and useless social conventions. Modern commentators have called the American version of this social phenomenon the Nanny State.
Well, I’m announcing that the fat old broad—coddling aunt to us all—seems well on her way to a state of total social domination that would have been the envy of Genghis Khan himself. We have been conquered without a shot being fired, 40,000 years of human culture destroyed with nothing but an appeal to weakness.
That, by design or by chance, is the collective world-binding genius that we bow to.
Under the God of Things
The Last Headbangers by Kevin Cook
the man cave
logic of force
into leviathan’s maw
night city
taboo you
logic of steel
the first boxers
the greatest lie ever sold
the combat space
when you're food
fiction anthology one
the sunset saga complete
broken dance
masculine axis
the gods of boxing
z-pill forever
honor among men
dark, distant futures
advent america
book of nightmares
son of a lesser god
let the world fend for itself
your trojan whorse
menthol rampage
winter of a fighting life
blue eyed daughter of zeus
the year the world took the z-pill
the greatest boxer
under the god of things
on the overton railroad
america the brutal
thriving in bad places
the lesser angels of our nature
song of the secret gardener
barbarism versus civilization
on combat
the fighting edge
by the wine dark sea
orphan nation
within leviathan’s craw
Dominick Mattero     Jun 6, 2013

This should be the submission to Takimag..this is perfect for their format!
PR     May 20, 2017

Why do people live in Maryland? It sounds like a prison state.
shep     May 21, 2017

James, this is gold! Forwarded it a bunch of times. I agree with DM—submit this far and wide!
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