Whiny, delicate MAGA snowflake incels prove why they'll never get laid

"Straight," "MAGA," and "male" all translate to "asshole"

#transwomenarewomen

cos the one thing that’s better than sharing love is sharing the feeling of oh shove it you asshole.

• Stefan Mohamed, Stuff

I grew up in a very simple, easy-to-understand world. As Garrison Keillor is wont to say about Minnesota (and I’m paraphrasing), it’s a place where women are women, men are men, and the sheep are nervous.

It was a binary world, either/or…you were on Team Penis or Team Vagina. There was no in-between. Boy or Girl. Simple, easy to understand, and even easier to recognize.

Unbeknownst to my naïve self, growing up in my sheltered world in small-town northern Minnesota, even then, life wasn’t so simple. It just lived in the shadows and underground, where it wouldn’t attract attention. Because when people who didn’t fall into Slot A or Slot B- Team Penis or Team Vagina- found themselves trying to live authentically, life became complicated and, in some cases, dangerous.

Q: Name something that MAGA Nation would NEVER do.

Of course, I knew none of this because I led what amounted to a cloistered life in the Great White North. The seasons changed- they froze, thawed, and refroze- and I eventually became interested in girls. After all, I had a penis, and…well, that was the way things were supposed to work, right?

Dad explained “the facts of life” to me on a late October afternoon when we were grouse hunting and then handed me a copy of Dr. David Rubin’s Everything You Wanted to Know About Sex (But Were Afraid to Ask). I was 12, my hormones were beginning to run amok like a barrel over Niagara Falls, and I had NO idea what it all meant.

The book was over my head but damned if I didn’t enjoy the pictures. I remember that as being the first time I tried to pin down questions about sex and sexuality. Being 12, there were, of course, far more questions than answers.

None of those questions had anything to do with gender identity, however. It wasn’t until the second week of my freshman year in college that I ran head-on into that issue, and I was utterly unprepared for it.

It was a quiet September Sunday morning. I was working at a McDonald’s on University Avenue near Larpenteur St. in St. Paul, MN, to help pay for beer and tuition. I was taking orders at the counter when a woman in a flowery dress, pearls, and a white handbag stepped up to place an order.

At least, I thought it was a woman.

I immediately sensed something odd about her. It might have been the very masculine cologne, which caused me to take a closer look. Then, I noticed the five o’clock shadow and Adam’s apple and began to hear the lyrics from a Kinks song running through my head as I began to feel faint.

I could feel my knees getting weak as I began to sweat profusely as if I was about to pass out. I could feel the blood rushing from my face, and I knew I had only a few seconds before I’d be out cold on the floor. I grabbed one of my coworkers, asked them to finish the order, and ran back to the employee bathroom, where I sacrificed my bacon-and-eggs McMuffin breakfast to the porcelain god.

That brought my shift to a swift and early end. I caught the next bus, returned to my dorm room, and slept for most of the afternoon.

I called McDonald’s the next day and quit.

After thinking about it for a couple of days, I talked to a couple of gay friends about my experience. When they finished laughing uproariously at me, they explained a few things about life on their side of the fence. It was then that I began to understand that my reaction was about my own ignorance and not any deep-seated prejudice. I was an 18-year-old kid from the Great White North who hadn’t seen or experienced much…and yes, I had a lot to learn.

So, I began to ask questions and listen to the answers. And I came to understand just how much I DIDN’T know. I knew I didn’t want to be gay, but I at least wanted to understand the issues some of my friends were facing. After all, this was the late ‘70s and early ‘80s, when it wasn’t nearly as easy to be LGBTQ…and in fact, LGBTQ wasn’t even part of the lexicon.

Forty years on, I can say without reservation that the more I know, the less I understand. I’ve come to recognize that gender is now defined on a spectrum instead of being binary and static. Beyond that, though, I’m completely at sea. When I think I might be beginning to grasp the terminology, something new throws me all over again.

What I’ve come to learn, though, is that I don’t have to have an in-depth understanding of the gender identity spectrum. All I need to be able to do is respect someone’s choice(s). None of it materially impacts me; my life is no better or worse for it, but I can make sure I give someone the respect they deserve. It’s not that difficult to do.

I may not understand, agree, or even approve…but that’s unimportant. Nor does my opinion matter because it’s not my life. Who am I to pee in their sandbox if someone can live authentically and be happy? I should be celebrating them for it…because Lord knows this world isn’t suffering from an oversupply of happiness.

So Pedro Pascal took his transgender sister Lux Pascal to the Emmys this week, and a boatload of MAGA men are losing their shit over it? As if it’s any of their damned business, right? A bunch of incels are melting down because an actor was kind to his sister? Cry me a frickin’ river, willya??

It's beautiful that Pedro Pascal loves his sister and is proud enough of her to show her off to the world. To him, she’s not his “trans” sister; she’s his sister.

All of the sad, pathetic MAGA incels crying crocodile tears can go somewhere where other fragile, delicate snowflakes can support them in their hour of crisis. Because all they’re getting from me is a big “Go f**k yourself, you worthless crybaby snowflakes….”

My thoughts and prayers are with them in their moment of difficulty.

What these fools don’t understand is that being transgender requires more courage than they will EVER possess. They have no idea of the courage it takes for someone to subject themselves to the emotional and physical trauma of transitioning. To commit to becoming the person one sees themself as takes a degree of courage I can’t begin to imagine. That doesn’t even take into account the hatred and discrimination directed at the transgender community.

I can only speak for myself, of course, but I have a deep well of respect for the transgender community. The transgender people I know possess tremendous fortitude; they’re some of the most courageous people I’ve had the privilege to meet. It takes immense commitment and courage to subject themselves to the pain and stress of transitioning. It’s impressive that they know themselves well enough to realize that transitioning is what they must do to be their authentic self.

No fragile MAGA snowflake could ever have even a fraction of the courage a transgender person displays daily.

Go pound sand, you worthless crybaby incel snowflakes….

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