Rage Against the Porcine

I have a problem with 90% of the "average American women" over 30 that I encounter on a daily basis. 90% of them.
I see them everywhere. They make me regret owning, or at least renting, a uterus. As men grow older they become distinguished, kooky, funny, laughable, eccentric, pervy, or at the very least, comfortable. As women grow older they become... lame.

My ire was roused today partly by the legions of overprotective mothers shepherding incoming freshmen around campus for today's orientation, and partly by my personal frustration that openly carrying around the July issue of GQ magazine makes me feel a little awkward because it has a hot, pantiless, knee high sport sock wearing Gisele Bundchen on the cover.

I'm not worried about how men will look at that cover. I don't care if they do. It also does not personally embarrass me to carry around a photo of a hot chick showing some serious side nudity.

What I worry about is the reponse I get if some of the "let's share a bloomin' onion and some margaritas after work cuz we're sassy" office lady crowd happen to see it. Most of the time I keep the magazine tucked inside my breifcase. And when I pull it out to read it on breaks, I quickly flip it open to the article I want to read and lay it cover-down on the table in an effort to avoid, "I don't think that's appropriate for work" statements or comments about how showing a hot, half-naked body objectifies women.

You wanna know what objectifies women? THE BIBLE fucking objectifies women. Have you ever actually read that thing?? But they sure as hell wouldn't criticize people for carrying that around.

I pulled the magazine out today to read it on my lunch break while sitting next to a table that looked like a Dress Barn and bacon salad had exploded all over it and someone forgot to wipe it up. The table was full of women who were spending their lunchtime losing bone density while talking about how they're not gonna retire "but it's just nice to know they have that option if they feel like it". When I laid the magazine on the table I got looks of consternation from two of the bitch hogs. Thankfully, I was sitting too close for them to start talking about how GQ magazine will corrupt their children OR discussing their doubts about my dubious sexual orientation.

I was already feeling a bit itchy in my feminine place from observing the Wooly MOMoths grazing around campus today, so those sideways glances really pissed me off.

I'm not afraid, ashamed, or angry when I look at a semi-nude chick. I either think, "Hey, she's hot. I like her hair," "I bet she's dumb as a pile of gut chutney," or else, "Wow. Nasty but'er face."
So if I'm not bothered by it, why is anyone else?

Honestly, if you have a serious problem with Gisele Bundchen naked from the waist down & humping a pillow on the cover of a (well-written, poignant, interesting) men's periodical, it's because YOU'RE fat and ugly... On the inside if not on the outside as well. You're bitter and plain and your hair is cut like a man. You wear novelty earrings and sweaters with sparkly shit on it. Your spider venis read like a map of the New Jersey Turnpike. I hate you.

So why don't you go hop on a figurative exercycle and burn those dangly bags of blubber off the kankles and knegs of your slovenly pretend-feminist soul before you cast dispersions on my reading selections?

Have you ever read GQ? Do you know how brilliant "The Fecal Position" article by Shalom Auslander that's in this month's issue is?
Of course you dont!! You're too busy reading US magazine articles about Jamie Lynn Spear's breastfeeding techniques and cluck-clucking your fat, bloated, tongue about how she's a terrible rolemodel for your children-- as if the rip in the condom or antibiotics interferring with birth control or brilliant Spears family child-rearing tactics that lead to her getting knocked up will infect your own idiotic spawn, brainwashing them into thinking teen motherhood sounds like a goddamn brilliant idea.

You spread criticism and blame faster than that highly contagious monkey from the movie Outbreak spread a mutation of the ebola virus. You spread it far and wide because sex is a perfunctory duty you endure for your husband because the bible tells you to and criticizing things smart people don't give a fuck about is the only thing that makes you feel good anymore.
Jamie Lynn's parents are to blame. It's the public school system. Or maybe it's that nebulous, inchoate, universally evil scape goat of all scape goats, "THE MEDIA"-- the unhappy punching bag of Access Hollywood-educated, arm chair pundits everywhere who are too lazy to research and identify the real source of any problem.

You act like you'd be happy if Jamie Lynn Spears had never become a pseudo-celebrity and that it's mildly tragic that she had a kid at the age of 16 ("Bless her heart").
But don't think for one second that I don't realize that you LOVE EVERY FUCKING MINUTE OF IT.
You get a real kick out of regurgitating the hackneyed morals of your power-walking herd. You treasure any female celebrity's bad behavior as a savory nugget of validating self-righteousness; fuel for your deliciously delusional denial that some 16 year old girl's life is NOT in fact fantastically superior to your own. Because although she was on TV, is moderately famous, and has probably already made more money than you will make in your entire lifetime, she got baby-filled at 16-- which (let's be honest here ladies) is probably only two years younger than you were when you squirted your first blob of humanity out of that dank, flesh-colored sharpei you call a vagina.

I don't EVER want to be a part of your crowd. I've said it before and I'll say it again: I never want to own more beige underwear than colored. I will never shop at Fashion Bug or buy clothes from Cracker Barrel. And although I do enjoy the occasional novelty earring, I never, ever want to become so bitter at my failure of a life that the sight of a hot chick's naked body incites me to vomit venom and bile at the nearest thing with boobs under 40.

So, what I want to know is, can I exchange my uterus for an iPhone?

3 comments:

  1. Mike said,

    I'd like to wager your uterus will be in good functioning condition longer than that iphone...............

    on July 23, 2008 at 4:49 PM  


  2. Kate said,

    Following you on twitter a while - first time I stopped here. This post was fucking hysterical and deserves a standing ovation.

    on July 24, 2008 at 2:23 PM  


  3. Amy Mac said,

    I am a woman in my 30's who also hate's women in their 30's for the most part...and though I'm not sure you'd enjoy me because I (tragically) can not get enough of US Weekly (it's a sickness! I can't HELP it!), Cosmo and the like give me a rash. I am now going to run out and buy a GQ. I found you via Twitter & enjoy you like a bottle of beer and cheap Mexican food! Not all of us are airheads (my love for Brangelina aside)...
    missamymac

    on August 2, 2008 at 6:36 AM