shaming single mums
You have impregnated several women and then ran, fled, vanished, like that Malaysian plane. You have made it evident that you are severely allergic to pregnancies and any child(ren) that you have sired. How reckless was she, you ask her, to let herself conceive? You have even blocked one or two women on Facebook to make it impossible for them to tag you in any photos of your child(ren). They should sort themselves out, you say.
Then you lick your index finger, touch the ground with it, lift it up, look up to the heavens, and sigh heavily. Then you close your eyes and passionately swear by your ancestors that you can never date – let alone marry – a single mother. That you avoid them like a venereal disease. Like debt. Like relatives. That they are ‘used goods’, whores, even.
You, may elephants with infected bowels shit on your future. And then use your destiny as tissue paper.
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