Nineteen feminists
—yeah, nineteen—
were sentenced today
for laundering bra straps.
Not the Steinem warriors.
Not the women who marched, bled, built, changed the goddamn world
while men smoked on the porch
and called it thinking.
No.
These were the new models.
The knock-offs.
The grievance influencers.
Feminism with a filter.
Oppression with a promo code plus a series of weak hashtags that only resignate with band wagon broads who’ve never turned the pages of a book beyond Woman’s World.
And the prosecution—
a collection of men
who still need two hands
to operate a zipper—
said the defendants got “girly”
with a plea bargain.
Meaning:
they spoke clearly.
And weren’t apologizing
for taking up oxygen.
Then the judge—
God bless him—
a man whose worldview
was embalmed sometime around
the Reagan administration,
issued his verdict like a man auditioning
for a parody of himself:
Women. For life.
No parole.
No shopping.
The courtroom gasped.
Mostly because the judge thought
he was being edgy.
And in the back?
Steinem’s generation.
Arms folded.
Looking at this circus like teachers
watching students
act out Hamlet using emojis, and incomplete sentences.
Attention all gentlemen:
a few of these new-breed feminists
are still on the loose.
Yes, you’ll know them.
They weaponize victimhood
like pepper spray,
and treat every polite man
like a war criminal
who forgot to Venmo reparations.
But—
listen to me now—
if you’re one of the rare good men,
the real ones,
the diaper-changing,
emotional-labor-sharing,
I’m-here-I’m-present-I’m-accountable men—
you’re safe.
You’re invisible.
They don’t attack you. Because they know you aren’t a murderer but are capable of doing so with your barehands if that means protecting the woman you love.
They only go for men
who look like authority
or know how to use a wrench.
If you get “hard up,”
the state recommends:
Handle it yourself.
Safest option.
Least paperwork.
Ignore that
and you’ll find yourself
caught in the spin cycle—
tumbled, shrunken,
and left in the lint trap
next to every man
accused of sins such as
“interrupting,”
“breathing confidently,”
or “existing while male
in the general vicinity
of a complaint.”
Outside the courthouse?
Oh, it gets better.
They’re shouting
“GLORIA STEINEM! PROSTITUTION!”
like it’s a spell
that summons empowerment
instead of proving they’ve never read
a single goddamn thing she wrote.
Somebody tell the prosecution
this is community service.
A PSA.
A reminder:
that real feminism is a movement,
not a mood swing with a merch table.
Meanwhile the doctor—
who’s clearly done with everyone—
sent his report:
“Surgery successful.
Patience drained.
Shirt removed.
Libido parked.
Safest place for it.”
He’s running on empty,
but insists feminism
stole the gas cap.
This from a man
who’s been firing
homemade grenades
of insecurity into every conversation
since 2009.
It is not easy—
trust me—
being a man
married to the cleaning lady
when the cleaning lady
is the only person in the house
who understands equality
and how a washing machine works.
P.S.
Before you forget—
help your wife
with the laundry.
Not to earn points.
Not to look woke.
Not to impress anybody.
Do it
because lifting your own weight
is the oldest
and sexiest
political statement
you’ll ever make.
