what Ronald Stan’s life was starting to burn down around him, so when the big century-old barn full of pigs caught fire, he saw a chance to escape. He’d been cheating on his wife — regularly — and in his mind his marriage was about to fall apart. Amid the roar of the flames and squeal of the pigs, the 32-year-old father of two had a thought: Better to just leave. Sure, I have…

Heather Seggel's previous work for The Toast can be found here.

Some people may be born to misandry, but I've always been happiest when I have some male energy in my life, my only rule being pants of all parties remaining on at all times. Guys are cat-like in their independence and long silences and more likely than the women I know (as opposed to Women in General) to obsessively quote

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Ashley Burnett's last piece for The Toast was about a superhero breakup. My husband was too far away to hear me, but I said it anyway: “I don’t think we should knock.” I watched him as he stumbled through the tall grass, past the gilded gates that led up to the mansion. I hurried after him, but didn’t run, and kept near the lime trees that lined the path. My nose stung with their…

Previously: Amy Tan, misandrist hero. I did not intend to come before you today speaking of basketball; this week basketball has broken my heart. Yet the words of Michele Roberts, the new executive director of the NBA players union, have led me to love again. She said she was all too aware that if she was selected, she would represent several hundred male athletes in the N.B.A.; she would deal with league officials…

Ruth Scobie's previous work for The Toast can be found here.

If you were a lonely man in late eighteenth century London, “adapted to make a lady happy,” but too shy, busy, or damned chivalrous to actually speak to one, you could send an anonymous advertisement to a national newspaper appealing to the women you wanted to bang and/or marry. Posting an ad was quick – you dropped it off at the

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It's true. I have recently (yesterday!) purchased a motor vehicle. It was a pleasant and invigorating experience, and my car is very beautiful and full of confusing technology and excessive purse storage. I have named him Dracarys, and he will serve me well. Having accomplished this task in less than 48 hours with only a brief flurry of emails, one telephone call outsourced to A Man, and a ten-minute in-person visit merely to sign pre-arranged…

I can't tell you how much it warms my heart to think of this younger generation when I hear about stories like this one: Lawrenceville School Student Body President Maya Peterson’s Instagram post of her dressed in L.L. Bean boots and a Yale University sweatshirt, casually holding a hockey stick, did not go over so well... “You’re the student body president, and you’re mocking and blatantly insulting a large group of the school’s male…

"Why do you hate men, Stepmother?" "Hate them? I don't hate them. How could anyone hate a pebble in her shoe?"

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"How do lesbians even have sex?" "I'm so sorry, I can't hear you with your head cut off. Could you repeat that?"

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“Men should think twice before making widowhood women's only path to power.”

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"Now, the most important thing you should know…

The late Middle Ages was a wonderful time for misandry in literature. Morgan le Fay tried to fuck shit up on many an occasion for her brother Arthur and his Round Table of dudebros; a devout laywoman named Margery Kempe went around graciously forgiving archbishops for being wrong and recorded this for future generations. We would all do well to follow their example. But novice misandrists need look no further than Geoffrey Chaucer’s

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"I think she's really into it. Another set?" "Yeah, she's definitely really into it. Let's play another set." "Heyyyy." "Hi." "What are you doing?" "Writing a letter." "Haha, yeah, I can see that, awesome, that's awesome...who are you writing to?" "My mother." "Right on, right on..." [stretches] "So what's new?" "I'm actually going to be busy for a while, writing this letter." "Sure, for sure." "Can't really talk right now." "Oh, it's…

"Hi, I'm Aragon, son of Gilraen, son of Ivorwen. Would you or your mother like to rest your feet on me?"

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"Hi, I'm Celeborn, but you can call me Ofgaladriel."

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"Hi, I'm Gimli/Gloin/Thorin/Ori/Dori/Nori/Oin/Dwalin/Fundin/Balin/Bifur/Bofur/Bombur/Dain, son of a super-dope female dwarf who was so cool that we're forbidden, as men, to utter or even know her name, ever, which is exactly as it should be."

*

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1. Act blandly surprised whenever she asks if she can bring him to an event, no matter how long they've been together. "Oh, Dave's coming too? Sure, that's fine." 2. Suggest Sleeping With The Devil for movie night. 3. Learn exactly one thing about him; make that the subject of conversation whenever you see him. It will not be necessary to learn two things. 4. Always grab the bill before he does. 5. Whisper "I will bury…

Previous misandrist lullabies can be found here and here. This particular dose of misandry has been brought to you by Toast reader Alexandra Mitchell. She'll be coming 'round the mountain when she comes She'll be coming 'round the mountain when she comes She'll be coming 'round the mountain, she'll be coming 'round the mountain, She'll be coming 'round the mountain when she comes Mountains are an oppressive and phallocentric creation of the…

The Toast does not support the idea of having horrible, dirty birds living inside your home as pets, but we do not blame Katie for that and found her narrative enlightening. In the spring of 2009 I got a text message that contained a picture of a bright green bird and the question “Interested???” beneath it. Although aware of the weirdo stigma attached to parrots and their owners I’ve always been compelled by them and…

There's a lot of playful misandry here on The Toast, so I would like to take a brief moment to list in full the aspects of 20th-century American masculinity that is actually, unqualifiably great. Thanks, American guys from the last 100 years. The way Chuck Connors looks at the camera right after he squeezes off like a thousand rounds in the opening credits of The Rifleman The way Charlton Heston used to say "…