Guess what’s got my large intestine in a septic knot today, MANmerica? The extreme pussification and dude-slicing feminism that has taken Mad Max: Fury Road—a movie that should have been about two greased up male torsos in a UFC fight on the back of on a loud motorcycle—into a crotch-kicking misandrist fantasy starring some dyke named Furiosa who doesn’t even show us her tits. THE BETAFICATION OF AMERICA CONTINUES. MAD MAX HAS BEEN RUINED.
Much like a first date with my ex-wife Diane, the Mad Max: Fury Road trailer tricked me into believing that it would be one thing, when in fact it was something else entirely. Diane indicated to me that she would laugh at most of my jokes (Family Guy quotes repurposed for everyday situations. Giggidy!) and tell me that my dick was big, like a porn dick. MMFR led me to believe that the fire tornado in the trailer and the man’s name in the title meant that I wouldn’t have to listen to a woman talk. Wrong, and wrong. Charlize Theron talks SIGNIFICANTLY more than Tom Hardy. She’s in the middle of the poster. She fights. None of the hot sex slaves take their shirts off. THIS MOVIE IS MORE FEMINAZI THAN THE SHE-STAFFEL.
CHANGE MY DIAPER! FOR I HAVE SOILED MYSELF!
Here are more egregious omissions in this bloody tampon of she-nima:
- beefy, leather-wearing guys who are mortal enemies don’t get so close to each other that they almost kiss
- there is no follow-up scene to the almost-kissing scene where the main character looks at gratuitous female nudity to remind the viewer (me) that this movie isn’t about some gay shit; it’s about DUDES
- the fire tornado doesn’t burn my ex-wife Diane to death while her faggot boyfriend cries
- Tom Hardy doesn’t make soulful eye contact with the camera as he takes a long, lusty, and most importantly MAN ONLY shower
- nobody’s dick is a literal gun
I THINK ABOUT MEL GIBSON’S TORTURED BLANK 1979 EYES WHEN I HUMP MY ARMCHAIR! MAKE ME A SANDWICH!
Anybody who has seen the original three Mad Max movies knows that women exist for one of four man-created reasons: to be raped so Mel Gibson can get mad, to be sexual partners with a guy trying to kill Mel Gibson, to be murdered so Mel Gibson can get mad, and to force Mel Gibson to fight in the Thunderdome. They have character names like “Nurse,” “Nightrider’s Girl,” “The Captain’s Girl,” and “Victim.” ALL OTHER REASONS ARE A PERSONAL AFFRONT TO ME AND THE SACRED LEGACY OF MAD MAX, WHOSE HAUNTED EMOTIONAL EMPTINESS I RELATE TO ON A VERY DEEP LEVEL DESPITE THE FACT THAT MAD MAX WATCHED HIS FAMILY DIE IN A HOPELESS FUTURE HELLSCAPE AND THE WORST THING TO EVER HAPPEN TO ME WAS THAT SOME GIRLS SAID THEY DIDN’T WANT TO BUMP UGLIES BACK WHEN I WAS A TEEN.
GEORGE MILLER BASICALLY KILLED MY DOG IN FRONT OF ME.
TOM HARDY HAS BETRAYED ME.
CHARLIZE THERON HAS MENSTRUATED ALL OVER MY MASCULINITY.
WOMEN ARE SO EMOTIONAL AND UNSTABLE. (punches wall, like, totally out of nowhere)
This film franchise owes me and the thumb I have perpetually inserted into my butthole the movie I (we = me & Thumb) desire. It owes all men who watched it when they were little and liked it. It owes me, some fucking guy on an internet forum, because I provided the franchise with loyalty. I sent invisible vibes into the world about liking it, which are worth more than the actual legal tender that women (and men who are bored with formulaic action films) would spend going to a movie. What is the point of making movies if not to make ‘roided up nipple tweakers like me happy? IS MY HAPPINESS WORTH NOTHING TO YOU, GEORGE MILLER? I WILL SEND YOU A SERIES OF AGGRESSIVE TWEETS THAT MAKE ME SOUND PSYCHOTIC AND COMPLAIN ABOUT FREE SPEECH WHEN YOU BLOCK ME.
MY MOM IS SO MEAN. THE FEMINAZIS HAVE WON.
Mad Max: Fury Road fails to be the lecture on the inherent superiority of masculinity I have to give myself in a Christian Bale Batman voice in order to climax sexually. Instead, it’s a lecture on the destructive, brutal folly of masculinity and the virtues of femininity CROWBARRED INTO OUR BRAINS. Watching a movie about a strong woman smuggling escaped sex slaves out of bondage felt, to me, like having something unwanted and incredibly encroaching literally shoved down my throat. Watching sex abuse victims depicted empathetically onscreen was an incredible violation of my delicate and SIMULTANEOUSLY VERY MANLY tastes. I HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO SENSE OF IRONY OR PERSPECTIVE.
Mad Max: Fury Road presents women as human beings capable of fear, intelligence, canniness, and punching. BULLSHIT. If women were intelligent, then how a woman my mom give birth at me when I are a stupid? Why I not know other humans people? Genetics, red pill sniffers! Yore honors, case closed.
In a world where another chick flick like Terminator 2 could be RAMMED up our butts WITHOUT WARNING OR THE LUBE OF REASSURING MALE SUPERIORITY, what the fuck is a REAL MAN like me supposed to do? See one of the 77% of films released annually that feature a male in the lead role? HELL NO! ALL MOVIES SHOULD BE FOR AND ABOUT ME! Furthermore, how dare the filmmakers consult with Eve Ensler, a FEMINIST who makes my DICK SAD on a film that is supposed to be ALL ABOUT MY DICK’S ASPIRATIONS FOR ITSELF? BAD BUSINESS, HOLLYWOOD. I SHAN’T BE RETURNING!
IT’S ABOUT ETHICS IN IMAGINARY FUTURE AUSTRALIAN DYSTOPIA JOURNALISM!!!!
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Image via Warner Bros.
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