Stop Sharing That Damn Fox News Article About Alpha Women

Two days ago, Fox News shared an article (which I will not link here) about alpha women and how the world needs less of them. The idea being that they're ruining marriages or cutting off men's penises or causing the apocalypse. I actually have no idea what it said because it looked stupid and I didn't read it. This is not solely due to it being from Fox News (though that certainly contributed to it) nor because I recognized the author's name (which I will abstain from writing here, for what will hopefully become an obvious reason). I didn't read the article because, by the time I caught wind of it, I was staring at a Facebook news feed stuffed with liberal friends sharing it, complaints appended to their statuses.

This, to me, makes little sense. Naturally, Facebook is a sound chamber of political complaining, something not wholly evil nor useless. Indeed, much of the recent mobilization against Donald "Bing Bing" Twitterfart has been a direct result of people sharing and voicing their opinions on Facebook. But alongside the potential for revolutionary protest, there also lingers the possibility of free advertising. Which is exactly what liberals have been doing. This is not, I'm afraid, the first time this has happened.

When Milo Yinopologalumpf (that's right, isn't it?) went galavanting about America last year, he chose to speak at colleges. The man knew exactly what he was doing. Conservatives, of course, were delighted to see Milo shaking the snowglobe full of the so-called liberal snowflakes (though, as has already been scientifically proven, it's the pasty-white doughboys that seem to have the most snowy, flaky qualities). Liberals, on the other hand, were less than amused. Protests were sparked and people at these colleges fought back. Rightfully so! Idiocy and assholery should be fought tooth and nail, especially when it slinks in under the guise of "truth" and "daring." Meanwhile, Milo's book deal was announced, and within 24 hours it was sitting pretty at the number one spot, ensuring that every moron with a "Make America Great Again" hat would finally own a book. Why?

Tell me: before 2016, did you know who Milo Yigglethumps (this has to be right) was? Was he even remotely on your radar? Probably not. He was a mouth-breathing dipshit long before all of this, but at some point, he realized the money-making potential behind angering social media activists. It's a business model that has, for some time now, proven to be an easy catapult towards fame. Lest we forget, we do not live in the same world as we did two years ago. The public dragging-over-the-coals has been co-opted and turned into a marketing strategy.

Which brings us to the heavily vilified (and sexist) Fox News article. The article was, unsurprisingly, an excerpt from a book. (Hmmm.) It should be no stretch of the imagination to presume that this article was written with the express intent of angering the left and goading them into angry-sharing. Because, as justified as liberal anger (usually) is, it is also incredibly predictable. And predictability of publicity is marketing gold. We've opened up a conservative talking head goldmine, allowing everyone from Milo YIsThisNameSoHardToSay to Tomi Lahren (god forbid) to get behind a computer and dictate a book to a ghostwriter.

So what do you do? Ignore them, preferably. Yes, tyranny and comic book evil manifesting as chewed up dog food slathered on the back of Howie Mandel's head, Donald Trump should be taken to task for as long as we're allowed to openly share our opinions, but his "celebrity" fans trying to make a quick buck off of liberal outrage should be dissuaded from cheering from the sidelines. Their entire business plan takes into account that we, the morally diligent, will sound off on Facebook and either A) anger other people into sharing the article because they disagree with it or B) anger other people into sharing the article because they agree with it and they want to outrage more liberals.

The point is: You can be angry and outraged and morally offended, but doing so by actively spreading the source of your offense is akin to sneezing on the doctor trying to cure everyone. Simply ignore the never-ending parade of Ann Coulter wannabes and stick to PresidentBannon hashtags. At least that seems to be having an effect.

How Donald Trump Wakes Up in the Morning

Motionless for some time, and then roused, it unfurls itself from the shoddy remains of a once ornate bedpost, each limb unsticking from the cold brass with a pop of suction, leaving behind a viscous residue, misshapen and wrong. It takes its first breath of the day, emitting a low hiss that grows upon itself and eventually amounts to a ragged breath, a wheeze that gives color to the air. Its innumerable limbs unstuck, the creature lurches across the bed and plops on to the floor with the stomach-churning sound of raw meat being dropped on linoleum. The body contracts and releases itself like a fire bellow, a flow of orange liquid dripping from the very same orifice that its now steady breath rasps through.

A slight sliver of light cuts through the darkness at ground level, the result of a lamp being turned on beyond the room's singular door. This cut of light reveals the creature, malformed and grotesque. An imperfect monster coated in a thick layer of bulbous pustules, each its own quivering mass of uncertain mortality, forever at the brink of bursting. Its complexion notwithstanding, the creature's body resembles a bloated python, minutes after its feast of prey roughly three times its width. The head protrudes as its own awkward pimple from the very top, discordant with the rest of its being. But it is its extremities that engender the most disgust, they themselves not quite tentacles, but neither are they arms nor legs. Instead, they are like that of a squid with five smaller appendages protruding from each elongated tentacle, some horrific and unnatural bastardization of a normal human arm. It is with these limbs that the creature does crawl across the ground, wheezing grayish smoke into the air and leaving a trail of clear liquid, its viscosity similar to that of the blood-riddled spit coughed up by a soldier dying upon the battlefield.

With a sudden creak, a metal flap is opened at the base of the door, and a large golden bowl is tossed inside, landing with a thud at the feet(?) of the creature. The contents, still shivering from impact, are the fatty remains of long-gone Trump steaks, still caked in a day-old layer of grease and steak sauce. The creature rumbles with delight, sputtering a bit as its mouth forms a wide opening. The airflow that erupts from within bends the bowl like a powerful heat, warping it irreparably. Using its tentacles, the creature shovels the lot into its mouth, bowl and all, and packs it into the lumpy folds of its body, filling in the parts that sag until they are made taut. Fully formed, the monster manages to bring itself upright, steadying itself with a warped and tiny paw, newly developed from the primordial appendage that once slithered unconsciously at its side.

The creature doubles over. It grips the sides of the room, no more than three feet wide, and orients its orifice to the floor, arching its back and beginning a sequence of retching that creates its loudest noise of the day (so far). The attendants outside shuffle back and forth and stare stoically ahead, the haunting cacophony within a daily ritual they have become far too accustomed to. Eventually, from the creature's maw, a wiry orange object discharges, dropping to the floor with a wet splatter. This profane spawn moves with its own sense of purpose and affectionately crawls towards the creature, cooing with delight. Scrambling up its side, it eventually rests upon the monster's pate, contorting itself into a more permanent fixture for the day.

This unholy union complete, the monster steps forward, grunting and heaving, and scratches at the door twice. Immediately, a single phone it sent through the open slot. The creature reaches for it with tiny phalanges and pulls it towards its face. Its breath lowers to a ragged whisper once again, cut short by the revelations now displayed on this tiny computerized link to the outside world. The creature pores over it and begins to bristle, almost angrily, but with such wild intensity that it resembles fear. It uses the almost microscopic extremities of its now fully formed hand to write the following:

Watched protests yesterday but was under the impression that we just had an election! Why didn't these people vote? Celebs hurt cause badly.

— Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) January 22, 2017