I respect women
I respect women. I respect them in the morning, and I respect before I sleep. I respect them in my dreams. I respect them when I’m eating breakfast, I respect them in the toilet, I respect them with each breath, I respect them with every thought. Not a moment goes by that I don’t respect women. I live to respect women. I’d die to respect women, but if I was dead, I wouldn’t be able to respect women, so I don’t die. Every day, I wonder what I could do to respect women more. I respect women. All women, I respect.
I respect women when they look at me with revulsion. I respect them when they puke at the mere thought that I have genitals. I respect their genocidal tweets towards men of my race and my stature. Whenever I read a post that urges me to kill all men, especially short men, especially short brown men, I am filled with respect. When I see them dating 6′4″ Aryan neopagan fascists, only respect is coursing through my veins.
I respect women, because they don’t want things explained to them. I respect them because their lives are being destroyed by men’s legs being spread. I respect them when they seek out red flags. I respect them when they beg their excon boyfriends to hurt them and degrade them. I respect them when they run to me for support when the bruises hurt too much. They know that’s my place, because I’ve purged my toxic masculinity.
I respect women for their strong character judgements. When their pussies dry at the slightest encounter of parental instinct, high emotional intelligence, sensitivity, and agreeableness, I feel respect. When sadistic psychopaths and murderers are rewarded with loyalty and love, while honest men receive abuse and dead bedrooms, I feel respect. A naive cuck raising the bad boy bull’s spawn is the birthplace of my respect. Incentivising evil and punishing virtue is subversive, and boy do I respect subversion.
I respect women, for they are the empathetic gender. Every family that’s destroyed, I respect. Every child that’s murdered because she’s out clubbing, doing drugs, or dating a serial wife beater, I respect. Every pregnancy that’s miscarried because food, booze, smokes, and drugs matter more than a baby’s life, I respect. Every fetus that’s aborted bit by bit, limb by limb, because she forgot she could swallow, or time her fertility windows, or use a condom, or use a pill, or get an implant, or tie her tubes, or use Plan-B, or do anything whatsoever but lay on her back and get creampied, I respect. When their abortions are shouted and worn as badges of bourgeois honour, I respect. Though half of them are also women. Even if all of them were women, it doesn’t matter; I respect.
I respect women’s right to destroy themselves. I respect their morbid obesity, their binge drinking, their STDs and the destruction of their pair bonding. I respect their poorly-drawn tattoos and their gigantic piercings. I respect that they don’t even identify as women, but still, I respect them, one nonbinary pronoun at a time. I respect them when they aspire for nothing but their own objectification on Instagram and Twitch. I respect them when they promote their own subjugation under Sharia law.
Women can send me to jail on nothing but hearsay, is that not respectable? Women hate themselves, hate their own race, and turn genocidal miscegenation into a kink, turn infidelity into a kink, is that not respectable? Women can’t tell appearance from character, is that not respectable? Family, community, individuality, self-actualisation, even love— they mean less to women than “I want to feel small”; why, I must respect that. When womanhood becomes oppression, when it is merely a social construct, when Usain Bolt is as womanly as any woman… perhaps what I respect would be fiction, but even fiction deserves respect.
If I respect enough, I can have hope. Maybe they’ll look at me one day. Look at me. Look at how respectful I am. I’m a good man. I have moral standards: I respect women, and I judge men. I must respect. I have no option but to respect. I mustn’t let respect be earned, I must respect by default. If respect was earned, what would happen to me? I’d look upon the target of my adoration and see evil; evil deserves to be hated.
But that isn’t very respectful, so instead I respect women. I respect women. I RESPECT WOMEN! I do! I really do! Please, just let me respect women.