…or how thinking your period is the greatest thing ever means you need a psychiatrist.
If there is ONE thing (and believe me, there are many issues I have with feminism) I constantly cringe and wonder what the fuck feminists are smoking when they showcase it, it’s periods. Yep, I was going to tackle this shit sooner or later, why not sooner? If you’re squeamish, you may not want to continue reading, but there is a rant coming or at least what I call a Menopause Diary. (Vagina Diary was taken.)
There is NOTHING, and I mean NOTHING empowering about human waste, and bleeding once a month is your body getting rid of human waste. Yet, these nutcases that call themselves feminists paint with the shit and rub the shit all over them. That is disgusting. It’s cringy, and it tells me your about four plates short of a picnic. You, feminist, have an elevator that’s been broken for a long time and need to get that fixed. You’re playing with a warped puck. I’d call you cuckoo, but the bird flew the coop a long time ago when you decided your period blood was the best thing ever to own men with in order to show them women are the shit.
News Flash Femininut, it’s not glamorous.
Having hip pains that leave you shuffling, cramps that are contraction grade, being a walking crime scene with the intestinal fortitude of duck while your body’s doing its best imitation of a hot air balloon is NOT empowering. It’s a pain in the ass. It makes you an ill-tempered, fatigued person who feels like an old woman in need of a walker. Crying over the slightest thing isn’t glamorous either. Face it. Whether you want to admit it or not, estrogen is not your friend. It does make you a walking roulette of emotions. What it doesn’t do is empower you.
They suck more than a Hoover vacuum. One minute, you’re trotting along owning the day and wrecking your to-do list; the next minute you’re questioning your life choices. You go to bed feeling great, cuddled up in your favorite blankets, and wake up in the middle of night like you could bake a dozen cookies on your chest. Out of all the things you could choose to flaunt, having a period ain’t it, sister. At best, you’re showing people how gross and nasty you can be.
End. Of. Rant.