Why You Should Beat Your Kids
By Rebel Yell
Editor’s Note: It has come to our attention that the submitter of this article may have improperly used Maddox’s writing (see his article here). I removed an image caption that was quite similar to one found in his article.
“What does not kill us makes us stronger.”-Friedrich Nietzsche
I am not a fan of child abuse. No, really, I am not. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think you shouldn’t beat your kids from time to time. Beating builds character, and in my estimation, is the solution for today’s flabby, emasculated, and gynocentric culture.
A good beating will remind a child that they are not in charge and will always face stronger willed and more powerful opponents. If you don’t beat your kids your son will end up banging some dude and your daughter will become an anarcha-feminist with an unshorn vag.
Western kids in general and Americans in particular are coddled, forced to hug each other and sing “Kumbaya” while being given trophies for their mediocrity. Fat girls are praised for not giving into the pressures of the male dominated oligarchy forcing them to be skinny and feminine. Effeminate boys are now celebrated and held to be a new class of human being: Homo Novus or the New Homo (no pun intended).
What today’s kids need is a good slap across the mouth from time to time. They should be beat constantly until they realize that they can’t get away and have to fight back to survive. Beat until they lose their narcissistic attitude and accept that weakness is never an option. Beat until she loses weight and he stops playing with Barbie dolls. Beat until they realize that their opinions don’t matter. Only corporal punishment directed at their lamentable selves will cure this degenerative malaise corrupting society.
I know my views are antiquated, perhaps novel, but I am an antique in an ever-feminized world. I am a man with two testicles and a big dick between my legs. I fuck women. Lots of women. I train in combat sports. I own guns, lots of them, and kill little furry animals with them, which I then eat. You may ask: where did you learn these ancient techniques? Did you find a lost scroll from a lost reliquary or learn these secrets in a hidden lamasery in the Tian Shan? Nay, my brothers. I learned how to be a man from my dad who kicked my ass from time to time, who had his ass kicked by his dad, and so on from time immemorial. I will kick my sons asses so they don’t become pussies like most of the other degenerates inhabiting our planet.
My grandfather was born in the first decade of the twentieth century, at the tail end of the Old West. He knew his grandfather who fought in the War Between the States. My granddad was 20 years old when the Great Depression hit Wall Street. During this period he and his younger brother traveled to New Orleans to make money to survive. You know how they fed themselves? By knife-fighting. They’d take bets on who’d get first blood, and take a cut of the winnings.
When I was a kid I would go with my dad to take my grandfather to visit his brother and sister-in-law. We would drop him off at their house for week at a time. My great-uncle was a hard ass like his brother. He would proudly show off a old shot gun bast wound to his side gained while trying to stop a man from abusing his wife. The man visited my uncle in the hospital after the altercation and said, “I had to shoot you because you’d have killed me.” My great-uncle replied, “Yeah, you’re right. I would have.”
The only issue with my grandfather’s trip to see his brother was that he never ended up staying for the full week because the two nonagenarians would eventually have a disagreement and take it into the front yard where they’d spar. My dad would get a frantic call from my great aunt who’d insist that we’d pick up my granddad before they broke a hip.
My granddad was a hard ass and like any hard ass motherfucker he beat his son when he acted up. He didn’t give me much advice, but at the age of 95 (a week or two before he died) he suggested that I always keep a knife in my front pocket. He suggested that I keep the type where you “push the button and the blade pops out” and followed his advice with a story of shanking a would-be attacker. I followed his advice and keep a blade in my pocket to this day.
I was taught by my father and grandfather to not be a pussy. If someone “bullied” me I was told to beat his ass, and I did. If I came home from school crying, I’d be made fun of. If I acted up, I was beat. Plain and simple. Negligent parents tell their children they’re winners and special. Good parents beat their kids into accepting the natural social hierarchy between parent and child.
Do us all a favor: beat your kids from time to time. If this simple rule was followed Miley Cyrus would shut the fuck up because Billy Ray laid a black eye on his slut daughter, Perez Hilton would be shamed to suicide, and Lindy West would die an ignoble death somewhere in the hinterlands of Hell. After all, Satan is male, right?
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