Google Chantal Akerman. Tell me what her father’s name was. Both her parents survived Auschwitz. Both her mother’s parents died in the camps, do you see that? What was her dad’s name? Do you see who her husband was? No, because she didn’t fucking have a husband. Millennials, this’ll blow your gender fluid minds, but back in 1975 you had to be a guy to be a husband. I’m serious! Okay, Boomer.
Do you see who her children were? No, you don’t because to be a mother you had to get “stabbed” deep in your vagina by a man’s “sword”. It’s painful, like “fire”. And it wasn’t just to procreate that occasioned this stabbing, it was enjoyable for the man. He wanted to stab her again and again in her vagina with his sword. That didn’t sound fun to Chantal so she didn’t become a mother.
Did you see what occasioned this looney-tunes bitch to kill herself. Her mother’s death. Her father? Who cares! He was a vagina stabber.
So Junior’s fucking absurd bedtime monologue: NEVER said; never said by a son since she didn’t have one; never said by a daughter ‘cause she didn’t even have one of those female type offspring. She offed herself leaving nothing that sprung from her. GOOD.
Did you see that she was “obsessed” with her mother; directed the last film of her life which was a documentary of her mother, just the two of them sitting around talking about vagina stabbers?
You know who delivered Junior’s monologue? HER MOTHER I BET.
So females, here is your role model! Feminists, this is your heroine, Jeanne Dielman, crazy bitch cold blooded murderess, and here is your idol, Jeanne’s creator, Chantal Akerman, fantasy man-killer so miserable she committed self-murder. Visit her often in Père Lachaise. Join her! Emulate her! FUCK. YOU.
