Update from my last post

29 Sep

I feel like avoiding Facebook for a while. This is the first time in several years that I’ve been attacked on that social networking site–at least that I can remember. I’ve managed to block so many bullies and to refrain from commenting in many situations where I knew I’d be under attack, that it’s no wonder. That has not, however, changed the fact that the vast majority of humanoids have the emotional maturity of playground bullies. Perpetual playground bullies can generally be described this way: they are extremely immature, extremely insecure, and extremely small-minded. Rather than looking inward and acknowledging that they have issues, they look outward and lash out at people who don’t fit into their teensy-weensy little version of reality.

I’m not one of those people who enjoy getting into arguments on Facebook or otherwise on the internet. I consider it not only anxiety-inducing (with possible effects on my blood pressure) but additionally,  quite simply, a waste of time. I have better things to do. Usually I know better than to comment on disgusting crap, but once in a while I slip and comment.

I’m struck by the irony of a shrieking, hysterical misogynist accusing me of being a sexist pig because I’m against misogyny. The ultimate hypocrite. That describes one of four or five misogynists I blocked on Facebook today.

I could write a fantasy story in which misogynists are chopped up into bits and fed to dragons. Or they’re just fed to dragons—big enough dragons that they can eat the misogynists without them getting chopped up first. Eat them alive. The person who gives the orders lives in a castle—I picture the scene in a room with stone walls. Probably a castle tower. A witch or a queen or a Witch Queen. It could be really funny, sardonic—well, at least I would be amused. Here’s a start:

“Next!” The witch Cordelia called in a baritone voice. She stood tall and stately, with her long, flowing dark red curls loose over her shoulders and down her back. Her blue velvet gown flowed down to the floor and was belted in gold slightly below her waist. It had long, drooping sleeves from which one could catch glimpses of the gold-trimmed white linen chemise underneath.

Until she embraced her inner female-ness, Cordelia was always mistaken for a man. She grew up with parents who refused to accept that she wasn’t a boy. Now she only was if she dressed in a tunic and doublet—but such garb was merely a disguise, for those occasions when she walked amid the commoners in the streets.

Two guards in chain mail entered the tower room. Between them shuffled a cisgender white male with a scowl on his long, pale face.

“Who is this?” Cordelia asked.

“This is a misogynist,” the guard on the left said. “We caught him painting woman-bashing and anti-feminist comments on the outer bailey.”

“Humph!” Cordelia said. “What else has he done?”

“Ah, well,” the other guard said. “He’s a well-known rapist. He’s been terrorizing the kingdom for years.”

“Why didn’t I know about this?” Cordelia asked.

“You had a lot of other issues to deal with, what with taxes and all.”

“Those issues weren’t more important than this,” Cordelia said, waving her hand and sticking her sharp chin up in the air. “Take him away and feed him to the dragons. I don’t have time for fools like him.”

The guards bowed and dragged the man, kicking and shouting words unfit for polite conversation, out of the tower room.


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