Wednesday, August 28, 2013

How To Convince Radical Fauxminists This Is All. Their. Damn. Fault.

Originally, I set out to write a "How to never be with a guy who would try to manipulate you into having an abortion" counter-piece to this trash, but turns out typing "Don't date asshole scum" does not a full blog post make. So instead, I've decided to write yet another open letter to all the radical fauxminists of the world who have no freakin' excuse to be outraged by this douchebag's article, because it was soooooo the next logical step in this idiotic movement of theirs. Wish me luck, here goes...

Dear Gloria Steinem and Co.,

You finally did it, sisters. You're finally there. Where you ask? Well let me tell you, you're all finally equal suckasses in the town of suckassville, where there might be barf all over the floor, but at least the gumball machine's stocked full of Plan B! So, party on, right?!

See, forty years ago you "won" us the right to choose life or death for our offsprings, and now the inevitable has happened- frat boys with the emotional depth of a clogged urinal have managed to duplicate their one pathetic brain cell, and wise up just enough to demand their own dose of equality by asking for the right choose as well. And I mean, can we really blame them? They did the same deed, sowed the same seed, so why shouldn't they get a say? What, like when you kill your children it's all cute and delicate and shiz, but when they want the very same thing it suddenly becomes a mean, manly, lumberjacky abortion? Shooo gurl, that's sexist. And you know better. 

Thing is, they're asking for the exact same thing you are... freedom from responsibility, at all costs. They're not ready to shoulder the burden of parenthood. They're equally as irresponsible as you, and maybe they can't afford a kid right now either, or just want to finish school first, or have prom coming up and sitters be expensive, yo. So why are you so outraged when one of them writes something like "How to convince a girl to get an abortion?" When what you really should be upset about is the fact that he feels the need to manipulate you into doing so. He shouldn't have to stoop to that level just because he wants junior ripped limb from limb. All he should have to do is ask, which is why I am going to propose the following....

If you're really all for equality like you claim to be, than I think the baby batter donor of that little bun in your oven should get just as much say as you do in whether or not your child gets to live or die.

Granted, we must acknowledge this fetus fiesta is happening in your body, and I do think that counts for something. Because of that, I propose that you get ultimate veto power, BUT it will come at a cost. Here's what I'm spitballing... 

If he says abort and you say no, he's off the hook when it comes to all future child support payments and parenting responsibilities. That's only fair, and like equality or something, right? I mean, doesn't that just make your feminist parts tingle with liberation?! You had your shot, you chose not to abort, now he gets his chance to cut all parental ties as well.

Second scenario, if you want to abort and he does not, you must payout damages for his emotional distress. I looked it up and the internet said it's actually a pretty easy thing to prove. Here's all he needs to do to win big bucks:

  • You must have experienced severe emotional distress. (You're killin' his kid, so yeah, duh.)
  • The defendant's conduct has to be outrageous or extreme. The conduct must include more than threats, insults, indignities and annoyances. However, the actions do not have to include any physical harm. (Threatening to kill his bambino, THEN actually doing it through physical harm to said bambino. Cha-ching!)
  • You must prove the defendant's act was reckless or intentional. For example, the defendant harassed you or intentionally told you of a family member's death that wasn't true. (But in this case the family member, his son or daughter, will actually die, so they'll probably add a few extra zeros for that one too.)
  • The defendant's actions must actually be the cause of your emotional distress. (And obviously they are. He sees his future hopes and dreams in your womb fruit, and you're about to have it obliterated.)

See? Easy-peasy to prove, especially since you won't contest because, feminism. All that money you're gonna save on pampers you can just put straight towards the payout. (Wo)Man, I bet you're loving equality so hard right now. And there it is at its finest. At least as fine as anything can be in the suckass town of suckassville where rather than striving to achieve unique greatness in our own genders, everyone would rather settle for the most base level of equality.

So sayonara suckassers.


A real feminist who sees that going from an "incubator" to a "semen receptacle" is no progress at all.

And that's all we're gonna say about that...

"I kept thinking Miley reminded me of all the little girls I have come into contact with through years of social service who have been sexually molested. Little girls who made me completely horrified, saddened and creeped out in the way they constantly tried to cross inappropriate physical contact lines with everyone around them, because they have been taught that is what is expected of them- that it pleases adults. 
Miley seems to me like a child molested 
by the entire culture."

~Christina Sanantonio

Thursday, August 22, 2013

She sees you, Daddy...

She always thought Mommy was the prettiest woman in the world, as they’d lie on the bed basking in the afternoon sun pouring through the window, she fit so perfectly snug against Mommy’s curves. Mommy turned on her side one time and her baggy shirt revealed scars on her hips and stomach. She gently traced them with her fingers and quietly asked, “What are these Mommy?” After a moment Mommy replied, “Those are my warrior scars, baby… They show the world that I’ve done one of the toughest things a woman can do, and lived to tell about it. I brought forth life.” She wanted to be just like Mommy… a warrior too.

She was seven when that all changed though, as your eyes fixated on the woman who had just walked into the restaurant. Mommy was too busy wiping mashed potatoes off baby brother’s hands to notice, but she saw you. She watched as your eyes follow the woman all the way to her seat, and she noticed how this woman’s beauty had captivated you. She studied the woman carefully, noticing the sexy way she dressed even though she didn’t know the word to describe it at the time. And in that moment she wanted to be just like her. That woman may not be a warrior, but she had your full, undivided attention.

After dinner you came back home and began to shuffle through the monotony… baths, teeth, PJ’s, and bed. After you tucked her in, she laid awake in her room thinking about the beautiful woman… the way she walked, the way she dressed, the way she did her hair. She thought about the woman for quite some time when suddenly she heard you and Mommy arguing down stairs. “What do you mean it’s overdue… I thought we just paid it!” Mommy’s voice was too quiet to hear, but she could tell Mommy was crying. She heard you yell, “Well, maybe you should get a job already?” And with that she was very confused. Mommy was always telling people she had the best job in the world, taking care of her and little brother… but maybe you didn’t think so. Maybe you think there’s something better than being a warrior. She wondered if maybe being beautiful like the woman was better...

She tossed and turned until finally the scary shadows in the corner got the best of her. She slowly snuck out into the dimly lit hall and went towards the glow coming from your study. She was drawn to you like a moth to a flame. She stood in the threshold a moment, gathering the courage to let you know she was out of bed, then gently pressed the door open, making a creak and prompting you to immediately close your browser window. But it was too late. She had already seen what you were looking at… another beautiful woman with long flowing hair just like the one from the restaurant earlier, again moving sensually before your eyes. She turned her tiny face up at you and hesitantly asked, “Daddy, do you think I’m pretty?” to which immediately you replied, “Absolutely, baby… just like your mommy.”

And in that moment she knew, she didn’t want to grow up to be a warrior like Mommy, she wanted to be beautiful and sexy like the women she saw you adore.