It’s a plague spreading across the US –– men, especially our Gen Z counterparts –– are constantly complaining about how they “can’t find a girlfriend” and are being “sidelined by women in power.” The epidemic of male loneliness was critical for me to address –– as a misandrist lesbian –– I began to think that maybe I should feel more empathy for these poor souls. I started small. Instead of the usual noise-canceling headphones and resting bitch face, I decided to smile and wave at every sad-looking 20-year-old man that walked by me. Eventually, I moved on to my next phase. On my weekly walk to get disposable CVS vibrators and plan to hand them out at Halloween, I decided actually to engage my septuagenarian catcallers in intentional conversation. I decided to work on unpacking my preconceived notions and started giving them the benefit of the doubt. Maybe their whistles are just a cry for connection. I don’t think we have that much in common though, they didn’t seem to have anything they wanted to contribute after the conversation naturally shifted to Dworkin. What happened to just wanting a connection? Since both of these efforts were fruitless, after some long thought I now believe the best solution to the male loneliness epidemic is murder, men can’t be lonely if they’re dead.