In “Small animals,” Kim Brooks bitches her way to a feminist utopia — yet again

“No child should ever be abducted or raped or murdered,” theorizes Kim Brooks on page ninety-three of her lovely and talented book, Small Animals: Parenthood in the Age of Fear.

By her proclamation against abduction, rape and murder; Brooks, a mystic feminist who heals through the written word, breaks sharply with the values of the patriarchy, which traditionally has held that, “RAAR! We’re men, and we’re in charge — so abduction, rape, and murder is ok because women don’t matter RAAAR!”

After all: the world is whatever the world is claimed to be by aimless, cowardly, boring, hypocritical women whose core political strategy is to invent constant, laughably melodramatic, obviously false narratives; in order more effectively to beg men to control other men on women’s behalf.

“They’re called boobs, John!” -Jewlia Robert as Erin Brokovich (2000), taunting a man for being awkward when she casually, albeit accidentally, exposes to him, in public, parts of herself that he could be caged for noticing in a way that offends her.

When not advancing her radical calls for rape-shaming, Brooks enjoys being a typical Jewess hag: indulging in pretty pink gossip-journeys against men.

In one such journey — “I married a misanthrope” (Salon, 2013) — Brooks takes silly, sassy aim at her husband:

In that she-classic, the delightfully boring author literarily limps from talking about how her husband’s misanthropy inconvenienced her ability to spread her social wings;

to describing his misanthropy as perhaps being an (((actual mental disorder))), when her husband hated the two-faced festivities of loveably tedious Jews (“…’there is something wrong with you,’ I badgered nurturingly”);

to hinting that his misanthropy might even be a form of ‘violence against women’ abuse against her;

all this nothing then culminated to a conversation that silly, sassy Brooks has with her magical-negro bitch-friend, who reminded Brooks — in a silly, sassy, frenemy way — that Brooks, herself, had always been the forlorn and neglected Jewess who, by the emotional neglect she received from tedious Jews, developed an immense awkwardness which, in later lies as vies for a more ’empowered’ self-definition, she came to claim as her “misanthropy” — her sassy “hatred of people.”

Brooks’ story then concludes with her silly, sassy revelation that she had simply leveraged her pussy against her husband as a way to catapult him into being her chaperone to enable her various attempts at reinventing herself as “sociable” among the throngs of tedious Jews whose attention she had, by her low self-estimation, always masochistically craved.

When asked how she managed to describe so vividly her incredible lack of character, Brooks sassed, “Well to tell the goddess’s honest she-truth, I usually just get high off the vapors of excellence yet undestroyed in my eunuch husband, then set out on a fact-finding mission by clicking on down to whatever mental toilet is the current watering-hole for sassy, suicidal, feminist jewess hypocrites like me — then I end up just using the buzzwords and buzz-causes I discover as plot templates to write yet another screed about how I’m a perpetual victim who is fortunately empowered enough to bitch incessantly about my victimhood.”

Indeed, in Small Animals, Brooks reminds how the social terrorism now waged endlessly against men sometimes inconveniences bitches like her: “Of course all men are potential rapists, and of course children should not be raped; but that’s no reason to shame moms for leaving their kids unattended — potentially exposed to all these rapist-men! Don’t tell moms to mother — tell men not to rape!”

Post script: Those following along will notice that the preceding was “mansplaining”; moreover they know, if only subconsciously, that “mansplaining” is a passive-aggressive ‘social-construct’ invented by weak-minded feminist create yet another way for a woman to sheepishly decry whatever doesn’t tickle her political twat — for example, a man’s adroit illustration of a woman’s hypocrisy; by a man forged in the fire of feminist cold-wars, where women serve their governmental and corporate patriarch masters by constantly embattling men to the point where those men whose survive the gauntlet emerge as veritable demi-gods unto these bitches: men whose words these feminist fleas can never manage to hear even halfway without descending into a cry-laughing mania.

#HoesMad.

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