The Battle of San Juan Bautista
These horrifying scenes come from Argentina, where a band of Catholic men shielded the cathedral of San Juan Bautista against a diabolical horde of feminists, who sought to desecrate the church with paint, urine, and excrement. Instead of properly repulsing the attackers with virile strength, these tearful would-be martyrs offered their bodies and faces as receptacles for filth and targets for abuse. The feminists you see, these Satanic mercenaries, uniformly uglified by dyed, mannish hair, piercings, tattoos, and most importantly unearthly hatred for humanity, are arrogantly bare-breasted, lascivious, vicious, and obscene. These fiends, these savages, these malignant spirits, know that they can profanely taunt their victims without any fear of retaliation to their own faces, breasts, or genitals. How could this be? How do they know they can assail these young, strong men with impunity?
More than the Sodomitical wickedness of the women, it is the resolute acceptance of abuse by the men that makes these scenes so repugnant. What would have happened if these men, whose ancestors were warriors, legionaries, crusaders, and conquistadors, who drove the Muslims from Iberia, crossed the oceans, and braved the jungles, what would have happened if these men fought back? What if they had unlinked their arms and charged the feminist mob? What if they had brought clubs and knives? Would those shrieking hellspawn have had the strength and the courage to resist a crusader charge?
Of course not! Of course not! They would have broken and fled at the slightest push back. But no push back ever came.
Why did these men come without weapons, without armour, without numbers? They knew this feminist march was on its way. Why did they not arm themselves? Why did they not train? Why won’t they fight? Did these weaklings, clutching at their rosary beads never read, “A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace”? What evil must be done for them to hate? What atrocities must be committed for them to take up arms against the enemy?
Could their forefathers who built the cathedral, who turned their country from a wilderness into a civilisation have imagined that one day their descendants would invite poisonous harridans to heap on them abuse and faeces? Where was a leader to inspire them? Where was a man to lead the charge? Where was a priest like Jacek Międlar, who has been calling the Polish people to arms against the Muslims, to remind these would-be men to fight in the name of the Lord?
Where is their power? Where is their strength? Where are their chants, their battle cries, their flags? Why are their arms linked? Wherefore do they weep? Why do they invite these lascivious gremlins to spit in their eyes and besmirch their faces? Haven't they had enough? When will they put an end to it? What will it take for them to wake up?
Watch this misery, this filth, this humiliation. This is not piety, this is not faith, this is not a sacrifice for the greater good. This is not courageous restraint in the face of provocation: this is miserable submission, pacificism, pusilanimity, unmanly weakness. This is what men who refuse to fight evil look like.
This is the true face of feminism.
