JULAY
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Feb 4, 2013
Troony McTroonface's Daily Show segment makes an appearance in a video that details trans lunacy, complete with a disclaimer that the fat faggot is not a woman:
Dr. Rachel McKinnon / Dr. Veronica Ivy / Rhys McKinnon / Rachel Veronica McKinnon / Foxy Moxy / SportIsARight - failed out of a tenured job,man who competes in womens sports, gained like 100 lbs in 2022 (page 813), comically fell off bike before a race (page 830)
- Thread starter sperginity
- Start date
- Joined
- Jul 10, 2020
The North Pacific Current gently warmed the BC coastline, pushing back the bitter cold which froze the land East of the great mountains. On Vancouver Island, the pleasant suburb of Saanich awoke to mild mid-winter morning. As the sun rose and kissed the dew laden grass, a visitor from the Prairie Provinces would have been forgiven for thinking it was April or even May.
While not a warm morning, it was not cold by the standards of any stout Canadian and the residents took full advantage of a third day without thick coats and mittens. A young mother jogged behind a stroller, in a never ending quest to maximize her daily number of steps. She wound up and down the streets of her idyllic subdivision smiling at her new neighbors and greeting them whenever possible. It was a nice place to live and she was grateful to be there.
The lady and her husband, Reese, had recently purchased a split level bungalow on an anonymous cul-de-sac, and this was her way of getting the lay of the land. Their young family had found good fortune in the midst of tragedy and used the proceeds to buy their way into one of the most pleasant suburbs of Vancouver. Her father in law had died three years prior and left her husband a small inheritance in his life insurance. Reese used his connections as an Associate Professor at the local University to wisely invest the small sum in a local tech startup, which got them out of a two bedroom, third floor walk-up in the city.
Still jogging, she fought back a tear as she remembered her father in law's funeral. He was a lifelong policeman who only got to enjoy a couple of years of his retirement before heart disease claimed him. His wife was completely destroyed by his passing, eventually having to sell her house of 40 years and move in with the two of them. She truly was the perfect mother-in-law and proved to be invaluable when the baby was born, but it took every minute of a very difficult year to adjust.
The lady rounded the corner onto the main road and saw she was approaching the stoplight. There was a large man standing at the crosswalk waiting for the light. His shoulders were hunched over and covered in a generous layer of blubber. Not overly fat, but certainly obese, the man was wearing a too-small shirt with a rainbow striped fox on the back. His shoulder length hair was a messy gray-brown and caught the morning sun forming a sickly, pathetic halo. She should have been intimidated but wasn't. Even from behind she could tell that he posed her no threat.
"Good morning, sir!" She chirped cheerfully, as she slowed for the crosswalk. He looked over at her but would not meet her eyes.
"It's ma'am," He brusquely shot back. Never looking up, he jutted his healthy chin forward as if willing the light to change. It did not.
Caught off guard, the lady shook herself visibly. This was not the way to make friends in the neighborhood and worse still, she would never misgender another woman. That was harmful. Violent even. She collected herself and tried her best to make eye contact, "I am terribly sorry, ma'am. I'm just a bit out of breath and I wasn't watching very closely. That was very stupid of me,"
"It's okay, don't worry about it," the man replied quietly in a practiced falsetto. There was no challenge in the words and his harsh demeanor had softened considerably. If there was any glimmer of a flight in him, the flame had extinguished itself as quickly as it sparked.
The sight of this broken husk sickened her. He was like the foam around a dead fish on the beach. Large in size but no heft. A smelly ephemeral existence fueled solely by decay. Still she steeled herself to right the wrong. Perhaps she was about to initiate the first conversation of the rest of his - sorry, her - life.
"Look, let me try that again. My name is Veronica and it's a pleasure to meet you," She smiled sweetly and held out her hand.
The man's eyes lit up and finally turned to meet hers. "What a small world, my name is Veronica too," he said flatly. Slowly turning toward her, the man extended a tattooed, sausage-fingered hand sporting chipped rainbow nail polish, "Doctor Veronica Ivy," he finished, over-pronouncing each syllable. Locking her gaze for a moment, he examined her slowly and deliberately; measuring. "It is a pleasure to meet you too. On which street exactly do you live?"
A primal fear shot up her spine and her grip on the stroller became white knuckled and sweaty. Why the fuck wouldn't the light change? She tried her best to keep calm but her eyes had reflexively widened. "Umm, uhhh, I forgot something at my house, I gotta go. Have a good morning, sir!" She managed to spit out before breaking into a full sprint back the way she had come.
The man looked back as the lady ran away in fear. "I still got it," he said audibly to nobody in particular. He watched her perfectly sculpted ass bounce under dark spandex until she turned down the nearby side street and disappeared behind a manicured hedge. "Never misgender me again, bitch!" he shouted back, now that she was safely out of earshot. Hot milf or not, he would not suffer terfitude to prosper.
The light finally turned and he crossed the street with the signal, his feet slightly lighter than before, despite his tight diabetic socks. Not only did he get all of his steps in for the day, he managed to put the fear of the Goddess into a terf bitch. Not a bad way to work off the morning's hangover. If every day was more like this one, he would be thin and athletic again in no time. He checked the fitness app on his phone to remind himself of his progress: two kilos lost in the last 30 days, 30 more kilos to go. Next time he would be the hot bitch in black leggings.
Halfway across the intersection he reached into his purse and pulled out a celebratory Red Bull. Despite the recent victory he could still use some wings to round off his morning walk. Squinting into the rising sun he would strategize how to best publicize his win. Surely Mastodon would be hearing about this, but perhaps Instagram should too. So many happy decisions to make, so many ways for him to enact his revenge.
The lady managed to sprint all the way home even though she was sure she wasn't followed. Panting, she slammed the front door shut and flipped the deadbolt solidly closed. She tracked mud into the living room but she didn't care. The baby needed to be close to her and she needed to sit down on the sofa. She held her phone out, shaking as she dialed her husband.
"Good morning, my love! I was just thinking about you!" Reese musically answered the phone. She could hear the adoration in her husband's voice. Still catching her breath, she let it calm her. "Sweetheart? Are you there?"
"Yes, yes Reese. I umm... I didn't want to ummm...." Suddenly she felt foolish for being so scared.
"Need a minute to collect you thoughts?" he chuckled back, "The class is almost ready for me to begin. Can I call you back in a couple minutes? Today my grad student is doing the mandated LGBTQIA2S+ presentation and I'll be free once it starts"
Once again her blood ran cold, but this time with annoyance instead of fear. First some neighborhood weirdo wants to jerk off while wearing her skin and then her own goddamned husband makes her wait for the government ordained twink speech speech to start. Bullshit! "Reese, I've decided we need to get a gun. When you come home tonight, get your balls of the shelf and take me to go buy one."
She gave her husband a few icy seconds before hanging up the phone. Exhaling sharply, she looked down at her baby still in the jogging stroller. "If you grow up to be a faggot, I'm disowning you" She said coldly to the mildly bewildered child.
As if understanding, her baby smiled back broadly and began to laugh. "Fig-it! Fig-it!" was the mimicked reply.
She stared at the amused child for a long minute and then couldn't resist laughing too. "Fag-got, fag-got," she corrected, "Fah-got!"
And mother and child laughed heartily together in their first shared dirty joke.
While not a warm morning, it was not cold by the standards of any stout Canadian and the residents took full advantage of a third day without thick coats and mittens. A young mother jogged behind a stroller, in a never ending quest to maximize her daily number of steps. She wound up and down the streets of her idyllic subdivision smiling at her new neighbors and greeting them whenever possible. It was a nice place to live and she was grateful to be there.
The lady and her husband, Reese, had recently purchased a split level bungalow on an anonymous cul-de-sac, and this was her way of getting the lay of the land. Their young family had found good fortune in the midst of tragedy and used the proceeds to buy their way into one of the most pleasant suburbs of Vancouver. Her father in law had died three years prior and left her husband a small inheritance in his life insurance. Reese used his connections as an Associate Professor at the local University to wisely invest the small sum in a local tech startup, which got them out of a two bedroom, third floor walk-up in the city.
Still jogging, she fought back a tear as she remembered her father in law's funeral. He was a lifelong policeman who only got to enjoy a couple of years of his retirement before heart disease claimed him. His wife was completely destroyed by his passing, eventually having to sell her house of 40 years and move in with the two of them. She truly was the perfect mother-in-law and proved to be invaluable when the baby was born, but it took every minute of a very difficult year to adjust.
The lady rounded the corner onto the main road and saw she was approaching the stoplight. There was a large man standing at the crosswalk waiting for the light. His shoulders were hunched over and covered in a generous layer of blubber. Not overly fat, but certainly obese, the man was wearing a too-small shirt with a rainbow striped fox on the back. His shoulder length hair was a messy gray-brown and caught the morning sun forming a sickly, pathetic halo. She should have been intimidated but wasn't. Even from behind she could tell that he posed her no threat.
"Good morning, sir!" She chirped cheerfully, as she slowed for the crosswalk. He looked over at her but would not meet her eyes.
"It's ma'am," He brusquely shot back. Never looking up, he jutted his healthy chin forward as if willing the light to change. It did not.
Caught off guard, the lady shook herself visibly. This was not the way to make friends in the neighborhood and worse still, she would never misgender another woman. That was harmful. Violent even. She collected herself and tried her best to make eye contact, "I am terribly sorry, ma'am. I'm just a bit out of breath and I wasn't watching very closely. That was very stupid of me,"
"It's okay, don't worry about it," the man replied quietly in a practiced falsetto. There was no challenge in the words and his harsh demeanor had softened considerably. If there was any glimmer of a flight in him, the flame had extinguished itself as quickly as it sparked.
The sight of this broken husk sickened her. He was like the foam around a dead fish on the beach. Large in size but no heft. A smelly ephemeral existence fueled solely by decay. Still she steeled herself to right the wrong. Perhaps she was about to initiate the first conversation of the rest of his - sorry, her - life.
"Look, let me try that again. My name is Veronica and it's a pleasure to meet you," She smiled sweetly and held out her hand.
The man's eyes lit up and finally turned to meet hers. "What a small world, my name is Veronica too," he said flatly. Slowly turning toward her, the man extended a tattooed, sausage-fingered hand sporting chipped rainbow nail polish, "Doctor Veronica Ivy," he finished, over-pronouncing each syllable. Locking her gaze for a moment, he examined her slowly and deliberately; measuring. "It is a pleasure to meet you too. On which street exactly do you live?"
A primal fear shot up her spine and her grip on the stroller became white knuckled and sweaty. Why the fuck wouldn't the light change? She tried her best to keep calm but her eyes had reflexively widened. "Umm, uhhh, I forgot something at my house, I gotta go. Have a good morning, sir!" She managed to spit out before breaking into a full sprint back the way she had come.
The man looked back as the lady ran away in fear. "I still got it," he said audibly to nobody in particular. He watched her perfectly sculpted ass bounce under dark spandex until she turned down the nearby side street and disappeared behind a manicured hedge. "Never misgender me again, bitch!" he shouted back, now that she was safely out of earshot. Hot milf or not, he would not suffer terfitude to prosper.
The light finally turned and he crossed the street with the signal, his feet slightly lighter than before, despite his tight diabetic socks. Not only did he get all of his steps in for the day, he managed to put the fear of the Goddess into a terf bitch. Not a bad way to work off the morning's hangover. If every day was more like this one, he would be thin and athletic again in no time. He checked the fitness app on his phone to remind himself of his progress: two kilos lost in the last 30 days, 30 more kilos to go. Next time he would be the hot bitch in black leggings.
Halfway across the intersection he reached into his purse and pulled out a celebratory Red Bull. Despite the recent victory he could still use some wings to round off his morning walk. Squinting into the rising sun he would strategize how to best publicize his win. Surely Mastodon would be hearing about this, but perhaps Instagram should too. So many happy decisions to make, so many ways for him to enact his revenge.
The lady managed to sprint all the way home even though she was sure she wasn't followed. Panting, she slammed the front door shut and flipped the deadbolt solidly closed. She tracked mud into the living room but she didn't care. The baby needed to be close to her and she needed to sit down on the sofa. She held her phone out, shaking as she dialed her husband.
"Good morning, my love! I was just thinking about you!" Reese musically answered the phone. She could hear the adoration in her husband's voice. Still catching her breath, she let it calm her. "Sweetheart? Are you there?"
"Yes, yes Reese. I umm... I didn't want to ummm...." Suddenly she felt foolish for being so scared.
"Need a minute to collect you thoughts?" he chuckled back, "The class is almost ready for me to begin. Can I call you back in a couple minutes? Today my grad student is doing the mandated LGBTQIA2S+ presentation and I'll be free once it starts"
Once again her blood ran cold, but this time with annoyance instead of fear. First some neighborhood weirdo wants to jerk off while wearing her skin and then her own goddamned husband makes her wait for the government ordained twink speech speech to start. Bullshit! "Reese, I've decided we need to get a gun. When you come home tonight, get your balls of the shelf and take me to go buy one."
She gave her husband a few icy seconds before hanging up the phone. Exhaling sharply, she looked down at her baby still in the jogging stroller. "If you grow up to be a faggot, I'm disowning you" She said coldly to the mildly bewildered child.
As if understanding, her baby smiled back broadly and began to laugh. "Fig-it! Fig-it!" was the mimicked reply.
She stared at the amused child for a long minute and then couldn't resist laughing too. "Fag-got, fag-got," she corrected, "Fah-got!"
And mother and child laughed heartily together in their first shared dirty joke.
Last edited:
- Joined
- Feb 15, 2019
New Rhys Instagram. Caption says:
That's the Ridge Course at the Cordova Bay Golf Course in Victoria, BC. I applaud Rhys's new golf arc, hopefully he wins a women's tournament soon!
That's the Ridge Course at the Cordova Bay Golf Course in Victoria, BC. I applaud Rhys's new golf arc, hopefully he wins a women's tournament soon!
- Joined
- Aug 9, 2019
It involves a lot of walking though, so I'd assume the chances are high he might keel over from a heart attack before it gets to that.
- Joined
- Jan 15, 2014
Cycling, badminton and now golf? Our Veronica is a true Renaissance man!
Woman, I mean.
JULAY
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Feb 4, 2013
Nah, he'll have his caddy ferry him about in a golf cart. I went slightly into the future and came back with a video of that, actually:
Just another little argie-bargie...
- Joined
- Feb 3, 2013
Can't wait to see him walking the course with a Camelbak full of Gatorade. A girl's got to stay hydrated!
On another topic, I was checking out Rhys' academic afterlife on Google Scholar. He's now actually cited more often as "Rachel McKinnon" than "Veronica Ivy", because the only people left citing him have no idea who he is and are just looking for something vaguely on-topic they found in someone else's footnotes.
On another topic, I was checking out Rhys' academic afterlife on Google Scholar. He's now actually cited more often as "Rachel McKinnon" than "Veronica Ivy", because the only people left citing him have no idea who he is and are just looking for something vaguely on-topic they found in someone else's footnotes.
- Joined
- Jul 10, 2020
PhD, badminton, cycling, golf, absentee landlord. This is what makes a socialist proletarian hero in McKinnon's brain.
- Joined
- Aug 24, 2014
Don't forget professional gambling.
- Joined
- Feb 3, 2013
Little known fact: Rhys is actually banned from all major casinos because his brain is considered a supercomputer and therefore his mere presence constitutes cheating.
- Joined
- Jan 15, 2014
Rhys is sitting at the poker table. He looks at his cards. He glances at his opponents, sizing them up. Equations dance around in his head as he assesses probability, combining mathematics and psychology at speeds undreamed of by normal humans. Then he falls off his chair.
- Joined
- Jul 10, 2020
You all laugh, but I saw Rhys absolutely dominating the Go Fish tables at Hustler Casino.
- Joined
- Dec 28, 2014
Then he reraises with 73 and gets felted.
- Joined
- Jul 10, 2020
I would be legitimately impressed if Rhys posted a picture with people in it. Doesn't have to include him; any group of three or more human beings would do it. I don't think he's capable of arranging that, which absolutely blows my mind. Wow.
- Joined
- Jan 15, 2023
Won't be the first time he's faked a Birdy to gain a competitive advantage because he didn't have the drive
How was my Friday Rhys? I went to the gym, spent an hour in a sensory deprivation tank and then went to support my friend at his dad's funeral
Sorry I used a technical term that you won't understand. A "friend" is someone who wants to be around you out of choice because you share a bond they aren't forced to make because of HR or because you're literally related to them
Last edited:
- Joined
- Jul 10, 2020
Rhys uploaded this last night
Notice the lack of other humans. It is a pretty waterfall though. Here's hoping some angry terf gives his amhole a 9 Iron revision at the first women's tournament he enters. Her legal fund will runneth over.
I would like to see Rhys take up competitive shooting. He won't of course, because men don't have a discernable advantage over women in that particular sport.
Notice the lack of other humans. It is a pretty waterfall though. Here's hoping some angry terf gives his amhole a 9 Iron revision at the first women's tournament he enters. Her legal fund will runneth over.
I would like to see Rhys take up competitive shooting. He won't of course, because men don't have a discernable advantage over women in that particular sport.
- Joined
- Feb 3, 2013
Didn't take that long for the ground to raise the white flag after Rhys started walking on it.
- Joined
- Jan 17, 2018
I won't be impressed until it's a picture with people that actively want Rhys to take a photo of them.
- Joined
- Jul 10, 2020
I just saw this on X. Some autogynephile found the strength of will to quit gooning for give minutes and refine McKinnon's finest feat of intellect. This is what Rhys meant to say on TDS, or at least what he wishes he said, I'm certain of it.
There was a time when this line of reasoning was considered worthy of academic discourse. Thankfully that time has finally passed. May history damn us all for ever allowing to rot to grow as far as it did. I don't want my generation or the Millennials to ever be forgiven for entertaining gender ideology.
- Joined
- Jan 6, 2019
Liking trains is a brain thing
Brain things are biology
Thomas the tank engine is a biological creature
Brain things are biology
Thomas the tank engine is a biological creature