i-90 102.5
Posted: Sun Oct 23, 2022 6:35 pm
pzzt...
"Hey, babe? You there? Maybe I'm worried too much about you, but you said you'd call today, but you're offline. So I'm just checking in. Call me when you have the time."
Click. Click-click-click.
"Oh, and, uh, I don't know if you know this or not but you still haven't gotten back to me yet about the whole Blonde movie thing. No pressure, though. See you!"
pzzt....
pzzt......
Click.
(On one moody day in the middle of Salem, Massachusetts, A woman phones the number to the National Center for Missing & Exploited Children. Her hands are shaking. She's very stressed. Her daughter is missing. She doesn't know what to do. She heats up yesterday's dinner, enough for two. She listens to the shrill of the ringtone. She cries, and she waits.)
(Somewhere on the other side of the country, A man wips clean the stains off of the countertop at a fast food resturant. He does not know much about his daughter- about her passions, about what her face looks like, about the way that her tears fall onto the bathroom floor. He has never known what it felt like to be a father. She has never know what it is like to have a father. He sprays lemon-scented cleaner onto the surface and wipes, oblivious.)
In a small apartment overlooking Pudget Sound, Allison Mayers takes a sip of coffee as she checks her phone. She won't lie and say that she never truly expected it. Survival of the Fittest is a natural phenomenon to her rather than some terroristic force. She grew up with it- it's kind of like how people a bit older than her talked about 9-11, it was something that permeated the entire high school- or, in another case, the American experience. Aurora High hit too close to her, as a teenager living only a half-hour drive away. She knew people who knew the victims. She knew people who breathed a sigh of relief, too- at least it wasn't us. At least it was them. So she graduated without much worry. They were probably going to go after Idaho or something. She didn't know, and she didn't care.
So she saw the news on the phone and then she scrolled down. More kids die from drunk driving every year.
Click.
Click.
Klacklacklacklacklackalckalck
...
...
Melanie "Millie" Miles had a pretty big problem. She didn't have a gun. If she had a gun, it'll be easier to kill people. If it's easy to kill people, it's less easy to, you know, not be killed. And if it's less easy to die, you live longer.
OK? Good? Does that make sense?
Alrighty then. Now, technically, she doesn't really need a gun. But it's simple, and effective, and it's probably less messy than having, say, a chainsaw. The issue is that she doesn't trust herself with a gun. Objectively speaking, people don't like people who kill other people. If Millie had a gun, and that made killing other people easier, then she would be more tempted to kill people, since it required less effort. And that would mean people would hate her, and in the context of... whatever this is, that means that people are going to try to kill her.
Got that? Alright, let's move on.
The thing is, Millie didn't want to kill other people if she had to, though she wouldn't object to it if her hand was forced. Like, truth be told, she's kind of a violent person. She probably killed a guy already with a plate. She really hated doing that. In retrospect. But she's not an evil person, and there's a difference. She would much rather let people kill each other, and then survive like that. But people would still try to kill her even if she didn't have a gun or killed anyone. And, well, in the end the (preferable) end result is still "everyone dies but me," considering that nobody here has the technical expertise to break out of here. And so it really doesn't matter on a moral perspective. So, you know. Fuck morals. No, seriously, fuck'em. Nobody cares. She didn't want to die.
We have that clear? Great.
What does that bring us to?
Absolutely nothing.
...
pzzzt....
"Right, I mean like, saying this in the kindest possible way, but radfeminism and transgender people can and should co-exist. Like it's unbearably simple. We want to support women. Trans women are women. Ergo, support trans women. Like you people are so fucking stupic. And trans men used to be women anyways and still will get treated like women under the patriarchy, so we have to help them too. No- no, like, not 'used to be women,' but they were socialized- oh my god stop interrupting. Yes I know that I'm simplifying things. Jesus christ I'm not a fucking terf I literally said that we need to support trans people. Listen I don't really care about trans issues when it comes to feminism alright? Like I think they're valid but I just don't care much about it because I'm not trans and I don't know trans people. I think it's fucking stupid that everyone is pissing and shitting everywhere over themselves over the thought of trans people existing like there are bigger issues out there but I also just don't give a shit about trans people beyond, like, them having rights, like you won't catch me defending like I dunno catgenders out there but like I don't support being a dick to people over their genders either. No like I'll indulge in their fucking delusions I'm not gonna be like "haha you'll never be a real cat, kill yourself," I'm just not going to be like "hey uwu catgenders are totally valid meow."
"I mean personally I disagree with you but go off."
"How so?"
"I just don't think we need to extend feminism to men."
"Men as in uh... female-to-male trans men or like male-to-female trans women?"
"See I can't believe we have to make that distinction, like "male-to-female-women" are you kidding me?"
"I dunno, I just think th̷̫͊a̵̒̽̂͜t̸̩̪͍̉ ̵̛̥͐ ẁ̷̹̻͓̓͝ẹ̵̗͎̭̺̀̓̾̎̆̐̓ n̷̡͓͑̓̈́͛͠͠ ̷̢̙̤̠̙̺̟̤̅̆e̶̗̪̮̳̺͇̤̟̓̀̐̾̀̿͗ͅȩ̴͚̞͈͇̀͒̔̊̊̾͘͝d̶̳̳̠̆͑͊̿͛͠ ̸̠̖̪̎̈̊̽̕̚ ̶̛̘̯̥̼̲̞̥͍́̃́̑͠t̶̗̭͈̖͉̾̀̄͐̈́̾̍̊̚͜ọ̴̞̫͓̒̅̽̈͌̅̎̓͝ ̷͇̠̤̠̫̈̒̀̄̋͜͠ ̴̙͚͊͆̾͝s̵͙͒̊͐̄̅̆̌͌̓͛̉̏̓̚͠͝͝ ̴̧̢̢̲̞̘̫́́̀́̅̇͛̌̕͝ḩ̵̢̭͍̠̝͔͚̺͔̮̟̞̺̍̉͋̈́͑̽̑͛͆̍̈́͛͋͂́͑̉̓͒̈́̊̈͌̓̚͝ǫ̴̦̯̠̻̝̥͕̯̮̺̻̪̜̥͉̩̪͉͉͕̓̐͑̈̾̉̐̄́͘͜ͅo̵̙͎̥̗̪̦̲͛̄̍̿̽̑̔̽́̎̓̎͂̈́͋̔̽̾̈́̎͋̔̾̒̑̿͋̇̓̿̽͒̈́̽̃̽̏̈́̇͛̈́͛͂͠m̸̢̧̡͓͔͖̱̩̝̘̩̩̖̬̻͕͈̯͖̥̭̼̙̣̼͕̺͔̳̲̙͍͔̘͍̙̲̹̰͔̘̎͐͜͠ͅͅę̷̡̢̻̤̪̳̞̖̱̼͖̞̒̀͗̄̅̐̄͋̑̃̅̀́̅̀̃̓́͋̄̂̈́́̄̚͜͠͝ͅ
...
Fuck it hurts to remember it.
...
pzzzt...
clickclick....
....
"Hello?"
"Hey, babe? You there? Maybe I'm worried too much about you, but you said you'd call today, but you're offline. So I'm just checking in. Call me when you have the time."
Click. Click-click-click.
"Oh, and, uh, I don't know if you know this or not but you still haven't gotten back to me yet about the whole Blonde movie thing. No pressure, though. See you!"
pzzt....
pzzt......
Click.
(On one moody day in the middle of Salem, Massachusetts, A woman phones the number to the National Center for Missing & Exploited Children. Her hands are shaking. She's very stressed. Her daughter is missing. She doesn't know what to do. She heats up yesterday's dinner, enough for two. She listens to the shrill of the ringtone. She cries, and she waits.)
(Somewhere on the other side of the country, A man wips clean the stains off of the countertop at a fast food resturant. He does not know much about his daughter- about her passions, about what her face looks like, about the way that her tears fall onto the bathroom floor. He has never known what it felt like to be a father. She has never know what it is like to have a father. He sprays lemon-scented cleaner onto the surface and wipes, oblivious.)
In a small apartment overlooking Pudget Sound, Allison Mayers takes a sip of coffee as she checks her phone. She won't lie and say that she never truly expected it. Survival of the Fittest is a natural phenomenon to her rather than some terroristic force. She grew up with it- it's kind of like how people a bit older than her talked about 9-11, it was something that permeated the entire high school- or, in another case, the American experience. Aurora High hit too close to her, as a teenager living only a half-hour drive away. She knew people who knew the victims. She knew people who breathed a sigh of relief, too- at least it wasn't us. At least it was them. So she graduated without much worry. They were probably going to go after Idaho or something. She didn't know, and she didn't care.
So she saw the news on the phone and then she scrolled down. More kids die from drunk driving every year.
Click.
Click.
Klacklacklacklacklackalckalck
...
...
Melanie "Millie" Miles had a pretty big problem. She didn't have a gun. If she had a gun, it'll be easier to kill people. If it's easy to kill people, it's less easy to, you know, not be killed. And if it's less easy to die, you live longer.
OK? Good? Does that make sense?
Alrighty then. Now, technically, she doesn't really need a gun. But it's simple, and effective, and it's probably less messy than having, say, a chainsaw. The issue is that she doesn't trust herself with a gun. Objectively speaking, people don't like people who kill other people. If Millie had a gun, and that made killing other people easier, then she would be more tempted to kill people, since it required less effort. And that would mean people would hate her, and in the context of... whatever this is, that means that people are going to try to kill her.
Got that? Alright, let's move on.
The thing is, Millie didn't want to kill other people if she had to, though she wouldn't object to it if her hand was forced. Like, truth be told, she's kind of a violent person. She probably killed a guy already with a plate. She really hated doing that. In retrospect. But she's not an evil person, and there's a difference. She would much rather let people kill each other, and then survive like that. But people would still try to kill her even if she didn't have a gun or killed anyone. And, well, in the end the (preferable) end result is still "everyone dies but me," considering that nobody here has the technical expertise to break out of here. And so it really doesn't matter on a moral perspective. So, you know. Fuck morals. No, seriously, fuck'em. Nobody cares. She didn't want to die.
We have that clear? Great.
What does that bring us to?
Absolutely nothing.
...
pzzzt....
"Right, I mean like, saying this in the kindest possible way, but radfeminism and transgender people can and should co-exist. Like it's unbearably simple. We want to support women. Trans women are women. Ergo, support trans women. Like you people are so fucking stupic. And trans men used to be women anyways and still will get treated like women under the patriarchy, so we have to help them too. No- no, like, not 'used to be women,' but they were socialized- oh my god stop interrupting. Yes I know that I'm simplifying things. Jesus christ I'm not a fucking terf I literally said that we need to support trans people. Listen I don't really care about trans issues when it comes to feminism alright? Like I think they're valid but I just don't care much about it because I'm not trans and I don't know trans people. I think it's fucking stupid that everyone is pissing and shitting everywhere over themselves over the thought of trans people existing like there are bigger issues out there but I also just don't give a shit about trans people beyond, like, them having rights, like you won't catch me defending like I dunno catgenders out there but like I don't support being a dick to people over their genders either. No like I'll indulge in their fucking delusions I'm not gonna be like "haha you'll never be a real cat, kill yourself," I'm just not going to be like "hey uwu catgenders are totally valid meow."
"I mean personally I disagree with you but go off."
"How so?"
"I just don't think we need to extend feminism to men."
"Men as in uh... female-to-male trans men or like male-to-female trans women?"
"See I can't believe we have to make that distinction, like "male-to-female-women" are you kidding me?"
"I dunno, I just think th̷̫͊a̵̒̽̂͜t̸̩̪͍̉ ̵̛̥͐ ẁ̷̹̻͓̓͝ẹ̵̗͎̭̺̀̓̾̎̆̐̓ n̷̡͓͑̓̈́͛͠͠ ̷̢̙̤̠̙̺̟̤̅̆e̶̗̪̮̳̺͇̤̟̓̀̐̾̀̿͗ͅȩ̴͚̞͈͇̀͒̔̊̊̾͘͝d̶̳̳̠̆͑͊̿͛͠ ̸̠̖̪̎̈̊̽̕̚ ̶̛̘̯̥̼̲̞̥͍́̃́̑͠t̶̗̭͈̖͉̾̀̄͐̈́̾̍̊̚͜ọ̴̞̫͓̒̅̽̈͌̅̎̓͝ ̷͇̠̤̠̫̈̒̀̄̋͜͠ ̴̙͚͊͆̾͝s̵͙͒̊͐̄̅̆̌͌̓͛̉̏̓̚͠͝͝ ̴̧̢̢̲̞̘̫́́̀́̅̇͛̌̕͝ḩ̵̢̭͍̠̝͔͚̺͔̮̟̞̺̍̉͋̈́͑̽̑͛͆̍̈́͛͋͂́͑̉̓͒̈́̊̈͌̓̚͝ǫ̴̦̯̠̻̝̥͕̯̮̺̻̪̜̥͉̩̪͉͉͕̓̐͑̈̾̉̐̄́͘͜ͅo̵̙͎̥̗̪̦̲͛̄̍̿̽̑̔̽́̎̓̎͂̈́͋̔̽̾̈́̎͋̔̾̒̑̿͋̇̓̿̽͒̈́̽̃̽̏̈́̇͛̈́͛͂͠m̸̢̧̡͓͔͖̱̩̝̘̩̩̖̬̻͕͈̯͖̥̭̼̙̣̼͕̺͔̳̲̙͍͔̘͍̙̲̹̰͔̘̎͐͜͠ͅͅę̷̡̢̻̤̪̳̞̖̱̼͖̞̒̀͗̄̅̐̄͋̑̃̅̀́̅̀̃̓́͋̄̂̈́́̄̚͜͠͝ͅ
...
Fuck it hurts to remember it.
...
pzzzt...
clickclick....
....
"Hello?"