(Originally posted 8/21/2014. It got me banned for life by a ‘woke’ magazine that had until that time printed six of my stories over the years. This post was before the transgender movement began to say that men who think they are women can compete against REAL women in sports and that men who don’t find a man dressed up as a woman attractive were ‘transphobic.’ No, they’re just not gay. I could never have seen how gutless Americans would end up being, refusing to support simple biology. I say at the end of it that I don’t care who wins this particular war, but that is no longer the case. I feel pity for anyone suffering from mental illness, but I certainly don’t support their relentless efforts to make everyone as miserable as they are. I’m now rooting for the TERFs. Fuck the woke.)
With all the conflicts going on in the world it’s hard to pick a really fun one to watch. I’d like to suggest the ongoing dust-up between radical feminists and transgenders. The truly angry versus the truly fucked up. I can’t tell you how much I’m enjoying this one.
While I bear no ill-will towards the transgender community, the simple fact is that if a man cuts off his balls and sews on breasts that doesn’t make him a woman. It makes him a man who cut off his balls and sewed on some titties. Just like cutting off my legs doesn’t make me a dwarf. It might be semantics to some people but I hate the way that some people insist that gender is a choice. It’s a reality. You are a man or a woman and you can dress however you like and you can interact with whomever you like but at the end of the day cutting things off or sewing things on doesn’t change what you are and I’m sick of having to pretend otherwise. Don’t make your psychological issues my problem.
Somebody needs to have the balls to say this. Balls that they were either born with or had attached. Doesn’t matter. Sex is like race. It’s a given. You can listen to Michael Jackson songs all you want but it won’t make you a self-loathing black pedophile… just someone with horrible musical tastes.
To this day nobody has ever been able to explain to me how homosexuals allowed transexuals into their tent in the first place. After hundreds of years of trying to convince others that being gay isn’t a decision and is rooted in biology they turn around and join forces with people who are clearly making a decision.
Honestly though, I could care less if a man wants to wear heels or a woman wants to belch and scratch themselves. To each their own. Live and let live. Just don’t put on a wig and try to blow me. My life is complicated enough.
Unfortunately for trannies everywhere, not everyone is so open-minded as I am. In particular, radical feminists (or as they are called TERFs, which stands for “trans-exclusionary radical feminists.”). The weird thing isn’t that they are upset by the idea of someone wanting to use the same bathrooms because of the long lines or some practical concern, they are mad because whichever way the sex change has taken place it reeks of male privilege. Men can’t just decide to become a woman and women can’t switch teams. In such an androcentric society these chicks have no alternative than to view everything through the prism of male entitlement and female submission. However tormented they might be, people can never pay enough dues to change sexes.
So in the end these babes just won’t accept transexuals in their bathroom.
If you know anything about activists, both these groups are real hornet’s nests. Put them together and the nasty tweets have really been flying. Honestly, I didn’t think there were enough of either group to cause such a ruckus but apparently the transgender movement is one of the current darlings of the empty-headed, politically correct crowd and radical feminists have managed to hang around like ticks on the side of a beloved pet. Do a little research and you’ll find things have been getting pretty nasty.
That’s the part I love.
I can’t enough of it. Two communities that are so full of themselves, so self-important that neither can concede an inch to the other. It’s like a cat fight on steroids. Literally … on so many levels.
The more you dig into the more crazy fringe participants you find getting into the fray. Everyone starts an organization with cool acronyms and sets up fundraisers to create awareness of themselves and posts flyers and starts social media sites to trumpet their unique spin on the topic and before long they are hashtagging the living shit out of their new-found sworn enemies. For every fourteen year old boy who feels the need to express his inner woman and starts a Kickstarter campaign to fund his surgery there is a woman who had a penis attached ten years ago and now deeply regrets it and feels that she was manipulated by the movie The Birdcage.
Things are getting ugly. Battles that were once waged on obscure college campuses between a couple people holding signs are now featured on Youtube as each side tries to get the other’s speakers banned from presenting their side of the argument. Both sides are so filled with self-righteousness that the idea of common ground is as unrealistic as both sides realizing that they are turning themselves and their causes into a freak show.
And I do love me a good freak show.
What’s truly fun is how other civil rights groups try to keep their heads down without looking like they aren’t being supportive of their ‘brothers’ and ‘sisters’. The last thing they need to do is get caught up in a transexual shitstorm when they have their own wars to fight. One wrong word and you either have a hundred drag queens picketing outside your local office or a hundred bra-burning lunatics.
Put them all in a giant arena and let them fight it out I say. Survival of the fittest… amongst the least emotionally fit to survive. Include all the people that feel oppressed and down-trodden and give them weapons and put the whole thing on pay-per-view. Let all the victims fight it out to see who is most hard-done-by.
If I sound callous it’s just because I just don’t give a shit about who wins. Just as long as there is a lot of name-calling.
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