A Satirical Sermon from the Church of Delusional Masculinity
Welcome, brethren.
Today we gather to honor the High Priest of Hurt Feelings.
The Archbishop of Unmatched Energy.
The Messiah of Misunderstood Misogyny.
He is risen.
Not from love or growth.
But from the ashes of a thousand ignored DMs.
|“I can’t take rejection. I get mad when I get rejected.”
And lo, the gospel begins.
Not with grace. Not with healing.
But with rage.
Pure, unfiltered, unseasoned rage.
| “When a thick woman rejects me, I get mad.”
Thou shalt not reject him, especially if thou art thick.
For thickness, in his doctrine, is sacred.
A divine offering meant only for him.
To deny him is blasphemy.
To ignore him is violence.
|“You’re lying. You don’t have a boyfriend.”
This is his holy scripture:
If she says no, she’s lying.
If she has standards, she’s lying.
If she doesn’t want him, she’s lying.
If she breathes without his permission, she should be punished.
| “If Chris Brown or Michael B. Jordan walked up to you, you’d be single.”
Ah yes, the sacred comparison.
Because nothing says “I deserve love” like measuring yourself against other men.
Men with abs, fame, and functioning personalities.
|“You say you don’t give out your number, but I can follow you on Instagram.”
This is his loophole theology.
If she doesn’t give her number, she must give her soul.
If she doesn’t follow back, she must be punished.
If she leaves him in the request box, she must be sacrificed.
| “And yes, I am mad because it is built-up anger.”
Built up like a volcano made of Axe body spray and podcast clips.
Built up like a shrine to Joe Rogan’s biceps.
Built up like a gym membership he never uses but always mentions.
|“I’ve been rejected since high school. Every girl on my college campus rejected me.”
And instead of therapy, he chose prophecy.
Instead of introspection, he chose influence.
Now he walks among us, preaching the gospel .
A Gospel of “It’s not me, it’s all of womankind.”
| “It’s gotten to a point where I wanted to knock out a couple of you women. I’m just | |being honest.”
Honesty, he says.
As if violence is vulnerability.
As if threats are truth.
As if rage is romance.
He calls men who love their wives “simps.”
Men who cry during Pixar movies? Simps.
Men who say, “I’m proud of you”? Simps.
Men who do the bare minimum, like listening, respecting, showing up?
Beta. Weak. Brainwashed.
He mocks husbands who post tributes.
He scoffs at boyfriends who hold hands.
He shuns fathers who say “I love you” without choking on their masculinity.
But he has crushes.
Ice Spice. Sydney Sweeney.
And that one female basketball player whose name he forgot
But whose thighs he remembers.
He calls them queens.
But only when they’re mute.
Only when they don’t block him.
He wants beauty without boundaries.
He’s not misunderstood.
He’s not unlucky.
According to him, he’s “just being honest.”
What he is, is a walking TED Talk on why therapy should be mandatory.
He’s a cautionary tale wrapped in a Snapback.
He’s a sermon that ends with “And that’s why women are the problem.”
And somewhere, women are living their lives.
Free. Unbothered.
Possibly unaware that their simple “no” became someone else’s Book of Revelations.
He could’ve been loved.
He could’ve been whole.
He could’ve been one of the men he mocks.
But he chose rage.
And it didn’t heal him.
It gave him a microphone.
Now he walks among us.
Cute.
Until he speaks.
Then the air turns red.
And the Wi-Fi starts buffering.
Stay Tuned for the “Women’s Version” in the October Issue
And more in the upcoming semester.
