Dear Kat Timpf (A Read-Along)

Chapter Two

August 2nd, 2026

One recurring problem was the fake-tranny (no PC in this place, we're convicts who say fuck da werd po-lice) population and guys who, as the vernacular would have it, were "fucked up about me". But you see, I look like a guy. Makeup don't help. Male pattern baldness at 17 with my hair doing Kamikazes by the fistfuls. Twice dudes broke my heart over lady-boys with sex cases, girly-locks, and lady-names. Once I saw Shawn beget Red become Diesel arise Samantha, self-proclaimed " baddest bitch on the yard". I'm sure their Christian wife and three kids were proud especially as they also came up with the trick of placing their underthings in the microwave 50 criminals shared to give their mate a hot piece for lunch. Nobody seemed surprised somebody ratted and got the partner booted out.

Third repeated failure with multiple isolation issues had me adrift. Then I learned the hormones package had a HAIR GROWTH formula. This I learned because a horrible gay-bashing piece of trash with a bad underage girl sex case found out the road to freedom for a cute young feller like him was to become a pretty young philly instead. This abortion gone wrong also had a receding hairline that with a bullshitted dysphoria test now was a luxurious mane in a ponytail with their duck-lipped makeup looked straight off a prison comedy.

Thing is I've rocked a sharp dome for decades since Black dudes stole the look back from skinheads and cultural appropriation allowed Honkies like me freedom to finally scrap our Bozo noggins. God, I love the 1990s. Problem is prison = middle school ÷ a trailer park. Herd mentality and machismo make being a 100% reg'lar queer kinda suck. Plus I have my own money and I'm not a dickaholic. That makes for a lonely unicorn. Politics like gang membership keeps lots of interested parties away, jealousy gets thrown by outliers, and some people cannot handle being happy which I've realized is a genuine reason a lot of my couplings have bombed.

No, I did not tell this odyssey to the old man and his African-American chum, I was unloading to my new BFF (Does that make me a Simp?). Today's been a tough one, thanks for caring. Watching "Gutfeld!" I knew you were a good listener. Anyway, I went as deep as the hair explanation, then began to rant about women's sports and how the genuine trans community should have denounced Leah Thomas. Maddie being knowledgeable explained UK Sports screwed the pooch not using standards established during some 1940's Olympics to halt bad behavior by Hitler (ooh, that guy pushes my buttons) sneaking penis-havers into ladies events. Those exist to stop such madness and have for decades. Before I could be a tertiary party without a party but an almost-cultural degree and tons of acumen and experience to lend, guess what happened? Exhausted, I surrendered then traipsed off after six or seven minutes of them yelling over me, using TV talking points to literally out-smart each other. This stung hard because 24 hours almost to the damn dot it happened before. Only this was a roomful.

Yeah, that hair-growth crap? Maisie was on it and gave me the down-low being it's a prostate fixative with shaggy side-effects. Wanting it like a pack of Kamel Red Lights and a baby blue Bic, I took and passed (?) the sexual confusion exam. Yes, its sorta Me-Lingering, but honestly I can justify it through now's pronoun-plethora to me being "gender-fluid" because honestly take for instance this one gangsta I hated like "The Conners" (that's like the worst thing I can say about anything, maybe think "The View" to Mr. Gutfeld) except I was cooking once in a strange microwave. Wearing shorts I reached up on top to pick something up. Looking over, that asshole was sitting on a stool talking on the wall-phone with his hand on his lap. This dude was the epitome of a thug. Big, rough, and tough with a beard and smoldering green eyes. He was looking right at my upper thighs and had this intense stare then up to my eyes. When mine hit his, a wave of sex like I'd never felt about knocked me to the tiles (since we're practically twinsies now I feel cool giving you this kind of intimate detail - feel free to share yours too, Hun). New in that I was straight up at the moment a woman.

See, on the streets dudes like that aren't on the menu and if so, rare as Tartar. Women don't appreciate the types usually because they're tossed at them abundantly. Gay dudes are generally sick of other gay dudes pretty damn quick. Self loathing, maybe? Opposite attraction I'll say. Either way, in here I've had moments because of the female void where I've been that replacement. Innocently as companionship I've had a guy mist up telling me I reminded him of his amazing stepsister. On the street I'd have seen the compliment a backhanded attack on my masculinity, but this was sweet with a gentle kindness. Funny too because a lot of times I'm kind of a raging dick.

End of Chapter Two