SHMEY/SHMEM

(In response to video about exalted trashcan actor Ezra Miller)

Question.

How do you misgender someone who claims to not have a gender?

I imagine that most trans women like me who are functional and want to contribute to society and not be taken as a total joke, would find this dudes behavior and abusive existence to be quite disheartening.

I don’t want to say anything that is hateful but the following will probably be rounded up and discarded as h8speech by the thought police, then quietly sent away with the knackers.

The whole “non-binary” thing is a problem.

I mean, virtually every living organism has gender involved with its existence.

They/them… what are you, a fucking tree? Im not a very educated individual but I think even plants have some gender implications going on.Ferns maybe? I dunno. Someone told me ferns are fungi or some crap.

Moving on.

For some dumb reason, I still have a facebook and whenever I have enough whisky to randomly open it up, it’s like every mofo on my “friends” list is a they/them now.

Dafuq?

Mind you, a lot of these new they/thems I am referring to, actually lampooned me for coming out as a trans WOMAN six years ago.

Some of these coin-purse glory-holes are actually the epitome of their gender and there is no indication in their actions or representation of themselves that they are not the cisgender they were born into, other than their half-assed elected pronoun, which is just a way to seem woke and hip at our expense and a free ride on the coattails of a revolution that they see as just a trend.

People who piss themselves over being misgendered, trans, non binary or anyone within the LGBTQIA+#%LMNOP community, are trolls.

I present as female and have breasts and whatever but my voice is deep and I’m six three.

More people than not use male pronouns when they interact with me on a daily basis.

I don’t mind one bit.

If I spent my whole life being a pronoun hall monitor, I would be even more exhausted than I already am just navigating life as trans in the first place.

If someone genuinely and naturally calls me “Sir” that is a sign of respect and for me to go “Na-ah! ma’am to you!” I might as well just bitch slap them.

I didn’t transition for anyone other than myself and it wasn’t like I needed the world to submit uniformly into validating my womanhood, if anything, I’d rather the message be taken as this : “I am not just a man.”

What is it that we are teaching the youth, When we embolden them to proclaim their identities before they even have that remotely figured out, not that even adults ever really do.

First impressions are so vital.

You can be a chode and correct someone for not instinctively knowing right off the bat that your preferred shmonoun are obviously “it/its”

But just because this is acceptable these days, doesn’t mean that the person you chastised will ever want to fuck wit u again.

What precedence are we setting for future generations by enabling and encouraging society to police something as simple and elemental to coexistence as some thing as simple as saying hello or addressing another individual?

David Byrne said it best.

”My God, What have I done?”

Changing gears…oh wait. Reverse only has one speed.

You know how damn hard of a road it has been for us real transwomen? 

Try battling not only, the hateful and extremely dangerous masses you have to coexist with on a daily basis, but then couple it with combating your own biology with hormones until your body eventually gets the point to stop making testosterone and rewires itself as the gender you always knew you were.

I go onto trash dating apps like Grindr and more than three-quarters of the “trans women” on the app are low-key, discreet cross dressers, who catfish people into thinking they are actually a trans woman.

Tourists…

I like to call this “stolen valor.”

It’s no different than those depraved creeps who buy army fatigues from surplus stores and stand around in malls trying to attract adoration for wars they never fought, tears on the behalf of blood they never shed..

Then you have Ru Paul.

That damn show is the same as Bing Crosby doing black face back in the day and I just as tone deaf.

Many drag queens actually contour their faces to achieve the opposite effect of how trans women contour our faces as to look more like cis women. 

These dudes…

The whole show is just men vacationing in a world they are too chickenshit to do full time, prancing about like “look at how funny it is when a dude dresses like not a dude.”

I could be way off base on my findings regarding this bunk ass program, but at the very least, bottom line is that it attaches a novelty to being trans and makes a spectacle of it, which is very harmful.

Ru Paul.

The pain that your money grab show has reverberated to nobody trans women like myself is blood on your hands.

People all around marginalize us all the time, but I’d like to think there may be a special place in hell for those who get rich from it.

I can’t wait for the day in the not-distant future when a new generation looks back at “Black Face…” I mean “Drag Race” with jaw-dropped disbelief, not entirely unalike how…uh.. how whatever the fuck todays new generation does when they realize the “Man Show” was not only a thing, but had success and longevity.

Clutch in, downshift…

The goddamn lgbtq community.

Some of the most tone deaf and bigoted people towards us have been gay men and women.

Just because you’re gay, that doesn’t mean you have any idea how it feels to be born into a body that you don’t align with.

We get lumped in with gays but stonewall happened like half a century ago and gay people can find and maintain a decent job like a straight person can.

When I came out as trans, it was five years before I was given work despite my prolific resume.

Imagine if the black community had muddied the waters of their plight by involving Chinese, Mexican and German minorities in their mission statement?

My point being, just because you are a minority, doesn’t mean you face the exact same challenges that a different minority does and all sects of the oppressed must come together with their kind for liberation or perish.

Closing statements.

Hey Weho.

Maybe you should use the stupid amount of bread yall drop into Pride each year and invest it in into resources for trans women.

Sure, we could attend the festival, and many do methinks, but, any trans woman who celebrates false freedoms and accepts the community who has sold her out and boasts huge profit margins as a result, is lost.

She is decades behind the rest of her supposed community, and has no clue that her froggy legs have begun to boil.

Jesus Herby-Hancock Christ… blessed be deez women and ALL women, but if you are trans and subscribe to the community, you may be clocking a room-temperature iq or have nothing in your arsenal that even resembles self respect…..

Gay Boiz and gals.

You should consider dropping the “T” from your acronym that is almost longer than the alphabet these days.

Alright already…let’s get the elephant out of the room.

We all know that I’m getting at.

Starbucks. 

When I was a kid, If you didn’t want pickles and onions in your McDonald’s cheeseburger, it was an unwritten rule that the thing to do was to simply scrape them off with the wrapper it came in.

Now the consumer is so entitled to whatever they want that they can waltz into any franchise that’s worth it’s salt on Wall Street and crap on their menu to compliment their fucked tastes.

Hell… the other day I saw some poor minimum wage teenagers working at Hotdog on a Stick, improvising diy hollandaise sauce for a chick with a service peacock for crying out loud!

I’m nobody in this world and I may be the first to initiate this dialogue, and the ones I’ve addressed this to will just write it off as a one-off soapbox harangue but, mark my words. What I have illustrated to whomever this may concern….

This will all gather enough inertia very soon to the point where it will have to be addressed, and by that time, y’all will be so balls deep in it, that you won’t have the wherewithal to recognize that you have long since marched past the borderline between the right and the wrong side of history, and will find yourself utterly lost within the latter.

What was I on about again?

Oh yeah.

There are 69 genders and furries suck.

MATTERS OF EXPRESSION 

I generally hate idioms and sayings, and only really use them in my writing when I am making some sort of satire over their mindless usages or just bastardize them into something I feel be worth the LOLS. (No previous examples of this come to mind presently, but I’m sure one or two will poop up in this existential harangue )

“Cleanliness is next to godliness.” 

…facepalm

“Murphy’s Law” 

Who the fuck is Murphy? 

I mean I know, because I escaped skewl young enough to still have a portion of a brain, but unless someone can tell me the origins of such sayings as well as what they really mean, they can toss off.

Not to be an elitest history nerd, but it is not enough to get the gist of what an old turn of phrase really means, you have to understand Its utility within history, to really comprehend what you are regurgitating and even then. Come up with your own shit, Carlos Mencia.

For example...

“Crossing the Rubicon.”

Not widely known to the generation before us geriatric millennials, nonetheless, it is a good one to start with.

Julius Caeser was such a cunning-ass Chad, that he realized, in order to seize Roman Rule, it would be more prudent to dip out with his legions that he had bromanced for decades, and go pwn the shit out of the Gauls, until the Roman proletariat unanimously fangirled, Single-White-Female Status, enough for him to pwn the senate back in Rome.

Just before he and his army came back to Rome, the senate sent him a note that more or less read:

 “Giaus...my dawg. Look, you’re boss AF and folks are all super wet about your ass-whooping those Gaulish choddums that we all wanted to teabag for hella dayz, but, disband your brodeo before you cross the Rubicon, or else war, and shit.”

History says that Caeser was conflicted about crossing or disbanding, but, those days were only called the iron-age because of dudes hulking burnished nuts.

He crossed, the rest is history...

Sort of.

“Crossing the Rubicon” s not just an OG way of saying: “Fork in the Road.”

Besides its meaning being far more nuanced in the sense that it is not merely a “this way or that” expression, it also means that, when you choose to cross or not to, the choice is final and you have to double down on your decision, no matter what comes from making it.

The reverberations of this moment in history, have resounded on and on and still oscillate further to this day.

Caeser’s march changed Rome from a Republic into an Empire whose new mode of governance spread its influence to far-flung lands that it would have never touched as a Republic and so many cultures, if not all, have some ties back to the Romans presently.

“I was blind, but now I can see!”

When Monty Python first coined this phrase in their ground-breaking film “The Life Of Brian.” which was the catalyst that marked the beginning of the eigth-most butt-hurt period of the Catholic Church's’ history... 

Godbless your cotton socks, George Harrison.

Ah crap.

I used a saying that I don’t know nothing about.

Alright. Alright.

Python didn’t come up with the phrase, but I can’t help but picture the blindman in the film who exclaims this and subsequently falls into a ditch, every time I hear it. 

Rofl.

“I was blind, but now I see.” Came from histories dullest tool in the shed (shit, another idiom. I’m bunk AF) and prolific snake-oil merchant, The Apostle Paul of The New Testament.

Shortly after Jesus was killed, Christians flared up like a case of herpes contracted back during The Summer of Love.

Paul, the Roman, persecuted the followers of Christ with an insidious bloodlust and fucked their shit up hard.

That is, until one glorious day when Paul and his companions (slaves) summited some hill somewhere and Jesus appeared with a backdrop of blinding white light and this Is what he said verbatum:

“Paul, my child...why you such a prick?”

Paul dropped to his knees, blinder than the LGBTQLMNOP#&*+ - carry the one community itself, and proclaimed... some bullshit. 

Pauls companions (slaves) then guided his trash-ass back to Rome, where he was able to see once more.

But this time he saw the holy spirit....erm...he saw dollar signs in regards to the holy spirit/dove thing.

Paul realized.

“If you can’t beat them, beat them.”

(Aw snap. There’s your example!)

The larger portion of the New Testament that this cock-sore highjacked, you know the part after the not so bad shit of the four gospels, the parts about “Fuck gays. Sex bad.” that became the catholic church.

Taint Paul used Jesus as a device to pretty much shit on his teachings and make tons of skrilla on his sacrifice in the process, you can thank this dog-shit idiom for it all.

Paul, and then later, the Catholic church, changed the OG commandment of “Be fruitful and multiply” to “Do not be fruitful and.... Gosh dayam. Kids is TOTES hawt!” - another antiquated saying that didn’t quite... AGE.... well..

🦗 🦗

I can hear what you all are thinking at this point....

“Jesus Hieronymus Christ. Someone get this mother-bitchen glory-hole off the Allah-forsaken stage....”

Alright, alright. Back to the existential woke shit in a second, but first, I can’t forget the Jews here.

Jp, Jews is pretty dope TBH. 

Circumcision FTW.

Ammarite?

This brings me to the actual and genuine reflection that I’ve been beating my bush around to get to.

There is one idiom that I think unintentionally is quite important and could change the course of history much more substantially than super-nuts Caesar and Anti-Christ Paul have done combined.

“I don’t start fights, I finish them.”

Sounds like the most toxic-masculine self-stroke thing to say, that if you are a cyst-gender male, you probs learned from that time where your dad beat up your friend's dad and this saying is what your dad said about it before his liver failed from rotgut later that summer, as a result of being manly AF for saucing it up always, no chaser, then tucking you in with an old-man strength fist of tough love, that cultivated hairs on your chest courser than a Brillo pad, long before puberty.

But really. 

If you actually think about what this phrase might be saying.

When someone hurts you, it is because they have been hurt before and they feel that the world functions in a way where to be tough and to muscle through, you have to pay the pain and confusion forward.

To not start a fight is noble and to end them can be the bravest thing a person can do.

To not pass on the buck of hate to beget hate, and to end the fight at yourself by forgiving and 

responding with love and understanding, you truly do not start fights and you truly do finish them.

Jokes aside. I say this genuinely…

Honest Injun.

A COMPLETELY FACTUAL ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE OF PIKEY PAIGE

Several people in my life… yes, I know a few people. Just ask….um. Ask Joe.

Moving on.

They Have asked me “when is the memoir coming out?”

This is a typical response to when peeps who know enough about my life to consider me the transgender version of Forrest Gump find out that I do words… not like they have ever considered to read them or have shown interest in reading them.

I’ve actually tried my hand at this autobia… however it’s spelled. 

Tried to word one out a few times.

Problem is, anything that I write beyond a few thousand words turns into hocus pocus.

Maybe it’s because I’m a great writer of fiction, but it’s more likely that I’m just a prolific and compulsive fibber who would have been committed in the days before Ronald Regan pretended to close insane asylums in America but really just relocated them to the public transportation vessels in a city near you.

I think I’ll give it a whack now, thoughz

That fateful day began like any other day.

I was absentmindedly walking my Dicrylan dolphin - Chestnut Peanut Butter, from my bungalow, to take they/them for a swim in the nearest lake of mercury, back on Titans most sought after moon - which of course would be, Epsilon_Thesalonia.69…

Ah fuck!

I was honestly just trying to talk about that time I worked at Dominos Pizza for $5.15 an hour.

Whack number two…

The most life-changing and defining moment of my existence began even more unremarkable as my very first boner.

Get first job.

Hell yeah!

I was tap-dancing on cloud nine…what the fuck is a cloud a nine?

I don’t care to google it.

I remember when I first was issued my Lego blue Dominoes polo shirt. 

“Jokes you on you, peers in middle school!” I thought as I looked at my pockmarked face in the mirror, finding more pride in my new uniform than I had found in the one ingrown hair on my lip that wasn’t peach fuzz…So what if it gave me a boil that was so substantial that I almost felt compelled to have a social security number assigned to it and asking my grandma to make it a quilt, like she did for me when I was first born.

Those kids in my math class who always laughed when I couldn’t math, just because I simply needed better glasses.

“You don’t even wear glasses, retard!”

I always had an answer for everything.

“Not by choice! Sorry my parents don’t work for NASA you…you.. fucking coin purse!”

Well I showed them!

Plus. I worked for fucking dominos now. I had way too many adult things to think about anyway.

Child labor laws eat my shorts.

Never so thankful to live in shit-old crap-ass Nevada!

How many middle-aged nobody’s can look back with reverence at the privilege of working at Dominos years before they got sued up the ass for… no, not embezzlement, no insider trading. Getting sued for making legendary-level trash pizza and employing the worlds most apathetic and strung out workforce. 

Dominos was so bunk that they had to run a year long national ad campaign later that decade, that was more or less to the affect of: “Sorry we suck so much ass.”

Being a part of that…

Man on the moon tier shit.

Hold up. I’m crying.

Alright, nuff about NASA.

I wasn’t a pizza cook, nor a mere cashier.

I wasn’t the bitch who has to match dotted lines to one another that guided the feeble minded on how to fold a pizza box.

I was a CSR.

“Customer Service Representative.” 

Immediately changed my MySpace bio to:

“Yes. I’m real.”

That acronym was like “007” on creatine.

Sure, I had to make pizzas, work the register and fold endless towers of boxes that would soon house the worlds most prolifically garbage pizzas, but I was exalted by my boss who later hung himself in a broom closet at another dominos that he had to float out to for a shift as a result of being rejected by the national guard, simply based on smelling him each day.

I was completely at a loss and taken aback…

Those spoiled cunts have a broom closet!?

The feels I got when boss tasked me and only me, with the extra- highly skilled duty of snaking the toilet that he himself ruined each night, because he only ate at work and drank half an Old Crow 750 per shift.

Chills.

So our bestest, most primo VIP client phones in a delivery order one night.

Everyone phoned in, not a soul ever walked in and if they did, it was for directions to Papa Murphys 

The VIP was super important because he broke the the record for repeat business by ordering from us four times. 

I answered the phone before that shit even rang.

This was not a drill…

Hand-tossed, black olive and sausage pizza, medium.

Yes sir! 

Boss was prepping the toilet for me to get the snake out again, but I was a leader and proactive AF and knew that I had to leap into action.

People sometimes hypothesize and fantasize about how they would react in a life or death scenario. 

Most of us would like to think that, if push comes to shove, if we saw a damsel tied to a train track, we would instinctively beat the crap out of the guy with the top hat and Salvador Dali mustache who tied her to the tracks, rescue aforementioned damsel, dodge the kiss on the cheek she tries to show thanks with, Batman into the night and never tell a soul about the good deed.

These are warm and motivational scenarios to entertain, but… until you are in a fight, flight or freeze situation, Glock 19 to your temple, you won’t truly ever know exactly how you would react to such situations, regardless of how many times you imagined that you would be courageous and composed.

I learned just exactly what I am made of that shift.

I had always defaulted to thinking in such situations, I’d be the little twat who broke the real hero’s neck, simply by the hero slipping on the puddle of piss I unknowingly made on the floor in front of hero.

Turns out… I have balls that could sound a gong.

Erm. Before I got rid of balls.

Bam!

I jumped on the line, grabbed the dough, slapped that shit onto the cornflower.

Can’t help but chuckle that I’m already making the za before the ticket finished printing to the kitchen.

Hand rolled it, and even though no one was looking, I tossed it in the air so many times that it stretched out to the point where I had to snag a new dough and use the machine to roll it.

Ladled the sauce like a boss.

I added the cheese in one second. 

Well, I loaded the cheese shoot with perfectly cubed pixels of cheese and hit the button on top that bukakied it all up in that bitch.

Slung toppings with a zealous enthusiasm that I’m sure the cameras didn’t have the fps rate to even record. 

Pizza is delivered.

VIP calls.

“The fuck asshole? I ordered sausage, not beef on my shit.”

There are some moments in life that seem so trivial and unremarkable but in retrospect, you realize those moments we’re exactly what defined who you became on down the road.

Sorry. Tears again, but, I have to get this off my chest.

Those moments define everything you are, and this moment…

Sure as fuck wasn’t one.

“I’m going to Papa Murphys, cock-sore!”