Die, My Darlings!

There is a trajectory that is invariably followed in republics—once women are allowed to vote, the republic begins its decline.

A republic can tolerate no more than one hundred years of female suff(e)rage until it has been totally emasculated. Better that a culture die a violent death than to ignominiously die by the slow suffocation in estrogen-drenched politics.

America was doomed to go the way of all great societies when men succumbed to sirens harping for equality. Women don’t understand history, much as they do not understand art, architecture, engineering, poetry, or much of anything, really. But they desperately love to insert themselves into the masculine worlds and try, by imitative mastery, at which they, like parrots, are quite good, to prove that they really are men’s equals.

But they are not. Oh, morally, before the law, in God’s eyes—of course. But in abilities, women have a unique ability merely to destroy, not to build.

The old tale in the Garden of Eden of the Fall, if not factually true, contains an element of truth—if you want to destroy a man, you only have to go through a woman. And the way you get to her is to promise that she will be the man’s equal or superior. In our society, think "college degree."

Well, that is what giving them the right to vote (and even worse, hold office!) has done. The republic is on the verge of collapse, and will collapse in the not too distant future. Every woman is a tyrant at heart, and she will propel man’s greatest achievements into ruin so that she can live a tyrant in a tyranny.

If you do not think that women are the source of all evil and that, rather, they are our softer, gentler, more reasonable nature, look at the world of lesbianism. This is a world where women live without the domination of men. It is a humorless, vile, crude, uncreative netherworld that raises revulsion in men and real women. The only similarity between the worlds of gay men and of lesbians is that neither has sex with women!

If you want to prove my point, go to a restaurant in Palm Spring, CA, during the notoriously lesbo Dinah Shore golf tournament. Waiters and waitresses and bartenders will all be trying to suppress sneers of disgust at the human debris that is lesbianism, women without men.

Women have always been envious of men, and Eve was susceptible to the flattery of the serpent. She had no other motive than to prove she was Adam’s superior, and look at the chaos that she brought about. Whether true or not, this is a story that has played itself out time and time again.

Alas, it is playing itself out in America during my lifetime, and dammit, I resent the cunts for this! I want all of you to notice how men are portrayed in popular entertainments and commercials. Men are stupid, women know better, men are oafs, men are talentless boobs.

If men are creating these things, and I suppose there are some who are so hard up that they will betray their own (probably to please women), it shows that the end truly is near.

Solomon wants to take away women’s right to vote, to allow women to hold jobs that only women are truly suited for, and certainly to get them out of the education system. We are in decline because of the bitches!

The only societies in the world that are in the ascendancy are those that require women to be subordinate to men. Anymore, I am merely polite to women. I don’t respect them, because they don’t deserve respect.

I wouldn’t allow my dogs or cats to dictate what goes on in my life. I won’t allow women to do that either. Please do not think that I am saying that pets and women are the same. Of course not. Pets actually provide us with real pleasure and enrichment.

The only way to save what our forefathers created is to undo these dreadful, Biblical mistakes. Well, Adam couldn’t change it. Neither can we.

We’re doomed.

Thanks, Ladies! (Spit, phoosh, gag!)

Frizzy Ends

It’s book review time, and Solomon is not happy.

He just finished reading Dean Koontz’s The Good Guy, a work that came recommended as the year’s best by no less an authority than Stephen King.

Understand that Solomon doesn’t read much fiction these days, so when he does, he expects an exciting entertainment. (Solomon did all that “thoughtful” fiction back when he was young and read a lot faster than he does now—and had a higher tolerance for crap.)

So, when he made the commitment to read a fiction work, he had high hopes that THIS time Dean Koontz wouldn’t let him down. Now, let me tell you Koontz is a fine writer, with great verbal skill. He can create character with dialogue like no one else. And he has an ability to create suspense that is second to none.

But he has his tics, and they are super annoying. He is prone to recycle characters; he is too fond of certain uncommon words that call attention to themselves; he wallows in the maudlin, though he tries to appear hard-boiled; he will solve plot dilemmas with the deus ex machina of the supernatural; and he will deliberately try to gross you out, though, to his great credit, without ever resorting to bad language.

It would seem from this list of faults that Solomon doesn’t like Koontz at all, but this is not so. The man is an inventive and driven dynamo of a writer whose complete list of achievements is staggering. He must write faster than most people read! And when he’s on his game, there is simply no one better.

And his beginnings! My God, no one writes a better, more compelling first chapter than Dean Koontz!

But for the last five years, Koontz seems to have put so much into his stories that he quits writing them when they are three quarters over. I believe he has been handing off his denouements to some sketchy Vietnam vet who holds a sign “Will Finish Book for Food.”

Koontz builds incredible skyscrapers and stops building before the roof’s in place. He’s the quarterback of the team who takes them down to the two-yard line and then fumbles. He is the guy who swims across the lake and gives up within sight of the shore. He is the ultimate coitus interruptus.

I’ll tell you exactly where he quit writing The Good Guy—Chapter 57. The first fifty-six are inspired, crackling suspense. But he might as well have said, at the end of Chapter 56, “And he woke up and found out that he’d been having a bad dream.”

If he were a salesman, it would be said of him that he gives the greatest presentation, but he can’t close the deal. His Frankenstein series—great fun, but not even a bad ending—just NO ending. Book after book of his leads us down into the dungeon where the monster is hiding. He takes us up to the door behind which it is lurking. And then…well, then the door swings open and you shoot the monster and he dies, end of story.

When you prepare a reader to stand in front of the monster’s lair, there damn well better be a monster back there that is going to leap out at us chase us and scare us until we can’t take it any longer. Suspense doesn’t end when you open the door—opening the door is the beginning of the REALLY bad stuff!

It’s not as if Koontz isn’t aware of this, for he created what has to be one of the finest, most satisfying endings in all of literature in his masterpiece, Life Expectancy.

So one can only conclude that he has gotten lazy. But damn, he owes us more. And note to Stephen King: The Good Guy is NOT the best book of 2008, and you should know better.