A love letter to my biggest fan.
In all genuine curiosity, Zeke, I have to ask you one question: Why are you obsessed with me?
It’s been months now, and you still keep coming back for more. I only ask why you’re obsessed with me because in life, there’s always a chance someone is wrong, but I certainly have my own assessment, even though I could be wrong. What is my own assessment? I think it’s obvious you’re obsessed with me because you know I’m right, and you desperately wish I wasn’t. I make you feel all-kinds of insecure.
You know I’m right about the natural differences between the sexes, you know I’m right that you are a simp to my ex-wife (and probably other girls), and you know I’m right about my ex-wife being a morally-reprehensible parasite. Hell, it wouldn’t surprise me if you’re envious of the fact I can write with correct spelling and grammar.
And oh do you desperately wish I was wrong about all of it. You can’t stand the fact I’m right, so you’ve convinced yourself that maybe if you hurt me feefees, then I’ll start crying and saying how wrong I was.
Hey, I can’t blame you for having dreams.
You think I spend what little free time I have writing posts educating the world about the poisonous lie that is feminism … because you think I’m just sad that girls don’t wanna sleep with poor little ol’ me.
There’s a projection if I ever saw one. No, Zekey Boy, feminism is ruining lives. It’s been destroying families for decades. The great lie of equality is ruining lives. The lie that women are perfect angels is ruining lives, and I derive no enjoyment from pointing that out.
Even I fell for these lies, once upon a time, until my ex-wife opened my eyes.
The first time you spammed my blog with your ignorance, you compared me to a certain evil relative of mine. But Zekey Boy, you would have no interest in what I have to say if you actually believed I was anything like him. You’d be too disturbed to come back for more, even if you were being paid.
Even putting the subject of my evil relative aside, just in general if you thought I was crazy, you wouldn’t find my writings to be funny, you would actually find them too annoying to bother reading. You’d be plain uninterested. I sure as hell don’t read “flat-Earth” blogs. Same concept.
In other words, if I was the internet equivalent of a madman shouting his lunatic ravings on a street corner, you would just walk on by, figuratively speaking. But instead, you keep coming back for more, pretending to think of me as a madman on a street corner. You know I’m far more intelligent than you are, and that is also something that you can’t stand.
You have an emotional need for feminism to be a viable ideology. You have an emotional need to think my ex-wife is a wonderful person simply because she has tits and she can tell a good sob story. You are just like me during the final days of my being a Christian. I bashed and bashed and bashed the theory of evolution until 18-year-old me finally woke up one morning and realized I was deep in denial. With you, Zekey Boy, it’s the same situation, though involving a totally different subject matter.
You read my content because you respect me, while trying to pretend you don’t. You’re just trying to score points with my ex-wife so that she keeps fucking you. Maybe she hasn’t fucked you yet and you’re working hard to make sure that happens someday. Either way, you’re a simp.
And simps are boys, not men.
In your most recent comment, you put your fake username as “Real man” and you even entered a fake email address: email@example.com. Haha, that’s a good one. And this is even more evidence you know the things I say regarding feminism are correct. You went from putting “real man” in quotes, as if to mock the concept, to full-blown making it your username.
Probably all just a façade to make yourself look respectable, and to cover up the fact it was you, but eh, it’s fun to laugh at this too. You were probably just being an adult child, thinking, “Yeah I’ll put “manlyman69″ to show him I’m a real man, then I’ll call him chubby and weird. Yeah, that’ll get to him!” My god you have growing up to do, Zekey Boy.
When you have a child and you fully commit to that child, more than you commit to money, or pussy, or being a White Savior, then you call yourself a real man.
When every single day of your life requires waking up early either to go to work, or to be with your child, and you take no days off from either of these, just so that you can give your child the best life you can give them, then you can call yourself a real man.
When you’re too exhausted to keep preparing meals for your child, or to even go out and do something fun with your child, but you still do those things anyway, for their sake, then you can call yourself a real man.
When easy girls want you to sleep with them, basically meaning you can have easy sex whenever you want, and you put that easy sex at the bottom of your priority list, or even remove it from your priority list altogether, then you can call yourself a real man.
When you stop simping for girls who aren’t worth a damn, then you can call yourself a real man.
When you know of the dangers that exist in the world, such as black market organ harvesters, child molesters, and serial killers, and you are fully prepared to defend your child to your last breath to make sure none of these monsters can get to them, then you can call yourself a real man.
What exactly are you living for right now, Zeke? Anything at all? I would bet a lot of money that the only thing you even have to live for right now is just being a lunatic left-wing activist who, like ALL the rest of them, doesn’t understand reality. Your greatest treasure right now is probably your ridiculous hair. I already know you think getting laid is some kind of achievement, because if getting laid came easy to you, it wouldn’t be a priority, and getting laid is the ONLY reason you would be blind to the kind of person my ex-wife really is. You’re not blinded by love, like I was. You’re just pathetic and hate yourself for it.
Could you take a dangerous man in a fight? You look like you’d collapse after one punch. You look like you’d go crying to mommy.
So, keep it up. I’m completely serious – no sarcasm – please keep it up. I like having devoted fans. You’re not my only one, but you are my favorite by far. I like how you openly display what a child you are, with your obsession and with all your childish insults like calling me an autistic weirdo. (You can name-call better than that. Try again.)
You’re not a man, you’re just a boy.
You’re just Zekey Boy.