Fishing is fun. You get out on the water. The earlier the better: cooler and calmer waters, more opportunities to reel them in, and at 5am you’re too zoned out to really care about what you look like or where you are. You bait the hook and fling it out into the water and gently bob it until some unsuspecting fish grabs hold. If you’re lucky, you wrestle the fish a bit and it’s caught. Then you are given the option of keeping it or tossing it back in the water where it came from. There are many deciding factors, but you usually judge it first by looks. Finally, if you decide to keep the sucker, you take it back with you, strip down the protective scales, gut it, eat it, and pick your teeth with its bones when the carnage ceases.

With the recent onslaught of posts regarding online dating, online hooking, online swinging, and online sinking, (Made the fishing connection yet? If not, please leave.) it was a troublesome task attempting to steer away from the subject that has plagued our minds like Ebola in monkeys, eating away at internal organs and shutting down all bodily functions. Why do you haunt me so? Therefore, when in doubt, I’m just going to embrace it and roll with it and hopefully it won’t blow up in our faces. (Or do we secretly want it to?)

After exercising some expert sleuthing skills I came upon a list of online dating Don’ts for women. (Fine, I opened up a web browser and it was sitting conveniently on my homepage but James Bond still ain’t got nothing on me.) 14 Fatal Online Dating Errors That Women Make. At the end of the not-so-inspiring guidelines, the article gave me a link to Fatal Online Dating Errors for Men. Ten. Men make ten big fuckups while the women make fourteen? Things are looking awry…Getting a closer gander at the lists, it’s blatantly clear how engendered the lists by “writer” David Wygant really are. Yes, I realize that I’m a doofus because why separate lists by sex when you don’t have to? Obviously this engendering was at play from the very beginning. Am I irked by this? Not parthttp://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gificularly, but let’s pretend I am and do a little more investigating. Wygant, let’s use your words:

M: Top 10 email turnoffs for women
W: 14 biggest online dating mistakes women make

M: Women are all about connecting with their minds.
W: Read an article in the sports section. All paragraphs are short so men can digest that information in short bursts.

M: Several women have complained to me that men ask them to send pictures of themselves in bikinis or other such things, so that men can see their body. Men, don't do this!
W: Men are as visual as Scooby Doo on steroids.

Fuck it, I can’t keep going, it’s making me ill. It’s funny to me that all the Don’ts for men revolve around being the proactive and the Don’ts for Women are all about the ladies desperately waiting, cloistered to the…well, cloistered sums it up pretty well actually.

As a response to this dickwad getting the opportunity to say stupid shit, here are a few tips on online dating of my own and I’m not going to explain them:

1. Having a photo is good.
2. Go into it like you’re attempting to make a friend, nothing more.
3. Chill the fuck out.
4. When in doubt, turn off the computer.
5. Masturbate often.
6. When looking for action, use a site dedicated to those activities…or call me.

There. Go buck wild. Dating is a game. Stay calm, collected, and just wait for that fish to bite. They will. Fish are stupid.


Oh yeah, and if you find someone special and get hitched and preggers and all that fun shit just realize that this stuff happens away from the computer…and remember, it doesn’t have to be to the grave. In Bavaria.

Take a peek; the lady is pretty fucking awesome.


(...to the full post)

Today's beltcast is a discussion built from Fannie's post, ZOMG 100th Post!! aka eDating Do's and Don'ts. Outlawed moderates, and panelists include Fannie, Manontheside, and NforNeville. As always, you can listen to beltcasts from the beltcasts widget on the right pane of the blog.

Highlights include: discussion of various situations addressed by panelists in their recent posts, including the idea of dating HIV+, closeted, or married individuals, as well as other general questions about eDating. People interested in dating any of the panelists should tune in, as this is likely going to be more revealing than any gay.com profile you might stumble upon!

Sincerely,
ts
(...to the full post)

So. You wake up in the morning; you blink your eyes and press the snooze button on the alarm clock. You walk to the bathroom, you do your morning cleanup routine, which may or may not include plucking a hair out of a mole, tweezing that unibrow, or squeezing a zit until it bleeds. You leave the bathroom, you go downstairs, you eat a bowl of cereal, say, Cheerios, or if you’re a hearty American, Cocoa Puffs with chocolate milk. You yell goodbye as the backdoor slams shut behind you, you mount your bike, you pedal, you get to school, you walk into homeroom a minute late because you took that extra minute to untangle your headphones, and everyone is staring. You think, yes, I’m late, I know already. They whisper and chuckle and Ms. Brown clears a throat a little but still keeps a wide-eyed librarian gaze on you. You look down.

Fuck. You’re naked.

A nightmare of that nature, like a drunken floozy in a locker room, is had by all in some form or another. Some realize when they get up to lecture. Some are at a wedding. Some of us just look down to see a snake in our crotches substituting our appropriate reproductive organs. Or whatever.

Why is the naked-in-public dream such a common human experience? It’s shame. Shame is an instinct. We don’t escape it. At the beginning of time the human species would cavort around with their bits hanging out. We have since evolved past that. Cover yourself, keep it under wraps, so on and so forth. So, while we are all covered in shame, all hail the strippers.

In a recent op-ed piece in the St Augustine Record, (and where the fuck is St. Augustine, pray tell? …You guessed it: Florida. ) one well-experienced woman responds to the potential threat of having an “adult entertainment zone” being built in the town. Moaning and groaning aside, why is Gloria Danvers, who, given, has been a part of the adult entertainment industry, so hellbent on not just opposing the “zone” but opposing all forms of adult entertainment?

Richard Roeper, of Ebert and Roeper I believe, agrees with the missus, equating the life of Jenna Jameson to the makings for a horror flick. Mainstream media, he continues, should have little, if anything at all, to do with the adult entertainment industry. It sends a mix message when mainstream media obsesses over a porn star like a singer or an actress. That being said, if one is to assume that many people turn to the porn industry due to abuse, perhaps our own societal views on sex are swathed in a deep seated shame, right next to our inability to process differing religious views and the words that come out of Janet Jackson’s (potentially) drugged up mouth. And let’s not forget that if the saturation of mainstream media and the obsession with singers and actresses could be equated to the amount of twinkies we consume, we’d all be suffering a massive, communal coronary.

Either way, from one industry insider to another, adult entertainment need not be a shameful, exploitive experience. In fact, given a clearly defined, government zoned “strip” mall, I think there could be greater opportunity to lessen the dangers coupled with the sex industry. I know shit happens, don’t get me wrong. If we could just regulate it a little better, eat more fiber, carry some Imodium, work it out, then the risks, the grime, and the shame could just flush right on out. And Roeper, your movie reviews bite ass, maybe you should work on that first. And just to be an ass and show that the adult biz does do some good other than supporting a healthy squirt or two, suck on this – strippers fighting crime.

So, although we might not be able to strip off our clothes in public and go at it on film, we all still have our own layers of shame to peel away. It’s not worth the effort to judge the actions of a select few who are comfortable with their own sexual proclivities. Get off the high horse. Or else ride it. To death.
(...to the full post)

Hoppity little bunnies have giant fucking eyes. People love bunnies. In great part due to the sheer size of the eyes because as many a tweaked out gay boy on poppers and meth (or not) will be shouting from the rafters, “The bigger the better.” And to similar effect as your trusty strap-on, duck-billed fist, or plugs, one glimpse of the limpid, empty pools of a bunny’s eyes (still attached to the rest of the body, mind you) can fill a willing party right up with warm fuzzy feelings. Hypothetically, a direct correlation can be formed between bunny eye dimensions and our love for them. The larger and more vapid they are, the higher potential for fawning over the fuzzy squishiness of the snuggle bunny.

A human being, on average to their body mass, has proportionally smaller ocular organs than said bunnies. Therefore, it is safe to assume that humans are less fawned upon. As they should be. Because if some humans had larger eyes, perhaps they would see a little more. Or even if they just opened up their eyes and registered a tad bit more, they would be less prone to do stupid shit. For shame.
Down in West Palm Beach, a 17-year-old teenage boy is being accused of attacking a 39-year-old woman. The boy states that the woman got into the car with him and his friend and proceeded to seal the deal with, well, a tight-lipped seal on his manhood. Little did he know that when he removed her bikini he would find a familiar appendage. He says the woman attempted to rape him. On the flipside, the tranny contends that the boy knew full well that she was transgendered yet continued to aggressively paw her and slip in the usual hand-on-the-back-of-the-head trick. Either way, he proceeded to remove her teeth with a lifeguard stand. Latent teenage homophobe vs. potential stat rape tranny in a two-piece. If only they got to the bottom of it sooner.

A lesbian, using the womens’ facilities, was removed from the Caliente Cab Co. Mexican Restaurant in Manhattan. After reports that a man was using the john, a bouncer walked in to pound on the stall door. She offered to show ID but to no avail. The woman is being represented now by the Transgender Legal Defense and Education Fund. She is not transgendered. Dude just looks like a lady. Wait. Lady looks like a dude. Befuddlement aside, this happened right after the pride march. Stifled laughter and long embittered legal battle may now commence.

In other blind-sighted news, July First is the official date for many state laws to take effect. Some of note:

Colorado bans abstinence-only sex education in all schools (except for one district), requiring schools to teach sex education based on scientific research and to include information on contraception. Pray tell, why does one specific district get to put the kibosh on all the sex?

Virginia requires convicted sex offenders to register their e-mail addresses with the state.

Florida starts a one-year pilot program to test randomly for steroid use among high school athletes participating in football, baseball and weightlifting.

And my favorite:

In Mississippi, an abortion provider must perform a sonogram and give a pregnant woman the chance to listen to the heartbeat. Meanwhile, Manhattan Mini Storage has placed a print ad that states: “Your closet space is shrinking as fast as your right to choose.” Running alongside is a picture of a wire coat hanger.

The world is a confusing place. So much to see. So much to take in. So much craziness to get wrapped up in. So, be it an unforgettable spring break surprise, a faint hint of an Adam’s apple, or a fetus cursing you to hell, keep your eyes peeled for the signs. Like the bunny. It will keep you out of trouble. And if not, at least they’ll think you’re cute and lovable. And then eat you anyway.

(...to the full post)

Remember when you were a kid and you saw a bunch of ants crawling along the sidewalk in a perfect single file line? Remember running your finger through the line and the ants would scatter, conjuring up memories of the time you pooped your pants at camp and everyone scrambled to get away like you were a Jew in a Catholic Church? Yeah.

Eventually, the ants meander back to the same path and continue on their merry way. Why, you ask? Simple. The forager leaves little beads of pheromones for the others to follow and after being deterred, they find they way back to the path. Similar, in essence, to the trail of pre-cum that guy in the backroom returns to after being slapped around by a rough looking dude in the back alley. Or that girl who consistently packs her Saab full of belongings night after night, just in case this time it’s The One.

What the hell am I getting at? We are like the ants: slaves to our patterns. We walk along and no matter how far and how often we stray from our invisible path, we always end up returning to the same old shit.

Men are still having trouble in the grocery store it seems. Even though a man is now more likely than ever to grace the grocery stores with his presence, he will still exhibit your obvious male traits: giving up on pursuits, looking for shortcuts, valuing efficiency and convenience over quality or savings. Other traits might include: not asking for directions (if you have a father, you know what that’s like) and tunnel vision (if you have breasts and have spoken to a straight man, you know what that looks like, too.) Essentially, we are like lost little lambs left to the slaughter, meandering through the aisles in search of the Tide detergent, and only the Tide detergent because that’s what I always use and that’s all I want and there are too many choices and I don’t really know what the difference between Colorfast and Bleach Alternative because I wash all my clothes in one wash anyway and no, I don’t need any help because that would be emasculating and forget it I might as well just leave. “Well, Clarice, have the lambs stopped screaming?” Nah, we like it this way.

Police are still doing their jobs it seems. A recently busted global pedophile ring can attest. The police cleverly nabbed the worthless fuckheads by infiltrating an internet chat room and posing undercover as, well, pedophiles. Needless to say, when you’re swapping live videos of month old children being sexually abused, and that’s clearly your thing, you probably aren’t being all that censored about it when you should be. You should be suppressing the urge and getting help. (There are few things that I look down upon. Raping babies might top the list. Political vegetarianism and ironic facial hair are close seconds.) In an age where “Googling” someone has become a necessary step in meeting a sweet Dom/Sub, we should all be a little more aware of our actions. So watch your back and break that cycle. Cause no matter what you do, someone is watching you. Oh yeah, by the way, the pedophile in charge has been sentenced to remain in prison until “no longer a threat to children.” Uhm, guys…?

So, in attempts to break the mold of the usual entry, I’m going to leave you with this: Take a look at these photos, choose your side, then read this. Which one are you?

See? No matter how you cut it, even if you want to step away from your patterns and be a unique individual, it would really help the rest of us out if you just picked a box. And if you don’t, we’ll do it for you.

One more thing: True fact! If you shine a magnifying glass on some ants, they stop returning! In fact, some would say they stop moving altogether…
(...to the full post)

I’m irked. I’m irked in a way that is hard to describe. I’m irked in a way that feels like being eternally trapped in some nightmarish musical hell. (No judgment calls made here on musicals or those that like them. But for the most part, they suck ass.) I’m irked in a way that can only be put into song.

“The baby is going out with the bathwater.

But what gives? Red and swollen from yo’ diaper rash.

The world is the baby, people are the rash (or the diaper that caused the rash which caused the baby to cry and it makes sense ‘cause the people/diaper gets shit on by the man but either way it’s really fucking annoying cause she won’t shut the fuck up so we might as well let go of her.)

It’s like like like watching the short bus drift off a cliff.

Craaaaasssshhh…oh…oh...oh

One more time!”

If this has yet to be a significant clarification of my mood for those of you reading, let’s just get to the quick and dirty: People are rejects.

We managed to somehow spew forth from the womb only to multiply and unleash a torrential downpour of nutters and vagrants onto this sweet sweet earth. Why can’t everything be a Planet Earth episode where we exist in our natural habitats and have Sigourney Weaver narrate our simple day-to-day actions? (If you haven’t seen the show, I highly recommend it.) So, all said and done, what kind of creature features am I referring to?

After all the controversy about “bug chasers” in Rollingstone magazine, out comes this: Some Dutch gay bandits have been gang raping men and infecting them with the HIV because “it excited them.” Read: GHB is good for the soul. (Date rape! Sublime!) I had always pictured gay bandits to resemble My Little Pony more than , say, the Punisher. Oops. Although after considering their means of attack, you know those little ponies were some underhanded fuckers. Nice to your face but the minute you turn your back, you get trampled. And butt raped. At least the Pun had the decency to penetrate you face to face with a semi-automatic.

What saddens me more is that “the case has deeply unsettled the Netherlands, and caused it to cast a hard look at its easygoing views on sex…” Time and time again we are educated/imbued with the notion that aggravated rape is not sex, that rape is first and foremost, an act of violence. So when the case is as clear as day, why are we even considering the possibility that sexual freedom was partially responsible for a (self-) hate crime? The victims were VICTIMS. Sure, they went to a sex party to engage in some man loving but they probably weren’t expecting an extended invitation to that big homo orgy in the sky. (HIV, mind you, is not a death sentence. For those with sufficient healthcare.)

These gay banditos injected vials of blood into the unconscious victim. The premise might have been sex but the after dinner entertainment was a narcotic-laced drink and a syringe full of poison. The last time I checked my sex sessions never came with that added bonus. Well, the vanilla ones at least. (Poz blood, mind you, is not poison. Unless intentionally forced upon you.) And so, when the sex part of the crime is nary more than a lure for a greater, twisted plan, how are we still grouping the sex and the rape together?

If we don’t continue to make a conscious effort to differentiate between the two, compounded with more harebrained acts that will inevitably crop up, soon enough, we will be strapped into a Chrysler without brakes called “sexual censorship.” The words “Missionary for Life” will be the battle cry for the Religious Right, emblazoned on Abercrombie ads as witty t-shirt slogans.

Hell, to a point, the world would be simpler if we were just a bunch of sexless wonders but where would the fun go? And when you can’t get off the way you want to, what new potentially harmful acts will we be forced to delve into? In fact, is that not what the Dutch gang was experiencing to begin with? How much sexual censorship has already invaded our collective social consciousness?

Now, I’m more than aware that there are always radically opposing views especially when it comes to the hot button issues (and I know mine is nothing original) but sometimes things are just wrong. It was a despicable act. It should not have happened. However, no matter how cut and dry, it’s hard to pinpoint the real motive. Was it an act of revenge, of anger, of malice? When perhaps in playing the victim, you submit to the urge to claim your own. Sadly, all of this doesn’t come as much of a surprise. News isn’t news if it’s not news at all, is it?

The only thing I have to hold on to now is this creature. It’s new and shiny. I feel like I might have run across it on one of my last trips. Although who can really be sure? I was a little preoccupied screaming at the grass for stealing the 53 cents in my pocket. Damn it all.

Sigourney, what’s a guy to do?
(...to the full post)

We are off to see the Wizard, the wonderful wizard of Oz! I personally would rather visit Oz the prison and watch some inmate shank a dude with a filed toothbrush but, hey, being twisted away to a land with flying monkeys to hang out with some animated inanimate objects and a man in a lion suit is probably just as good. It satisfies the furry in me...

Nope, still a close second. I blame the little dog. The urge to punt the yapper hurts so good like a 14-year-old boy’s deathgrip on his initial discovery of masturbation.

Before we continue on our journey down the yellow brick road, I am going to say outright that I bear no resemblance to Dorothy or Judy Garland. Wearing women’s clothes…that is for another day. Let’s bring our focus to the compadres on this little journey of self-discovery.

Oh, Scarecrow, you lost little honeybee, looking for a brain. It’s funny because no one can blame you for missing a brain. You just don’t have one. Like many people, who don’t believe in global warming or AIDS, you are on a similar sinking boat. News for you: perhaps the fact that polar ice caps are melting and that people take copious amounts of drugs to counter their flailing T-cell count is too unfamiliar for you to make any kind of rational connection. Let’s try smaller things. Peanuts and potatoes (the things you eat, how’s that for close to home?) are slowly but surely trucking along towards extinction due to climate shifts and, you got it, global warming, Who knew? In the years to come the prices of your favorite peanut butter and French fries could sky rocket like the gasoline for your giant fuel-inefficient sports utility vehicle. That will directly affect your “civilized” life. How you like dem apples? So wave your bio-diversity flag proudly and do the world a favor – learn a little.

Oh, Cowardly man in a lion suit, you are so maligned in this cruel, cruel world. People like to assume that you are so brave and noble when all you want to do is curl up like a pussycat and purr the afternoon away. That is why you readily jump in on some coital activity all suited up - just as you are. You are so steeped in preconceived notions. A story comes to mind. This anonymous person painted a sign at Wesleyan University to say “Picture yourself a Lesbyan.“ My first thought was to laugh. And I did. Then I thought: “That was a cowardly and wholly unoriginal move.” If you are going to do it, make it count. I also thought, Wesleyan, you are also trapped in a long standing notion that girls’ schools harbor lesbians like a kindhearted coastguard with a ship full of Cuban refugees. Townies threatened by and in fear of contamination make constant passive remarks to make your inhabitants feel little and unwelcome. (Guys, you can’t catch it, no matter how much you try. Although the more you resist, the more it might be a sign that you caught the homo fever. Ba-bum-BUM!) However, true to form, like Frankenstein, monsters usually end up squashing your townie heads. So back the fuck off. (I do have to admit that liberal arts students are frightening. They make me vomit a little in my mouth.)

And Tin man, you wayward cloud looking for a heart. You are the saddest of them all. Your story brings me back to this – a man who pulled on the heartstrings of underage girls like a schizophrenic harpist by pretending to be a dying cancer patient. He didn’t think he was doing any harm. To an underage child. Exposing herself on the internet. To what she thought was a terminal cancer patient. Where, on this journey through his magical wonderland that I guess you can call his brain, was his heart? Where did those redeeming qualities go? Are they scrunched up under his bed next to the impressive pile of cum rags? And how did this love/sex connection come about for these girls? Is it true that girls are just more receptive to pity? And how does transference from feeling sorry for someone lead to love and lust? Is it a [gender programmed, overly generalized, evil, evil] chick thing? Where does the heart roam in a world based in illusion?

Amidst all the hubbub, the lies and the deceit that populate this disintegrating world, we journey on with hope on our minds and our companions in tow, no matter how flawed everything is. The real hope is that we don’t get to the end only to discover some fucktard projecting holograms of big green faces on the haze spewing forth from a shoddy smoke machine.

Fingers crossed!

(...to the full post)

Covert operations are the best kind. You get to dress up all stealthy like in a makeshift renegade ninja suit, jimmy the locks to your neighbor's house undetected and take a huge dump in their washing machine. You know, ‘cause they have a washing machine. Or something. Not that I would know. Remember that song by Shaggy? "It wasn't me?"

Realistically speaking though, I believe the love of the covert stems from everyone's need to feel naughty and mischievous. Be it wearing women's underwear to your Bar Mitzvah, harvesting kidneys to sell on the black market (Covert "Operation"…get it? Ha! I slay me.) or donning a nun's habit, the “rebel cause” always gets you a smidge wet.

So, in honor of the covert, I divert thy spirit to didactic [news] stories of thine brethren of questionable moral decrepitude in the form of Commandments (the most blatant of teachings)…just to be a little subversive. And in true Commandment form, we rate the covertness of their tales on a scale from One to Ten.

First Commandment: Thou Shalt Not Be A Stupid, Stupid Turd.

An Australian television personality, Grant Denyer, most widely known for presenting the weather and hosting a family-oriented TV show, when asked live on a morning radio show, "How are you?" responded: "Let me say I'm feeling like I had sex with a black man right now."

I think we can all agree that was a dumb way to start the morning considering Australia's spotless genocide record. So spotted it is solid, like the black panther to it's non-black cousin. Ahh, Zen masters and their life riddles. In fact, his comments are so entrenched in ineptitude that there is little else to say. How much teeth bleaching must one endure to lose control of one's mouth? (Observe example to the right.)

Covert rating: 2 – Not sneaky at all but how many people really listen to Australian morning radio? The true puzzle in our hearts and loins: Does that mean he felt good or no?

Second Commandment: Thou Shalt Be Smoother With The Ladies

Salt Lake City, which is the holy grail of fun news, reports on a woman who battered her husband. How? Sneakily. She told the man she had a surprise for him, covered his addled noggin, led him into the basement, and addled his brain some more. With a hammer. A hammer. This is what happens when one bears the pressure of a man's man's man's man's world.

Covert rating: 8. Plus 1 for utilizing the crutch of sexual arousal, then minus 4 for letting the bastard get away and reach the cops and plus 2 cause the coppers are still investigating. That comes to a total of 7. And I guess you really can't excuse her craziness just to the weight of social pressures despite their thriving and hammer-swinging abundance in the Mormon homeland. You want to know what patriarchy is like? Ask my sixth wife. She's three. She's learning to form complete sentences, but why bother, I'm just going to tell her to shut the hell up.

Third Commandment: Thou Shalt Realize That When Naked, All Bets, And Clothes, Are Off.

Here is where it gets tricky. A woman walks into a bar. She gets up on stage, looks at all the leering guys cheering her on and says "Fuck you" and takes all her clothes off. Yeah, feminism! Yeah, taking back gender inequality! Yeah, objectifying myself for a quick buck! Yeah, what the fuck am I talking about?!

The idea is that, and all you L Word fans know it well, by embracing the act of stripping, where a little chickadee is the subject of the "ultimate objectification" (ritual gang-bangs not included), the woman is subversively gaining power, monetary benefit, and a sense of control.

The opposing idea is that no matter what you might believe, participation in an industry that caters to the homogenized image of beauty is backwards and furthermore supports the notion that a woman can be bought.

Sticky, right? And not even in the good way.

So I invite you to take a gander and decide: Is making the conscious decision to strip your clothes off to make a living a covert feminist operation?

Covert rating: ???

In lighter news: it appears that there are fewer babies floating in the rivers of China.
(...to the full post)

Dear Anna Nicole,
Why are you are so batshit crazy? There was a time in your life when things were simple. You moved out of that trailer park and moved to Hollywood. You struck a deal with Guess Jeans. You married a praying mantis in a wheelchair with a built-in respirator. You changed his diapers. You had two children. You changed a few more diapers. This time, a little less eroticized perhaps. And then you bombarded us with a media hailstorm that blotted out the sun, brought upon the deaths of 300 strong, and commemorated the day where a bunch of jocks stared intently at chiseled bodies and leather-encased crotches and not once questioned their usual locker room antics. Figuratively.

Clearly, there's something a tad askew. But who is to blame? Your corporate sponsors? Your eerily stone-faced (stoned?) lawyer boyfriend? Daniel and Danielynn? I direct your posthumous fame and attention to a few potential culprits:

Perhaps it was the enormous "US gender pay gap " plaguing our equal standing college grads. A year after receiving a degree where the"gender" pay gap should be the least pronounced, if existent at all, your biological counterparts were making 80% more than your bio-brethren (sistren). Studies also show that the women that took part in this here survey did much better in college that the men. But oh, would you really expect it any other way?

In a society where women have to wrestle their way through throngs of patriarchy, the role of the money-scheming younger woman that you wore with conviction was that much more frowned upon. (To which you replied, “Frown lines cause some bitch ass wrinkles so lighten the fuck up.”) While your college educated sisters tried to claw their way through the corporate rungs, your high school dropout self managed to land the crypt keeper’s favorite billion dollar chew toy. Well played, Anna. You took the brunt of the attack full force like a man(nequin). There was no way a little socially injected morality was going to beat you down. However, was the impact just too much for your fragile meninges to handle, causing it to pop like a shoddy breast implant?

Or perhaps it was the fact that some countries look towards making the woman the dominant sex as a form of tourism? China, as you may know – the land where historically, little baby girls flood the Yangtze River – has decided to build a township where the women are in charge. When you enter this little tourist locale, be sure to tuck your penis between your legs ‘cause you know that in the event of a mishap, you and your little boy parts will be…well, washing dishes. Anna, I know that you, like me, are into a little dom/sub play so this endeavor could be the best fucking orgasm ever. Then again, at the end of the day, after the hoopla and the fanfare, it does appear to be a backwards attempt to reiterate that women, are in fact, thesubmissive ones. Was it that notion that drove you to your sad, painted clown?

Yes, the world's special way of treating women is demeaning and diffusive. Remember Daria and her Sick Sad World? It's like a campy cartoon wonderland. In your head, at least. We, on the other hand, aren't as lucky. We experience it in live action HD. Can we really blame you for turning out the way you did after an onslaught of objectification and scrutiny? Maybe a little, but not entirely. At least you didn't turn out like these bozos.

So, Anna, I guess I'll never know the mysteries to your madness. You have left us in the dark for quite a while now, but the contents of your fridge have been forever engrained in my head. It's unfortunate that the light inside has already burnt out.

Love, your pal,
NforNeville

(...to the full post)

Let's toast.

Now, I know you don't know me all that well, if at all, but I'm making a discernable effort to start on a positive note so just raise your damn glass.

Today's theme involves exhuming previous notions and casting them aside as misconceptions, although even in doing so, these new developments (un)surprisingly still lead us nowhere.

So in an attempt to follow current trends (of which I am not adept), I will smile a little retail clerk smile while I report. You know the smile. The one where they ask if you need help, judge your hair, and scoff quietly while they get you a larger size? Smarmy bastards.

Fun fact: That smile is, in fact, classified as the "Pan-American", known primarily for its use of only the Zygomaticus Major muscle and giving a look of insincerity. Pan-American…Insincere…Pan-American…Insincere. Funny that.

Moving forward! In the news:



NewScientist.com is reporting that cigarettes and coffee, contrary to popular belief, might actually be bad for you! For a long time (decades!), studies on Parkinson's disease [PD] have shown that double fisting a pack of Camels and a tumbler of Joe have an inverse correlation with the disease. However, a recent study shows that: 1. Indulging in either does appear to have an inverse association with PD. 2. The two probably do not have a direct cause and effect relationship. And, therefore: 3. The onset of Parkinson's is attributed to varying causes…

They close the study with this remark: "…relative to lung disease and heart disease, Parkinson's disease is far less common."

To that end I present you with a throwback to the early 90s: No shit, Sherlock. Eat red meat. Booze it up. Eat fiber. Drink urine. Die anyway.

Trudging along, according to Guardian Unlimited Breaking! International! News!, Turner County High School in Ashburn, Georgia (population: 4000) has decided to break tradition. So unbelievably forward thinking and progressive! I cannot bestow enough accolades upon their awesomeness. This year, for the first time, high school students will have an integrated prom!

This year. 2007 AD. For the first time, Turner County High will have a prom where students of all races are invited…All races. 2007.

Is this news breaking the fact that the United States is constantly backpedaling? Wasn't there that march in DC that one time? And wasn't there some emanci-procla-something-or-other signed 100 years before that? And didn't we learn anything from Mean Girls? C'mon! L. Lo at her finest hour! (Which is equivalent to feeling a sense of achievement from managing not to step in dog shit for once.)
Now, you might wonder why all this mumbo-jumbo has anything to do with gender at all. I could say that the intention behind shunning the discussion directly applies the notion that gender is so interconnected in society that there is no escape, much like one’s sexual history. (Impossible.) By deliberately denying face time to gender implications I am propelling the concept of society being wholly supersaturated in gender goop. I could say that. But then I would be lying. I had a mild brain fart and now I’m backpedaling in honor of my “land-of-the-free.”

My fascination with this Promenade article can be explained in simple terms: I got thinking. The prom at Turner County, like all proms, is engendered with feminine qualities. From the theme “Breakaway” a la Kelly Clarkson to the palm tree/waterfall decorations, we are clearly in straight girl paradise. Even your rabid event planning, interior decorator closet case is dreading the idea of going to prom with hag #1 in tow. Prom has and always will be considered the pinnacle of high school for the girls. So why is that? What in your gender makeup makes you want to put on a dress, break a heel on the dance floor and lose your virginity in a motel, drunk off one too many PBRs and then vomit in a toilet through mascara tears while your girlfriend holds your disheveled hair back? And, so, why has this article failed to address the girl perspective - the most passionate advocates for the largest, most lavish prom ever? Why are you interviewing your run of the mill guy who would prefer a tailgate party at a Limp Bizkit concert? Nary a quote or statement from the masterminds themselves! When did prom typify gender segregation in the years of adolescent development?

That is the news.

With that, I continue to smile and ponder in my gown, staring wide-eyed from the back of the bus. It might be a neurological disease, but who can say?

My mouth is starting to hurt.

Returning to a positive note though, a New Zealand octopus, Octi, has learned to open twist-cap soda bottles. She also likes to play by squirting liquids in her keeper's face. Speaking from experience, some people don't find that quite as amusing.

Bottoms up!
(...to the full post)