One in Ten Ch. 05

Eloise Granger looked like she was about to fall out of her chair laughing - she looked poised, but I could tell. She felt entitled to ask me a question before things got started.

"Casual Monday's," Eloise grinned.

"I woke up in a good mood this morning," I smiled back.

"The cops blew up two of my homosexual neighbors yesterday and then another guy took an unscheduled vacation to Goddess knows where last night. I'm now one of eight."

"You find that amusing?" another reporter groused.

"Lady, I was being sarcastic," I responded.

"There are supposed to be 125 men of my age in my district. There are eight. If you don't think that scares the crap out of me, you need to cut back on whatever medication you are taking," I stared at her.

"Can we please start the press conference?" Naomi interrupted.

No one protested so she did her short spiel then introduced the Mayor. The Mayor intentionally snubbed me. She had more than the usual number of lackeys today, including the Police Commissioner and a woman who was probably important, but I didn't have a clue who she was. Isobel was in the background, sending evil wishes my way.

The Mayor unveiled the new Federation program: the Male Action League. The message was 'the government cares about you helpless males - we really do. We care so much we are going to give you a state-sponsored arena where you can do your state approved complaining so that we can keep ignoring you'.

Those weren't her words, but that was the gist of it. It was long on promises. It proved not a single avenue for men to actually help themselves, or even lobby for the redress of grievances. Zip-zero-nadda political, or legal power. In theory, rallies would be a good place to round us up if they felt like it.

In a short while, most men would figure out they were wasting their time and stop showing up. Then the women could blame the men for our indifference. As the Mayor started taking questions, I could see Eloise preparing like a panthress to strike but the Mayor was avoiding her. She couldn't avoid Maribel Cartwright from GNN, they were the freaking World news leader.

"Maribel," the Mayor tried to sound pleasant.

"Israel, what do you think of this development?" the reporter addressed me.

"Mr. Jensen is not really an expert on this policy," the Mayor jumped in.

"Madam Mayor, he's a man. This is a policy that concerns men - solely men in fact," Maribel countered.

The Mayor looked like she was being force-fed lemon rinds.

"Make it short, Mr. Jensen," the Mayor commanded.

"I'll take that under advisement," I joked. There it was, my break with reality. I wasn't a great speaker, an intellectual or even enlightening.

I was their dancing bear, the monkey with the unseen organ grinder and the tap dancing sensation. The all-female press corps wasn't leaning in for information. They had gathered for a train wreck and I hadn't planned on disappointing them.

"This thing - it is kind of insulting to call it a policy - I'll call it MAL, is stupid," I began.

"Don't you dare!" Francesca screamed at the top of her lungs. The security that had been closing in on me unseen, froze up. The Mayor looked around confused. Isobel tapped the Police Commissioner.

"Take him off stage," the Police Commissioner directed the security guards. They started closing in again.

"No," Francesca shouted again. "If you wanted him gone, you should have brought some damn police officers, you Moron!" The security looked uncertain.

"Shut up!" Isobel shouted at Francesca. "Get him!" she then yelled at security.

"No," Francesca growled. "City Hall Security are Civil Government employees - not part of the police department and not political appointees."

"As the ranking civil employee here, I'm telling all civil security personnel to back down - immediately," Francesca snarled angrily.

"Fine," the Mayor snapped. "You are fired."

"File the proper paperwork, you Incompetent Boob," Francesca turned on her supposed boss.

"It should take three or four days," she continued. "Until then, shut up and take your medicine." The Mayor blinked in surprise over the ferocity of the attack then tried to gracefully exit the stage. "Don't any of you dare try to leave. If you do, I'll have you arrested."

"What for?" Isobel growled.

"Disrupting a public forum," Francesca gloated triumphantly. "Israel, you were saying?"

"Oh yeah," it took me a second. Francesca had really floored me. "MAL is a bad idea because it assumes men are stupid and does nothing to address the problem this society faces. I'm not going to sugarcoat it. The Human Race is dying."

"Before you consider me a hopeless wack-job," I started.

"Too late," one of the reporters called out.

"Thanks but we hardly know each other," I grinned. "I'll have to rely on you to do most of the fact-finding, but I can tell you where to start proving me right."

"In Argentina, five years ago, the successful male birth rate had slipped from the normal one in twenty, to one in thirty. Last year it was one in fifty. In two more years they predict the rate will plunge to one in one hundred. That's their government's figures. You don't have to be in health care to realize that is a clear path to extinction."

"In China, they are telling the world everything is okay. That makes Amnesty International wonder why the abortion of female fetuses have risen ONE THOUSAND percent in the past ten years. If things are okay, why are they killing their unborn female population? If you think that doesn't happen here, in this very city, answer me this."

"The sale of boy's jumpers - a friend had to tell me that's child's clothing - has dropped 30% in the past ten years in this city alone," I told them. "Are eighteen month old boys running around naked, or dressed up as girls? Girls' jumper sales have remained constant. Official birth data would suggest that someone is running around naked. If the numbers are being juggled then who has that kind of authority and access?"

"Among a few other interesting things I learned this weekend, I was told that the Gender Plague is becoming more aggressive. Fewer men are being born, more male fetuses develop fatal mutations resulting in miscarriages, and more babies aren't making their first year. The leading cause for this phenomena is stress. The more males get stressed, the less fertile they become."

"The government has known about this for twenty years," I related.

"Speaking of which, how was your weekend, Israel," Eloise smirked. I nodded and started taking off my shirt. The women paid close attention because I'm somewhat of a good looking man. My shirt dropped and the room went silent.

"What happened?" one of the reporters that wasn't normally my friend asked.

"I went to Isobel Diaz's party Saturday night, was sold at auction and when I failed to perform sexually to expectations, I was beaten until I was curled into a fetal ball on the floor, crying my eyes out. But, it gets better," I winked at the reporter who had taken my sarcasm badly earlier.

"Sunday morning, on an unrelated investigation, two GED officers came to my residence. I got into one of their faces because - having been beaten up, I was cranky. I didn't touch her but I did call her 'pathetic'. She hit me. It is called 'tuning up' by the police. If you are a guy and mouth off to the police, you will get tuned up. It is a fact of life."

"I was taken downtown, pressured about a case they had no intention of charging me in and then they forced me to have a physical examination to PROVE these bruises weren't self-inflicted. Yet somehow a toothless, gutless MAL is going to change any of this? How? It isn't and it will fail because it is nothing more than women taking care of man and you've been fucking that up for the past forty years."

No one knew what to say, so Eloise was forced to move things along.

"What do you suggest? If you think women are doing it wrong, and have been doing it wrong, what can we do?" she inquired.

"Don't know and don't care," I shrugged.

"I'm exiting this feminine Hell as soon as possible. As far as I am concerned, you are getting what you deserve due to your passive dehumanization and indifference to our dignity. There are eight women I care about in this World and only one is in this room and most of you are not her. In case you wonder how desperate I am, I received a call early Sunday morning."

"It was from the group claiming to stealing men across this nation. The text inquired if I wanted to leave. It took me about three seconds to decide and it only took that long because I was beside the sleeping form of the woman I love," it was almost the truth. Telling them Angel was awake wouldn't do anyone any good. "I replied 'Yes!'."

"Why am I confessing this now? The police have been powerless to stop these people so far and I have zero faith in them improving because current law enforcement is an institution manned by women for women. Don't get indignant - after all, what is the GED, if not a force to control men? Ever since the passing of the Gender Inequality Act, this has stopped being a country for men."

"I know it was an attempt to stave off extinction when faced by a disease we didn't, and still don't understand. Did any of you ever question why our numbers weren't recovering? Did you plan to keep us under your thumbs forever? I wear a bracelet that records my sexual history. It's hooked up to a database where women can post public comments about my sexual prowess.

"There is no such database for women. Why? Because you don't care what we think," I stared angrily at them in their numbers. "Actually, if any of you care what I think about your future actions, paraphrasing what a woman I like told me; the question is not how you keep existing, but if you are worthy of continuing to exist." There you go Capri - you are almost famous.

"This is a uniquely female decision because after generations of control, you have left men virtually incapable of defending themselves. The majority will submit because they have no choice and you lose. A small few will go down swinging, like Denver. They die and you lose. A few are going to come to grips with the reality that you treat us as less than human - at least less than you, return the favor and go somewhere, anywhere, else so that they can live in dignity as the lights go out. You lose."

"That's crap," my favorite conservative reporter chimed in. "Men do their part and they are still citizens. You're nuts."

"Really?" I pulled out my small baton. "Do you know what this is?"

"It is a weapon and not a very potent one," that woman snapped.

"Actually, it is a section of a five foot curtain dowel. I bought it from the Warehouse Depot. Dowels are on aisle L2. This," I pointed to the handle, "is surgical tape - aisle C3. Now, you take your standard five foot curtain dowel over to the saw table and a nice lady named Wendy can cut it into twelve inch sections for you."

"You cover the bottom four inches in surgical tape to give you a semi-sticky, sweat resistant surface to hold onto. You may now hang a curtain over a very small window. While you are waiting for that opportunity, you can carry it around - it is not illegal. If, perhaps, someone assaults you, you can grab them to verify they are your assaulter and pop them a good one in the forehead."

"The forehead is useful because it raises a red welt that lasts for a few hours and allows other citizens to recognize the molester for who and what they are," I grinned.

"Wait," Maribel looked at me critically, "are you telling men to start beating up women?"

"Oh Goddess, no," I declared. "The entire police force are women. There would be Tasers going off left, right and center."

"No, I'm telling everyone that no citizen has the right to lay hands on any other citizen. That is called assault. If they touch you on the lips, breasts, crotch, and/or ass, it is sexual assault. If you are assaulted, grab the offender to properly identify them, then - defend yourself. Men, if you do this and a police officer asks for it, give the dowel to them peacefully."

"If you have a large enough covered object, such as my satchel, put a spare in there. The police do not have the right to search it. Insist on your rights. If they remove you from your location or locomotion, press charges against your attacker. You will lose. You will probably end up in a cell and most likely end up on drugs," I successfully remained calm. A dozen of cops had entered the area.

"Men, we cannot out-muscle the cops. There is no victory in the normal sense. We were betrayed by women decades ago. This society is a dying beast which is bent on perpetuating its cruelty to the bitter end. Face your end on your terms; that's all I'm saying," I pleaded.

"That's enough," the Police Commissioner stepped forward. "Get him out of here."

"And tomorrow," I said as I waved farewell, "I'll talk about the cure for the Plague - Carabolix 37. Look it up. Bye now," I got out as the uniformed police swarmed me. For the sake of the cameras, they were gentle and I was not resisting. Technically, what I had done was not illegal, just counter-productive to any hope of career advancement. They even took my dowel.

Francesca and Bethany were swept up with me. We were all taken to the unused City Council chamber.

"I'm Bethany Fremont," the woman nearly wept. "You can't do this to me. Let me call my mother, please."

"Bethany, they haven't taken our phones away," Francesca sighed in exasperation. I was already on the phone to Capri. She'd seen my kamikaze act and was on her way. I noticed the cops giving me furtive looks. It took me a second to realize what I must look like - shirtless and not an unblemished spot on my torso.

Bethany was sobbing to someone who appeared to be her mother's personal assistant - Mom was busy. I noticed one patrolwoman, younger than the rest, who seemed overly curious.

"What happened to you?" she finally inquired.

"You failed me," I responded.

"What - no - how?" she rambled.

"Be quiet," an older cop cautioned me by placing a hand on my shoulder from behind.

"No," I regarded the one behind me. "I'm sitting here, black and blue, and there is no one in jail for what happened to me and there never will be. How could this possibly rate as a job success to you?"

The older policewoman squeezed on my collarbone. I grimaced as I looked back up.

"I suggest the taser if you want to make an impression, dipshit," I growled at her. "I can clearly take more of a physical beating than thugs like you are prepared to dish out." She squeezed harder, I ground my teeth to stop from screaming and pounded my fist into the back of the chair in front of me.

"Are you going to shut up now," the older cop whispered once her pressure let up.

"You insipid cow, if I didn't give into women willing to beat me to death, why would I give into you?" I seethed. Pain was coming my way again.

"Try that on me," Francesca turned, stood and looked the cop over, "or does your courageous act only encompass abusing defenseless men?"

"Sit down," two cops said simultaneously.

"Please sit," I warned Francesca. "If you stand, they can get you for resisting." To the freshly minted cop, I picked up our exchange. "She's Isobel Diaz. I'm sure you will find dozens of corroborating witnesses somewhere between the Fountain of Youth and the Seven Cities of Gold."

"That's the Mayor's Chief of Staff," the young cop gasped.

"Don't sweat it," I grinned at her. "Do what the rest of your sister cops are doing - absolutely nothing. I didn't expect anything different from you."

"Don't let this asshole get inside your head, Passey," the older cop menaced me.

"He is getting what he deserves soon enough," she added.

"That's rich," Francesca chuckled as she sat down. "We all are going to get what we deserve. If you don't have children by now, your chances are dwindling fast."

"I have a child - a son," Officer Passey volunteered. That explained some things.

"Has he gotten sick yet?" I queried. Every boy got the plague in their first year. It killed nine out of ten of us, or so authorities claimed.

"No," she tried to sound hopefully but what she was obviously frightened.

"Oh...well, there is something that could increase his odds from the current 7 or 8% to around 60% survival, but I'm not going to tell you what it is," I glared.

"Why?" Passey's voice held a mother's despair.

"Stop it, both of you," the older cop snapped. She tried to smack the back of my head, but I slid out of my chair to my knees facing sideways.

"Why? You failed the 'do I deserve to live' test," I explained.

"You willingly sat back and did nothing while this ogre tried to break my collarbone, so I'm sitting back and doing nothing for you. You decided to forfeit your son's life when you heard a report of a crime and did nothing. You voted to cover our own ass so your ass will grow old alone in your home," I stared at her.

"But he's a man - like you," Passey pleaded. It dawned on me this may not have been her first son.

"Do you want to see your son, beaten like I am, abused by this bitch behind me while waiting to be punished for exhibiting his right to free speech? Who is more fucked up for wishing this on another human being, you or me?" I challenged her.

"Shut up!" the older cop growled. She was climbing over the seat to get at me.

"He deserves a chance to live," Passey begged. Any possible reply to that was shut down by the Ogre grabbing hold of the back of my neck.

"Stop it," she ordered. I stopped.

"Sergeant," Passey switched her appeal to her higher ranking officer.

"He's yanking your chain, nothing more," the Sergeant insisted.

"He's had five sons, three who have lived," Francesca spoke up again. "He certainly must know something."

"What is it?" Passey asked Francesca.

"He hasn't told me, but I'm starting to agree with his assessment about law enforcement. I'm being held against my will, with no idea what I'm being charged with," Francesca smirked. "If you officers are the finest examples of what it means to be human, I think we have lost the right to continue on as a species."

"You are as nutty as he is," the Sergeant said dismissively.

"This means so much coming from a woman who inflicted pain on a man not under arrest for talking - talking," she repeated. "If that makes me insane - fine. The rest of you have clearly lost touch with any shred of humanity."

Any further thoughts upon that vein were lost as the doors flew open and a host of officials streamed in. It didn't take an Ouija board to figure out they were beyond pissed. They were apoplectic. A laundry boy had just told the third class steerage passengers that the Titanic was going down, the water was death and the rich were fleeing with the only lifeboats - before the rich had actually gotten away with it.

The Captain was furious, since her initial plans did NOT have her going down with the ship. By Captain, I didn't mean the Mayor - she was a bit player. I was talking about the President of the God Damn North American Federation. Thank you GNN. To the men of our nation, I was Rich Rescorla, begging them to get out before the tower went down.

To the women, I as more like John Brown, stirring up trouble without any concern for the chaos that would followed. That was wrong. I did have concerns, but since I also had so little power, I didn't feel guilty about telling the villains exactly who and what they were. They had made this bed of lies. I had simply dropped the match on it.