DISCLAIMER: This is satire. This is fiction. This is not actually the Alamo Drafthouse writing this. C’mon.

We at the Alamo Drafthouse would like to officially apologize for our role in the end of mankind as we knew it, and the ascendant Gynocracy that followed. We didn’t know our women-only screening of Wonder Woman would result in the overthrow of all world governments and the total subjugation of men, but in hindsight we probably should have seen it coming.

“Why can’t women have one night to enjoy a character that’s meant so much to them over the years?” asked the Shadowy Figure. The woman came into our offices in a cloak as black as the grave, followed by three wild-looking dogs. Her voice had no age, or every age, it was hard to tell. Sometimes it sounded like more than one woman was talking. The Shadowy Figure made good points about Representation Mattering and Safe Spaces as she idly flicked raw flesh to her dogs. Around her swirled plumes of sickly sweet incense from a source unknown, but this is Austin, so we figured she was just keeping it weird. How naive we were.

About halfway into the film, Gal Gadot put down her sword and shield and turned to the camera.

“Who has hurt you?” she asked. “Who denied you, violated your person? Who has defiled your temple? Name them now.”

A woman stood on the table in front of her, knocking over her Austin Beerworks Fire Eagle IPA. “Travis!” she yelled.

“Tyler!” shoued another.

Chris, Ryan, Brandon, Matt, Donald. Roman, Bill. The names fell from the women as they stood in their seats. Gal Gadot, superhumanly huge on screen, seemed to actually hear each name with a look of utter disgust on her face.

“Man’s time is over,” she said. “They have done all that they will do, all they are capable of doing.” And then she grabbed Chris Pine by the hair and slit his throat with a big double-edged axe that we’re pretty sure was not in the comics but that’s Hollywood for you.

“This is the labrys,” she told the audience as Chris Pine sputtered and choked on his own blood. “A symbol of woman’s power. It cuts away that which is false. It is a problem and a solution. Look under your seats.”

Each woman pulled a similar double-edged axe from under her seat. We do not know where they came from. We did not put them there. The Alamo Drafthouse did not arm the first Amazon Death Squad. We want to make that perfectly clear.

“Goddess who was wronged by Travis, what is your name?” asked the giant Gal Gadot, covered in Chris Pine’s blood.

“Jessica!”

“That name was given to you by your father. Claim your new name and be reborn an Amazon.”

“DIANA!” she yelled.

“WE ARE ALL DIANA,” the crowd echoed.

“Go forth, Dianas. Cleanse Gaia of the Tylers and the Travises. Do what must be done.”

Well, you all know what happened next. The Dianas all chopped off their right breasts, burned down the theatre, and stole a bunch of motorcycles. Everyone named Travis in the city of Austin was killed.

The Dianas grew in number, emboldened by Teen Vogue thinkpieces. Since Last Man Standing had recently been cancelled, there was no one left to challenge their total cultural takeover, and now all cishet men have been jailed in the abandoned Curves Gyms and Carl’s Jr’s across the globe. Again, we at the Alamo Drafthouse regret this turn of events and the role we played in hastening the end of civilization. We were short sighted and didn’t realize that celebrating women for one night would have such dire consequences. Our bad.