About those White Dudes for Harris

The Boss White Dude Bradley Whitford

When I first heard the name “White Dudes for Harris” I thought immediately of Bradley Whitford.

It was the role of his lifetime. Playing White House power behind the scenes Josh Lyman, who bullied his secretary to make things happen for the righteous presidency of Jeb “Martin Sheen” Josiah Bartlet, a little guy with MS who was in every way a precursor of Obama but for being physically small and weak and gloriously intelligent like no one else who could talk Christian while being the smartest meanest man in the room. 

Bradley Whitford himself went to Wesleyan University, one of the ‘Little Three,’ who always knew they were smarter than Harvard, Yale, and Princeton. Are we cool enough yet or what? I always despised the smug self-hagiography of the West Wing. The longest running political propaganda as soap opera entertainment in the history of American television. Bradley got himself Emmies and Golden Globes pushing his own inane political agendas. 

This next link is the moment when I realized West Wing was hard left anti-Christian propaganda. It’s here (link corrected to West Wing) and it’s important. Title is complicated. Read it anyway. 

This is going to be a big post. I’m too old to care about length. I have a grudge against the Bradley Whitfords of the world and if he has a problem with that, send him to my page… 

What is the serpent of Genesis but a limp dick wriggling under the covers in the name of evil? A perversion of masculinity that uses its still considerable powers to manipulate women in the name of undoing sexual injustice. You know. They just love their Bad Boys.  And, of course, there is venom.

8
Convinced? Me neither.

Remember the ObamaCare dude? He’s baaack. Voting for Harris.

The real deal is about cultural suicide. Men don’t want to be men anymore. The real reason they can’t stand Trump being alive. He’s a man. A Big Man. The worst thing you can be when your whole life is spent currying favor with women. Do they have a fantasy we could ever understand? The weak-ass Whitfords of our day?


They even have a paradisiacal vision, with them still somehow in charge…

Forcing the way for the dumb, silly, irrational ones who so want to be in charge. Our fantasy.

And all they have to do to achieve their goal is surrender their own manhood. Who couldn’t do that?

Castrati then and now, when they’re loud, proud, and still unendowed.

How do they look at it? Truthfully. We’ll give it a shot…First off they know the real mortal enemy of the estrogen oligarchy is cisnormal white men like me…

Yeah. I can take the heat. Cisnormal all the way… 

Guess we should let them talk for a change.


2

Um. Me. Us. White dudes. For Harris. WTF. Why wouldn’t we? Look at it from our side. We’re the guys who never had a chance from Day One. We’re the guys who never got the girls. They always wanted the bad boys. Better in bed, we guess. Not that we talk about it. Eventually we got married though. Didn’t realize till later we were beards for Lesbians. We never had the visceral gore lust to be a serial killer. We’re just not made that way. 

Thing is, we like being in charge too. In our small way. Like, the ones we really really hate are the other guys. The ones who make them squeal and scream in bed. We like to imagine them squealing and screaming in bed. And we are smart people who know how to compartmentalize. We can hear her squealing and screaming and subtract the bad boy who’s doing it. See? 

Not true. All of that above. We like women. We want to please them. We wish they didn’t have that fatal flaw of falling for assholes when we’re right here the whole time. We dislike bad boys because they’re not bad boys but bad men. Big difference. We know who they are. At a glance. Why can’t women see it?

So we wait. Wait for them to get enough black eyes and broken arms and are finally ready for a good man. We’re not that hard to spot. We hold the door for you. We look at your eyes not your bosom and crotch. It’s not even hard for us to do. We’re looking for a person not a lay. The smartest of us know that women never really do survive puberty. Something changes in them forever. Why they don’t have a William Blake or a Leonardo da Vinci. We can cope with that. 

How we manage to have marriages and children and like that. We just compartmentalize the fact the kids don’t look like us. (Just a joke…)

This whole thing about castrati and eunuchs? Not how it really works. They don’t actually come and take your junk away. Unless you’re a kid in a Dem district these days. Your junk just kind of goes away on its own. 

Sorry. Sorry. Have to find my inner Josh Lyman. He has a perpetual brain hard-on. Doesn’t matter if he can never make her squeal or scream in bed. The man went to fucking Wesleyan! 

Sorry again. Why we are for Kamala. Lots. She’s the girl we never got to have. And so wanted to. Flat-out party girl, legs akimbo, big laugh, seeming so open when she was always really closed to us. So if we back her now, she might be nice to us down the road. Not that we’ll get laid. We’re not like that. Talking mentally laid here. She’ll say something nice about us down the line. Right? 

And face it. The women are already in charge everywhere. Which is pretty amazing given they’re still afraid of spiders and always need a man to open the goddam jar. They wouldn’t know the difference between a 4-bbl carburetor and a suitcase nuke. They just shirk and run and tell that bad boy they’ve been screwing to handle it. They must be just completely better in every other way.

AND, otoh, on one very special day, she’ll wear six inch heels JUST FOR US…


… and maybe in a long damp dream a presidential upskirt…

We know. Still don’t get hard. But even a catQ can look at a queen.

ADDENDUM: More cool stuff about Castrati/eunuchs, who have ALWAYS been with us… and we have nothing against them, except the “White Dudes” locution.

Estrogen Teevee.


Castrati Choir

Castrati Stars through the ages

Music 1 (real)
Project Moreshki. What Women can’t do…

P.S. I don’t dislike the Castrati. I mostly don’t think about them. Like frigid girls. You can spot them at parties. And your question is always not what’s wrong with them, but why are they here? Accompanied by sad thoughts. Why have they never chosen to live? Some other universe they’re from that obviates the need for positive passions instead of hatred and resentment? I don’t stand in judgment in most cases. But I confess I really really don’t like Bradley Whitford.



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