Thigh-high Stockings

I’ve been looking at turn of the century Spanish porn all week. And I must say, I feel compelled to buy me some white thigh-high stockings. Many of the women have these white thigh-high stockings and after seeing hundreds of girls in all shapes and sizes all wearing white thigh-high stockings, I’m now convinced that they are the sexiest item of clothing ever invented.

I will, of course, hold off until the weather cools down as I have a "no stockings in general" rule and a "no stockings during the summer in particular" rule.

Ha. But still, sometimes my job rocks.

You Can Take the Girl Out of the Corrupt Democratic Machine…

I just got back from voting.

I may have inadvertently committed voter fraud. Since some of you are sticklers about “democracy” and such, I’m not going to go into the details of my fraud.

Maybe not fraud. I think I just inadvertently violated some voting protocol in such a way that might have been breaking the law. Nothing as egregious as casting votes for dead people, though.

Also, I did write in Rex L. Camino for my state senator. Since I voted in the Democratic primary, I figured he’d make an easier opponent for Bob Krumm to beat.

The Wayward Boy Scout Fulfills Feminist Fantasies

Y’all already know that the Wayward Boy Scout has a lifetime free pass to get away with any number of uncalled for shenanigans from me because he extended to me a great kindness when I really needed it.

But, aside from that, I like him anyway.  One of the reasons is his great ability to, out of nowhere, bowl me over with his… I don’t know.  I keep trying to figure how how to articulate it, but sometimes, he says things that make me think, "God damn, there’s a real person."

Today the Bitch says

I wish straight guys had the balls to talk about sexuality the way feminist women do.

Though to be fair, I suppose feminist women should talk more about real men and real men’s bodies. It’s funny how easy it is to talk about the socially-approved script–hot soccer players, hot models–but the real, honest stuff is so much more difficult.

I think the Boy Scout could do that, and does.  It’s nice.

On a slightly different note, I wonder do we do enough talking about real men and real men’s bodies around here?  I’ll have to give that some thought.

“I’ll Try ‘The Grease Cutting Action of Dawn'”

I’ll say this for the Butcher: he’s remarkably unbothered to find out that someone has turned the shower into a slick, oil covered death trap while practicing the black arts.

I Share My Hard-Learned Wisdom With You

1.  When training a dog you are slightly afraid of because she spent the first year or so of her life with a crack whore and an idiot who never did anything for her except give her to your father who thought that it was fun to teach her to jump off his belly and do back flips, whistles instead of commands can work better to establish your authority, because a whistle does not betray your nervousness the way your voice does.

2.  Pour oil over your whole self outside or while standing on a towel in your tub.  Pouring oil over your whole self without standing on a towel makes getting out of the tub a nightmare of slick smooth surfaces.  Granted, you’ll be very soft when the paramedics come to remove you from the tub, but you also may slip right through their fingers.

3.  The Butcher does not have psychic powers so if you crawl in bed and think “shit, I forgot to get milk” he’s not going to magically know to get milk.  Too bad, really.  I’d kind of like to have a brother with the power to intuit grocery needs.

4.  I have a short bookshelf under the window in my bedroom.   The bookshelf is maybe three inches taller than the window ledge.  The window faces east.  The tiny cat has spend almost all of her free time (which, let’s be frank, once you check off ‘eating’ and ‘shitting’ leaves her with 23.75 hours of free time a day) wedged between the bookshelf and the window.  Need I remind you that it’s 97 most days?  Laying against that window must be hot as hell.  But who am I to try to tell a cat anything?  I try to tell the orange cat “It’s going to rain” and he never listens to me.  Telling the tiny cat that she’s being a fool for baking herself behind the bookshelf is just an act of futility.

In Which I Attempt to Define How Y’all are Fucked Up

Kleinheider sent me a link to an old post of his, because someone left him a comment he thought I might find interesting.  Before you head over there to read the post, let me just say that Kleinheider asks a question in that post so idiotic that it once and forever gives lie to the adage that there are no stupid question.  Some of you may find this question so stupid and upsetting that you feel compelled to drive down to Nashville, beat the shit out of Kleinheider, and then ask him how many men he thinks fantasize about having the shit beat out of them.  Please don’t do it.  Not only is it unbecoming, it is a crime.

That being said, here’s the link.  Here’s the comment:

I realize this is a year old blog however, I felt compelled to respond. In 1992, I was "forced" to take a humanities class for my major. The class I wanted was unavailable to me so I was stuck taking "Intimate Lifestyles". Basically, a human sexuality course. To top it off, surprisingly, I was 1 of 4 women in a class of 40 or so men. At the beginning of class, we were asked to participate in an anonymous survey / questionnaire regarding sexuality, STD’s, abortion, etc. Because of the small number of women, our results / answers were withheld. One of the questions was: If there were no chance of repercussions, would you commit an act of rape (or something similarly worded). When the male professor went over the results, as we all sat in stunned silence, he said "ladies – take a look at each and everyone of these guys – not one of them can deny their answer." 100% of the men said that they would rape if there were no chance of getting caught. The professor then went on to say that the responses averaged around 60% or so but on occasion, it was as high as 80-100%. One of the guys in class irritably replied that it wasn’t fair to expose the men that way when the women weren’t equally exposed. We (women) agreed to have our surveys results read. Though opinions on various topics varied, not one of us condoned rape. I must admit that this has tainted my entire outlook on men, marriage and relationships probably for the rest of my life. Had I just read an article about it in a newspaper or magazine, I don’t think it would have had quite the same jarring effect as it had on me having personally experienced. What is the world coming to?

Once you start thinking about how many men would rape if they thought they could get away with it, you start wondering how many of them have.  Weirdly enough, this was a topic of discussion over at Pandagon recently.  Over there, Marcotte says "according to the famous Mary Koss study on rape, 4.5% of college men admitted they’d forced a woman to have sex against her will." 

Now, I’m no math major, but I believe this means that one in every twenty two college men has raped a woman.

Y’all, seriously.  What the fuck?

I have this theory.  It goes like this.

A great many of you loathe yourselves.  You think you are disgusting and you think your bodies are disgusting.  Many of you overcompensate for that self-loathing by developing enormous egos, but at core, you hate yourselves.

You can’t imagine that any woman would just love you for who you are, because you are disgusting and your bodies are disgusting.  So, you depend on all the sexist bullshit of our society to keep you in pussy.  You depend on women being physically and economically dependent upon you in order to keep us around.  Those of you who can’t keep a woman physically and economically dependent on you based on your ability to protect us from other men or your ability to bring home a huge pay check find some other way to make us feel weak and vulnerable without your protection.

Rape, then, is both a symptom of your great self-loathing–you take by force because you can’t ever be sure any woman would willingly have sex with you–and a cry against it–proof that you don’t need us to need you in order for you to be a man. And, conveniently, it reinforces for us the idea that we need a man around, no matter how shitty, to protect us from other men.

This also, I think, is why gay men are such a threat.  Gay men willingly love the bodies you loathe, thus calling into question the very foundation of your beliefs about how the world works.  Gay men are proof that you aren’t disgusting and that someone who is your equal could love you even without you providing something they don’t have.

This is my working theory at the moment, anyway.

And, obviously, I don’t think every one of you fits easily into this dynamic.  I’m using "you" in the general sense.

But shoot, fuckers, one in twenty two.  If you’ve got some better explanation, I’d love to hear it.  I’m at a loss.