Just poz me up fam. "I want to travel, I want to have fun, I want to be a fashion promoter". Can't even answer a question without stumbling and slurring over her words Not being happy? If you’re not happy, you might as well be dead. There’s nothing more important than personal happiness in life. Civilization, The Enlightenment, The Renaissance, all of antiquity, all of the Great Wars, man’s tragic, insane, comic, highly implausible history, and his future amongst the stars. You can keep all that stodgy CisHet crap to yourself, mister. True enlightenment means going on road trips, listening to great music, pluckin’ ‘yer ukulele, fingerpainting, making films and art and music, eating fresh fruits whilst wearing a sundress, etc., etc. My greatest fear is that I won’t be happy. I won’t have fun trips, I won’t have a fun boyfriend, I’ll have to worry about oppressive and hateful male macho money because the 1% are too greedy to let me fingerpaint in peace. And so I embark upon my quest, to shame 25-30 members of a defunct racist organisation at their bake sale, because in my little pea-sized brain, things would probably be a lot better if the Gestapo went around confiscating Confederate flags. If I were a guy, you would be saying, “Man, fuck this time-wasting hipster piece of shit”, but as a proud, self-avowed ‘modern womyn’, I claim the right to dance around aimlessly, scream nonsense, and fling my shit, all from the comfort of my cool artist residency whilst I apply for NEA grants. And after that, I don’t know, I’ll probably travel for a few years before finally settling down to ‘teach’. I am a net drag on the economy. The very idea of producing something of value or being held responsible for my wasteful lifestyle strikes me as highly misogynistic and indeed racist. As a matter of fact, I think I know exactly who is to blame for this, and his name is Sam Hyde. Monday through Saturday I will tell you that teasing people for their appearance or their sexuality is wrong, and that threatening physical violence should be met with jail time, but on Sunday I would just like to say that Sam Hyde is an ugly beta male who gets no pussy, and he should probably be beaten and castrated for not falling in line with The Party. I don’t know what ‘cognitive dissonance’ is, because MGMT never wrote a song about it. If I had any sense or passion, I would reflect upon the fact that 100 years ago people like me would have been lined up in the streets and shot in the back of the head. But that sounds boring, so what I’ll do instead is emptily thumb through my copies of Harry Potter, binge eat stale pizza, watch shitty movies on Netflix in my piss stained yoga pants, and maybe post dimly lit pictures of me fingering my pussy on r/gone wild for attention. Because that and happiness are all that I really care about. Instead of actually improving myself, I’ll nervously flick between my inbox on Reddit and my feed on Twitter, deeply worrying about whether people I don’t know and will never meet are going to find my untoned potato sack body sexy. I’ll probably take about 5 hours out to scroll through other women’s posts as well, just to hate and scorn them for being more attractive than I am. I don’t really know it, but that just about sums up all of my major relationships with my female friends. If I got half the chance, I would probably shove all of their secrets out in the open, and insult them for being degenerate slatterns, even though on the weekends I dream about getting my pussy pounded by the cock of some random guy down at the local dive bar/club. Who knows, maybe when I’m getting fucked, I’ll forget that I left my tampon in, so that his dick acts like a muzzle loader and so pushes the tampon to the back of my vagina, resulting in a brief but intense infection that lands me in the hospital. I’ll probably have to lie to my friends about it, who are just smart enough to figure out that I didn’t really end up in the hospital because I got the flu, but because I can’t really follow through on important things like hygiene. And so, whilst I sit in a hospital bed, wasting taxpayer money, I’ll complain on Facebook about how the ‘right sort of guy’ never pays attention to me, or about how ‘all the good men have gone’, or about how lonely I am, or about how difficult it is to be a woman, or about ‘rape culture’, or about how women are objectified, or about how women are disadvantaged at universities (even though they are by far the preferred majority xD), or about whatever else I read about that day on Buzzfeed or HuffPo without thinking about it.
I got this off youtube. I had to steal it. I'm so sorry but it's perfect! HAHAHA!
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