I suppose if I were a six-foot, six-inch tall man with a hateful grin plastered on my face, I might suffer fewer daily reminders of how other people see me. Being a good deal shorter, and having genitals much less prominently displayed, I have to settle for an impotent “Jesus, why you feminazis gotta be so goddamn uptight?” or “Just because I spent the last five blocks leering and catcalling at you doesn’t mean I’m hitting on you, you ugly bitch, so don’t flatter yourself” when the world fails to conform to my desires.
But if I were blessed with perfect oblivion, I could take feminist hostility to people who order random women on the street to feign pleasure as a call to strengthen my crusade against surliness.
A zombie-faced sourpuss glooming up the world is the same no matter what genitals they happen to possess. I say “Smile!” And, having seen the idiocy of some of these responses, I will now be far more militant and mindful about it. It’s a war between those who mope and slouch through life and those who want to spread some love.
Amen, brother. Peace. And it’s not just out on the streets that we’re needed, I say. How many women are causing unneccesary discomfort and suffering to their sexual partners by not faking their orgasms convincingly enough? When did sexual climax become more important to us than happiness?
But we cockeyed optimists realize it may already be too late for the world. Feminists, atheists, and eyeliner-wearing goths have been allowed free reign to spread their misery and gloom far too long. It’s gotten to the point where you can’t even dismiss a woman’s concerns without being asked if you can’t pull your head out of your ass before you suffocate yourself. It’s sexism, is what it is.
If you say “People should relax and be less sensitive,” you’re a patriarch trying to control women. If you say “Abortion shouldn’t be taken lightly,” you’re a patriarch trying to control women. If you take a BREATH, you’re a patriarch trying to control women.
On Pandagon, my MALE-ness makes everything I say skewed or damaged or wrong in some way, automatically. Ironically, this is how the true sexists I’ve known in my life view women’s ideas.
“What does she know? She’s just a goddamn mouthy cunt.”
But perhaps that is Pandagon’s aim: to let ME know how it feels to be regarded as just a “mouthy cunt.” It has worked. It hurts and it angers.
The reign of the downtrodden must be stopped. We the cheerful must rise up and demand from the populace the displays of happiness we deserve.
Well said, sir. Well said.