“My Utter Lack of Pride Probably Explains Everything!” – Proud Boys Member

Isn’t it amazing what a little self-reflection can accomplish? Today, after slamming down a few beers at ten in the morning on a Tuesday, my fellow Proud Boys and I went to shout hateful slogans at students of color at the University of Portland. We even took care to do the same to the white kids who came to their defense! As we retreated from the melee we created like the inebriated cowards we are, we reconvened at a bar to refresh and gear up for the second half of the day’s agenda. This gave me a chance to take a good long look at the braindead reprobate staring back at me from the mirror behind the counter. I realized something simple, but profound: I’m a juvenile, self-hating degenerate who takes solace in demonizing others to compensate for my own shortcomings! I’m a textbook example of a school bully who only acts tough because he has a couple dozen other knuckle-dragging Cro-Magnons in Confederate Flag-emblazoned attire backing him up. Me? A “Proud” Boy? Where’s the pride in any of this?   

Joining this group basically requires an outright dismissal of dignity and self-respect. To be initiated, we have to recite some misogynistic, white supremacy-affirming motto, name five breakfast cereals while getting lightly pounded by at least five other guys, and then get a tattoo of Proud Boys-specific branding or another symbol of hatred. If that isn’t ridiculous enough, the fourth condition we need to meet is to abstain from masturbating or watching pornography more than once a month. This is meant to be a deterrent from going out and meeting women. Seriously! The only people who would enjoy something like this are the same guys who regularly ejaculate in their spare socks well into their twenties. That’s a decent summary of who we are. No reasonably intelligent woman who doesn’t feel like putting themselves in a potential domestic abuse situation would touch any of us with a thirty-foot pole. What other recourse do we have? Except, of course, misogyny.

Hate is a far too familiar emotion for me. I’ve spent most of my life being disliked. My father was a manual laborer and contractor who bounced from one short-term period of underemployment to the next. My mom dropped out of high school when she got pregnant with my older sister at age sixteen and money was always tight. Even so, our parents always had enough for booze and the occasional eight ball of cocaine. Suffice to say, this made for a volatile, violent concoction at home. The neighbors called the cops on us more than once, especially when my parents’ screaming matches stretched on well into the wee hours. My sister and I were frequently on the wrong end of this, enduring physical and emotional abuse as one or both of our parents stated right to our faces that they regretted having us.  

My classmates weren’t much better. My attire consisted mostly of hand me down clothing that smelled like cigarettes and stale beer. A steady diet of junk food did a number on my physique and the secondhand smoke probably wreaked havoc on my developing cardiovascular system. Today, of course, I could employ my adult agency to go to a doctor, a dietician, not to mention a therapist. I could even get a gym membership and volunteer my time to organizations that help at-risk kids growing up under circumstances just as bad, or even worse than mine were. But the thought of doing anything that remotely resembles self-care, self-improvement, or altruism would put me into grade-A cuck territory! What would they think? You know, the talking, animate piles of feces drenched in whale vomit wearing MAGA caps I surround myself with. Perish the thought!

I did put forth some effort to change things for the better once. I tried out for the wrestling and football teams in high school but failed to make the cut. The ridicule I endured in the locker room afterwards is still the stuff of legend, not to mention my subsequent beatdown and hanging from the school flagpole by the elastic of my Hanes briefs.

Even then there were resources I could have utilized. I had teachers ask me if everything was okay at home, sincerely concerned for my welfare. There were even some other kids who weren’t malicious, and even seemed to want to be my friend. After I bombed football tryouts, the coach invited me home with them to work on fundamentals with their kids that weekend. They even offered to at least make me a decent dinner for a change. I appreciated the offer, but all things considered, it was easier to blame the Jews.

See what I mean? I could have taken advantage of those genuine offers of assistance, but who needs compassion when there’s the gratification of projecting my self-loathing onto the world at large? Sitting in this barroom surrounded by men who forget my name half the time due to drink and concussion-induced memory disorders, I can safely say I’ve found my true family. That is until half or more of them are incarcerated for insurrectionist activities linked to January 6th and the attempted kidnapping of Michigan Governor Gretchen Whitmer. 

Well, that’s enough genuflecting! My posse and I are off for a reckless, DUI-tempting drive to Salem to hold another of our pathetic demonstrations on the steps of the Oregon State Capitol. This Assembly seat I’m running for isn’t going to win itself and there’s work to be done. Several of my colleagues have been installed as poll workers to engage in an organized campaign of voter intimidation, so we’ll need to coordinate and redouble our amoral, patently illegal efforts!

Let me leave you with the immortal words of David Lane: “We must secure the existence of our people and a future for white children!” The best way to do that is to educate them in the ways of baseless hatred. Onward and upward! Oh, and we’ll back to cleanse the streets of Portland!