He threw back that caffeinated tar like it was water. There would be no faggoty and degenerate dairy in his cup to soil the essence of his masculine purity. Degeneracy was not far from him, though. An image flashed upon the TV. A woman in a bikini. He threw his mug at the TV, smashing the screen and vanquishing the bikini slut. “Goddamn degenerates,” said the Patriarchal Tradcon Warrior. In the corner his toddler was doing squats with his high chair on his shoulders. His wife was busy in the kitchen cooking up a storm because that was what all quality women did. She was wearing a sundress and a sun hat because God told her to. “There’s just so much filth out there, but don’t worry your pretty little head. We will prevail,” he said. She looked at him with the admiration of a woman who had exhausted all her options and had settled. “Time to save the West,” he said and kissed her on the forehead. He quickly checked his toddler’s squat form and then left the house.
Outside, the homosexual degenerates from next door were making out on the front lawn. “Filthy scoundrels! How dare you foul the ground under which my family walks!” he said and drew the Patriarchal Blade of Truth from its scarab and pointed it at the horny gays. The sun reflected off the blade and landed on the faces of the mating homos. They looked up at him, flames of fury in their eyes at having been interrupted from their non-reproductive sexual intercourse. “How dare you interrupt us with your wanker virtues,” said one of the homosexuals and he threw a rainbow bolt at the Patriarchal Tradcon Warrior. The dark arts of homosexual sorcery, however, had little effect on the Patriarchal Tradcon Warrior and the bolts bounced off him like hard turds hitting a porcelain bowl. He approached the rainbow fornicators and decapitated both of them with a single strike for they had still been in the act of boning each other. Their screams hung around in the air like a fart ripped in a warm shower. The Patriarchal Tradcon Warrior kicked both their heads onto the street. “That’ll learn them,” he said.
The day’s drama was far from over. Only a fucking simpleton would think that. The Patriarchal Tradcon Warrior was no fool and he knew that the darkness of the world was like a blanket and he was the candle that would not only bring light to the darkness, but would also set fire to the entire goddamn thing. Not far from work he was confronted by a gang of lesbians. “Hey, CIS motherfucker!” said one of the lesbians.
“What is it?! Cunnilingus demon!?” said the Patriarchal Warrior.
“We hate you!”
“The feeling is mutual!” he said and the entire gang charged him. He jumped into the air and flew over the heads of the thirty-four lesbians that were intent on ending his life. With the Patriarchal Blade of Truth, he flew low and severed the limbs of several boyish dykes. Their magic was useless because like everything lesbians do, it was entirely unoriginal and an inferior version of whatever they had copied. The Patriarchal Tradcon Warrior assumed they had stolen their magic from male magicians when they were going through a straight phase or most likely when they had been drifting between men and women which is most often the case. He lost focus while pondering this possibility and failed to see the four bulls flying towards him armed with sharpened dildos. The sheer degenerate nature of this attack was something the Patriarchal Tradcon Warrior had never seen before and disgusted him so much that he threw nine hundred and sixty-five Lights of Truth and Virtue at the entire onslaught and reduced them all to dust. He lowered himself back to the ground and wiped the sweat from his brow with a hand-embroided handkerchief his wife had made him. He shook his head in disbelief at how dark the world had become.
An air of positivity had started to wash over him like the gentle morning kisses his wife would give on a Sunday morning to wake him up for breakfast. He imagined the sun bleeding through the holes in her sun hat and wondered if she would ever take the fucking thing off. His daydreaming came to an abrupt end, though, when a team of man whores called him a faggot. “How dare you accuse me of impure activities!” said the Patriarchal Tradcon Warrior.
“All of us have fucked your sun hat wife!” said one of the man whores.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” said the Patriarchal Tradcon Warrior and with the fury of all his masculine ancestors he entered into a Tornado of Patriarchal Justice. Spinning around and around at a rate of 12019 rpm, the Patriarchal Tradcon Warrior cut down ever last one of those lying man whores, sending their body parts all over the place. Frustrated at how the day had unfolded he wiped more sweat from his brow, but this time he used his forearm. He decided to go home.
She greeted him at the front door when he got home and the sun hat looked like it hadn’t been removed. “Do you always where that fucking thing?” he said.
“Oh my god! Why are you speaking to me like that?” she said.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Take the hat off”, he said.
“I don’t want to.”
“I AM THE PATRIARCHAL TRADCON WARRIOR AND YOU WILL TAKE IT OFF!!” he said and grabbed the hat from her head but it would not come off. He pulled and yanked and heaved but it would not budge and her screams could be heard throughout the neighborhood. People started leaving their houses to see what the fuck was going on and then he got it loose. He threw the hat aside and looked at her. All the hair that had been under the sun hat had been completely ripped off and she stood there bald and ugly and not even the sundress could make this look better. “My god! You’re bald!” he said.
“I glued it on,” she said.
“God told me to.”
“After we got married,” she said and went inside. He followed her and their toddler was bench pressing a rolling pin when he entered the living room. His wife returned to the kitchen to continue cooking because that’s what all quality women did.
He woke up in front of his computer. His drool had dripped into the keyboard and underneath the keys. He typed into his social media account, “Always make sure you vet your woman properly.” He then grabbed a handful of cheesy puffs, shoved them in his mouth and took a large mouthful of the same old sugary shit he’d been drinking since he had been a kid. His mother called out to him because dinner was ready.