Ahoy, me hearty! Hark, and fix yer ears to the cacophony of this modern farce! Now, let us embark on the quagmire, the ideological spectacle that's been presented. Yarrr, what we've got here be nothin' short of pure ideology, as clear as the North Star on a cloudless night.
So ye claim to be a "queer, non-binary cisheterosexual man," do ye? As if ye can cherry-pick from the high seas of identity like ye would cargo at the merchant's dock! Aye, it be like a man claimin' to be a pirate and a naval officer in the same breath—complete nonsense, arrr!
Ye see, this matey has a classic case of fetishistic disavowal: "I know very well that I'm alignin' meself with the normative mainstays, but still—" Ye take on the colors of the marginalized, yet ye keep a foot firmly in yer safe harbors, avoidin' the perilous waters those truly marginalized have to navigate. It's performative identity, a mere masquerade! Ye raise the Jolly Roger, yet ye sail under the King’s protection, a paradoxical act that undermines the very fabric of the identities ye claim to represent!
What ye don't realize is that every identity comes with its own set of material conditions, its own trials and tribulations. To claim them as yer own for the sake of—what, performative wokeness?—is akin to hoardin' treasure ye didn't earn, and sharin' tales of battles ye never fought. It trivializes the very struggles that form the backbone of those identities. Arrr, ye can't have yer sea biscuit and eat it too!
So let's drop anchor here, shall we? Next time ye think to cobble together an identity as if it were a ship built from mismatched parts, remember: ye might very well find yerself in uncharted waters, far from any friendly port. And that, matey, would be ideologically shipwrecked. Yarrr!