The “not my war” crowd reminds me of a guy who is surrounded by a group of rapists. They grab him, pull down his pants.
“This is not my rape,” the guy objects. “I don’t know what these guys’ names are. Plus, I’m against rape. I believe in loving sexual relationships. Nobody asked me if I want to be part of this rape. I’m not going to participate.”
There is no difference between this refusal to accept that reality exists and the fantasy that you can become a woman if you feel like it.
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