Monthly Archive for April, 2007

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Breaking news: Study shows women are “worse”

Published by Twisty on April 21, 2007. 73 Comments

Thank the lard for websites like The Sydney Morning Herald. Without them, I might have lived out my days in ignorance of important American sexcientific research proving once and for all that “women are worse oglers than men.”*

Researchers used impressive “eye-tracking technology” to suggest that when men are shown things like “sexual stimuli” or “sexual photographs,” they look at female faces “much more than women.” Women, on the other hand, if they are not taking birth control pills, check out a dude’s package first, before moving on to faces and other contextual elements of the photos. The scientific term for these pornography-generated eye movements is “ogling.”

Because lesbians and homosexuals are a marginalized and immoral minority and have nothing to do with actual humanity, no part of this human sexual desire study addressed same-sex ogling.

The study also showed that men and women look at women’s naughty bits the same. Since women don’t look at naughty bits less than men, and since we don’t modestly confine our gaze to faces, and since we supposedly focus more intently on “photographs of men performing sexual acts with women” than men do, the Sydney Morning Herald is perfectly within its rights to call women “worse.”

Women are worse! Women are worse! Proven again! Thanks, heteronormative sex research academics!

It couldn’t be that men look first at women’s faces because dudes are conditioned from the cradle to appraise a woman’s value according to her objective position in the ugly-beautiful continuum, and that the raw data required for this assessment is contained in the face. It couldn’t be that women’s apparent interest in dude-on-chick “sexual stimuli” (a most asinine clinicalized euphemism) is an expression, in an it’s-hideous-yet-I-can’t-look-away way, of the horror with which any member of an oppressed sex class might reasonably be expected to regard the graphic representation of her own rapeability. No, the only possible conclusion is that women, incorrigible oglers that we are, are worse.

The purpose of the study — which study, for you eggheads, is reported in the April 2007 Hormones and Behavior, a gripping journal I always read cover-to-cover, right after I spend the morning watching paint dry — is, according to another indispensable website, NBC5.com, to add to what is surely a woefully inadequate supply of information on straight people’s sexual desire, with the civic-minded hope of contributing to improved public health.

Hey, I got an idea for improved public health. Hows about the fucking government gets out of my fucking uterus?
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* Because they are dutiful minions of Male Dominion, the news writers upon whose shoulders it fell to sex up the researchers’ press release omit to mention that in a patriarchy, an ogle can only be as powerful as its ogler, thus falsely suggesting that if women do it too, how bad can it be?

Posted in Junk Studies, Keep your bias off my gender and Mass Media. Bite me, Chad.

Berserk-os

Published by Twisty on April 20, 2007. 61 Comments

I’m still off duty, but goddammit, some political gasbag on the radio has proclaimed a National Day of Mourning for the murdered Virginia Tech students. On such occasions the first thought that coils up in my obstreperal lobe, ready to spring, is this: oh please.

I hope I don’t shock the delicate reader with my imperfectly assimilated sense of patriotism, but I rebel against these national imperatives to mourn perfect strangers. It’s sentimental, sanctimonious, hypocritical crap. You can’t really mourn someone you didn’t know.

You can, of course, mourn the death of an idea, but the idea that campuses are exempt from berserk-os on killing rampages died in 1966, when Charles Whitman’s brain malfunctioned and he shot 46 people from the University of Texas tower. The so-called “end of America’s innocence” precipitated by that massacre has already been mourned. For 40 years.

A rational citizen, using whatever diminished faculties are left to her after a lifetime of governmental, cultural, and religious manipulation, will process the Virginia Tech event the same way she processes the news of any senseless butchery perpetrated by crazy men: with ever-deepening angst. These orating gasbags, with their inane “moments of silence” and paternalistic “days of mourning” whipped up special for the TV cameras, are themselves crazy men. Displaying the disingenuous maggotry that passes these days for statesmanship, they’ll hitch their political wagons to any convenient spontaneous tragedy for an opportunity to convince a global audience that, despite their sponsorship of other, more distant, more invisible, or more devastating calamities, they are in fact capable of humanity.

What kind of moron buys that crap? It’s tragic when some random dude goes off his nut and kills indiscriminately, but it’s unconscionable when an elected government does exactly the same thing on a global scale and everyone swells with national pride. The people running the war may have human DNA, but they are all barbarians.

As Stingray, who actually knew slightly one of the murdered students, so succinctly put it, there ought to be a National Day of Mourning every fucking day until the war is over.

Posted in Mass Media and Politics. Bite me, Chad.

The spinster aunt takes a coffee break

Published by Twisty on April 19, 2007. 54 Comments

Because I am the world’s flakiest patriarchy-blaming blogger, I forgot to post the note alerting the World of Blame that I would be taking an extended coffee break for a few days. As a matter of fact, I’m still off duty, but that won’t stop me from live-blogging a cup of coffee from Flipnotics, the South Austin coffeespace at one of the rickety patio tables of which I at this moment crouch, swigging with my swigger while attempting to stabilize the crazily lurching writing surface with a flipflopped foot. My lack of success in the latter endeavor has resulted in most of my coffee sluicing across the table, endangering the lives of a couple of ants.

Since I have been here, which is about 10 minutes, I have had three conversations. The first was with the barrista, whose enthusiasm for making my single-shot Americano dissipated entirely when I revealed that I wanted it with more water than is allowable by law.

The second was with a nodding acquaintance who was rummaging through a first aid box. She dabbed at a red spot on her stomach.

“Pox?” I asked.

She explained that she was rendering triage to “some kind of spider bite” which she had just “popped” on the advice of a coworker with experience in such matters.

“If that thing turns black,” I said, ever helpful with the unsolicited medical advice, “you’d better buzz off to the ER.” For when it comes to the flesh-eating venom of deadly spiders, I am not without a lively imagination.

My remark was to her the equivalent of dunking a madeleine in a cup of lavender tea. Nostalgia for Gangrenous Spider Bites Past flooded her. Her exterior glowed with an expression of fondest remembrance.

“Last summer,” she reminisced, “I was sittin’ on the porch when all of a sudden my foot really hurt. It swelled up really huge and turned really red. The hole was this big” — here she described with thumb and forefinger a gaping wound with the diameter of a Kennedy half-dollar — “and it was all purulent* and oozing and disgusting. It took about three weeks to go away. I still have a scar.”

I could think of no good reply to this repellent idyll, so I just said “eew.”

The third conversation was with a wild-haired dude with eyes that went in different directions. I knew what was coming when he lurched toward me, because once I was a bartender for 13 years. Consequently I can tell, from the nature of a guy’s lurch, whether he is about to be lewd, or puke on my shoes, or make a sales pitch, or emit an incoherent mutter of schizo poetry, or ask me for money.

This one would ask for money. Did I have some change for “a refill”? I said it probably wouldn’t kill me to give him a dollar. He regarded me disinterestedly while I fumbled for the dough. I was relieved, when our business was concluded, that he did not attempt to suck up with any of that grateful godblessing palaver that so often accompanies these transactions. He gave me two extremely satisfying looks of disdain — one from each eye — and lurched away in no particular direction.
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*Actually, she did not say “purulent.” She said “pus-y,” but that word does not, for some reason, exist in written English.

Posted in Easy Persiflage. Bite me, Chad.

Some notes on revolution

Published by Twisty on April 14, 2007. 348 Comments

While waiting for my rickety C-1000 super-automatic espresso machine to kick out the morning’s first cup of life-giving mud, I decided to skim through the responses to yesterday’s brief installment in the “Liberal Dudes Are Knobs” series. I was not surprised to see that some of the commentary reflects a somewhat unsophisticated grasp of the cornerstones upon which men have built our culture. Bandied about is, I am sorry to report, a bit of the old “blame the victim” palaver.

I find that feminists of the empowerful, slo-mo kickboxing variety are sometimes impatient with women who have been publicly screwed over by the Establishment. These feminists seem actually to be critical of women on the wrong end of a beatdown. Their motto is that the wronged women should open up a can of whup-ass on the thugly oppressor. Otherwise, men might take it into their heads that women can be kept in line with intimidation. According to these feminists, the women who cry uncle have allowed themselves to become “victims rather than people.”

But look here. Who are they trying to kid. Women can be kept in line with intimidation, and the whole world knows it. Aren’t people who have been raped and intimidated and harassed and threatened with death “victims”? What the fuck is wrong with that word? It describes the situation perfectly.

Do you guys get, I mean actually get, that our society is a patriarchy? Patriarchy isn’t just a gimmick for a blog. It really exists. There are actual implications. Do you get that a patriarchy is predicated on exploitation and victimization? It’s not a joke! It’s not an abstract concept dreamed up by some wannabe ideologue making up catch-phrases while idling away the afternoons with pitchers of margs. Exploitation and victimization is the actual set-up! A person is either an exploiter or a victim, or sometimes both, but never neither.

This means me! This means you!

This means that, until patriarchy is smashed, we ain’t got a chance.

Meanwhile, do you guys see that there is no other possible outcome, in a society based on exploitation and victimization, than for the Don Imuses and the Daily Koses of the world to shit, frequently, on members of the lower castes? Shitting on the lower castes is a privilege built into the system. When exercised with macho aplomb, it attracts advertisers. It creates prestige. It makes money. It entertains the masses.

If, by some Stone Age fantasy-world turn of good fortune, our society had not been permitted by the clumsy aliens of the planet Obsterperon to devolve into a patriarchy, Kathy Sierra wouldn’t have done anything wrong. The Rutgers basketball team wouldn’t have done anything wrong. They would have just been human beings, doing whatever the fuck they felt like doing.

But it is a patriarchy. And in a patriarchy, where women are the lowest caste, a public woman is always wrong. Which is why Sierra and the basketball players and lard knows how many others over the millennia have been victimized by a gazillion patriarchy-enthusiasts. These women attempted publicly, in a society in which they are devalued as dirty jokes, hysterics, babymommas, and receptacles, to behave as sovereign human beings. It is one of the first laws of patriarchy that insubordinate females should be jeered at and harassed, from the moment they dare, as members of the sex caste, to step into the gray subumbra of proto-celebrity, to the moment the last blurb is written by some feminist blogger who criticizes their behavior as victims-who-let-the-terrorist-manbags-win.

Do you get the implications? Even the feminists — we’re as poisoned by establishmentarianist dogma as anybody else — operate under the patriarchal paradigm. Thus, even some feminists think we ought to criticize Kathy Sierra for not taking her reaming like a man. We recognize that victimhood does not equal personhood, but beyond that we’re constrained by some dim twilight denial. We can’t believe, even though it is true, that victimhood the only available outcome, so we say insane things like, “don’t act like a victim, you idiot!” But for chrissake, what do we want from her? Do we seriously think she can take down the dominant culture by “standing up” to it, with only a few wan ‘you go, girls’ from the sidelines to mark the occasion? Without a revolution to back her up, all the whup-ass in the world will only get her locked up.

Do you get it yet?

Without revolution, the oppressor won’t stop oppressing. Without revolution, there is no happy ending.

Posted in Keep your bias off my gender, Men Hate You and Politics. Bite me, Chad.

Asswad World

Published by Twisty on April 13, 2007. 67 Comments

I have just learned, via Amanda at Pandagon, there exists a category of writer called “user interface bloggers.” I don’t know what a user interface is, but apparently they’re wildly popular.

Anyway, one of these widely-read user interface bloggers is Kathy Sierra. She is a woman in a dudely profession who expresses what are considered non-mainstream views on user interfaces. As a woman who dares to have a public life, it is only natural that she should expect death threats from jerkwads in her professional community, and that these death threats should force her to cancel speaking engagements and ditch her blog, and that misogynist liberal gasbags like Kos would dismiss her as a nut because it’s only natural that male dudes always have the canniest insights into what is or isn’t offensive or threatening to women, and therefore should always be called upon to assess the danger to user interface bloggers of “so-called ‘death-threat’ thing[s].”

That is, it’s only natural in Asswad World, a society that unquestioningly accepts as good ideas binary sex roles, the dominance of one sex over the other, and the humiliating-smackdown-as-inevitable-consequence-of-insubordination.

Fucking knobs.

Posted in Blogulation and Men Hate You. Bite me, Chad.

So it goes

Published by Twisty on April 12, 2007. 116 Comments

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Public Galápagos tortoises of Austin. The Galápagos tortoise lives twice as long as Kurt Vonnegut, Jr, who, by the way, wrote a novel called Galapagos in which H. sapiens evolves into a species of tiny-brained cetaceanesques. Tortoises photographed at the sad, so-called Austin Zoo, a sort of repository for unwanted, damaged-looking exotic animals, March 2007.

If I were a “Breaking News and the Fascinating Morsels I Wrapped in Today’s Newspaper Before Throwing It Out” blogger, it might — what with the not posting for days and days — be said of me that I sort of suck . Fortunately, I am not a news blogger. I am a lazy bum. Nobody who is not insane can say that I suck at that.

Thus am I just sufficiently acquainted with today’s most popular blaming issues — the Don Imus Thing, and the Duke Lacrosse Players Development — to be disgusted.

But I am not so out of touch that I didn’t hear about the extinction of Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. The news gave me quite a start. The start was followed by a sentimental pang. Some of the pang was for Kurt Vonnegut, Jr, but most of it was for my own lost youth.

I’ll explain about the lost youth pang in a minute.

Kurt Vonnegut, Jr is the American author venerated as a visionary for having invented the idea that certain patriarchal customs, particularly war, are absurd.

Of course Vonnegut didn’t really invent the idea; that was Aristophanes, or possibly Hawkeye Pierce. Vonnegut certainly popularized it among prep school proto-intellectuals, though, this spinster aunt included. If you’ll permit me a brief autobiographical interlude, I’ll admit to having been, at a tender young age, uncommonly well-moulded, social-consciousness-wise, by Slaughterhouse-Five et al. Vonnegut was to me, and to all his other fanboys, the voice of counter-culture, the mascot of the Fuck the Establishment religion, the anti-authoritarian authority, a hip, prescient, avuncular, humanitarian figure who, unlike all other adults, got it.

Here is Vonnegut describing Eliot Rosewater describing a Kilgore Trout novel, The Gospel from Outer Space:

It was about a visitor from outer space, shaped very much like a Tralfamadorian, by the way. The visitor from outer space made a serious study of Christianity, to learn, if he could, why Christians found it so easy to be cruel. He concluded that at least part of the trouble was slipshod storytelling in the New Testament. He supposed that the intent of the Gospels was to teach people, among other things, to be merciful, even to the lowest of the low.

But the Gospels actually taught this:

Before you kill somebody, make absolutely sure he isn’t well-connected. So it goes.

The flaw in the Christ stories, said the visitor from outer space, was that Christ, who didn’t look like much, was a actually the Son of the Most Powerful Being in the Universe. Readers understood that, so, when they came to the crucifixion, they naturally thought, and Rosewater read out loud again:

Oh, boy — they sure picked the wrong guy to lynch that time!

And that thought had a brother: “There are right people to lynch.” Who? People not well connected. So it goes. [1]

In retrospect, it seems that although Vonnegut got quite a bit of it, he didn’t get all of it. After having gone more or less Vonnegutless for a quarter of a century or so, I recently re-read The Sirens of Titan. I was disillusioned, but not altogether surprised, to perceive a tiresome love-rape at the hub of the melodrama. Then I tapped my chin with a puzzled finger. I found I could not recall a single female Vonnegut character that is not defined by her reproductive relationship to the (male) protagonist. Whereupon I was forced to admit that, like most progressive beneficiaries of male privilege, Vonnegut has a pretty disappointing feminist score.

So it goes.

“So it goes” is the title of this post because whenever the phrase appears in Slaughterhouse-Five, which is often, it harbinges death. In the preceding paragraph I appropriate “so it goes” to mark the demise of a youthful fantasy. You’d think that by the age of 48 all my youthful fantasies would long since have been crushed by the crippling weight of cosmic indifference, but you’d be wrong. The now-dead fantasy to which I allude is this: that, if so examined, surely my childhood hero Kurt Vonnegut would withstand radical feminist critique.

I predict that anyone and their dog who is today acknowledging the death of Kurt Vonnegut, Jr will find irresistible the compulsion to work in a “so it goes” or two.

I blame Kurt Vonnegut, Jr, by the way, for my persistent compulsion to break into Kilgore Troutiness at the drop of a hat.
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1. Vonnegut, Jr, Kurt. Slaughterhouse-Five. From pretty close to the middle of a 30-year-old Dell paperback edition.

Posted in Easy Persiflage and Mass Media. Bite me, Chad.

Queasy persiflage

Published by Twisty on April 8, 2007. 133 Comments

Because they function as the flappy lips of patriarchy, newspapers print almost nothing but updates on the crazy men who run the world, sappy sentimental bullshit, and asinine misogynist lies all the time. Yesterday’s Washington Post Op-Ed on the unfitness of women for military service combines all three in one nose-blowingly irritating essay.

In her nonsensical piece “Mother of all Blunders,” author Mrs. Reverend Lovejoy — I mean Kathleen Parker — advances the theory that the Western practice of enlisting women in the military has, in light of the recent pissing contest between Iran and the UK over those 15 captured government-trained-killers, made “the West” (i.e. the United States) into a global laughingstock. Apparently Iran was able get a lot of tsk-tsking mileage at the expense of Britain (i.e. the United States) for putting the dear mother of a toddler in harm’s way. Because women are universally weak vessels of disability, their presence, whether on a battlefield or in a group of prisoners, is undignified. Furthermore, allowing women in combat, it seems, “diminish[es] motherhood so that women can pretend to be men.”

In Parker’s universe, the position of global laughingstock (the word she uses is ‘wimp’) apparently confers upon the citizenry a shame so insufferable that “we of the West” (she means “we of the White Judeo-Christian West”), with our delicacy of spirit, belief in invisible magic concierges, high moral rectitude, and status as the world’s premier Klingons, will suffer intolerable psychic wounds until we come to our senses and stop sending frail, virtuous mothers of “children in their tender years” into Glorious Battle. O the humiliation of all that diminished motherhood fighting our battles for us. How will We Of The West, with our wimpiness and callous disregard for baby mommas, ever save face?

Hey, I know. We could invade Iran.

But not with any chicks in the army. Women are too womanish for combat. ‘Our enemies,’ whose views on femininity do not appear to differ substantially from Parker’s (Iranian president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad may be a “dangerous, lying, Holocaust-denying, Jew-hating cutthroat thug” but according to Parker he’s “dead-on” when it comes to stripping women of their personal sovereignty for the good of the male godbag agenda), are likely to exploit women’s genetic infirmity to their own advantage, such as when the Iranians put Acting Leading Seaman Faye Turney “in Muslim garb and parad[ed] her before television cameras.”

Women, continues Parker, are not only incapable of battle, but are more susceptible to rape than male soldiers. She seems to think it is perfectly reasonable that men are voracious rapists, and subscribes to the view that rape prevention should take the form of limiting women’s agency.

She also thinks it is perfectly reasonable to send fathers of tender-yeared children off to battle, a fact made clear by her unquestioning acceptance that killing is “necessary.” She does not say why she believes this. Maybe she is a sociopath, or (not that one would exclude the other) maybe she has internalized the message that killing confers upon its practitioners the highest honor attainable by glory-hungry patriarchy-enthusiasts, and so must remain the exclusive purview of men.

And not ‘wimpy’ men, either, for chrissake. The slightest drop of estrogen diminishes warriorhood. The light of some Stone Age morning has dawned on Parker’s dim consciousness; Iran should fax We Of The West that page from their book where it says that women’s only moral purpose is to femininely incubate the next generation of killers.

Posted in Femininity, Mass Media and Politics. Bite me, Chad.

Patriarchy Illustrated

Published by Twisty on April 5, 2007. 50 Comments

uffizi.jpg

Mysterious blamer La Hedonista sends in this link (scroll down 1/3 of the way to the July 8, 2005 post entitled “Cultures of Domination”; here’s the permalink, but I can’t seem to get it to load the pictures). It’s a riveting and hideous compendium of popular images of Patriarchy Through the Ages, described by the unknown blog author as a “continuum, [...] a multi-threaded mix of custom and practice, close at hand, in us and around us, that makes the bullying, victimhood and damage of domination seem natural and inevitable.”

UPDATE: The above-referenced blog has been dormant since 2005, and the images, of which there are a gazillion, are very slow to load. So you’ll probably never see them. Which is a bummer, because, although they are mostly pictures of stuff you see every day — like when you traipse on by the warrior-beating-down-the-enemy statuary at the Royal Palace in Prague, or buy a pair of “Hulk Hands” (giant electronic green plastic fist-gloves) for your kid, or watch an ad for a video game (any video game), or see “Lord of the Rings,” or watch the news, or pick up a bag of “Severed Fingers” chocolates at Marks & Spencer — viewing them one after the other, with the author’s disgusted commentary, grippingly illustrates the saturation depth that that winning combination, the normalization of violence/the paradigm of dominance, has achieved.

One picture is merely a photo of the name plate on a Jeep Grand Cherokee. The caption reads “Appropriate ‘Cherokee Nations’ as an icon, delete the pain and suffering that the genocidal destruction of their culture entailed and use it to promote your SUV. What’s next? The ‘Auschwitz Special Edition’ from Mercedes?”

A propos of the imagery of patriarchy: just this morning, while walking the dog, I passed by a flyer that had been tacked to a telephone pole. It was printed on bright yellow paper, was enclosed in plastic, and read: “Beware! A prowler has been seen in backyards in the early morning hours. Lock your windows and doors.” That flyer was tacked up all over the neighborhood. Beware! Condition yellow! Fear predation! Lock yourselves up! Psychokiller on the loose!

Merde.

Posted in Mass Media. Bite me, Chad.

sos

Published by Twisty on April 4, 2007. 102 Comments

Posting fom blackberry … Desperate … How do you get three year old out of sandbox at burger joint wthout meltdwn?

UPDATE FROM TWISTY BUNGALOW: Naturally the battery on my Blackberry went blotto about two seconds after I posted the above, so I was unable to avail myself of your advices. I ended up bribing the kid, as many of you suggested, with a chocolate shake. I think my act of bribery — and the fact that I was fatuously messing with a cell phone rather than devoting myself to the momentous events transpiring in the sandbox — dis-endeared me to the South Austin power-moms in the group, who all gave me the stink-eye.

Posted in Easy Persiflage. Bite me, Chad.

Footnote to blaming greatness: the impending what-about-the-men section

Published by Twisty on April 2, 2007. 493 Comments

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Stingray’s garish lunch. P. Terry’s Burger Stand, S. Lamar, March 2007.

I’ve been threatening for some time now to inaugurate a “Dear God, What About the Men?” section in the FAQ. I envision it as required reading for callow dudely proto-blamers, with the impossible-but-I-can-dream-can’t-I goal of keepin’em out of the comments section until they get a grip. This way, when what-about-the-men happens, I can post a single link, be done with it, and proceed, like any decent spinster aunt, with cocktail hour.

I continue to threaten rather than do, half because educating clueless dudes is not even remotely the focus of this blog, and half because if I wait long enough, other people will write it for me. Ilyka, you will recall, was kind enough to address the phenomenon of dudely blog commenters who get all worked up on the “hey, I wouldn’t ever rape anybody; you feminists are all just a bunch of hatas!” theme. Likewise has Mr. Shakes (formerly of Shakespeare’s Sister, now of the brand-new same old blog Shakesville) written a swell piece on the pathology of progressive male contempt of feminism. He takes a stab at re-branding feminism as a civil rights movement and at exposing patriarchy as a global oppressor, urging men to stick it to The Man for their own benefit.

Quoth Mr Shakes:

One of the greatest bulwarks against men accepting the feminist movement is that they seem to think that women gaining power must necessarily dilute their own exclusive powers and status. But in so holding onto this erroneous notion, they forget that they themselves are powerless in the face of the corporate plutocracy that now weighs down so heavily upon all of us. If they could get their heads around the fact that they too are powerless and insignificant and ignored, they would stop trying to beat up on the kids they perceive to be weaker and instead acknowledge their own weakness, ally themselves with them, and move forward with them in a new movement that would grant greater freedoms for all of us. It shouldn’t be about trying to maintain some illusory advantage over others [1]. It should be about trying to create concrete advantages for all of us.”

I imagine it would be a pretty fun party if the Blamers met the Shakers, especially if it were on a yacht somewhere. But I digress.

Anyway, because the guiding principle of my twilight years is to do as little as possible, I invite all blamers to submit suggestions, now or whenever you happen across them, for inclusion in the What About the Men page.

Allow me to assuage any anxiety by reiterating that this will just be a section of the FAQ; the blog proper will continue to espouse the same comforting revolutionary chick-centric fuck-patriarchy pseudo-Marxist anti-nuclear-family pro-choice anti-reproduction pro-liberation femininity-is-wack anti-religion anti-gender peak-oil anti-marriage impeach-Bush pro-skank ideology you love and deserve.
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1. I disagree that the advantage men have over women is illusory; what I think Mr Shakes means here is that the perceived natural right to this advantage is a mass hallucination.

Posted in Blogulation, Dear god what about the men? and Morsel Institute. Bite me, Chad.