Maybe If Real Women Would Talk to Me, I Wouldn’t Get So Worked Up Over Cartoon Ones

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The following editorial was submitted to Alternative Facts by William Terwilliger Jones, a popular Bible Belt podcaster. Mr. Terwilliger Jones is the host of “Christ-y White Shit,” a podcast that discusses modern American Christianity through a lens of pro-Trump white nationalism. The views and opinions expressed below are solely his, and do not necessarily reflect those of this publication, its ownership, or staff.

Do you know what I am just absolutely sick to death with? Smug liberals sneering at and mocking me because I happen to point out that the Green M&M’s changing appearance is another cog in the wheel invented by George Soros to destroy the Traditional, White, Christian Nuclear Family.

I’m tired beyond the point of all reason with elitist libtards making fun of me just because I might like the musk of my first cousin’s That time of the Month undergarments, believe that bamboo ballots costed our Dear Real President his second rightful term, or if I happen to know that God made Minnie Mouse with a dress on, and that it’s sinful as sinful can be to remove that dress (unless you’re about to fuck that Lady Mouse).

SIDE NOTE: If you are about to befoul my sweet Minnimus Q. Mousersmith, you had better be a Jesus Christ fearing, bacon eating, good ol’ boy Son of Nathan Bedford Forrest, and most importantly, A GOD-MADE MAN. AND STRAIGHTER THAN I FEEL WHEN I WATCH “MAGIC MIKE XXL” FOR THE SIXTEENTH TIME FOR RESEARCH PURPOSES.

I will die, literally die, before I let the Woke Forces of George Soros’  Cancel Culture Antifa Squad of Commie Socialism take away Minnie’s dress AND make her LGT-BBQ! NOT ON MY WATCH!

They tell me, with their arrogant, coastal elite, joking tone, that I should stop worrying about cartoon women. They tell me I must have too much time, in addition to my flaccid, angry man-meat, on my hands. They tell me to get a life, get a hobby, and to stop trying to control what fictional cartoon characters, who aren’t even human, dress like.

Well, guess what? Maybe if real women would talk to me, I wouldn’t get so worked up over cartoon ones, libs.

If you look at it, this all traces back to the 19th Amendment. Give them the right to vote, and the next thing you know, they don’t want you sexualizing cartoon mice or candies anymore. It’s just a one-two-three step process:

  1. Right to vote.
  2. Abortion on demand.
  3. Desexualizing cartoons.

For centuries, men and women understood one thing about each other: You can’t understand women. And you can’t trust anyone you don’t understand. Using that amazingly sound logic, we can see why it was necessary to keep women relegated to where we could keep our eyes on them: in the kitchen.

If we had politicians in this country with true courage, they’d pass laws requiring at least one winsome lass to speak to me each day.

Then, maybe I wouldn’t have this festering anger toward every vag-haver in the world, living or dead. Maybe I’d be more willing to listen to arguments that the government has no business telling their overly emotional little selves when and where to have babies. But, no, they have so-called freedom of choice, the end result of which seems to be me hate-spanking it to Rachel Maddow’s show.

So, the ball’s in your court, libs. Force women to talk to me, or hear me complain every time some corporate mascot changes its look and it makes me want to fuck it less.

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