Here’s how I feel: No month should be attributed to anyone. Period. True equality doesn’t mean assigning specific chunks of the calendar to certain sexualities, genders, or skin colors. That’s not equality—that’s special treatment. That’s manufactured relevance. That’s a desperate grab for cultural dominance disguised as “awareness.”

Everybody struggles. Everybody is judged. We all experience hardship. But now, we’re being told that one group’s hardships deserve more attention, more empathy, more airtime—and most of all, more obedience. I don’t accept that.

If we zoom out and actually take a macro view, every single one of us is judged. By our appearance. By our tone. By what we post. And now, apparently, by who we f***. That’s the LGBTQ movement in a nutshell: turning sexual preference into a moral virtue and demanding applause for it.

The homosexual community centers identity around having sex with the same gender. That’s what it is. No fluff. No soft language. It’s about who you sleep with. And the trans community? Even more convoluted. Some claim gender is a social construct. Others desperately want to switch from one to another. Which is it? Because both can’t be true.

It’s a chaotic mess. It’s inconsistent, illogical, and it expects the rest of us to just keep up, shut up, and celebrate. I won’t.

I don’t care who you f***. I don’t care who you love. I don’t care how you dress, what you call yourself, or what pronouns you invent. But the moment you demand special privilege, the moment you make it public and loud and self-righteous—you’re opening the door to natural, human reaction. And no, not all of it will be praise. Not all of it will be applause.

If you blindside people with who you are and expect nothing but reverence, you’re delusional. You’re out of touch with real life. And if your sense of identity is so fragile that disagreement is interpreted as “hate,” then you don’t have identity. You have a shield made of tissue paper, and the world will tear through it.

As a heterosexual white male in America, I’m sick of hearing how “privileged” I am. You don’t know me. You don’t know my struggle. You don’t know what I’ve carried. But sure—go ahead and slap a label on me and pretend that’s truth. That’s what this whole damn movement has become: lazy labeling to prop up fragile identities.

If you want to be accepted for who you are, let people get to know you as a person. Not as a brand. Not as a hashtag. Not as a month. Because when you ask to be loved and celebrated for how you have sex or how you self-identify, you’re not looking for equality—you’re looking for a pedestal. You’re not being brave. You’re being obnoxious.

And here’s what nobody says out loud: guys like me aren’t mad because you’re gay, or black, or trans. We’re mad because you won’t shut the f* up about it.** You weaponize your preferences, demand approval, and then punish dissent with shame tactics, censorship, and cancel culture.

This has become Ridiculous. Regressive. Stupid. A society collapsing under the weight of its need to pretend that private matters are public battles.

To the transgender individuals who say they are now a man: if that’s the game, then I’ll treat you like one. But I promise you this—you won’t like it. Because I know what it means to be a man. It means confrontation. It means honor. It means defending your values with fists if you have to. It means being willing to be punched, to bleed, and to get back up. If you talk to me like a man and disrespect me or my family, you’ll get exactly what you asked for.

You want to be a man? Then fight like one. Stand like one. Live like one. If you can’t take that heat, then you’re not what you claim to be. And I’m not the enemy for noticing that. You’re just not built for the label you want.

Let’s also get something straight: “Pride” doesn’t belong to you. It existed before your rainbow flags and Instagram bios. It was a word built around dignity, around self-respect earned through adversity. It’s not a brand. It’s not a party. It’s not a marketing campaign. You don’t own it. And I don’t recognize your right to claim it.

We all have our kinks. We all have our preferences. You’d be shocked what I like behind closed doors with my girlfriend. But I don’t need a parade for it. I don’t need a flag for it. And I don’t need the world’s approval. That’s called being an adult.

If you want to prevent “hate”? Try privacy. Try humility. Try minding your own damn business.

Your idea of hate is often just a dirty look. A disagreement. A shrug. If that’s enough to crush you, then you don’t belong in this world the way it actually is. Grow some backbone. Stop expecting everyone to play make-believe so your identity feels safe.

I don’t care about Pride Month. I don’t recognize it. I don’t honor it. And I sure as hell don’t believe it belongs to you.

If you get to be proud, then I get to be proud of this:

I hate what this entire thing has become. I hate where it’s taking society. I hate the double standards, the forced compliance, the psychological warfare of fake tolerance.

This is my rant. This is my journal. This is my truth.

And I won’t apologize for it.