Feminism Is A Business

Feminism Is A Business

Feminism is the idea that women should be treated like children.

Didn’t accomplish anything this time around, sweetheart? That’s okay. Give it another shot after we bend the fuck out of the rules.

Scratch that. Feminism is the idea that women should be treated like spoiled children — who get do-overs and freebies until they’re chucking batteries at homeless people out the sunroof of their father’s BMW.

Well-raised kids get stuck with Dick Soup if that’s what they ordered. Do-overs are not a part of man-parenting. Do-overs are for ladies.

Feminism is the idea that women shouldn’t consider themselves happy unless they enjoy the same things men do — and that they should enjoy them at ten times the volume. Have you ever seen a woman pretend to like business or sports? If you have, then you’ve seen the very definition of an overcompensating attention whore. There isn’t a big screen on Earth that can drown out the “mating hoots” of a woman who’s convinced herself she likes basketball.

Professional athletes thrive on the respect and worship of men like they were Greek gods. A respect that is so inherent to Sport it cannot even be understood without a penis. Ladies, unless they’re on top of you, you don’t mean shit to professional athletes. You’re embarrassing yourselves with this unwanted fandom.

The idea of convincing someone to enjoy something more than they would otherwise might sound familiar to you. It’s called “marketing”.

You like beer…but do you like Coors Light? You should.

Personally, I don’t like Coors Light. I enjoy Boddingtons, Smithwick’s, Tecate, John Smith, Guinness, Imperial, MGD, and nearly any microbrew over 10% abv. But there are thousands of men out there who pay their mortgage every month just trying to convince me to add Coors to that list.

Carl’s Jr: Fuck you, I’m eating.

Feminism is powered by women who eat and feed themselves and their dozens of worthless cats with money made by maintaining and promoting the infernal machine that is feminism.

There are women out there who make their living convincing young women to play sports. Otherwise, they lose their budget.

Without feminism, Women’s Studies “professors” and ten thousand of the ugliest bitches on Earth would have to learn how to fuck properly in order to put a roof over their heads. Because what does life spent promoting women’s issues prepare you for? It’s technically not “marketing” because these dozy broads buy it by the trough. That makes it a cult.

Feminism: the Cult of Do-Overs

Even if you swallow all the bullshit, “equality” is a task that has an end. However, if feminism ever achieves this imaginary task, thousands of know-nothing, over-educated bitches will be out of a job faster than their cats will resort to eating one another to stay alive in the real world. Feminism isn’t about achieving anything. It’s about staying in business.

Feminism is about creating more feminist problems.

If Richard Jewell had actually planted that bomb at the 96 Summer Olympics and then called it in so he would look like a hero — like Janet Reno said he did — feminism would be Richard Jewell.

I bet they don’t even offer an introductory course on carpet munching in Women’s Studies. As far as I see it, pretending you’re half “lesbian” is the first requirement to being a feminist.

Men love working our asses off. Men love stacking up our accomplishments and shoving them in everyone’s face — or sometimes not shoving them in everyone’s face, but still making sure that everyone knows they could be shoved in their face at any moment. That’s called “being the bigger man”. And that’s also something women can’t do. Men love partying, going out with our man-friends, and most importantly, sleeping around.

Women don’t.

Women like getting shit for free based on their looks, and as long as feminism doesn’t teach that, it’s a scam and a con and a cult. A cult of do-overs.

If you’re one of these Daddy’s Little Princesses who thinks I’m full of shit because I’m teaching some manly analogue to feminism, go fuck yourself. I don’t care if men don’t agree with me. I don’t give a fuck if anyone agrees with me.

I’ll make you guys a deal. If any of you don’t agree with me, go get a job in an office and get married to the sweetest, most caring, least likely to be a bitch in seven years while having at least two guys on the side that she secretly chats with on MySpace up until then, and then come see me in ten years with your opinion unchanged.

You’ll be back, but it won’t be to gloat.

I’ll be fucking feminism all week. It’ll be fun. Like fucking a girl with self-esteem so low she can’t tell the difference between love and not getting spit on.