Everywhere in the media today, we are seeing an unequivocal and unilateral push towards transgenderism. This narrative is dominant, and leaves no place for any opposition. Narratives like mine are very difficult to share in Canadian media, their censorship is extremely tangible. This phenomenon leads me to a Glossary of terms that will be a vital point of reference for the rest of this text

Glossary

Big They/Them : The media industry’s censorship of my story. The more erudite reader might have caught onto the reference to George Orwell’s seminal work of political theory 1984 (1949) which is a personal recommendation of mine, along with such titans of anti-snowflake literature as The End of History (1992), Atlas Shrugged (1957), and American Psycho (1991). Big They/Them is the postmodern Big Brother. “They/them” dictate what can and can’t be said, declaring any position to the right of famous transgenderist advocate Joseph Staline bigoted. Big They/Them is the reason my experience is so heavily repressed by the mainstream media.

Transgenderism: Movement to which I once belonged. Transgenderism prescribes not only that sex can be changed, but that sex should be changed in every single person. Allegations from sources as knowledgeable as the Babylon Bee have made account of Transgenderist activists throwing newborn babies onto operating tables to immediately give them D-cup breast implants.

Detransitioners: Group of heroic soldiers, the bravery of whom has not been seen since the days of such grindsetting icons as Machiavelli’s Prince and Shakespeare’s uncle Claudius. Standing up to Big They/Them, proud Detransitioners today are fighting for truth, complicating a narrative that has for so long been skewed in the favor of Transgenderists.

Bladee: Figurehead of Transgenderist culture. Pioneering the Twink aesthetic, a novel pipeline into Transgenderism, Bladee stood at the gateway of my bodily mutilation.

‍Drain Gang: Avid disciples and acolytes of Bladee, enforcers of worldwide estrogenization.

‍Foreword

On the morning of November 10th, 2023, I finished writing the first draft of my story, and sought to hand it in to the Arthur editors, Herculean warriors of free speech Evan Robins, Abbigale Kernya, and Sebastian Johnston-Lindsay. Only, when I had entered my brave article into the Submission Form within Arthur’s top secret cybernetic headquarter, an error message showed up on my laptop screen : “ERROR : SUBMISSION BLOCKED FOR FAILURE TO FOLLOW TRANSGENDER PROTOCOLS.” Confused, I attempted to re-submit my work, yielding the same result. Dedicated to my mission of resisting censorship, I elected to take the paper to the Arthur office by hand.

When I first left my home to head to Arthur’s lair, I noticed a strange buzzing sound looming as I walked. Initially confused by the origin of the sound, I realized it came from over my head. Flying low was a helicopter marked with the color of Transgenderism—pumpkin orange. 

I ran away from the helicopter, sensing a looming threat. As I ran, the liberal aircraft followed me, and I began to hear a distinct thunk behind me. Upon taking a quick glance back, I saw what was being dropped from the sky : estradiol valerate needles. As a rational Mumsnet researcher, I knew that, were even one of the needles to touch me, I would instantly seizure and die, much like our brave police officers upon accidentally touching Fentanyl.

Thankfully, I ran faster, and managed to lose the helicopter. As I’d nearly reached the hidden dungeon under which the Arthur editors await staff articles inside their respective coffins, a voice came from above, an effeminate flair propelled by a speaker system : “surrender now, or you will be granted pronouns by force!” I thankfully managed to escape before the mysterious voice could do anything, and offered my copy of this article as well as the blood of seven virgins to Evan, Sebastian, and Abbigale, before escaping back to my home.

What follows is an account of my escape from Transgenderism—a story I nearly died for.

Drain Gang is a Threat to Young Boys

As a child, I was a regular boy, living a regular life. I could have been a normal male, living a normal life with a normal body—and I was on track for that—until I discovered Bladee.

I was nine years old when I was exposed to Bladee’s Amygdala video. In this video, the Swedish twink raps nonsense lines such as “I want it, I-I-I want it.” What did Bladee want? I now know the answer: the castration of every male in the world.

Obviously, my own nine year old mind could not parse the frail twink’s attempts at manipulating me —I simply found myself drawn to his high pitched voice and Transgendered fashion. 

The thing about Bladee that drew me in was not only his horrible vocal style —it was also how he interacted with fellow males. In the video for Amygdala, Bladee dances closely with fellow Drain Gang goon Ecco2k. Their dance is not a male bonding one, it is a dance of lust—twinks interlocking as if to signal the death of Western masculinity. This spoke to me. I wanted to be Bladee and Ecco2k, twinks bonding in the most effeminate way possible, having fully abandoned manhood.

The caressing soft voices of Bladee and Ecco2k spoke to me—Sissy Hypno in the form of subpar vocal rap. Before I knew it, I was ordering strawberry frappuccinos from Starbucks every day.

Irreversible Damage

No less than 46 minutes after listening to Amygdala for the first time, I was prescribed Hormone Replacement Therapy. My regimen was determined by a doctor who I’ll refer to as Dr. Mutilator, in accordance with his wish to “avoid any negative coverage PR from this piece.” 

Dr. Mutilator’s regimen was strict—I was to smoke 7 kilograms of pure crystalized estradiol valerate daily, create an account on music reviewing board RateYourMusic, and read all three volumes of liberal anarchist Karl Marx’s Das Kapital. Fearing being deemed a bigot, I complied, and within 48 hours, I had grown a vagina.

I continued this regimen for nine months, requiring seven breast reduction surgeries to compensate for the effects of the drugs Dr. Mutilator made me take. This all stopped fairly recently, as I was exposed to Detransitioners’ stories, and finally broke out of the Transgenderist mind prison.

Escaping Transgenderism

Today, I can proudly say that I am three days sober from Drain Gang. Following nineteen unfortunate relapses, this is the longest I’ve gone without the sweet caress of Drain Gang’s effeminate voices. I am proudly Detransitioned, and have made it out. You can too.

I have not yet stopped following Dr. Mutilator’s prescription, and am still socially existing as a woman, but let that not distract you from the bravery of my Detransition. What people like me are doing is an act of bravery. We are saying no to a lobby that controls the whole of Canadian society to this day, and that should be celebrated.

Afterword

What to make of my story, you ask. Really, my role as a journalist is to spread truth no matter what. Experiences like mine are too often discounted, and it is my role as a journalist to challenge the status quo of such a privileged group as the Transgendereds. The role of this piece is primarily to ask questions, to shed light on an under-discussed phenomenon. I am just asking questions, as should any objective and unbiased journalist.

Are Dr. Mutilator and Drain Gang personally responsible for ruining my healthy male body forever? Should they be tried at the Hague? Is Starbucks’ strawberry frappuccino a weapon of mass castration? Should we nuke Sweden, for the protection of children? Should we ban Canadian media from portraying twinks and Swedes? Are pronouns basically North Korea? These are all valid questions arising from my experience—questions we should always defend our right to ask.