Apr 13 2009

Texas state rep needs reprogramming

Categories:

Austin, Lobe-blowing, Politics

by Twisty

Texas State Rep. Betty Brown, racist tool

Texas State Rep. Betty Brown, racist tool

Not all Texans, I regret to say, are easygoing, progressive thinkers. State Representative Betty Brown, for example, is a tool.

Betty Brown just can’t wrap her brain around the fact that some certified 100% Texans have Asian names. This is because her brain has the philosophical sophistication of a Thomas Kinkade painting. Texans should have names like “Betty” or “Brown,” good, solid American names she can spell and pronounce. Asian names freak her out. People with these wacked-out foreign monikers should “make [them] more accessible.” Or so she told Ramey Ko, a representative of the Organization of Chinese Americans giving testimony at the Lege on voter ID legislation.

Ramey Ko. That’s one crazy fucking inaccessible name.

“Rather than everyone here having to learn Chinese — I understand it’s a rather difficult language — do you think that it would behoove you and your citizens to adopt a name that we could deal with more readily here?” Brown said.

Ko’s “citizens” should make an effort to grasp how “difficult” their language is, and what an inconvenience they present to the real Americans here who are trying to run good, old-fashioned, discriminatory Caucasian elections. They should lose those bizarro names and get ones that Betty Brown can feel more comfortable with. Because, seriously, it’s bad enough that she has to put up with all these damned Spanish people speaking Mexican.

If it’s hard to imagine a white lady with pink lipstick and helmet hair uttering anything more bigoted and condescending than that, you don’t know Betty Brown!

Brown later told Ko: “Can’t you see that this is something that would make it a lot easier for you and the people who are poll workers if you could adopt a name just for identification purposes that’s easier for Americans to deal with?”

Listen, Ko, you and your kind are trouble. Can’t you see that if you just knuckle under to honky bigotry everyone will be happy?

[Xie xie, B.R.]

72 comments

Apr 12 2009

Molly Ivins, Memory Lane, Maypearl; what more could you want?

Categories:

Announcements, Not Altogether Depressing, Private Business of the Secret Feminist Society, The Spinster's Finger on the Pulse of Yesterday, Varmint Center

by Twisty

<small>The butt in question. Maypearl enjoys aiming it at both cameras and equine massage therapists.</small>

The butt in question. Maypearl enjoys aiming it at both cameras and equine massage therapists.

Behold the antidote to my two consecutive posts ripping on asshole women: Molly Ivins, vintage 1991, ripping on Camille Paglia. As bloggers who are too lazy to write an actual analysis always say, go read the whole thing.

Far less forgivable is Paglia’s consistent confusion of feminism with yuppies. What does she think she’s doing? Paglia holds feminists responsible for the bizarre blight created by John T. Molloy, author of Dress for Success, which caused a blessedly brief crop of young women, all apparently aspiring to be executive vice-presidents, to appear in the corporate halls wearing those awful sand-colored baggy suits with little floppy bow ties around their necks.

Ha! I’d forgotten about those baggy suits and floppy bow ties. In 1976 you couldn’t swing a dead cat down at corporate without smacking some Little Lord Fauntleroy-lookin’ secretary in the kisser.

And John T. Molloy! Remember his 2003 classic Why Men Marry Some Women and Not Others: The Fascinating Research That Can Land You the Husband of Your Dreams? No? That’s probably because you’ve already found your Mr Right, but remember: there are plenty of desperate bachelorettes on the verge of aging out of eligibility who need to know how to “increase [their] chances of marrying by up to 60 percent.” Molloy suggests a “straightforward plan for any marriage-minded woman willing to change her habits.” Stop watching melodramas on Lifetime and get your ass to a sports bar before you’re too old and fat to ever snag a guy who hangs out in sports bars!

You can tell, from his sound matrimonial tips, that John T Molloy is really interested in helping women stop being losers. That’s why he wrote a new, improved version of his 70′s how-to-express-your-loyalty-to-patriarchy-through-gabardine manual. It contains 26 pages on the subject of “the jacket” alone. Apparently if you don’t wear this power garment whenever you appear in public, everyone you encounter will automatically assume you’re a hooker. News you can use!

Meanwhile, there can be no doubt that my horse Maypearl’s impending professional massage — you’ll recall she was suffering from butt pain — has consumed your thoughts for many hours. Your anxious wait is over. The results are in. It turns out that young Mape’s butt isn’t the real problem after all.

As the equine massage therapist explained, digging her thumbs into Mape’s scapula, she has knots in her shoulders, which in turn makes knots in her back, which in turn makes knots in her rump. The head-bone’s connected to the butt-bone, as the poet said. To get it all sorted out, Mape will apparently require weekly professional thumbings for the foreseeable future.

I promised pictures, but preventing the Mape from kicking the shit out of the massage therapist kept me pretty occupied. All the photos came out as blurry streaks of white fur in a swirling vortex of obstreperation.

[Thanks to Belle O'Cosity for the Ivins link]

45 comments

Apr 11 2009

Internet gasbag dedicated to ending discrimination against honkys

Categories:

Lobe-blowing, Women hate you

by Twisty

Things are really hoppin here at Spinster HQ, and there is absolutely zero time for blogging today. For example, I have to slouch in the lime green recliner with a cup of Fair Trade half-caf and contemplate whether to adopt a Great Pyrenees from a rescue. There are some bluebonnets that need photographing. And that’s not all. I have to bait a bunch of mouse traps in the VIP quarters down at the bunkhouse; my sibling Tidy informs me that she’s punting the visiting Faster family matriarch my way, and the joint is fucking infested.

Did I tell you that I took my car in to the shop to remedy a clunking AC fan, and they actually extracted a mouse corpse from it? That’ll be $120, please, thanks for choosing Austin Rip-Off Car Repair!

Oh, and I can’t miss this: my zany mare Maypearl, who pulled a butt muscle last week, is getting a massage this afternoon.

A massage for a horse? Are you effing kidding me?

Nope. Maypearl’s trainer Cristina is a California flower child, and doesn’t hold with the centuries-old cowboy’s “give’er some Bute* and lope it out!” method of equine physical therapy. Cristina has put her foot down. If Maypearl does not receive a 3-hour massage toot sweet it’s animal cruelty and I’m going to hell.

I’ll post pictures.

Meanwhile, you know that Amy Alkon person from yesterday, the one whose views on human copulation and eating fried dough intersect? Well, I was sitting down to write about not writing today, and lard help me, her website was still open in my browser. As you know, the imp of the perverse afflicts me from time to time. So of course I read Alkon’s latest blog post, knowing full well that it would be like unto 47 toothpicks jabbing me in the corneas. As it turned out, it was more like 48 toothpicks.

The Alkon! It’s indescribable. She is outraged over racial discrimination. Discrimination against white dudes, that is.

What’s got her lipstick in a smear is this: back in 2003, 77 applicants took a promotion-qualifying test at the New Haven, Connecticut fire department. 19 African-American firefighters were among the hopefuls. None of the 19 scored high enough to win a promotion, so New Haven threw out the test. Naturally the high-scoring-yet-unpromoted white guys filed suit against the city. “Racial discrimination!” was their embittered cry. The District Court judge said, no, since nobody was promoted, there was no harm. Now the Supremes are on the case.

So Alkon does what any deluded self-promoting misogynist right-wing gasbag would do: she sides with the white dudes and backs herself up by quoting Martin Luther King!

It’s always hilarious when racists defend the Master Race against “reverse discrimination,” and simultaneously attempt to present themselves as non-racists, by trotting out Martin Luther King on judging people not “by the color of their skin by by the content of their character.” It appears to elude these patriarchy-denying chumps that, when the social order privileges a ruling class over a subordinate one based on skin color, there can be no such thing as true discrimination against the ruling class. That’s what makes them the ruling class, dumbshit! Discrimination, like all putrefied shit, can only flow in both directions if the classes in question are of equal status, which, obviously, they fucking well aren’t.

“I’m with him,” says Alkon. She means that she and Martin Luther King are two hearts that beat as one. Yeah, she’s with him, because when King said “I have a dream” what he actually meant was not “End racism,” but “Reward the deserving white guys who skunked the stupid black guys on the test.”

Look, if none — not a single one — of the black guys scored high enough for a promotion, something ain’t right. Something that looks suspiciously like racism. Maybe the test was fucked up. Maybe the white dudes cheated. Or maybe, you know, the black dudes, as members of an oppressed class, were marginalized from the git-go. Ya think?

_____________________
* Bute is horse aspirin.

52 comments

Apr 10 2009

A couple of stinky stains declare love for patriarchy, MRA-style

Categories:

Dear god what about the men?, Lobe-blowing, Women hate you

by Twisty

Somebody just sent me an email with this subject line:

“Newsflash: Dr. Helen (Instapundit’s spouse) is retarded.”

I.

OK. Even though Liberal Dude role model Jon Stewart delights legions of adolescent boys when he uses it, spinster aunts consider the word ‘retarded’ — once a medical diagnosis used clinically to debase a class of people, and now an insult used pejoratively to ridicule that class of people and to annoy everyone else — to be more or less a slur.*

Instead of relying on bigoted schoolboy epithets to indicate our disdain for the dipshit antifeminist views of dipshit antifeminists, we advocate exercising the flaccid portions of our vast and glistening lobes to compose a more sophisticated and poetical zingerology.

Dr Helen is a stinky stain.

II.

It is not often that we endorse the concept of reason according to just prejudice. However, research conducted at our Department of Sobriquet Studies has conclusively determined that one is in fact wholly justified, a priori, in dismissing as irrelevant, unenlightened, or asinine any opinion proceeding from the mouth, pen, or IP address of anyone calling him/herself “Dr First-name-only.”

III.

Dr Helen, a “forensic psychologist” who plays a talk show host on amateur internet TV, has a funny video up at a funny right-wing website. The video commences with pompous TV news report intro music. That’s funny right off the bat.

Dr Helen’s topic is also a howler: “Gotcha Pregnancies & Men’s Rights.” You know this “gotcha pregnancy” phenomenon? It threatens the very atomic structure of the universe. Here’s how it works: devious women lie to their dudes about using birth control in order to get pregnant without dudely consent. Then they have the unmitigated gall to ask for child support. Men shouldn’t have to pay when the fruit of their loins is obtained fraudulently by deceitful bitches. It’s an affront to Truth & Beauty.

To help endorse the view that males are supreme beings, Dr Helen interviews someone named Amy Alkon, a woman whose professional expertise in the field of sneaky bitches tricking innocent dudes into knocking them up flows from her brilliant career as an AdviceGoddess (Alkon’s bio lists “evolutionary psychology” as one of her fave raves; need I say more?).

The interview is funny because it depicts two women of average intellect demonstrating their Patriarchy2K-compliance by vilifying other women, by crying through pinkulated lips “what about the men?!” and by invoking a phony “phenomenon” as phony evidence that male privilege is just and natural.

Wait. I guess that’s not so funny.

Behold a short transcription. It was all I was able to get before the Pajama TV player went on the fritz. Although I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t pretty relieved when the browser crashed, so painful to my lobes was watching even 37 seconds of these two tools.

Dr Helen: What do you think about women getting pregnant accidentally on purpose?

Amy Alkon: I think this is just horrible. I mean it’s just so amazing. If you’re a woman it’s totally your responsibility to take care of birth control.

Dr Helen: Don’t you think men should be responsible for birth control at all?

Amy Alkon: Well yes, but you know I think that’s sort of like asking a donut baker to be responsible for whether or not I gain weight.

Dr Helen, trying out the cable TV pundit shit-disturber gambit with an endearing feminine coyness, wonders if the vast hordes of unscrupulous whores who trick men into impregnating them should be held criminally negligent. The AdviceGoddess, though she would hesitate to chuck’em in the hoosegow, nevertheless thinks it is so amazing that these “bilkers” feel entitled to child support.**

Allow me to translate: As a woman you are a member of the sex class and don’t you forget it. Your purpose, as ordained by the Global Accords Governing Fair Use of Women, is as a receptacle for male incontinence. Sex class duties entail making life as comfortable and uncomplicated as possible for men. This extends to complying with their wishes at all times, especially when it comes to the contents of your personal uterus.

For extra credit, you might post videos on the internet declaring your full support for your own oppression.

According to syndicated misogynist Amy Alkon, who takes the rather eccentric view that submitting to the heteronormal peen-pronging imperative is like eating donuts, it is irrelevant that you are highly unlikely to become pregnant unless some dude — an autonomous member of the privileged class — has enjoyed using you for your natural purpose. Remember, the dude’s natural purpose — which always supersedes yours in terms of philosophic value — is to ejaculate and then biff off to a football game, not to concern himself in any way with the method by which he obtains, or the consequences of, his gratification. Unless he feels like it.

IV.

As a spinster aunt, I am one of the world’s leading experts on the causes of male angst, and I know how men can liberate themselves from the scourge of global female oppression. The method follows a rather intricate and convoluted logic, which may account for its failure to have caught on, but I’ll try, for the sake of beleaguered dudes the world over, to put it in layman’s terms: men wishing to thwart the evil schemes of even the most determined sperm-swindling pregnancy tricksters can simply decline to force-feed their donuts to any women. Et voilà!

Now that — like all imaginary absurdities — would be funny, like when the grizzled cowboy asks the grizzled drill sergeant if these Hello Kitty jeans make his butt look big. Dudes must prong. Bearing the consequences of male penetration behavior is strictly girly shit.

______________________
* Other words that may be similarly turned into insults: gay, feminist, and blogger. And gay feminist blogger. As in “Chad isn’t going to Gazonga’s Topless Sports Bar and Foie Gras Grill with us; he’s such a gay feminist blogger.”

** A commenter on Dr Helen’s blog describes child support as “a profitable incentive for deceit.” Churn’em out and rake it in, ladies! Everybody knows that men have a proven track record of stepping up and providing the mothers of their unwanted children with a life of luxury. Thanks to a steady child-based income, most of these lying sluts live on the French Riviera and have chauffeurs. That’s probably why the US Department of Health and Human Services doesn’t bother dedicating a whole department to child support enforcement.

Oh, wait. Yes they do.

66 comments

Apr 09 2009

Spinster aunt says “fuck this” and “fuck that”

Categories:

Mass Media, Patriarchy, my patriarchy, Politics

by Twisty

You can heave your sigh of relief; no BBC News chimp-biology-is-human-destiny post will be inflicted on you today. Not that every effort wasn’t made. But inexplicably, this morning’s Beeb feed was all full of non-ev-psych patriarchy stuff. The headlines all sounded like paperback bestsellers or Hollywood blockbusters. “Cyberspies infiltrate US power grid.” “How can pirates be stopped?” “Ugandan spy jailed for AIDS fraud.” Spies and pirates!

I did notice that the UK’s “top counter-terrorism officer” got sacked after he was photographed waving top-secret documents around on the street. I had a chuckle about that.

You know, the more I read about the zany antics of British politicians, the more they remind me of the Texas legislature.

The Texas lege, for those who have the misfortune of not being Texan, is widely regarded as the most ape-shit hilarious lege in the land.

But I digress.

Since the BBC couldn’t deliver the goods, I was forced to click on the next feed, the Huffington Post. Breaking news! “Hillary channels Michelle.” Apparently Clinton was spotted wearing a jaunty belt and flowery brooch, sending shockwaves throughout the galaxy. A few clicks later, it became clear that the Huffington Post employs legions of people to report with deadly seriousness — as though lives were at stake — on the personal appearance of political women. Check out this irrelevant admonishment:

When Oscar de la Renta lambasted Michelle Obama last week in Women’s Wear Daily for wearing a cardigan to meet Queen Elizabeth II – sniping, “You don’t go to Buckingham Palace in a sweater” — he betrayed a disdain for the First Lady’s sense of style that is at the heart of the fashion establishment’s criticism of her. [cite]

Fashion establishment? Mang, if I were running the feminist revolt, the first thing I’d hurl several thousand grenades at would be the Fashion Establishment. Racist, sexist, fascist, classist, consumerist, misogynist, and snobby; fashion’s just an ugly little package of old-world patriarchy wrapped up in overpriced taffeta made by indentured slaves in the Northern Mariana Islands. Who the fuck cares if Obama goes to Buckingham Palace in a sweater? Would it give the fucking Queen an aneurysm? Would it cause global warming? Would it throw the economy in the toilet? Think of the children!

Fuck that gasbag snob Oscar de la Renta, and fuck anyone who thinks his asinine occupation exhibits an iota of philosophic value. And while I’m at it, fuck the British monarchy, too.

Well, that about wraps it up. I’ve gotta go oppress some fire ants. I will be wearing what I would wear to Buckingham Palace: dirty breeches, rubber boots, and a crummy University of Texas baseball cap.

65 comments

Apr 08 2009

Primate week continues: the origins of prostitution

Categories:

Junk Studies, Keep your bias off my gender, Mass Media, Men Hate You, Number 1 Science Information

by Twisty

Yipes, that dang-ole BBC news feed! As mentioned yesterday, the thing infests the Twisty mainframe with a resilience matched only by the Great “Law & Order” Marathon of ’03.

I allude to a dark interlude wherein my formerly happy-go-lucky keister became inexplicably fused to my lime green recliner while, according to a rigorous schedule, I consumed tubs of Cool Whip and continuous “Law & Order” episodes. Hideous, but mesmerizing. Amazingly, considering the depth and saturation of my exposure to patriarchal narrative norms, I didn’t morph into a Liberal Dude. I was one of the lucky ones; one frabjous day I was scratching my head absently, whereupon I accidently discovered the Patriarchal Messaging Unit, a brain implant of alien technology commonly employed by a secret government agency to control spinster aunts. I pried it out of my lobe toot-sweet, and I’ve been Law & Order-free ever since.

But I digress.

The blamer will certainly enjoy today’s Beeb piece, for it summarizes a study and contains our phrase-of-the-week, “sexual swellings,” with regard to non-human primates! This is not just any old study, either. This is exciting evidence, based on observations of Ivory Coast chimpanzees, that the patriarchal social order is hardwired.

Chimpanzees enter into “deals” whereby they exchange meat for sex, according to researchers.

It goes without saying, since “male” is always the default, that by “chimpanzees” the article means male chimpanzees, and that by “sex” it means “copulation.” Female chimpanzees do not, apparently, exchange meat for sex. Their role is not active. The females passively accept meat from males whereupon they are adjudged to be under an obligation put out over the long term. The article portrays them as recipients of male largesse and as receptacles.

The words “sex slavery” spring to mind, but for some reason are conspicuously absent from the article.

Gee, I wonder if the researchers will draw any conclusions about human behavior based on these patriarchy-informed observations of an isolated primate population belonging to a totally different genus?

“This has got me really interested in humans,” [said researcher/chimp voyeur Cristina Gomes]. “I’m thinking of moving on to working with hunter-gatherers.”

Chimps are pimps, so obviously there are enormous ramifications for our understanding of modern human relationships, which clearly ought to be viewed entirely in terms of male troglodyte copulation skills.

I swear, no more BBC. Well, maybe just one more. I mean, I can quit anytime I want. Maybe tomorrow.

64 comments

Apr 07 2009

Protuberance Korner

Categories:

Dear god what about the men?, El Rancho Deluxe, Heartwarming Nature Crap, Mass Media, Patriarchy, my patriarchy

by Twisty

<small><strong><em>Fig. 17.b.</em></strong> Behold not one but two genera of the world's most scintillating fungus orders: earthballs. <em>Pisolithus tinctorus</em> (left) and <em>scleroderma bovista</em>. Both fungal globs are the size of your fist. The field guide describes them in terms of tennis balls: half-buried, semi-deflated, and lost for some time. Don't eat'em! You'll puke and puke, just like when you read the BBC news feed.</small>

Fig. 17.b. Behold not one but two genera of the world's most scintillating fungus orders: earthballs. Pisolithus tinctorus (left) and scleroderma bovista. Both fungal globs are the size of your fist. The field guide describes them in terms of tennis balls: half-buried, semi-deflated, and lost for some time. Don't eat'em! You'll puke and puke, just like when you read the BBC news feed.


No doubt you are deeply embarrassed for me, my having developed the unseemly habit of reading the BBC news feed, selecting a grotesque headline from the “Health” section, and dropping it at your feet like some slavering dog with a half-dead rat. And no doubt what I am about to say will raise the concern hackles of dudely readers who are always warning me for my own good to stop wasting energy on playing the blame game and learn to accept personal responsibility for all the bullshit in the world, but dang it, I Blame Firefox. The stupid BBC came pre-embedded in the bookmarks bar of my latest Firefox install. It’s the very first one on the left! It might as well be a flashing neon sign with 17 blinking arrows reading “FISH IN A BARREL! SHOOT HERE!” It’s irresistible.

“Pull yourself together, Twisty!” you’re saying. “Is your delete-finger broken or something?”

Well, yes. As a matter of fact, it is.

Which explains why, when I got back from this morning’s Fungus Safari (see Fig. 17.b), this was the nausea-inducing headline that awaited me:

“Spray for ‘six times longer’ sex.”

As you know, sex is the most important fucking thing in the universe.

I wasted no time in deducing the gist of this article from the headline. Some knob, I surmised, has invented a spray-on boner, giving new meaning to the term “fucknozzle.” There was no point in imagining that the spray to which it alludes was, say, pepper spray, and that the scenario proposed incapacitating your would-be pronger long enough for you to get the job done yourself. No, in this day and age — which happily resembles, as far as horndog dudes are concerned, any day and age — sexy medical breakthroughs are universally phallocentric.

Six-times-longer sex spray is no exception. As I’d suspected, its target demographic is the dude plagued with emasculating flaccidity. Unlike our beloved Viagra, however, which fixes “erectile dysfunction,” the new spray — just aim the fucknozzle and shoot! — supposedly addresses “premature ejaculation.” This is another harrowing disorder which renders a dude incapable of demonstrating his masculine superpowers to the exacting standards of today’s strict Pornulational Code.

When is a particular ejaculation “premature”? Whenever dudeliness is compromised!

As mentioned above, sex enhancing drugs are pretty exclusively the purview of men. Nevertheless, the drugs’ benefits to women, though non-existent, are routinely exaggerated. This marketing feat is accomplished with the dominant culture’s definition of women’s sexuality in terms of men, supported by the dudely myth that fetishizes the female’s supposed burning desire for marathon doses of penetration. This BBC article on premature ejaculation, for instance, is illustrated with a photograph of a young, attractive heterosexual couple en dishabille. The woman stares at the camera with hurt, sad doe-eyes; her man, with his pathetic malfunctioning peen, cannot satisfy her desperate urge for 6 times more penetration. Soon they will break up, and he will commit suicide. Bring on the boner spray, with all speed!

PSD502 helped 90% of the men enjoy sex for up to four minutes, where they had previously only lasted for seconds.

PSD502 is an anesthetic that basically numbs out the willy, so it is unlikely that the “enjoyment” has much to do with actual physical sensation. Duration — that manliest of the manly talents — appears to be the only objective.

While men are enjoying “sex” six times longer, they are also “building confidence.” “Sex” is the dudely synonym for “penetration.” “Confidence” is the dudely synonym for “successful exercise of male privilege.”

97 comments

Apr 02 2009

Whimsical monkey butt video of the week

Categories:

Art is my LIFE, Not Altogether Depressing

by Twisty

Tastes in monkey butts come and go, but nothing’s as thrilling as tasting the red ones.


monkey’s butt is red from min oh on Vimeo.

43 comments

Apr 02 2009

It’s bleak to me

Categories:

Keep your bias off my gender, Mass Media, Patriarchy, my patriarchy

by Twisty

or

Shut up, woman!

Say what you will about Spinster Aunt Global’s Comparative Language Lab; our legendary world-famous notoriety is well-known for two reasons. One is our extraordinary subtlety, an almost, um, what’s the word … undetectable expertise in our field of study.

The other is that we’re perpetually contemplating opening a branch office in Crete.

The latter of which would mean brushing up on our Greek. To that end, I recently took it upon myself to type the word “woman” into one of those free online English-to-Greek translators. There I found a range of extremely useful idioms. I know you will be as excited to learn them as I was.

Note: another of the award-nominated legends of our celebrated high-quality lab is that we famously don’t know how to make the Greek alphabet display in WordPress, so the gist of today’s post is presented in the exciting JPEG format!

greek

Since they have no practical modern application, I haven’t bothered to include translations of the three less pejorative phrases suggested by the translator (“woman doctor,” “woman suffrage,” and “woman plays an important role in …”).

Maybe you’re wondering why I didn’t type “man” into the translator, by way of fairness or comparison. As a matter of fact, I did, but holy cow. Whereas “woman” returned a dainty 1 1/2 pages of results, the search on “man” returned twenty-effing-nine pages! I guess I just didn’t feel womanly virtuous enough to tackle such an embarrassment of riches. So if you need to know Greek for “man is the measure of all things,” “I captured fewer men, but I won the game,” or “man began to observe the cycle of seasons,” you’re on your own.

43 comments

Apr 02 2009

Post number 1867

Categories:

Junk Studies, Keep your bias off my gender, Mass Media

by Twisty

proboscismonkey1

Your views may differ, but here at Spinster HQ the day just doesn’t feel complete unless we meditate on a study conducted by sexperts explaining patriarchy in unassailable scientific terms. In fact, we’re collecting evidence in support of the theory that sexperts — there appears to be a nearly inexhaustible supply of’em — are actually cybernetic minionbots engineered by a secret cabal of overlords to ceaselessly pursue a sacred quest: proof that H. sapiens is actually two distinct species, Homo masculomacho, (“regular guys”), and Monachus gluteus rosus, (alternatively known as “uteropods”).

But that’s another post!

Today’s boys-and-girls-are-different-species study finds that if you are a team of evolutionary psychologists, and you superscientifically “quiz” 571 young adults about whether they have a “positive outlook,” and then present the results of the quiz at the British Psychological Society in Brighton, the BBC will post an article in its “Health” section entitled “Sisters ‘make people happy’.”

Whereas — you guessed it — “brothers breed distress.”

According to Professor Tony Cassidy of the University of Ulster, families with boys need extra care.

“We may have to think carefully about the way we deal with families with lots of boys.”

Then again, we may not. Because fortunately, female offspring, with their specialized cohesion, communication, happiness, and emotional openness lobes, can be utilized to stabilize the psychological health of otherwise crummy families. Girls, it turns out, are built-in family therapists!

[Professor Tony Cassidy] said many of the participants had been brought up in families where parents had split and the impact of sisters was even more marked in these circumstances.

So if you’ve got some sisters, and your family is still dysfunctional (dad’s a stinking drunk, mom lies in bed all day weeping, junior is amassing firearms for a school shooting, etc) it can only mean one thing: the girls aren’t doing their jobs. Most likely they’re hanging around coffee shops with dog-eared Rimbaud paperbacks, scribbling self-absorbed poetry. These slackers must be urged to put their shoulders to the wheel. I suggest grounding them and taking away their cell phones until the fam is once again purring along like a well-controlled Basic Patriarchal Unit.

30 comments

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