Fear Women

There is one reason the genders remain unequal. It has nothing to do with strength, or smarts, or numbers. It’s a simple, primal driver that we, as a people, have rejected to our detriment.

It’s fear.

Men don’t fear women the way women fear men. As a woman, I live my life in a constant state of fear. If someone is walking behind me, I’m aware. As I enter my car in a dark parking lot at night, I’m holding my keys like tiny brass knuckles, ready to fight off wayward sex murderers. Every time I have an orgasm, the last five seconds or so is spent worrying that racing heart is less passion and more aortic dissection. Ok, that last one was more the responsibility of Father Time, but my point is the same.

Every time I think I’m about to die, a man is the culprit.

I’m not saying that to be like “all men are brutes that are always hurting us, innocent women, all the time.”  I’m saying that because I don’t understand why men don’t feel the same way. I don’t understand why men aren’t afraid of women all the time.

They really should be.

I blame the press. I’m going to use Aileen Wuornos as my example. Aileen was dubbed the first female serial killer by the press. She was active over a nine-month period from 1989 to 1990. In that time, she murdered 7 men. During her tenure, she murdered on average one man per month. Her nearest serial killer competitor per capita is John Wayne Gacy, who murdered every two months.

By kill count, she’s an impressive specimen alone. Being female, that just made her more appealing to the press. But they were wrong about one thing. She certainly was not the first female serial killer. Nor was she the most prolific.

That honor goes to Countess Elizabeth Báthory of Hungary.  Between 1603 and 1610, she murdered over 650 serving girls via exsanguination. She used their blood as a moisturizer because she thought it reversed the aging process. She served four years in prison before dying of natural causes. She single-handedly committed the equivalent of genocide and pretty much got away with it.

Because men don’t fear women. Even when the men in charge knew what she did, they still couldn’t bear to put her down like a rabid dog. They still thought she was redeemable. If you think women trying to change men is the cliché, you’ve been sucked into a wrong way of thinking. That cliché goes both ways.

Think of the nerd with the bad girl fetish., Think of how he’s always chasing that hot, coke snorting, Molly-popping party girl. He hates how that party girl keeps going back to her coke dealer boyfriend. He doesn’t see how she could see anything in a commitment-phobic, drug addict asshole who’s only redeeming quality is their extreme attractiveness. That nerd will never see the irony. Never see how they’re the one chasing a commitment-phobic, drug addicted asshole who’s only redeeming quality is extreme attractiveness.

They don’t see that because they don’t see women as people. They see them as accessories. Things you can win, like goldfish at a carnival. Pets. And pets, they’re never bad. They just take on the traits of their masters and masters never fear their pets.

Which is why those men don’t fear women. The dude who says to me “I’ll never hit a woman” is actually the most misogynistic asshole I know. And stupid. The dude who says something like that? He’s also the cat who gets murdered after marrying a black widow and signing a big fat insurance policy with her as the beneficiary. And she gets away with it because men don’t fear women.

I don’t have to be stronger than you to slip a little anti-freeze into your coffee every day until your heart explodes. I don’t have to be smarter than you to push you in front of a train and tell your friends you were suicidal. I don’t need an army of thousands to spray some ricin into an air duct and watch everyone die of a strange, aggressive flue-strain. I can ruin your day. I can end your life. My gender in no way prevents that.

Men, I think you’re the problem in gender inequality and not the way you think. I think most of you are normal, law-abiding, sweet dudes, who would gladly pull over to the side of the road to help a damsel in distress.

And that shit is going to get you killed!

Girls don’t flag people down anymore. We all have AAA. If she’s flagging you down, it’s so her boyfriend hiding in the bushes can rob you. Just drive on! Stop being stupid. When you drive around, willing to give kindness to any pretty girl you see, you’re kind of asking for it.

Fear women. That’s what’s finally going to make us equal. The day I can pull over at a rest stop, and have a young man flinch away when I approach him for directions, that’s how I’ll know we finally made it. That’s how I’ll know the genders truly are equal. I’m not asking a lot. I just want you to fear me.

Sorry boys, the wall hits everyone


There are a lot of places I wish I never visited. A Yuma porta-a-pottie in July, Berlin’s Love Parade during a hepatitis outbreak, New York City at any time, ever.  But there are no places I regret more than Reddit. Only on Reddit was I introduced to incels, MTGOW and the Red Pill. Only on Reddit did I learn about “the wall.”

the wall

Not this one. This is one of the good ones. 

The wall is like the international date line, but double the neckbeards. It’s an imaginary barrier placed in a woman’s timeline that establishes when she stops being relevant because she’s no longer fuckable.  The barrier moves based on the pedophilic or hebephiliac tendencies of the user.

Just a side note here. If you’ve ever been pissed because someone called you a pedophile, when really, you’re a hebephile, you’ve chosen the wrong hill to die on. You are a garbage person and your DNA does not need to be carried forward. Semantics don’t change that.

The wall is tied to a woman’s fertility because it’s possible to create a timeline for it. There’s physiological evidence that we’re no longer able to conceive. There is a clear criterion for calling a woman unfuckable, hence, the wall.

Male fertility, on the other hand, is harder to pin down. We know that by age fifty, a man’s ability to produce viable sperm is reduced by 90%. That aged sperm is 5 times more likely to result in genetic mutations, with more than half of those mutations resulting in death before the age of three. Also, about 76% of men age 50 and over report consistent problems with maintaining erections until ejaculation, so we need to figure that in. Can’t hammer a nail with a limp noodle, and all that.

Ok, so it’s actually super easy to pin down. Let’s just break it down by sperm count. At age 25, you have 100 viable sperm out of the hundred thousand you spray and pray out. By 50, you have 10. By that age, not all your remaining sperm are healthy. When eliminating the risk of birth defects, your chances drop by 2/3. You now have three viable sperm left. We tack on the fact that most men jack off three times as much as they fuck, you’re down to one.  You now have less than 1 in 100 chance that you will have intercourse which will result in a viable birth. I thought that stat looked familiar. It was.

Turns out, the likelihood of a 50-year-old man becoming a father is exactly the same as the likelihood of a 50-year-old woman becoming a mother. If we’re determining human value based strictly on our ability to produce offspring, men and women are neck and neck at 50. And that isn’t an opinion. It’s verifiable science.

But society ignores that because men run it and they need to believe they’re immortal. They also like to claim that dudes get “more distinguished” as they age while women just fall apart. They point to dudes like Charlie Sheen as evidence they can continue pulling dime 20-year-olds forever.

But the thing is, Charlie Sheen is special. He was handsome and charismatic when he was 18. He’s still handsome and charismatic now. Age didn’t make him better. His awesomeness was established at birth.   My point is, the 50-year-olds you see pulling 22-year-olds? Yeah, they’ve been doing that shit for thirty years. You only noticed now because of their age. Age is correlative, not causative. When you (a normal person) turns forty and you try to hit on some 22-year-old chick, she’s not thinking about “how distinguished” you are. She’s feeling for her pepper spray to make the creepy old man go away.

It’s kind of like how I claim that being drunk at 9 a.m. doesn’t count as day-drinking because I never stopped drinking the night before. It’s cumulative effort which allows me to be shitfaced when most people are watching Good Morning America and still not technically be considered an alcoholic. It’s years of work, not a sudden new power given to me when I hit middle age.

Beautiful, fuckable people just stay that way, whether they’re 17 or 57.  For them, there is no wall. For the rest of us, there definitely is. It hits you around 9 a.m., on a Tuesday, when you’re still shitfaced from the night before and wondering if that yellowish tint to your skin is a tan or jaundice.  And you hope that it’s jaundice. Because at least then, you know how you got it.


To the dude who sent me unsolicited erotica,

I would love to kiss your neck so softly as my hands slide up your stomach through under your shirt to caress your breast, as my cock gets harder then its ever been with the thought of penetratingly your wet pussy, as I move my lips away from yours and slowly kiss my way down your body all the way down to your feet, while sliding off your under wear. I would slide my hands up your legs Intl your inner thighs and start rubbing clit before putting my tounge in and tasting you, occasionally slipping my tounge into your tasty ass hole. By this time I couldn’t help myself but stuff my cock into your vagina as you bite your lips and pull me closer to you. I want to **** you until I cum

First off, let me say I admire your moxie. It’s not easy to open our writing up to criticism, especially when it’s of such an intimate nature. You’ve shown real guts in sending this message to me – along with thousands of other women – in the hopes of gaining valuable feedback.  Luckily for you, I’m an expert source for writing feedback. After all, I did spend $80k getting a degree in a language I already spoke fluently. So I can tell you this with 100% certainty. Your writing will need extensive work if you ever hope to publish.

Let me cover some of your biggest issues.

  1. Punctuation. I understand punctuation can be a stylistic choice. However, as a stylistic choice here, it reads less “fevered sexual rush” and more “schizophrenic rant to an entity only I can see.” You lack the technical skill to use punctuation as a tone device. Stick to periods, like your mom should have done.
  2. Mixing tenses. You’re either in the past or the present. You can’t be both. Especially not in the same sentence. Let’s explain with this heaping pile of exposition.  “By this time I couldn’t help myself but stuff my cock into your vagina as you bite your lips and pull me closer to you.” You’re using active verbs but setting the scene with passive voice. You can’t do that. Well, you can if you want your text to read like amateurish word salad. If that was the goal, well played.
  3. Continuity. One minute, you’re licking my asshole. Then, suddenly, you’ve managed to jam your cock into me without moving at all. Is this a sci-fi fantasy where you’re a new species (perhaps alien) with a facial penis? If so, you need to revisit world building and establish that sooner. If not, there needs to be more of a transition between ass licking and cock stuffing. That tip applies to both writing and reality.
  4. Redundancy and passivity. During your train wreck of an opening sentence, you used the word “your” nine times. Buy a thesaurus. Learn to mix your sentence length and structure. The fact that I have to tell you this should be a clue that you’re not a good writer, but in case it isn’t clear– Never, under any circumstances, use the same word nine times in a single sentence.
  5. Narrative/POV. You’ve done a good job of establishing yourself as the central figure in this draft – and I imagine that’s a skill which extends to the bedroom. The issue is the POV doesn’t work for the market. Look at any successful erotic novel written for women. They all had one thing in common. They cast the woman as the central figure and focused on her feelings, rather than the man’s. The reason for this is simple. Women don’t get off the same way as men.  As such, describing how you feel when you get off to a woman is unlikely to turn her on. It just reads as an internet pervert typing one-handed to an apathetic audience.
  6. Derivative subject matter. You know what every internet pervert has in common? They view sex as a three-step process. Kiss, lick genitalia, intercourse. I assume they do so because that’s all they know. And if that’s all you know, you’re not qualified to write erotica. You writing erotica is like my 90-year-old Memere writing a developer‘s guide for ARkit.   It covers the stuff everyone already likes with no nuanced understanding of what makes it good.

As it stands, what you’ve submitted is not ready for publishing. I’ve ignored the vast majority of your serious grammatical issues as I know you’re not intending to sell this work. But I also want to point out it’s not ready to be read by anyone you hope to fuck; unless you’ve decided you’ve changed your mind about fucking them and want to shut it down. Like if you found out she had herpes, AIDs, living parents or some other terrible affliction.  If that’s the case, writing on spec was the right choice.

In any case, if you want to turn someone on with words alone, understand how words work. You’re not going to find love sending mass emailed erotica to strange girls. The only ladies who’ll give you a positive response are chatbots and catfish.  Best case, normal chicks will just add you to their block list as yet another creepy weirdo with zero self-awareness.  Worst case, some asshole copies your message verbatim and posts it on their website, so when all the other girls you sent it to search it (which they will) they wind up on a page calling you out as a total tool.



If you don’t vaccinate your children, you are a bad parent

Image result for anti vaxxer

I started an argument on Reddit a few days ago that’s starting to carry into my real life. As such, those individuals who disagreed with me should have found this blog by now. This is for you.

If you don’t vaccinate your children, you are a bad parent.

To clarify, if you say to me, “but I choose not to vaccinate my children because of my religious  conviction.” I say:

“If you’re part of a religion that allows children to die of preventable illnesses, you are a bad parent.”

Also, if you say to me, “we favor Eastern medicine and choose to treat our child in a holistic manner,” I say:

“Even well-respected practitioners of Eastern medicine understand it’s to be used in conjunction with – and not in favor of – vaccines. You are a bad parent.”

There is no “Big Vaccine” out there trying to scam you out of money. If a pharmaceutical company really wanted to scam you out of money, they would not CURE an illness with a vaccine and only get paid once. They would offer “treatment” and get paid on a monthly basis forever.

Perhaps, they would even convince you that something that doesn’t work at all is the only solution. Just spitballing ideas here, but I would go for oils. I’d tell people this was the natural way to cure this serious illness, taking advantage of their naivete. Because really, vaccines essentially eradicated the illness almost entirely and I know that there’s only a small percentage of a chance they’d ever get it – even unvaccinated.

But I don’t think too far ahead on that. Because soon, those idiots using my oils? They tell their friends to use my oils. As people rely on my useless oils, their children’s chances of getting a serious, preventable illness go up. Less vaccinated kids = higher chance of getting the illness. Eventually, illnesses that were eradicated decades ago start showing up again. But hey, by the time that happens, I’ll probably be dead because essential oils don’t cure strokes.

Yes, I’m talking about Gary Young. Seriously, fuck that guy

Before any anti-vaxxers tell me to “do my research” because you spent two hours looking up statistics on “Younglivingforever.com” or “essentialoils.gov,” let me tell you — you’re wrong.

I did my research. In that research, I learned that vaccines have exponentially reduced infant mortality rates while increasing life expectancy for the population overall. I learned that no vaccine has ever been linked to a case of autism and the vast increase in autism cases since the 1980s occurred due to doctors being better able to detect those on the spectrum through better medical resources. You can find this same exact information online at the CDC.

So let me say this one more time, in case I wasn’t clear before. If you don’t vaccinate your children, you are a bad parent.

The only qualified drug counselor is a prior addict


People give advice all the time. For some people, it’s damn near an addiction. Not a real addiction. Those involve mind-altering substances. But it’s a prominent behavioral trait.

I’m one of those people. I give a lot of advice. Much of it unsolicited. But even I – know-it-all asshole that I am  – know where to draw the line.

Let me take you back. Picture it, Disappearing Island, Florida.  Went out to said island with a group of friends, as well as friends of friends I barely knew. During the trip, I lit up a cigarette. And here comes well-meaning asshole. We’ll call her “Cunt” – because I really don’t think she was well-meaning as much as she was a know-it-all cunt.

Cunt: You know that’s bad for you, right?

Me: Nope. No idea. Last my doctor told me, this was an ideal cure for female hysteria. Well, that and leaches.

Cunt: Have you ever tried to quit?

Me: Yes <proceeds to explain the approximate billion drugs, nicotine replacements, doctors, hypnotists and therapies I’ve tried >

Cunt: Well, what you really need to do is put your cigarettes in a baggie. Every day, you put less cigarettes in the baggie, until there’s no cigarettes in the baggie…<honestly, this retarded shit went on for twenty minutes and I can’t be bothered to regurgitate this stupid idea which I guarentee worked for no one in the world, ever.>

Me: Oh, did that work for you?

Cunt: No, I’m not a smoker.

Me: Well then, you don’t know shit. Now shut up.

Look, there are some things you need some experience on to be able to offer an opinion. There’s plenty of other things you don’t. For example, I don’t need to be a parent to know it’s wrong to punch a toddler in the face. Just from being alive, I know toddler’s faces are squashy, still forming and not safe for punching. This is a thing I would know if I’d never given birth.

I see a plane nose down in the center of a local Walmart, I don’t need a degree in aeronautics to determine the pilot fucked up. Planes aren’t supposed to land in Walmarts. Clearly, mistakes were made.

Some things, you can have an opinion on just seeing them. You don’t need any prior experience to understand the root issue. You punch a kid in the face, you’re a bad parent. You plow a plane into the Dale Earnhardt Jr. collection at the local Walmart, you’re a bad pilot. Even laymen can understand that.

But laymen don’t understand addiction. The job of an addiction counselor is the only one in the world where experience being high on drugs should be required. You need to have been an addict to understand an addict. And by an addict, I mean a real addict who’s been addicted to mind-altering substances. Not addicted to macramé, or mysteries or chocolate.

Stop appropriate my culture, pussies.

I mean the kind of addiction where – if you don’t have that thing you’re addicted to – you can’t function until you do. That thing becomes your sole purpose for being alive. When you try to quit that thing, your brain tricks you. It says “hey, come on, that shit makes you so happy. And life’s too short to be unhappy. Who cares if it makes you sick? Sure, not having it will make you live longer – but if you have to live without it, are you really interested in living that long anyway?”

Unless you’ve lived that, you don’t get it. Yes, you can be the kid of an addict, the friend of an addict, the partner of an addict and think you know – but you don’t. Your opinion isn’t going to make an addict quit, because addicts live inside themselves. They’re only capable of seeing a short-term world through their own eyes. And for the rest of their lives, even if they get clean, they will always think of that one thing that tempts them. At least once a day, they’ll remember that high. And they’ll never be able to let it go.

If you really want to give me advice on how to cure my addictive behaviors, give me the schematics for a time machine. That’s the only true cure-all – the ability to go back in time and stop myself before I started. At the very least, have some fucking experience in what being an addict is like. Only then are you qualified to dispense life advice to an addict.




Yes, I’m pro-death penalty. And you should be too.

True crime buff I am, I recently got sucked into a Netflix new release called “I am a Killer.” Silly fool I am, I assumed it would be about people taking responsibility for the crimes they committed which landed them on death row.

Turns out, it was just a veiled attempt at left wing propaganda, much like “Making of a Murderer.” Just an FYI – Steven Avery did it. He is exactly where he belongs. Take two minutes out of your busy day and look at the evidence which is fully available online. Start here with the available legal files. http://www.stevenaverycase.org/


The reason “I am a Killer” pissed me off was because it’s a poor attempt to make Americans who support the death penalty ashamed of that fact. It’s meant to shame us into supporting prisoner’s rights when honestly, many of those death row residents 100% deserve to be there.

Let me give you an example, as graphically as I can.

On June 24, 1993, Jennifer Ertman and Elizabeth Peña were minding their own business, walking home and following the train tracks in their Houston, Texas community. They came upon a group of people – Peter Anthony Cantu, José Ernesto Medellín, Derrick Sean O’Brien, Efrain Perez, Venancio Medellín and Raul Omar Villarea – who chose to do them harm, rather than simply letting them pass, like any normal, civilized person would do.


Those individuals chose to rape them repeatedly, mutilate them, and finally, murder them. According to autopsy reports, they kicked the teeth out of Elizabeth’s mouth before choking both girls to death with a pair of shoelaces. There’s a lot more, but I don’t want to summarize it here. Just know what those two girls — fuck not even girls, children —  went through in the hours before their deaths is not something I would wish on my worst enemy.

All but one of those perpetrators in that case was sentenced to death and my response is “How soon can we do it” and also “Can we make it hurt?”

There is no redemption for what those men chose to do. There is no second chance. Sometimes, you make choices that make you unredeemable. Sometimes, you need to be put down like the rabid dog you are because you have no place in society.

And when you choose to murder someone, it’s very, very likely you will be lumped in with those people. Not all death row cases are as bad as what happened to Jennifer Ertman and Elizabeth Peña – but we need to treat every death row case as such. As much as people have a right to a fair trial, other people have a right to live. Your right to a fair trial does not trump their right to be alive.

If you don’t want to wind up on death row, here’s a suggestion. Don’t murder people.

There is nothing you can do in this world to make up for first-degree murder. I don’t care that you feel sad that you did it after. I don’t care that you felt pressured to do it from your friends. You always had the option to say no. You always had the option to choose mercy. You chose not to exercise that option. And for that, we, as a civilized society, owe you no mercy.

Guns don’t just “go off”. She didn’t “have it coming”. He wasn’t “in the wrong place at the wrong time.” You made your choices. You made bad choices. Someone else lost their life because of them.

So you don’t get to keep yours.


There are just some movies that should never be remade

I consider myself a bit of a movie buff. I’m a movie buff because it would be boring if I had no hobbies – but I don’t want to do any physical activity. As such, any hobby that allows me to sit on my ever-widening ass and feel productive is a good one in my book. So movies? Kinda my thing.

Like any movie buff, I have an extensive listing of movies that I loved in the past which could do with a reboot. For example, I would love to see a remake of “Beyond Thunderdome” with Beyoncé cast as Aunty Entity. You know that’s a brilliant idea.

At the same time, I think there is a pool of movies that should be locked in a vault and dropped to the depths of the ocean, never to be seen again. Number one on this list is the infamous 1986 feature – which has a surprising number of now-famous faces in it – “Soul Man.”


While an image speaks a thousand words, let me give you a rundown anyway.

C. Thomas Howell plays a pampered rich boy whose parents decide to not free-ride him at Harvard. So he does what any reasonable person in his position would do; dons blackface so he can steal a scholarship from the United Negro College Fund. Let me make this clear. A rich white guy spends most of a movie in blackface to steal funds allocated to poor black students – and he’s the fucking hero!

To me, it’s obvious that a movie like that should never be remade. But then again, maybe it’s not. Maybe right now, some Hollywood director is going “Hey, you know what people like in movies? Blackface. Let’s remake “Soul Man!””

I bring this up because the number 2 movie on my list recently received a remake. That number 2 movie? “Overboard.” First off, I want it noted I’m not a romantic comedy girl. I take the George Carlin stance on romantic comedies.

If a movie is described as a romantic comedy, you can usually find me next door playing pinball.

So maybe I don’t know romantic comedies very well – but I am able to define when a movie is super rapey. And “Overboard” is super fucking rapey – whether you’re watching the 1980’s version or the new one.

Let me give you the rundown of the original. A rude, rich white girl (Goldie Hawn) goes on a boat trip. She falls off the boat and hits her head. Boat captain (Kurt Russel) then decides – instead of getting the girl immediate medical attention – he’s going to tell her she’s his wife and bring her home to raise his hoard of ADHD brats. In short,  a psychotic ship captain abducts a seriously injured woman and forces her to live with him as his wife – and his justification is she was rude to him.  Because apparently, kidnapping accident victims is completely allowed if said accident victim hurts your feelsys.

So what does MGM do with this questionable source material? They say, “we can use this script again. Let’s just reverse the genders! It will be much more palatable if a young, white single mother abducts a disabled minority and forces him to live with her as her husband.”

I fail to see anything either romantic or comedic about that premise. Rapey is still rapey, and it happening to a man this time around doesn’t make it funny. It makes it pretty fucking gross.

There are some movies that should never be remade. In some cases, they’re garbage to begin with. In others, they were naively made during a time before people recognized how offensive they were. You don’t see anyone suggesting a remake of “Mandingo,” do you? It’s because we’re smarter now. We know it’s inappropriate to use slavery as an excuse to film a loosely scripted porno. So why can’t we see it’s also fucking inappropriate to use kidnapping as a premise in a romantic god damn comedy, regardless of the gender of the perpetrator?