I Blame The Patriarchy

Fuck Culture

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Culture. Culture culture culture. I am sick and tired of culture. I am sick and tired of the retards who are trying to preserve culture because they think it's sacred or something and they worship it. Culture's not sacred. It's guk growing in a petrie dish. A set of behaviors upon the successful assimilation of which a given individual is ruthlessly judged by her prejudiced and parochial peers.

Why would anybody want to get involved with that? Keep your culture offa me, freak!

Check out this dipshit assistant minister of culture and heritage from Fiji, who has been bitten by the popular culture-worship bug, and who recently announced to her constituents that "human, women's, children's, and individual rights are eroding the indigenous national identity." She wants women to "accept only what is in accordance with traditional culture and values, with particular stress on hairstyles and dress codes."

As you know, I am the world's foremost authority on the status of women in Fiji, so you can believe me when I say that if chumps in their own government are advocating pickling women in the good old pre-feminist brine so that they'll conform to some kind of quaint "national identity" dictated by crowd-pleasin' hair-dos, it can't be good. In fact, it looks to me like they're wanting to put the kibosh on women's rights because they fuck with Fiji's brand.

Culture, despite the hallucinations of those who yearn for a simpler, gentler time, isn't static and cannot be sustained unchanged. People like Fiji's assistant minister for culture and heritage who wish to mummify it for its own sake, presumably against the ravages of feminism or the homo agenda or the swarthy Muslims or global homogeneity, are suffering from nostalgia and delusion and xenophobia. We should look the other way when those quaint Saudi dudes stone their women to death. It's their culture!

It's tough toenails, but the day is almost upon us when culture will no longer be practiced by isolated pockets of diverse and colorful indigenous natives. I'd say good riddance, too, since culture is just another word for patriarchy. Sadly, what we're getting instead is no great improvement over the quaint crap it replaces. Today's culture is an homogenous, pulsating gray fungus oozing out of TVs and internet porn sites and McDonaldses and Wal-Marts. It reeks of polyester and grease. And male honky domination. If it's eaten away all the naive and picturesque social constructs that everyone loves to imagine are alive and well in other, less complicated parts of the world like Fiji, well, that's too bad, but odds are those dear old traditions were oppressin' somebody. So fuck'em.

Here are some other examples of culture-worship that really chap my hide.

• Christmas culture! Ay yi yi! It abominates! Red and green! The merriness mandate! Incessant sleigh bells echoing through the streets! Awful representations of quaint Victorian English ice skaters! That retarded grandma/reindeer song!

• And what's with these honkys who adopt trendy Chinese babies and suddenly they have to be all about the kid's "cultural heritage"? Whence cometh the bizarre and frankly racist notion that a Chinese baby is genetically hardwired to appreciate--nay, to require--exposure to a necessarily arbitrary and incomplete set of non-western customs? Will it develop crippling personality disorders if it is not given enough moo goo gai pan?

• Or what about when you're in a bar and you hear some dumb white American dude declaim in a Chicago accent, by way of revealing something deeply significant about himself, "well, you know, I'm one-sixteenth Cherokee." What the fuck difference does that make? You're still an asshole! Or, "well, you know I'm Irish." Hello, dumb American dude! You're not Irish! The closest you've ever gotten to Ireland is a box of Lucky Charms! And big whoop about Ireland anyway! You can get a Guinness in South Austin! The erstwhile geographical location of your remote ancestors is not a measure of your character!

Fashion Week: Bangladesh

Fashion week is particularly hardcore in Bangladesh, where an outlaw militant Islamist group has vowed to murder any woman not wearing a veil. These unpleasant godbags--who are also implicated in some of those bombings you always hear about on NPR while you're getting your coffee and never think about again--are the Jamaat-ul-Mujahideen. The Jamaat-ul-Mujahideen, afllicted by vulgar delusion as are all godbags, are some ugly, mean-spirited fucks. They've bombed 21 people to death in the last two weeks, and, pleased with the success of this marketing strategy in promoting their deity's brand, now prepare to take it on home by imprisoning the females.

“Women," announced the Jamaat-ul-Mujahideen, "will be killed if they are found to move around without wearing burqa from the first day of Zilhaj. Women, including non-Muslims, are hereby advised not to go out of home without burqa. Seclusion has been made compulsory for you."

Note how similar the sentiment of this threat is to those warnings that we little ladies here in the free world are always getting from helpful male authority figures on how to avoid getting raped. "Just do what us dudes say, and nobody gets hurt, except when we decide to kick your ass anyway."

Vigil

Canadian vigiliers gettin all up in it [Toronto Star]

It's probably news to Americans, but our Canadian readers are aware that sixteen years ago, nutjob/proto-MRA Marc Lépine skulked into L'École Polytechnique at the Université de Montréal, announced that he hated feminists, and opened fire on some women engineering students. He killed 14 of them and injured 13 more. He naturally shot his own head off immediately thereafter.

It's a pity that more brutalizers of women don't shoot their own heads off.

According to the Vancouver Sun, Canadian women's groups across the country recently held vigils and memorials, mostly involving roses and candles, for the Montréal Massacre as part of a "national day of remembrance and action on violence against women." I was not invited to speak at any of these events, so vigilizers were not treated to my plan for promoting suicide amongst misogynists. They heard lectures full of statistics that, because of statistic-fatigue, make everybody's eyes glaze over:

Girls are four times more likely than boys to be sexually assaulted by family members, adolescent wives are three times more likely to be murdered and 12 per cent of girls in grade 9 are pressured to have sex. [Toronto Star]

"We're asking for a 10-year campaign to raise awareness amd change behavior toward women," quoth the president of the Québec Women's Federation. She alludes, apparently, to similar rose-and-candle campaigns used "to curb drunk driving and boost seatbelt use."

Nice try, but when drunk driving is still a national pastime, I am pained by the desperation of the idea that a few years of advertising in bus stops should make a dent in millennia's worth of the systemic misogyny that culminates in daily butcherings of women. Particularly when there are still plenty of fucks who make exceedingly hilarious remarks like this to commemorate the Montréal Massacre:

If you'd like a different perspective on what men are like, try deviating from the usual question that the Violence Against Women lobby ask about men. I hear the same question over and over, and particularly at this time of year: if you're going to be attacked, who is more likely to be attacking you? A woman or a man? I have a different question: if you're going to be rescued from an attacker, who is more likely to rescue you? A woman or a man? In both questions the answer is "a man."

I don't know who this Violence Against Women lobby is, but the question I always ask dipshit men about men is "Don't you EVER shut the fuck up?"

Puk'd!

My last taco for a week

First of all, a big thank-you to Tammy, who sent me a bunch of excellent hats and a Neil Gaiman book and some wacky Canadian chocolate bars (Eat-More? What tha?) all the way from British Columbia. You're a peach!

Meanwhile: Monday, I am sorry to say, kicks off another chemo week for me. As usual, you can expect posts and emails to be nonexistent, or irregular, or at the very least stupid for a few days while the poison knocks me on my entire milky-white ass. My oncologist has thrown everything she's got at my predeliction for Xtreme Kweez, but in the end has thrown up--pun intended-- her hands and deemed me A Puker and that's all there is to it.

Speaking of pharmacology: if you're like me--and of course you are--you can't turn on your computer these days without reading about some nutjob pharmacist who won't fill some poor schmo's prescription because it would kill the Baby Jesus. I just read at Pandagon about some asshole who, anecdotally, refused to give a woman her fucking Valtrex because "God is punishing you for your sin."

When exactly did pharmacists morph into a tribe of insane judgmental godbags storming the countryside, refusing to pharm? Has the profession been infiltrated by fetus-lovin' drugophobe terrorists whose ultimate goal is to stop entirely the flow of medications to sick people? Because, as Shakespeare's Sister astutely points out, how do they know God has stopped at merely sticking women with herpes for the crime of getting laid? What if He sometimes issues, say, cancer as punishment for other, non-pussy-havin'-related misdeeds? "And if he does," she wonders, "how do the pharmacists know whose prescriptions to rip up and whose to fill?"

The answer is: naturally God rewards his adoring pharmy minions with what they want, so he skips over the boring shit and only tells'em about the lurid sex lives of unclean women. And it's a damn good thing, too, because I suppose you might say I've committed some pretty sinny acts in my day, such as hubris, and gluttony, and coveting my neighbor's wife, and if the pharmacists knew that God had given me cancer to punish me for this stuff, I might never get my stool softeners.

Raper's Delight, Part II

Shakespeare's Sister has just alerted me to a quintessential tale of 21st century American misogyny: that of a 17-year-old gang-rape victim (now 19) who, instead of seeing the testicles of her three attackers chewed off by a frothing pack of delirious pit bulls in the town square, has in fact been prosecuted for and found guilty of filing a false police report.

As I understand it, the judge, a graduate of Dicksmoke State Law School, decided that the victim's drunken, doped-up thief of a mother, who testified for the defense that her daughter didn't "act traumatized" after the rape, was a credible witness. So they threw the book at that slut of a lying teenage ho, and the pitiable, falsely accused boys-who-will-be-boys sauntered off to tea and crumpets at the Dorchester.

If our beloved sex-addicted patriarchy did not regularly inject itself with life-giving shots of yippee-rape, it might astonish us that a judge would consider that a victim's drunken mother--a woman of such discerning tastes that she apparently keeps intimate company with a convicted child molester--is competent to assess the weather, let alone the psychological state of her raped daughter.

It might further astonish us that, in order to see justice, women are now apparently required to follow rules of trauma decorum following a rape. But as usual, we don't know what the rules are! The old white dudes change'em all the goddam time! Maybe we could cover our asses by presenting a crowd-pleasing set of hysterical-chick behaviors consistent with those enacted by stock characters on "Law & Order: SVU"? Such as huddling for 3 days in the corner of the bathtub with the shower running, rubbing holes in our skin with a loofah, muttering Bible verses?

But I digress.
 
What I was saying is that we are not astonished by the criminal act of this fucktarded judge. It's no secret that our culture is one that trembles with joy whenever there's a fallen woman to be publicly humiliated on accounta she has haplessly found herself pronged by the business end of red-blooded American manhood. And we are so accustomed to and exhausted by criminal acts of both public officials and the moralizing godbag teeming throng who cheers them on that when we read about this shit in blogs, it's all we can do to lift our exhausted fingers to type the exhausted comment "*sigh*."

But let us not forget that in this case the judge--corrupted, as are all white dudes in positions of authority, by the noxious, viscous emanations of Ol' Peeno*--has applied the same time-honored, patriarchy-endorsed orthodoxy deemed so peachy in those savage 3rd world outposts of barbarism where splayfooted tribal elders set rape victims on fire and give all her family's goats to the rapists. This case differs only in degree.
___________________________

*Ol' Peeno, The National Penis, throbs under glass in the Museum of American Patriarchy (located at the tip of the Washington Monument in D.C.) and erupts, to the delight of pornsick visitors from across our great land, into the stagnant national miasma its gaseous smegs of oppression every hour on the hour.

Raper's Delight

Why is acquitted rapist Jan Luedecke smiling under his fashionable hoodie?

A day without the story of another misogynist response to another sexual assault is like a day without the persistent melancholy precipitated by round-the-clock oppression by a dominant culture whose constant refrain is "none takes pity on thy pain, O thou most ingrateful, savage, and inhuman creature!" Today's tale of slime, which scrapes the lurid, clammy underside of a new low, comes to us from Canada.

That's right, I said Canada. Here in the United States we think we've cornered the market on flagrant delight in the hideous. We occasionallly forget that, even though sometimes its inhabitants speak French, well-scrubbed, sensible Canada is just as capable of accomodating gross crimes against humanity as the next nationful of honky patriarchalists.

I allude to this story from Ontario in which a drunken asshole boor was acquitted of rape using the good old "sexsomnia" defense.

What is sexsomnia, you ask? Why, it's a "sleep disorder." The symptoms include raping women while you're asleep. If you "suffer" from this disorder, as does the recently acquitted Jan Luedecke, and you live in Canada, your life's young dream of flitting from town to town sticking it wherever you please with nary a care in the world has been given the green light. Because although sexsomnia is supposedly a "disorder," it apparently does not rise to the level of a "mental disease," which designation would have had restrictive legal consequences for the somnorapist Luedecke. Although rapists already have it pretty good the world over, in Canada, the coveted sexsomnia diagnosis is a free pass to even the most reluctant pussy! It's a frat boy's dream come true!

Defendant: "Did she say 'no'? How should I know? I was sexsomniating!"
Judge: "Oh, you were sexsomniating! Well, congratulations, my boy! Here's your Get Out Of Jail Free card. And don't worry; if any of your rape victims ever gets pregnant, we'll force her to carry the fetus to term and then punish her with a lifetime of discrimination and poverty."

The fucktard judge in the case, whose name, I kid you not, is Otter, opined, "His conduct was not voluntary."

Whoa! Didn't see that one coming!

Do I even need to mention that author of the article on this asinine case, as do all authors of articles on rape, felt it necessary to remark that Luedecke's victim "had been drinking"? Because lard knows, even when the blame for a given rape is officially a medical "condition" brought on "by alcohol, sleep deprivation and genetics (!)", in a culture where responsibility for the male boner is the exclusive purview of women, it is considered unsporting not to cast at least one or two aspersions on the victim.

I leave you, my young onions, with this howler from a University of Toronto law professor: "News of the success of the sexsomnia defence may give rapists ideas."

UPDATE: I appear to have overlooked, in the comments to yesterday's post, an astute remark by reader Aymayzed, who identifies the aforementioned article as "the new clothing that porn has to wear in order that hard working men can still laugh at and generally degrade women during their working day." Noting that access to traditional internet porn is largely blocked by employers, Aymayzed says "news is the new porn shop."

Thanks to Mad Woman In The Attic and Joolya for the link to this repellent tale.

Hot Chessbots

Because if you're smart, and you're a woman, you'd better be fucking hot. And if you're really smart you should totally consider posing nude for Maxim. Or else you'll burn in the icy fires of humorless women's studies dyke purgatory, nobody will compare you to Anna Kournikova, and you'll die alone without any assholes smegging all over you on the internet.

I double-heart BitchPhD for this unbelievably asinine link.

Mexico Shouldn't Be Bumming Me Out, Goddammit

One Mexican border town's Hepatitis A export factory

My tragically unfulfilled yearning for tacos has caused my giant but somewhat chemically altered brain to fixate on the cradle of the world's finest culinary creation. By which I mean Mexico.

Most Americans have never heard of Mexico.You might recognize it as that area just to the south of the American Southwest that supplies honkys in California with commercially exploitable brown people, such maids and gardeners and people to pick fruit for cheap, and as the place where that honky chef Rick Bayless rips off all his cooking ideas.

Not surprisingly--because as paradigms go, it's one of the paradigmiest--patriarchy has made impressive strides in Mexico. The North American Free Trade Agreement, for example, has been a nice fat plum for The Man. Now rich foreign companies can set up cheap-crap factories along the Mexican border, where they profit lavishly from local desperation. The factories are called maquiladoras. The workers, the majority of whom are women, are paid a laughable driblet of what the rich companies would have to pay fully human male Americans. They work in hazardous conditions and live in cardboard shacks without plumbing or electricity.

It will not surprise you to hear that the women maquilas, because they are members of the sex class, suffer at work the usual extra humiliation and violence associated with being female on this planet. Their male bosses fuck with them. They get fired if they get pregnant. In Ciudad Juarez, for example, women are often murdered on the way to work, just for the hell of it. Their babies are born with lots of birth defects. That's because, owing to lax regulatory structures, the foreign-owned maquiladoras can dump their toxic waste right into the Mexican dirt without so much as a hey-ho-how's-your-toe.

An article in the Houston Chronicle reminds me that it's so dangerous to be a woman in Mexico that the government has set up a special commission on "femicide," which is not when a human being is killed, but when a woman is killed. In Mexico City there are supposedly 6 or 7 rapes a day, although any chump knows, based on the degree to which Mexican tradition terrorizes women and basks in misogyny, that there really are a lot more. Mexico's own National Institute of Women estimates that 85% of violent crimes against women go unreported. As usual, it's the rural, indigenous women who, furthest from any kind of support systems, are the most abused.

"Some women" quoth a sympathetic Mexican government official for "women's issues," "believe violence is their destiny."

It thoroughly chaps the Twisty hide that, although it's men who are, you know, perpetrating it, violence is still seen as a women's issue, as the responsibility of women. There's a Mexican ad campaign to raise public awareness of domestic violence where famous Mexican women are shown with fake bruises. Here's a thought. Why not show famous Mexican men with their dicks chopped off? Women's issue my ass.

The brutalization of Mexican women is such a beloved sacrament that marital rape wasn't even declared illegal until two weeks ago. Naturally such a sane and anti-patriarchal step has engendered a nasty backlash. The theory put forth by one male psychologist is that women will use the new law to "punish husbands." This psychopath envisions an epidemic of scenarios where the wife "roughs herself up to make it look as though her husband beat her and forced her to have sex. If there's no witness, how will the judge know if she is lying?"

Yup. I would certainly punch myself in the face and break a few of my own ribs the second I found out marital rape was illegal, just to get back at my slob of a husband for not taking out the trash.

                                           * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Want to set up your own maquiladora? Here's how.

A Few Foreign-Owned Mexican Maquiladoras [source: CorpWatch.org]

    •    3 Day Blinds
    •    20th Century Plastics
    •    Acer Peripherals
    •    Bali Company, Inc.
    •    Bayer Corp./Medsep
    •    BMW
    •    Canon Business Machines
    •    Casio Manufacturing
    •    Chrysler
    •    Daewoo
    •    Eastman Kodak/Verbatim
    •    Eberhard-Faber
    •    Eli Lilly Corporation
    •    Ericsson
    •    Fisher Price
    •    Ford
    •    Foster Grant Corporation
    •    General Electric Company
    •    JVC
    •    GM
    •    Hasbro
    •    Hewlett Packard
    •    Hitachi Home Electronics
    •    Honda
    •    Honeywell, Inc.
    •    Hughes Aircraft
    •    Hyundai Precision America
    •    IBM
    •    Matsushita
    •    Mattel
    •    Maxell Corporation
    •    Mercedes Benz
    •    Mitsubishi Electronics Corp.
    •    Motorola
    •    Nissan
    •    Philips
    •    Pioneer Speakers
    •    Samsonite Corporation
    •    Samsung
    •    Sanyo North America
    •    Sony Electronics
    •    Tiffany
    •    Toshiba
    •    VW
    •    Xerox
    •    Zenith

Lori Borgman: Dipshit

Science Daily reports on a treatment for heart failure called CRT, an implant that enhances "quality of life" for patients with this disease. That it is overwhelmingly offered exclusively to old men can come as no surprise, for nobody who loves patriarchy--and who loves it more than the medical establishment?-- gives a fig for a sick woman in her 60s. Yet once in a blue moon, when some visionary MD dares to see the human being behind the wrinkly old unfuckable crone, a woman gets this implant. When she does, she is likely to live twice as long as any dude who gets it.

In other words, there exists a therapy for heart disease that is of greater benefit to women than men, yet women aren't getting it. Nobody wants a bunch of useless old women hanging around. Kill'em off!

It's too bad there is no similar treatment bias against very bad writers.

I allude to dipshit columnist Lori Borgman, who has a putrid little Hummel figurine of a piece in the Indianapolis Star entitled "Yes, Maureen Dowd, men are necessary." In it she appears to mistake Dowd for a feminist, explaining how dirty women's libbers like Dowd try to turn men in to women and "use words like herstory instead of history."

Borgman, moved to the core that men have been so tragically impeded in this girlcentric world by conniving bitch-feminists, then extracts, probably from a Frank Capra movie, a series of sentimental mauve-colored slogans, suitable for framing and sure to the the centerpiece of any rec room, as proof that men are the greatest thing since the Pill. It's really icky writing, and I'm not even talking about the way she tries to smear Shakespeare all over it like artificially-flavored grape jelly.

"How do we need thee? Let me count the ways: The primary reason we need men is because they are not women. ("Hallelujah Chorus" should be sung here.)"

Also:

"Men protect."

"Men provide."

"Men take responsibility."

Borgman appears to suffer from some sort of romantic disease, or fugue state. She seems unaware, for instance, that one-third of all New Zealand women have been abused by men in their lifetime, or that men in Africa can't distinguish between women and cattle, or that men overwhelmingly control the world's uteruses.

Maybe one day Lori Borgman will find herself among those many women who are not referred for CRT treatment because men don't think she is necessary, and she will die die die of patriarchy.

Good Morning, Patriarchy!

Just some of the repellent news spilling out of my Fuck The Patriarchy inbox this morning:

Melbourne parents are fattening up their four-year-old boys in order to give them an advantage in schoolyard rumbles. 4-year-old girls, however, are still required to be miniscule, in preparation for a lifetime of shrinking invisibility.

Meanwhile, in India it's Child Brides! 15% of girls are married by the age of ten. There are programs afoot to change "the mindset" of the rural cultures who enjoy enslaving prepubescent girls. Health officials believe that the legal age ought to be 18 for girls, and 21 for boys, with no reason given for the disparity, althought we can certainly guess.

More child brides, this time in sub-Saharan Africa, where they are popularly used to repay debts. "Beatrice Kitamula, 19, was forced to marry her wealthy neighbor, now 63, five years ago because her father owed another man a cow."

Remember that "what about the men!?" dude who is all upset that more women than men are graduating from college? He can rest easy. A UNICEF report shows that, globally, girls are overwhelmingly denied access to even a primary education, thus ensuring the future of women's illiteracy, poverty, cow-equivalence, and child-briditude.

Meanwhile, if you are a vulgar, depraved swine, you can buy a human woman for £1,400 in Romania, for use as a receptacle for your incontinence.