My posts about fatties are getting torn apart in Jezebel comments, in a thread about a Hugo “let me take a break from preaching sanctimonious feminist boilerplate to try to kill my girlfriend and fuck a couple of my nineteen year old students” Schwyzer article no less. Sadly the discussion is now in their “groupthink” area which is un-trafficked, but the ladies do not disappoint:
And you know, they are not wrong. I am an asshole. I am a “Piece. Of. Shit.” with three periods. I am a “sad little loser.” I deserve to have my “balls shrivel up and fall off.” I am “wrapped in a muscle suit of hate.” A muscle suit, of hate.
It is true that those are horrible, hurtful things I said, and reading them probably made a bunch of human beings feel bad about themselves. And I thought about that before I posted the material. I thought “Jesus– some girl might read this and think she’s a piece of shit and cry.” And then I posted it anyway. Because I like seeing the little stats bar at the top of this page poke upward after I whorishly post about my own blog on the OKCupid subreddit. And many of the folks who lurk there like to read people saying mean things about fat women. I knew that for this brief pleasure of refreshing this page and seeing that little bar pop up, I was possibly ruining someone’s day. Possibly piling on to some other human being’s decades worth of self-hatred and making them more miserable, when all ever I talk about is not wanting to be miserable. I knew this, and I did it anyway.
And I’m going to keep doing it, just like Hugo Schwyzer is going to keep using his status as a daddy figure in a lecture hall filled with budding coeds to keep slaying mountains of nineteen year old ass in his time off from writing about how it’s pathetic and debased that men desire younger and less powerful women. I am sorry about those mean things I say, but I am going to keep saying them. There will continue to be a “punch line” sentence or paragraph at the end of these mean screeds where my hatred of others becomes a mirror for my own self-hatred, which is the actual point of the piece, and which many people, and especially the type of people who comment on Jezebel, will continue to miss. This does not excuse the fact that I am willfully making people feel bad for my own amusement.
But for Christ’s sake, when I say “don’t read this if it’s about you,” I fucking mean it. That’s my version of the rape trigger warning. I told you the fucking house was haunted and you still spent the night. Guess what– someone wrote “GET OUT” in blood on the wall and a little girl with raccoon eyes spiderwalked down the stairs and demons ripped your face off. It sucks, but, you knew I was a scorpion when you took me across the river. You knew you were flying too close to the sun. You cast your pearls before swine, and etc.
Anyway. Sorry, fatties. If it helps, I am more miserable than you.