An American woman has turned a gargantuan bathtub with no drain into her dream home. The only problem is that once flooded, the water will rise to the ceiling, submerging everything and everyone inside.
Sitting on the roof of the house, beside the chimney, is a man with a cup of water and a medicine dropper. He releases one drop of water down the chimney every second without stopping. When he gets tired, another man takes over the duty, resulting in a continuous drip drop into the house—a house that the woman wants to live in until her last days.
It takes several months for the woman to notice her carpets are soaked. Her toes remain in a permanent state of prunage and now she is becoming quite bothered, but as of yet, does nothing about the problem.
Three months later, the water rises up to the middle of her shins. Her cat, sadly, drowns to death. Once she discovers that there are men releasing water into her bathtub home, one drop at a time, she calls the police. Due to a loophole in the law, she is told that dropping water into a home is not against the law. The police can do nothing. She calls the mayor of the town to change the law, but this takes time, and in the meanwhile the water level is rising. Not long after, her electricity becomes shorted. She must recharge her iPhone in Starbucks. She hates coming home to a dark home every night after a hard day’s work as an office clerk.
She becomes so mad that she hires mercenaries to kill the man on the roof, but as soon as one is murdered, another comes to take his place, and after several killings, she can no longer afford the assassinations. For some unknown reason, the woman refuses to bail the water out. The men should be forced to stop and remove the water they put into my home, she says, stomping her foot on the ground like an angry child. It’s a matter of principle, she shouts with indignation. This should not be happening! The problem should simply go away without me having to do anything!
I have spent time on the roof of this home. Every time I publish a post, out comes one drop. Every time I have sex with a foreign woman, out comes ten drops. Every time I release a book, out comes twenty. Other men, similar to me, resume water duty when I’m away. In fact, in the past six months, I notice there is a growing queue down the block of men who are waiting for their turn to release drops of water into the house. A blog comment releases a drop. A man who tells his friend about the red pill releases a drop. A man who gets called a “misogynist” releases a drop. A new blog started by a man who got burned by an unfair divorce judgement releases several more.
The drops are slow, but they are steady, and the woman inside the bathtub home is starting to panic because so much water is accumulating. She is faced with three options: deal with the men on the roof, find out where the water wants to go, or say goodbye to her dream home. I wonder what she will pick, but until then, I will continue to release drops of water into her home. Maybe, either on this day or the next, I will see you on the roof.
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