I Identify as Pissed Off

In a world where you can be anything you want by simply anointing yourself such, I'm going to go with Angry Contrarian. Or Princess.

You know what I don’t think people are taking advantage of enough these days? Identifying as things. I mean, sure, there are folks out there claiming to be cats and robots and plants and vampires and starseeds, but what do they even get out of these labels? I say, if you’re going to present yourself to the world as something entirely different than what you actually are, why not make the most out of your pretend persona?

Fancy Country Club Manager: May I see your membership card, please?

Me: I don’t have one.

FCCM: Did you lose it?

Me: Nope. Never had one.

FCCM: Are you a member here?

Me: Technically, no. But I identify as one.

FCCM: Well, let’s snap your picture and getcha set up in the system then!

In the remake, Fletch just has to identify as John Cocktoastoy.

It’s absurd, right? I mean, that would never happen. Just like a middle-age pervert itching to see prepubescent girls in their panties couldn’t waltz into that same Fancy Country Club and declare he was a prepubescent girl himself to have that dream realized. Can you imagine?

Marvin [scratching his beard]: Yup, I’m a harmless twelve-year-old girl, just like Madison over there.

FCCM: All righty then, Marvin, welcome to the club. The little girls’ locker room is just across the lobby. Enjoy!

Madison: But… but… Marvin is a hairy old man. I don’t want to change in the same room as him!

FCCM: Excuse me, Madison, but that’s discrimination, and it will not be tolerated at this club. If you don’t want to get naked in front of Marvin, maybe your family should take up chess.

The BabylonBee never disappoints.

Of course you can imagine, because that’s literally what’s happening. In the case of the 50-year-old Canadian biological-male-trans swimmer (a professor, no less naturally) who has been allowed to compete against—and yes, change among—twelve to fourteen-year-old girls, the organizing club issued the following inane and utterly irrelevant statement:

“Swimming Canada and Swim Ontario believe swimming is for everyone… people of all shapes, sizes, genders, beliefs and background [sic] should have the opportunity to swim to the best of their ability… with the expectation that our registrants treat each other with respect and dignity, and keep our sport environment free from harassment and abuse [emphasis mine].”

Seriously, have we lost our ever-loving minds? *Rhetorical question.*

How does “giving people of all shapes, sizes, genders, beliefs and backgrounds the opportunity to swim” morph into “letting oversized deviants with penises compete against young girls or giving them unfettered changing room access”? How did they—the liberal DEI agenda-pushers—manage to create a global culture where hurting someone’s little feelings is a crime greater than child endangerment? How exactly is forcing girls to build towel tents to protect their privacy and be pitted against she-men twice their size not abusive? If doping is illegal—since it can increase performance and thus give an athlete an unfair advantage and all—how is pretending you’re not genetically superior to begin with perfectly acceptable?

The saddest part of the made-up Marvin-and-Madison exchange above is that’s probably not how it would go down at all anymore. Schools are pushing their progressive ideologies down students’ throats so hard that it likely would have been Madison insisting Marvin had every right to peep her privates. You know, out of fairness and inclusion or to fight global warming or something.

A few months ago, hundreds of students at a Ft. Lauderdale school boycotted class in support of a transgender student who wanted to compete on the school’s girls’ volleyball team—which would violate state law. (Florida #FTW!) Court documents (because of course there’s a lawsuit) argue that restricting trans athletes’ participation in school sports violates Title IX, the landmark law banning sex discrimination “at any school that receives funding from the federal government.” And there you have it. In other words, let the dude play or you won’t have a team at all.

Seems fair.

But make no mistake: the protesting students weren’t marching to protect the school’s precious funding. They were angry because “trans lives matter.” (Although some of them presumably were just going along to go along and not be called transphobic, and a few probably wanted to get out of a test they didn’t study for.) In the upside-down world we live in, trans lives don’t just matter; they matter more than literally anything else—like safety and fairness and biology and common sense—and you’re a bad person if you disagree, and an actual white supremacist if you refuse to join the fight.

Last week, old-fashioned swimming sensation Riley Gaines, who was born female and has boldly kept her lady-parts intact, regaled Joe Rogan with details of the impossible-but-true time she and transathlete Lia Thomas tied in a 200-yard freestyle competition—down to the hundredth of a second, a literal black swan event. The winners were congratulated, and then officials gave the single trophy to Thomas, telling Gaines that in any photos, it was “crucial that the trophy be in Thomas’s hands.” So much for Title IX, which was purposely created to protect female athletes and ensure they would have equal access to and treatment in sport.*

*Unless a guy dressed like a girl beats you; then it’s every birthing person for theyself.

Also: Do these she-dudes have zero shame? *Another rhetorical question*

It’s not even really that much of a stretch, TBH.

Thanks to woke privilege, we’ve got aliens identifying as legal citizens, shysters masquerading as socialites, philanthropaths posing as health experts, demented old men pretending to be powerful world leaders, and AI impersonating pretty much everything and everyone (including demented old men pretending to be powerful world leaders). And so, in solidarity with delusional humans everywhere, today I am declaring myself Princess of Pretty Much Everything. (You can call me PPME for short. In fact, I demand it. And by the way, my pronouns are Where’s/Kate.) Anyone who fails to acknowledge my new royal title, position, and preferred-referential-parts-of-speech shall henceforth be considered—and angrily referred to—as fringy, racist, right-wing falafel. Feel free to tell the others.

P.S. Wake me when this stupid ride is over? Thanks.

Coming SOOOOOOON and I’m so excited I could convulse.