The United States of Feminism Synopsis

The United States of Feminism Synopsis

Journey with Paul, a high-functioning Schizophrenic/alcoholic as he wades through the piss and shit in America’s sewer: Northern California.  Surrounded by moronic men who consistently crash and burn trying to keep up with his drinking habit, Paul turns instead to women to ease the pain of his isolation.  But of course, the women are worse.  And as Paul realizes he’s living in the United States of Feminism, that ALL WOMEN ARE LIKE THAT, he begins to stand up for himself and say “No” to women’s demands.  Consequently, his relationships go from bad to worse, leading Paul to eventually come to the only logical conclusion – he has to go MGTOW.

Read the novella, The United States of Feminism - Why I Went MGTOW by Paul Lynn here:

http://mokesnapcentral.blogspot.com/2017/05/the-united-states-of-feminism-why-i.html

POTATO CHIP DANDRUFF

POTATO CHIP DANDRUFF

               The online dating thing came around again for me a few months after the one night stand and I got lucky.  Some girl liked me – for some reason.  I guess she didn’t notice my fucked up eye and my crooked nose.  She had weird teeth so maybe she figured we were about even.  I loved her teeth.

               We would be lying in bed in the early morning and she would look like an angel with her hair all messed up.  One day I noticed the biggest piece of dandruff I had ever seen in her hair.  It was like a beautiful snowflake.  It was just hanging there delicately on a strand of her hair, gigantic and tempting me like it was a potato chip.  I carefully picked it out of her head, intact.  It didn’t break or crumple into pieces.  She woke up and saw me, horrified.

               I looked at her and looked at the dandruff and looked back at her.  Right when she screamed I put it in my mouth, and paused to enjoy the salty flavor before I swallowed it.  She got over it when I gave her a back massage and then I just noticed this dead, dried out zit on her back.  I considered it as I rubbed her shoulders.  She wouldn’t like it, but it would just take a second and probably wouldn’t hurt much.  It was agonizing as the dead skin stared back at me.  Finally I couldn’t take it anymore and I used my finger nail to scratch it off and I ate it.

               “Nooooooo!” she screamed and tried to keep me from eating it, but I jumped out of bed, stuck my tongue out at her and placed the dead zit in my mouth so she could see it before I swallowed it and smiled.

               “If you do it again we’re breaking up!” she pouted.

               “Please, baby,” I came to her bedside and kneeled.  “Please, you don’t understand.  You have the most attractive dandruff ever.  I’ve never seen dandruff flakes that large, I have to eat them.”

               “You’re an asshole,” she gave me the pouty face again. 

               She broke up with me a week later.

               “Is it because of the dandruff thing?”

               “I met someone with bigger balls,” she said.  “I love big balls, they’re hot.”

               I scratched my head and wondered if she was telling the truth or not.  It’s a shame.  Somebody else gets to eat her potato chip dandruff now.

               It’s all my Mother’s fault.  She used to chase me around the house after I was peeling from a sun burn.  Sometimes I would stand obediently and let her peel me.  She loved getting a big piece that didn’t break.  Eventually I got tired of it and would run to the bathroom and lock the door.  Then she would shout to my Dad and he would come stomping toward the bathroom and order me to open the door and let my Mom peel my skin.

               “No!” I shouted back at him.  “It’s my skin!”

               And thus my Chimp Grooming Fetish began.  I guess it spiraled out of control because apparently you shouldn’t eat your girlfriend’s dandruff but I can’t help it.

GAPING BUTTHOLE STANK

GAPING BUTTHOLE STANK

 

              She convinced me to come over again.  We shagged doggy style and that was the first time I noticed her butthole.  It was gaping, had obviously been re-sewed together after child birth or something.  That’s sort of an odd time to ask, “Hey, what’s up with the kid thing?  I saw your butthole and . . .”

               I tried not to vomit, I really did.  But I exited the situation and retreated to the bathroom.  I didn’t make it to the toilet but I got it in the sink.

               She came to comfort me on the floor.  I guess she didn’t know.

               I said, “I drank too much!”

               We tried to fuck again.  I don’t know if it was just boredom or what but she just had a way of seducing me.  Mainly she just kept the laughs coming, even if I was laughing at her more than I was laughing with her.  There’s just something about hanging out with people in the basements and the sewers and the trap houses that gives me a thrill.  People like to treat me like I’m garbage.  Usually I let them, mainly because it amuses me up to a point.

               So we were fucking doggy style again and I was looking at her exceptionally large anus.  The hole looked like a more reasonable fit than her cunt.  No stretching required with this one.  I bet I could just slip it right in.  I wondered what she would say.

               It stank.  I tried to focus on her ass cheeks.  I guess that was her selling point.  I don’t know.  It was hard to pay attention because that bulls’ eye just kept looking back at me.  It was so open.  It smelled like wood, like cigarettes.  It smelled like hoppy beer.

               When it was over I lied back down on the bed and watched her asshole as she left the room for a glass of water.  I took in the sight as well as the aroma.  I noticed her wizard sleeve hanging delicately like an arm of Dumbledore’s robe.

MY PUSSY WILL NOT BE SILENCED

MY PUSSY WILL NOT BE SILENCED

               We were hanging out another day and she excused herself to get into something more comfortable.  She came back in her nightgown and sat up on top of the dryer.  She beckoned me to come closer to her and despite some slight feeling that I was walking into a trap, I consented and joined her.  She looked at me seductively.  She had a way of showing me with her eyes that she wanted to be kissed.

               “Do you want to see my pussy?” she said.

               “Huh?”

               “Do-you-want-to-see-my-pussy?” she said it slowly, condescendingly.

               “I-I don’t know, um…”

               She took that as a yes.  “Do you want to smell my pussy?”

               “What?” I said and instinctively looked around the garage.  What could she possibly mean?

               With that she hiked up her nightgown and showed me it.  She had shaved.  Her clit stared back at me, a hooded crustacean missing its exoskeleton.

               “Can you smell it now?” she asked in a soft voice.  “Can you smell my pussy juices?”

               “I-um,” I stammered. She gave me a look that seemed to indicate that she was challenging me.  Finally I blurted out, “Do you think it’s going bad?”

               She fingered her labia, her clitoris and eventually a piece of white something or other emerged from her folds.  She pinched it between her thumb and index finger and removed it.  She rolled it around between her finger and thumb, rolled it into a substantial, white ball.

               “Do you like cream cheese on your bagel?” she asked before putting the ball in her mouth.  She seemed to savor the experience before clarifying her question, “Do you want to taste my pussy?”

               I just stared at her in horror.

               “Do you want to hear my pussy?” she asked and leaned back, trying to show me a better angle.  The smell started to come.

               “What are you talking about?” I shook my head, confused and exasperated.

               She queefed:  “Ppppppmmmmmmptff.”  It was talking.  Her cunt was talking to me.

               “Do you want to,” she said, and queefed again before continuing, “Do you want to hear my pussy?  It’s a serious question.”

               All I could do was look at her, look straight into her crazed, tractor beam eyes.  I was sucked in.

               “My pussy,” – queef, “will not,” – queef, “be…” – queef, “silenced.”

               Then she let out a long, slow one: “Buuuurrrrrrrrrrrrpppfmt.”

               “Now that you’ve heard my pussy,” she said, “will you feel my pussy?”

               “I’ve gotta go to sleep.”

               “Oh my god!” she yelled, and slapped me.  “You’re going to sleep on the ground, in the garage in, the cold!”

               So I walked home.  It was the only night it snowed in Sonoma County in fifteen years.

“FUCK MY CAT!”

  “FUCK MY CAT!”

              The next time we hung out it was in a group setting.  It was me, her, and her two friends - a couple.  The three of them were sitting on the couch across from me.  I was sitting in a chair across from my feminist friend.  She eventually, after a few beers, excused herself from the couch and retreated within the house, within her room to change into pajamas.  I thought that was odd but I like lounging around in pajama bottoms just as much as the next person.

               She came back a couple minutes later, not in pajama bottoms, but in a full-on adult-sized Onesie.  A Onesie is a pajama style jumpsuit.  This particular garment made her appear to be an over-grown child dressed as a cow.

               She said not a word, but leaned back, her back deep into the couch, and she angled her muff up at me.  I couldn’t believe it was happening.  I was like a deer stuck in the headlights.  She peered up at me from behind her fortress – her outspread legs, her hands on her calves, her cunt pointed straight at my face.

               I looked at the guy friend, the boyfriend of the couple, and I watched as he tried to keep himself from laughing.  I looked at the chick friend, the girlfriend, and she kept a face that was straight as an arrow.  I think she was secretly terrified about the situation and thought acting normal was the best policy.

               I looked back from the couple, to my feminist friend’s face, her eyes, back down to her vagina.  I couldn’t believe she was really doing this.

               “Why won’t you fuck me?” she said.

               “I don’t get it.”

               “I want you to rip a hole in the crotch of this fucking cow,” she demanded, “this crotch with my female orgasmic fluid, my period blood, my shit, my pee all fucking stained into it.  Rip a whole in this used piece of toilet paper, this tampon, this dirty diaper, tear a whole in this cum rag and fill my dirty pussy up with your tobacco flavored cum!”

               I dragged my cigarette.  I looked at her.  Then I said, “No.”

               She picked up her cat angrily.  I knew she was going to do something extreme so I ran out the front door and down the driveway into the court.  I looked back.  She was following me.  I picked up the pace.  She kept up.  Then, without warning, she chucked, hurled the cat at me and shouted in a pathetic feminine whine, “Fuck my cat!”

How I Killed Ray Lewis

How I Killed Ray Lewis

                I was walking to the drug store to buy toothpaste.  There’s a Starbucks next door.  I was walking pretty quickly because my cavities were starting to hurt again.  As I passed the Starbucks entrance a man opened the door and we bumped into each other.  His coffee went flying and some got on his scarf.  Initially, I thought the man was just some hipster what with the scarf he was wearing and his stupid fedora.  I was going to buy the man a new coffee.  But when he looked up at me I was surprised to see a face I knew.

                It was Ray Lewis, the ex-middle linebacker of the Baltimore Ravens.

                “Holy shit!” I said.  “You’re Ray Lewis.”

                He seemed to be pretty unforgiving about the coffee since I saw in his eyes a look of pure hatred.  Suddenly my long-term memory kicked in and I remembered that Ray Lewis had once faced a murder charge.  Apparently he may or may not have killed two people.

                Instinctively, I looked down at his belt and pockets to see if I could see a knife.  When I looked back up at his face he was even angrier.  So I ran - which makes sense because knife or no knife, there’s no way I can win in a fight against a middle linebacker.

                Why I thought I could outrun a middle linebacker . . . well, what was I supposed to do?  As I ran down the street I had visions of Patrick Willis chasing down that Arizona Cardinals wide receiver a few years back.  So I tried a new tactic.  I ran out into the street despite the heavy traffic.

                Of course Ray Lewis followed me.  You gotta give him credit.  Ray Lewis ain’t never scared.

                As I was dodging cars with Lewis in pursuit, I suddenly understood how Colin Kaepernick felt when the 49ers were in the Super Bowl and they were on the five yard line.  Colin could have tried to run the ball into the end zone for a touchdown to win the game but Ray Lewis would’ve got him.  And that guy may or may not be a murderer, so . . .

                He was closing in on me.  I guess he had done this sort of thing before.  So I tried a new tactic.

                I shouted back at him, “I’m a young white person!  This wouldn’t look good for you!”

                That gave him pause, and I guess distracted him enough for him to not notice that the #15 bus was about to hit him if he didn’t get out of the way.  Our eyes met but I don’t think he understood the look of horror on my face.

                The 15 hit him and he ricocheted into the path of a Toyota Tundra heading the opposite direction.  He flew up in the air and finally landed on the pavement.  There was blood everywhere.  I just stood there in the middle of the street.

                All I wanted was toothpaste.

                And that’s how I killed Ray Lewis.