Oh FFS, not only do I have to memorize everyone's individual pronouns (and learn what 300 new genders mean), now I have to try and figure out which personality I'm talking to so I can use it's correct pronouns? We need to bring back the days when crazy people were rounded up and thrown into asylums. Because as horrible as that was, at least the rest of us weren't infected with their crazy.
I can learn to deal with the trendy Plural kids with their dozens of alters crammed in to each struggling pea brain; it's taken a lot of thought, consideration, and wrestling with my conscience over which side of history I want to be on in having to deal with the ever growing Pod of trannies (and one, brand new, super special enby baby whatsit) that keep moving in to my very small complex: I blatantly ignore them. It makes life much, much simpler. Even being peripherally dragged in to the orbit of one of those beasts just cranks the desire to start screeching 'no no no, you dumb sonofabitch! Menstruation isn't a human trait! It's the trait of a mammalian female, goddammit.' Just an endless source of headaches and mouthfuls of blood from biting your tongue.
What I really want to know here is what in the fuck is a Quoiromantic?
Although... if I were to accidentally misgender one of them, or accidentally murder one by openly talking about what a sonofabitch a particularly heavy flow month is as an adult, mammalian human female with properly functioning adult human female genitals + sexual and nonsexual internal bits and organs, my face would probably be plastered all over the goddamn city on broadsheets with my full name, phone number, address, place of employment, next of kin, list of known allergies, likes, dislikes and phobias, plus a detailed list of my cat's pet peeves before high noon the next day. With the potential of eviction, too. And because it's Canada, they could probably sue me.
For the most oppressed people ever, EVER, they sure do hold a lot of sway over all of the programs, centers and organizations they like to claim oppress them the most. Even the aging, black crackhead sexworker with FAS and mild brain damage who is incapable of recognizing the giant , flaming red flags every guy she's ever dated (or 'dated' and anyone else would have been able to see immediately that her night would be ending on the Bad Date List) Yeah, that woman may as well be Princess Di was when you compare her to the poorly dressed slobs that marinate in pefume for an hour every morning to make their daily pity party rounds. I mean, there's only one rape crisis center/emergency shelter type place left in Canada that caters solely to actual females. Head Troon Oger even got them defunded, they were threatened, the building repeatedly vandalized, and them bitches still won't let Troons counsel, or sleep in close quarters with women and girls who've been thoroughly traumatized and violated by
men penis-havers, in ONE building in one city in aaaalllll of Canada.
Compared to that affront to humanity, being a mentally deficient, crack addicted, older black homeless female sex worker? That's a charmed life, for sure.
I'm so sorry about this rambling, purple monstrosity. I didn't sleep at all last night yet, and I'm at that point right before you either conk out or get your second wind where you're wound up like an 8 year old on a post-Hallowe'en sugar high. Some people get giddy, I get verbose.