A Brief History of the Transcult: Once upon a turn of the century, Transcult took over transgenderism, hijacked it from heels to wig. It was the Great Troon Robbery of 1999 (or thereabouts) Which is to say middle-aged, porn-addicted, cross-dressing straight men became the new boss, not at all the same as the old boss. They discovered their gold ticket into women's sports, spaces and private lives. I'm a gay dude. I was there for all of this but it took me quite a while to see, others were quicker to recognize the heist. I noticed first about fifteen years ago that the black/hispanic trans femmes were all of a sudden being swamped by 40 year old white male engineers in pants suits who'd left wives and families to go "trans". The engineers were followed by the military guys then the lawyers then the academics... And then the flood from every profession. They possessed about 5% of the fashion sense of femme trans. Then they all started showing up in key positions at all the gay orgs. Femme queens got trash heaped. Total world domination followed in short order. And all the libs on every continent bought into the fraud. Things were going great for transcult until they way over reached and decided that kids were the new, endlessly growing and churning market for their fetish. Castrated gay boys and mastectomied lesbian tweens? Yeah that's the ticket. Oops. So the collapse was coming. Musk bought Twitter in October 2022. And for the first time there was ONE platform that allowed criticism of transcult. The only way they could succeed was with no criticism tolerated anywhere at any time. Total control of the reality studios. When they lost that, the jig was up. The unwinding had begun. Still years to go but inevitable now. The End

To the uneducated bigots in the comments and quotes: transphobia includes invalidating a trans person’s identity. Additionally, female assigned at birth people who identify as non-binary and don’t transition are also trans.

What is the preferred Conservative response to Ukraine. I don't even know what you guys want anymore

Trans violence is real. Investigating this secretive trans death cult took me back to America. It put my life at risk again. Hormones. Human experimentation. Swords. Guns. Bodies. This is the true story of the Zizians. ON SALE OCT. 13. PRE-ORDER NOW. hachettebookgroup.com/titles…

Sweet Land - an ode to America's 250th year. 🇺🇸

USA. A breakfast counter. The waitress recommended the biscuits and gravy, and when the plate arrived, I thought something had gone wrong in the kitchen. I say this with shame. The dish looked like a construction site after rain. Pale mounds. Gray ladle-fall. Speckles I could not identify. In my land, the eye eats first. A meal is arranged like a garden. This meal was arranged like weather. "Is it… finished?" I asked, carefully. "Honey, that's what it looks like." The man beside me was already eating his. He did not look up. "Just try it." I am a man who has charged hillsides at dawn. I raised the fork. I tried it. I must now formally apologize to the biscuits, the gravy, the waitress, the kitchen, and the entire breakfast tradition of the American South. It was magnificent. Warm. Peppered. The biscuit drank the gravy the way a field drinks rain — THAT is why it is shaped like that, you fool — and every mound I had insulted was a soft fold of comfort that my homeland, in eight hundred years, never once thought to invent. "Well?" the waitress asked. "I judged it," I confessed. "By its appearance. I am ashamed." "Everybody does, hon." Everybody does. A national dish that forgives you for doubting it. It expects the doubt. It waits for you on the other side of it. Do not judge the gravy by its face. Judge yourself, for hesitating. I order it every Saturday now. I no longer see the construction site. I see only the garden. It was a garden the whole time. The eye must be trained.

The Chicken and Waffle Emergency Meeting I ordered chicken and waffles because the name sounded like two separate meals having an argument. Then the plate arrived. Fried chicken. On a waffle. With syrup. I stared at it. The chicken looked confident. The waffle looked trapped. The syrup looked like it had caused problems before. I asked the waitress, “Is this breakfast?” She said, “Depends how strong you are.” This was not an answer. This was a threat. I looked at the plate again. Chicken belongs with lunch. Waffles belong with morning. Syrup belongs with pancakes. America put all three together and expected me to act like the table was not legally confused. I picked up the syrup. My hand stopped. Pouring syrup on waffle: Normal. Pouring syrup on chicken: A crime in several emotional jurisdictions. The man at the next table saw me freeze. He said, “Bro, drown it.” Drown it. America does not season food. America declares floods. So I poured. The syrup landed on the waffle. Safe. Then it crossed into chicken territory. No one screamed. No police came. The chicken simply sat there, accepting the syrup like it had been waiting for corruption. I cut one bite. Chicken. Waffle. Syrup. My brain immediately called an emergency meeting. Sweet was yelling. Salt was confused. Crunch demanded legal counsel. Breakfast refused to sit next to Dinner. Lunch said, “Why am I even here?” Then my mouth raised its hand and said, “Shut up. This works.” That was the worst part. It worked. The waffle was soft. The chicken was crispy. The syrup was lying to both of them, but in a helpful way. By the third bite, I was no longer eating. I was watching enemies become roommates. By the fifth bite, I understood the American system. Do not solve conflict. Put it on a plate. Add syrup. Charge $14.99. The waitress came back. “How is it?” I wanted to say, “My government has collapsed.” Instead, I said, “It is peaceful now.” She nodded like this happens often. Chicken and waffles is not a meal. It is breakfast and violence sharing custody of syrup. I finished the plate with shame, respect, and minor maple damage. NyanChuu will no longer fear impossible alliances. If America puts ribs on pancakes and calls it a morning special, I will not ask questions. I will simply request extra napkins and prepare for diplomacy.

His sexual orientation has nothing to do with his sexual proclivities. 🛑

How it feels to be trans living in the U.S right now I hate it here☹️