Imagine you’re a single guy. You meet a woman who appears to be sane and nice. She’s not sporting the signature rainbow hair, “statement” glasses, and hallmark sour, judgmental scowl that seems to be endemic to crazy third-wave feminists (but I repeat myself) today, and you decide to meet for a first date.

You gallantly hold the door open for her, and pull out her chair, because, you know, respect.

She twists her lips into an acerbic scowl, but says nothing. You figure maybe she got a splinter from the chair, or maybe she has indigestion or something, so you sit across from her and begin to chat. After all, that’s what first dates are about, right? Getting to know one another.

You: So tell me what you’re looking for in a guy.

Her: You’re assuming I date men exclusively. That’s quite the assumption to make. I’m gender fluid, and I do not discriminate based on the gender of my prospective mates.

You (nonplussed): Uh… I apologize. I didn’t mean to assume anything. I just meant to ask what kind of people you’re attracted to.

Her: Well… There are three categories that are non-negotiables for me: an understanding of race, class, and gender. Not everyone understands how these three can be insidious, systemic and intertwined, but anyone who doesn’t take the time to learn how systemic racism works isn’t going to care about how racism affects me or people who are darker-skinned than I am.

At that point you don’t know what to say, so you smile vapidly, and hope she doesn’t rip your head off at the end of the date, stick it on a spike, and carry it in a pussy hat rally as an effigy to wymyns superiority.

So what do you do? Run.

I’m not even kidding. Thank her for her time, and get the hell out of there before you have to hear any more incoherent word salad sprinkled generously with feminist catchphrases. Then go get yourself a gigantic Porterhouse steak (medium rare- she’s likely a vegan or a fruitarian or something) and celebrate your escape from intersectional feminist hell.

Unfortunately, sometimes the insanity isn’t all that obvious, and the crazy grenade detonates on a delay – when your guard is most down. So what do you do?

Well, I think I’ve isolated a few telltale signs that will help you determine whether you should stay for the rest of the date, or run like Forrest Gump on the football field.

First of all, the aforementioned word salad. There are catchphrases that will let you know for sure that you’re dealing with a vaginacrat, and sure signs that you need to run for the hills.

Patriarchy. This one is obvious. If a woman begins blathering about the patriarchy and how it has oppressed her gyno-American sisters, preventing them from reaching their full potential, run! Run like the wind!

*Insert victim of the day here* phobic. A phobia is an irrational fear. It is not a preference for one gender or another, nor is it bigotry if you happen to not be attracted to the monstrous Adam’s apple and man hands of Chelsea Manning. If she accuses you of being transphobic, because you prefer your woman sans penis, get out! Get out now!

Toxic masculinity. Listen, self reliance and physical strengths are features, not bugs. Traditionally, strong, independent men were viewed as the most effective providers and protectors of their families. It was up to them to ensure the survival of their loved ones, and that role of provider and protector has traditionally made them attractive to women. The third-wave feminists have stood the concept of what is desirable and attractive on its head. They’ve endeavored to change the strong, intelligent, and independent into flaws, while trying to force society to worship at the altar of mediocrity, weakness, and inadequacy. They want you to worship their scabs and deficits, rather than their beauty and strength. They want to show their deficiencies and weirdnesses as virtues, rather than as something to overcome. They’re weak and unable to succeed, so they want to change the concept of success and strength, because overcoming your inadequacies is hard work. Much easier to just change the paradigm. That’s what it’s all about, so RUN, FORREST, RUN!

Oh, and by the way, violent video games, guns, and action movies are fun, so eat it, femorrhoids!

Privilege. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve argued with the progressive left about the concept of privilege! It doesn’t matter that as a kid I wore clothes out of other people’s trash. It doesn’t matter that I grew up in a roach-infested dump, and had to learn English from scratch. I’m apparently light skinned, and therefore, PRIVILEGE! For men, it’s even worse. It doesn’t matter if they escaped Nazis during World War II or communists in the 1980s. It doesn’t matter if they grew up on the streets, or were raised by abusive foster families. It doesn’t matter if they overcame drug use or alcoholism. If they have a penis, they’re privileged. If they managed to overcome their circumstances, they’re privileged, and should credit their success to the “racist patriarchy” that helped them through tough times. GET OUT!

Misogyny. This is yet another excuse I keep hearing from intersectional feminists that excuses their lack of competence and intelligence. Then some muffragette came up with “misogynoir” – a portmanteau that combines “misogyny” and the French word for black, “noir” – to describe the particular racialized sexism that Black women face. “It’s a word used to acknowledge the very specific convergence of anti-Blackness and misogyny, and therefore is not applicable to non-Black women of color (or white women),” according to some nutty feminist blog I found. Think you’re a victim of the misogynist patriarchy? Well, you’re a double victim if you happen to be noir or Black! The bigger the victim, the bigger the payoff. Do you really want to get stuck with that for the long haul? No? RUN!

BDS Movement. If you think BDS means Bush Derangement Syndrome – a specific proglodyte state of mind in which they experience ragey seizures and froth-flecked, tourettes-like verbal ejaculations at the mention of the Evil BushChimpyMcHitlerHalliburton™ – the intersectional weirdos have appropriated that too. Apparently, I learned, it stands for “Boycott, Divest, Sanctions,” and it’s their way of fighting the racist patriarchy that has helped the EVIL JOOO nation of Israel oppress those poor terrorists Palestinians. Don’t try to explain to them that by boycotting, they are, in fact, supporting free market economic concepts. Don’t tell them that sanctions are a very specific legal term that requires more than just feminidiot screeching to implement. She’ll just accuse you of “mansplaining.” RUN!

Capitalism is exploitation: Apparently, this is one of those concepts that is necessary if you’re going to become one with the Tumblr vagina. Never mind that capitalist nations are some of the most successful, advanced, and democratic on this earth. Never mind that capitalism has ushered in lifesaving medical advances, scientific research to feed the starving, and the opportunities for even the poorest, most unfortunate individuals to reach their highest and fullest potential! Never mind that they rail against capitalism on their iPhone and iPad, while drinking their $6 soy lattes and enjoying the fruits of their parents’ labor while living in their basements. They’ll never understand their hypocrisy or lack of knowledge. Get away as fast as possible, and may the force be with you.

Ableist. Progholes love to make up all sorts of “isms.” The concept of “ableism” is one they created to show you what kind of horrible, miserable person you are, because you apparently exclude disabled people from pretty much everything, because, according to them, humans (unless, of course, they’re intersectionaltranssomethingorothers) lack decency and empathy. Do you really want to be with someone who considers most people – unless they toe a very specific ideological line – indecent, cruel, and disgusting? And by the way, you’d better toe that line on EVERY. SINGLE. ISSUE. If you disagree with her on one thing, you’re a terrible person. And since she’s going to consider you a horrible person anyway, you might as well leave her to her froth-flecked blather.

Please remember, this is not an exhaustive list. If her speech is peppered with references to “internalized *insert ism here*,” “cisgender,” “transmisogyny,” “non-binary,” “triggered,” “mansplaining,” “bropropriating” (yes, that’s apparently a thing), and “manterrupting,” you might want to consider excusing yourself to the latrine and climbing out the window. For a more complete list for those of us who never took a gender studies course in college, see here.

And finally, if your date shows up looking like… well… this, it’s time to exit stage right. Hard. Trust me, this will not end well.

You’re welcome.

P.S. to all the women out there: If a guy you are thinking about dating uses these catchphrases, you can be sure he’s compensating for his… ahem… inadequacies by attempting to “talk the feminist talk” in hopes that some easy social justice landwhale will give him the time of day.