It seems like every man and his dog – or rather every person with or without biological testes and their companion – is necking hormone replacement capsules or mindlessly cheerleading for those who do.
The question I have is where did all these trans activists come from?
The hardcore loonies have always been stumbling about in the mainstream background (probably while trying to walk in killer heels) and tying themselves in knots with their fascist attempts to re-imagine and police everyday language.
Remember CRUK, who during a cancer awareness jaunt could not bring themselves to use the term ‘woman’ and instead referred to ‘those people with a cervix’? That campaign soon went pop and was drowned out by a crescendo of cancelled direct debits.
In one fell swoop, this quite asshat convolution monumentally hacked off tens of thousands of women who had in fact had their cervix removed because of, erm, cancer and who found themselves involuntarily re-categorised.
Thankfully, the majority of the UK’s women understand that whatever bonkers wordplay the gender pretenders cook up – or cock up – they remain women.
The charity should have been relieved that the nation’s pathology nerds had not all rocked up with their pickling jars to form an orderly queue and to check whether the campaign had applied to them. Strictly speaking, it did.
In brief, it was all a salient lesson in the people-pleasing dangers of hanging yourself with the silly string of needless complications on the most straightforward of matters, but it is one that has lamentably not been learnt: men are men, and women are women. That’s biological sex.
As for what social roles and behaviour patterns they want to follow in life – living as a man or as a woman – that’s the purview of gender. A court will even issue a certificate bestowing rights upon you in that regard if that’s your particular bent.
Great – fill your (latex, spiky-heeled) boots.
But that thing you have in your hand – that piece of paper – doesn’t change facts. If courts had that kind of magical power, they’d be curing cancer, congestive heart failure, and COVID.
Alas, achieving that kind of result falls at the door of science, as indeed does biological sex. Swivel-eyed loons can have their own opinions in their own little worlds but not their own facts. And no amount of court documentation can change the facts of sex.
Perhaps we can just put it down to a biological cervix delivery failure?
But back to the emergence of these ‘allies’ and activists, and the answer is that they have always been there. They are just the same people who last summer had banged on about BLM and before that, Brexit. Neither of those causes matters a jot now. Those fads have been thoroughly rinsed, and it’s now time for some fresh meat.
Most of this tranny band of course have no connection to trans issues, nor will they ever. This time next year, they’ll have moved on to protecting the rights of asexual, disabled cockapoos or whatever flirtation boosts their ascent to the top of the twat tree.
Another day, another flag for the Twitter profile. A more inflated raft of followers to buy the book, the Patreon subscription, or any other tat that can generate a few shillings.
Shilling of course being the operative word.
It gets worse. Even more laughable than the transparent social media fake activism are the cry-baby tears when a spot of criticism floats their way. And the favoured buzz-phrase of the ally repertoire is to flag to the world that they no longer feel ‘safe’.
This is the peak martyr phase, which is essential fare for any fledgling faux-fanny flirt. It usually follows hard on the heels of being called out as a shill, and it is employed to bring personal sympathy that may in due course become conflated with that for the cause in a whimpering, virtue-signalling, virtuous circle jerk.
Hilariously, many of these cardboard allies truly are fearful for their miserable lives. They don’t seem to have tumbled that spouting hate speech attracts vitriol – fake, hobby-horse activism that irks others will lead to controversy and a few metaphorical hand grenades being tossed over the fence. It won’t provoke physical harm, though, because a gibbering, self-loathing keyboard warrior is hardly worth cocking your weapon for, just as a fleeting kink is arguably not worth the trauma of snipping it.
If they can’t stand the heat, they should get out of the kitchen. Or stay in it if they really do want to celebrate the female lived experience.
That’s a joke, but it does make you wonder how far these shemales would go to throw their weight behind key feminist causes once they had those spanking new titties under their belts.
Which is incidentally where most of the cheap, Turkish bazookas end up after a year or so.
These plastic activists are of course as fake as the misshapen burger-vulvas carved out by the backstreet Brazilian nob-folders.
As for the slacktivists, it is of course all about them. Their adherence to the trans cause is as genuine as the Frankenvadges that Dr Nippentuck conjures up from the patients’ four available skins.
The tranny bus will go beep, beep, beep for a little while longer, and in the meantime, I’m more than happy for them to get on with it and live their lives in peace. The cause will however continue to be harmed by those who are making it into something it is not, just for the benefit of some crass virtue signalling for a few thousand extra Twitter followers.
For everybody’s sake, let’s hope that these morons quickly move on to the asexual, disabled cockapoos.