The latte-sipping left-liberal elite have unveiled their latest weapon in the culture wars: making me accidentally lock my keys in my car.

The motives of these regressive dullards are as transparent as the window of my car, through which I can see my keys. They want to humiliate me and leave me stranded alone in this carpark as night closes in. But this underhanded strategy will not succeed.

I won’t call for help, of course. That’s what the feminists would want me to do. To admit that I’m not all-powerful, that men are no more capable than women. Well I’ve got news for my critics –I won’t be shamed into calling out for help.

That, my friends, is the insidious danger of this “callout culture” — a danger that all proud, free-thinking individuals who can get into their cars at any time they want rightly reject. It’s an atmosphere of oppression, designed to make you watch your every move, your every thought.

But I won’t do that. I won’t live in a world of fear where every dark corner of the carpark hides a feminist, waiting to laugh at me as I bloody my fists on the car window. I’m stronger than that, and my hands do not hurt at all, actually.

Here’s something for all the perpetually-outraged feminists out there to consider: maybe I don’t even want to get into my car? Are you offended? Was this abandoned night-time carpark your safe space? Did I make you feel unsafe? I will not apologise.

Being outside my car in the cold is exactly where I want to be, and I don’t care who I offend by speaking this fundamental truth. I’m sorry, but it’s true.

This was once a powerful nation, a strong nation — when a man could open a car door and get into that car, like our founding fathers intended. Now we, like my car, are locked up tight. But there is still hope. Everywhere across the nation, the world, and ideally the local area within sight of my car, libertarians are rising up to take back what has been stolen from us.

Feminists, cultural marxists, regressive leftists and smug wankers with spare keys will be swept aside when this revolution comes. Guided by the light of freedom and liberty, and also my phone which is down to 3% battery, we will reclaim society from the forces that paralyse us.

These radicals have tried to make my car a new front on the culture wars. But they weren’t counting on my incredible personal ingenuity, my great hair, and the amount of nutrition a man can suck from the bottom of a discarded milk bottle that he finds in a nearby bin.

Your move, social justice warriors. You know where I am, and I won’t be going anywhere — but not because I can’t. Because I choose to stay.

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Milo Yiannopoulos is a leading technology understander and author of books such as Censored At The Drive Thru! and Trapped In The Shitter: How A Feminist Got My Arm Stuck In The S-Bend. You can’t follow him on Twitter because he isn’t verified.