The following pearl of wisdom comes to you via Ace of Spades HQ commentator MWR. Fair Warning: There is cursing… a lot of cursing…
“Student reactions have clearly articulated that this is neither the venue nor the time to show this movie,” the statement read. “We deeply regret causing harm to members of our community, and appreciate the thoughtful feedback provided to us by students.”
WARNING: Prepare for an MWR rant. It will contain profanity. Advertisers, I apologize – I’ve tried to be good.
The other week I went on something of a rant on Twitter about how I’m sick of these lily-livered little campus snowflakes using the English language to call something violent which is not violence.
This bullshit statement has just exploded my rage meter.
“We deeply regret causing harm to members of our community-”
FUCK THE EVER-LOVING BULLSHIT OUT OF YOU, you worthless slags and pussy-mouthed assclowns. NO ONE has been g-ddamned “harmed” by this SJW weepfest contrived by the oh-so-delicate flowers who have emerged from the fecund shit heap that is Millennial education. GET YOUR FUCKING SHIT TOGETHER, you mewling whorefaced little shitdemons.
You know who WAS harmed? Chris Kyle. That’s right, the American hero whose story is portrayed in “American Sniper.” Oh, you don’t want to call him a hero, you diarrhea-drenched bitch maggots? You want to call him a murderer, or a psychopath, or *GASP!* a white heterosexual male (OH THE HORROR!)? You want to say that the portrayal of Muslims and Arabs in the movie is “negative” and “culturally insensitive” and makes your poor little bladders leak because you feel “unsafe”? Not by the fact that those “culturally insensitive” Muslims and Arabs actually exist, but because – let me try and write this without punching something – because you don’t want to be faced with the truth.
You know what? FUCK. YOU.
Chris Kyle went to war. He killed people in that war. You know why? So that those filthy jihadis he killed wouldn’t come over here and murder YOU in your g-ddamned dorm rooms, surrounded by your bongs and “HOPE AND CHANGE” signs and free trade bohemian bracelets made by Shaolin nuns, or whatever other bullshit you keep close at hand to make you feel like your lives are worth a tinker’s damn. Kyle went to war so that some ululating lunatic wouldn’t invade your precious “safe spaces” and saw off your head with a dull knife, spilling your dainty, delicate blood all over your Play-Doh and staining your bedazzled dream journals claret. So that you in your sanctimonious toddler voices could have the OPPORTUNITY to call him a murderer and a psychopath, though if there were any true righteousness in this world every one of you who’s dared say such a thing would have your tongues turned to slabs of lead for speaking such filthy lies.
You little shitstains don’t know the first thing about REAL pain. You don’t know the first thing about ACTUAL suffering. You think you can stand there in your ivory towers of academia and condescend to preach MORALS and VALUES and ETHICS and INCLUSION when you’ve never permitted anyone to actually school you on what it IS to be moral, or to have values, or to be ethical, or to be – and I’m laughing as I write this – INCLUSIVE.
How DARE you. HOW FUCKING DARE YOU.
You know what I think of weak stomached sperm stains like you?
I don’t. I don’t think of you at all.
I don’t care if I offend you, because from where I stand it sounds like Cream of Wheat and lollipops fucking offends you. I don’t think about your precious feelings, because from where I stand, all you ARE are your feelings. You’re a raw nerve with no insulation against the brutality of the real world. You never grew the psychological and emotional scar tissue that countless generations before you have had to grow to get along in the world, because everyone’s always given in to you pussies and your weak-wristed demands.
I hope to God one of you reads this, and I hope beyond hope that you CRY. I hope you BAWL. I hope you feel like I’ve personally stepped into your “safe space” and smacked you across the face with a g-ddamn rusty gauntlet. Because I HAVE. I will be in your safe spaces forever, standing too close, hissing in your ear, reminding you that you’re truly worthless; that you aren’t fit to hold up your head when you’re in the presence of REAL people. Because you AREN’T people. You’re not even UNpeople. You are porcelain dolls painted with organically sourced pigments and placed on high shelves out of the reach of the clawing children of Real Life. You are too fragile to exist.
Other people should have been teaching you to grow up since the day you were born, but they didn’t and you were too lazy and pampered to do it yourself. So sorry-not-sorry, but I’m going to do it now. Welcome to the crash course on life, you simpering little fuckwits.
Lesson #1: No one cares about your fucking feelings.
Lesson #2: If you ever start to doubt Lesson #1, you get the gauntlet again