My Postmodern Life With My Postmodern Wife
6/4/17, 12:36 pm EDT
By Kyle O’Donnell, photo from Conan on TBS
I wake up every morning at 5 am to the sound of our child crying. I get out of bed and head down the hallway to strap on a mock breast full of milk my wife has provided. My wife says it's important to redirect the standard of gender roles, that's why she's hubby and I'm wifey at home. I often wonder why I gave up a life of praising Kek and the lulz. This is my life with my postmodern wife.
She often stays out late with the girls. Happy hour is over at 6 pm but the party lasts until at least midnight. Most nights she stumbles through the door and finds the couch before managing to fumble up the stairs. Those are the good nights, but other nights...she will walk up the stairs with authority and enter the room intent on a display of dominance. I'll pretend to be asleep, but I can hear her strapping it on. She tells me "the future is female". I try to fight her off, but it just makes it worse. I'm not sure if those nights are the worst nights, or when she comes home angry and wakes me up with her fist thrown at my head or forced elbow-deep up my bottom hole. This is my life with my postmodern wife.
I used to have a life of fulfillment: a career, friends; I used to spend my Saturday's cracking a cold one with the boys. With any luck I'd be able to jerk off in the shower. Now my cock is in a cage and I pee sitting down. My wife says we can't allow my toxic masculinity to surface. Now I sit and watch her as she cucks me. This is my life with my postmodern wife.
I used to have a sense of meaning and valued hard work. My wife says I can't work hard as a cis white male because it will contribute to inequity for people less privileged. She says: "gender is a social construct," as she presents the dress she bought for me to wear. She says she wants me to understand life as a woman. It used to be different, but everything changed after they killed Harambe. This is my life with my postmodern wife.
One day, while sitting in my dress, something compelled me to open a box from my old life. In it I found an envelope that read "only open if cucked." I open it to find a cd. Uncertain, I put it in the disc drive and plugged my laptop into the speaker system. Eminem's The Marshall Mathers LP began to play. Praise Kek! I was liberated! Even baby Kekohmed stood up in his for the first time to bounce along. I tore out of that dress and put my jeans and Tucker Carlson shirt on. My wife arrived home with her bull to cuck me, but cuck I was no more. I said "you done fucked with one bad hombre." I pulled out my glock and shot his dick off and smacked her with it like nunchucks. I took the key from her necklace and uncaged my dick. Now fully uncucked, I retrieve my son Kekohmed and we made our way to Kekistan.