Monthly Archive for December, 2009

Happy fucking new year

Published by Jill on December 30, 2009. 60 Comments

Speaking of mayhem, it’s about time for the Annual Holiday Trio of Random Passages from the SCUM Manifesto.

“A small handful of SCUM can take over the country within a year by systematically fucking up the system, selectively destroying property, and murder:

SCUM will become members of the unwork force, the fuck-up force; they will get jobs of various kinds and unwork. For example, SCUM salesgirls will not charge for merchandise; SCUM telephone operators will not charge for calls; SCUM office and factory workers, in addition to fucking up their work, will secretly destroy equipment. SCUM will unwork at a job until fired, then get a new job to unwork at.

SCUM will forcibly relieve bus drivers, cab drivers and subway token sellers of their jobs and run buses and cabs and dispense free tokens to the public.

SCUM will destroy all useless and harmful objects – cars, store windows, ‘Great Art,’ etc.

Eventually SCUM will take over the airwaves – radio and TV networks – by forcibly relieving of their jobs all radio and TV employees who would impede SCUM’s entry into the broadcasting studios.

SCUM will couple-bust — barge into mixed (male-female) couples, wherever they are, and bust them up.”

and:

“SCUM will conduct Turd Sessions, at which every male present will give a speech beginning with the sentence: “I am a turd, a lowly, abject turd,” then proceed to list all the ways in which he is.”

and:

“It is most tempting to pick off the female “Great Artists,” liars and phonies, etc, along with the men, but that would be inexpedient, as it would not be clear to most of the public that the female killed was a male. All women have a fink streak in them, to a greater or lesser degree, but it stems from a lifetime of living among men. Eliminate men and women will shape up. Women are improvable; men are not, although their behavior is. When SCUM gets hot on their asses it’ll shape up fast.”

What the hell, how about a Holiday Bonus Passage:

“SCUM, being cool and selfish, will not subject itself to getting rapped on the head with billy clubs; that’s for the nice, “privileged, educated” middle class ladies with a high regard for the touching faith in the essential goodness of Daddy and policemen. If SCUM ever marches it will be over the President’s stupid, sickening face; if SCUM ever strikes, it will be in the dark with a six-inch blade.”

Put that in your snowglobe and shake it.

Posted in Private Business of the Secret Feminist Society and The Spinster's Finger on the Pulse of Yesterday. Bite me, Chad.

Husband and wife blog team on board with antifeminist backlash even though it’s so 20 years ago

Published by Jill on December 25, 2009. 101 Comments

Wait. I have a blog? Shitfire!

But wow, check out this dumb blog. It’s one of those blogs that has “book deal” written all over it.

It’s supposedly a husband-and-wife joint coaching the reader on the successful pursuit of traditional manliness. Traditional manliness isn’t just a lifestyle, it’s a movement! It agitates in support of the appreciation of “classic cocktails,” of knowing how to “set the agenda” at “meetings,” and, as in the example below, of navigating the perilous waters of dating incomprehensible women.

Women are suckers for a man with a plan because it shows you have initiative, can think ahead, and aren’t shy about taking the lead. Don’t punt and ask her what she wants to do. Be a man! You’re the one doing the asking, so it’s your duty to come up with something that she’ll enjoy. When a woman is with a man that has a plan, they feel they can relax and really enjoy themselves. [Cite]

The husband/wife blog uses terms like on board to mean “having drunk the pre-feminist nostalgia Kool-Aid” and man up to mean — well, the precise definition of man up remains indeterminate, but I believe that on manliness blogs it concerns embracing with vigor a set of supposedly lost upper-middle-class honky patriarchal affectations, like the moral necessity of wearing suits to class, of criticizing women who think femininity is stupid, and of growing handlebar mustaches.

Here’s a post in which the manliness-loving duo expose the egregious double standard imposed upon manliness-seeking men by scruffy feminists in sweatpants. Apparently scruffy feminists in sweatpants want men to eschew their natural barbarism*, but are not sufficiently on board with their own feminine role in this business of manning up.

“[T]he new movement towards a return to traditional manliness needs women to be on board to be successful. After all, if you have men opening doors and asking women on real dates, and they’re just laughing in your face, that’s clearly not going to work out too well. And if you have men striving to be their best, but they feel like women aren’t even trying, you’ve got a recipe for creating strained relations between the sexes and bitter and disillusioned men who think all women are an unappealing mess who are not worth the trouble of dealing with. [...] [T]hese days a new double standard has emerged where it’s okay to celebrate men manning up, but telling women they need to recover some of their femininity is offensive.”

Ladies, if you desire your interactions with the nattily-dressed oppressor to be as painless as possible, you will do your nails and makeup.

_________________________
* “[Y]our car probably smells. Leaving sweaty gym bags or Saturday morning’s fish catch in a car causes odor to build up in the upholstery. Spare your date the olfactory torture by airing out your car and spraying it down with Febreeze.”

[Gracias, Rebecca]

Posted in Blogulation, Dear god what about the men?, Femininity, Knobjectivism, Men Hate You, Oppression Culture, Strawfeminism, The Beauty Ultimatum and The Spinster's Finger on the Pulse of Today. Bite me, Chad.

Hugs, Twisty: jubjub birds et al

Published by Jill on December 16, 2009. 89 Comments

Correction Department
The Nashville Corrections Department, conveniently located adjacent to a Christian Science Reading Room and Balloon-A-Tune, is where you will find concerned rape preventionists Rita R. Reed and Benjamin F. Bean.

A propos of scaremail forwards:

[Dear Twisty,]

Howdy!

I was just the happy recipient of the following text message on my phone:

Please be aware and be careful….

National Gang Week is starting: This is their new target method. While driving on any roads, if you see a baby car seat sitting on the side of the road, DO NOT STOP! These are gangs targeting people, especially women, to stop their vehicle to help a baby. They make this baby look as if it has blood on itself or on its clothing. when you get out of your vehicle in attempt to help, the gangs will jump from their hiding spots. they have beaten women to near death then continue to rape them and other torture methods.

DO NOT STOP! CALL THE POLICE IMMEDIATELY!!!

-Rita R. Reed. TN Dept of Corrections Central Dispatch. (615) 253-8182 (615) 401-6811(fax)

So, naturally, I shifted uncomfortably in my car (and wouldn’t ya know it, the only text message I get all week I end up reading while driving) on accounta being filled with the requisite dread that every woman is obliged to feel at all times. Once home, I set myself to teh Google and while I couldn’t find any Snopes entry on this particular one, I noticed a series of similar debunked messages wherein gang-members (read = BROWN MEN!) rape/murder/maim/etc. women, especially white women, especially mothers. Just another way for the patriarchy to keep us askeered and racist at the same time! Two for the price of one unsolicited text message!

Here’s the Snopes search, if you want to be sickened and entirely justified all at once. I know, I know: that’s your daily bread, sister.

IBTP.

- Woman.
______________________________________

Dear Woman,

Your text sample is a real beaut. A cursory Spinstanalysis:

The “please” capitalizes on the recipient’s susceptibility to bogeyman mythology by emphasizing the author’s solicitous concern: Please! I beg of you! If not for yourself, then for your children! Read this text message and take it to heart because you will die otherwise, and anonymous authors of text messages care.

The ellipsis — a four-pointer — portends a dark and foreboding situation urging the recipient to consider entering an undefined state of general awareness and carefulness. Yellow Alert!

No, make that an Orange Alert; “gangs” are involved. And although they are targeting “people,” they have a particular fascination for women. This means you.

So wait, now we have “National Gang Week”? Whence cometh this 411? Does the King of the Gangs send out a press release to Safety Mom Weekly? “Watch out, bitches! We will soon be attacking innocents on a roadside near you”? And what’s the protocol? Is it take a gang to lunch or else? And, really, a whole week? Mothers, secretaries, and women only get a day. Spinster aunts get bupkis. Breast Cancer Awareness — despite the fact that everybody in the solar system already oozes breast cancer awareness from every pore — gets a whole month, but you can’t expect the megatheocorporatocracy to deny itself 29 extra days to cash in hardcore on the golden eggs from that poor, sick old goose. As a matter of fact, the CEO of Pink Ink Inc, manufacturer of the ubiquitous pepto-pink pigment (the secret ingredient is panda fetuses), has banked enough to buy a private island in the Caribbean. He’s got an English valet with a better vocabulary than his, a pair of tickets on Virgin Galactic’s SpaceShipTwo, and a margarita machine.

Anyway, National Gang Week is “starting,” but the author omits to include the date, which leaves the end of National Gang Week sort of up in the air. And if the text message sender is to be believed, the object of this infinite National Gang Week appears to be that participating gangs must suddenly abandon the tried-and-true in order to implement elaborate and cumbersome methods of murder and mayhem. To wit:

A car seat with a bloody baby, placed by the side of “any road,” while multiple gang bangers, coiled like cobras in “hiding spots,” eternally await the random good Samaritan, hoping it’s a tenderhearted little woman they can torture, and not a cop? The scheme strikes me as a trifle busy. And passive, time-consuming, and comparatively unremunerative. Don’t they normally just rob you at gunpoint? Simple, but efficient. No bulky props, no waiting around. They don’t even really need the gun. I was once robbed at fingerpoint, of $3 and a Chanel lipstick. Lucky for me it wasn’t National Gang Week at the time, or I’d be singin’ soprano today!

It turns out that the gangstas of National Gang Week don’t want your money or your lipstick. Instead of dealing drugs, waging turf wars, and pimpin hos, these guys prefer to loll about on roadsides, luring women who take an inordinate interest in discarded car seats, beat them not quite to death, rape them, and torture them. I guess they’ve been watching Law & Order: Rape Cops, the TV show where it’s always National Gang Week.

ANYWAY!!! I GOOGLED RITA R. REED AND FOUND THE FOLLOWING!!!! Brace yourself….

According to Snopes, “National Gang Week” originated as an email hoax before jumping species to infest the cell phones of innocent blamers. Note the subtle differences between this email version and the text message.

Subject: FW: Driver beware
National Gang Week is starting: This is their new target method while driving on any roads, If you see a baby car seat sitting on the side of the road DO NOT STOP!!!! These are gangs targeting people, especially women, to stop their vehicle to help a baby. They make this baby look as if it has blood on itself or on its clothes, when you get out of your vehicle in attempt to help, the gangs jump out from cornfields or tall bushes. They have beaten women to near death, and then continue to rape them with baseball bats and other torture methods. This is not just a forward of information, it is within our area. If you do happen to see a car seat DO NOT STOP CALL THE POLICE IMMEDIATELY!! Please send this on to everyone you know.*

Benjamin F. Bean
State Of Tennessee
Department Of Correction
Central Dispatch
5th Floor Rachel Jackson Bldg.
320 Sixth Avenue North
Nashville,Tennessee 37242-0465

The syntactical and punctuation mishaps remain, but this Benjamin F Bean’s email is a bit more colorized, a bit more cinematic than Rita R Reed’s text message. In Mr Bean’s particular Bizarrohorrorwelt, the reader must not merely please be careful; she is ordered to beware (Admit it. The last time you were told to beware, you were whiffling through a tulgey wood, am I right?). Mr Bean’s gangs don’t just jump, they jump out of ominous tall bushes and forbidding cornfields. They don’t just rape, they rape with baseball bats. And what of the eccentric and somewhat sinister “This is not just a forward of information, it is within our area” admonition? Doth Mr Bean of the long, official mailing address protest too much that he is a reliable narrator? Happily, he remembers to close with the traditional “Forward this to everyone you know,” which beloved valediction — curiously omitted by Rita R Reed — is central to the scaremail terrorthodoxy.

My question is this: has a dude ever sent you one of these things? Because I’m formulating a hypothesis that fear-forwards of the rape-and-murder variety are the particular purview of women, both as senders and as recipients. I formulate this hypothesis in response to what I sense is the vague perception that these forwards are in fact sent by an amorphous entity known as The Patriarchy.

Hugs,
Twisty

_________________________
* The *About.com version has Mr Bean asking you to send this “onto” everyone you know. Ow!

Posted in Rape Culture, The Spinster's Finger on the Pulse of Today and Ways In Which the Internet Sucks. Bite me, Chad.

Spinster aunt emerges from self-help section with inferior selection

Published by Jill on December 11, 2009. 68 Comments

It is considered “self-improvement” to “uncover the truth about men.” I know this because I have just read a paperback purporting to enlarge on this “men, revealed at last!” theme, and the words “self-improvement” are printed right on the jacket.

I have to confess that, in reading this book, Little White Whys: A Woman’s Guide through the Lies Men Tell and Why by I.P. Freely MD, my self has not been improved in any way whatsoever. Unless it can be construed as a sort of character-building exercise to endure a lot of very bad writing on the tedious What Makes Dudes Tick theme.

Here is an example of the enlightenment the book offers women: that when a straight dude puts you “on the back burner,” it means you are “fuckable,” although not to the degree of his “1st string” hotties. Apparently I.P. Freely MD and his publisher feel that a grasp of this vital information about men will improve the heck out of you.

I.P. Freely MD isn’t really the author’s name, incidentally; as a humane gesture, I thought I would spare him the embarrassment of reproducing his name in conjunction with this awful book, as he obviously dashed the thing off as a parody in about eleven minutes because he lost a bet, and it was sent to the publisher without his knowledge. I mean, look at the title. No editor ever laid eyes on it. The only thing even remotely writerly about it is that it contains words.

Also, I.P. Freely MD writes, horribly, in the second person plural, addressing the reader as “ladies.” As you know, the only persons qualified to address a person as “ladies” are lesbian gym teachers. I.P. Freely MD inserts the word into nearly every sentence, as though he were giving the keynote speech at the Clueless Ladies in Need of Dudely Advice Symposium. As in

“Ladies, the key here for you is patience. You have to handle us no differently than you would a toddler approaching the terrible twos.”

See what I mean about parody? Hey, I.P. Freely MD! 1972 called and they want their Care and Feeding of the Man-Child crap back, right?

However, if we were to play along and assume that I.P. Freely MD is in earnest, we might best paraphrase his thesis as “all men are liars and that’s the truth.” Avers IPF MD in the riveting introduction to his oeuvre,

“This is a precise reference book of men’s lies [...] Ladies, what I will attempt to do is give you an intimate tour of the workings of the male mind. Ladies, prepare; this may ’sting a little’ … (sorry, it’s the MD in me) [...] Ladies, if I offend you, I do apologize beforehand.”

Freely’s deepest wish — aside from banking the spare change he’s picking up from sales of this crappy book — is to spare women everywhere the anguish they will suffer as a result of believing a single word that comes out of any dude’s mouth. How will he do this? By revealing all the lies men tell women, and recommending what course of action women should take.

I will spare you the anguish of spending $14.95 to find out. Freely’s recommendation, based on his professional medical knowledge of the inherent foulness of masculine behavior, is a universal “suck it up, babe.”

The approach is twofold. After asserting what a lot of degenerate louses men are, I.P Freely MD suggests that lovelorn babes should ask their prospects a lot of questions to determine the extent of their degenerate lousiness, e.g. has he ever been married? Does he have any kids? Has he ever had legal problems? Does he own that car? Has he ever had sex with a man?

However, once a woman has found a dude who isn’t an unemployed crackhead jailbird homo pedestrian, I.P. Freely MD explains how she should navigate his web of lies in order to have a “loving, lasting relationship” with him.

How should she do this? By not asking questions. Seriously. After you’ve hooked him, questions merely irk a degenerate louse, for he cannot reasonably be expected to answer truthfully. Questions such as how many girlfriends he has had, whether he loves you, whether he slept with your best friend, and — seriously — whether these jeans make your ass look fat: cut this shit the fuck out, ladies. Men would rather watch ESPN than deal with your whiney insecurities.

Also, ladies, “be really careful here of what you demand that he do with you or for you on Saturday mornings.” If you dare to exist on Saturday mornings, ladies, do it somewhere far away from him. Go to a white sale or something.

Also, do everything it says in this book, otherwise your man will leave you for someone hotter and downgrade you to the booty call list.

It’s 2009, and medical men are still giving ladies the same moth-eaten pointers on how to more perfectly suck up to them. Here’s the self-improvement book I wanna see: Fuck the Dominant Paradigm: Stop Viewing Yourself in Terms of Dudes, Politics, Religion, Culture, Celebrities, Porn, and Internet Feminists, and Just Do Whatever Funky Shit You Like.

Posted in Dear god what about the men?, Femininity, Mass Media, Men Hate You and The Spinster's Finger on the Pulse of Today. Bite me, Chad.

I got yer rape prevention email forward right here

Published by Jill on December 6, 2009. 96 Comments

Gas Pumper

It was on a recent comment thread that the subject of racial bias in abduction reportage popped up. I allude to the phenomenon where a white woman and a black woman may be kidnaped on the same day, but the news media only get overwrought about the white girl. The socio-pathology underlying the phenomenon is said to be that, for a given kidnap/murder, the depth of responding media prurience correlates precisely with the abductee’s sex and social status.

As an aside, let us please observe a moment of silence for how fucking educational this blog is. I had always informally thought of the aforementioned phenomenon as Natalee Hollowayism. Come to find out it’s an official syndrome. It’s called, in fact, Missing White Woman Syndrome. I read all about it in Wikipedia. Speaking of Wikipedia, here’s a kind of funny example of Wikipedian copy-editing gone awry:

“Described as ‘bright and beautiful,’ Huston’s remains were found more than a year later.”

But I digress.

No, wait, I feel another digression coming on. While I’m on the subject of race bias, an anecdote:

Austin’s swankiest second-hand store is a joint called Uncommon Objects. This shop, located on trendy South Congress on the event horizon of an irony wormhole, is jammed to the joists with quirky, overpriced mid-20th century bric-a-brac and weird-ass shit running the gamut from cheezy to creepy: huge pink vulvateen ceramic ashtrays, disfigured and disembodied rubber baby-doll heads, rusty old dental instruments, frayed Masonic tapestries embroidered with sinister symbols, etc. I go a-rummaging there whenever I’m in the market for a Mason jar full of petrified sugar cubes ca. 1953, or a disintegrating antique leather baby shoe, or, as was the case yesterday when I adjourned thither for a quick rootle, a heartwarming gift for my sidekick Stingray (see the chic and elegant plastic brooch pictured above; although for some reason, she failed to warm to it in the enthusiastic manner I had anticipated).

Anyway, I had just finished examining a disturbing, moldy-looking object labeled “FAKE HAM $45″ when I espied a faded 8 x 10 portrait of a young couple in love. The label said, “PHOTO OF BLACK COUPLE $16.50.”

Because I am an advanced patriarchy-blamer and world-famous sleuth, I immediately looked for, and detected, a similar photo of a white couple. You’ll never believe it! The sticker on this photograph did not say “PHOTO OF WHITE COUPLE $16.50.” It said “ROMANTIC PHOTO, $30.”

So there ya go.

Onward. In the comments thread to which I allude above, blamer Speedbudget observes, with respect to the idea that media coverage of women’s abductions reflects what blamer Isabel sneeringly refers to as “a public outpouring of concern:”

“In my neck of the woods, the public outpouring is one of, you guessed it, disdain for the women who get themselves kidnapped, raped, and murdered. You know. Cause she should have been doing whatever it is women should do to avoid getting kidnapped, raped, and tortured by the perpetrators of crimes everywhere.

The media tends to use these stories as object lessons for us ladybrain holders. The commentary on news programs is all about how to keep yourself safe, not about the perpetrators and how men have some [I would say "all" -- Ed.] responsibility for the violence.”

Coincidentally, I recently received, from blamer frootloopz, an email on a totally related subject. The email contained a satiric regendering of one of those “scaremongering emails that people forward to me from ‘An Othershire Police Constabulary’ about how I shouldn’t go out at night, shouldn’t drink alcohol, shouldn’t do this, shouldn’t do that etc.” For the edification of the cosmos, I reproduce (a slightly modified version of) it here.

___________________________________________

Sexual Assault Prevention Tips Guaranteed to Work

1. Don’t put drugs in women’s drinks.

2. When you see a woman walking by herself, leave her alone.

3. If you pull over to help a woman whose car has broken down, remember not to assault her.

4. If you are in a lift and a woman gets in, don’t assault her. You know what? Don’t even ogle her.

5. When you encounter a woman who is asleep, the safest course of action is to not assault her.

6. Never creep into a woman’s home through an unlocked door or window, or spring out at her from between parked cars, or assault her.

7. When you lurk in bushes and doorways with criminal intentions, always wear bright clothing, wave a flashlight, or play “Boys Who Rape (Should All Be Destroyed)” by the Raveonettes on a boombox really loud, so women in the vicinity will know where to aim their flamethrowers.

8. USE THE BUDDY SYSTEM! If it is inconvenient for you to stop yourself from assaulting women, ask a trusted friend to accompany you when in public.

9. Carry a rape whistle. If you find that you are about to assault a woman, you can hand the whistle to your buddy, so s/he can blow it to call for help.

10. Give your buddy a revolver, so that when indifferent passers-by either ignore the rape whistle, or gather round to enjoy the spectacle, s/he can pistol-whip you.

Don’t forget: Honesty is the best policy. When asking a woman out on a date, don’t pretend that you are interested in her as a person; tell her straight up that you expect to be assaulting her later. If you don’t communicate your intentions, the woman may take it as a sign that you do not plan to rape her.

______________________________

Forward this, along with $1, to everyone you know, and soon you will be a millionaire!

Posted in Austin, Blogulation, Mass Media, Men Hate You, Oppression Culture and Rape Culture. Bite me, Chad.

Hey, bilbertson!

Published by Jill on December 4, 2009. 17 Comments

Only you can settle the drastically important argument roiling in the comments section. So which is it? Are you an incredibly gifted satirist, or a college sophomore?

Posted in Blogulation and Knobjectivism. Bite me, Chad.

Feel-good post of the week

Published by Twisty on December 4, 2009. 39 Comments

The other day I rode a horse bareback for the first time in 30 years.

This horse.

Stanley

It was just like riding a bike, if the bike were 6 feet tall, 1300 pounds, and would spook like a deer at the terrifying sight of a cigarette butt on the ground.

I had to get a leg up. Actually, it was more of a push-and-shove up. It turns out that I’ve completely forgotten how to mount a horse without stirrups, stairs, or a jetpack. Further complicating the situation was my choice of mounts. Rather than one of my demure little Arabian mares, the animal I was attempting scale was that Matterhorn of equines, the giant gelding Stanley.

“Don’t forget to jump!” pleaded my reluctant assistant Christina, just before she heaved me up. She was worried that I would be like unto a sack of shit and throw her back out. She is a delicate flower.

So jump I did. Even so, the situation quickly emerged as a classic confrontation between gravity and romantic delusion. As I was hanging there off the side of the horse, wondering with no small interest whether the exercise would eventually go north or south, a separate compartment of my brain was busy accessing my Idyllic Childhood Nostalgia Module.

Memories of youthful vim superseded all awareness of my present clumsiness. I recalled the agile young Twisty executing innumerable effortless vaults onto innumerable tack-free horses. And what was this? A dim recollection of my old brown mare, at whose plump rump I’d take a running jump, like a movie stunt rider, springing into place from behind. Somehow I’d always end up on the right part of the mare, and like as not go tearing off down a wooded trail somewhere.

That little brown mare was snappy as heck.

Thus it was that, at a critical point in mid-dangle, some memory-based self-preservational impulse kicked in, and I managed to scramble my skinny ass up out of half-mounted limbo.

Or maybe Christina gave the skinny ass in question another good shove; I can’t remember, it all happened so fast.

And then I tore off. On Stanley. At a lumbering walk. Around the dusty old round pen. But in my mind it was 1975 and I was galloping that little brown mare down a wooded trail with a Grape Nehi in my hand.

For about 30 seconds. Then I looked down. Christina waving at me from the rail, and she looked like an ant from way up there. I briefly considered busting out into a full-on jog, but came to my senses in time to conclude that the horse would infallibly bounce me off in two strides or less, so robust is young Stanley’s trot, and so non-existent is old Twisty’s seat.

I hope it will not be too heartwarming to note the simple pleasure I experienced when the ride was over? I slid uneventfully from Stanley to the ground, without spraining anything, exactly as I’d done a thousand times before (gravity is kinder to the spinster aunt on the dismount). But the best part was the sweaty, horsehair-encrusted britches sticking to my legs. They were like an old bud I hadn’t seen in years, who just happened to be carrying a bottle of pretty good wine. And a corkscrew.

Posted in Easy Persiflage, El Rancho Deluxe, Heartwarming Nature Crap and Not Altogether Depressing. Bite me, Chad.

Hugs, Twisty: “I just need to commandeer your uterus for a sec.”

Published by Jill on December 4, 2009. 55 Comments

Rejected comment from reader bilbertson on an August, 2007 post entitled UterusWatch 2007, in which I discuss a couple of legislative efforts to restrict women’s access to abortion, one of which required written consent of the “father”:

[Dear Twisty]

I know I’m commenting on this much later than it was posted but I hope readers will still consider my perspective

I very much think men should have a say in the future of their embryo/baby but not a say in the future of a woman’s own uterus

I think that women who don’t want to use their uteri to carry a particular pregnancy be allowed to terminate the pregnacny. Then the man could still have the embryo at said point. If he wants a baby, it should be his responsibility to nurture and develop the embryo into a fetus and viable child.

This is all outrageous and very maddening.

_______________________________________

Dear bilbertson,

As you know, bilbertson, from having read the FAQ twice — for certainly you did not omit to complete this small patriarchy-blaming prerequisite — it is not merely the stated goal of I Blame the Patriarchy, but also my own highest moral imperative to personally consider your personal perspective, particularly if it is antifeminist, and if you begin every sentence with “I,” and if you decline to punctuate.

I am happy to inform you that your perspective is worthless.

According to the Twistifesto, once a man has shot his wad, the wad becomes a waste product the sovereign control over which the wad-shooter has no expectation to exert. Men who wish, as you say, to “nurture” their wads — collected, perhaps, in a tube sock or family-sized block of Velveeta? — are of course at liberty to do so, although if you don’t mind my saying so it would probably start to smell a little funky after a while. Still, chacun à son goût, as long as you leave me out of it.

The notion of male entitlement to embryos implanted in women runs afoul of a woman’s right to personal bodily sovereignty and as such proposes criminal violence. As I just explained, ownership of the wad terminates when it departs the chute. While there’s nothing to prevent a woman who is so inclined from chucking her discarded embryo at you, or even, I suppose, to prevent you from fishing it out of the biohazard bin, I predict some difficulty on your part in developing such a thing into a “viable child,” as it is my understanding that this process always requires a uterus, to which organ a woman is infallibly attached. In other words, the scenario you describe involves a compulsory pregnancy. Compulsory pregnancy, it turns out, is a crime against humanity.

I Blame the Patriarchy encourages Dude Nation to abandon the Earth-dooming folly of human reproduction and “wanting a baby” altogether.

Hugs,
Twisty

Posted in Compulsory pregnancy, Dear god what about the men?, Hugs, Twisty, Men Hate You and The Argument Against Human Reproduction. Bite me, Chad.

Spinster aunt explains comedy

Published by Jill on December 3, 2009. 154 Comments

Whenever I hear some guy say that feminists don’t have a sense of humor, I want to punch that guy in the face.

What I mean is, I want to take a bunch of tiny razors and glue’em to a glove, kind of around the knuckle area, and put on this glove and then punch him pretty hard about six times and turn his nose into pâté. I would probably dip the razors in curare first, if there was some lying around and nobody else was using it. Because here on Savage Death Island, that shit is comedy gold.

What got me thinking about comedy gold was an item in the Canadian National Post headlined “B.C. police seek serial groin-kicker after series of attacks.” The item was emailed to me like 6 weeks ago by blamer Holly Campbell. Fast and friendly service, Holly, that’s what you get here at I Blame the Patriarchy.

Anyway. According to the article, a psychotic young woman is on the loose in British Columbia.

[T]he young woman inexplicably kicked [some dude] in the groin hard enough to send one of his testicles into his abdomen.

Having read the headline, you will not be surprised to learn that she is suspected of having kicked 3 or 4 other random dudes in the cubes, apparently without provocation. If the outraged dude message boards are to be believed, she is apparently the perfect radical feminist, since she’s actively living the violent anti-testicle fantasies the rest of us only dream about.

Anyway. Don’t tell me I don’t have a sense of humor, because this shit is funny as hell. Because the dude’s nut ruptured — ow! I bet that hurt! — and “will be replaced by a prosthetic before Christmas.” Just in the time for the annual B.C. Holiday Parade of Testicles! What a gasser!

Let me just say a few words about humor. Everyone loves humor, but the fact is that jokes are attacks. That’s why dudes on the Internet are always telling women to lighten up already and join them (the dudes) in busting a gut at their (women’s) own expense. Dudes like attacking women — it’s how they express affection — but since punching them in the face with curare-dipped razor gloves — at least in public — is somewhat frowned upon by those with gentle upbringings, jokes are all they’ve got left. So fuck you if you don’t like being their joke-butt. Ha ha!

Ergo:

According to the long-established elements of comedy we’ve all assimilated from oppression culture — e.g. surprise, irony, incongruity, impropriety, et al.– that hapless dude who got biffed in the giblets is a fucking Platonic ideal of a joke-butt. What a savory little fillip of unexpected delight is the whole ball-bonker tableau. It’s got it all, comedy-wise: a little white chick running around socking it to unsuspecting dudes who are strolling down the street minding their own beeswax.

Should I explicate further? Dudes usually have nothing to fear from little white chicks, see, since they (dudes) are, by universal agreement, the class who typically mete out the sex-based violence. Conversely, everyone recognizes that women typically don’t enjoy the dudes-only luxury of gaily sauntering through the town square without the expectation of sudden, unprovoked harassment. But here’s B.C. Girl, challenging the Global Accords Governing the Fair Use of Women with a surprising, ironic, incongruous, improprietous turnabout! The underdog puts one over on the overlord! Hi-fuckin-larious!

Posted in Bloodsport, Dear god what about the men?, Private Business of the Secret Feminist Society, Rape Culture and The Spinster's Finger on the Pulse of Yesterday. Bite me, Chad.

Godbaggianism originates at cellular level

Published by Jill on December 2, 2009. 92 Comments

Need cash? Got any Jewish eggs? Sell’em on Craigslist for 8 large! No Methodist, Buddhist, or Secular Humanist eggs, please. God can tell the difference.

True story: when my ovaries were amputated, biopsied, and interviewed by clerics, it was found that my eggs did not subscribe to any supernatural fantasies whatsoever (except one, which claimed to have Unitarian leanings). Experts were baffled. I was somewhat bummed, since this precluded their lucrative sale to desperate eggless godbags. The ova of spinster aunts, alas, do not command top dollar, no matter how “qualified and extraordinary” we are. It’s discrimination, pure and simple.

___________________

[Full text of egg ad, for posterity:

JEWISH EGG DONORS URGENTLY NEEDED $8,000
Date: 2009-11-20, 7:28AM CST
Reply to: jewishbaby3@yahoo.com

WE WOULD FEEL INCREDIBLY BLESSED TO HAVE YOUR HELP!

A Jewish Blessing, LLC was founded in response to the growing number of requests from infertile Jewish families for help in finding qualified and extraordinary young Jewish women to be their egg donors.

We are currently working with several wonderful couples, with more families reaching out to us every day and we are truly in need of your help.
If you are a Jewish woman age 20-32, very responsible, kind and sincere, with a great personality and would consider helping one of these families achieve their dream of becoming parents please email us at jewishbaby3@yahoo.com …. and please pass this forward to friends who might also want to help.

________________________

UPDATE: Screw that low-rent $8000 egg gig; I just found some discriminating egg shoppers who’ll pay 20 grand!


JEWISH EGG DONOR NEEDED by LOVING JEWISH COUPLE $20,000+ not an agency
Date: 2009-11-15, 5:44AM CST
Reply to: lovingjewishcouple@yahoo.com

JEWISH EGG DONOR NEEDED by LOVING JEWISH COUPLE $20,000+ ALL EXPENSES PAID not an agency

Reply to: lovingjewishcouple@yahoo.com

“We would love you to be part of our miracle”

We are a loving, caring, Jewish couple who are accomplished, secure and happy. It would mean the world to us to share our love with a child and make our lives truly complete.

We appreciate intelligence, education and learning. If you are a student it would be our pleasure to assist with your tuition and related expenses.

You are an ideal donor if you are:

* Jewish with a biological mother who was born Jewish
* (prefer if your biological father was also born Jewish)
* A woman between 18 and 33 years old
* Between 5′1″ and 5′11″
* Warm, caring, responsible, reliable
* Motivated and passionate about what you do
* An individual with high self esteem
* Highly intelligent with high IQ, SAT Scores & GPA (Please Include Scores)
* Attractive
* At healthy body weight
* A non smoker and drug free
* Free of genetic diseases (such as Tay-Sachs) in your primary blood line
* Able to make about 5 visits to a highly respected Fertility Doctor.

You will not need to carry a pregnancy.

Please e-mail us in confidence, addressing the *points above including your age, SAT Scores verbal/math etc., highlighting what you feel is special about you and whatever other information you feel comfortable sharing, with a recent photo if possible to lovingjewishcouple@yahoo.com

Posted in Magical Mysteries from Godtown, The Argument Against Human Reproduction, The megatheocorporatocracy and Ways in Which the Internet Is a Hoot. Bite me, Chad.