Scholars in the social “sciences” abound, roosting in front of intersectional slot machines in the Casino of Oppression. A professor of Socio-sexually Deviant Black Intersectionality cranks that rock-hard phallic lever hoping for a winning intersection, some sorry combo so oppressed that once she publishes her new book on it, white men everywhere will develop chronic regurgitation, a side effect of exposure to its pages — No other effects currently known. Her nipples stiffen as the machine’s spinning wheels flash identities before her bloodshot eyes, too rapidly to be read. No naked eye could keep up with the blur, the blur of identity. Endless streams of identities. The wheels finally slow down, and the Prof’s heartbeat quickens. Clicking to a halt, the intersectional slot machine displays NONBINARY | INDIGENOUS | FURRY – a winner, an intersection of mythic oppression, as is indicated by the slot machine’s flashing pink light and wailing siren, which blast in sync with the explosive finale to the Prof’s creamy orgasm. If only she could stay and crank out some more intersections… No, she’s stumbled upon a gift; she must get to work on her next book before she loses her intellectual property rights to the nonbinary Indigenous furry. Both a blessing and a curse, the obscurity of this intersection will make research a grueling task. Little does the Prof know of what ignorant bigotry she possesses for her new subject. She will find out soon enough, thereby growing so sick of herself that she’ll elect to permanently shack up inside her studio apartment to save the world from her holocaustic microaggressions. She’ll confess her toxicity to every Uber Eats delivery person at her door until the day her iPhone dies because she couldn’t pay her electric bill. Eventually, she’ll get over it, seeing how oppressed she will have become; she will be, after all, collecting unemployment checks.