You don’t frighten me.
I’m going to take my heels off so I can get down to your level. Let’s cover some basic ground: your bleach job and concealer several shades too light don’t make you Aryan, it just makes you look like Gerard Way failing to get into a frat party. You’ve taken all your self-hatred, warped it, and levelled it at vulnerable people. I think you’re pathetic and sad.
I’m not going to waste time telling you that you’re a bigot. The faculty has pretty well covered why you shouldn’t come here in their open letters to the chancellor. Besides, being called a Nazi doesn’t appear to stop you or anyone else on the alt-right from doing a goddamn thing.
I ought to sue your “Dangerous Faggot” tour for misleading the public. The only thing you’re dangerous to is a skinhead’s self-esteem. The world is full of very dangerous faggots, but you are not one of them. I raise a glass to the real dangerous faggots, from the AIDS survivors and queer anarchists to the gender warriors and the mincers of Fire Island. Here’s to every disobedient queer body to ever walk the streets in defiance of state and society.
If we, the gender deviant, were not dangerous, you would not be so clearly threatened by us.
As I write this, Milo, I’ve got terrible period cramps, and I’m a bigger fag than you’ll ever be. Hell, I’m probably a better top than you.
I’ve hated you for a long time — being compared to you by some commenter on my column sent me into a rage for several hours — but the stunt you pulled against that young woman in Milwaukee was the last fucking straw.
If you’d like a transgender Berkeley student to direct your firehose of impotent rage at, I offer myself. Here’s the target on my back, so go ahead and take aim. I’m a Jewish anarchist drag queen with no eyebrows. The jokes write themselves. I dare you to put up pictures of me — it’s a matter of public record that I look fantastic. Tell that crowd to laugh at me. I’m not ashamed of my face or my body or my politics or my life choices.
Don’t you want to find something original to say? You can’t cut me down to size, I’m five foot two and chronically depressed. I dare you to say something about me that I haven’t already said about myself.
There’s a lot of pressure on the administration to cancel your appearance on this campus. I don’t think the administration will get in your way. They’re so terrified of looking biased that they’ll treat your “fellow traveler” ass like you have a point worth engaging with intellectually.
I’d like to address the real reason you’re coming here — Berkeley College Republicans, a pit of snakes, money and Pepe memes, agreed to host you, upping their game from the cardboard Trump cutout. I, for one, am just happy that their tacit white supremacism is now completely undeniable. They bring you here and then complain that It’s Going Down compiled their members’ public information and that UCPD would like to be compensated for the heightened security your presence on our campus will require. Hey BCR, what happened to Blue Lives Matter?
Frankly, I hope BCR gets their dads’ checkbooks out and raises the coin to bring you here. I hope our chancellor remains spineless in the face of justified faculty and student outrage.
When you get here on Feb. 1, we will be waiting here to strip you of your gay identity. You can have sex with all the men you want, but you’re not gay anymore. You’ve used your sexual orientation as an excuse to spit bile and galvanize cowards for long enough. Put your badge and gun on my desk. The community rejects you. You have never been one of us.
You never should have booked this UC tour, Milo. But you want to come to my town? I say, welcome to Berkeley, motherfucker. I’m the meanest gay on this coast. I was assigned to raise hell at birth. You come through me.
See you soon, Milo.