“Men are evil, pathetic, violent whiners. M’kay?”

I guess it’s better than “all men are rapists,” though the writer probably agrees with that canard, too.

From Boston to Baghdad, from Kabul to Korea, from Aurora to Newtown, the world is imperiled by angry men feeling disrespected, their tender sensibilities hurting so bad that their fingers are twitching on gun triggers and bomb timers.

The blinking cursor is mocking me, and thus risking death. I stare at the bland white space awaiting my pithy reply. I am struck silent. The problem is men. I am a man. Therefore I am the problem. This is not a good way to begin my day.

Ironically, I encountered this article while multitasking. Drinking coffee, clicking links, stringing what some might consider a large number of weapons on my belt. I wasn’t planning to kill anyone today, but perhaps I should re-evaluate that. Perhaps I’m letting my gender down if I don’t spread death and mayhem. Perhaps I’m only letting Ms. Burleigh down. Would that be a bad thing?

Hurting people really wasn’t on my to-do list for the day. Seriously. I’ve checked. But now I’m feeling disrespected. Do I owe it to my class, race or gender to do something about that? I’m so conflicted.

Women and girls face systemic sexist disrespect from childhood to the grave. There’s all the obvious, blatant stuff, like sexual harassment, videotaped rape and misogynistic rap music, not to mention getting paid three-fourths of what men do for the same work. Or, for instance, being told by men who become presidential advisers, like Larry Summers, that we are as a group no good at math and science.

I gather she doesn’t like that. Fair enough, I wouldn’t like it either. And yet she feels free to go on at considerable length about the evils of men. Not just violent men, for all men are violent. Or potentially violent, anyway. To me, this seems a lot like systemic disrespect.

Can women become violent when angered? Sure, but mentioning that is just whining.

They always like to remind me that women commit domestic violence too. Oh yeah! Run for your lives to the nearest shelter, all you abused husbands!

She never met my ex-wife, who could be genuinely frightening – especially since I never could violate the iron prohibition against hitting back. She once broke my windshield. With her fist.

What can be done about a peculiarly male persecution complex too vast and entrenched for anti-bullying programs? We might simply have to live through this era, as these men—be they homegrown right wingers who feel slighted, angry misfits, dissed gangstas or jihadis enamored of vestigial honor cultures—slowly evolve or die off.

Wow. She even singles me out.

Well, this angry misfit can learn. I’m not prepared to go so far as to ‘die out’ to please Ms. Burleigh. But perhaps I can evolve into something else. Tell you what: I promise not to go on any wild rampages today.

At least not without sufficient provocation.