A secret so secret even I don’t know it. And neither do you, dumbass! I don’t like getting punched by my bro really hard in the shoulder (it hurts), so I don’t think I’m fully a dude. Maybe I’m a gal, but Women be Shopping, and I only be shopping when I need to stock up on gender fluid. My favorite color is blue, but I think skirts and dresses are prettier than basketball. Dress shirt? Yes, I will. Maybe it’s non-binary or genderqueer or agender or anti-gender or uncle-gender or womxn or bored man. I contain multitudes.
Bro, are you ever out with your bros and your bros are like “bro, you’re such a bro” and outside you’re like “bro, yeah” but inside you’re like “bro, no.” You know, bro?
If you want to know the gender identity of me, then you must solve my riddles three! Riddle #1: Is that Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me? Riddle #2: Girls eating food, “mmm this tastes like pink and glitter,” but Boys eating food, “MMM this tastes like muscles and WAR.” Riddle #3: If all this is a concept, why does it bother me? Is my gender identity real, or did I decide it mattered? If it affects how I stand in my personal and societal dynamics, do changes help or harm my life? Beyond perception, internal and external, is there a self? But hey, that’s just a theory, a queer theory. Thanks for watching. That’s not the riddle. I was just rambling. The riddle is “the horse was named Friday.” Wait, no, that’s the answer, okay, ignore this one. #wokemindvirus #everythingisperformance #eternaldilemma #freeslurpeeday
Anyway, I’m kind of like a me/myself. More specifically, my exact gender is—*Judith Butler bursts through the window and drags me away as hyperpop blasts in the background*