Category Archives: Snark

Wah, how do I make women like me?

I haven’t been posting for a while because it’s the middle of finals and I have two papers due in a little over 24 hours. One of which I haven’t started. Oops.

Anyways, a friend and I were eating lunch outside the other day. It was overcast and not to cold, so we were enjoying the breeze in one of the few days we get to wear sweaters or jackets in Arizona without fooling ourselves. Outside the little cafe, quite a lot of people had congregated. Before long, our little sanctuary was ruined by the arrival of a large group of men, five or six of them, that took the table adjacent to ours. This is not usually something that I care about, it being a large and crowed campus, but this particular group of men was especially loud and obnoxious. We debated moving, but decided not to since the only open table was covered in the droppings of our diseased urban wildlife. Plus, we were lazy.

Before long, their conversation turned to “girls”. Now, I usually don’t make a habit to eavesdrop on others. Mostly, it’s because I don’t think other people are that terribly interesting when I have someone in front of me that I actually care about, like my friend. Also, I’m not really the sort of person that thinks everyone else’s business is my business. My business is plenty interesting, or at least pressing, by itself. I couldn’t help overhearing them though, because as is the habit of a large gathering of fraternity-type men-folk, they seemed to not care that there were people in the vicinity that really didn’t give a damn about how big the dump they took last night was.

Their present topic was women. About half of the group preened and loudly proclaimed their conquests upon the fairer sex. They were very obviously quite proud of the endeavors of their shloongs. My friend and I exchanged eye-rolls. The stench of cliche was overwhelming.

The other half of the gathering, however, smiled and looked with awe upon the gods of sex that had decided to take a break from their divine life of (fabricated) fornication to bring testosterone-laden tales of their exploits to the masses. One, in the infrequent pauses (these men really liked to loudly talk over one another), made the statement, “the women here seem to be a bit more frigid than usual. How do I make the women in my major like me?”

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It’s Just Fucking Food

I’m neglecting writing an important essay that is due yesterday soon to piss and moan about more things in society that make me want to throw things at heads. Sharp pointy things. Or large bludgeon-like things. Take your pick.

Anyways, today I was really really tired. I hate pumping caffeine into my body, because I’m already chemically dependent on other things (Dexedrine: legal amphetamine to help me with ADHD) and it does bizarre things in combination with what I already do take. But I bit the bullet and decided that staying awake at work and in class was more important than keeping my sleep schedule or not destroying my digestive system (really, coffee makes me ill even though I love it). One of the great things about my work is free coffee at the organic cafe next door. Not shitty coffee, either, good coffee. They never burn it. So I indulged in a very large cup of it.

As I mosey over on to the milk bar to add my dash of non-coffee things to make it taste better, I come across a girl I know in passing from one of my classes out for her morning muffin before going to campus. We exchange pleasantries, and I pick up the soy milk and pour some into my coffee. With the other hand, I decide to go straight for the non-sugar vanilla “creamer” (no milk in it). In for a penny, in for a dollar. If I’m pumping caffeine into my system, what’s a little chemical-that-tastes-like-sugar going to do? It’s not like I do this every day, or even every week.

But she noticed. Oh no. Most of the women I know do this competitive eating shit. Except it’s not the fun kind where you get to eat a lot of pie or hotdogs. It’s the kind of competition where whoever loses starves wins. Chalk another one up to the bullshit body-punishment culture.

“Oh, you’re on a diet! I could never stomach both soy and sugar-free creamer. Tastes horrible.”

I laughed and replied, “no, I drink soy because I think milk is disgusting and being lactose sensitive makes drinking it no fun. I think the sugar-free stuff tastes better. The stuff they have here with sugar is too sweet, it makes me nauseous… plus it has milk. Also, I’m not on a diet”.

She just smiled at me, self-indulgently, like I was some silly player in the same game of charades where we all hate ourselves and punish our bodies accordingly, pretend such self-destruction is positive, and then deny our adherence to the goals of this ritual to be humble.

Before I could think of some awe-inspiring way to convince her that my momentary lapses into socially inspired self-hatred are far too short to necessitate any sort of action or overcome my love of most things food-like, she left.

Well, fuck.

Really, as much as you all must think I’m awesome, I’m much less eloquent in person. I do this thing where twenty brilliant things are running through my head at the same time, and by the time I stop indulging in mental self-praise of my intelligence, whomever I’ve been talking to has inferred that I don’t have anything smart to say because I either paused too long or keep peppering my non-sequitors with “uh”.

It all makes sense in my head, I swear.

Back on topic: it’s just fucking food. If it tastes good I eat it. If I want some ice cream, I have a pint of it. Sometimes, a whole pint until my intestines try to force their way out of my body in protest of all the milk. My digestive system hates me.

If salad tastes like shit with vinegar or no dressing, I put some nice Greek or full-fat (the fat-free tastes like dog poo) Italian on it. I usually load it with all sorts of exotic vegetables too, because they are so much tastier with dressing. So while some dieters might be able to force down a serving of spinach with no dressing a couple of times of week, my favorite food is this amazing Cilantro Lime salad I get at the very same organic cafe mentioned above loaded with all these finely chopped vegetables I can’t pronounce and really dark leafy greens. I love me my vitamins.

I really don’t think all that much about food. If I want it, I have it. If I don’t want it (and I don’t quite often), I don’t have it. I’m probably in that weird limbo between hot and chubby on society’s fucked-up meter, but as long as I can bike on the highest (read: most resistance and fastest) gear on my bike for six miles and get all the vitamins I need, I usually like to give society’s expectations of my diet the finger.

I’m healthy. I’m way healthier at size 12 than I was at 2. For one, I finally figured out that milk is bad for me, and that Mountain Dew isn’t good either. Eating is also fun compared to competitive fasting.

So as much as I find myself slipping some times, I remind myself: it’s just fucking food. You need it, all of it–fats and calories included–to survive. And really, your body knows that better than your head, which is brainwashed as hell.

So shut the fuck up brain, I’m having what tastes good tonight.

What women don’t get about men: we’re all whiny assholes

I cannot for the life of me imagine why Michael Bywater, a columnist at The Independent, even has a job, let alone gets paid to write such self-pitying sexist garbage. I am by no means a linear thinker myself, but at least I understand how to propose a main idea in a short essay format.

So here’s the main idea of this post: Michael Bywater is a self-absorbed douchebag who expects the world to tell him what he ought to do with his penis, being the center of his personality. Also, the world and all the people in it better please his penis, dammit, or he’s going to start whining.

Don’t believe me? Go read the article. Keep in mind that it’s only coherent if you read it as an argument for assisted suicide.

But suppose I take pity on you. For the purposes of snark and self-indulgent superiority, I will break down his long rant of Freudian asshatery for the scorn and mocking of intelligent society. By “intelligent society” I mean myself, and maybe you, if I decide you are a nice sort of fellow.

Michael begins with some sort of allusion to the time-old conundrum: my penis is separate from me, it says I must do bad things, thus I do bad things, and I won’t do bad things if I didn’t have a penis, so maybe I should chop it off, but I like my penis, but it makes me do bad things… ad nauseam. We already know that this is going to be a long synopsis of one man’s love/hate relationship with his penis.

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Reversing sexism in Hollywood

If I was a Hollywood producer, I would like to produce this kind of movie:

A woman is a crime-fighting lawyer. She is not a side-kick or a spin-off. It’s very clear the movie is about her, because the title of the movie is her name. She probably comes from a tough background. She learned to overcome it, however, by standing her ground and refusing to let the world run over her. She is inspired by her past to go into the justice system.

However, there’s a dark side: she’s has a terrible temper. Sometimes, when she is angry she gets very threatening and verbally abusive to the people in her life. She takes her stress out on the opposite sex. She picks up young, weak and naive men, has a fling, and then dumps them. She probably accomplishes this by saving them in court and then expecting their undying worship. That’s okay, however, because she’s very popular with the men, she’s very much a smooth anti-hero type. This beginning part of the movie should feature her in very commanding clothes, maybe with simpering male secretaries that purposely flash bits of bulges and butt cracks in their tight clothing to try to catch her attention. There must be some sort of gratuitous sex scene in which she is shown having sex with a man who moans and groans very loudly, and tells her how wonderful she is afterwards. In the morning, she tells him to get out and addresses him by a name that is not his own. The man should visibly look ashamed at himself for his wanton behavior as he walks out.

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Confession: I kind of like Paris Hilton

No, really. I mean, the woman makes a living by going to parties. There has to be some brains involved in that. She’s also been surprisingly well-behaved since the jail time. I guess she doesn’t bother me anymore. She never really did, in any concrete way. Hollywood is full of shallow men and shallow women, so I always really thought of Paris Hilton as the same song-and-dance, albeit one that did not even have to be good at acting to rake in the cash. I never understood the hatred that others expressed for her. I’ll go down on record by saying that Paris, by no means, is feminist in the slightest. I never had the heart to think of her as anti-feminist though, simply because it’s quite rare that a woman can be anti-feminist. I reserve that title for scumbags like Phyllis Schlafly, Ann Coulter, Christina Hoff Sommers, Ayn Rand, and Kathleen Parker.

I was unaware that Paris had anything to do with politics until McCain issued this:

First, to McCain: really? Am I supposed to be impressed by this faulty logic? Of course Obama is popular, he’s running for President, nitwit. If he really wanted to, I guess Obama could attack you for being a household name too. Except, that’s kind of a stupid idea, because being popular when you are running for President is not exactly a bad thing, you know.

Apparently, Obama is popular in the exact same way Paris Hilton is. Oddly enough, for me, I like Paris more than I like Obama. Wait, what? I suppose this is because Paris Hilton is not threatening in the slightest, whereas Obama has the potential to run this country into the ground if he so chooses. Recently, I also get the feeling that Paris is more capitalizing on her popularity to produce satire of herself than actually being as snotty and stupid and others bill her as. This opinion is further cemented with fantastic rebuttal videos like this:

Vodpod videos no longer available.

Yeah, this is scripted. Jokes about Paris Hilton’s intelligence aside, I have to give her the benefit of the doubt by saying that anyone that agrees to do such a fantastic video cannot be stupid. Furthermore, I kind of want that bathing suit. For someone that purposely says rather silly things on camera, Paris can, and does, sound like she knows what she is talking about. Even if she does not, at least she has the smarts to fake it.

I’m probably a bad horrible feminist for saying this, but my neutral feelings for Ms. Hilton have been transformed now into relunctant feelings of like. I can’t tell whether or not that is a good thing.

Search terms that uncover radical feminist blogs

I really love my sitemeter, the unintentional source of much hilarity. Among the searches that lead people to this page are:

  • why do men constantly masturbate if they have a significant other?
  • beauty teen 12 years old xx
  • preteen forced sex
  • middle school girl xx
  • preteen orgasms
  • free home made porn older women younger men
  • xx larger sexy woman porn

1. Well, I don’t know. I don’t have a penis. You’re not going to find the answer here, sorry. If I may make an educated guess, it’s probably because sometimes it’s just easier to masturbate. At least for me, I don’t have to worry about what I smell like or if I feel like reciprocating. Don’t take it personally, okay?

2-5. I find it unintentionally hilarious that dudez out there looking for some hot XX underage rape get a radical feminist blog instead.

6-7. Again, surfing for porn and turning up an anti-porn site is just precious. I wish google bombing still worked like it used to, and for every time someone looked for porn they’d get something like oneangrygirl.