JoJo's Bizarre Fashventures

I. My gender's name is【ÜBER ALLY】. It is a metallic titan, and it has fourteen convection fans and multiple heating elements that control heat and airflow more precisely than your common appliance! 8800° is 8800° everywhere, and the end-results are exactly as intended!

 

 

II. It was a pleasant Autumnal afternoon on October 17th, 2015: the smell of pumpkin strudel wafted down the perplexing isles of my college campus, and the leaves erupted from their emerald slumber into a barrage of rubicund and isabelline chips. The Lügenpresse came freshly from my doorstep to the checkered surface of my coffee table. White Supremacist terrorism against poor, destitute 40 year-old Syrian children?! A most heinous crime!

 

A charming serenade from my meager, as I had graciously given my tablet to an oppressed 'Asian' man, flip-phone; it was time to embark to Day 1 of Gender Studies 101 with Professor Mortdechai Bergblattstein-Silverwitz - eminent Holocaust survivor and gender politik. With that, I checked my privilege and hurried out the door.

 

Entering the lecture amphitheater came with the predictable, albeit warranted (as an Austrian man standing at 6'2 with a muscular build, there surely was epigenetic blood on my calloused hands), hazing. I gladly took the flurry of insults hurled at me by the Rubenesque woman in the pink hijab. The blows delivered to my pulsing manhood were another story. I could bear the pain of the light battering, but what my grandfather - Klaus - would think of it: that was horrifying. He was a Nazi, right?

 

After the screeching of several fighter jets, and tears plentiful enough to sate the Dead Sea; lecture began. That was when I saw Professor Bergblattstein-Silverwitz. He was a hunched almost skeletal figure. Where his stature failed to compel, his face was something that I will never forget: surrounding his sickly lips were billowing bows of greasy locks, atop his head was a fantastic mushroom-shaped plume of hair, his jet-black eyes conveyed the unmistakable drumbeat of ambition, and his nose was of colossal dimensions. It nearly stood further than his height. He had on what could be approximated as a fusion between Rabbinical robes and David Bowie's outfit in the 1980's music video for Ashes to Ashes; all cloaked in deep lilac silk, and embellished with a bedazzlement of blue six-pointed stars.

 

With a twist of the hip and a flick of his bushy hair, he beamed out a look cold enough to a freeze a ray of the sun as it glides through a Bavarian canopy. His beady eyes communicated neither contempt nor praise. They became an all-consuming orifice of appraisal or contempt: optic black holes. The tension of this brief interaction was palpable among the entire class, yet none dared to halt the roaring silence.

 

"First of all," The Professor began, "I, with the millennia of experience endowed to my people, shall not begin our discussion using the terms 'they/them' to address the class."

 

"Such language marginalizes the uniqueness of the gender personae, and the inherent strengths therein. It is comparable to The Shoah, something 28 members of my own family had to endure at the hands of Western Civilization and the Whites Ones, where each Jew was reduced to the Golden Star planted on his sleeve."

 

Thanks to the Austrian nationalized curriculum, I was made an expert on the Holocaust. I nodded in recognition and shame.

 

The entire room fell agape. The Professor's icy gaze grew hot enough to melt an entire skyscraper.

 

"NATURALLY, FILTH LIKE YOU WOULD APPROVE OF THE GREATEST DISASTER IN THE HISTORY OF THE PLANET! EVERYONE, RELEASE THE AGONY YOU FACED UNDER HETEROTYRANNY AT ONCE!"

 

Predictably, it all devolved into an ungodly chaos. I remained every stoic in my shame.

 

An electrifying feeling of nostalgia shot up my spine: in moments like these, such as when Jamal Husseini would visit my mother - relegating both I, and my spiritually absent father, to the local park, I would play football with my imaginary friend. My imaginary friend was different from the others.

 

While most young children, in the loneliness lately common to the Germanic peoples at age 7, found such playtime to be harmless fun that went unpunished: I risked hurting others when playing with [them]. Unlike the rest, which were predominately fun and fantastical, the 'tin man' would provide me company. He was tall, made of an impossibly hard steel, and had a belly that spoke with flames. He was also invisible and can use his abilities to change the world.

 

These unusual qualities did not put me at odds with my parents. What physical harm came to me was inconsequential. It was when I drew him. You see, he had this strange spider-like symbol on his arm (kind of like the one Grandpa had, when I got to see him on my birthday; before my parents made me scream at him). This emblem made Jamal feel 'uncomfortable' whenever he came to hit me. I always had to destroy the insignia, of course.

 

Anyways, on a night where the sky seemed aflame as if it were day by thunder: Jamal began to hit me with the belt too hard, so I imagined the 'tin man' opening his belly and firing a beam of light - intended to temporarily blind him - at him. A sudden blow to my heel disrupted this vision, and I fell on to the carpet in a fit of blood-drenched coughing.

 

In the daze of my injuries, I conjured up what strength I had in a jarring cry: "【ÜBER ALLY】!"

 

The 'tin man' appeared before the both of us, but only I seemed to see him. As in my vision, he released the inferno that built within his torso. The thickness and life contained within Jamal's lips, and the wildness in his eyes, were reduced into a grey dust. Along with the rest of him. I never told my parents nor other visitors like Jamal.

 

Anyways, as the mental current began to streak to the most dormant regions of my psyche: I shouted those accursed words once again. "【ÜBER ALLY】!" I bellowed.

 

The only reliant friend I have - he returned, in the same state that he was all those years ago. Of course, not one of my peers noticed. The Professor, however, looked at the apparition directly in the eye with an uncharacteristic smirk.

 

Although difficult to discern against the tempest of anguish around us both, "I too see that you're very in touch with your Gender," he slickly coos, "but nobody has survived the attacks of my Gender: 【GREENSPAN GOLEM】!"

 

His eyes directed above the rotund female in the vibrant hijab. Fog began to obscure her form, and, with a reverberating clang, a bulldozer fell on her: reducing her into a bloody confetti. To the class, her death was apparently just as gory yet with zero apparent cause. They rightfully fled in terror.

 

This display did not grasp my attention; it was the pilot of the mechanical death-machine that seemed to appear out of nothingness. It was a chartreuse frog-like hominid that possessed, from what I could distinguish from its slime-drenched form, a nose much like its summoner. The most notable descriptor wasn't derived from his physique, but from its putrid stench. It smelt of moldy chicken.

 

"SHEKEL SHAKEDOWN!" screeched The Professor with a nasally tenor.

 

At that point, I had been overtaken by the sheer volume and intensity of my spirit. "MY TUTONIC BLOOD IS LIKE A SYMPHONY WITHIN ME, MY BREATHING IS AS SHARP AS A RAZOR! FASHY SUNLIGHT OVENDRIVE!" I roared.

 

Light began to emanate from everywhere: overtaking both I and my surroundings. Then, there was blackness. But, before the blackness that left me in a coma for those months, I saw a magnificent man.

 

I didn't need to inquire on his preferred pronouns; this man was the paragon of the term. His dress was impeccable. His pose was legendary. His hair was weaved with the golden threads of Jove himself. His voice, my God. His voice! His unwavering, unfaltering voice! With an unmistakably American voice, he calmly said - "You'll be alright Johann - hey, you know what? Mind if I just call you 'JoJo'?"

 

I couldn't answer him out of my exhaustion. With a chuckle, he retorts - "I'll take that as a 'yes!'"

 

 

"【MEME MAGICIAN RED, WHITE, AND BLUE】!"

 

It was when I awoke by his side just 20 minutes ago that I truly understood. My Gender is the manifestation of my soul's energy. It shall always stand by me. With the help of my new friends, I will save my homeland from the forces of evil.

 

III. It is important to control your breathing and blood flow when exercising your Gender Identity under stress. Just let it flow from your heart into your fingertips! Never give up!