How To Cure A Feminist: Spoken Word by Kait Rokowski

Video
How To Cure A Feminist: Spoken Word by Kait Rokowski

I am a feminist because feminism is simply the belief that women should be treated as fairly as men, and there is no factual or rational reason to want the world to work any other way. I would be a feminist even if women all the world over were treated as fairly as men and there was nothing more to be done. Because feminism is the view that that is the way things should be, and thus the way we should endeavor to keep things going—Richard Carrier

And now, for some kick-ass poetry…

Transcription (via thepuppysizedelephant):

Ever find a pretty little lady at a bar, the type of look that screams of arm candy, the type of skin that longs to be unzipped, only to find out that she’s an empowered woman? Well, woow no longer, man friend! Just follow these simple steps to cure your feminist.

Step 1: win her over. Do this by pretending you care about women. Example: replace the word tits with the word equality and resume normal conversation. “I love equality. I wish that women didn’t have to hide their equality. I really wanna snort cocaine off of some drunk girl’s equality.”

Step 2: open her eyes. Girls are basically designed to be brainwashed, it’s how they became feminists in the first place, too many strong willed women in their past or something. Reverse this nasty little habit with subliminal messaging. Example: place a tube of lipstick in your medicine cabinet. She will soon feel inadequate to the woman you are presumably cheating on her with. This will convince her, nay force her, into acting like a more civilized, submissive girl.

Step 3: treat her right. Now, let’s not get crazy here, you don’t actually have to treat her right but if you buy her things while you quietly undermine her Ford Explorer and combat boots, she will start to think of this as positive reinforcement, like a dog. Soon, when you insult her, she will ask you to pick up the check.

Step 4: put her on a diet of cigarettes and hairspray until her waist is an apple core. Tell her she has never looked more ravishing.

Step 5: buy a trophy case. You will need a place to store her pelvic bone and the pre notch bed post.

Step 6: show her what you are capable of. Come home covered in another man’s blood, dragging a chunk of his muscle in your mouth, make her clean up the mess.

Step 7: build her a bomb shelter. Tell her the world is not wondering where she is, fashion a dog collar out of broken glass, lock her up like the good licker.

Step 8: give her a new name. First whisper it in the crook of her neck until her muscles have committed it to memory. Then shout it in the belly of her bedroom until the echo haunts her sleep.

Finally: scratch into her back while you fuck her, like branding your favorite ball gag. It is proof that nothing is sacred, that no backbone is too straight to be snapped into submission, that every layer of skin can be clawed of, nothing before this mattered. She never even existed without you.

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