Monthly Archive for July, 2010

Spinster aunt cries for help

It has been brought to my attention that IBTP has become infested with much adware or spyware or chumpware of some sort. Several blamers have written in to observe that this proliferation of tracking cookies makes it look like I am “monetizing” the site. I assure you, this could not be further from the truth. I am 100% against monetizing, both the word and the act.

As the veteran blamer knows all too well, I am not much good with this sort of thing, so if anybody has an idea where it might have come from, and how I might cleanse my code, I would be much obliged. But for the lovagod hurry! This is seriously chapping my entire hide.

Here’s a list compiled by kindly and thoughtful blamer awhirlinlondon. Thanks, Whirli!

__________________________________

Cookie:[myname]@atdmt.com (This is from http://www.atlassolutions.com/ – slogan: Do you know everything you need to know about your audience? Do you have all the expertise you need to succeed? What if you could generate more revenue simply by forecasting smarter?)

(All follow the same format so will just list the companies/acronyms)

@revsci.net (http://revsci.net/ – Audience targeting)

@sixapart.112.2o7.net (“2o7.net and omtrdc.net are domains used by Adobe to help provide portions of its Adobe… products. Specifically, this domain is used by Adobe to place cookies, on behalf of its customers, on the computers of visitors to customers’ selected websites.” You have a general one from this place as well as one from the cable news company Msnbc and one from MSN Portal.)

@specificclick.net (No vendor website available, but I did find a link that describes these as “infections” – http://paretologic.com/resources/definitions.aspx?remove=specificclick%20cookie IBTP has 2 cookies from this group.

@mediaplex.com (“…provides innovative technology solutions for advertisers and agencies to enable them to meet their specific business requirements and consistently exceed campaign and revenue goals.”)

@fastclick.net (Now owned by valueclick. More online advertising. IBTP has two cookies from this bunch)

@trafficmp.com (Traffic Marketplace – “…our next-generation targeting solution combines anonymous user interest, behavior, demographic and psychographic information from more than 600,000 proprietary web sites… We’ll find your audience, no matter where they are across our network.”)

@xiti.com (AT Internet.com – Behavioral analysis, viral expansion, ROI, i.e. more of the same.)

@tribalfusion.com (“Fully customized advertising solutions.”)

@advertising.com (more of the same.)

@ads.pointroll.com (Digital Marketing Solutions)

@quantserve.com (Quantcast Measurement Service – this one looks fucking nasty. Here’s the link: http://www.quantcast.com/)

@traveladvertising.com (Is what it sounds like it is.)

@questionmarket.com (Managed by Safecount.net. More advertising.)

@statcounter.com (“A free yet reliable invisible web tracker, highly configurable hit counter and real-time detailed web stats. Insert a simple piece of our code on your web page or blog and you will be able to analyse and monitor all the visitors to your website in real-time!) I would imagine that you/Wordpress installed this one – you have two cookies from them.

@apmebf.com (More advertising.)

@realmedia.com (and again.) You’ve also got one from @network.realmedia.com

@adviva.net, put out by Specificmedia.co.uk.

@ad.yieldmanager.com

Fan mail from another flounder saddens spinster aunt

I am so sad about this guy! Apparently I’ve been deleting his comments, which comments — I’m just guessing of course — might not have precisely represented the apex of human achievement, since I don’t remember them or him.

Matthew
mattstefanson@gmail.com
207.47.241.108
Submitted on 2010/07/27 at 11:13pm

Post my comments. Don’t be afraid of open discourse, you wanker. Is this how Neo-Feminist nutbags run their websites? with censorship? You suck.

“You suck.” Seriously? That’s the insult?

See, this is why I’m sad. Stupid, uninteresting people keep saying things.

Spinster aunt has even less time today than yesterday

Leopard frog eggs

Until an actual patriarchy-blaming time slot opens up in a day or two, allow your absentee blogger to offer a) an award-nominated photograph of the leopard frog eggs found yesterday in the Spinstitute for Texas Herpetology Dept’s experimental algae-choked swamp of a former swimming pool, and b) this light and amusing BDSM-related interlude entitled “You’re chaining up far too many women.” Thanks to blamer Mary Ann — who says in her email that she not only loves but also adores me — for sending it in.

Suddenly an idea for a great new time-saving email policy suggests itself: from now on my secretary Phil will be instructed to only read emails that commence with declarations of the writer’s love and adoration for me. Notifications from my derelict cell phone company, my ISP, Amazon.com, the Human Fund, RH Reality Check, and dudes who write in to complain that the I Blame the Patriarchy commenting policy is sexist, classist, racist, and some other ist I can’t remember? Fuggeddabowdit.

Spinster aunt has no time for you

This spinster aunt has no time for you people right now. So let us all praise blamer Phio Gistic, who sent in a link to some jaw-dropping shit that just went down in St. Louis Missouri, the mattress-stain of a town where, coincidentally, I spent the 25 worst years of my life.

Naturally, what happened is this: a woman was dancing in a St Louis club in 2004, and naturally “Girls Gone Wild” was there exploiting people, and naturally a third party exposed the woman’s breasts as she said, “no, no.”

Same-ole, same-ole.

But then the video came out and the woman sued, claiming she never gave consent and that the video represented an actual assault. The jaw-dropping shit is that a jury of my former homies actually ruled in favor of the “Girls Gone Wild” porn franchise. Consent is irrelevant when cameras are present!

St. Louis. Always classy.

Here’s the link to the post at Jezebel.

Yikes. And when I saw the addendum, wherein it is revealed that a fucking dick writer at the crap news weekly I used to work for nominated the victim in his “Ass-Clown of the Week” column, I was rendered speechless. And then, when I read the fucking dick’s managing editor’s apology, wherein she excuses the fucking dick with a “boys will be boys” and describes the subjects of “Girls Gone Wild” as “stupid,” I was rendered even speechlesser.

Southern leopard frogs

Meanwhile, everyone’s favorite photo subject: Southern leopard frogs in flagrante delicto. Tomorrow: the fruit of their loins!

P.S. All the comments stuck in moderation for the past week have been freed, except for the extremely long ones, which I don’t have time to read. Go start your own blog, long comment writers!

Sunday Morning Hurl: Mama Grizzlies


What the Mama Grizzly is wearing this season. From SarahPAC video.

Whenever a right-wing woman — any right-wing woman — claims to be a feminist, she doesn’t do it in a vacuum. She isn’t just hurting herself. Her antifeminist feminism has violent repercussions and broad implications. It spreads like a contagion from patriotically-attired partisan church lady to Fox news to housewife to housedaughter, cutting a swath of intellectual death in its wake. Research conducted here at the Spinstitute for the Intellectual Lifespan of Female Children shows that for each right-wing woman who performs in the capacity of an empowerful flag-waving heterosexual, 107.6 little girls can kiss their future human agency goodbye as it flutters off into the aether. Like their mothers before them, these little girls will have to pay for their own rape kits, be denied access to abortions, shop for pink lipstick at Wal-Mart, and be judged on their compliance with male desire until they ultimately become wife-slaves in nuclear families of their own, dedicated to consumerism and the replication of patriarchy.

Because the right-wing woman’s real agenda is compulsory compliance with megatheocorporatocratic mandates governing fair use of women, it’s bad enough when specimens from the rank and file pretend to give a fuck about other women. But when celebrity airhead Sarah Palin, with cameras running, gets all feisty and empowerful, the number of doomed girls vomitosially increases to 2,320,917, rising exponentially each time somebody watches her “Mama Grizzlies” SarahPAC vid on YouTube.

Mama Grizzlies! It’s a “mom awakening.” They’re gonna “get things done!” What things? Who the hell knows? Who the hell cares? Sarah Palin loves America, and that’s good enough for moms!

“Moms kinda just know when somethin’s wrong,” asserts Palin, addressing her back-to-basics, anti-intellectual female fan base, all of whom “just know” that ‘women’s intuition’ is a sound basis for vague social policy. Palin’s video blames “these policies comin’ out of DC right now,” this “fundamental transformation of America” for the existence of all this stuff that moms just kinda know is wrong.

But what wrong stuff, exactly, do the moms kinda just know? What, precisely, is the Mama Grizzly banding together against? To what — if it isn’t too much to ask — is she saying “no”?

Apparently, Mama Grizzlies are against whatever they kinda just want to be against, because Palin doesn’t mention a single issue in her video. It features a few quick cuts to protesters waving issue-ish but ultimately vacuous posters (“ANNOY LIBERAL WORK HARD & PAY YOUR OWN BILLS”), but what this charming little fillip of issue-less propaganda actually does is give uninformed right-wing women an anti-Obama political identity, a white ladies’ tribe to join. It’s the Mama Grizzlies Tribe, where you can be against stuff without even knowing what it is, where you all you have to grasp about politics is that something’s kinda just wrong, and that Sarah Palin’s gonna get it fixed because, even though she doesn’t hold public office and isn’t running for one, she loves America, so vote for her candidates in November.

Mama Grizzlies may not have a specific cause, but they are just as tough and fighty as Sarah! To wit:

The Mama Grizzlies are “gonna turn this thing around” and “get our country back on the right track.” They’re “banding together, rising up, and saying ‘no this isn’t right’. For our kids and for our grandkids. [...] Lookout Washington! Cuz there’s a whole stampede of pink elephants crossin’ the line and the ETA is November 2nd 2010!”

Lookout Washington! A pack of Mama Grizzlies have just morphed into a herd of pink elephants! Either way, you’re gonna have a sanitation problem on your hands.

My unique style self-expresses who I personally am

Me!
Jilroy Silliphant. Me! 1963. Pixels on ectoplasm.

The inbox at Spinster HQ this morning contained several urgent communiqués from an entity calling itself “How do I remove my tampon without it hitting something?”.

Yeah, this is a little embarrassing, but whenever I try to remove my tampon, it either hits my fingers or the rim of the toilet. I’m trying to take it out slowly so that it doesn’t swing around, but it’s a huge ordeal. Any tips?

As I read these words — which seemed to me not like everyday, earthly words, but like diamantine droplets of sublime Internet perfection leaping from the screen to encrust my optic nerves in tiny, piercing embraces — a little tear of happiness (the sort of happiness that fills the void left by the pain of defeat after an arduous struggle) welled up in my jaundiced eye. Suddenly all those pent-up, anti-Internet feelings I’ve been having lately melted away into the aether. I gathered some rose petals in a basket the color of sunshine and went skipping down the lane, strewing the petals and singing my Number One Jam, “Top of the World” by the Carpenters. After I got done singing that, I started in on my other Number One Jam, Madonna’s seminal feminist anthem for social change, “Holiday.”

Upon my return to the bunkhouse it became apparent that a small point, lately arisen on the blog, required a clarification. As you know, a roiling controversy attends certain of my views regarding the practice of beginning arguments with the word “I.” My lobe — having recently been blown by the fact that the afore-referenced zenith of tamponish prosody and crystalline subsense had been achieved, by some miracle, without my vigilant intervention — now compels me to rethink my position.

Let me be perfectly clear.

Begin remarks however you like. Use whatever words you want, to convey whatever tone you desire, to express whatever thought pops into your head. If you manage to achieve even a fraction of the exquisite pithiness of “How do I remove my tampon without it hitting something?”, no greater contribution to human enlightenment could be expected of you.

Meanwhile, because I have shown myself to be incapable of explaining to anybody’s satisfaction why it is advantageous for women to disseminate their views on social and political issues as bona fide ideas rather than as qualified, localized, personal opinions, or of illustrating the ways in which this rhetorical style differs from “telling my story,” I am retiring from (but not conceding) the fight. I reckon I’m just too old and beat up.

But before I go, I urge the blametariat to consider this: an idea is infinite and infectious and evolving. Some ideas: Elvis, birth control, the Internet. An opinion, on the other hand, is small and finite and, ultimately, irrelevant. An opinion is “I like pie.”

Spinster aunt posts photo of wagging tail without comment

Franny with white chair, 1963
Jilroy Silliphant. Franny with white chair. 1963.

Spinster aunt executes close reading of seemingly benign remark, exposes hidden meanings!

Thanks to yesterday’s involuntary contributors, Valerie, Dr Sarah Tonin, and Saphire. You kids are all right. Today I’ll be picking a few more nits on the same theme. If a theme may be said to possess nits.

Queries blamer JenniferRuth on the subject of feminists gettin’ after other feminists for perceived infractions of the Unwritten Feminist Code:

[...] Is the tone of the message more important than the message?

In other words, if you see some patriarchy goin’ down, and it falls upon you to blame it, need you really mince words just to spare the feelings of the alleged perp? Shouldn’t the perp grow a pair, and learn from your expertise?

It can be argued (and is argued, by me, albeit somewhat obliquely, a bit further down) that the tone of the message is the message. Furthermore, when the tone may be construed as hostile or passive-aggressive or supercilious, “learning” cannot reasonably be expected to transpire.

Continues JenniferRuth (echoing the opinion of several other blamers):

I think that often a “gotcha” tone is inferred rather than intended. I see none of it in Dr Sarah Tonin’s comment. [Dr Sarah Tonin's comment is reproduced below -- Jill].

Alas, the intent of a remark is ultimately irrelevant to its audience; the net effect on the balance of the cosmos is what must be considered when assessing the gotchaness of any given remark delivered on a small-time blog. We have seen this intent-vs-effect scenario time and time again. For example:

When some progressive liberal dude drops anchor at Savage Death Island to take field notes on the wild feminist population, he might say something like “You ladies have really educated me, keep up the good work!” The dude imagines that he’s being supportive, but what he’s actually done is reinforce the dude-supremacist hierarchy by placing himself in a lofty position above the fray from which he may passively benefit from the ladies’ work while simultaneously condescending to bestow upon them the high honor of dudely approbation.

Privilege exercised by A is oppression experienced by B. Whether the A “means” it or not.

Back to Dr Sarah Tonin’s remark:

@Valerie, I agree with the basic sentiment of your comment, but druther you’d pick a less classist analogy than “trailer park”. Cheers.

It is well observed that Dr Sarah Tonin is not, in this example, mean. She opens with something conciliatory, briefly administers the correction, attempts to diffuse any potential sting with a breezy “cheers!” and gets the heck out. A case of the surgeon’s knife.

There are other, more extreme, more entertaining examples I might have used, but alas, you get what you pay for here at I Blame the Patriarchy.

However. As for whether, as JenniferRuth wonders, the “gotcha” tone is real or imagined: if it walks like a duck and talks like a duck …

Read it again:

@Valerie, I agree with the basic sentiment of your comment, but druther you’d pick a less classist analogy than “trailer park”. Cheers.

Observe that Dr Sarah Tonin speaks directly to Valerie using the first person “I.” She alludes to Valerie’s infraction as distasteful to Dr Sarah Tonin personally. In so doing, she introduces a “j’accuse” dynamic, establishing a mini-hierarchy wherein she confers upon herself hall monitor status. She’s a pleasant hall monitor, but a hall monitor nonetheless. This dynamic makes the “cheers” feel a bit disingenuous.

It should also be noted that Dr Sarah Tonin’s humorous Internet moniker contains the quasi-honorific “Dr,” which, whether or not Sarah Tonin is an actual doctor, adds to her remarks a subliminal and somewhat presumptuous dollop of authoritative clout. The subtext might be read as “As your superior officer, I deem you in violation of the unwritten code.”

A more enbiggening, albeit more time-consuming, approach would have been for Dr Sarah Tonin to eliminate both her personal preferences and Valerie from her remarks altogether, and to compose her argument from a more universal point of view. Perhaps something like:

“Although trailer parks have enjoyed a colorful history as joke-butts among the upper classes and other denizens of site-built homes, these jokes are considered by many feminists to contain classist slurs that a) unjustly portray low socio-economic status as a character flaw, and b) bolster the jokester’s own status as someone privileged enough to make such pronouncements.”

Such a statement might still have offended the charmingly implacable Saphire (Valerie herself, it should be noted, has, as of this writing, yet to weigh in on the subject), but at least it would have met most of the criteria upon which the Blametariat appears to agree are necessary for successful consciousness-raising: it’s neutral in tone; it’s addressed to a general audience rather than to a specific blamer; it describes a widely-held philosophical position re: trailer parks rather than a statement of personal opinion; it’s an introductory explication of the problem with trailer-park jokes; and possibly it might even serve as a template from which a less-experienced feminist might extrapolate for future instances of self-privilege-awareness.

I Blame the Patriarchy’s superfatted Guidelines For Commenters already contains a plea for the excision of the first person singular from the Blametarium; it should, at least for purposes of Internecine Nit-Picking, also include a moratorium on the pronoun “you.”

These pronouns, they’re really something!

In closing, let us remember that, although this blog originated as a light entertainment delivery device for the amusement of its author, today its primary function is patriarchy-blaming. So, if you see some patriarchy in progress, and think you can blame it, bring it, girlfriend! The less culture-of-domination shit you throw around while doing it, the better.

Fun fact: I used to work in a manufactured housing factory, where I was the lowliest form of life, the girl who swept out the houses when they rolled off the assembly line. I will always be grateful to that job for hipping me to the existence of the Hokey, an inexpensive, human-powered housekeeping implement I use to this day to remove golden retriever hair from a blue paisley rug.

By the way, as somebody pointed out yesterday, the actual term for the type of dwelling under discussion is “manufactured home.” It may be “PC” (as the commenter suggested), but it’s also the official industry designation, for the simple reason that, once delivered, these houses are affixed to the ground with concrete pylons and don’t go anywhere. I know what I’m talkin’ about when I say that manufactured housing often exceeds, in terms of eco-friendliness, energy efficiency, price, maintenance costs, and general quality, comparable site-built homes. See photo, above.

A “trailer” is something you hitch to your Ford F-250 to transport livestock, hay, landscaping equipment, or an Emergency Mobile Margarita Bar.

___________________
Photo: Adorable “trailer” is (surprisingly?) un-trashy. 475 sq ft “Eco-Cottage” by Nationwide Homes.

We’ve all done it, but maybe it’s time to cut it the fuck out

More excerpts from the comments!

#
Valerie
July 11, 2010 at 4:05 pm

[...] They make trailer parks look classy and nuanced.

#
Dr. Sarah Tonin
July 11, 2010 at 10:48 pm

@Valerie, I agree with the basic sentiment of your comment, but druther you’d pick a less classist analogy than “trailer park”. Cheers.

#
Saphire
July 11, 2010 at 11:16 pm

^ Lest Valerie forget that impossible high standard the internet feminist is held to!

#
Saphire
July 11, 2010 at 11:19 pm

Grrr think I too am giving feminism a break. I’ll come back when we have anything resembling something where ‘feminists’ don’t tear each other down at the first chance. ‘Patriarchy handmaidens’, spot on.

Don’t I know it. When your blogular practice of Internet feminism gets corrected by total strangers, it’s about as appealing as when some nattering nabob of a poindexter corrects your grammar. As a professional Internet feminist, my ass is hangin’ there on both lines pretty much around the clock. Smarty pantses (or is it smarties pants?) and finger-waggers line up around the block all the live-long day, just waiting for a chance to correct some little infraction. I’d be lying if I said this didn’t completely chafe the spinster butt-cheeks.

I remember one time I typed “morays”, like the eels, instead of “mores,” like the normative conventions and attitudes embodying the fundamental moral values of a particular society, the contravention or rejection of which by individuals or subgroups is liable to be perceived as a threat to stability. I can’t say why I wrote “morays” instead of “mores”; if anyone knows the difference between an eel and a normative convention, ’tis I. But I did it all the same. And sure enough, though it was perfectly clear from the context of my post that eels were not among the topical considerations of the essay, a lurking poindexter lost no time. She leaped from the bushes and executed a “gotcha!” in the comments, exposing my dreadful usage mishap for the entire world to see. She performed this gotcha, not with a simple “hey, you typed the wrong word,” or a pleasantry about eels and their social fishiologies, but with an unnecessarily (I thought) elaborate explication of my error, including definitions, pronunciations, Latin origins of both words, and a goddam supercilious (I thought) tone. The cheeks were chafed.

I have complained about this before. Remember dear old Cuntalinagate? No? Well, here’s what happened. Last year — I forget exactly when — I used the word “cuntalina” as a pejorative to describe — I forget exactly who — and lo! The Feminist Secret Service was deployed toot sweet to fishslap me into compliance with the relentless, sanctimonious, supercilious metrical Formula of Internet Feminist Conformity and Propriety. Demands for an explanation were conferred. I became Misogynist of the Year. I got voted off my own island. I got compared to Mengele. It was all “oh my god, Twisty, you called a woman a cunt! You’ve set women’s rights back 50 years! All my hopes and dreams just went down the crapper and you suck shit through Hefty bags! The kids and I are burning the computer we used to read your posts!”

Here’s what I said then, so I don’t have to think up a new paragraph to say it again now.

I’m damned glad you guys are taking this feminism thing seriously. Really. Nothing could be more heartwarming, except, possibly, certain heartwarming nature crap, than that there exist women who are able to grasp that “cuntalina” is an antifeminist slur.

But seriously, get off my fucking case already with this hypervigilant radfem hall monitor shit. The policey, self-righteous, gotcha bullshit around here generally is chapping my entire hide. When and if I commit some egregious ideological error that threatens the very fabric of the cosmos I’ll make Twisty fucking cop to it, as you fucking well know if you’ve been reading this blog for more than five minutes. But this cuntalina uproar is fucking absurd. Jayzus in a jetpack.

Good times.

Anyway, far be it from me to tell anyone what to do! So I’m not demanding that interested parties should check their annoying habit of going for the jugular whenever they perceive the slightest opportunity to cut some hapless fellow Internetian (rhymes with “Venetian”) off at the knees and feast on her imperfect brains. I’m just saying, maybe you’re being a jerk to act all offended and self-righteous when your victims, weary of the constant prissy-ass doctrinairian hectoring, go a little postal.

Nobody likes a rat-fink.

But on the other hand, what to do about insouciant, stereotype-perpetuating remarks concerning the philosophic depth of trailer parks? Haven’t we a moral imperative to nip this shit in the bud? Because if we don’t check call out these heinous anti-trailerite lapses, pretty soon feminism itself will be torn completely asunder and polar bears will go extinct.

It is a fine line we walk, you and I. It may be suggested, in the interest of peace and harmony, that when confronted with one of these intolerable slurs, the slurrer herself be recused from any subsequent critique. Also that the zingy take-down, popular though it is, be relinquished, and that the focus of the critique be ideological rather than personal. Perhaps affording the slurrer an opportunity to broaden her horizons rather than force her to defend herself from an angry mob of Trailer Park Rightsists. One might strive to be educationy, rather than imperious.

This is suggested, of course, despite the high probability that nobody will pay it the slightest attention. Why won’t they? Because it is the Way of the Internet — yes, even the Feminist Internet — to self-aggrandize by any means necessary. Usually the means is dominating anyone who shows the slightest weakness. In the end, the lone chumps left standing will be those few who can withstand the longest the Internet’s Death by a Thousand Cuts (or Venomous Morays).

But blowing off feminism because couple of amateur feminists make stupid remarks on a small-time blog? Aw.

Do you mind if I stalk you up close instead of from across the room?

Sure, I’ll smile, if you take this match and light your fucking mustache on fire.

This week’s Sunday Morning Hurl comes from misogynist dude site Askmen.com.

Askmen.com runs a recurring feature dedicated to “pickup lines.” A pickup line is a phrase used by suave movie bachelors and doofus TV sitcom knobs (and, apparently, by dorks who read Askmen. com) to turn unsuspecting women with whom they are not acquainted into hot, wet, pliable meatsocks.

The concept is predicated on the notion that women are morons.

The pickup line is a staple theme in the narrative of male sexual domination culture, where it is believed that, when properly worded and expertly delivered, it has the magical power to completely disarm a woman, flip her “on” switch, and guaran-fucking-tee her compliance. The concept of “the pickup” itself has competetive, jokey, pervy, and, of course, rapey components.

Askmen.com publishes a new pickup line every week. Some are labeled “Funny Pickup Line,” others “Cocky Pickup Line.” Oddly, none are called “Hokey Dipshit Pickup Line.” The editors add a little introductory remark to each one. These remarks support my hypothesis: that to qualify as a pickup line a phrase must contain lies, flattery, bullshit, and cheesiness, which qualities are intended to obscure the utterer’s actual meaning, which is “I want to use you as a receptacle. Open sesame.” Subterfuge, in other words, is seen as a quite normal and integral component of the venerable dudely tradition of sexual conquest.

Here’s a selection of the Askmen introductory remarks, followed by my editorial remarks, followed by the pickup lines themselves, which stand alone as monuments of heteronormative sexist farce:

Whether it’s true or not, you can still give this pickup line a try. We dare you.

Well, the guys have gone and dared you. What choice do you have?
A woman as beautiful as you deserves a man as rich as me.

“This pickup line is virtually guaranteed to make her giggle.”

And lard knows, once a chick giggles, she is legally bound to have sex with you.
“Excuse me, is your name Mickey? ‘Cause you’re so fine you blow my mind.”

“This pickup line is best used in the wee hours of the morning, when she’s less likely to think you’re a creep.”

Being tired and drunk will lower her resistance to your natural creepiness.
“You know, good girls get presents this time of year, but naughty girls get to have fun.”

“Why not try a little kindness the next time you’re trying to pick up a woman?”

Instead of your usual method of roofies and duct tape.
“I’ve had a terrible day, and it always makes me happy to see a gorgeous woman smile. Would you smile for me? “

“Once you’re fortified with liquid courage, try this pickup line on the hottest woman at the bar.”

It is common knowledge that the hottest women at the bar instantaneously give blow jobs to drunk assholes who stumble over and say
“you look like you could use a good one-night stand.”

The denizens of Spinster HQ have a hard time believing that any live dude who isn’t Disco Stu would even consider saying any of this stupid shit to an actual woman. However, whether or not men really use pickup lines is of secondary importance to the perpetuation, on the Askmen website and elsewhere, of the atavistic idea that women are essentially just sex troves, ripe for pillaging once unlocked by a few magic syllables.