Femi’s Rules for Protesters (based on today’s tweets)

Posted: June 1, 2014 in clinic escort stories, feminism, fuckery
Tags: , , , , ,

So our merry band of morons have been more pushy considering the property line they are not supposed to cross.  Because Screw the Rules, I have Jesus.

“Good morning.  That is the first and last time you will hear that from me, so savor it.  Here we go:

Rule one: If you are an adult, I don’t like you.  I don’t care if you say that you “love me”; that’s creepy and you don’t know me.  I don’t care if your God loves me.  As a matter of fact, if you feel the need to tell me that, like you have the express line to God, I don’t like you even more.

Rule one point one: If you’re a kid and you’re here, I feel sorry for you.  There are better ways to spend a Saturday morning than being dragged to a clinic to wander with signs near pictures of medical waste.  Like the park near the clinic.

Rule two: Become familiar with the property line.  Tell your newbies.  Ignorance is no longer an excuse.  I WILL call the cops on your ass.

Rule three: We don’t have to talk to you.  For any reason.

Rule four: We can talk to anyone we want.  Deal.

Rule five: Don’t fucking LIE to us.  If you’re a protester, we’ll figure it the fuck out. We talk to each other.  We talk to our security guy.  The fucking ninth commandment?  Your rules. Not mine.

Rule Six: You are creepy, young or old.  If you bothered to think about it for five seconds, you would get that.  Complete strangers don’t owe you information about their bodies or medical condition.  Not that you would care.  I heard a woman was on the floor bawling after you dismissed her telling you her fetus’ lungs weren’t working.  You are shit.  Actually, let me make that a rule:

Rule Seven: You are shit.  The very thing you are doing is shitty and you are shit.  This is why you get the disdain you whine about.  But hey, that’s what gets you people going, I know.  You don’t give a fuck about babies, you just wanna get decent people pissed off so you can go home and wank (figuratively and/or literally) about how persecuted you are. We know your game.

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