I only just got my first boyfriend. Aaaaw, teenage sweetheart love, you may think to yourself, but no, I'm 26, which I presume makes me insanely picky, or maybe just a freak. What can I say? I'm a big softy romantic freak in that case.
Suddenly having a boyfriend actually introduces changes into your life, and I am not talking about the obvious ones, like waking up to a smelly man every morning and having no say in who gets the biggest cupcake, but rather the traditional clichés you thought was only a remnant of male chauvinism. I have this old antique cabinet I got from my grandmother when she got so old she basically returned to a teenager status and was no longer allowed to live on her own, and for the last five years one of the lower cabinet doors has been completely fucked up, it probably lost a screw back in 1955 and has been hanging all crooked, like a depressed, self-cutting emo, every time it's been opened. Now, one of the first things my boyfriend did after noticing this, was smelling down the nearest hammer in my place, I swear to gods I didn't even know I had one, and going at it, like his life depended on it. Now the door actually shuts completely, no longer spilling out my scary personal stuff to strangers visiting, because let's face it, good things gets put on display, bad stuff is hid in cabinets and drawers.
I've also had this kitchen light that hasn't been working since I moved in here, basically because I stuffed a light tube up there once and no lights came on, so therefore it was deemed broken. I came to terms with being only a meere mortal and lived like a goth for a while, but along comes mr. manly man and pops the tube in place, voila, there is light. I vaguely remember throwing myself around his neck for a second before my strict equality of the sexes-upbringing whipped me back into a couldn't care less-throwing of one shoulder and a thank you.
I must admit I sort of worship my boyfriend in an unhealthy Waco-way after all this magic. I suddenly grasp the fantasy many women have about handymen and men in general wearing tool belts, it's like a sick prehistorical instict telling us "this is the way to things around the house actually working!". Sure, I could have managed to fix it myself, but to me it seems like such a pain in the arse to have to do, something so invisible that I can't brag about it to others. I can spend hours finding the right curtain for a room, but putting in a nail where it's needed is just excessive work. I'll be the first to say it; WOMEN!
Feminists never tell you this, but when you're sick or just really tired, the man will actually hoover the carpet for you, and go to the shop to get your candy for you...it's like some sweet, grown up surprise, like sex was when you were a teenager. We've been had!
Showing posts with label battle of the sexes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label battle of the sexes. Show all posts
Sunday, February 01, 2009
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Why God has to be a woman
From the very beginning many a man (and woman!) have claimed the Christian God to be a man. Maybe that is so, considering the crazies that say God speaks to them and tells them to eat vanilla ice cream instead of the expensive sort, so they can save their money for cool Christian knitted vests or whatever, and hey, some women even claim to have been impregnated by God. Wow, imagine the child support on that baby! But that’s a long stroll down crazy lane, and although I’ve had plenty of sunny walks there, I’ll keep it short for once.
According to my theory, God is nothing but a dyke, complete with a deep voice that would make any woman throw out her vibrator, a hairy lip only a middle aged man who’s been married for 20 years and doesn’t give a fuck as long as he can wank in the shower could pretend to not see, luxury condo-pores and a body like the face of a spotty teenager with girl problems. I firmly believe this as much as I believe I one day will dance naked on fuzzy pink clouds with Liam Neeson, and I will hereby put down the hard facts for my beliefs.
Firstly, let’s look at women. Why do we suffer like we do? Isn’t it enough that we with age look like a whale blubber accident on a bad day? Did we really have to be dealt out all the two’s and three’s in the deck? When a woman meets the man of her life, or just settles for the guy who doesn’t insist on going out to a restaurant without putting a shirt on, but luckily has two arms so he can wipe his own ass...partially, a long and painful process of having to house train this lovely chap follows. After that we have the immense pleasure of sleeping with him as a reward, but even there the woman has been deprived of her ability to enjoy sex, and she is reduced to a two minute interior architect; “Hmm, are those nicotine stains on the ceiling? Those curtains are very last year, aren’t they? What is that blow-up doll doing in here?!”. When it comes to reproducing, women have really drawn the shittiest straw, though. Normally, nine months of suffering, followed by a human interpretation of a tennis ball machine, with even MORE delicious suffering would be called “torture”, but you don’t see any Amnesty fanatics marching in the streets to free the pregnant women of the world, do you?
Women are also born with an uneven bodily fluid balance, that’s why we constantly shed excess fluids through our eyes, happy, sad, horny, knocked out, women bloody cry any chance they get. Also, the female hearing isn’t as well developed as the man’s, seeing as women have a tendency to talk in a loud, shrieking manner, and repetitions occur constantly and mercilessly.
Not done yet, you ask? I’ve just gotten started, my furry friend. What about body hair? Yes, don’t pretend like you didn’t know women had tons of it, in every nook and cranny you’ve thought about putting your willie since you were a teenager, but lacked the courage to do as you love life too much. What better curse than to make women have to shave, wax or pluck it off every day for 87, 9 years? Perhaps having her do that for 98 years, yeah, yeah Mr. Smartypants. Mind you, the positive side to this is if a rabid plant disease should knock out all the cotton farms in the world, and every single sheep suddenly dies from some exotic, unpronounceable virus that’ll make any news reporter orgasm just thinking of the scoop, then, yes, all that shed hair would come to use.
So why are things this way? The only explanation that comes to me, is what I already made pretty damn clear in the title so you, or any uptight Christian with their panties in a bunch wouldn’t have any trouble finding it; God is a woman! When God had created Adam and Eve, she rapidly discovered Eve’s huge bosom and slim waistline, especially that her breasts were bigger and waist were slimmer than hers, and from there a woman’s only rational thinking / raging fury is easy to predict, isn’t it?
But what about the man’s curse, you ask? Yes, I know, God doesn’t really like men either, and that’s where the dyke-part comes in. It’s hardly a coincidence that God gave the human male a widely spread terror of having a small willie, when he has one of the smallest willies in the animal kingdom. Also, sometimes the hair on their heads is too lazy to climb all the way up to their heads and settle for blooming from ears, nose and upper back like everlast steel threads, and they are ridiculed and forced to wear silly hats made of genital hair from a Syrian mule. Not to mention that men got stuck with women for a mate, I mean, any man would manage with a beer and a strong right arm in the long run, but they now have to put up with Eve with a capital E for Ennoying (work with me people, my time is scarce!).
All the persons that have claimed to have talked to God clearly just fell victim of a reverse drunken tranny trap, maybe God just looks like one of those women who seem to have been dropped into a paper shredder at birth? Anyone who’s ever tried to put back the pieces of a shredded object knows the end result may make you cry with pain, and that’s probably why God is a bit touchy about everything.
Any woman with a shred (tee hee) of maternal instinct will elbow her way through the crowd and ask “why would God kill her own son if she’s a woman? Women are kind and sweet and warm hearted and they don’t even fart when they are alone at home”. Let’s be real. We all know that mother’s in law are a nightmare and a half, so what other than that killer instinct hit God when her precious Jesus laid his eyes on that tart, Mary Magdalene? The best way to get her little, innocent boy out of there and back to his heavenly home is by the angel express, no? “You die – We fly”?
“So what then, doesn’t God like anything or anybody?” you ask. Of course she does. God enjoys a good game of water sports (killer tsunamis), a game of twister with friends (hurricanes and tornados), some Celestial Grand Theft Auto (do I really need to spell this one out for you?) and watching the exciting second season of the TV-series “The Gulf War”.
All of us pathetic mortals better hope that God isn’t one of those women who loves a man with kebab in his moustache.
This is my best theory yet...but it just has this teeny, tiny little flaw, which you would hardly even notice unless I spelled it out in neon letters for you: GOD DOESN’T EXIST.
According to my theory, God is nothing but a dyke, complete with a deep voice that would make any woman throw out her vibrator, a hairy lip only a middle aged man who’s been married for 20 years and doesn’t give a fuck as long as he can wank in the shower could pretend to not see, luxury condo-pores and a body like the face of a spotty teenager with girl problems. I firmly believe this as much as I believe I one day will dance naked on fuzzy pink clouds with Liam Neeson, and I will hereby put down the hard facts for my beliefs.
Firstly, let’s look at women. Why do we suffer like we do? Isn’t it enough that we with age look like a whale blubber accident on a bad day? Did we really have to be dealt out all the two’s and three’s in the deck? When a woman meets the man of her life, or just settles for the guy who doesn’t insist on going out to a restaurant without putting a shirt on, but luckily has two arms so he can wipe his own ass...partially, a long and painful process of having to house train this lovely chap follows. After that we have the immense pleasure of sleeping with him as a reward, but even there the woman has been deprived of her ability to enjoy sex, and she is reduced to a two minute interior architect; “Hmm, are those nicotine stains on the ceiling? Those curtains are very last year, aren’t they? What is that blow-up doll doing in here?!”. When it comes to reproducing, women have really drawn the shittiest straw, though. Normally, nine months of suffering, followed by a human interpretation of a tennis ball machine, with even MORE delicious suffering would be called “torture”, but you don’t see any Amnesty fanatics marching in the streets to free the pregnant women of the world, do you?
Women are also born with an uneven bodily fluid balance, that’s why we constantly shed excess fluids through our eyes, happy, sad, horny, knocked out, women bloody cry any chance they get. Also, the female hearing isn’t as well developed as the man’s, seeing as women have a tendency to talk in a loud, shrieking manner, and repetitions occur constantly and mercilessly.
Not done yet, you ask? I’ve just gotten started, my furry friend. What about body hair? Yes, don’t pretend like you didn’t know women had tons of it, in every nook and cranny you’ve thought about putting your willie since you were a teenager, but lacked the courage to do as you love life too much. What better curse than to make women have to shave, wax or pluck it off every day for 87, 9 years? Perhaps having her do that for 98 years, yeah, yeah Mr. Smartypants. Mind you, the positive side to this is if a rabid plant disease should knock out all the cotton farms in the world, and every single sheep suddenly dies from some exotic, unpronounceable virus that’ll make any news reporter orgasm just thinking of the scoop, then, yes, all that shed hair would come to use.
So why are things this way? The only explanation that comes to me, is what I already made pretty damn clear in the title so you, or any uptight Christian with their panties in a bunch wouldn’t have any trouble finding it; God is a woman! When God had created Adam and Eve, she rapidly discovered Eve’s huge bosom and slim waistline, especially that her breasts were bigger and waist were slimmer than hers, and from there a woman’s only rational thinking / raging fury is easy to predict, isn’t it?
But what about the man’s curse, you ask? Yes, I know, God doesn’t really like men either, and that’s where the dyke-part comes in. It’s hardly a coincidence that God gave the human male a widely spread terror of having a small willie, when he has one of the smallest willies in the animal kingdom. Also, sometimes the hair on their heads is too lazy to climb all the way up to their heads and settle for blooming from ears, nose and upper back like everlast steel threads, and they are ridiculed and forced to wear silly hats made of genital hair from a Syrian mule. Not to mention that men got stuck with women for a mate, I mean, any man would manage with a beer and a strong right arm in the long run, but they now have to put up with Eve with a capital E for Ennoying (work with me people, my time is scarce!).
All the persons that have claimed to have talked to God clearly just fell victim of a reverse drunken tranny trap, maybe God just looks like one of those women who seem to have been dropped into a paper shredder at birth? Anyone who’s ever tried to put back the pieces of a shredded object knows the end result may make you cry with pain, and that’s probably why God is a bit touchy about everything.
Any woman with a shred (tee hee) of maternal instinct will elbow her way through the crowd and ask “why would God kill her own son if she’s a woman? Women are kind and sweet and warm hearted and they don’t even fart when they are alone at home”. Let’s be real. We all know that mother’s in law are a nightmare and a half, so what other than that killer instinct hit God when her precious Jesus laid his eyes on that tart, Mary Magdalene? The best way to get her little, innocent boy out of there and back to his heavenly home is by the angel express, no? “You die – We fly”?
“So what then, doesn’t God like anything or anybody?” you ask. Of course she does. God enjoys a good game of water sports (killer tsunamis), a game of twister with friends (hurricanes and tornados), some Celestial Grand Theft Auto (do I really need to spell this one out for you?) and watching the exciting second season of the TV-series “The Gulf War”.
All of us pathetic mortals better hope that God isn’t one of those women who loves a man with kebab in his moustache.
This is my best theory yet...but it just has this teeny, tiny little flaw, which you would hardly even notice unless I spelled it out in neon letters for you: GOD DOESN’T EXIST.
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