They all look the same to me – hair, breasts, that cunt.
They reason things out, almost like men do, sometimes surpassing men. Astounding.
They lack ambition because of their hormones. As if they are the only ones to have hormones.
They have too much aggression and they say (if you listened to them, and I sincerely advise that you don’t) it’s because of their hormones. As if we don’t have hormones. Wait. Do we have hormones?
They turn violent five days a month. They are known to burn houses and men, tear down wallpaper, if not controlled.
They smell like fish. Like flowers. Like fruit. Apricots. Like ghee mixed with dal and rice and fried fish. Like spices. Like hair. Like memories. Like dried blood.
Keep them guessing. They are like cats, like kittens, like pussy. In the dark, it’s all the same.
They are more demanding these days, harder to control. They have learnt speech.
They speak more these days. Often in two syllables. In a language only they interpret. Me too. Me too. Me too. This is how they chant, the heretics.
They have left us with no conversation starters or fun topics of discussion now. We can only talk about food or the weather. So we say sky porn. We say food porn. Only pleasure to be had in words. Wordporn.
Here’s an idea to keep them quiet- Let’s say we worship them. Or or, Let’s say we respect them. I get more cunts than I can eat when I say I am a feminist. They are gullible like that, the fools, the weaker sex. Ha.
We should never get too close to them or they might turn us into them.
No, no. It’s not that I don’t support them. I even have friends who have breasts, hair, and that cunt.