August 28, 2007

men suck men rape                       


Men suck, really.  Great big goober gobs of male suckage.  In, fact men suck so much that I’m going to say it fifty times in this one post alone.  Why do men suck more than your dad on Hoover Dam, you ask?  Because periodically I type the words “men suck” into Google, and feminists would never guess what pops up each and every time.  A thousand pages of men *not* sucking, that’s what.  Somehow very few women must ever type that phrase (MEN SUCK) because what I get instead of MEN SUCKING is a misogynistic rebuttal to MEN WHO SUCK.

Imagine me, tired from a long day of MEN SUCKING and wanting nothing more than to hear how many other women think MEN SUCK, and the first thing that pops up is step-by-step instructions on how to buy a foreign wife and smuggle her though customs without the in-laws finding out.  MEN SUCK big hairy donkey dicks.  I can say that because hate speech is frequently confused with free speech, but usually only when the subject is non-male, so my saying that MEN SUCK could possibly bring down the wrath of MEN WHO SUCK and especially MEN WHO SUCK DONKEY DICKS. 

Ever wonder why Google doesn’t cache more women writing MEN SUCK?  It could be because we of the lucidity would never be so droll as to type MEN SUCK; we of the verbosity would be more likely to fling “masculine culture predisposes one to suckalicious vascuity” into the ether like so much verbal confetti, quickly followed by “chromosomal Y-orientated suckadity pre-dates infinity” — and how do you google for that?  Real women do not write “MEN SUCK”.  Real women have standards, and de-gracing our keyboards with “MEN SUCKING DONKEY DICKS” is a tad beyond the pale.  If a woman were smart enough to wade through all the manipulative marketing borzhwa which tells her from birth onward that she is nothing without a MAN WHO SUCKS, then she is likely smart enough to find a more elequent method of expressing that sentiment without resorting to the undeniably plebian, MEN SUCK.

According to my top-secret feminazi manifesto, we can’t even say what rotten shits men really are, for fear potential allies will be spontaneously discombobulated by the truth.  Dearest genteel sojourners and wayward travelers, this makes no sense to me.  You either comprehend that a long pattern of male control-freakiness exists, or you find reality easier to ignore.  You either think women are endowed with full humanity and that automatically includes basic RESPECT, or you don’t and look for excuses to justify your pre-existing bigotry. If the rantings of one “man-hating” evil bitch is enough to loosen your mask of brotherly love and support for gender equality, then your mask is hereby exposed for what it hides: a two-faced, back-stabbing, double-dealing, lying DOG who was already shopping excuses for your preemptive backslide.

Dearest sojourners, I am so very tired of persnickety accusations that if only we would tone down our rhetoric, then men would not hack our forums and drive our finest off the internet.  How does it come to pass that their choices for their actions are our responsibility? 

Perhaps someday I’ll tell you how I really feel, but in the meantime this will do:  MEN SUCK.  Since all those half-baked fratmonkeys on steriods enjoy rousing rape “humor”, I hope they will appreciate my little witticism.  It’s the fem version, though, so I don’t expect them to get it.  I do expect for myself, however, the exact same thing that they demand every single day for themselves no matter where they go — the right to speak without being harrassed by fucking animals.  So without further ado, here it is: 

All men are not rapists & therefore some MEN SUCK less than others
All men are not assholes & therefore some MEN SUCK less than others
All men are not wife beaters & therefore some MEN SUCK less than others
All men are not feminist forum hackers & therefore some MEN SUCK less than others
All men are not misogynist control-freaks & therefore some MEN SUCK less than others


men suck 1  It has been brought to my attention that once again my suckage as a blog hostess knows no bounds.  I failed to discuss my stated objective, which was the intersection of harm as it relates to Nigel, who is unimportant.  Can you relate to my despair?   Do you see why I so vigorously resisted the temptation to blog?  Not only was I attempting to spare you the terrifying exposure to the inner workings of my insanity, but I instinctively knew that in answering one question two more would pop up in it’s place.  

Actually, if you’ve been paying attention, you will have noticed that the more accurate subject under discussion for the other day and for which I failed to ever offer up any rumination, was the intersection of harm and Stanley the Strawman, otherwise known as the “war on women”; but fear not, Nigel does indeed play center stage.   Sadly enough, chances are good that absolutely no one is bothering to read this, which means I am, in fact, talking to myself.  Blogging to self, more accurately.  I wonder, does a deaf person sign to themselves when no one’s around?

Anyway, Noble Nigel is a mime who performs street theatre.  He doesn’t say much, but he doesn’t have to; his only job is to stand between the audience and the little strawman Stanley behind the curtain.  It pays well, and the benefits are outstanding.  While emo stoicism is an admittedly tough character to play, the number of groupies who flock to Nigel’s side more than compensates for any hardship. 

But where’s the harm?  Why be mad at poor old innocent Nigel, who’s just doing his job?  After all, it’s really just those few bad boys who gad about from one indiscriminate act of mayhem to another, and we shouldn’t hold the entire cast to blame for the crimes of a few.  It’s only the “few” Stanley’s of this world who go around gleefully hacking feminist forums so they can send torquereous misexplicatives to sequestered sullied souls*.  It’s only a “few” misunderstood lads causing all the felonious harrassments, ravishings, and assorted double standards.  It’s only a “few” who need anthropomorphized displays of caged bunnies to sell skateboards.  men suck 2

Shouldn’t we reserve our displeasure for the few bad boys named Stanley?  

Wouldn’t it be more accurate to say we should reserve our displeasure for the root cause of the harm done to women?**  Before we do anything else, it seems kind of important to quantify that harm — at least that’s what the scientisty people usually say — and that harm isn’t limited to a few women, now is it?  Magically, we are supposed to ignore the painfully apparent reality that every woman is harmed by what “a few” do.  Some might even propose that it is Nigel’s passive acceptance of all the misogyny swirling around like fairy dust which makes that magical sleight-of-hand possible.  Nigel is Stanley’s accomplice; they work as a team, but because they are never onstage at the same time we’re not supposed to notice how perfectly one compliments the other. 

Every time Stanley does something naughty we can point point to Nigel and say, “all men aren’t like that!” while the curtain falls dramatically.  With that line suitably delivered in a saucy tone, we can stop thinking and slog back a few mind-numbing drinks at the bar with our date, whom we’re trying really hard not to notice looks an awful lot like one of the lead players.   We can trudle back to our pre-assigned seats after intermission and be passive observers to the rest of the play, as if Nigel’s role is settled and there aren’t four more questions lined up in the que right behind the first.

*Sending “torquereous misexplicatives to sequestered sullied souls” is just a polite way of saying “torture porn to rape victims”.  I’m trying to shield your delicate sensibilities from excessively objectionable material.  Also, I have a dictionary. 

**As will be evidenced later, pie-in-the-sky ephemeral concepts miss the mark as an excuse.  You might want to rethunk that one.