Women and their periods, AMIRITE? It’s like lycanthropy without the excess hair growth and need to eat bunny rabbits. That’s why I’m so glad that this new Got Milk campaign has brought male suffrage to light and started to show women what total vagina dentatas they are when Aunt Flo comes to town! Drink a glass of milk and calm down, bitch! Sheesh- you are all kinds of carazy today!
The ads feature some real pearlers like, “I’m sorry I listened to what you said and not what you meant” and “We can both blame myself.” – brilliant! Oh man, that is comedy genius right there! If there is something the world needs more of, it is gender based comedy. I can’t get through the week without a good dose of ‘lustful male being denied sex by his bitter wench of a long-suffering wife who has to put up with how stupid he is cause god men are so dumb and they suck and women are so bitchy and they suck!’ Hahahahahahahaha. OH GOD, DON’T MAKE IT STOP.
I’m also really glad that this is going to be around because I really hate how ‘political correctness’ has stopped men from calling me little lady, patting me on the head (or better yet, on the arse) and not taking anything I say seriously. The other day I was telling this guy about my opinion on the refugee crisis and he stood there, and he listened! Ugh! And he made a cogent argument back! And then so did I! And it just went on like that! And the whole time I was like, um, helloooo? I have my period??? Shouldn’t you be undermining me right now???
I mean, I am just psycho when it’s P-time in the V-town, that’s why, every month, I just stop writing my PhD for about a week. Or if I do write, I make sure to highlight the text in red when I send it to my supervisor so she knows, that’s my period talking! LOL! I don’t actually think that the Australian outback has symbolic significance in the Australian imaginary!…or do I? I’m not sure. I’d better ask my Dad.
I have decided it is finally time, after months and months of avoiding it, to fully watch the video for the song ‘Freaxx’ by Brokencyde. Despite my initial misgivings I am going into this convinced that I have merely misunderstood Brokencyde’s artistry, and that it may be one of the greatest musical, lyrical and visual achievements of our time. Sure, from what I’ve seen it’s a cacophony of neon colours and screams interspersed with Mariah Carey-esque high notes that give the impression that the video was inspired by the director’s repressed memories of when he witnessed a clown being tortured by a group of angry, effeminate mental asylum escapees, but I don’t want to prematurely judge. Haha. Ohhh, that’s a lie. Critically judging other people without all the facts is one of my favourite pastimes.
At the beginning we are tantalised with the uncoordinated door openings of what appear to be several severely drugged, androgynous youths exiting range rovers. The first appears to have suffered some kind of massive head wound immediately evoking sympathy and concern from the audience, whilst the second also seems to have undergone some major trauma judging by the stripe of white running violently through his otherwise jet black hair that juts out at odd angles. A freak lightening strike appears to be the only explanation. He looks as if he’s been crying.
The third member, whilst seemingly physically unharmed, shows the marks of some terrible mental trauma ensuing from his/her escape from a life as a geisha. A noise incessantly grows in the background, akin to that of a freakish hybrid between a kazoo and a cicada, to the rhythm of what I can only assume to be a death drum.
Then the trunk of their range rover opens to reveal at least three girls presumably trying to escape their attempted kidnapping into sex slavery.
At last the narrative appears to unfold. These three brave girl…boy…ok I still can’t decide, let’s call them birls. These three brave birls, in an attempt to save three utter strangers from a life of degradation, underwent a myriad of terrifying and death-defying exploits and are now bravely telling their story to the world. Geisha was the birl on the inside, not wanting these young women to undergo the trauma be had, be had to help them. Luckily Bandage birl and Stripey joined forces with Geisha to enable the escape. Bandage birl was unfortunate enough to engage in hand to hand combat with the enemy, but due to ber birlishness was unable to defend berself and copped a severe knock on the noggin before ber escape. Stripey, whilst guiding the ladies to the safety of the TRUNK OF THE CAR was struck down by lightening as a freak storm raged around them. No wonder they all look so weak and detached. Like they have seen the dark side of humanity, a darkness that now resides in their hearts, FOREVER.
After this disturbing introduction we are met with a horrifying scream from Stripey, surely re-enacting his painful lightening strike. Geisha starts to sing of the melancholy of the world of sex slavery,
“I walked into the club looking kinda sexy now.
I see these shorties in the corner, they started making out.
They pull their panties down,
and take their pants off.
And then they started getting freaky on the dance floor.”
Oh wait, is that…ok not what I was expecting, but that’s ok. You’ve been traumatised. Was this maybe how you were abducted? Watching women getting naked in a club and sexing it up on the dance floor? The inexplicable lack of intervention by security maybe should have tipped you off there, but hey, no judgement.
I’m amazed that said ‘shorties’ are able to take off their underpants before their actual pants, surely that would have been less sexy and more awkward. Unless of course you just sang that in the wrong order. But hey I know you’ve undergone a trauma, it’s not like this is a song you’ve put together to try and make money from- because then the lack of effort would really be ridiculous.
Recently, Liberal MP Cory Bernardi has become rather outspoken about his desire to ban the burqa in Australia. Bernardi claims that the burqa should be banned for several reasons:
1. It is a security hazard as it gets in the way of identification purposes and can enable people to commit robberies whilst disguised.
2. The permissibility of burqa wearing in airports and banks reveals a double standard endemic to Australian society as other face coverings such as motor cycle helmets and balaclavas are not allowed.
3. It is incompatible with ‘Australian culture’ because it represents a culture that represses women.
4. It is incompatible with ‘Australian culture’ because it creates distance between individuals.
5. It is a sign of people recreating foreign cultures on Australian soil which should be abandoned for the ‘better’ Australian way of life.
6. “There is only one culture in Australia, Australian culture.” – this is a direct quote
7. The burqa is not a religious requirement, it is a cultural way of life that is forced upon women.
8. Women should not be coerced into wearing a particular type of clothing.
9. The burqa should be banned.
Ignoring the already very obvious logical fallacies here, let’s break this down systematically.
By the way if anyone is wondering why I am being so ordered and calm about this as opposed to my usual spewing forth of vitriol and foul language, I can assure you it’s not because I have matured or become desensitized to the world’s tomfoolery. It is simply because Cory Bernardi’s apparent science experiment of mating illogic with prejudice to produce this bastard child of an argument has defied any laws of reason and good sense of which I know. If I, therefore, attempted to approach this in any other way I would simply drown in a sea of words, flailing about in my apoplectic rage, unable to express any of my outraged objections simply because the words I would need to accurately depict how much he has raised my ire, have not been invented yet.
So let’s approach this symphony of sophistry step by step, shall we?
Miranda Devine has a problem with a lot of things- climate change, lefties, Lebanese-Australians, Muslims- but one particular group she seems to really have a problem with is women.
In her recent article ‘Abbott’s real trouble is the sisterhood’, Miranda set out to debunk the myth that Tony is unpopular with the 18-34 female demographic. She begins with the infallible argument that Tony is in fact related to a lot of women, “Despite the fact he has three daughters, a wife, two sisters and a mother who adore him, the popular perception of the new Opposition Leader is that women can’t stand his blokeish, confrontational style.” This is a flawless logical progression. Tony Abbott is related to women and therefore the belief that he is unpopular with the female demographic is a myth. Spectacular.
In case anyone is curious I am the daughter of two pro-Liberal parents, so if anyone thinks that my opinions about the Liberal party are unattractive to Liberal party members then by gum you’re certainly mistaken and I’d kindly ask you to never speak such foolishness again. After all, as we all know, if you associate with individuals of any particular demographic you are immediately appealing to the rest of that demographic, despite any differences in opinion that you may have.
Miranda then continues to catalogue how Tony has been given “a hard time” about this failure to appeal to young women during various interviews. I must say I am glad that Miranda is here to bat for Tony Abbott as he always has such difficulty doing it for himself. I’m also glad that someone has pointed out that he is the victim of over-zealous, blood-thirsty journalists who callously attempt to interrogate him on his weaknesses. Certainly this is something never witnessed in politics before.
Just to recap so far we have a inoffensive, feminised, domestic image of Tony Abbott in contrast with him being savagely and unjustly harangued by the press for something that essentially isn’t true. To her credit, Miranda actually provides some statistics to reveal that Tony polls comparatively well, if not better, with women than men.
How is it then that such vicious, slanderous rumours have been spread about this poor defenseless man? “Abbott’s so-called woman trouble is with a particular subset of female: the aggressively secular, paleo-feminist, emasculating Australian broad, for whom unabashed red-blooded blokeishness is an affront of biblical proportions.”
Oh god, not the paleo-feminists again!! They are incorrigible! What do they want now?
So there’s this new Protestant campaign that is using the image of Jesus in an ultrasound, basically just a fetus with a halo, with the text “He’s on his way” and I have a problem with this for several irrational and poorly thought out reasons. First of all, it is terrifying. It sounds like a threat. Does he have a knife? Should I hide? I need more information!! The next poster may as well be “The Messiah is coming from inside the house.”
Apparently this isn’t the biggest issue though as critics are saying that this Christmas campaign (because nothing says Christmas like fetus) is actually a sneaky way of saying that “Whenever we kill an unborn child in an abortion, we are killing Jesus” giving the poster a whole new ‘anti-abortion’ meaning.
Now, I’m just going to pretend like this is exactly what this poster is saying mainly because this idea is amusing to me and what the fuck do I care if it’s the truth or not.
So the guy who created the poster, fucking Francis Goodwin if you can believe it- I feel like I’m in the fucking Crucible- says that:
“This is the kind of thing proud ‘parents-to-be’ show their friends and family – passing round the scan of the baby, or even pinning it up in the office. Our poster reflects this new way of announcing the news of a new arrival and places the birth of Christ in an ultra-contemporary context.”
Ok first of all stop say ‘new’, find other words, cause you sound like an idiot. Secondly what the fuck is ‘ultra-contemporary’? It’s extra ‘of the present time’? It’s even more ‘now’ than just regular now? Just be quiet. You’re embarrassing yourself. And thirdly- you’re trying to appeal to PARENTS? That’s your demographic? These are people who don’t want to be parents. That’s the whole point of getting an abortion.
Do you think that people disinclined to giving birth also have some twin fetish for ultrasound pictures and that they’ll see this and think it’s worth the burden of child rearing for the rest of their goddamn lives so that they can get a fucking ultra sound picture?
Or that people will think to themselves “hmmm I connect with this ultra-contemporary trend, I guess I will keep my unwanted child, it will be nice water cooler talk around the office.”
Ok so recently I was in an athletic clothing store which I shall name SPORT (imagination is a powerful tool which I choose to use sparingly) browsing around for various sports paraphernalia. Apparently buying things sports related allows me to sustain the fantasy that I am somehow athletic. Note that instead of buying anything from SPORT, I ended up buying a t-shirt from K-mart with the cookie monster on it that says “I love easter eggs”….I also bought an easter egg. It is no longer with us. My gluttony, however, is besides the point. What is the point is that whilst browsing amongst SPORT’s fine selection of clothing I came across a t-shirt that to all appearances was simple and unassuming. Upon closer inspection however it appeared to be sold with seeds. That’s right. Seeds. They were in a little sachet attached to the label.
I now wish that instead of proclaiming loudly “oh for FUCKS SAKE” in the middle of the store and walking off, I had taken the time to inspect what it actually said, as I’m sure it would have provided me with a wealth of information as to why these seemingly incongruous items were being married together in what appeared to be some kind of uber leftish hippy-esque environmentally conscious wank.
It’s not often that a t-shirt exudes a sense of being both overly earnest and smugly self-satisfied yet this sad little t-shirt managed to do it. I express pity for this t-shirt because clearly it is the victim of some hemp-weaving commune that has decided that instead of just allowing people to buy an item, the purchase of which already suggests an inherent sense of health-consciousness, they would also enforce some kind of environmental consciousness onto these hapless, unsuspecting fools. To quote Dylan Moran, they’re from “a world of sandals, spoon benders and yoghurt fanciers, where people fart all the time because they don’t know how to laugh.”
Dear Nestle Milo,
What’s happened to us? I remember the days we used to spend together. After each swimming lesson as a child I would eagerly anticipate some quality time with my very favourite Milo Bar. My gumby little uncoordinated feet paddling fervently over the wet floor of the swimming centre reception to the vending machine. My toes scrunching up in anticipation against the tiles as I watched my Mum put in the money and saw you drop down like some kind of gift from the Gods. Oh Milo Bar, you were so charming- straightforward, honest and comforting. I still remember the crunch as I would bite into you, feeling your milo-y goodness giving me back all the energy I spent swimming, whilst satisfying the chocolate yearnings that plagued me.
The dry milo would soften in my mouth and become all gooey with the chocolate. It was like a magical dance, an extraordinary union as each element combined to create the ultimate in chocolate bar experiences. And it was that love which carried us forward, into my teenage years and even my twenties. We were such good friends. The best of friends.
But now? Now I sit and weep. You’ve changed Milo Bar. Now you’re filled with caramel, rice crispies and betrayal. I can’t eat you anymore. I don’t know what makes me feel more sick- the caramel or the taste of my salty salty tears. Even worse- in the face of such caramelly sumptuous sickliness, instead of being able to deceive myself into believing that I was somehow eating a chocolate bar and being healthy at the same time, I can no longer sustain such an illusion even if I could somehow deal with how gross caramel is. Sigh.