I want to start this by saying the overwhelming majority of people who are important to me are women. My best friend is a woman, my closest friends are almost all women, even people I even casually speak with are women for the most part. I am not better than anyone for this fact, just a little background to give you as to why I am writing this entirely pointless thing, to begin with.

Why did I feel the need to write this awkwardly satirical and madly honest piece then?

Toxic masculinity and it’s steaming bullshit.

A dear friend of mine, one of my People, my Tribe, is a sex worker. I can’t imagine what she has to go through on a day to day basis with the people who try to, and I use this next word almost sarcastically, communicate with her. The assumptions they make on her time, her character, her relationships and any other motherfucking thing they can think of are so incredible it is enough to make you piss yourself.

Men. Please, please listen to me a moment. I implore you to go back into the annals of history, to when you were but a wee little ManlyBoy and you listened to, perhaps, your mother, aunt, sister, or grandmother say things about horrible experiences that they had with idiotic menfolk.

I am not going to tell you secrets here, you know these things. You have to know them unless you are, well we will get to that part later.

At no time, ever, are you fucking owed anything by a woman by right of you being a male. Her time, energy, sexuality, attention and every other damn thing she possesses is hers and hers alone to distribute. Just because you message her does not mean she is required to answer you back. Think of you and bill collectors, now I am sure there are some of you who diligently return every phone call, but if you are like me and the majority of other people, you simply let that fucking thing go to voicemail and promptly ignore it when it gets there.

Then, since some of you don’t think that you got the woman’s attention the first time, you either repeatedly use that stupid wave thing in Facebook, say hello until your fingers fucking hurt or, my personal favorite, send your unsolicited dick to them in a message.

Dude…My Dude…Duder…Broseph…

No….No No….No No No.

Now, I am sure you are what you feel is a chiseled piece of Divine Power. I am sure you think that one look of your manly baby-maker will wither away her refusals to talk to you and have her begging for more pictures of your awkwardly cropped, almost always above a toilet, badly lit, ManStick.

You are not.

None of us are.

Why you may ask?

If a woman wants to see your John Thomas, I assure you with every part of my soul that she will ask you to send her a picture of it.

Yeah, that’s right, sometimes you actually get asked for the thing you throw around like escort fliers on the Strip.

So, as I end this lesson on how one keeps the member inside the trousers as one is communicating with a woman, I will return to the point I nearly made early. If you do not know these things, whether by proud ignorance or stubborn idiocy, after reading this you cannot say that anymore.

You have been educated, for free, by a random internet stranger.

There is no greater truth.

Next week on obvious facts with Mr. Bear we will talk about Not Pooping In Water Fountains and conclude with Walking Into Traffic: Should I?

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