Various Reasons Everyone Hates “Single Moms”

Clarification: Whenever criticizing bad women (or men) in a bad culture, prepare to weather a storm of strategic stupidity, where bad women’s enablers confidently know to be self-righteously offended by your opinion—yet magically cannot manage to accurately characterize your argument that they so hate.

Really, of course, the goal among enablers of shit women is not to accurately characterize and analyze criticism of shit women: the goal is to stop the criticism as soon as possible, in any way possible, and as hysterically as necessary.

Thus, a little preemptive, manly mansplaining is in order: “single mom,” in the analysis hereafter, does not refer to any variation of the endless feminism-porn about a heroic, cancer-surviving battered-woman, hiding in a shelter with her kids and trying to piece back together her life and theirs. “Single mom” rather refers to the sloppy, sanctimonious, hypocritical, selfish, incompetent shetard who is so deceitful and delusional as to call herself “single”—even as she is married to daddy government, surrounds herself with endless eunuchs to open the various pickle-jars of her life, all while typically leveraging whore-support (masked as “child-support”) from the many step-dads and bulldykes enlisted by daddy government to force men to fund women. In other words: you, dear reader, know damn-well who I am talking about when I say “single mom.” And everyone else does too—and they all hate her. Moreover, the analysis applies to whom it applies—and not those to whom the analysis applies not. (Now, for a moment, ponder why that insipid tautology seems so necessary in this era where so many seem downright addicted to willfully misunderstanding the perspective of their real or imagined opponents.)

Her Parents.

The parents of a “single mom” hate her because she is an embarrassment and a drain to them. She reflects poorly on their parenting. The evidence that they failed her blares by her failure to appeal enough to at least one person: not even her holes could counterbalance her nasty attitude—so he left.

Of course, by that time, the parents conveniently and hypocritically forget that they strategically forged that nasty attitude in her. Typically, her hypocrite parents then mask their hatred for her (which is really a hatred of their own failure) by showering her child with a sticky, selfish attention that distracts the child from building a bond with mom, makes mom feel evermore inadequate, and helps the bad grandparents to feel like they are finally “getting it right”—as they, yet again, step on and over their child.

Her Bitch Frenemies, Especially Siblings.

“Frenemy” is a highly helpful word that describes just what these “single mom” bitches are up against. A portmanteau of “friend” and “enemy”—her frenemies are all that is left of her past hopes for friendship, as her pseudo-friends hate her for bringing about that needy ball-and-chain that she failed to abort when she should have.

Some frenemies enjoy brief haunted-house flashes of parenting by now-and-then tending to her brat—but even they get quickly sick from how soon the brat takes on mom’s terrible attitude. (The worst of her frenemies stick around longest—to test all their worst parenting theories on the helpless brat.)

At the same time as their hatred, the frenemies love how her being trapped into the consequences that everyone hid from her until it was too late: the trap always keeps her right where the frenemies can find her when those vampires need to drain a bit of her energy before leaving her in a puddle of jealousy as they head out to swap STDs with a trembling eunuch or ten. (I’m paraphrasing.)

Her Flings.

Nothing pours into a needy, narcissistic man-child’s bottomless validation-pit quite like a desperate “single mom” gratefully using her holes on his dick, to aggressively vent her life’s frustration, while frantically trying to beg and earn, from him, more than the most temporary, hole-based commitment. Yet each fling hates her for mothering not only him but also her child.

Only the most self-aware of her cycled man-children ever notices that, even while he hates sharing her with her kid, still, he does like how the kid gives him a built-in excuse to set her aside and meet up with another, more freshly desperate “single mom.”

Herself.

Manifestly, everyone around the “single mom” hates her. Yet no one hates her nearly as much as she hates herself. With her every failed attempt to bitch-princess herself into success with some guy—the guys get successively less handsome, less tall, and less willing to tolerate her pretending that she is anything other than a desperate, sagging, limping, failing mess.

Most of all, once it’s too late, she hates herself deeply when she finally sees clearly that if, during her prime, she had given a good guy just a fraction of the massive energy she now begs away to get sport-fucked by a guy out of her league who settles for getting off with her holes—just a fraction of that energy, properly placed, could have built love between her and a great guy.

She avoids clearly thinking about all this, because the thoughts make her want to die a thousand deaths.

Her Child.

Despite all this nonsense, her child still loves her. And by far the worst part of her life is when she does not appreciate that love. So it disappears. And only the hatred remains.

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