America’s Next Bill Clinton!


If I were a woman …

I’ve come to the conclusion that no matter if I had fuller breasts and long, golden hair that ran out my head, I wouldn’t make a very nice woman.

It doesn’t matter if you give me a uterus, or different sets of chromosomes, or even if you made me smell nicer, or stay cleaner, I wouldn’t make a nice woman.

Hell, give me my own vagina, with its own well-built system of reproduction and centers of pleasure, and I’d still wouldn’t make a very nice woman.

I know this because I know that by the time I am 12 or 13, I will hate men.

I wouldn’t hate them for their biology; I’d hate them for their ways to looking at me.

I’d hate them for their leery eyes and roaming hands – and the way they refer to me, not by my name, but as “hottie,” “sexy,” “babe,” or a myriad of other nicknames used to objectify me.

I would hate them for blaming my anger and attitude on my being “on the rag,” when in fact it is their ways of treating me that makes me angry.

I would hate that they holler at me as I walk down the street. What, should I come over there, drop my pants and jump their bone?

I would hate that if I bring up anything that makes me upset about them, I am being a whiny bitch.

I would hate them for treating me like a princess, but instantly call me a bitch if I were to turn down their sexual advances.

I would hate them for looking at me at a vehicle for their pleasure, and not as my own complete person.

Even in their compliments, I’d hate them for pre-supposing that just because I am a smart girl, that I am unique.

I’d most definitely have trouble trusting them – for I would never knew if one was genuine, or came from a long line of those trying to get in my pants

I would hate them for not knowing what the word “no” means. It doesn’t mean continuing to pursuit me. It doesn’t mean I am playing coy. It means you’re probably a dumbass and I am not interested in you.

I would hate them for roaming at bars, even when I am talking to my friends, trying to break in to our conversations. Leave me alone! I am here with friends!

I would hate the drinks they offer as a way to “break the ice,” as if somehow I am a prostitute and they are buying my time with drinks

I hate them because they control the media and images of me are distorted to be the way THEY see it

I would hate them because images of my body are spread everywhere – some of which are mutilated, as a way to promote their products

I would hate the porn industry. I would hate the pressure they put on me to act “accordingly.”

I would hate that I cannot be myself, but have to compare myself to unrealistic standards.

I would hate the make-up, the shoes and everything else that I need for a job interview just to be successful.

I would hate that I must always be perfect, but perfection is not good enough. I am encouraged to diet more, look better, lose more weight.

I would hate that I am robbed of all that is me – that I am made out to be what the patriarchy wants me to be. I would hate not being my own person.

But, thankfully, I am not a woman. I am a man, full of privileges and free to live my life as I see fit. I am still raging mad.

I am mad that my friends, sisters, loved ones, potential lovers and future daughters are subjected to shit they’d never think of doing to a man.

I am piss-hot the people I love are viewed as objects and not people.

I am upset that most people don’t empathize with the people I love.

But thankfully, I am a man. If a were a woman, I wouldn’t make a very nice one. By 14, I think I’d be in jail for murder.



So, I am a misogynist. Huh!

Friday night, I was out with a few friends and was totally blitzed. After last call, we wandered around to find food when we ran into a girl – also a college student – who had been left by her friends in the parking lot. She was drunk, not in a familiar neighborhood and didn’t have a cell phone.

She used a pay phone to call some other friends to pick her up. Her plan was to stay there until her friends came, although she wasn’t even sure if her friends got the message.

So I offered her a place to stay in my apartment. “Look, my roommate is gay, and I am a feminist. It makes no sense for you to stay here alone until someone comes to get you. It’s not safe.”

She called her friends back with my contact info, and followed us home …only to be picked up a few minutes later.

The next day, she called to thank me, and suggested that we go out for drinks.

A friend who was with me at the time of the incident looked at me and said, “Marc, I am onto you. You’re just like the rest of them, with the feminist cover. You’re a wolf inĀ  sheep skin.”

I took that personally. As a pro-feminist male, I shouldn’t get a fucking cookie for being such, but I don’t like my integrity and convictions questioned, either — especially by my friend, who is quite the objectifyer of women.

Just because I offered a pretty girl a place to stay doesn’t mean I am trying to fuck her. I don’t need a girl to be drunk to earn her affection and attention. I don’t need to lie to a girl to get laid. I don’t need to take advantage of a situation to get a girl to jump my bone.

If I were accused of having hidden motives by women, I’d totally understand …when one group has been oppressed by other group for their entire lives, they have the right to be cynical of unlikely allies. But when another guy, who often sees women as nothing but potential fuck objects, questions my intentions, I have a problem with that.

Has anyone had similar experiences? Should I kick this guy in the head?