Chile con queso: one of the few gloppy pleasures left to me.
There’s such a great, reeking snotglob of misogyny writhing and pulsating in my inbox right now I’m not sure I can contain it; it could blow any second.
I first knew something was awry when, as I sauntered gaily into my office this morning with an Odwalla SuperFood, a Krispy Kreme, and a bucktoothed smirk, I espied an acid green glow emanating from the CD slot on the G5. The Andy Griffith Whistle withered on my lips. I had barely enough time to slip into my hazmat suit before the stinking cloud of oily gas began billowing out. Not good. I reached for the headset to put in a call to Spinster Aunt HQ for backup. That’s when I saw the tentacles.
* * * * * * * *
By the time I’d absorbed the fourth email linking to the California traffic cop who jerked off on a motorist and got away with it because she was a stripper, I felt like I was covered in purulent scabs. Normally, in order to escape the iron maiden of bitter human malevolence, I would just take a Twisty-break, but stupid, stupid, stupid, I forgot to buy the Cool Whip.
I made two New Year’s Resolutions, did I tell you? One was to stop burping into the telephone, and the other was to read all emails within 3 weeks of receiving them.
So I’m pressing on.
What have we here? Ah, of course. Blamer Emily links to a website (“I love road head dot com”) promoting merchandise that celebrates, with incisive sloganry and brilliant graphics, fellatio performed in automobiles. Finally, a website where you can buy that hilarious “Warning! Choking Hazard!” blow job poster you’ve been wanting for the baby’s room. Hell, while you’re at it you can pick up a “What Do You Think It’s Going To Suck Itself?” T-shirt for your dad.
Fortunately for schmucks who sell cheap crap from China emblazoned with approbative mottoes concerning getting blow jobs in cars from “roadhead girls,” there is apparently no shortage of jagoffs who will part with $9.99 for the privilege of owning an ‘I Love Roadhead’ thong.
Horribly, blamer Nancy’s email clicks into view, and it’s a doozy.
But before we get into that, there’s something I have to get off my chest: last night, as I swigged anxiously at an over-oaked chardonnay, I saw an episode of “Law & Order: Mutilated Women Unit” Here’s a summary: Show opens with close-up of pretty young dead woman naked from waist down, stabbed through lung. Nerdy suspect is diagnosed psycho by cute FBI psychiatrist Agent Huong, television’s leading authority on violent psychosexual aberration. Tonight’s misogynist nutjob is really kinky, too. He got his start flitting around New York stabbing hotties in the butt with hat pins! Viewers are undoubtedly tickled to learn that stabbing women for purposes of sexual gratification is sufficiently common as to warrant giving it its own clinical designation: piquerism. The hat pins, explains Greek chorus Huong, represent the nerdy suspect’s penis (Huong utters the phrase “piquerist attacks” several times to maximize the titillational effect for the prurient folks at home). But what has made the nerdy suspect so crazy that he graduated from hat pins to butcher knives? His horrible harpy of a socialite mother, that’s what. She’s so evil she not only sexually abused him as a child, but she makes him service her still. The final money shot shows the nerdy suspect, who has of course snapped by now, naked in bed with a knife and his bloodied dead mother, mumbling incoherently. The natural law and order of male mastery over weak woman is restored.
It’s easy to see why that show is so popular.
But I can postpone with pretty fairy tales the next email no longer. It concerns a jagoff student journalist, one John Petroski, who has written an op-ed piece for his college paper, Central Connecticut State University’s the Recorder. The piece is entitled “Rape Only Hurts If You Fight It.” In it Petroski says rape is great. He praises rape as a “magical experience” the “glorious advantages” of which he asserts as having been essential in creating “a pristine example of a flawless government” (i.e. the bloodthirsty imperialist slave-holding Roman Empire). He applauds “saucy circle-jerk rape action” (whatever that is) as superior source material for struggling journalists. And because he is or was very recently a teenaged boy, he also tosses off the one about how rape is such a godsend for “ugly women.”
Following a student protest demanding apologies and resignations all around, local paper the New Britain Herald reports that Petroski was only “striving for the prose style of 18th Century satirist Jonathan Swift,” adding that Petroski’s editor praises the young genius as “a bold satirist whose message fell on deaf ears.” Some such ears were attached to the heads of the campus PRIDE chapter, whose members note that when the Recorder isn’t mocking rape victims, it’s mocking gays, lesbians, and Jews.
Jesus’ General makes some pithy remarks in an open letter to this Petroski knob. The pervy little hata turns out to be a men’s rights activist-type who is sorely pissed that he has thus far been insufficiently manly to assume private ownership of his girlfriend’s personal uterus by forcing her to incubate the fruit of his loins against her will (see the General for links).
Petroski is currently “secluded” in an undisclosed location, looking at internet porn.
Whoap, that’s it … hard drive … emitting shrill whine … can’t … hold … on … much longer … gonna blow … Daisy, Daisy …