The Virgin Tea Candle Vs The Chad Tiki Torch

Pic from the weekend’s Termagant March (h/t @BGKB):

That’s a tiny candle. (Note: not even a real flame; an LED safe space so his soft fingertips don’t get unsightly masculine callouses.)

The shitlib male feminist is a vehicle for self-emasculation. He prides himself on his low, low T level, his upside-down biceps, his unisex problem glasses, and his daily online porn habit which supplements his time prostrating himself as a beta male orbiter to aggrocunt bluehair chubsters.

He is a loathsome creature, and he knows it, figuring that his only shot at LSMV pussy will come if he surrenders entirely to effeminacy and androgyny and tells the pussyhat crowd what they want to hear; little does he know this strategy rarely works, and when it does work, the reward is hardly worth the effort. Even ugly feminists are repulsed by the tiny tea candle soyboy’s retreat from masculinity, but it’s not like the femcunts have the goods themselves to score a Chad. So these defects of nature manage somehow to find each other for miserable passionless androgyne hookups which they immediately regret and try to salvage by spinning the awful experiences into #MeToo attention whoring.