I remember the good ole days when I was a fat little faggot. I really have no reason to call them the good ole days. Like most children, I was a clueless moron who had no idea how the world worked. I was made fun of for being an odd, fat little faggot. But there was an important lesson learned on the playground when it came to some form of manliness that even a fat little faggot could discover within fat little faggy body.
I learned the value of toughness, how to not be a whiny little pussy. In my day we had rocks on the playground. Gravel, one might call it. Not the sharp kind, of course, but the round pebble-esque rocks that lined the playground under the equipment. Like every child, I would fall on occasion. In the early days I would cry, and be made fun of for crying. I didn’t like being made fun of, so the next time I fell I did my best not to cry until I mastered the art of not crying like a little bitch every time I got a little boo-boo.
When that moment happened, there was a moment of pride. It’s good to feel pride in such things. It’s good to be tough and to not be a total pussy. But then I came to school one day and discovered that the rocks had been replaced with mulch. The reason, of course, was simple: it was safer. And, logically, that makes sense. Rock are hard. If you hit your head on them, you could suffer a serious injury or even die.
The older kids, myself included at this point, didn’t like the mulch. We took pride that we could fall on a hard surface and not cry like pussies. Naturally, we tended the make fun of little kids who cried when they fell on the mulch. But we made a point to always say that there used to be rocks there. Those younger kid were denied the joy and the pride of falling on rocks and congratulating themselves for not crying like pussies.
Eventually those of us who remembered the rocks left for the greener pastures of middle school. The kids who replaced us never knew of those sacred little pebbles that introduced us the earliest feelings of childish manhood. I’m sure those kids felt pride when they fell on the mulch and didn’t cry, but it isn’t the same. Mulch is soft and rock are hard. The result is softer children.
I’m not saying that this is the reason why the youth of today are pussies who demand safe spaces and trigger warnings or who try to silence opinions they don’t like, but there is something wrong. It’s probably a mixture of things, and probably has little to do with those little rocks on the playground. And I suspect that indoctrination has a lot to do with this, but little things matter too.
I feel sad for all the fat little faggots out there. They won’t get the chance to experience the joy of falling on rocks and learning about manliness, even if it’s faggy manliness.
Fried Chicken & Monarchism 