Speaking of trouble, ladies, don’t get into it. Don’t get into trouble. You know, “trouble.” In other words, keep your fucking legs closed, slut. HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!! Get it? It’s a joke, only it’s not, but it is, but it’s a good joke because the underlying message is good and TRUE, dammit. Why can’t you sluts just keep your legs closed?!

Mark Steyn likes the Aspirin joke because it’s not a joke to him. And if you find it deeply misogynistic, too bad for you, slut.

These are lines about societal views of sex, and, while they’re certainly “antiquated” (in Michael’s word), the response to Mr Friess suggests an attempt to criminalize not the gag so much as the attitude underlying it.

Criminalize it? Oh, if only, Neckenbeardensteyn. Yes, obviously a lot of slutty people–for the purposes of this entry we’ll call them “women”–find it goddamn offensive. Because what it implies is that if women have consequence-free sex, they are sluts, which in Chunkyneckbeardshire is the worst thing you can be. Are you a liar? S’okay. Are you a hypocrite? Grand! Are you a chunkyneckbearded  bully? Throw this man a ticker-tape parade!

Where the slutty Hobbits at?!

A woman Neckenbeardensteyn wishes all the sluts women of the world emulate? The one who said this:

All that Swinging Sixties. It didn’t do anyone any good, did it?

‘Easy sex and the Pill. Marriages were ruined. I never did approve. I never really enjoyed the sex.’

I think it’s the idea that some woman somewhere is enjoying sex that really shrivels the wingnut-o-sphere’s already shriveled Cheetos dust-covered penises. Women are not entitled to sexual fulfillment, full-stop. I’d like to comment on what residents of Chunkyneckbeardshire think about male sexual fulfillment. Oddly, they never discuss it. It’s almost as if a man’s sexual health and fulfillment are not subjects are that up for debate. I wonder why, especially since so many of these cretins seem to think men are little more than primeval rape-machines.

I demand that we start imploring the residents of Rapingshire to…oh, I don’t know…”tuck it in” or “slap it down” or “hack it off with an ax, if it gets too uppity.” You know, UPppity. Come on, THAT’S FUNNY.

Or, we could all move to Actlikeanadultown and recognize that people are sexual and provide them with the proper reproductive care.

• Fed Lord Chubbington
• Changed poopy diaper (on him, not me)
• Changed Lord Chubbington’s Royal Romper
• Cleaned kitchen
• Put dinner in the crockpot (braised short ribs)
• Wrote a blog entry

What’s next?

Also, somebody get me some coffee.

PS–Can you believe how incredibly big and smart Lord Chubbintgton is?

Next on the agenda:

• Find out how to stop getting goddamn Farmville notifications
• Take part in Laura’s awesome award thingie
• Take Lord Chubbington for a brisk walk
• More feeding
• More diaper changing
• Laundry folding

I’m telling you…the glamorous times never end.

SO, I was glad that Crooked Timber weighed in. The relief for me was learning that–assuming the author is correct in his interpretation– when I accidentally stumbled across a decipherable point Poulos was making, I was actually correct in detecting an actual point. Hallelujah! I’m not stupid or insane!

What I thought Poulos was saying in the most labored, pretentious, roundabout way was this:

 Women, being all soft and sensitive and mothery and shit, should act as a civilizing force on men.

According to Poulos, men are brutes, sure, but they are the DOERS in our society. We women? We’re the sitter-backers and supporters of these brutish but brilliant creatures. Men, you go out there and follow your dreams. DO! SEE! CONQUER! CREATE! BE BRILLIANT! And when you get done doing, seeing, conquering, creating and brillianting, we’ll be here to pop out your babies and tenderly mop your brows. So that you may return to the battlefield of  life. A battlefield that’s probably just a little too rough for us nature-bound mother-creatures.

Some astute comments from the CT thread include the observation that someone like Poulos would never think to ask what men are for or what Black people are for, because that would be deeply offensive. But I guess, in the end, we women don’t count as people, so his question is acceptable. Another commenter notes that what Poulos is hinting at is that women should essentially serve as a support staff for men. Put your dreams and ambitions on  hold, ladies–THE MENZ ARE BRILLIANTLY BRUTISHLY BRUTING!

Before I wrap up, I’d just like gently remind people who advocate that women take a passive role in life that you cannot have it both ways. You cannot ask that women do “women’s stuff” and at the same time devalue and denigrate things that are thought of as “woman’s work.” A lot of woman’s work is dreadfully hard, boring, and unrewarding.

It's also never done.

And we do not value it. We do not appreciate it. So perhaps we should we should address that before anything else.

I can haz fame now? I can!

Look here!  And here!

As I told Thers, I am honored by the Truth Wins Out shout-out…and suddenly am wishing I did not curse so much. Also, wishing my “Adult Conversation” entry didn’t come off as heteronormative as it does.

First of all, the uniforms are quite flattering, even on the most short, squat of physiques.

You may have a cat as a playing partner.

Many players test tail-integrity before choosing a partner.

Staring off into the ether as if in a drug-fueled haze is often used as a tactic to distract and disorient your opponent.

Look at the dedication to winning this player exhibits.

According to Canadian Rules Chess, once you've put a Pawn in your mouth, it counts as Checkmate.

The mastering of many arcane and confusing rules often makes the winning player (or cat) unbearably smug.

Important Kitty Safety Note: Just wanted to assure you kitty-lovers out there that Lily is ok. She is an OLD cat who recently got a haircut…which looks quite odd on a longhair, it is coming in oddly, but she is healthy as a horse. And, again, I’d like say that while I enjoy snapping pictures of our chess champion grabbing the cat, animal torture is not something that is tolerated in this house.

It’s bad enough that we still have pedophiles, god-botherers and war-mongers beating the “pro-life” drums; it appears these disingenuous fucks will never let the issue of abortion go…not when there are so many sluts to shame. But now birth control is up for debate? Good gosh. And it’s bad enough that we have to discuss it at all…but if we must, I insist that the discussion be held amongst adults. I will begin.

Here’s the thing–I’m talking to you, pedophile priests, rape apologists, fundie Christians, and misogynists (in other words, all the grown children of the world): People, being sexual beings, have sex. Half the people on the face of the earth are women. Yes, women have sex, too. Some people find sex pleasurable, and would like to have sex without the fear of getting pregnant. If you find this offensive, I suggest you do not have sex for any reason other than procreative ones. What I don’t suggest you do is tell me how and when to have sex. See, when you do that, you are not exercising  your religious liberty, you are trying to exercise control over my life. This just will not do, and I won’t stand for it.

Awhile back, I decided that when it comes to matters of sex and sexuality, the best, most moral choice I could make was to not worry about what other people did in the bedroom. This has a couple of advantages. The great thing about not giving a shit about anybody else’s sex life is that you don’t have to give a shit about anybody else’s sex life. Plus, I don’t have to expend energy being an assholish moral scold. Whew. It’s so freeing. Y’all should try it sometime.

Sexual activity exists on a spectrum. Let’s say, for argument’s sake, that at one end of the spectrum is lights-out missionary position sex and at the other end is tonguing a hairy asshole while having a dominatrix stomp on your balls and having midget take a dump on your chest. You may find that latter scenario distasteful. And even though I had Fetus-O’s for breakfast this morning, I do too. But the great thing about that scenario is that no one is making me partake of it.

I have a fundamental disagreement with those who frame sex as not only a moral issue, but THE moral issue. In a world filled  with misogyny, racism, genocide, starvation, and a thousand other things that genuinely make life miserable for much of the earth’s population, this just makes no sense to me. Sex is not a moral issue. Unless it relates to those who cannot or do not consent. Rape is amazingly awful, obviously.

I’ve digressed a bit. The point is that sexuality is part of the human experience. You can dislike this, but what you can’t do is change it or pretend it’s not so. If you find this vexing, I suggest you point your accusing fingers at your Gawd, who–after all–gave us all our naughty, bulbous, tingly bits, according to you.

And while you’re pointing your fingers, making all men into neanderthal rape-machines and women into whores and Madonnas, the rest of us will be having emotionally-fulfilling, joyful, healthy, consensual sex. Don’t like that? Go fuck yourself and GROW THE FUCK UP. The adults are talking now.

UPDATE: I visited turntable today. I went into the Panda Party room, but upon learning that not everyone gets to DJ, I, of course, immediately started my own room. Because I have the patience of a toddler and severe Veruca Salt complex when it comes to controlling music.

Now.

Do drop by and play DJ. So far it’s just me, but I’ll be inviting all my Intertrons friends, and feel free to invite your own. I’d like room to be mainly focused on alternative/electronica/hip-hop but honestly I’m up for pretty much anything. So visit and play DJ–it’ll be fun!

Well, some of my t-shirts were so skanky they had holes in them. So I finally broke down and brought some new ones, and here are a few of them:

I got all these here. They have a pretty spectacular “10 shirts for 50 dollars” deal I couldn’t pass up.

Happy Belated Valentine’s to you all. Here’s something sweet I yoinked from Laura.

Awwwwww.

And here’s some silliness, because silliness is my kryptonite: I can never resist its power.

Now just the Polish people!

Hope everyone had a lovely V-Day.

I don’t know what to say about the freakshow I have assembled here this morning. All’s I know is that they make the Jim Rose Circus folks look like a bunch of well-adjusted squares.

Well, I guess I have something to say about Maggie Gallagher.

She seems to be a profoundly unhappy person…who wants to make sure that everybody else is unhappy too. I mean, seriously, could this video make it any more clear that this woman is using the bludgeon of “marriage protection” to work out her own issues? Geez Louise, woman, get thee to a psychologist, STAT.

Oh, and do I need to point out that she was flailing wildly in this interview and lost the debate in a most spectacular way?

Reverend William Dailey is just a horrible, horrible, nasty man with a smackable face who–surprise, surprise– gets far more exorcised about providing birth control than he does  child rape. Dude, if you’re on the winning side of an issue, this kind of florid smugness simply isn’t necessary. It’s clear you’re very angry…and covering that anger up with a villainous smirk won’t fool anyone.

By the way, if you don’t think fertility needs to be managed–WHY DO YOU ADVOCATE THE RHYTHM METHOD? YOU ARE INTERFERING WITH GOD’S WILL WHEN YOU USE THE RHYTHM METHOD, FUCKFACE.

Listen, I realize that because you’re a miserable bastard and no woman would ever want to straddle your polyester-covered thighs, so birth control is a moot issue for you… But for those of us who actually are fuckable, we would prefer not to get saddled with a baby each time we make the mommy-daddy sheetmonster.

Also, this:

*          *          *

In other bad news, all you Comic Sans-haters? Your reign of tyranny of is over. I, myself, am a renowned anti-Comic Sansist, thus will be going into hiding. I leave you with a Dudeskull picture.

Until we meet again.

Unfroze