Second time the joke’s on me. And you can bet next time you ask me if this is gonna fuck shit up — the answer will be “yes”. Nine times seven, yes. Oh, but it’s not because of me. It’s all you. Don’t worry. I get it.
I’ve had it up to choking point with dudebros and dudebros posing as over-anxious feminists who act like the world is their sandbox to kick around in. Like I’m a boat to row home safe in. Life if you act “as weak as me”, I’ll throw you some bones with a bit of meat still on ’em.
And I’ve had it up to suffocating point with being told what sex is. See, this box is mine and I get to say what goes in it. I’m not taking something away because its nothing that you had, so quit your belly aching. Your pouting looks pathetic and your jokes are worse and these are the reasons you’ll never hear from me again.
You don’t like it?
Go ahead and cry. I’m sure some dudesis will listen, willing to cave in and play the notes just how you say.
In another universe we got along and I won’t let myself keep thinking that it’s too bad.
Godspeed to you all, for whatever that amounts to.