Toxic Masculinity

Back in “the day,” as it were, I used to post on a video game message board. The other posters were grown ass men nearing their 40’s who never moved on from the Sega Genesis-Super Nintendo console wars (Sega was a perfect, gentle soul, and Nintendo were gay homos dragging America down a moral sewer), and still blamed Sony for the death of the Dreamcast. They were also extremely misogynist, racist, and homophobic. I wouldn’t be surprised if most, if not all, of them are proud Gamergate flag-bearers these days. I didn’t stick around this place long.

Anyways. One of them was having a serious crisis of conscience, and turned to his friends in his hour of need. You see, No More Heroes had just come out, and he really wanted to play it. The problem was that it was on the Nintendo Wii, which, as far as these guys were concerned, was a console that would turn you gay if you looked at it for too long and WHAT IF A GIRL COMES OVER SHE’LL NEVER HAVE SEX WITH ME NOW. Keep in mind these were grown men in their mid-late 30’s.

Eventually, the dude bit the bullet bought the system and the game.

About a week later, he wrote this long post describing how he had finished the game, then proudly sold his copy of No More Heroes and his Wii. He was done with that gay shit for queers! He was a man again!

Until another Wii game he wanted came out.

So he bought the system, again, and whatever game it was he wanted. He finished that game, too, and, again, sold both the Wii and the game. This happened at least two or three more times! This guy bought four or five Wiis, and proudly wasted thousands of dollars because he was worried people on the internet would think less of him as a man. He was that homophobic that he was willing to lose all that money because he thought a video game console was like a homosexual honey trap. And this wasn’t some weird bullshit story designed to troll a board of assholes, he posted pictures of the receipts as proof. Proof that he was still rugged and tough, I guess.

I have no clue where he is these days. Probably on Twitter sending out vile shit to Zoe and Anita, and muttering, “I’m a man, dammit” to himself as he waits in line for the Splatoon midnight release.

I bought Saints Row the Third today


This game owns. I get to be a pretty girl beating people up with a big purple dildo while driving around listening to “Return of the Mack.”

But all that aside, there was something that really wowed me. The first “real” mission of the game (confession: I goofed around in the world for hours before actually sitting down and going through the story) involves your character and Pierce (a Third Street Saints Lieutenant) driving to a clothing store. They make small talk along the way, going over previous plot events. Then, out of nowhere, Pierce changes the radio station, and the two of you begin singing along to Sublime’s “What I Got.” Neither of you can sing, or actually remember the lyrics, and are too busy giggling and making fun of each other to care. It is a stunningly “real” moment in this ridiculously over-the-top action game with guns and a Luchadore street gang.

A lot of games in this hardware generation make this promise of emotional fulfillment that they never fill. Stuff like Bioshock, or Grand Theft Auto, try to “humanize” their characters, and make them more relatable to us. These attempts usually fail because they either end up getting shoehorned into an existing game mechanic, or, no matter how good the acting may be, it still feels forced; just some guys reading off of a script. With this scene in Saints Row, though, it doesn’t feel that way. It feels very real. Like, just two friends goofing off while a microphone happened to be nearby. Now, this is obviously not the case. Nine voice actors were involved in this scene: Pierce, and the eight voices your character can have. Credit is due to them and their director for being able to pull that scene off as well as they did.

But I would still like to see more things like this in games. People just being human beings, and not “video game characters.” Even if it’s only for a minute, like in Saints Row. Which fucking owns, by the way.

It’s hard to write

I haven’t really been doing a whole lot of writing lately. It’s not like I haven’t had any good ideas or anything like; I do! There’s a big list of unfinished drafts sitting in a folder, and numerous ideas swirling in my head at any given moment. But when I decide to finally sit down and put these ideas out there, they completely break down. Suddenly, that asshole known as Self Doubt makes his appearance and ensures that I stop writing just as soon as I start. I just hit “save draft,” assure myself that I’ll come back to it “when I have my ideas together,” then never actually do any of this. It’s easier to do something less taxing, like play Monster Hunter with my online friends, a topic that I’ve wanted to write about!

And of course, I realize that I write about this exact topic every few months, do nothing, then magically make something out of thin air. Let me tell you something: that is extremely frustrating! Like, no, fuck, I want to be creative right now! Not next week, or on a Wednesday at three in the morning. If this were a job, I would have been fired a long time ago for incompetence.

So I don’t know, I guess I’ll just dick around until something comes along. Whatever.

It’s been almost a month and #AltGames is still a joke

There’s a reason I stopped giving a shit about Independent Games years ago: you’re all idiots.

Hello dipshits your indie clique is run by a woman with a ridiculous, petty jealously towards Zoe Quinn’s notoriety and is motivated by this to manufacture controversy (see example: “Punk Games”) that causes severe in-fighting and further marginalize other minorities who just want to make games, and you’re all a bunch of marks willing to be worked by her.


There’s something that’s been bugging me a lot lately. I mean, it’s something that has always bugged me, but now, with me and my whole gender thing, it’s becoming more and more disgusting, and more and more aggravating.

Trans Fetishism.

Now, this isn’t me complaining about people finding Trans people attractive, or folks liking mine, or other peoples, nudes or cranking your rod to a Bailey Jay video or whatever. That’s normal. I’m talking about all those creepy “sissyfication” blogs. Slug-men sending you incomprehensible messages about fembois, shecocks, BBCs (not to be confused with the television network), or whatever the fuck these weirdos come up with. Have you ever actually seen this shit? Like, images with weird ass captions about “being a good girl for big black dick” or “hypnosis” videos about also “being a good girl for big black dick.” It always goes back to this bizarre fetishism of race and gender, where Black men are these savage sex machines and women, or in this case, sissy boys, are subservient Real Dolls that can cook and clean.

Let me make this clear:

  • There is nothing wrong with having sex with Black people, so you can fuck right off with your racism.
  • There is nothing wrong with being a woman, so you can fuck right off with your misogyny.
  • There is nothing wrong with being Trans, so you can fuck right off with your transphobia.
  • Just fuck off.

I don’t like having to log in to a social media website and see that trannyguy86 is now following me. Although I guess it’s better than the alternative; trannyguy86 following a woman in real life. But it still pisses me off. Like, this is my fucking life here. I am a woman. That’s me. This isn’t a fetish or some sex thing; I don’t put on makeup and women’s clothes so I can get a boner and go jack off. I’m not a trap, or a sissy, or a femboy, or a shemale, or a tranny, or whatever degrading term you want to use. I don’t post pictures of myself for you, you creeps. I do it because, now that I’ve begun figuring out who I am, I’m becoming more and more confident in how I look. That’s something I want to share with others. Whether I’m wearing a Macho Man Randy Savage t-shirt that nobody picks up the irony of, or if I’ve got my dick hanging out, that’s something I want the world to see. Notice how I didn’t say the underworld. Take note, losers.

And if you’re going to write sexed up prose about us for your caption blog, at least learn how to fucking writing first. Jesus Christ.

Not Safe For Work

I’m going to post more perverted stuff on here. Because hey, this is my blog. I own it, I pay for it, I can post whatever the fuck I want.

So I got naked and snapped some pics. Take a look!

And an apology: I was a little pre-occupied with the camera and the lighting, as you can tell by the slightly stern look on my face. As such, my dong ended up being a floppy jalopy because I couldn’t focus on putting my best foot forward, so to speak. Sorry about that. Hopefully what you see is still good enough.

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