Think of your favourite painting. It could be a Van Gough, it could be a Rembrandt. It doesn’t really matter. Now imagine a less competent artist trying to paint that exact same picture.
This is what feminism had done to society. Something that had worked perfectly fine had now gone up in smoke because millions of testy women had risen up against the ‘male oppressor’ and tried to change society.
Sadly, they had somehow succeeded. Men were now kept like cattle but instead of milk they provided their semen and instead of open-grazing fields they were kept in cells.
This is the story of a group of men who managed to escape their imprisonment.
-------------------------
[OOC: For the reason behind this RP, check this.
And ha, Simon, here's your first post! You never said what it should include. This is a moral victory, I may have posted but it wasn't what you probably expected]
Simon shivered in the cold of the night and bit his lip.
He was lucky to have survived that last milking, his mind kept turning back to life on the farm and then bitterly swinging back to the early days, before the women took over when he had a job! He had a car! He had a say! And women were basically there to cook, clean and occaisionally, very occaisionally, service one's undercarriage.
He'd never been what you might call successful, but he had been a happy man, some would have said he was rich in spirit. He'd found a position in middle management in a large city bank, he'd had a secretary that could give the best damn blowjobs imaginable and back home a wife who, though she'd let herself go, as wives tend to do, made up for it with enthusiasm.
It had all changed when they started getting these stupid ideas in their head, that they could run things, that their thoughts and opinions mattered.
No one had seen it coming. What was dismissed as women moaning like they always had just in a different form grew and grew like a tumour on your favourite testicle. But we ignored it! Oh it's a bit lumpy..oh it's just ten times the size of good old lefty..ow that hurts...it'll sort itself out.
And now here he was, cold, shivering, laying down to sleep on the dirty grimy floor of an old bra factory. You could still smell the fumes from when they torched the place.
A single tear trickled down Simon's face.
He and the others..the ones that had escaped the farm, they had to do something.
They were going to take back democracy.
[ooc - you are a bastard]
______________________________________
Bastard
Last edited by Lennon Legend : 07.22.06 at 08:44:41.
The cool moon, resolute and unwavering in its course, leaked down colorblind and faded through the inky haze of the thick summer night. It dripped jaded and disillusioned down the sore and rusty pipe of Abel's pupil. Sore from the years of prodding, rusty from the ages of supping his lifeforce. And now he was little more than the man on the moon, the very symbol of constancy in his dreary, gray, and sunken life; the patch over the throbbing red chasm of his right eye socket blinded his ego and strength, and his left eye, growing ever foggier, could only bear the unjustice comitted against his withering and grainy flesh.
He was gripped by an intense insomnia, perpetuated by the crystal gaze of the moon, never to forget the atrocities enacted beneath its trickling light. He watched over his comrades, his compatriots, his confederates as they slumbered. A deathly old grandfather, and nothing more, he continued on tired and weary for the benefit of his war-scarred sons. He could feel deep in the boiling pit of his gut that men would have their day again.
Kris layed on his back looking at the stars... Looking at the constelations of Orion, Perseus, and Hercules, these great men would be sickened at what has happened to modern men, all of whom were turned into servants... Aquariuses all of them. Kris was once a musician, not famous, but had gained a small fanbase. He was a good man who had respected women for the most part, but with the events of the past he now disgusted the she-beasts. His face was covered in dirt, and his beard grew unkempt, he was hungry, and worst of all he ached, he ached in the place that mattered most. Getting action more than you had ever expected was a dream turned nightmare, and the only men who could enjoy this oppression where those who were feminists them selves... the traitors... and of course the dead. Many of the fellow prisoners felt death would be the better path, and surely it was. But some felt there would soon be light, a day where everything would be as it should. However distant this day was, it would be the dream of all men, and these few men were going to help bring it.
[OOC: Nothing special... and Simon... the right one? I thought for sure left.]
He had a typical sales representative job, owned a car, and lived by himself and his dog. He didn't care for living the rich lifestyle, nor did he really care what other people thought of him, especially the opposite sex.
But things were different now.
It happened in a bright white flash which blinded men so quickly that it was almost embarrassing. Women had always been in running for leadership roles, we dismissed them as publicity stunts, thinking that it would shut them up. Then people began voting for them, you know, to shut them up.
Then people began doing what they were ordered to do, to... well shut them up of course.
And now, Alec was here in a factory. Escaped from the farm, a place Alec was trying hard to forget, refuge was taken. It stank, was cold and dirty, but it beat being locked up.
All that ran though his mind now was a conversation that he heard while in his prison. Over and over, it wouldn't stop, throbbing and pounding at his brain, he could never forget it.
At the lab, they were going to make the male obsolete.
Damien sighed, staring out the window of the factory. At least it had been a window. Now it was little more than a hole, it’s edges charred by the fire.
Hell, the whole place was a hole.
A ****ing hole in a hole. Can things get any better?
It seemed not. They had been out of the sperm farm a few days already and nothing seemed to ever get any better. Indeed, it seemed it only got worse. More and more he noticed his fellows, and himself, thinking back on those dark days.
Insomnia.
Nightmares.
In some form or the other they came. Damien figured that no matter what happened those times would forever be a plague on their memories.
His eyes fell to the ground and spied what had once been part of a silky number, one he wouldn’t have minded seeing and then not-seeing on a woman once upon a time.
Unlike his fellow escapees Damien had still been in university when the whole damn thing happened. He had seen the signs but he hadn’t taken much stock in it. Chicks in university always get obsessed with something be it vegetarianism or protesting poor animals. He had figured the whole feminazi thing was a new trend to die out the next day.
How wrong he had been. How wrong.
He massaged feeling into his balls. The cold night air was taking its toll on the things, weakened as they were from being pumped of their juices.
There would be revenge. Oh yes indeed.
But how? This was the question they had all asked each other. They were but a few men when practically every woman was against them. While in his cell he had heard rumours whispered between his wardens of underground groups of women who liked being dominated and bossed around. Whether it was a fantasy created to instil hope in the captives or a true thing, Damien figured that this was perhaps their avenue.
Or it could be a trap. His recent experiences with women had hardened his opinions of them. Where once he would strike compliment after well-placed compliment on them, he now could not think of them without feeling a build-up of vomit in his throat
How he wished Orwell had wrote a book on this situation so he could consult all possibilities.
He crouched himself in a corner, slouching so his arms went around his knees and tried to keep his warmth. It was a habit he had picked up in the small-confined cells and that kind of habit is hard to kill.
Sunrise and a new day's dawn set the horizon alight and slowly the glowing warmth of the sun crept forwards across the land, peering in through windows and flooding spaces with light. Once upon a time the dawn of a new day was symbolic of hope and optimism, in this dank, derelict hideout these broken men felt no such thing, knowing the light could only hurt them right now and the day bring nought but new dangers.
Simon had woken up first. Not to the song of birds or the light, or the sound of the central heating distantly clonking into life. He awoke to the crunching, the thumping, the stamping of a thousand feet marching in unison.
He had crept up to a boarded up window, being sure to keep quiet and out of sight..and after a minute of sitting there listening willed himself up a bit and put his eye to a small crack in one of the window's boards. He caught a glimpse of the tailend of a feminzai military parade, and his heart sunk.
Frustrated he clawed at his hair and thumped the wall, putting his hand through some mouldy plasterboard.
"Bollocks!" He hissed under his breath.
He waited, and ht thought to himself for a while those kind of thoughts that can tear a man apart, the might have beens, the what ifs and the if onlys, all the regrets, fears, aspirations and dreams thrown together in some terrible torturous mix.
I can't let myself get down in my own depression like this..it's not just me that I'm living for now..for mankind I must pull myself together.
Simon pulled himself together and regained composure. He'd wake the others up, they wouldn't appreciate having their sleep disturbed, but they needed to get their act together and sort out a plan. They couldn't stay in this factory forever.
Linear Mode
