I'm this close  to crashing out over the state of men today. Like, full emotional breakdown, throwing all care out the window, screaming at the sky because where the FUCK are the REAL MEN? The ones who smell like tobacco, leather, and good cologne —not some TikTok twink who marinated in Axe body spray and incel Reddit threads. The ones who walk into a room shoulders back, head high , owning every inch of space without apologizing for existing like some therapy-speak casualty.

2026 is looming like a bad hookup you can't shake, and I need everyone to STOP with the New Year's resolutions already. That little voice whispering "This year will be different"? Honey, it's the same delulu bitch that ghosts you by February when the gym's emptier than a straight bar on Pride night. Clock it: research literally drags that nearly 80% of those vows flop by Valentine's Day , because a resolution is just one hungover January decision you're supposed to ride for 3