How Social Media Works (An Autistic View In Five Simplified Rules)

1. Pick a social group.

Southern Baptist, Republican, Democrat, Evangelical, or a combination of multiple groups (a cross section, like in a Venn Diagram).

People, by nature, seem to exist in groups. You may think of them as tribes, or herds, much like other animals. They do not exist well in isolation, being social creatures. They have formed, over the millennia, multiple long-lived groups, such as Conservatives, Liberals, Christians, Evangelical Christians, Buddhists, Mormons, and countless others. They have further subdivided their groups into categories like American Football fans, NASCAR fans, Basketball fans, car lovers, and foodies. You may pick a group based on where it exists in the list of available groups. It may be a simple group (for example, gender based only). Or it may be a complicated group (white, motorcycle loving, Southern Baptist, defense contractors). The idea is to pick the group you wish to become a member of.

2. Learn the values of that group.

What that group believes is appropriate behavior. What it believes is inappropriate behavior. Politics. Religion. Science. And all the rest.

Learn the rules of the group. What the members of the group believe (political beliefs, religious beliefs). Their perspective on medical science (for example, do vaccines work, or are they harmful), technology (Do they use Apple computers, or Windows computers? Do they use Apple phones, or Samsung phones), transportation (Do they drive trucks, SUVs, or cars? Do they ride motorcycles? Do they use public transportation?), Climate Change (Is it caused by humans, or is it a natural event?) Spend time studying the group to learn what it believes.

3. Behave like any other member of that group.

Once you know the rules of the group, the appropriate and inappropriate behaviors, implement them in your daily existence. If your group prays at each meal, even in restaurants, then you must do that too. If your group is anti-vax, then you must become anti-vax too. If your group believes the sky is clear (transparent), and not blue, then you must believe the sky is clear too.

4. Recruit new members to the group.

Upon finding anyone who is not a member of that group, attempt to entice them into membership.

The group can only survive as a group if it’s membership grows, or at least remains constant. People grow old, and they die. You will need to replace these people, or the group will eventually run out of members. People move, and lose contact with the group. Again, you must replace these people to sustain the group. If the group is to thrive, it must also grow, meaning you must recruit new members at a faster rate than existing members depart the group.

Pretend they are welcome. Pretend you value their perspectives. Pretend you value them. Pretend you like them, and appreciate them, as an individual. Anything to bring them into the group. Once they are in the group, then commence the conversion process, to complete their transition from a heathen non-member to a full, functional member.

5. Maintain group purity.

Upon finding anyone who does not agree with that group, isolate them, and scream at them about how awful they are until they go away. Maintain the purity of the group.

If someone disagrees with the group, clearly they are wrong. You must point out to them how wrong they are. You must relentlessly beat them, verbally, over the head until they admit they are wrong, and change. If they are unable to admit they are wrong and change, you must hound them about their failures, and mistakes, and how wrong their perspectives are until they can no longer stand to be associated with you, and leave you alone, and give up all contact with the group you are a member of.


The Mono-culture.

A friend of mine said, only a few days ago, “Tbh, I’m getting really tired of how consistently disabled people – 20% of Americans, btw – are overlooked & forgotten in convos around inclusion/diversity/marginalized communities.”

I could be simple, and say, “I know.” And nod my head a lot. And let it go. But, that’s not me. That’s not who I am. Because, to be honest, I know why things are this way. I know why people behave this way. Of course, being autistic, I have fits trying to put what I know into words, and explain it so others can even vaguely understand what I’ve said.

And, like a lot of us autistic people, I don’t take defeat lightly, so I keep trying. And trying. And trying. The results is this little note.

There are several clues I can give others so they may begin to understand what is in my brain cells, and how I see this particular behavior pattern happening. I’ll try to number them, and make a list of them.

1. “Out of sight, out of mind.” Now, don’t take this literally. We all know you can think about things that you can’t physically see. That’s not what this really means, and everybody knows it. This means, if you don’t have to live with it, you don’t think about it. It becomes invisible to you.

Look at the bathrooms in your house. If someone was bound to a wheelchair, would they be able to use the toilet? Or the shower? Or the sink? If you have upstairs and downstairs bathrooms, would they be able to even get to the one(s) upstairs?

Look at your SUV/Truck/Car. Can someone who can’t walk get into, and out of, your vehicle? Can the open the door? Can the climb into the seat? Can they reach the ignition, the steering wheel, the gas and brake pedals?

How about where you work? Can someone with a cane, who can’t always lift their feet very well, and has balance problems, function in your work environment? Can they reach everything at the workstation, the computer, the keyboard, the monitor, the desk lighting? Can they use the desk drawers, if there are any? Can they even use the chair?

“Out of sight, out of mind.” You don’t see it. It’s not something you think about, because it doesn’t exist in your daily life? But, what about that person who needs to use a cane to walk? That person who has to use a walker? The one who is unable to walk? Do they think about it? Yes. Because, for them, it’s something they encounter endlessly. Every hour of every day. Forever. They are faced with being unable to do something everyone else takes for granted.

And none of us notice. Because. “Out of sight, out of mind.”

2. The mono-culture. I once told someone that to me, everyone was the same. Everyone was alike. She had a fit,, and informed me how different everyone was. Because. She was, and probably is, part of the mono-culture. Oh, I know all the arguments. “I have blue hair with black highlights. I’m not like them.” Or perhaps, “I drive a Tesla, instead of a Ford F-350 dualie pickup truck. I’m not like them.” Or even, “I don’t even own a car. I’m not like them.”

I could rattle off thousands of such trivialities. They are details. Decorations on the cake, if you will. A Chevy Camaro is a Chevy Camaro, even if it’s got pitch black trim, and screaming purple paint, and chrome side pipes. It’s still a Camaro.

A cake is still a cake. Devils Food, Chocolate, Butter Cream, Lemon. I don’t care. It’s all cake. A taco is a taco. A burrito is a burrito. Chicken is chicken. So, you eat it raw. It’s still chicken. So, you go out on the farm, grab the chicken, lop off its head, pull off the feathers, and chow down right there. It’s still chicken. Or maybe you go to Kentucky Fried Chicken, and have chicken tenders. It’s still chicken.

That’s the problem with a mono-culture. Those living in it can’t even see it. To them it doesn’t exist. Oh, look. There’s reason #1 again. “Out of sight, out of mind.”

3. Dual Standards. This is exactly what it says it is. And every last person I know has dual standards. Some more than others. But we all have them. I have them. You have them. Your 13 year old child has them.

“The law is the law!” Well. Of course. Except when you’re driving. Because. That 45 mile per hour speed limit is, well. Stupid. Especially on that road.

“The law is the law!” Unless it’s you who got the ticket for driving while intoxicated. In that case, it’s time to get a lawyer, and go to court, and see if you can straighten out the police and the courts.

“The law is the law!” Except when you can’t find a place to park, so you park in the handicapped parking space, and tell yourself, “I’ll only be a minute. And besides. There’s no one here that needs it anyway.”

“The law is the law!” Except in your residential neighborhood, where you can drive however you want, and even hit 40 or 50 on the roads. But may God help any other person you see driving that way in your neighborhood.

There’s that “Out of sight, out of mind” thing again. Everyone is this way. So, it’s OK. We don’t even notice when we do these things. There’s that mono-culture thing again. Everyone else does the same thing, so it’s not wrong.

I could continue this for ages. But I won’t. Instead, I’ll stop at these three simple concepts. Do you wish to understand why 20% of those in the USA are forgotten, and overlooked? Read these three concepts again. Then, look for them in your daily existence.

I’ll be honest. I don’t expect you to notice them. They are woven into our existence. They are like breathing. We don’t notice breathing. We don’t notice these things happening around us, all the time.

It’s how our macro-organism called “US Society” works. Why change it? “It’s not a problem for me.”

Which pretty much sums up everything, doesn’t it.


Merry Fucking Christmas.

I’ll start this as bluntly, and honestly as I can. I’m a documented Autistic. Period. What does this mean? Let me tell you, in no uncertain terms, what this means. The GOP and the Democratic parties, as well as the Green Party, Libertarian Party, and all the other political parties, want me dead.

It’s that blunt. It’s that real. It’s that true. Because. I’m Autistic. I’m not like them. They don’t like me, because they don’t understand me. They don’t like me because I do things for reasons they can’t figure out. They don’t like me because they can’t say to me, “You can’t be that way! You can’t do those things!” and expect me to understand what they mean.

Because I’m different. I’m not like them. As a result. I need to be fixed. I need to be cured. Or, lacking a cure, dead. Because, that way, the world works like they do.

I carry an unbelievable amount of rage and hatred toward the political parties. And toward religions. Not Southern Baptists. Not Methodists. Not Roman Catholics. Not Muslims. Not any single religion. But toward all of them. Every last religion. For the exact same reason that I hate the parties. Because I’m different. I’m not like them. And they insist on believing they can beat me in to being like them.

And if I can’t be made over in their image, I can be burned at the stake.

My brother never asked me why I walked away from religion. From every last organized religion in this world. Now, my brother has an answer.

None of them want to save me. Not a single religion wants to save me. Every last religion wants to destroy me. To turn me into a mindless drone who understands the world one way only. Every last religion is, at its core, 100% intolerant of those, like me, who are different.

Let me ask, what’s the first thing that comes to mind when you learn someone is an Autistic?

That’s what I hate. That’s why I’m angry. That’s why I walked away from your churches, and religions. You don’t want a cure. You don’t want us to be happy. Or educated. Or successful. Or anything else.

You want Autism gone. 100% gone. All traces of it. Ever last Autistic on the planet. You want us gone. Because we are different. We don’t fit into your well defined world. We don’t think like you. We don’t feel the same way you do about anything. We are different. That makes us, in your world, defective, and in need of erasure.

If we can be cured, that’s the best solution. Eliminate the difference medically, genetically, so that the entire tree of Autism ceases to exist. And in a generation, all the Autistics already out there will die out of old age.

In any other perspective, any other way of looking at the problem that Autism represents to your societies, that’s called genocide. The murder of an entire people. Because they aren’t like you. It’s the same thing Hitler tried with the Jewish people. The same thing that happened in Serbia. The same thing that ISIS has tried in the Middle East.

You’ll scream. You’ll holler. You’ll stomp your feet. You’ll justify the genocide as curing an illness.

Who gives a fuck what Autistic people think? They’re Autistic. They’re sick. They’re defective. They need to be fixed.

That’s exactly what I live with, every day, on your world. The knowledge, the truth, that you want me, and everyone like me, dead. Gone. Non-existent. So your world can be more like you. So you will have one less difference to deal with. One less need to change yourselves, and grow into a more diverse, more educated, more tolerant, and more healthy people.

This is why I walked away from your churches. From your religions.

You want me dead. You want everyone like me dead.

And you pray, each night, to your God, for a cure for Autism, so all the Autistic people can be normal. Just like you.

Genocide. By any other name. Justified. In the name of God.

And you wonder why I walked away from your religions.

I. Can’t. Make. It. Stop…

It is not my way to share words I have written, other than those that are fiction, created by thoughts, and all kinds of dreams, of worlds, and events that have never happened, and will never be.

But, there are those who wish to understand what drives me. What causes me to behave the way I behave. And it’s shockingly simple to understand. And while many would say it’s simple to fix, and correct, I know it’s not.

What follows is the best description you will ever have of me. The best answer to the question, “Why?”

Something I never told you. And part of what’s causing all this.

Brother David, and Mom, and Dad, screamed at each other. Seriously. They fought. I can remember hiding in my room, back in middle and high schools. And putting my headphones on. And turning the volume up until I couldn’t hear anything but the music. To drown out them fighting again.

And now, I’m dealing with endless screaming on Facebook. And it’s digging up old wounds that I buried a long time ago.

It doesn’t have anything to do with the topics, really. When you get down to the root causes, it has to do with how I deal with conflict.

I don’t deal with conflict.

I will literally walk away, and never come back, to avoid conflict. Because. Screaming. Stop. The. Screaming. Fighting. Stop. The. Fighting. Raw. Ragged. Emotions.

I have to escape. I have no option here. I have to escape.

This is what’s happening with me, right now. Everywhere I look. Every day. At work. At home. On social media. On the radio. At dinner out. At breakfast out. It’s everywhere. I can’t escape. I can’t.

And I’m at a loss for what to do. Because. All I can do is put on my headphones. And turn up the volume. And drown out the world.

So I can’t hear the conflict anymore. So the parts of me that are gone. The parts that are permanently damaged. So I can’t and don’t have to face them.

I keep hearing the fights I heard when I was growing up. Every time these topics show up. And I know I can’t do anything. I can’t leave. I couldn’t leave then. I can’t reason with anyone. I couldn’t then. I can’t fix things. I couldn’t then.

And I’m searching. Seeking. Hunting. Desperately. And more desperately all the time. For a way to make the noise stop. For a way to make the screaming stop.

I. Can’t. Make. It. Stop…

Miranda Kate’s Mid-Week Challenge : 2018/09/12

“Oh, I love that lawn sculpture!”

I smiled at Barbara, and tried not to laugh. “Yes. It looks like a sculpture, doesn’t it.”

“Like a long, snake-like dragon.” She walked toward the head of it. “I mean. Look at the detail. Wow.”

All I could do was shake my head. “Barbara, Barbara, Barbara. Haven’t I explained you’re not on Earth anymore?”

That was the problem with people when they crossed over. They saw familiar sights everywhere, so they acted like everything was normal. Like it was just another Saturday visiting a neighbor. “Oh, well. If I must explain.”

I carefully guided her gaze to look straight at me. “Who am I?”

“Kevin.” There was no doubt in her response.

“How old are you.”

“I’m 83.”

“How old was Kevin when you last saw him?”

“Kevin was 24.” Barbara stared hard at me. I could see her trying to understand what it all meant.

“OK. I’m Kevin. At 24 I shot myself in the head. Remember. I’ve been dead, dead, dead since you were 25, haven’t I.”

She had this baffled look. “But…”

“Barbara. You died at 83. From old age. You had a happy life. Now, you’re here, beyond the veil. And you’re able to see so much more than you could.”

“What does that mean?”

“Means I’ve been here for 58 years, and you’ve been here for a couple of hours. That’s what it means.” I shrugged, “I’d show you what you look like in a mirror, but mirrors don’t work here.”

I held out my hands, and looked at them. “Damn, my hands look good for me being 82. Just like they did when I was 24.” I took her hands, and held them out for her to look at. “But. You’re hands don’t look like they did yesterday, do they.”


“Face it, Barb. Those are not 83 year old hands. Not even close.”

She held them out, and studied them. “But…”

“You’re not in Kansas anymore, you know. So, you have to learn new rules.” I pointed at what she thought was a long, snake like dragon sculpture. “This? This is a lawn snake. They eat bugs. Lots and lots of bugs. You’ll find everybody has one.”

“Lawn snake?”

“Yeah. They come out at night. In daylight, they look like this,” I pointed at it. “After the sun sets, it’ll start moving again. When it does, we’ll want to be inside. Lawn snakes have damn sharp teeth.”


“Yep. They eat bugs.”

“What… Kind… Of… Bugs…”

“What kind of bugs would something this freaking huge eat?” I sighed.

“But, if I’m dead. Isn’t this heaven?”

“Yeah. There it is. That heaven crap.”


“Yeah. We all teach ourselves about heaven, with no worries, and all goodie, goodie, happy, happy.”

I thought she was going to cry right then.

“It’s just the next step of life. You stay in the world you came from until you are ready to be here. Then, when it’s time, you come to this world, and have to start the next level of learning about life.”

She stared at the Lawn Snake.

“Lawn snake?”

“Yes, Barb.” I looked at the horizon. “Well, the sun’s starting to set. Time to go inside. We can watch it bug hunt from inside, where it’s safe, and it won’t hurt us.”

I thought, “Happens every time. Have to welcome a friend, and explain how everything they knew about the afterlife was totally wrong. All because of some silly dream people have of a place called heaven.”

581 words

This is written for Week 71 of Miranda Kate‘s Mid-Week Challenge. Yep, I’m a week late with it. So what. I had fun writing this. You can read about Miranda’s small fiction challenge here. Please, go read Miranda’s short tale this week, and any others that showed up. The tales are always little works of art, crafted with words, meant to be shared, and enjoyed. And many of them are amazing.

It Amazes Me How Many Stupid Men Are Out There…

Now, I don’t want to single out women as causing all the problems. They certainly don’t, and they certainly aren’t. As anyone who is familiar with me knows, I tend to shake my head, and quietly say, with unbelief in my tone, “Jesus. Men really are that stupid, aren’t they…”

I have a friend. She’s cute. Pretty smile. Pretty eyes. Lives in the UK. And it amazes me that not one guy over there has decided she’s his best friend. Not one! She’s smart. She’s creative. She’s fun to talk with. And yet, not one guy in the UK has found her, and decided, “She is the friend I’ve always wanted! The one I’ll take to the movies. To the football games. For walks along the white chalk cliffs. To look at the flowers somewhere. She’s the one I’ll sit next to on the sofa, and watch BBC News as we talk about how insane this whole Brexit thing is. And we’ll just be best friends!”

Why? Why hasn’t some guy in the UK figured this out? Why isn’t some guy in the UK doing this with her?


Men really are that stupid, aren’t they…

I have a friend. She’s a knockout. My God, that woman is gorgeous! But. I love to chat with her. About things. About stuff that goes wrong, like when someone brings in a computer for repair, and goes off the deep end when they learn the Manufacturer’s Warranty does not cover a cracked screen. About how the day went. Was it good? Did the physical pain from the chronic illness let up today? Did you get any rest? About doctors, and how they don’t know all the answers, despite all their years of training, and practice. About books, and authors, and how great some of them are. And how some of them should never have made it into print. We talk about everything. Including family cats, and dogs, and even turtles.

And I find it infuriating to me, how many people no longer talk with her. How she got physically ill, and can’t work, and spends her days at her home, wishing she didn’t have to feel the pain she lives with, didn’t have to hurt like she hurts.

And I wonder why other guys don’t talk with her. Don’t spend time sending her messages. Yes, she’s married. That doesn’t mean no one should talk with her. Yes, she’s chronically ill. That’s no reason to ignore her.

Why? Why haven’t other guys figured out she wants friends to talk with. To simply spend time communicating with? Why haven’t guys figured this out?


Men really are that stupid. They are. Holy crap. It’s unbelievable.

I’ve lost count of the number of divorced women I know, and I count them as good friends. I wonder sometimes, what the fuck did the guy do that she left him? How could the guy be that kind of special stupid that she left him? How could he be so blind to her feelings, her heart, her soul, the things she dreams, and wants, and needs. That she gave up on him, and left.

But, there’s more to it than that. There’s other guys that are now divorced. Because. They treated her like a possession. Something they own. Like a frickin’ car, or truck. An object. Not a person. Not a human being with a heart, soul, and emotions. It because, “Now that I’m off from work, which frustrates me endlessly, and there’s nothing I can do about that, I can go home, and let all my emotions out, and unload on the wife.”




I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve heard such words. Terrifying words. “Well. He owns a gun, you know. So, even though I didn’t want to, I did what he wanted. Because. Well. He owns a gun, you know.”

“Yes, he hit me. It’s better that he hit me the our little girl. I have to protect her from him?”

I’m like, “Wait! Isn’t he her father? And he’s a threat to her? What the fuck is wrong with him?”

And what the fuck is this dick pic shit all about? Guys. Seriously? Seriously? Sending pictures of it to strange women, or even women you work with, or know? Without them asking for them? That’s a special kind of brain damage, isn’t it?

I’ve been learning about mansplaining. And gaslighting. And I find they further illustrate the level of stupidity men have embraced. Guys. Explaining astrophysics to an astrophysicist when you barely got that Bachelor’s Degree in Business Marketing is like you’re three year old son telling you how to write a novel. And it makes you look every bit as intelligent. Innocent, and flat damn stupid. And you know it.

There are reasons too many guys are frickin’ divorced, and living lonely lives, searching the internet and fueling the growth of the porn industry, and the human trafficking market. Because.

Men. They really are that flat damn stupid.


Time For Me To Fight Back

Let’s talk who is to blame, here. No. Really. Let’s talk who is at fault. Who did NOT do what they should have done. And let’s start with the infamous case of Brock Turner, of Stanford University, in Stanford, California.

Am I to blame for the actions this disgusting individual took? I’m asking an honest question here. Because there are plenty of voices, almost every one of them women, who have informed me that I am. That I’m a white guy, and so I’m partly to blame.

So. Let me put this realistically. I live in Virginia Beach, VA. Brock Turner did his antics in Stanford, California. If I start right now, and drive non stop until I get there, Google Maps says I will drive 45 hours and something minutes, and over 3 thousand miles before I get there to stop Mr. Turner from doing whatever he decides to do on the spur of the moment.

Clearly, there was no way I could have stopped him once he got started. I’d have arrived about two days after the fact. So, saying I didn’t stop him makes as much sense to me as saying I didn’t prevent Donald Trump from saying the magic words, “Grab her by the pussy.”

I didn’t stop either person. I physically could not have. At the time they did what they did, I was hundreds, of not thousands of miles away from them. Hell, I never heard the name “Brock Turner” until he turned up on MSN news. I never even knew he existed. And if not for the news, I would still have no idea who he is.

But, apparently I’m at least partly to blame for what he did. So says the logic of the argument that’s been used to beat me over the head.

I did not raise him. I did not teach him. I did not live anywhere near him. I had no influence on him, or his development. I had no contact with his parents. Or any of his relatives. I did not attend any churches he attended. I did not attend any social activities he attended. I did not work with him. The man, very literally, did not exist, as far as I am concerned, until his name showed up on MSN News one day.

But, you see. I’m a white guy. So, clearly, I contributed to his behavior, and I certainly didn’t do enough to condemn it.

Let’s talk blame here. Seriously. Let’s talk who is responsible for the behavior of Roy Moore. A white guy. And an apparent pedophile. Roy Moore is 70 years old. That’s 12 years older than I am. Clearly. I was not involved in raising him. Nor was I involved in teaching him how to behave. The man was a high school graduate when I was a six year old boy in first grade.

Let’s go further, why not? I first heard of Roy Moore after Donald Trump was elected President. That’s right. I never heard of Roy Moore prior to 2017. I should also say it’s very likely I would not have heard of Roy Moore at all if it wasn’t for Donald Trump’s election. Because, that election precipitated the events that lead to Mr. Moore making national headlines for his indiscretions with underage girls. I should also mention that those indiscretions occurred quite a few years prior to the headlines of the past few months.

But, it would seem, once again, that as a white guy, I’m at least partly to blame for Mr. Moore’s actions. Either because I didn’t stop him. Or I didn’t visit Alabama to straighten his ass out. Or I didn’t show up on his doorstep with a gun, and an arrest warrant when he thought with his dick, and not his brain, however many years ago it was.

Let’s keep this process alive, shall we? Yes, it’s clearly pissing you off. Because it’s clearly blowing holes all through the argument that I’m to blame for the actions of other white men.

Let’s talk about someone who was once on my Facebook Friends list. They had a rough time. I know that. I didn’t know they were having a rough time when it was happening. Let’s be honest, here. The only contact I’ve ever had with them is through text exchanged through Facebook, and Twitter. Outside of that, they may as well live in Agrabah, the fictional Disney city of Princess Jasmine, from the movie Aladdin. Because I have never encountered them outside of Facebook and Twitter. And now that they’ve departed the United States, the odds of me having my foot run over in a parking lot by a snooty dude driving a Maserati are better than the odds of me meeting them.

Turns out they had an ex husband. One who owned a gun. One who wasn’t a nice guy. One who abused them.

Turns out, somehow, because I’m a white guy, I’m partly to blame for the actions of that guy, their ex husband.

Yeah. I can’t figure that one out either. Hell, I don’t even know who the guy is. Or where he lives, other than to say he’s probably somewhere between the Atlantic Ocean, and the Mississippi River, in the United States.

But, you see. I didn’t teach him how to behave. I didn’t teach him how to be a real man. I didn’t teach him how to treat other people, especially women. I didn’t teach him to respect the wishes of women, or their privacy, or their needs. I did not teach him when to physically approach a woman, and when to back away from one. I did not teach them to go out of his way to illustrate to a woman that she is safe, and will always be safe, around him.

So, it seems I’m partly to blame for the things he did. Because. I’m part of the system, you see. Part of what’s wrong with US Society. I’m a white guy. And that’s all there is to it.

As a person who has asked, more than once, and more than one woman, “Am I doing anything wrong? Am I doing something I shouldn’t do? Have I done anything that made you uncomfortable?” Having declared I wanted them to be safe, and if it helped I’d keep a wall, a desk, a partition, a table, or other hefty physical object between us, so they would know I wasn’t a threat. Having shoved my hands in my pockets, and backed away from women, more than once. Having completely left, completely removed myself from someone’s presence, permanently, to keep that someone safe, and to guarantee they would always feel safe from me.

Having done these things.

It’s so very apparent it’s my fault that other white men have grown into slimes who need to be staked out in the desert to learn what true sunburn is, and to experience just how bad sunburn can get.

You want to know why I’ve become an angry white man?

I just told you.

Read this again.

Then tell me I have no right to be angry. And tell me how ALL men are responsible.

And just remember. It’s because you endlessly beat me over the head with declarations of my guilt, and declarations of my responsibility for the truly disturbing things that happened to you, and declarations that I needed to be put in jail (No. Literally. That’s been said to me. More than you know. Far more than you know.) just because I’m a privileged, racist, sexist, misogynistic white man. And made to pay for all the crimes of every white man.

And all this, despite trying everything I know to try, learning everything I can learn, and doing the best I can, to keep women safe around me, and around others?

You want to know why I’ve become an angry white man?

Read this again.