There are days.
There are days I literally want to shut down my computer and never come near the Internet again, and yet, I’m drawn to this collective psychosis we call “the world wide web,” like a moth to a flame… or one of those crackly lights that will kill the moth the moment it touches the bulb. Like a motorist who can’t help but rubberneck at a wreck on the side of the road, I had to open this. Immediately upon clicking on the link, I began to hit myself over the head with a metaphorical brick. WHY??
My recent article about ‘willy-cloning’ was greeted with such interest and hilarity on social media that the company responsible for the kits – Empire Labs, of Portland, Oregon – got in touch to ask if I fancied trying out a female version, the charmingly named ‘Clone a Pussy‘.
If that opening paragraph doesn’t make you die a little inside, this will.
The first thing to note is that Clone a Pussy does not create a model of the vagina itself – I can only imagine what sort of mess that would make with the moulding gel.
Instead, it creates a reasonably accurate copy of the vulva – the outside bits.
So while the male version can be put to, shall we say, practical use after construction, the female clone is for decorative purposes only.
Who in the everblasting, rollerblading fuck would want to decorate their house with anything resembling a vagoo – inside or out? Sorry, but it’s not, in and of itself, an attractive body part. It’s pink. It’s hairy (unless you go the extra mile to de-fur). It’s oddly similar to Audrey 2 from “Little Shop of Horrors” sans teeth or blood lust.
“Oh, I know what this living room is missing! A set of labia vaguely slug-like in appearance! Perfect! Now let me just frame it and hang it riiiiiiight… over here.”
Yeahno, Cupcake! It ain’t pretty. It’s utilitarian. There’s certainly nothing embarrassing about it, but it ain’t art!
The second thing that made me want to hide under my desk today. Women paying for “expert vagina massages.”
They’re called gigolos, you daft bints. They’re getting you off for money. Calling it something different doesn’t change its nature.
Now, I’m all for the free market. Seriously. If a consenting adult wants to sell their… services for money to another consenting adult, more power to y’all! Have at it! But let’s not pretend it’s anything other than what it is. As I told She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named when I found out she was dancing at a strip club in West Virginia instead of working as a waitress, “You are an adult, and you can do with your body as you please, but if you’re going to be a whore, be an honest whore.”
Third thing that makes me throat punch a hippie, apparently women just can’t do science. Why? Because TEH FEELZ!
The syllabi for college-level STEM courses—science, technology, engineering, and mathematics—are “gendered” because they promote the idea that knowledge can be ascertained through reason. This is a masculine concept that hurts women’s feelings and makes it difficult for them to succeed.
That’s according to “Are STEM Syllabi Gendered? A Feminist Critical Discourse Analysis” of the STEM syllabi at one Midwestern university. The discourse was authored by the University of North Dakota’s Laura Parson, and published in The Qualitative Report earlier this year.
It presupposes that certain stylistic choices—command words like “will” and “must”—are inherently masculine and anti-woman, and then sets out to determine whether these words show up in STEM syllabi. Since a syllabus is not a negotiation, but rather, a set of instructions about how to succeed in a given class, they do indeed contain lots of commands.
Parson needs to stop embarrassing all women and take up a distinctly
feminine feminist field that shall not force her pretty, dainty, weak self to conform to those pesky facts that chafe her tender labia. (If you notice a vagina theme here… Yeah, there is one.)
Try Kvetching 101, or the advanced “Taking Offense 300 – Strategies in Silencing the Opposition.”
Go with “Ruminations in Third-Wave Feminist Thought – The Best Three Minutes of Your Life,” or “Tears: Your Ultimate Weapon Against the CisWhitePatriarchy.”
But stay the fuck out of the sciences or anything else requiring logical thought. Please!
And then there’s this piece of spewed dreck onto a computer screen that makes the ages old claim that white people inherently racist and privileged.
If you’re like me, growing up, the word “Black” was always spoken of in whispers in your family. It was like we were saying something taboo. Why was that? Because it was taboo. We might feel more comfortable saying “African-American,” but not “Black.” The reason is that we were raised to believe that “colorblindness” was the ideal for whites. We were taught that we shouldn’t “see color.” And saying the word “Black” was an acknowledgment of the fact that we did “see color.”
Well, thank dog I’m nothing like you, hipster douche Omega male! I can and have said the word “black” throughout my childhood and my adulthood. I do recognize color – the fact that it exists and that some of us have more melanin in our skin than others. I just don’t give a fuck. There, I said it. Beyond recognizing that there are different hues to human beings, I just don’t care. My black friends (there, I said it, you emasculated coward) make me just as happy as my white friends. Know why? Because they’re wonderful human beings. So go fuck yourself. You don’t speak for me, and I would wager that aside from a few guilt-ridden about their own whiteness, braindead Snowflakes, you don’t speak for any other white people either. Moron.
Then there’s this bit from the Santa Clara County Office of Education
Did you know that mispronouncing a student’s name negates the identity of the student? This can lead to anxiety and resentment which, in turn, can hinder academic progress. Help us build positive school culture and promote respect to students and families.
Well, holy microaggressing fuck!
So the identity of the individual isn’t based on accomplishments, intelligence, intellectual curiosity, ability, or anything else related to those antediluvian norms. The identity of the individual is based entirely on what the kid’s parents might or might not have been smoking at the time when they decided to name their little precious North West or Chanda Leer.
As someone whose last name was consistently butchered by teachers in school, I understand the embarrassment when a teacher struggles to phonetically spell a foreign name, only to fail miserably. I get having to preemptively pronounce your name before the teacher stumbles like a drunken clown, making all the other kids giggle. But could we possibly get some damn perspective here, people?
Getting little Nevaeh’s or Reighleigh’s (no, really – that’s Riley) name wrong won’t traumatize her/him/it/whatever. It won’t destroy their identity, unless they’re being raised by weak-minded parents, who don’t teach them where their value comes from, which I suspect is the case for many of these poor kids, whose parents think naming them something “cool” and “different” will garner them respect without having to actually accomplish anything to earn it. Trying too hard to be original? Don’t. If your child has an ethnic name, be understanding. Recognize that not everyone is going to get it right from the first get-go, and that it’s not a slight against you, your ethnicity, or your child. In other words, stop being a special fucking snowflake!
Thank dog it’s Friday. I can avoid stupid on the weekends… I think.