I Am People

I get older. Seriously, I do. I need to, too. Or else I can’t stand it anymore.

Everything turned crazy already. Nuts. I am not talking about the war. War is normal. The usual. Understandable. People hate each other, nothing new on this front.

It’s the other thing: “Society” you call it. “Inclusive” society nowadays. No more “women” in pregnant and no more “breast” in feeding. It’s “people” now, and “chest”. I suspect there is no more “dick” in man, and no more “vagina” in woman. (Who are supposed to be “people” anyway.) Everybody needs to be allowed to be her-/him-/itself. Fine with me. But ridiculousness makes me nauseous.

Everything is changing so quickly that it’s difficult to follow. You can’t watch older movies anymore without running the risk that before the fun starts someone teaches you that something you will see in a few minutes “is wrong today and was wrong back then”. But “we show it anyway” it says, so that I can make up my mind myself. Who is “we”? And why don’t “we” let me think for myself in the first place? I’m Christian enough to know right from wrong. But I suppose we are not using the C word anymore, it’s not inclusive enough.

Languages are changing too. Journalists and politicians change them to use sexism to facilitate feminism. Or was it the other way round? And they don’t even realise! What a fine new world!

Yeah, I get older. Becoming doted, I guess. I’m almost forty, a sort of in-between. Too old to be a productive part of the “debate” anymore, not yet old enough to be buried. (They say “debate” and mean “parroting”, as far as I see.) When I say “fucking” they say it’s cute. As long as it’s inclusive enough. What is it called nowadays? People humping? Am I still aloud to nail a lesbian chick, since I’m not a lesbian woman anymore? (I’m a lesbian person). Alright. If you say so. Being inclusive seems to be the mantra of the day. I’m still what I am, and if tomorrow journalists decide to call a cat a mouse – well, go right ahead!

Talking about chicks… I was told that I can’t call a girl a girl once she awakes from her 18th birthday drinking orgy. She’s a woman now. (Or a people? Inclusively spoken?) Definitely not a girl though. I have to be offended if someone calls me a “girl”, rather than delighted. Or else I’m an anti feminist. Real feminists don’t get charmed, right? What a load of horseshit!

And by the way: I am people enough to decide for myself whether I want to fuck myself to the top, using the couch of another people. If you have an interesting offer – go right ahead. I’m listening. And I swear I won’t use an hashtag.