Bitch: The Code Word for Cool

If a man dominates the business meeting, he’s confident; but if a woman takes command, she’s a bitch. When a man drives a Ferrari, he’s successful; but when a woman drives a Ferrari, she’s a golddigger. If a man pees in a urinal, he’s normal; but if a woman pees in a urinal, she’s weird. These double standards retard social progress and sodomize civilization with a strap-on of unlubricated prejudice. That's why when I saw the matter so eloquently addressed on this Youtube ad, my balls spontaneously voided into my colon.

Man, does that soundtrack drive the emotional nail or what? You could film Elton John taking a dump to it and generate more tears than Schindler’s List. Brilliant! But alas, there appears to be some copycats sneaking onto the poignancy gravy train. Just watch as these sleazy bastards xerox the creative endeavors of feminism. (You don’t have to sit through all of them; just note the plagiarism in the background.)

One band was so inspired by the seamless combination of meaning and music, they did a cover. Not as good as the original, but admirable nonetheless.

Anyway, you get the message: Confidence in men -- under the lens of sexism -- is seen as bitchiness in women. In reality a confident man and a bitchy woman are the same thing, but we've been blinded to truth. Allow me to illustrate the stigma:

Woman: Honey, if I masturbate you with my feet, would you drive Conner to his transgender pottery class?

“Bitchy” Woman: YOU GET YOUR LARD-SHEATHED COCK IN THAT SEDAN OR YOU DIE!

And now, the privilege:

Man: Babe, if I rub your back, could you go down on me during the electrocution scene in The Green Mile? It's always been a fantasy of mine.

"Confident" Man: IF MY DICK ISN’T BASTED WITH SPIT WHEN THEY THROW THAT SWITCH, I'LL WITNESS TWO EXECUTIONS TONIGHT!

As you've noticed, a man (especially a white man) can bayonet a black infant without a zygote of condemnation. Indeed, if Hitler and Mussolini weren't men, textbooks might have labeled them tyrants instead of visionaries. For a female, however, this is inverted: A lash for each IQ point over 90, and all her virtues are vilified. If only God hung some lunch meat between Rosa Park’s thighs, she’d be hailed as a hero! When will we understand that the difference between confidence and assholery is a matter of gender and not interpersonal respect?

Any honest person will tell you: The more a woman is called an asshole, the more awesome she really is. This principle is explained in a chart I made all by myself.

Media must continue to equip women with anger and fear. It must stress the maliciousness of men; that blame is an ally and personal accountability a foe. That life is an endless competition between genders reconciled only by casual sex. That what we need isn't love or cohesion, but things. Lots of things. Expensive things. Shiny things with cameras and wifi so we can tweet pictures of our things to create envy. Die with the most followers and you win.

Women, don’t let sexism stop you from being as ruthless and wasteful as men have been; you're every bit as able to become as unhappy as they are. Remember: Your level of worth is determined by what you own, and how well you display it.

Intelligence is Stupid

It’s unnecessary to say that we men find knowledge repulsive. Subjects like literature, art (the un-naked kind) and quantum mechanics consume time that should be spent on gangbang marathons or methane appreciation. Still, every so often a black sheep infiltrates our herd to sabotage the beer fueled football chants. Maybe he’ll use words not found in TV Guide, or be carrying a book without pictures. He -- if you can call him a man -- comes in many guises; and it’s imperative to ostracize him for the sake of your masculine integrity. Observe:

Bitchface: “Do you attribute Ashkenazi g to favorable genetics or economic circumstances?

Steelpubes: “Go jizz in a Bunsen burner, Tesla. Hey Barkeep, get this clit zit a Cosmopolitan!”

-- Fuck Yeah

THAT’S how you deal with these dickless dissidents, my comrades. But beware: Matters aren't always so straightforward. What if, by some twist of fate, he’s your friend? And you, being a man, were too busy pondering anal in a bouncy tent to notice his prior faggotry. “Impossible,” you say. “I’d never barhop with such human garbage!” Ah, my dear reader; this situation is more typical than you think. I’ve even provided video proof. Here’s the scene: It’s Tuesday night, the gang is slap-happy on Sam Adams, and this walrus diaphragm starts espousing the sexiness of education! Chaos ensues.

WARNING: The following video is intensely disturbing. It’s advisable to wear sunglasses over your oxygen mask

Unfortunately they cut out the last part, where Porky’s ex-cronies pour lighter fluid down his dick and force him to eat a hooker’s ass. Isn’t it maddening? The matter of feminine appeal is raised and correctly answered (tits and ass) within stanza one, but Lambchops can’t cage the yen to broadcast a comedy of errors from his flapping gravy chute. Instead of answering as a man would, he begins a tirade that’s not only unethical and insulting, but boring as fuck. The soliloquy introduces itself with a fatal dose of alliteration, followed by slews of insults and declarations of self-superiority. I didn’t notice ONE stripper.  To top it off, when he discovers the assmeat he’s been appraising isn’t single, he doesn’t even try to fuck her in front of her boyfriend. What a waste.

I’m surprised his speech wasn’t curtailed by a barstool to the teeth. With lines like “I’m not trying to call you a chauvinist”  (I bet you didn’t try to start going bald, but you did anyway) I don’t know how those innocent bystanders endured. Intelligent women? Who wants to date those? When was the last time you screwed a cerebral cortex, or ate out an amygdala?

Man, this was so putrid I had to play Mortal Kombat for six hours just to get  my boner back. Hopefully, some day, this lard lizard will realize that poetry sucks and tits rule. Until then…

Whoops, You're a Sexist!

Just when I thought I had scraped all the cheese from my chauvinistic foreskin of ignorance, a wise academic tapped me on the shoulder to remind me I'd missed a spot. This remarkable story poignantly illustrates that you can never be too careful when it comes to your sexism. If you’re an American man, prejudice lurks in everything you do; but especially in everything you say.

Last week, upon receiving my essay from my professor (who resembles a slightly deflated beach ball),  I noticed she had indicated a ‘sexist word’ with a red marker, and circled it. My jaw dropped, awestruck by her thorough administration of justice. This generous educator, in the name of female empowerment, karate-chopped her “break in case of sexism” kit, ripped off the marker cap, highlighted my heresy, and CIRCLED it with a pen (also red). It was one of those fucked up wavy circles, too. Like Michael J Fox drew it during the Parkinson’s Christmas party. I had to fight the urge to make out with her loafers.

It's a good thing she circled AND highlighted it; I might have overlooked the bar of toxic ink that had bled through my entire essay. I almost asked why she didn't accentuate my error with an neon arrow; alas, I was paralyzed with regret. And what, you ask, was this leprous string of letters? What plague-carrying lexical ghoul did I summon from the ninth circle of Webster’s Dictionary of Perdition? Gosh, I’m a little embarrassed to say. Well…okay. Here it goes

I used the word  “authoress”

“There’s no difference between what a man writes and what a woman writes.  Both of them are equal and implying otherwise is considered sexist language.” -- My English Professor

My God, I feel dirty just typing that word. Somebody dip my head in the Ganges and baptize my nuts with delousing powder! O how the aforementioned noun is a source of endless shame and self-loathing for me. To think I had no concept of the genocide I was implying! Indeed, I should have reminded myself that how someone writes reflects their sexual discrimination; that this putrid tongue of patriarchal English, unfit to lick an alleycat’s asshole, slings more slurs than a Texan grandmother. Slurs like “Men at work” and “Man on the moon” and “For he’s a jolly good fellow.” Why can’t she be a jolly good fellow? And does having tits disqualify you from walking on the moon? Of course not! They’d bounce around like crazy and it would be cool as shit!

By the way, if anyone is looking for a nation devoid of sexism, consider purchasing desert property in Iran. The Persian language is genderless, which means there’s no sexism whatsoever. You’ll never have to worry about unequal pay or getting gang raped for not concealing your eyelashes. I hear the minefields are pretty scarce this time of year! Do I smell a Noble Peace Prize for Ahmadinejad?

The Face of Sexual Liberation

When a group of college freshman shake their thonged pussies into a basement camera, my eyes projectile vomit geysers of admiration. O country and kin, witness these crusaders twerk free the chains of patriarchy and breathe fire into the face of oppression! (With their vaginas.) Be warned: This display of sexual liberation is so profound, your sperm will prostrate inside of your balls. Can you feel America’s misogyny diminish with each choreographed buttclap?

These femme fatales are so effective because they understand the function of their junk: Self-lubricating social justice. Is it coincidence that Virginia Woolf, the 20th century’s most eminent feminist, had a first name suspiciously similar to Vagina? No wonder she was a keynote in the history of women's rights. “It’s because of her brain,” you say? Nonsense! You can’t gyrate that to rap music. It don't have a clit, so it ain't worth shit.

One of the studio dancers, agitated by the ambivalence with which her performance was received, posted the following:

“I just don’t understand why people are so threatened by feminine sexuality these days! Can’t they comprehend that you can love your family, read classic literature, be successful AND express sexual liberation at the same time? We need to grow up!”  -- Some Bitch

Time to pass the tampax torch: Feminism’s next messiah has descended from the heavens! Well, at least her ass has descended; and then reascended, and then descended again at a quickened pace, etc. Just read her luminary line on the congruity of twerking and classical literature. Absolutely sublime! In fact, noticing the way she spreads her labia at 0:32, I’d wager she’s a voracious reader of Faulkner’s post WWII works. It’s surprising she doesn't mention Jane Austen’s twerk fiction, or the role of booty shaking in bringing women the right to vote.  Still, her reply left my prejudices decimated. After the boner receded into my Tang-stained boxers, I wept for all the times I had ever objectified a woman. (Yes, you can still buy Tang)

“But Lawrence, don’t feminists protest when these “twerks” are used in rap videos?”

Yes, astute reader -- and rightfully so! Allow me to illustrate the matter:

The first photo depicts a group of sexually liberated young women. The second tells a sad tale of sexist exploitation deserving universal censure from all social/political institutions. Observe this smug patriarch sipping his crunk juice as young women are mercilessly objectified. Contrary to what Lil Jon may say, this is not at all ‘OH-KAY!’

Finally, we must ignore the notion that your mind is the ultimate weapon of liberation. This erroneous philosophy has absolutely no place in modern feminism. Who’d be able to make money off of that shit anyway? The essence of feminism is between the legs, not the eyes.