Written November 16th-19th, 2016.
A note on just who and where this is coming from. I’m not one of those mythical hyper-privileged college-aged shitlings living off of daddy’s money while I go find myself building huts in Africa that nobody needs. I’m part of the working poor and have been since working my way out of homelessness less than four years ago. I’ve known nothing -but- struggle since birth, so let’s get that out of the way lest you hear in your mind the same voice that drawls “well, that’s just your opinion maaannn”. The fact that there’s more broke working-class millenials than not is for another post, as I’m not in the mood to build a wall of text right now.
And second, I am acutely aware, probably more than many on the actual right, that those who voted red aren’t these pot-bellied gun sucking trailer park savages often propped in front of us. People are complex in myriad ways, and there’s just as many “SJW”s who voted red as there are “rednecks” who voted blue. Any calls for me to “open my mind” will be ignored, as I’m already there and am frankly not in the fucking mood. I will not be in the fucking mood for quite some time.
Finally, and I actually mean this, a big fat warning. I stereotype. I exaggerate. I caricaturize. I swear, I dehumanize, and I condescend like a motherfucker. And I want to preserve this rage, this boiling bile and hate, lest I myself forget the fire in the years to come.
But if someone reads my post and feels less alone, than it’s all worth whatever hate mail pops into my inbox after this. Because I sure needed to not feel alone when I typed this all.
And for anyone, if you dislike harsh language, just don’t read this.
Without further ado,
Shit I’m Sick of Hearing, Part One:
“We’re sick of being called racists, sexists and bigots!”
“I’m tired of being thought of as bad just because I’m White [or male]!”
Boo fucking hoo. Grow a thicker skin. Stop being pussies. You’re coddled, spoiled, entitled little bitches, the whole lot of you. You’re whining, oversensitive brats who can’t take a little roughing-up now and again, who can’t take jokes, who get so hurt and offended at every little thing even remotely related to something you think you are. Ohhhh no, gender-neutral pronouns, so fucking hurtful, so offensive to you as a not-tranny! Oh, it hurts so much seeing Black people and Mexicans being treated like humans, so please stop putting Black and Brown faces on things because it triggers me! Oooohhh, can’t even say “cunt” or “faggot” without someone going “ew”, anymore! It hurts so much when people say “ew”, or “stop”, or treat you like the goddamn adult you wanna be, doesn’t it? Meaning, holding your bitch ass accountable for the shit you say. But oh. No. You want the freedom of a child again, to say “spic” and “nigger” and all that shit, whine about how feminists are ruining the world and ohhh how the “liberals” are so whiny and want to be oppressed and shit.
Look in the motherfucking mirror, you utter un-men.
Now, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, and I know that you personally as a white person or a man or both [don’t want to exclude anyone!] might be a wonderful human being on an individual basis, you might even fuck people of color and you might even managed to individualize just one person from outside of your ingroup, just have one minority you’ve managed to see as a human being, and oh, that’s so wonderful! You ‘love’ a woman from another race! Maybe a -man- from another race! How cute. I understand totally how hard and hurtful perceived accusations of bigotry and racism might be to someone like you, and how much preparation you might need so I don’t accidentally hurt you with my meanie meanie boo-boo words.
I know it’s really, really hard to hear day after day how awful you are because of how you were born, and how much you shouldn’t be listened to, and how invalidated and dehumanized you must be every single day, and how much it hurts. So please consider this a Trigger Warning just for you, because I wouldn’t want you, my white/male readers, to have emotions stirred that shouldn’t be stirred unless you are comfortable with them and in a safe place to feel those emotions. After this sentence, I’m going to say some things that might be triggering to you, and might make you very angry because of how they may hurt, and I’m sorry, so sorry if they do.
You know what other groups of people are really sick of being treated like shit because of how they were born? Black people. Women. Trans women. Trans people in general. Brown people. Asian people. Latinx people. Queer people. Disabled people. Immigrants. Mentally ill people. Me. My friends. My loved ones.
Literally everyone you claim as the “oppressor”.
So sit the fuck down on your play mat with a juice box and your Transformers, or man the fuck up, learn to take that shit on the chin and join the club so we can finally hash the fuck out how we’re gonna make this coexistence thing work. And try not to rape or lynch anyone on the way in.
Shit I’m Sick Of Hearing, Part Two:
“Trump’s -real-! He’s a -real- person who speaks his mind!”
Oh, I didn’t know we were literally in a fucking reality show, but apparently we are.
Bitches apparently wanted a friend more than they wanted a President. I see how it is.
I call someone to fix my bathroom light after it goes out, I don’t give a -fuck- how sociable they are, I don’t -care- about how much I’d have a beer with them, or how much they speak their mind, I’m more focused on if they can do the damn job. I don’t give a shit how un/charismatic someone is if they’re fixing my light, making me a sandwich, driving me home, oR RUNNING MY FUCKING COUNTRY.
So, Clinton uses/d teleprompters and shit! So the fuck what. You know what I’d do were I running for President? I’d have speech-writers out the ass, because as a minority I wouldn’t have the fucking privilege of being able to run my mouth about any goddamn thing, cause the whole world’s eyes would be on me extra fucking hard. I wouldn’t have the privilege to get my ass on Twitter and cry over people saying mean things about me, because I’d know that I’d be toast the moment I stopped being a perfect, polished robot. Not because I’m a asshole, but because literally a post about me going grocery shopping would erupt into me supporting Monsanto and wanting to give my kid autism and shit, then me thinking I’m trying way too hard to be ‘normal’, then devolving into a fistfight about how my cat-eye makeup is so out of fashion and the internet creep squad drooling over how big my butt is.
The fact that I -am- an unabashed asshole would come up last. Now, I’m not a fan of Hilary all the way. Her relationship with the Black community is shittier than actual shit, and I’ve seen the videos of her telling Black people who bring up Black issues at her speeches to go fuck themselves. But it’s -still- fucking better than the suited-up orangutan that those who voted red were cheering for.
And might I add, as someone whose jobs involve acting, it’s easy as shit to pull off the “real” act.
Ingredients for a speech by someone “real”:
-3 squints while turning the corners of one’s mouth upward in imitation of a genuine smile.
Remember to squint, because in real smiles the eyes shrink. That way, you look softer.
-1 cup of self-deprecating humor. Talk about how shitty you are, because if you point it out yourself then other people can’t hurt you, and you can claim that nobody has the right to criticize!
-1 teaspoon of dick jokes.
-3 pop culture references. Bonus cutesy boots points if you’re out of touch with pop culture!
-5 anecdotes about daily living. Make these vague as possible, so that anyone can put themselves in your shoes regardless of their background!
-1 tablespoon of speech disfluencies. Nobody likes a smarty-pants!
There! Now, you have fans.
Trump is a man whose spent almost his whole life in front of a camera, either on TV or being interviewed for shit. You think he’s -less- greasy and has less acting ability than the average politician?
I’d laugh if you weren’t so fucking stupid. Instead I just see you as the mental equivalent of shelter dogs. Sad as shit, probably gonna die, kind of cute, but still sad as shit. You poor babies. Your poor, unvaccinated, dying babies who won’t be getting any health insurance should you have your way.
Shit I’m Sick Of Hearing, Part Two, Verse Two:
“Trump’s about the [White] working class/working poor!”
The complete pitifulness of the above didn’t set in until literally today [the 16th]. I’d just bought some sugar at the supermarket and saw some headline on the paper nearby, walked out, stopped at a street-light, and then it hit me. I suddenly laughed in public like a giant fist of hilarity just got slammed lube-free up my asshole. It’s like a shitty-sad prank, only nationwide.
I cannot even refute this, as it refutes its own fucking self.
I’m just going to employ Survival Plans. I will:
- A) Discover that I can indeed masturbate to porn, as the news shall be my new porn as coverage of [broke white] people who voted against their interests, and their loved ones dying shall be enough to drive me to orgasm after orgasm, enough so that I may myself become broke as shit due to the physical aftermath of my form-wrecking climaxes. Whenever another person gets blown away by a police tank, I can just cum right on the dying face of a ‘working class all-american Joe’ onscreen and feel at peace. I’ll learn to time that shit. My relationships will flourish.
- B) See the poor whites and poor Blacks join forces against the very wishes of the inventors of Whiteness in the first place, watch those in power lose their fucking shit, and join that revolution as people realize in general, so far we ALL’ve been getting fucked over.
I don’t know what I’ll be jerking off to then, but it’s better than Plan A.
The day I see [non-farmer] white folk out there doing all the jobs done by undocumented citizens en masse, I will suck my own nuts on camera and put that shit on Patreon. I’ll have a whole web-series, “Hour of Autofellatio” or something, give a shout out to whomever wants one each episode. You can hold me to it in three whole, no, ten years if it happens, as I’m a woman of my word.
Shit I’m Sick Of Hearing, Part 3: The Anti-Oppressed Wailing:
“We were sick of not being heard!”
Your beliefs ruled the land and were made into law, then reinforced by your social bubble since birth. America is tailor-fit to your beliefs, the only thing you ever need worry about being the occasional stranger saying “hey, you’re kind of a dick”. AN OUTSIDER! A PERSON YOU WILL NEVER HAVE TO MEET FOR MORE THAN FIVE SECONDS BEFORE YOU SCUTTLE YOUR ASS BACK INTO THE LAND WHERE YOUR BELIEFS RULE [see: America] AND VAGUEBOOK ABOUT THAT SHIT FOR ABOUT A WEEK BEFORE SIMMERING DOWN. You are not only heard, but amplified with your words becoming law like fucking Old Testament Yahweh. Lynching just become illegal in the 20s and your guy’s probably gonna be President, the fuck more do you want? Just make like your Confederate ancestors and treason your way into making another country. You know you want to. Just nut up and make the steps already, and stop making your predecessors ashamed.
Shit I’m Sick Of Hearing: Fourth Movement in G Minor:
“Stop lumping us in with the Klan! I never hurt anyone!”
See, this shit right here’s the fucking problem. You motherfuckers think “White” is all of who the fuck you are. America dug itself into a deep hole by creating the most fragile identity ever seen in all of human history, built upon nothing but skin color and an accident of birth. And since said identity’s more fragile than the perceived baby-ego of the mythical SJW, I get how painful it must be to live life walking around with that shit, having to defend it every day and define it continually as nothing more than “just not Black/Latinx/insert hated race of choice here”.
I used to have empathy for you. I really, truly did. I drank in your concerns, listened to the most erudite and educated of liberal “race realists” and saw them as human. The notion that somewhere deep down the inhuman scum who wish me dead were just like me helped me cope. It kept me sane to know that like me, David Duke just wanted a roof over his head, food to eat and clothes on his back. I didn’t see racists as a hivemind. I saw them as individuals, many in my own neighborhood, many not even white, some who were and are my friends. The caricature of the truck-driving, Southern-drawling, gun-toting “redneck” was just that in my mind, a caricature with little basis in reality.
But now, fuck that shit. Mammy’s dead, and I couldn’t be happier.
You think “Whiteness” -is- you, so when you hear someone talk about how Whiteness and racism go hand in hand, you think someone’s saying that -you- and racism go hand in hand. And when someone says that racism is wrong or hurtful, you hook that shit right up to them saying that Whiteness, and thus your existence, on a personal level, is wrong. I’m drowned daily in cries to see the individuality of racist scum. For PoC, it was and sometimes still is “pay attention to white feelings or fucking die”.
So it’s not me calling you a dick, just for being white.
That’s you. You made that leap in your own damn heads. Good job, and reap.
Shit I’m Sick Of Hearing: Fifth Movement in F Sharp:
“Don’t fight hate with hate!”
Don’t you fucking dare tell me how to fight. Anyone.
Any race, any gender, any orientation, whatever, don’t you fucking dare tell me how to fight.
And wow, look at where fighting every other way has gotten us. Just look at how progressive we all are, where the majority of White kids still cringe when seeing a Black face, and where Whites feel more “oppressed” than ever before. Holy shit, being peaceful and hand-holdy kumbayaa has really, really helped. [And if I see yet another person, regardless of race, prop Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. up as a peaceful get-along puppet it will’ve been too soon. I mean, I am more of a Malcolm X kind of girl, but that’s a whooooooole other post.]
Being peaceful got us here. Being willing to hear the other side out got us here. Giving equal time got us here, and more of the same exact shit -won’t- get us beyond here. I will not be docile. I will not do the song and dance for you and pretend it’s all alright. I pledge allegiance to my people, not to their [potential] murderers. I do not owe anyone’s feelings any consideration. I may give it occasionally, but it is a privilege to have your feelings placed above the suffering of others, not a right.
Cry more. I relish the sound of your impotent rage and all but have my computer screen-read your posts out loud as my girlfriends fuck me.
Shit I’m Sick of Hearing: Finale:
“Stop seeing us as stupid! We’re not stupid! You’re a privileged hippy!”
If you want me to respect you, then do like I have to, and earn that shit.
You don’t get to be respected just for managing to slime your way out of your mother’s effluvient schlick-canal. You and your views don’t get to, and shouldn’t be adored just for -existing-. Fuck that. I don’t expect respect off the fucking bat, and neither should you. And should your beliefs be shitty, I’m not obligated to treat them as though they can’t stink.
And yes, I’m a big fucking hippy. A big-haired, city-dwelling, farmer’s-marketing, vintage-shopping, free-loving hippy. So the actual fuck what. My points still stand, hardship cock-measuring contests notwithstanding.
This shit isn’t “working class joes” versus the “elite”, the dead broke versus the wealthy. In real life, those shits overlap. Peoples’ stories are complex. My story is complex. Your story is complex. For all intents and purposes I read like an “elite” who hasn’t known shit about suffering and scrabbling for her life since birth. Yet my Whole Foodsing ass has a 90ft bootstrap-cock that could beat you into a coma with the shit I’ve been through. If you think we can be categorized so easily into two camps, then well, you’re fucking stupid.
As for again, you being not stupid, I don’t care how many degrees you have. Some forms of stupidity -require- an advanced education. I don’t care how well you might be able to elucidate your point, the numbers you can pull out your ass that support you, I give no fucks about it. If you’ve been faced with reality, and you choose consciously to cling to your bullshit, then in my mind, you’re fucking stupid.
Sure, people don’t really control what they believe what with belief being the product of upbringing, positive emotional reinforcement, reward, lived experience and more, but I’m not in the mood to be miss merciful anymore. You bump up against reality while clinging to your beliefs that give you a warm little fuzzy in the tummy? You’re fucking stupid, and I don’t care about your life, your dreams, your hopes, your hurts and struggles and pains and kids and bills and morals and gripes.
I’m some bitch on the internet, not your therapist.
Finally, at the end of the day, I see right the fuck through you.
I know that deep down in your heart, it’s not about statistics or numbers, or fears of rapists or murderers or gangs. I know that you don’t give a shit about facts or laws or statutes, or graphs or studies. No.
People who aren’t white scare the shit out of you.
That is all. And your fear is fucking palpable and pitiful.
We make you angry with our dark faces, our different languages that are so scary because you don’t understand and it doesn’t sound like anything your parents used to say. We evoke that primal monkey part of your brain that starts chattering away before you pave it over with “realism”, “reason” and “nationalism”.
So, I give so few fucks about this study or that study, or this well thought-out point or this smart racist here, that whenever I come across such inanity be it online or otherwise, I find myself resigned to going through the motions of hand-fucking my partners unenthusiastically as my own genitalia remain flaccid, numb and dry for the remainder of the day. I find myself so unable to summon a fuck that even then, nobody cums as my fucks are now at a negative value. I need to repeat such despair in proportion to the amount of fuckery cited so that I may gain one fuck, or just sleep and wake up to a new day with my fucks recharged. You take away my fucks. And for that, you deserve to die slow and alone.
Anyway, this is the end of this series. If you made it here, pat yourself on the back.
I’ll put a video of a puppy here or some shit. I don’t know. Something.