You're Out Of Your Element!

What's up? How are things? I've been good, I guess. I saw a toad the other day. That was my week. I saw a toad. That was pretty exciting.

So... what about this #YesAllWomen thing? Recent events have created something of a stir in social media, with women all over the world coming forward to share their own (often disturbing and/or harrowing) experiences with misogyny in our society. Reading some of these stories left me shaken, to be honest. I've never been blind to the victimization of women in our culture, considering the history of abuse in my own family's past, but to be reminded of just how widespread this attitude remains can be very painful.

The "Men's Rights" movement sounds like a joke. How could it possibly be real? "Men's Rights"? What the fuck are you talking about? Women weren't legally allowed to vote in the United States until 1920, less than one hundred years ago. That's fucking pathetic. And you want to talk about "Men's Rights" and not expect me to laugh? But against all logic and reason, the Men's Rights movement is a very real thing.

These poor white men feel oppressed, and they can't wait to tell you all about it. The world is a cruel and unfair place because Bob from accounting has to share a cubicle with... (shudder) ...a woman! They even drink from the same water fountains as men and expect us to be okay with it! One of these days, women might even demand equal pay in the workplace! Imagine that. Women on equal footing with men.

There are endless horror stories out there featuring victimized and traumatized women being vilified for bringing their misfortunes upon themselves. They dressed too provocatively or they acted "stuck up" and they should have expected to be used and abused by the poor men who just couldn't help themselves. Immediately following this skidmark Elliot Rodger's rampage last week, an endless parade of dudes and bros took to Facebook and Twitter, empathizing with this poor, upper-class white man's plight. If only some noble woman had chosen to "take one for the team" and pity-fuck this pouting asshole, then maybe he wouldn't have had to go on a killing spree. As it turns out, this whole "mass murder" thing might have been prevented... if not for women.

Why didn't some bimbo with big boobs just fall out of the sky, into his sweaty lap, and fuck his brains out? Certainly he had earned that much by simply having male genitalia, right? It's not his fault that he killed those people. It's the fault of all women, everywhere that they didn't get together and choose one of their number to fuck this guy... to save lives. This kind of attitude is far too prevalent, and it represents a sickness in our culture.

When I was in high school, I had a crush on a girl in my pottery class. We shared a projects locker, and we would talk occasionally during class. Just small talk, really. Nothing substantial. But over the course of the semester, I developed an infatuation. I was much too shy to bring this up to her, fearing I would be unable to find my words in a face-to-face conversation. So one night, I wrote her a letter. I poured my heart and soul into that letter. I told her how I felt like I was falling in love with her, and if she agreed to date me, my life would be complete. Love is all you need, love is a many splendored thing, blah, blah, blah.

I was really proud of the letter that I handed her at the end of class, and I just knew that she would fall in love with me as soon as she read it. How couldn't she? I looked like the missing link, how could she possibly turn me down? The next day, she didn't come to class. She never came back to class. I found out a week later that she transferred to a different pottery class because she felt uncomfortable around me. Only then did I realize how I must have appeared to her.

That "touching love letter" I wrote likely read like the raving of an obsessed madman to the poor girl. We shared a project locker, so she had seen all the bizarre things I had created in class, like the jigsaw puzzle-like dismembered soldier I was so proud of. I was a big weirdo, and my crude attempt at courting this young woman frightened her. It was entirely my fault, and I couldn't even apologize to her, because I would have just made matters worse.

But I never blamed her, not for one minute. I didn't spend days locked in my bedroom, resentment festering in my heart because she dared to reject me. I never felt entitled to her affection. She didn't owe me anything. I just accepted that. But because my inept behavior made her feel vulnerable and threatened, I wish I could take that back, but I can't. I never wanted to be "that guy", but to this particular woman, I was.

No woman should ever have to feel like that. But according to the tools who call themselves "Men's Rights Activists", they bring it all on themselves. They have vaginas, and when they're beaten or raped, they're merely getting what they deserve because they don't always want to let us put our penises in their vaginas. These men will never see women as their equals, because they believe that their manhood makes them inherently superior. That is absolutely fucking disgusting. And the same people sneer when they hear somebody call themselves a "feminist", as if it's a dirty word. Feminists are, by their own definition, striving for gender equality. So fuck you, "Men's Rights Activists".

And fuck podcasts, too. They're practically worthless. Because I don't understand segues, I would like to introduce to you the latest installment of the He-Man Woman Haters Club podcast. Yes, it's two days late, but I don't give a shit. This episode features yours truly, my pal Titus, and noted woman Laura, who is a woman. In this exciting episode, we talk about terrible video games, good video games, sandwiches, burritos, and the joys of hiding in plastic closets. I think you're going to enjoy this one, kids:

Chapter 68: Hiding Out



That's all for now. I'll be back to talk about something else eventually. Probably next month.

TIME MARCHES ON!