The setting is a circular table at a bar in North Brooklyn. My four close friends and I are all drinking Evan Williams Green Label, neat. This has to be what unleaded gasoline tastes like.
“We would be so much further in our comedy careers if we weren’t white men,” I say. We all drink my statement in like unfettered truth. It goes down so much smoother than the whiskey.
This has become a ritual of ours. The five of us at an open mic at 6 p.m. in the back rooms of these bars. We get a few laughs, or maybe we bomb, then we get hammered off of seven-dollar liquor that would probably be put to better use cleaning bathtubs. Then we go back to our studio apartments, stare into the middle distance while eating Popeyes Chicken, and brood.
How else do you spend your time on Wednesday? Another Wednesday that the industry doesn’t respect your time or talent. It’s tough, you know? To be immediately sized up based on your race, sex, and appearance.
That is why I have decided to become a men’s rights activist. If neither society nor the entertainment industry will recognize the plight of men, then I will become my own advocate.
It’s time to shake up society. It is time to remake the entertainment industry from the ground up to finally reflect the tastes of men aged 18-35. It is high time for the man’s voice to be heard in this country.
You know what I mean? Well, you probably don’t. It is very hard to convey what it’s like to be marginalized to this degree.
The most challenging part lies ahead: finding a place in the United States that will listen to a white man’s opinion, screamed into a microphone.
Wish me luck.