It’s Time to Rewrite the Woke Story

I’m more confused than a prosthetic breast resting on the chest of male woodworking teacher Kyla Lemieux about the way the woke are saying straight white dudes, like myself, are a drag!

Why just the other day I took my youngest, the other Dana, to the Oakville Public Library for story time. You have to earn those Best Dad In The World mugs, you know. When lo and behold, the story was being read by a six-foot-three former Edmonton Eskimo linebacker who now identifies as a woman!

Dressed to the nines in a mini skirt, high heels, fake bazookas (complete with nipples), and a feather boa that would make Harry Styles swoon!

Well, I’m not one to start arguing culture with a former Eskimo, so I shoved little Dana up to the group of kids and told her to be quiet and listen to whatever the man. I mean, the lady said.

I left to grab a coffee and when I returned the former football freak show was nowhere to be found. I asked the head librarian who informed me that ‘Tammy Brady’ was exhibiting monkeypox syndromes and needed to quarantine.

Well, poor Dana was in tears. She only wanted to hear a story, even if it was Johnny Chopped It Off To Become Jenny. I didn’t know what to do. Crying kids. Transgender literature. Monkeypox!!!

I turned to the librarian who’s name tag read They/Them/Overdue and said that I’d be happy to take over story time from the fallen jockette. “I am the best selling author of the Johnny Jock PI Detective series, you know,” I not so humbly bragged. 

“I have never heard of that book before,” They/Them/Overdue frowned. 

“It’s very popular on Amazon, tons of downloads,” I countered hopefully.

They/Them/Overdue made an even longer frown. “Excuse me, but nobody wants to hear a story by a middle aged balding white man.”

I was shocked! I had the inclination to knock They/Them/Overdue back into the periodicals section, but instead I shuffled off, took my teary-eyed daughter and went home.

Crossing the Line

A week passed and I still couldn’t shake off how I was treated at the library. I mean a grown man dressed as a woman spreading a sexually transmitted disease got more respect than acclaimed author Toby D. Gelman.

I decided that I needed to show these showoffs a lesson. I had been in the military and I knew how to prep for a mission. Tootsie and Mrs. Doubtfire were torrented on my trusty Lenovo ThinkPad and watched twice. Goodwill had a male visitor to its ‘Womens Plus Sizes’ aisle. 

That Saturday morning, I woke up early and swiped some of Greta’s cosmetics. I placed her blond wig (previously only for Greta on ‘special occasions,’ wink) on my balding head, attached the massive prosthetic breast to my chest, which I’d ordered with my Amazon Swagbucks, and put on a tight pink shirt and cute little black biker shorts. My breasts were six sizes too big and dropped down to my belly button. I man not be half the man as Trafalgar high school shop teacher Kayla Lemieux but I think I looked pretty good !

I considered putting on black face, to top off the look but had learned my lesson a few months ago when I applied for a job a la Justin Trudeau style. Then I marched down to the library and told the head librarian, They/Them/Overdue, that Tobina Gelwoman was there to read to the children.

They seemed suspicious of me at first, but then I spouted a few PC buzz words like Cis, Non-Binary, and Pan (whatever that is!). 

Sure as I’ve got two testicles, there I sat in front of an audience of ten six-year olds. I started to read one of my favourite’s The Pied Piper of Hamelin. I know it’s unacceptable—kids being led away from their homes and never seen again—but damn if that isn’t what life feels like these days.

Our kids are being groomed by the bazooka flaunting woke with all their chatter about vaccines, gender reassignment, and native burials. I was about five pages in, when I was rudely interrupted by Them/Them/Overdue who asked me to read a book called Sally Has Two Daddies… and Two Mommies.

Ladies and gentlemen, I couldn’t do it. Looking into the innocent faces of those sweet pure kids and the propaganda coming out of my mouth gave me a tight feeling in my chest that wasn’t just from the strain of caring around my giant plastic boobs. I stood up and told the kids to be their own person and to not let mentally ill adults coerce them into being something else—especially when it comes to chopping off their private parts! The kids cheered!

Finally someone was brave enough to tell them the truth. Tell it like it is, the voice in my melon said. That’s when They/Them/Overdue ran up and ripped my wig off, exposing me like Robin Williams in that restaurant scene.

Security escorted me out and told me I was banned from the public library. But that’s not the worst thing that happened.

We Do Need Another Hero

Later that afternoon, the Gelmans, like the rest of library patrons, received an email informing the world of my “despicable” act, how traumatizing it was for the kids to see a man dressed up as a woman, reading an unacceptable book, and how the library will continue to offer healthy choices that don’t involve white men.

Hey now, don’t get me wrong. If a former football player or a high school teacher wants to play dress up then God bless them, but don’t feel like because you’re making it acceptable for them it means discriminating against us—the straight white dudes. 

At dinner that night, Greta couldn’t stop talking about the library letter and the brave actions of the mysterious blonde wigged man. I said, “Good for that hero. White men are being marginalized and we have voices too.”

“Poor Toby,” she said, “are you still in a snit because you couldn’t read to the kids?”

“Oh, no, dear. Not me. But someone was brave enough to read to them from the book of truth – and they loved it.”

My wife looked at me sweetly and smiled, “You’ve still got some eyeliner on, dear.”

“Now then,” I replied coyly. “You wouldn’t want to expose a superheroes true identity, would you?”

“Oh no, I would never do that to a hero,” she smiled. “There is one thing I wonder though?”

“Yes?” I asked.

“Where’s that blonde wig of mine? Maybe I could play dressup and you could ‘read’ me like a book,” she said motioning me to the bedroom.  

Well, at least somebody appreciates bald white men. That’s all the woke drag I can dress up this week.