Look at you.

Standing there in your sawdust-covered Blundstones. Joy, pure elation and endorphins but the high won’t last and like clockwork, your brow furrows, sweat beads glisten and your fists are clinched, regardless of the Supreme Court overturning a fifty year old law making you ecstatic because that’s what God and his book of fairy tales tell you to be.

Because, for some reason, your second grade vocabulary and white trash upbringing have convinced you that women are yours, that they’re your property and they must do what they are told. But you and your “holy” book and invisible enslaver, with his fragile ego, myriad personality disorders and penchant for retribution and smiting his enemies continue to shove your noxious and virulent garbage down the throats of rational humanity.

You and your comfort zone…

And that’s where “God” wants you to live, isn’t it unknown male seething with rage? At the very center of the very bottom of that blue abyss. That little angel, that little demon high-fiving one another as you jizz in your Wrangler jeans over the oppression of another on your hit list of hate.

That’s all you are. A puddle of retarded self-fellating sperm swimming aimlessly around, smashing into one another as they slowly die a crusty death in your piss-stained tighty-whities, before a short nap and then slapping the wife around because your steak was medium rare, not rare, because real men eat their meat like grizzly bears, don’t they?

Because you’re not a man.

I looked at 100 Pro-Life/anti-abortion ads, so you wouldn’t have to and, all but three of them, three, depicted white babies, white Mothers and white people because they don’t care if Black people or Hispanic people or Asian people have abortions, they only give a shit about the white ones.


This is Eugenics.

White males turning the keys to a machine that is designed to keep invalid, weak-minded pussies subservient and on their fucking knees for the tiny fraction of them that are not but…you’re not a real man…are you?

A real man doesn’t cheer for the oppression of another.
A real man doesn’t vote for a candidate that grabs women by the pussy.
A real man doesn’t elect a man with obvious brain damage, who savagely beat his ex-wife to Congress.
A real man doesn’t entice, manipulate and coerce a child into sex and then pay them by Venmo.
A real man doesn’t mind not being in control.
A real man doesn’t need sex to feel important or popular.
A real man doesn’t bail on his kids.
A real man doesn’t put his hands on a woman.

You are not a real man. I know this, because I’m a real man. Born and raised to be. I can smell your bullshit from miles away, like a drop of blood to a shark. I can see your physical tells from across the room.

I know you’re telling a lie before you’re done with the sentence.

Your front yard tells me everything I need to know about how you choose to live. The kind of car you drive tells me every one of your goals and dreams.

And, don’t look me in the eye…unless you want me to see everything inside of you.

None of you are real men. I don’t fear them. They can’t bully me. They cannot control me.

And they’ll never see me coming…

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