Inside Doug's Head

I am not a number, I am… What's that stuff they make glue out of? I'm that. Forever swirling, forwards and upwards, but always sticky. Sometimes, a little sad.

A senior H’s executive that I know claims that they have already filed the paperwork to change the name of the Hershey’s Chocolate Company to HimHes Solid Brown Sugar Stuffs to better reflect the current male dominance on various female archetypes. Her-She’s just wasn’t carrying the weight with the LGBTQ-plus the mentally ill crowd anymore.

When I was born, THEY decided that I should have two arms and two legs, but they never asked me what my limb configuration should be, because I was a newborn baby and lacked a frame of reference. It was my understanding from the contractor that I should have three arms and 47 legs, a penis in the shape of a swastika, AND a vagina wider than the Grand Canyon, deeper than the darkest ocean. There should be antlers where my pelvis used to be. And wings! I know I can fly! Let me be a flewin! No, I’m not mentally ill; they let me vote and teach your children. Would they let someone who is mentally ill affect the development of your children? That would be ridiculous. Oh, wait. They do.

Female weakness means that more and more men are being co-opted to fill performance gaps in franchises like the WNBA, Victoria’s Secret, the Vagina Monologs, movies like When a Chubby Hairy Met a Salad, and… seriously, we need to put a stop to this foolishness. Eenie meenie minie moe—be it male or female, punch a gender-queer dandy in the nose. If it hollers, then it knows. We aren’t putting up with it anymore. Kick its ass, and tell it NO. Eenie meenie minie moe.

Seriously, don’t let it walk away. There’s no rhyme. “Sarge! It was coming straight for me!” Heh, heh. Straight.

I used to have tolerance, but then they mistook my tolerance for stupidity. Little did they know, I don’t work in Hollywood.


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