The War on White, Working Class Boys
22nd December 2025
I have a confession to make: I’m a misogynist. At least, I certainly hope I am in the eyes of those who pontificate on such things, and clearly have no idea what the word actually means. I know that women don’t have cocks; that they are distinct from men; and that they are unlikely to best men in almost any endeavour, unless the men are sufficiently hamstrung by the rules of engagement. By all means, let’s have the debate on that – but I warn you, I wrote the goto book on the subject, and I’m all out of chivalry and kid gloves just now.
I’m an inveterate misogynist when it comes to the Jess Phillips of this world – those who would criminalise misogyny, given half a chance. I have no objection to ‘hating’ women where appropriate either, criticising them when they are wrong (Zac Polanski, you’re a prick), explaining things on the rare occasions I actually know something (sorry, ‘mansplaining’), and generally treating them equally – as the feminists claim they desire.
The ‘plan’ to deal with people like me (not the rapists and murderers, obvs), is to tackle misogyny head-on in the playground. Concerned that toxic ideas are ‘going unchallenged’, our beneficent Labour ‘government’ has dragged itself away from Netflix repeats of Adolescence, and unveiled plans to send boys as young as 11 on ‘anti-misogyny’ courses if they exhibit ‘toxic’ or ‘harmful’ behaviours. What behaviours you ask? Sharing intimate images and showing violence towards siblings – so that’s basically every teenage boy you’ve ever met.