#cishit

is the psat for people in highschool??

Oh boy you sure have caught me out! I have no idea how to respond to this onslaught of logic!

It has been a while. IT HAS BEEN A WHILE. Too long? Almost as long. In that time much has happened. First there was shirtstorm, then there was shitstorm, and then there was buttstorm. I have missed you little tumbls, the way you make me all squuzzy inside. I would explain my absence, but I think it is for the best if I don't. But I will say this: My activism got a little too active if you know what I'm saying. One minute you're just raiding a peaceful meeting of the Texas Able Club, and the next you're behind bars meeting your soul mate.

But that is neither here nor there. No, what I want to talk about today is my newly discovered kinship. For the longest time I had an affinity for Fenneks,  you could even say I was a fennekin. But then during my matriculation in County, I learned to appreciate the bears. I became a true blue bearkin, I even got a bearskin rug to celebrate. But recently I've been really digging into some unicorns, and I almost wish I was a unikin. My identity bounces around too much, like an old lady's underarm (I don't mean no disrespect, old ladies. You are beautiful, it's true!)

And I don't know what to do. Therefore I have decided to call myself a bouncykin, one who's identity bounces around like the free free spirit of grandma's grundle. But first, I need to go over the rules of being a bouncykin.

1. Only a bouncykin can identify themselves as a bouncykin.

2. There is no bouncykin.

It's true! I made it all up. If only you could see the shame on my face right now. Oh you would know I am sorry. Really.

Truly.

...

Sorry.

No, but in all honesty, I am a Winniekin. What is that you ask? A beautiful flower who identifies with that fluffable bear, Winnie the Pooh? No, and don't even get me started on poo. One who is free and majestic like the audacible whinny of a horse? As if!

No my tumblsts, a Winniekin is one who feels for the broken heart of Winnie Cooper from the Wonder Years. Oh Fred Savage, you can kiss me anytime my brothers die!

Now that we've established that, it's time to move on to the point of today's topic, Cishets. Now I gotta tell you, if my activism has taught me anything, it's that the only way to win hearts and minds is to fuck up their language, and my friends, that's exactly what the heteronormativiststs have done this time. Cishet is exactly the kind of thing they want to be called. It gives them power. Feeds their egos! No! More!

I do declare we to call them cishits from now on. Because that's what they are. They're shit. Miserable little piles of slime, like something you'd find under the sink and have to learn that hard that it's not as delicious as it looks (and that cishits do look delicious!) (scrum-scrum-scrumptious!).

I do hoped it help. Looking forward to being read by you.

Love as usual, your favorite Winniekin,