Demi Wins the Arms Race

Body shaming is a capital crime on social media, but not to me. If the body in question has been intentionally distorted, why should we pretend we’re blind? If you’re too fragile to withstand public discussion of your body, stop flaunting it, okay? Or at least take a break.

Demi Moore showed up in Cannes with emaciated arms, which Page Six described as “toned,” setting off a storm of outraged comments, decrying the misuse of the word toned. Maybe if Page six had just said “arms,” the internet might have let the photos slide. We’re used to Demi’s shenanigans: pretending she objects to the industry’s pressure on aging women, pretending that she’s learned to accept her body, etc. etc. We’ve seen her caved-in cheeks and fucked up lips, we’ve heard her deny any plastic surgery despite her huge implants.

The photos from Cannes are truly disturbing. Demi looks like a bag of bones, smiling joyously with her huge dental veneers and tightened facial contours. She’s 63 and wants to look like an ingenue. She and Nicole Kidman need to sit down with a good psychiatrist to discuss the pathology behind their pursuit of youth. It’s not healthy for us to act like this is normal.

Me, I’m an old bag and as vain as anyone on earth, but I’m aware of my limits. Facelifts are stupid, necklifts too. They don’t last forever, and even if done well, people will think, What great work she’s had! instead of, Wow, how young she is! Everyone can start using Retin-A in their 40s to stave off wrinkles (my own beauty secret, you are most welcome!) As my wise nephew once said, It’s better to let nature fuck up your face than some doctor.

The other problem is Ozempic, even though no one admits to taking it. One of my millions of doctors told me that she sees lots of patients on Ozempic, so I asked her how many of them actually need it. Her answer: none. But celebrities going around like Auschwitz survivors expecting us to believe they’re just “eating healthier” aren’t fooling anyone.

Shut up, you scrawny celebrities! Nicole Kidman and Angelina, start eating or cover your fucking arms! Poor Ariana Grande is on the brink of starvation, but she’s fine, stop bothering her. A few months ago, I stupidly commented on a picture of Zoe Kravitz, “Eat a sandwich.” This brought on a bunch of idiots telling me I’m jealous and lecturing me about body shaming. Obviously their wokeness overrides their common sense, so good for them.

We should all start admitting that some people are too thin and others are too fat. Short people are short and tall people are tall. Big fishlips are not natural. Huge white teeth that look like a block of concrete (talking to you, Taylor Swift) are not natural either. A huge Brazilian butt or whatever they’re called is a tragic deformation. I just watched a documentary called Caterpillar about people who go to India to change their eye color, despite the serious risks involved. They all want to “start over” and be a better version of themselves.

Why anyone thinks such a superficial change would result in a new and better person is anyone’s guess. We shouldn’t encourage this shit by refusing to acknowledge it. Page Six needs to post a correction, saying they erroneously called a pair of toothpick arms “toned.”

Here’s what I wrote in 2009, to show you how long Demi has been bothering me:

Demi Moore is the Ted Bundy of surgically enhanced celebrities. She’s going to deny everything to the bitter end, even when there’s nothing left of her but a puddle of botox and a pile of hair extensions.

I’m standing by this. It’s your call now, Demi Moore.

Posted in Celebrities, Disorders, Horrible Stuff | Tagged , , | 4 Comments

No News is Good News

I’ve been stubbornly following the Nicholas Kristof controversy, even though I don’t enjoy the helpless anger it provokes. If you’ve missed this somehow, he wrote an Opinion piece in the NYT, claiming that Palestinians in Israeli prisons are being raped by dogs. Even though he admits that he has no proof, and his sources all have strong connections to Hamas.

Now I know this accusation is easy to believe, since we Jews drink the blood of Christian babies when we’re not using it to make matzoh. And we harvest the organs of Palestinians to make space lasers.  At least Kristof’s piece proves that The New York Times isn’t run by wealthy Jews. We are too busy running all the banks.

We’re always hearing about the death of reality in this age of fake news about fake news. I always thought I could trust the NYT but clearly newspapers have biases. TV news is also suspect, even though I agree with most of the positions taken by MSNBC. Sometimes I listen to Fox news in the car just for a laugh, because whatever awful crisis is afoot, it’s still Biden’s fault.

Friends send me Instagram posts by  influencers divulging conspiracies or just commenting on current events. Why do I want to listen to some random person purporting to give me the inside scoop when I know nothing about their background, agendas, or sources? I don’t even believe their pitches for hair products.

So I’m cancelling my subscription to the NYT and have no idea where to find news that isn’t slanted, written by AI, or delivered by earnest and defensive Substack journalists. Remember the conspiracies about Hilary Clinton and Huma? The best one was that they killed children and tore off their faces to use as masks. Several snuff film aficionados  posted links to it with a warning that it was disturbing. How could it not be? And how do you tear off someone’s face?

I’ve been forcing myself to avoid TV news by turning all my attention to Court TV and murder investigations. I’m aware it isn’t good for my psyche but it has given me a deeper understanding of white trash, if I may be so elitist. The stupid names they give their children, like Brantly, Ariah, Alexavier, and Major (and that’s just one family.) The drugs, the abuse, the guns, the grammar.

But sometimes you want to know what’s going on in the non-murder world. CBS is out, because Trump. BBC news seemed legit until I learned about its bias against Israel, which I had to see for myself before believing. CNN is out because I can’t stand any of the anchors. I really don’t know where to turn.

Meanwhile, I just read an essay about our predilection for believing idiotic myths like the one about gerbils and that Jamie Lee Curtis was born a man. Back in the day, these rumors were fun to believe (unless you were Richard Gere or Jamie Lee Curtis.) The fake news and blatant lies we are told today are more serious and malicious. I mean, it’s fine to believe that J.D. Vance fucks couches, but Somalians eating their pets and dog rapists are a bridge too far.

It’s bad enough that our President lies to us all day, every day. The institutions we once believed in now say “people with vaginas” instead of “women.” Jeffrey Epstein did or didn’t bury dead girls on his New Mexico compound. You get to the point where nothing matters when you’re gaslighted from all sides. One’s best option is to just believe what you want to believe but be prepared for impassioned rebuttal.

Or just turn your life over to the murder show of your understanding.

 

image (c) Daniel Martin Diaz

Posted in News, Rants, Words | Tagged , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Just Kill Him

I’m following the sentencing phase for a murder that comes down to either a life sentence or the death penalty. Tanner Horner, a Fed Ex truck driver, has already confessed to killing Athena Strand, a seven year child he snatched from her front yard after delivering a package.

Horner didn’t just kidnap this child; he tortured her for an hour before killing her and throwing her naked body into a creek. For a while, he didn’t realize there is a surveillance device in his truck. Then he covers the camera, unaware that it will still record sound. A jury had to listen to this for an hour. I can guarantee they will never be the same.

With the confession established, his defense can only try to mitigate his crime by focusing on his miserable childhood and alleged brain defects. Their witnesses so far have been his school teachers, a psychologist, and a neuroscience expert. We have seen what a brain looks like and how it functions. Horner’s brain apparently displays some abnormalities that would effect how he perceives the world. He was diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome at nine years old. He has an unusually high lead content in his bones. He had a terrible home environment. His mom was a drug addicted prostitute. His absent father is in jail, where his own sister says he belongs.

Does anyone feel sorry for him yet? I certainly would if he hadn’t tortured and killed a child before calmly folding up her little clothes and tucking them into his backpack.

My very strong feeling is, just kill him. Please. It’s not that I’m a fan of the death penalty. It’s sickening, barbaric, and unfairly handed out to people of color.

But come on! If ever a crime deserved a death sentence, this is it. As one Court TV lawyer asked, Does it have to be Satan himself  carrying a pitchfork before the death penalty is justified? Horner was 31 at the time of the murder, competent enough to drive a truck and read maps. He’s also good at folding clothes. He was competent enough to make a phone-call while driving home, assuring someone, “Love you.”

Horner is competent enough to have a fiance and a young son. But who knows how they would have ended up. And yet his social deficiencies due to his autism diagnosis have been mentioned over and over. If you have friends or family members with autism, or if you are on the spectrum yourself, you know how irrelevant this is to the crime at hand. People on the spectrum may think differently and react to stimulus differently, but they aren’t insane and they don’t go around kidnapping little kids.

Some of of us wear glasses, or are uncoordinated, or can’t make friends. Some of us are dumb as rocks. We don’t get to go around torturing and murdering children because our mommies were drug addicts who neglected us. I don’t think any factors under discussion in court are mitigating circumstances. If someone had been holding a gun to his head, that would be mitigating. If he were a drooling idiot in a room talking to himself, that might be mitigating too.

Horner is a 250 lb man who has a SoundCloud account and knows right from wrong, as evidenced by his feigned surprise when told of the crime by Texas rangers the next day. His semen was found on Athena’s clothes and his DNA under her fingernails.

Just kill him! What don’t you get, if you’re arguing for lenience? I’d kill him myself, if asked. I’d like to kill him. If you wouldn’t, then awww, what a good little social justice warrior you are! Just don’t ever let your kids outside and don’t get your packages delivered by Fed Ex.

Posted in Disorders, Horrible Stuff, News | Tagged , , , | 8 Comments

To Write or Not to Write

Friends have asked why I don’t write any more, and I always explain that my brain is mush. I attributed this to my internet addiction; hours and hours of scrolling through the day’s hot and cold takes on pop culture and politics have anesthetized my cognitive processing and continually evoke my cri de coeur, “Jesus Fucking Christ, who cares what anyone thinks about anything?” I have now read a million thought-pieces about a fat body-positivity influencer who now insists she is happy with her husband’s aversion to monogamy. Do you know this one? People are torn between rage and pity. Me, I never heard of her but still put in my time reading about the controversy.

Added to my internet addiction, I now have a diagnosis of sleep apnea, which explains why I wake up exhausted. It’s bad for your heart, blood pressure, and of course, deprives your brain of oxygen! If I believed in god, I would think he has it in for me. I’ve tried the mask thing and also a huge U-shaped pillow called a MomCozy but so far it only functions as a challenge if I want to get up to pee. I’ll probably die from lack of oxygen or breaking my neck disengaging from the MomCozy but I’m trying to hang on until I make a will.

How can I write if I can’t remember the words austere, biopsy, and another one I can’t remember, in the space of two days? Maybe the more words you know, the more horrifying it is to forget them. The more words you know, the more cogent your thinking. So the opposite must apply as well. Struggling to nail a word is like a teeny thwarted orgasm…or maybe not but I can’t retrieve a better comparison. Still, I thought it would be fun to make a list of words I like, after I read instructions to emulsify shampoo. Who doesn’t love emulsify?

I stopped after emulsify. I can only dredge up words I hate. Maybe on my deathbed, I’ll whisper, “panties, sputum, GOAT, girl dad, journey, you got this!” Hate is more abundant because there’s more to hate than to celebrate. Don’t blame me, blame existence. I just read that mutual dislikes are more bonding than mutual enthusiasms. We knew this intuitively, didn’t we? I have a new friend who is so curmudgeonly that his answer to my standard question, “What would you choose for your death-row last meal?” was “Nothing.” Obviously, I was filled with admiration.

I would like to write about Lena Dunham’s memoir, woman taking testosterone, the “maxxing” scourge, Eric Swalwell’s dick pics, my new theory about religious faith, the problem with jeans, Ozempic liars, AuDHD, and progressive hegemony, but only after a good night’s sleep and an uptick in my word retrieval fluency.

Thoughts, suggestions, schadenfreude?

 

 

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Academy Awards 2026 Exegesis

I’m going to do my best here, but my sleep apnea has destroyed most of my brain, so please lower your expectations.

Before I go on, does anyone believe these two are a real couple? Show your work.

The Oscars this year went smoothly for all 150 hours with no surprises or mishaps to liven things up. So really, it was just about the clothes, and what clothes they were! (Mostly boring or awful.) The men did better than the women, in terms of not embarrassing themselves or fucking up their faces.

I will gladly have sex with several of the men, starting with Jacob Elordi, a tall drink of water, ahem, if ever there was one. Also this blonde guy, Gabriel Leone, for obvious reasons.

And why not this guy, whoever he is?

Sticking with men, Best dressed by far was Shaboozey. His style is way ahead of the pack; like Bad Bunny and ASAP Rocky, he likes to make a Statement. He’s wearing Campillo, a brand I love based in Mexico City. I am all in.

The best dressed woman, no contest, was Autumn Durald Arkapaw, who won best cinematographer. I prayed I could find out who designed her outfit, only to be heartbroken. Thom Browne, why are you so fucking expensive?? Can someone who isn’t Shein please copy this?! What a wonderful woman and wonderful look.

I also loved Mikey Madison, whose dress was simple and perfect. A goddess.

Let’s talk about the eyesores, okay? Some of these looks were worn at the after-parties but still count as Oscar outfits, right?

Gwyneth “Please hate me” Paltrow understood the assignment, if the assignment was to shock us with her bad taste. Ew, Gwyneth, just stop.

How about Jeff Goldblum and his partner? Why look so grotesque? We get it, you like quirky fashion but this is a No. They should have been sent home to change.

Vera Wang chose once again to go as a skeleton, even though people will gush about how fantastic she looks at 70-something. She’s giving Auschwitz.

Finally, still thinking about Vera, I’d like to address the Demi Moore and Nicole Kidman problem. If you don’t think they’re a problem, I don’t know how to help you. These two need to accept being old, and find a way to cope without turning their faces into wax puppets and refusing to eat. Eat, you two! Your arms are like toothpicks and don’t match your implants! It’s upsetting to watch you try to smile. Here’s Demi, dressed like a cross between a  dead pigeon and a pineapple.

That’s it, I think. Except for Sinners being treated like Citizen Kane, and Rose Byrne not winning for best actress in If I Had Legs I’d Kick You, a journey into the dark heart of motherhood that almost captures its all-consuming responsibility, dread, and guilt. Rose, you were robbed. That said, don’t see this if you’re still deciding whether or not to have kids; it leaves out the good parts.

 

*Bonus points if you know who this is and why.

Posted in Celebrities, Fashion, News | Tagged , , , , | 12 Comments

The Lesbian Stick: A Special Christmas Story

~this is a reprint from 2006, and a true story.~

Tonight, when I told my older son that I’d found a good Baby Jesus to steal, he reminded me of the Lesbian Stick.

A long time ago, in a galaxy right next door, my neighbors moved away to live near their grandchildren, and sold their house to a Lesbian Couple. The husband Lesbian was Nancy Something, a gray-haired hatchet-faced woman who wore severe eyeglasses and identified herself as a “Pain Therapist”. Her wife was a younger, softer Latina named Concha. Nancy’s opening gambit as a new neighbor was to announce her plan to build an 8 foot wooden fence between our houses, for “privacy.”

We objected to the fence project, and asked the Lesbians to reconsider. Phonecalls were exchanged. Tempers were riled, and property lines were debated. Concha called and told us that her husband would no longer speak to us: she needed time to Heal. We named her Doctor Pain

Doctor Pain hired a pair of weathered Lesbian Workmen to erect the fence. One had a crewcut and the other spoke in an awful Scandinavian accent. I befriended the Workmen, since they liked Laurie Anderson, but engaged in bitter combat with Dr. Pain. The fence went up, blocking the light and lending the effect of a prison compound.

Time passed and I tried not to look at Dr. Pain when I saw her outside. Her voice was piercing and nasal, her teeth looked like they wanted to bite you. We smelled incense coming from her backyard, and wondered if she was burning human sacrifices. I turned my anger toward the big gnarled stick on her front porch…..a “staff” of some kind, around seven feet long, perhaps a trophy from a hike somewhere.

I ranted about the stick to everyone. I hatched bizarre plots involving the stick, and asked friends for advice. Someone suggested that I burn the stick, and send little charred pieces of it to Dr. Pain. Someone else told me to kidnap it, and demand a ransom if they ever wanted to see it alive again. Finally, I ran next door and moved the stick from the left side of the porch to the right side. I was dizzy with adrenaline. In the morning, the stick was back on the left.

At Christmas, my son wondered what to get for me. I asked  him to get me the stick. When he brought it up to our door, he held it aloft, and I tried to sing the theme from “Rocky.” It was a joyous, shining moment; he is the best son a mother could ask for!

More time passed and it was Christmas again. I was desperate for a piece of typing paper and since Dr. Pain’s car was gone, I went next door to ask Concha for a piece of paper. She led me into the house, which was filled with vintage images of saints. Shit!!!!! I told her that I also collect old Catholic Icons, and we bonded under the gaze of St. Theresa. “Come over to my house some time, and see my stuff,” I gushed. On Christmas Eve, Concha appeared at my door with her parents, who were visiting for the holiday. I invited her in warmly, forgetting until that instant that her stick was on display in my bedroom. My life flashed before my eyes. Somehow, I mumbled that the bedroom was messy, and managed to hide the Lesbian Stick under my bed just before she walked in to see my Saints.

Dr. Pain split up with Concha, who stayed on alone for a while before they sold the house. Before she left, Concha and I hugged. I’m sure she found a better looking Lesbian to share her life with. And the stick is leaning in a corner of my bedroom, along with the smaller sticks that Dr. Pain put out on her porch, in a futile effort to replace the original one.

Merry Christmas!

Posted in Disorders, love, Religion | Tagged , , | 6 Comments

A Bed of Brainworms

If you’re not following the Olivia Nuzzi / RFK Jr. fiasco, you are missing out on a mother-lode of sleazy shenanigans that are more delightful by the hour. A festival of icky hook-ups and betrayals, it deserves its own chart to follow, but here’s where it stands so far.

Olivia Nuzzi is (was) a political reporter at New York magazine. Her columns were low-grade snarky, and always seemed to me like something anyone could make up on the fly. Like, “Ivanka resents Melania but tries to get along with her.” Really??  She has long windswept blonde hair and is described as a film- staresque beauty, but has an enormous chin.

The chin has been overlooked by various older, important men, including her former fiance, journalist Ryan Lizza. How can a couple have so many Z’s in their names? I can’t get over it.

Lizza discovered that Olivia had engaged in a steamy “digital” (ahem) affair with RFK Jr while “covering” his run for president in 2024, thanks to a leak by another reporter. New York magazine put her on leave while they investigated the story. Lizza broke up with Olivia, who then filed a restraining order against him, dropping it a month later. Olivia was fired, and Lizza was also fired from his job at Politico.

Now! Here’s where the real fun begins. Olivia’s memoir comes out in December, but an excerpt was published in Vanity Fair, who has inexplicably hired her as its West Coast editor. The NYT did a fawning profile on her. And Lizza got mad. He has just published his own side of the story, including a poem from RFK Jr  that he found in Olivia’s text messages. Ready? You’re actually not, so brace yourself:

Yr open mouth awaiting my harvest. Drink from me Love. I mean to squeeze your cheeks to force open your mouth. I’ll hold your nose as you look up at me to encourage you to swallow. Dont spill a drop. I am a river You are my canyon. I mean to flow through you. I mean to subdue and tame you. My Love.

Ew doesn’t suffice, does it?  Lizza notes with resentment that he learned about felching from another text. Felching poetry from our Secretary of Health should be the last straw but no, he’s still busy trying to kill schoolchildren who need vaccines.

And if you can somehow find it in your heart to forgive him, remember that he had 37 affairs while married to his previous wife, who killed herself, leaving him her considerable estate. But his brainworm? No problem. Olivia loves it:

I loved his brain. I hated the idea of an intruder therein. Others thought he was a madman; he was not quite mad the way they thought, but I loved the private ways that he was mad. I loved that he was insatiable in all ways, as if he would swallow up the whole world just to know it better if he could. He made me laugh, but I winced when he joked about the worm. “Baby, don’t worry,” he said. “It’s not a worm.”

But Bobby, you said it was! Which is it, motherfucker?

Does it matter that Olivia once lived with reporter Keith Olbermann, who was her sugar daddy when she was 18?  Or that she slept with horndog Mark Sanford while reporting on him? Or that she broke into Trump henchman Corey Lewandowski’s office? Not really. She’s a bonifide piece of work. Let’s give her credit for that. I only hope she’ll continue to amuse us for years to come with her purple prose and enormous chin.

Posted in Celebrities, Horrible Stuff, revenge, Words | Tagged , , | 2 Comments

All Apologies

I was taken aback recently by an email announcing a new brand of “unapologetic knitwear.” It was not only unapologetic but also ridiculously expensive. Maybe it could at least apologize for the price. A few days later, I encountered more offers of unapologetic clothing.

I started feeling annoyed. I don’t want any attitude from my clothes, least of all anything so confrontational. If I haven’t asked for an apology, it seems kind of hostile to announce that I can’t have one.

I also got a heads up about a new perfume called Forgive me, which was described as unapologetic. Well, which is it?

It seems like given our current cultural climate, it would be smarter to sell us stuff that was contrite if not downright penitent. I’d like some knitwear that was remorseful about everything…it’s material, fit, color and price. Everything we buy owes us an apology for making us poorer and more unsatisfied. If I want to be provoked, I don’t need knitwear to do it.

In general, why are apologies so hard for some people? Personally, I’m happy to apologize all day long, and I do. The other day, I apologized to the doorknob that jabbed me in the hip. It costs me nothing to apologize, yet for others, it’s like a superhuman effort to say something like,”I’m sorry if you feel that way.” Or, “I’m sorry you took it that way.” Both of these obviously mean, “I’m not sorry and too bad for you.” Maybe for some, apologizing feels like a capitulation – some kind of zero sum mindset that feels like you win if they apologize.

I used to think this inhibition was a man thing, but I recently spent time with a guy who apologized around fifty times, so I guess it’s just low self-esteem that equates apologizing with a loss of face (or dick, as the case may be.)

I’ve learned to say, “I’m sorry I was such a jerk” and really mean it. It’s kind of  exhilarating to absolve yourself in this way. You’re good until the next time you’re a jerk. It’s also useful to say, “I don’t want to be an asshole, but…” and then you can proceed to be an asshole. I’ve done this a few times in my gym, when I report kids using the weight machines. It’s none of my business but I do it anyway. I pretend that I’m worried about them getting hurt but I’m just being an asshole.

I’ve learned there’s a type of person who owes you an apology but will turn things around so you end up having to apologize to them for wanting an apology. This technique is known as DARVO. Try to stay away from this type. If you find yourself engaging with one, just scream “DARVO!” and run away.

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It’s My Party and I’ll Say What I Want to

Except I won’t, because I don’t want to get swatted or killed. Of all the cunts in the world,  I can’t call Charlie Kirk one!  I can’t title a post Charlie Kirk: What a Fucking Cunt™! even though my What a Fucking Cunt™! series includes –

Kellyanne Conway
Lou Dobbs
Damien Hirst
Sting
Jennifer Lopez
Dana Loesch
RFK Jr
Paul Ryan
Elon Musk
Jared Kushner

and lots of people you probably haven’t heard of, who happen to be cunts. What a crazy, fucked up inverted situation when you can’t vilify a free speech warrior who openly vilified blacks, women, and even empathy itself. I never paid attention to this cunt, I mean saint, until he got shot, I mean assassinated. I have no curiosity about him, although his wife is another story. Did you know she is a former Donald Trump Miss USA pageant contestant?

I’m also afraid to sign petitions now. When all the Trump Haters are rounded up and put into Alligator Camps,  I don’t know who’ll hide me in their attic. I’m afraid to go out and protest because I don’t want to be pepper sprayed or hit in the face with a rubber bullet. I hate being afraid but this is where we are. Or maybe it’s just me?

Anyone who thinks we haven’t already replaced democracy with authoritarianism is just stupid. Grow up! We are fucked. I thought England would be the place to escape to, but not after those anti-immigrant marches. When I lived there, my neighbors were Sudanese and Jamaican, I worked in a Greek cafe, and the little corner store was owned by Cypriots. No one thought this was bad or abnormal.

I hate writing these platitudes! I just want to call people cunts in peace! That’s all I ever wanted (besides not having to do anything or be bossed around by anyone.) I guess I can openly call those moronic cabinet members cunts; just don’t make me name them. I have trouble even pronouncing Hegseth. But that won’t be satisfying now. Besides, everyone is already in agreement that they’re cunts.

I can live without late-night talk-shows, and have proudly done so for years. But what if Herr Trump takes away all our TV?? Even Netflix?? Personally, I would go insane. TV is my whole life, after my hair, that is. We recently got Britbox, and we now know every British character actor, all of whom we refer to as “that guy.” I have seen every real and fake murder murder show twice over. As long as it doesn’t star Nicole Kidman, I’m in. Taking away our TV would be worse than taking away our meds.

I guess it’s come to this: Be grateful for the things we’re still allowed to say and do. Isn’t that pathetic? Maybe I’ll start posting again, just because I’m still allowed to. With that, I pledge to not write about –

The problem with Men and Boys
The problem with kids on the internet
The problem with your gut health
The problem with AI
The problem with Loneliness
The problem with the Patriarchy
The problem with Tiktok
Genocide! Genocide!

If there’s anything else you don’t want me to write about, too bad. You’re not the boss of me. If there’s anything you do want me to write about, let me know!

 

Posted in irritants, News, revenge | Tagged , , , | 9 Comments

Am I an Elephant?

The other day, I asked a male loved-one this question: Let’s say you believe you’re a woman. Now, let’s say you believe you’re an elephant.

Is there a difference between these two beliefs? If  so, is one more legitimate than the other?

He was nice enough to consider this question. He said that because the former is way more prevalent than the latter, it’s more legitimate.

Really? 70% of Americans believe in the devil. Does that make the belief legitimate? Or just popular? Does popularity confer legitimacy? Not to me. Look how many people believe Trump will make America great again!

So my elephant question wasn’t meant to be a trap; it’s just something I think about when people insist that there are more than two sexes. Sexes in the scientific biological sense. Males have small gametes (sperm) and females have large ones (eggs.) A college professor somewhere got in trouble for saying in class that there are two  sexes. The admin made her apologize to the class. I mean, how dare she??

I don’t care what people want to call themselves! I’m not a fascist or transphobe. But I got a thing from UCLA hospital with news about a new prostate procedure, and it included the line, “people who have prostates.”  JUST SAY MEN, FFS! What’s so hard about that? I don’t want institutions that I trust to adopt an ideology. I want them to be scientific and ideologically neutral.

Prostate Cancer Prevalence

In the U.S., prostate cancer is the second-most common cancer in people with prostates (following skin cancer) and the second leading cause of cancer death (following lung cancer).2

I also want to know why I can’t consider myself Black if I feel  like a Black person. Why is skin color more immutable than sex?  If I announced that I’m now a man named Bob, people would praise me for my courage. But if I announced that I’m a Black woman, I would get fired and become a pariah. (I also addressed this here.)

I’m not trying to be an asshole! This is actually the kind of thing I ponder. I have so many questions; philosophical and prosaic and often of no interest to anyone.

Does anyone want to weigh in on this? I would love to hear your thoughts, from both females and people with prostates.

Posted in irritants, News, Words | Tagged , , , | 14 Comments