The hiatus between Christmas and New Year is a pleasant time for me. Work has ground to a halt, no calls or emails to reply to, Christmas is over, the mess is cleaned up, and kids are with their mother for the week. There is little to fill each day except for the obligatory thrash at the gym, so I found myself at leisure to reflect and contemplate on life, the year just gone, and the year ahead.
Part of my recent transition to a Red Pill existence is grappling with the realisation that honour, loyalty, and integrity are the main masculine traits that weak men, women, governments and institutions don’t possess. You would think the presence of many men in government, the armed forces, and politics would ensure these values predominate, but this not the case. Of course these values cannot prevail in the feminine system we find ourselves in, explaining why the West is so weak, flaccid and duplicitous, and that it’s word, be it a threat or promise, cannot taken seriously by anyone, friend or foe alike.
A man I met in the gym
I had an interesting conversation with a bloke in my local gym. This chap was visiting the area on holidays with his family and was training most mornings to work off the excesses that are typical at this time of year.
He had one of his young sons in tow, and the lad had a worried, anxious appearance; way too serious for a kid on holidays. This chap was about 5’8″ tall, very broad and weighed 230 pounds. At his peak he reached 275 pounds.
Although still solid, he carried a lot of fat, and had a puffy, out of shape appearance. What struck me though was the relatively low poundage he was lifting. This was surprising to me as I have observed many overweight men who are nevertheless quite strong.
I noticed him sitting at a machine gingerly exercising the left side of his chest. I thought to myself “Ahh he has pulled a muscle”, so I wandered over and enquired, “Looks like you have strained a pectoral?”
He said, “No, I have bad shoulders.”
I enquired further, “What happened to you?”
“I have cancer and I’ve got rods and inserts in my arms on both sides and I can’t work my shoulders too hard”.
We talked for a while and he explained that he had been deployed to one of the wars in the Middle East, until his illness made it impossible to continue. He was in fact part of our special forces, equivalent to your navy SEALs. During this time he was exposed to a lot of chemicals, toxins, and extreme levels of peril and stress.
His doctor had written him off, giving him months to live. We had a bit of a laugh about the piss-poor physical condition of doctors in general.
Veterans are normally entitled to free premium health care. I said, “At least you have Gold Card to cover your treatment and expenses”. He said that he didn’t have a card, and that he had to prove to them that the war caused it.
The system failed him
This is where the story gets serious. When you realise the bureaucracy hasn’t got your back, that the system doesn’t give a fuck, and that it will sool its lawyers onto you so that now you are forced to fight two wars simultaneously: staying alive and battling the bastards in the government.
This is not an isolated case, I’m sure many of you have heard of similar tales, or personally know someone in the same predicament. Ignoring the morality and efficacy of fighting foreign wars for a moment, there is still the knowledge that once your utility expires, you are transferred to the liability side of the balance sheet. Sound familiar?
I don’t know if his prognosis is favourable, but his stoicism and philosophical acceptance of his reality was remarkable, in contrast to the disinterested and dishonourable behaviour of his employer. And that is why I do not want my kids to join the army.