He Said, Ze Said

I have a new hero.

The University of Michigan is sinking under the fetid waves of gender fascism, and they have enacted a bizarre new policy that will make everyone who cares about the truth cringe: students are allowed to choose the pronoun by which instructors refer to them, and the choices are not limited to “he” and “she.” They offer a third pronoun, “ze,” which presumably refers to people with genitals ordinarily found on extraterrestrials. If that’s not crazy enough, they permit students to make up their own pronouns.

I’m sure most people just groaned, turned off their computers or dimmed their phones, and blew it off. Conservative student Grant Strobl, however, had a greater vision. He saw the possibilities. His chosen “pronoun”: “His Majesty.” Capitalized.

I love this kid. I want to buy him a steak. A steak made from a very flatulent corn-fed steer that was raised in a factory with no windows. And posters of Ronald Reagan on the lead-painted walls. The AGW platter, with white privilege fries.

Maybe a half-baked potato, in honor of the school administration.

My guess, based on my knowledge of the hypocritical, petty, self-unaware nature of leftist academics (“leftist academics”…I repeat myself), is that the school will refuse to accommodate him, even though his “pronoun” is an important political and social statement and not a backhanded way of saying “fungible pants-wetting snowflake.”

This may be the greatest thing I’ve seen on the Internet in five years. Not that this is a high bar to clear.

I want a ticket to Strobl’s graduation. I want to see the lemon-sucking look on the dean’s face when he has to call out “His Majesty Grant Strobl.” The faculty will probably stand to turn their backs on him, much as they have done with regard to reality.

I wish he had had more time to think up his title. I would have gone for “His Serene Imperial Majesty,” at the very least.

Or maybe “Zorro.” Or “El Kabong.”

“Kommissar.” “Darth.” “Obergruppenfuhrer.”

Maybe something earthy and simple: “Nugent Rules.” “Give me your thoughts on the Malthusian Catastrophe, Nugent Rules.”

It won’t fly. I guaranteed you, they will find an excuse for denying His Majesty his due. They say a black person who murders white people for being white isn’t a racist; surely, they will come up with a canard “proving” personalized pronouns can’t be applied to conservatives. It will be a lot like the “research” the Nazis did, proving the Japanese were Aryans.

Maybe a legal name change is in order. They would have to comply. I should put up a Gofundme page, just in case. If it comes to that, he should change his name to “His Royal Eminence Trickle-Down Abortion is Murder McCankles.”

Students these days are amazing. They get top grades in aeronautical engineering, differential geometry, and Mandarin, but they can’t pass this one-question test: “Remove your clothes and look down. What does that tell you?”

The obvious problem–one of them–with the university’s Orwell-staggering, bullying, unconstitutional policy is that it serves the opposite of a university’s ostensible primary goal. It bans the dissemination of truth.

In reality, a person with male organs is “he.” There is no such thing as a “ze.” When the university forces employees to use pronouns that conflict with reality, they force them to lie in order to keep their jobs.

For people who hate the truth (most people), being forced to lie is no burden at all. They could not care less. So the punishment strikes only the principled.

What a surprise. Knock me over with a feather from Bruce Gender’s favorite boa.

That’s how the Beast is going to do things. Do this little thing you know is wrong, and we’ll let you earn money to buy your bread. Now do that little thing. Now do this great big thing you really can’t stomach. Now take the Mark. Now help my thralls put your Christian neighbors in hybrid vans so we can take them to a green facility where we address the Christian Question with finality.

It’s funny; the Bible refers to sexual deviation as “confusion.” Have you noticed how appropriate that is? As trendy imaginary genders multiply, a simple job application will grow to three or four pages. Ten years from now, a gas station may have to have five bathrooms. Or just one, with no stalls, because stalls are triggers to voyeur-Americans.

Maybe stores will have big storm grates in their parking lots, under the lights, and we’ll just drop our pants and let go. Festival seating.

The raft Christians are packed into is getting smaller, and one day it will sink. Might as well keep a sense of humor.

I applaud His Majesty. I would not want the grade point average he will have when his Marxist professors get done rewarding him, but I applaud him.

Maybe universities should replace desks with toilets, so each imperial snowflake can have zis very own throne.