the thing about “destroy all bronies” is you choose to be a brony
you’re not born a fucking brony
you choose to be associated with rape apologists, misogynists, racists, ableists, and homophobic dickhats
so if you label yourself as a brony i’m going to assume you’re a piece of shit, just like literally every other brony
like mlp? fine. call yourself a fan
if you call yourself a brony i’m 100% sure you’re a fucking trash wizard
Just because you choose to identity as a type of fan of something using a specific label doesn’t mean that you carry across all of the traits of that group of people with you. That is literally what sexists do when they talk about feminists, by assuming that one abstract representation of a person you may not have met represents the entirety of everyone involved in that spectrum.
You can be a brony and not be a raging sexist dick, just like you can be a juggalo and not be a terrible person. Maybe the concept is too big for the narrative of your black-and-white worldview, but people are simply not always the 2-dimensional characters that they are presented as.
I read several dozen stories a year from miserable, lonely guys who insist that women won’t come near them despite the fact that they are just the nicest guys in the world.
I’m asking what do you offer? Are you smart? Funny? Interesting? Talented? Ambitious? Creative? OK, now what do you do to demonstrate those attributes to the world? Don’t say that you’re a nice guy — that’s the bare minimum.
“Well, I’m not sexist or racist or greedy or shallow or abusive! Not like those other douchebags!”
I’m sorry, I know that this is hard to hear, but if all you can do is list a bunch of faults you don’t have, then back the fuck away..
Don’t complain about how girls fall for jerks; they fall for those jerks because those jerks have other things they can offer. “But I’m a great listener!” Are you? Because you’re willing to sit quietly in exchange for the chance to be in the proximity of a pretty girl (and spend every second imagining how soft her skin must be)? Well guess what, there’s another guy in her life who also knows how to do that, and he can play the guitar. Saying that you’re a nice guy is like a restaurant whose only selling point is that the food doesn’t make you sick. You’re like a new movie whose title is This Movie Is in English, and its tagline is “The actors are clearly visible”.
I struggle a lot with the ideas that I will never again fall in love, and that I also will never again be intimate with somebody. The worst part is, I know either one of those things are possible, but I sell myself short to the point that I actively shy away from instances that would allow these things to happen.
I’m constantly stuck with this idea that I’m just a piece of shit. It’s not so much that it’s a reality, but in my own mind, it’s like the descriptors of myself that I see are often ridiculously negative and unrealistically biased. In my head, I am the worst, least talented, stupidest, ugliest, most socially awkward version of myself that I could possibly be.
Even though I know the truth, the feeling still lingers. It wears down on my ability to be outgoing. I sabotage myself for no reason. You could say that I ultimately have control over the situation, but sometimes it’s like my willpower reverses itself, and my wants suddenly transform into undermining myself again.
I’m romantically stunted and sexually frustrated. What’s worse, I don’t know how to vocalize this to anyone I know, and the obvious solution to fixing this is so far removed from my comfort zone that I feel unable to do it. I don’t even know if the pursuit will make me happy at all, but I hate being lonely, and I hate that I’m so afraid to open up.
Plot twist: Only tumblr users survive the apocalypse because we were too lazy to go outside to see what was going on.
Second plot twist: We don’t realize everyone else is gone until we run out of food. We don’t really care until all the Nutella is gone.
Third plot twist: We finally all meet up because we have to repopulate the world.
Forth plot twist: Everyone on tumblr actually gets laid.
Fifth plot twist: nobody on Tumblr is real. You’re not real, I’m not real, nobody is real. All of Tumblr is actually a fragment of consciousness that expanded during the dying dream of a person on a strange experimental new drug in a horrific car accident.