The short and dweeby meets the hideously obese.


This fat stupid cow has it in for Woody Allen.


She occasionally veers onto the subject of our favorite cinematic testosterone case, and scorn and hate are sure to follow. She really has it in for the guy. I suspect she is either a repressed, or very closeted, SJW. And all obese, vile SJW’s absolutely hate Woody Allen. He represents that male archetype they latch their sloppy mandibles into: an older male figure who brazenly is unapologetic about his appetite for younger (thin) women but who, simultaneously, represents that species of male who, primitively, couldn’t stand a chance in the mating game.11


SJW’s are utlimately about scorn and bullying, and what other subject of antagonism than a meek-looking man who snubs the niceties that modern “enlightened” society demands of us, fits the bill more conveniently?


“Woody Allen! Ugh. Why is he still alive,” she wheezes through adipose-constricted bronchial-laryngeal sloppy hefty woman windpipes. “Will someone just get rid of him. Why can’t someone stalk him and get rid of him; why can’t a child molester catch him and put him out of our misery for once.”


Knowing this fleshy beast possesses SJW tendencies, I reply.


“Hey, I like Woody. He’s great. You gotta like short, dweeby guys who can get laid, even if it’s only his money.”


The change in demeanor and abrupt halt to this inane conversation is palpable. She shuts up, for once.


I’m short and dweeby myself; we gotta watch out for ourselves.