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You can’t cure a militant feminist

You can’t cure a militant feminist

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This article has been trolling since 2003.

Dear Maxim editor,

I am extremely disappointed by your  article about curing unshaven, vegan feminists and turning them into obedient and slutty vixens. Speaking from experience, I want to say that your claim is extremely inaccurate and misleading.

Thing is, true militant feminists can’t be cured.

Trust me, I dated one, and it was a disaster.

She didn’t start out as a militant feminist. On our first blind date, we went out for dinner at a nice Italian restaurant. She had a pleasant personality, wore a nice dress, and put on nice perfume.

The sex was wonderful, in fact the best I’ve had in my entire life. And trust me, I have had LOTS of sex, as what your magazine prescribes.

But she changed. It happened after she attended SlutWalk at the beckoning of her militant feminist friend. The experience transformed her. Marching in the streets in her bra and undies, she felt liberated, freed from her cocoon.

In fact, she felt so free that she started streaking in the middle of the protest. I was there with her, and truly shocked by her behavior.

But I sort of liked it.

“Shit, I really dig this militant feminism stuff,” I said to a fellow bro.

I wish I can take back those words now.

Days later, she began spouting all sorts of nonsense from her feminist ideology. ¬†About how women shouldn’t conform to the norms of a male-dominated society. About how beauty is socially constructed and influenced by a degenerate and biased media.

I once caught her burning my stash of porn, and yes, my copies of Maxim. The glee in her eyes horrified me.

Then she grew fat. First by five pounds. Then twenty. Then forty. All for the sake of her feminist ideals.

That wasn’t so bad actually. I mean, I’ll admit I have a once-secret fetish for BBBW. Heck, that was the only porn I was allowed to keep.

The sex kept getting weirder and weirder as well.

One day, she suggested we do a threesome. Again, as part of her whole feminist thing. What a great idea, I thought, picturing my thin frame sandwiched between two beautiful women.

But she brought home another dude, also pencil-thin. That broke my heart. I mean, straight guys simply do not do it with other straight guys. It was disgusting, but I tolerated it — until she took off her clothes.

Us straight guys have a Golden Rule when dating girls — no armpit hairs allowed. So there she was, in all her naked glory, arms over her head, revealing her unmentionables.

That was the straw the broke the camel’s back.

Trust me, militant feminists can’t be cured. I know, because I’ve tried. Once they go down that path, there’s no turning back.

So to all straight men out there, please do not be misled by the Maxim article.


A Bro.