By Mansplainington Cockfingers: Senior Political Analyst
YOU’VE BEEN WARNED – this article is going to unabashedly intrude upon that insular little fantasy world where all anyone cares about are your pwecious widduw feewings – so stop gaping like a hooker with lockjaw, brew some herbal comfort tea, and see if you can manage to drown yourself in it, you feckless, self-centred waste of food.
Now, to all the men (as well as the apoplectic lesbians who are still reading this so that they can bitch about how much they hated it to their semi-circles of sultry, brick-faced minions) here are the simple, if unpleasant truths which Social Justice Warriors claim to be traumatized by, yet can’t seem to stop seeking-out and whining over:
- You don’t own the world. There – I said it. In fact (gasp!) you don’t even own your university campuses. You can’t just declare the auditorium a “safe space” and unilaterally ban anyone from saying anything you don’t like in it. Whatever (presumably hilarious) sequence of events led you to believe that you are the unquestioned monarchs of all university buildings and properties, the self-appointed arbiters of public discourse, and the private-conversation police, please try to recognize that it was most-likely an hallucination brought on by the dizzying tangle of jargon you constantly spout to hide the fact that all you really have to say is that everyone should be treated equally and no one should rape anyone else – like this is some kind of Nobel Prize-winning breakthrough or something.
- Your gender studies degree is worthless. Fucking worthless. What are you going to do when you graduate – study gender? Is that a booming industry right now? You people are professional complainers, and – as righteously indignant as that may make you feel – there actually isn’t a huge demand for those in the labor market right now. Trigger warning: (within a trigger warning – that’s so meta!) the following may cause you to come to the devastating realization that you should have done one of those cis-white-male-chauvinist programs, like commerce or engineering, which would have qualified you to do something other than come-up with convoluted explanations as to why it’s the patriarchy’s fault that you’re 35 and working at Starbucks.
- Free speech is a thing – deal with it. This may come as a shock, but the world does not, in fact, revolve around you and your hulking trans-girlfriend who wasted three months petitioning the Dean’s Office to be allowed to use the women’s washroom, no-questions-asked, when “she” could have simply smashed the door down with “her” massive, hairy knuckles. People say things you don’t like – but that doesn’t give you the right to silence them. There are many people who don’t like the things you say (once again, other people do, indeed, exist); in fact, there are many people who don’t like the way you smell – pro tip: deodorant isn’t a form of male oppression, we have to wear it too – but they don’t get to ban you from campus to protect their nasal passages, and you don’t get to shut down their talks to protect your “psychological safety.” If lectures by crackpot men’s rights activists make you feel “unsafe” you may want to try (as crazy as this sounds) not buying tickets to them just so you can run out crying in the middle.
- People who are raped are victims – not survivors. This is a simple, but oft-ignored fact of grammar. When a crime is committed, there is a victim. When a natural disaster or health crisis occurs, there are survivors. Par example: I was victimized by a con-artist (incidentally, never accept a personal cheque as payment for a night with your wife, even if the guy’s wearing an Ascott); I survived the Godfather Part III. See the difference? I know, I know: calling them ‘survivors’ makes them feel strong and triumphant – even when they’re sobbing in a heap because someone ‘triggered’ them with an inadvertent reference to bread, or trees, or some stupid thing that shouldn’t have upset anyone. I’ve seen so-called ‘survivors’ shrieking their defiance of those who ‘want them to be victims’ into many a microphone, and all I can ever think (besides ‘why doesn’t Leslie Nielsen slap her already?’) is that in all likelihood they probably do want to be made into victims, rather than ‘survivors,’ and are just playing coy. If you really want to feel strong and triumphal nut-up and kill the miserable piece of human waste who raped you already – it’s a little-known fact that, genetically speaking, rapists are actually more closely related to the stuff you scrape out from under your toenails after a long day of trudging through septic runoff than human beings, and killing them is basically like getting a really, really, satisfying pedicure. Wait – actually don’t – I’m not shelling-out what’s left of my money to some slimy rapist’s next of kin.
- This is the big one – if you take anything away from this article (besides a re-invigorated hatred of all men who weren’t sewn-together in an operating room like some bitchy, humorless Frankenstein) please, for the love of god let it be this: the word “unsafe” refers only, and explicitly, to conditions of actual physical danger – you know, like the kind faced by women in countries where the primary threat to survival comes from militia groups, rather than controversial lectures. It is not – I repeat not – a magical watchword you can chant to make the constitution, freedom of expression, and common sense disappear in a puff of neon-green armpit hair. To clarify further: the people who fought, and died, for the free-speech which you insist on for yourselves while simultaneously denying to those with whom you disagree, were “unsafe.” The journalists and activists who risk their lives to report on wars and challenge tyrannical governments are “unsafe.” You – with your bogus degrees, stupid-haircuts, delightfully a-historical brand of hypocrisy, and oodles of free time in which to sniff-out things to be offended by – are not unsafe. You’re just a bunch of whiny cunts.