Posts Tagged ‘natural man’

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 The article, “MANNING DOWN, The Mote in the Manosphere’s Eye” inspired me to write this entry.

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RANK DESIRE: APING ALPHAS IN DETROIT

I worked in the belly-of-the-beast for years.  A Detroit bar frequented by professional basketball and hockey players, Chaldean liquor store owners and slick street-fighters. On Sunday nights, the strippers arrived from Canada.   Cocaine, booze and pussy is a volatile mix.  There were excellent brawls.  Often, tribal affairs.  The White townies who followed the strippers in from Windsor had an especially  difficult time with the  shifty Middle Easterners.

The bouncers were an interesting study.  Most were excellent parodies of alphas.  The crew-chief was blond, brutally handsome, and pumped with steroids.  One night he made a show of throwing a skinny Albanian out the door.  Two minutes later, the punk returned with a pistol.

One shot in the air outside the bar to summon the gods of whiskey courage.  Then a second shot into the inside ceiling of the bar, to assert overall authority.  A pudgy bouncer, an aging hillbilly from Kentucky, knocked a waitress down and shielded her body.  Then there was a case of mistaken identity.  The Albanian recognized only the tuxedo shirt and cummerbund,  and put a gun-barrel into the flattened bouncer’s ear.

“You’re a dead man,” he said before a fellow greaser tugged him away. They fled into the night, past beat-cops who were still ogling girls on the corner.

The point?  The aging hillbilly, admittedly of an older generation, wasn’t so much an “alpha male” as a “natural man”.  He grew up without a dad.  He had four brothers, one of whom “liked weenies.”  He took custody of two plump daughters when his marriage disintegrated.  In spite of his protective nature, he wasn’t what Moderns would call a sensitive guy because of his coarse dislike for Blacks, Middle-Easterners, Mexicans and untested Whites outside his inner-circle. Yet within his inner-circle, he was very well-rounded.  Fatherly.  Brotherly.  Friendly.  This character stamp made him very old-school, which he also expressed in his dislike of weight-lifiting, steroids and martial-arts mania. Further safe-guarding hillbilly tradition, he was a great story-teller of gonzo adventures in dark alleys and enemy bars.  Of course, I loved his self-effacing charm while looking past him at  the preening bouncers who oversaw the beautifully shallow girls that dominate nightlife.   Believe me, I have nothing against a gorgeous woman with more style than brains.  It takes clear intuition. It’s her art.

I had second-tier status as a bartender.  I desperately wanted to run with the big-boys.  Once, on a field-trip with the heavyweights to “The Windsor Ballet”, the 6’5” bar owner bought me a lap-dance from the ugliest girl in the Canadian strip-joint.  Not long afterwards, disgusted with my rank, I tried throwing a cocaine primed whiteguy  out of the downtown Detroit bar all by myself.  The  cops who took me to the hospital, and had seen a lot of maw, were shocked into silence.  I’d routinely slipped them drinks.  And now I was their beat-up passenger, taking a funereal trip to Detroit Receiving  Hospital while mumbling sporting nonsense.

The old bouncer “got it.”  He soon came to my  aid as a beat-down beta.  He loved, if nothing else, my  ability to take punishment.  He recommended vitamin E for my scar. He gave me street-fighting lessons while confessing to his own acute fears in a scrap.  He was a marvellous guy.  Not so much an “alpha male” as a “natural man.”  I got courage from being near him and that leads to the point of this story:  there is ego-strength and there is love-strength. I got ego-strength from aping the alpha-bouncers and it gave me two black eyes, seventeen stitches and a night in Detroit Receiving next to bad niggahs, real alpha losers, handcuffed to gurnies.  I got love-strength from the old hillbilly and it’s given me something else.  In trucker’s terms, it’s given me an even  displacement that’s good for the long-haul.

Love-strength is is a graduation from ego-strength.  Speaking of which,  I recently  had a 40th class reunion.  It was lovely to see a small cadre of natural-men, balding Midwestern football and hockey captains, with their fat wives.  They’d transferred their glory to their sons.  But they still had understated power and, by definition, male glamour.

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