Putting the trade into trading places.

I don’t truly know how it is to live as a woman. Chances are I never will. I’ve had a life laden with privilege, wearing the assumed status and ease of being a white male at all times. I don’t know what it is to be constantly belittled and undermined on the basis of my gender. I don’t deal with a stream of microaggressions on a daily basis. While I’m sympathetic to the struggles inherent to being female in a patriarchal society, it’d be a stretch of arrogance to claim empathy with any veracity. I can listen android recognise, but implicit understanding will likely remain beyond my reach.

The other day in improv class we were working on character. To come to terms with what it was to quickly assume a new personally, we tried a monologue exercise intended to push us beyond our comfort levels and into the mindset of someone so foreign to our own. At the offset it sounded simple. We’d stand before the rest of the class. Collectively they’d build out our character: What we did, our age, gender, the status we gave ourselves, the status others gave to us and lastly, the environment in which we were. We’d answer questions from the crowd in front of us in character. Sounded challenging, but fun. The classmates who went first did a great job of fully realising their characters. Two guys, one inhabited the persona of a 60 year old naturopath presenting at a conference. He responded to questions so quickly an self-assuredly you would’ve assumed he did it for a living. Another guy played a gender-queer substitute French teacher with total aplomb. Incorporating accurate French and non-binary terms with his explanations to the class. They both made it look effortless, a wonder with such a challenging assignment.

My character was to be a 30 year old female welder. She came from a family of means, but didn’t feel comfortable with that lifestyle. She was constantly struggling to be taken seriously in a male dominated workplace/profession. The rest of the class assumed the role of my male co-workers and the scene began. I walked into the scene looking for an assist on a welding job. There was a pipe that’d been damaged in an accident and needed to be welded before it could resume use. I it was covered in debris and I needed a hand getting access. The response was an immediate flood of misogyny. “I’ve got a pipe you can weld, darling.” Yelled a co-worker. “Good luck finding anyone who wants to go near that rusty old thing Carl” I responded. A chorus of “woooOOOOoooo”s greeted me. A co-worker called out “what’s the matter? Little girl can’t do her job?” I felt my face redden. “I can do my job, I just need a hand to get it done quicker for our customers. Do any of you work?” Someone else chimed in with a dopey voice “what’s actually wrong with it?”

Flustered from the lack of help, I started inwardly panicking. Oh shit, I actually don’t know anything about welding. What the fuck do I say? I stammered out something about there being a hole in the pipe that needed mending. “Yeah” the dopey dude responded “but what’s there problem.” Everyone laughed. At me. I was in this character, but also felt very real opposition. I just wanted to do my job and nobody would take me seriously. “I can fucking weld!” My voice rose “the boss wouldn’t have hired me if I couldn’t.” I heard a voice chime in from the back of the room “I didn’t care if you could weld. I just liked the way your ass looked.” I was fuming. I tightened my first intentionally as a character moment, but with very real tension behind it. “Are we gonna get this fixed for the customer? Or am I gonna have to explain that the rest of the office was too lazy to get off their asses?” One dude spoke up. “Fine, I’ll give you a hand. Since you can’t seem to do it yourself.” Laughter greeted the comment and I stood there fuming as the scene ended.

The frustration of not being considered or taken seriously was such a new, visceral sensation. Of being defined and limited in the basis of my gender. Feeling so intensely the burning rage at this systematic undermining of my personhood. I went back to my seat inwardly trembling, shaken. “Welcome to the sisterhood Leon” called the teacher.


Where did “It’s 2016” go?

What? How? Fuck. Wait, WHAT? No. No. NO. Fuck. FUCK. Fuck.

I’ve got nothing.

I don’t know what happens now. It’s a bleak day here in London. The sky is black, the heavens have opened and I heard crows. Dark wings, dark words. I’m not convinced the earth isn’t crying right now. I haven’t really slept. I curled up on a small couch just before 4am, terrified that what seemed to be happening, was. I hoped that by going to sleep I’d wake up to find it had all gone away. Instead I tossed and turned as my mind did back flips. Imagining foreboding realities where a soulless demagogue rode a wave of hateful rhetoric, giving voice to the bigoted, oppressive, angry and violent undercurrent of a global superpower. I woke to find those nightmares made flesh. This is not the same world as it was when I closed my eyes. Existence has been compromised, Cronenberged. Nobody belongs anywhere, everybody’s gonna die. Come watch TV.

We’re all complicit in some way. We laughed at his insane ramblings and disconnect. Mocked his inability to capably voice policy. We clicked, watched. We paid attention to an entitled misogynist megalomaniac who’s never been told “no” in his life. Whatever our intentions or views, we helped give him the spotlight and this platform elevated him. People who conflated notoriety and popularity with intelligence and ability saw him as someone worth listening to In this society where we’re judged by likes, retweets and impressions, how would they know any better? We made him and I am so sorry.

I’m so sorry for every non cis male who finally got the chance to put their support behind a female candidate. I’m sorry for every generation to follow who’ll think their dreams aren’t viable on the basis of their gender. I’m sorry for people of colour, LGBTQ+ folk and anyone else who faces discrimination or systematic oppression because of who they are. I’m sorry for anyone who’s afraid, angry or hurt right now. I’m sorry that you weren’t heard or that nobody listened. I’m sorry that apologising won’t change a fucking thing, otherwise I’d never stop.

What happened to hope? Progress does not mean going backwards.

They don’t think it be like it is, but it do.

Disclaimer: I don’t know how this will turn out, I’m not expecting much. I could wake up tomorrow and think what the fuck did I write? I don’t know. I just can’t not write something.

The Ghomeshi verdict was released today and the not guilty verdict landed with a resounding thud. There’s an emotional drainage going about that’s all too severe. I’m not a particularly informed or knowledgeable person on matters of sexual assault and trauma. It’s a reality that, on the basis of my gender, I haven’t had to deal with on a personal level. However, the stories my female friends have shared are nearly endless. As a guy whose daily life doesn’t feature an endless barrage of threatening behaviour including (but not limited to) assumptions of ignorance, ineptitude or weakness, expectations of emotional labour, unwanted sexual advances, physical, verbal or emotional assault, I figure my options are to believe one of two things:

  • There is a global conspiracy involving women crying wolf in a ploy for attention, sympathy, exposure and power.
  • Or that these “stories” happen frequently, day in and day out. That the portion I hear about is an infinitesimally small percentage of  these occurrences. That by virtue of gender, women have to deal with things that men would never think of because it’s so far out of their experiences. That spaces we men consider to be benign or safe could hold very real threats to women for no more than their “crime” of existing.

I can understand (which is not the same as agreeing) how so many men could not believe the second option. If something doesn’t fit into your lived experiences or world view, it’s hard to empathise with it. Most people don’t believe in mythical creatures like dragons because we haven’t seen dragons before us. It’s easy to dismiss them as works of fiction. If you’d met a dragon that would change your outlook, right? If a dragon had swooped down, lunged or breathed fire in your direction, that’d be terrifying. Just because you didn’t suffer physical injury, a narrow escape would still leave you pretty shaky I’m sure. I could see it being all the more terrifying because you didn’t think it was something that even could’ve happened to you.

Then what if you tried to tell people, but their response was “that’s silly, dragons don’t exist”? You had no marks or physical scars from the encounter, no proof beyond your word that it’d happened. They’d never seen a dragon, they had no evidence that they loomed among us, but their lack of evidence didn’t suddenly make your life threatening experience any less real. You were legitimately fearful for your life and nobody would listen to your fears in a judgement free capacity. What if every time you told people, they chided you and told you that you were crazy? You’d suffered through the terror of slavering jaws and searing hot flame, but because it didn’t fit into their life’s experiences they didn’t have enough trust or faith in you to give your trauma the benefit of belief. If you kept hearing that you were crazy, would you keep coming forward with your admissions? Or keep it to yourself out of fear of your personal credibility being reduced to zero? If being honest and forthcoming about your experiences would equate to nothing more than opening yourself to slander, insult and lowering yourself in the eyes of the public? I’m sure that’d make you feel alone, vulnerable, frightened and insignificant.

The dragon thing seems glib, but living in a culture that consistently undermines the experiences of victims is anything but. I’m not the most observant fellow out there, but even I’ve witnessed instances of women being made to feel uncomfortable in public spaces. Encroaching of personal space, vulgar, sexual and undesired advances. Men prioritising their desires over respect for women’s autonomy. Treating them like objects and a means to an end instead of free willed people. It happens constantly and so often the male response is apathetic or dismissive. Because we don’t have to deal with these issues, clearly they’re not issues at all. “Bitches be crazy”, ad infinitum. Emotional outbursts are criticised as unreasonable, an unmeasured reaction. Of course these reactions are judged as illogical. The male logic often follows that these things don’t happen, therefore a visceral reaction doesn’t adhere to the laws of logic. Fuck this. An unwillingness or inability to look beyond things within your world view does not mean your view is always right, it just makes you smug.

You may not be able to see the world as they do, but that’s because they navigate life with their own series of rules for survival. In 2016 we still live in a society that tells women they need to mitigate their behaviour in order to curb the impulses of the men around them. What if I told you that you constantly had to be prepared in case someone felt like stabbing you? If they decided they wanted their knife in your belly, it was your own fault for being there when that impulse overtook them. How would that make any sense?

I already feel like emotional weight stopped me from making sense a while back. For fear of invoking some “bitches be crazy” parallel, I’m gonna bring this train into the station with a simple suggestion:

If you’re a man who believes the “crying wolf” option, try finding an important woman in your life, someone you trust implicitly. With their explicit consent (and it’s understandable if they wouldn’t want to talk about it), try asking them if they’ve ever experienced situations that’ve made them feel threatened or unsafe. Try to listen (the word “listen” should be triple underlined) in a judgement free capacity to what they felt, why they felt that way. If this is a person you trust on most matters, why should this be any different?

Why is it so hard for men to just believe women? Is it possibly because deep down you fear what their truth says about the world we live in?

And if none of these are up your alley… Well don’t go, I guess. I don’t know what else I’m supposed to say here.

Hey folks. It’s International Women’s Day. Here are some rad events coming up that are produced/curated by top notch women around Toronto:


Today: Tell Me Something Good.
Sexy storytelling in a supportive space. This is one of my favourites as I’ve mentioned QuiteFew Times. Stories range from fun to hilarious, disastrous, sexy and all too relatable. The hosts each tell stories on the month’s theme, then the judges (local sex positive community members) tell theirs. Then the audience gets up and gives it a crack. You’ll see some people who return time and time again. There might be meek first timers. There’ll very likely be meek first timers who get up and casually mention the time they absent-mindedly chatted with a co-worker on a train while still wearing the evidence of their one night stand (There’s Something about Mary style) If you haven’t been, come out tonight. The theme is online dating stories and I know for certain that the judges this month are outstanding talents.


(I realise that by the time most of you read this, the event will already be over and done. At least click the link to find out more details and an idea of what to expect next month).


March 15 – 31st: YTB Gallery – QSW Rebel Zone 1975 -1989

An exhibition tracing the rise in cultural and counter-cultural ignition within an iconic Toronto community. Should be all kinds of choice, thought provoking and a great chance to trace some of the history that spawned such a bitchin’ area. Once gentrification rolls through it’s pretty easy to forget those rows of whitewashed buildings once had stories behind them. Being a Toronto transplant, I’m psyched to discover what I missed.



March 16th: Muff Society Presents – Bring It On.

These gals put on fantastic events showcasing the work of women in film. There’s always a themed photobooth preceding the film with an assortment of quote bubbles and cardboard props. The MUFF Society curates a local short film each month which’ll be screened with a short intro from its creator. They give out spot prizes from local supporting businesses, which are usually real quality. Last time I went I won myself a $50 record voucher. As for the film, Teenage Leon watched this an unfathomable amount of times partly because puberty and Dunst/Dushku, but also because the film is fun as hell (and I can probably quote most of it). I’m sure you’ve all seen it, see it again, but this time grab yourself an alcoholic slushie in the lobby.



March 17th: Sit Down and Shut Up.

Bo runs an excellent room once a month and she has a knack for finding a ton of local talent. It’s a low key space with no drink minimum or anything, often PWYC (plus there are usually 25% off food vouchers that’re easy enough to come by). I’ve found a couple of comics here that I’ve been keen to check out more, so it works out to be a nice showcase for who to watch. Especially since Just For Laughs is only a few months away. Heaps of comics are really fine tuning their sets in the hopes of getting picked to participate in the Montreal festival. I’ve never gone along and not had a great time.



March 27th: I’d Tap That – The Original Crush.

Flirty, silly and truth or dare-y. Spin the bottle, sneaky kisses, games and speed meet type stuff with a low pressure irreverent atmosphere. Think about how it felt to be a butterfly-stomached teen in the throes of rapture and you’ve got this event. It’s fully accessible and LGBT++ERRYONE welcome. Unless you’re a dick. Have a dick by all means, but don’t be a dick.


A straight, white, cis male’s guide to privilege.

I was having dinner with family the other night and asked my younger cousin about how his job was going. Knowing that at his age I probably would’ve responded with a monotonous “fine”, I was surprised to hear an actual response.

“It’s good, we’ve been busy. It was pretty funny actually, today my co-worker told me I was privileged.” He scoffed.
My girlfriend and I turned to each other and exchanged a glance that said are we gonna talk about this?
I turned to his mum who looked back with an expression that said he and I will talk, but now’s not the right time.
I then wondered if I’d magically developed telepathy, or some other cool mutant power. Would super strength and an enhanced healing factor be next? Dominion over magnetism? The ability to not get distracted by anything and everything shiny I could think of?

After that brief mental record scratch, my thoughts shunted back into a groove. How would/could I approach this?

First off, an instant understanding of the complex intertwining social threads of privilege isn’t something I’d expect a white, financially supported, thin, attractive, able bodied, intellectually gifted, cis male teenager to understand straight away. Hell, I’m 28 and I’m only starting to unravel where this kind thing starts and leads. When I was 16 I was too busy worrying about why I was still a virgin to think beyond myself. I think the concept of privilege in the mainstream is still in its infancy and it’d be hypocritical of me to shit on anyone for not latching on. So this isn’t intended as a shitting-on. I’m merely recognising the stink of certain societal waste products that many of us have been unwilling to bring up. As soon as we acknowledge that there’s a smell we’re gonna start looking to point fingers before realising that we all fart. Some of ours are just more recognisable than others.

For people in culturally dominant positions of influence, it can be hard to see the concept of privilege as anything other than a direct attack. Why are people questioning you and your motives? You haven’t done anything wrong. Being born a certain way isn’t your fault. You’re right. It’s not your fault and you’re not in the wrong for not instantly knowing why the things you have give you a different outlook on how the world works. From what I’ve witnessed, read and discussed with more knowledgeable people is that privilege is often more of a blind spot. Like noticing a tiny stain on a white shirt that’s probably been there for ages. It was never an issue before you noticed it and now you can’t stop seeing it. The stain doesn’t mean that the shirt is fucked and needs to be tossed. The shirt is still fine, but maybe you want to work on that erroneous spot so you’ll feel better about wearing it again.

I get how “check your privilege” can sound like “fuck you”. That’s not what it means. I know that the usual response from the mainstream is an audible eye roll, but “check your privilege” is simply about recognising how you might have advantages in certain areas of life. It doesn’t mean that you’ve never suffered through anything. It doesn’t mean you don’t have problems. It could just mean that when you venture out into the world, you could find it easier to navigate than others do. There are a huge number of everyday occurrences that are infuriating or troubling on their own. Once a number of them stack them up, how do you think that feels?

Do security guards ever stop you to check your backpack in a retail environment?
Do you ever have to think about whether it might be easier to call your same sex lover a “friend” because you’re not sure how co-workers would think of you otherwise?
Do you ever have to put thought into which bathroom you should be walking into?
Do you ever have to consider whether or not you’ll be able to physically enter a building if it has stairs?
Do you ever go shopping, find something nice and realise that they don’t make it in your size?
Do you bring up ideas in a meeting, find yourself ignored, only to see someone else get credit for your idea when they raise it in a louder voice?
Do you ever have to give a serious thought to whether or not you can spend time with your friends, if that means spending $10 on a meal that you might need for your life’s regular upkeep?
Do you ever give a second thought to your actions and how they fit into preconceived ethnic stereotypes?
Do you ever feel seriously worried about your safety walking down the street at night?
Do people judge you for what you eat because of the way you look?
Do you ever have to deal with people treating you in a sexual manner when you’re really not in the mood, then if you don’t respond in the way they desire it’s suddenly your problem?
Do you ever have people assuming you’re less intelligent or competent simply because of how you look or speak?
Does anyone ever talk to you in a condescending fashion as a matter of course?
Do people assume you’ll always remember important anniversaries and family details because you’re better at that kind of thing?

None of this stuff happens to me on the regular. In fact, there’s a lot of stuff that never happens to me at all. There’s a lot of stuff that I would have no idea happened in our world if it didn’t happen to my friends and other acquaintances. This kind of stuff happens. To some people it happens every day. To some people it can happen multiple times a day. It can happen tons of times in a day. Every day. But not for me.

This is what privilege is. Privilege is not knowing that issues exist because they don’t exist in your direct line of sight. They don’t happen to you, so they’re not your problem. If they’re not your problem, then they’re not problems at all. They might be happening to people you know and love though. Wouldn’t you want to do something about that? It’s possible. It would involve work over time, changes in perspective bit by bit. It would involve looking around, listening, reading. Finding out ways that other people are impacted by a system that happens to work reasonably well for you. The more things you know about, the better you can try to accommodate people having trouble. The easier it’d be to understand why they’re having a harder time. The kind of things I’ve brought up are a macrocosm of the irritating, hurtful, dangerous, difficult ways that people are conscious of by the simple act of living in a society. I haven’t listed more because frankly, they’re not as apparent to me as I go about my life. I have so much to learn. I’m not gloating, I’m stating the fact. I am privileged in the way I navigate the world. My life isn’t always easy, I have problems, but I recognise that I don’t have to bear the weight of emotional armour as a coping mechanism whenever I leave the house.

If you really don’t care, then you do you. I’m not telling you you’re a shitty person. Everyone has their own baggage to deal with. I’m not your dad. If you are interested in helping, maybe start small. If you notice that someone you love or care for seems burdened, perhaps ask if you can help lighten the load. Ask what’s holding them down and if there’s anything you can do. Would venting frustrations help? Even if you’re not aware of the issues they face, sitting with them and listening is not difficult to do. You might even learn something.

Also if you’re interested, read from people who are way smarter, more aware and knowledgeable on the subject than I am. So, practically anyone who’s written about this but me.

And hey, it might help solve that strange audible eye roll you get when someone tells you to “check your privilege”. An audible eye roll sounds like a legitimate medical concern.

If a picture is worth a thousand words, what portrait does a thousand entries paint?

Here begins my thousandth day of writing in a row.

Let me preface the following by saying I did not expect to be writing this. I thought, due to my pock-marked history of diaries (filled primarily with angsty odes to inadequacy and anxiety. Notice a trend?), that I’d get to day five and not bother coming back for day six. I guess we can see that wasn’t the case here. I’ve seen people’s interest rise over time, but intimidated by the colossal back catalogue they’ve found it hard to know where to start. To help out and do something special for anyone looking to know what this project is about, I’ve compiled a short-list of entries I consider to be worth your time. Entries I consider to represent the kind of thing I do here, or at least what I want to be doing here. Without further adieu:

How does the awkward taste?

What goes through my head when I see a pretty girl? I go through it in excruciating detail, plotting out my exact inner monologue. Be warned, you won’t be able to look at me in the same way afterwards.

I never expected to become my own Analrapist.

Aside from the (maybe not so obvious?) Arrested Development reference, this is a neat little piece. Short story, I ran into a girl at a party in Melbourne who recognised me. We used to play Kiss and Catch when I was about 6 years old. I waxed nostalgic a little and thought about my childhood crushes.

Have I indirectly killed people by just saying that?

My mind goes to strange places occasionally. Here’s what happens when stream of consciousness rambling follows an odd train of thought and I find myself in a bizarre potential future.

I still didn’t have to shoot an AK. By Ice Cube’s standards, pretty good day.

So we’ve seen that my mind can wander. This is what happens when my mind and body wander simultaneously. Roaming the streets of Melbourne on holiday, I followed an emotional downturn into a resurgence of sorts.

Fuck you “blurred lines”. Why is a song that casually advocates rape culture so goddamn catchy?

Here’s where we start to get into the chewy emotional stuff. A girl hit on me, I wasn’t interested, but also didn’t feel that as a guy I was allowed to say no to a woman’s sexual interest. An interesting journey to follow.

Another dumb message that won’t get a response. If only I had some way of collecting these…

If anyone wonders why I don’t have a lot of success with online dating, here’s my pièce de résistance. I think this is fucking fantastic and exceedingly the best message I’ve ever sent. Unfortunately I’m not trying to seduce myself. Apparently it doesn’t stir arousal in members of the opposite sex.

Having a penis is great, but it’s no excuse to be a dick.

It’s no exaggeration to say that the people around you influence the person you become. I’ve been so lucky to be surrounded by great people who help me continually learn and grow. Hopefully this entry on male privilege and how to mitigate your presence without compromising yourself is a sign that I’m maturing. At least a little.

Does it contain powdered gamma radiation? Toxic sludge? The breath of an Egyptian Mau cat and an egregiously terrible plot?

No jokes, I recently emailed Whittakers Chocolate in New Zealand and asked them if they’d supply me with free chocolate for posting about their delicious products. They’d freshly arrived in Canada and, being a fan, wanted to see if I could eke out some free stuff. This entry was the example I gave them of my product reviewing expertise.

Well, I had to justify the url, right?

Being serious for a minute here. Making this was one of the most difficult and intensely personal things I’ve ever done. To this day I still can’t tell if it’s well written, because reading it immediately puts me into an emotional state. It’s honest and completely sincere.

Remember that total clusterfuck of a day? Remember all those little flaws that made it perfect in its own way?

This was a weird, intense day that started out with my ex-girlfriend messaging me at 9am. “Wake up, we’re going to America” was all she said. You can read how that turned out.

Tomorrow we can laugh, I promise. Remember when I said “everybody hertz”? That was kind of funny, right?

If you’re interested in finding out how a relationship can ignite instantly and consume everything, this is one such account. This relationship was unlike anything else I’ve experienced in my life. I still hold a ton of baggage that I’m desperately seeking to drop, but it’s not easy. Love isn’t easy and just because you’re in love that doesn’t always make it right.

We don’t really talk anymore.

Can Competitive Erotic Poetry Slam Battle replace Snapchat now please?

This is the closest thing I’ve ever had to a guest entry. My girlfriend sent me a cute poem and I decided to escalate. Things. Escalated. Quickly. It’s fun, cheeky, goofy and more than a little flirty. It’s a good indication of how we fit together.

It was either this or a boom box outside your window, but it’s a bit cold outside today.

I think this is what being in love feels like.


Whatever your interest in this project, thanks for stopping by. I don’t quite know what it is, I don’t know what it will become, but whatever it is, it’s special in my eyes. Thanks for being a part of it. Stick around, I have a good feeling about this.

Why does that feel like the last thing I’d say before a pterodactyl plunged from the sky to devour my body whole?

Hooray. Getting responded to by an MRA dude is one more thing I can cross off my dreamboard.

So I wrote a thing yesterday (as I do every day. That’s kind of the point here) and for once the comment section lit up. Well, 3 people commented (and I’m 70% sure the 3rd person was just the 2nd person with another fake email address). Exciting times, folks. One guy took the time to write a lengthy diatribe about why I was wrong, men are so hard done by and women are conniving tricksters taking advantage of poor hard working men. Oh, this is the internet. I can just copy/paste:

LOL You sound like a mafia boss ‘chatting’ with a ‘fellow’ restaurant owner ‘man to man’, discussing how great it is to run a successful business, the pride, the joy, the satisfaction of having your customers enjoying their food in a restaurant with unsmashed windows. The deep sleep you must have knowing your restaurant is not burning down after a gas leak. What? No I’m just saying…. that’s good right?

> It is great to be a guy and society lets us know this. Whether we want it or not, it pushes us towards believing that we’re at the forefront of everything, that our role is to stand up and take charge, that our voice counts. We’re strong, commanding and important.

Yep. Men have less legal rights than women! Hurrah for men! Men still do not even have the right to genital integrity. Throughout history men’s role has been to sacrifice himself working down mines, out in the fields, out at sea, and on the battlefield in order to provide resources and protection to women…. for this men have been labelled as systematic oppressors of women.

Men have always had to jump through a variety of expensive hoops before women allow them to their social circle, and traditionally a boyfriend had to agree (in a legally binding contract!) to financially support his girlfriend for life before she would even allow him to get into bed with her or see her naked. For this men have been accused of oppressing women.

Even today men do the remaining manual labour jobs (which is why 95% of workplace deaths are men). Men are given 60% longer sentences for the same crimes as women. Men’s sexuality is defined as inherently rapey, men’s intent as inherently criminal and natural boy behaviour is now defined in the educational system as being a problem which requires forced medication. Boys are now essentially being defined as ‘defective girls’.

In keeping with men’s lower status (as society’s manual labourers, infrastructure builders and maintainers and financial supporters of women) men serving women (He for She) is now defined as ‘gender equality’.

But despite being kicked in the nuts every day men persevere. They refuse to define THEMSELVES as victims, cleverly shifting this burden onto women’s shoulders! Making women feel depressed and insecure instead (despite having more rights, more privileges and more of a voice than men).

This eschewing of the label ‘victim’ is what gives men the energy and the vigour to excel and to innovate and to be productive in society. The only downside is that a lot of women exploit men’s clever psychological trick by playing the role of victim so convincingly that society ends up actually believing women have it worse than men…. which these women then use to justify demanding special treatment and free stuff – most of which is paid for by those carefree productive men!

Thus men are – in their bid for freedom – ending up further enslaved to women. Their strategy only worked in the age before women had the use of big socialist governments with the legal right to control men by force and confiscate their property by force.

And now for feminist joke of the day.

A young woman with no particular qualifications to speak on gender / social issues walks into a UN conference room and announces to the whole world – via an overwhelmingly pro feminist media – that women have no voice and are not listened to. Boom Tsh!

The joke is she was not even being sarcastic.

Emma Watson is a joke. But Emma Watson plus the UN is serious business. You traditional patriarchal men better watch out because modern feminism IS patriarchy, but on steroids!

Patriarchy = women and children first
Feminism = He for She

It’s the same thing (minus the concern for children).

Feminists are using men’s patriarchal psychological trick against them by playing the burdening role of the victim for their own benefit, in an aggressive way that is the furthest thing from actual victimhood.”

So I decided to write a comment (that got more ad hominem than I’d intended) and since I’m lazy and spent time on it, I’m using it as my daily writing today.

This reminded me of a Bo Burnham joke.
“For every dollar that a man makes, a woman makes 70 cents. That’s not fair. The man’s only left with 30.”

Thing is, it’s a joke playing on the fact that real inequality does exist. Bo knows this, I’m not sure that you do.

I don’t want to get into a protracted debate with an MRA/redpill denizen, because I don’t know if you’re actually capable of seeing things outside of your entrenched myopic scope. I feel like you want to see things a certain way, so you eschew any evidence to the contrary. It’s a pity, because you’re the exact archetype of person that this post could most benefit.

There’s not much that can be done with someone who’s not willing to learn, and while I suggest that despite your bias you go and read that male privilege checklist (even though the word “privilege” probably raises your hackles), you probably won’t.

I don’t know how you were hurt by a woman at some stage in your life (given your above example of the “legally binding contract”. Did you also know that in your example the women were traded like property and had next to no legal rights?). Maybe your advances were spurned, causing you to adopt an “it’s not me, it’s her” position that extended to everyone who shared her chromosome configuration. Maybe the pervasive media narrative told you that as the hero of your own life’s story, you “deserve” a woman and you bought into that.

As someone who professes to the value and integrity of hard work though, you probably understand that nothing is necessarily “deserved” and things don’t just come to you. That’s not how life works. In this case, it seems like the hard work you need to do is to examine why it is you think the way you do and whether that’s actually making you happy. Googling your name very quickly showed a couple of comments on other people’s blogs with angry pro men’s rights rants. That doesn’t sound like the behaviour of a person who’s happy with their lot in their life. Maybe instead of placing the blame on roughly half the population (sorry trans-folk. You matter, but I’m not sure of specific numbers), you look at how you behave towards the rest of the world and think about whether that’s actually doing you any good. Try listening instead of talking for a little bit and see if you learn anything.

Or stay angry and see where that gets you.

If I know the internet like I think I know the internet, this probably isn’t over.