Buy or Die

Upon hearing the news that Bitch magazine was in danger of folding, i was going to use this blog to do one of those spin-offs of the Vote of Die campaigns, where i would play P. Diddy, with a shirt that read, "Bitch-assness permitted" (what is bitch-assness, again? and why should someone who calls themselves diddy be allowed to create vocabulary?), suck on a tooth pick while wearing shades and scare you into donating to the magazine with my Aggressive and Intimidating Black Guy attitude.

If that tactic did not work, i would round up some D-list celebrities and a make a black and white commercial where we would wear white T-shirts, look sadly at the camera and recite statistics about domestic violence while Wyclef Jean plays some guitar melodies in the background.

But I visited their website the other day, and somehow they've been able to come up with the $40,000 they needed to run another issue, which--according to the giant wiener dog on the header--will hit the stands December 1st! That being said, i will spare you my purchase pleas for now. However, as we all know, independent magazines need MONEY to sustain. And the difference between folding and sustaining is you, the readers!

So please continue to invest in Bitch, one of the only feminist magazines left.

Or, if you prefer the P. Diddy approach: Buy it or Die, bitches.

Style Bytes Returns!!!

The Rules state that every gal is allowed to have one "girl-crush" without attaining lesbo status. That way, you can swoon publicy and never worry about your peers inching away from you in the locker room, un-inviting you to sleep overs, nick-naming you Ellen Degeneres, or voting you Most Likely to Be A Female Athletic Director.

Therefore, i choose Agathe--thrift shopper, fashion blogger, photographer extraordinaire--as my top pick. All her die hard fans know the psychotic breaks we had once her first blog inexplicably ended a few months ago: We couldnt eat, we couldnt sleep, we walked around in neon-colored crocs and sweatshirts with company logos on them! We mourned, man. We mourned.

And just when we thought we'd never see Agathe (or Melvin--her gigantic pet pig) again, i stumbled upon the link to the NEW Style Bytes blog.

Apparently, she'd been doing it as sort of an underground thing, perhaps thinking she was safe from the nuts (i.e,, me) who begun to develop a cult-like following to her site.

Think again, Agathe. You can blog, but you can't hide:



http://phiary.com/diary/stylebytes/2008/7/3

The Palin Persuasion

If you've ever watched MTV's "Newlyweds: Nick and Jessica", the inane and (thankfully) short-lived reality show about the glamarous celebrity marriage of Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey, you could fully understand everything you need to know about Sarah Palin. As you may remember, For thirty minutes, we watched Jessica in her "daily life" of photo shoots, studio recordings and concerts while Nick sat at home, flexing his steroidal biceps in the mirror, reminiscing about the good ol' days of 98 degrees, back when grown men in open silk blouses were sexy-- and "confessing" to the camera how Jessica never gave him any.

And like any good reality show, they each had tele-roles: Jessica, the young, spoiled, bimbo bride, and Nick, the beefy butch hubby who was in charge of slapping her ass during random intervals of the show, reminding us of why she makes up for what she lacks in I.Q.

He also had to explain the difficult, and philosophically abstract concepts that only intellects of unimaginable standards could comprehend: Like whether or not her "chicken of the sea" tuna was chicken or fish. A conversation during which Nick paused so long you knew he was contemplating divorce before a montage of ass-slapping ran through his mind, no doubt making him reconsider.

But instead of the tuna dialogue heightening her status of idiocy, the "TV personality" sycophants went into a bit about how this show really demonstrates how intelligent Jessica is, because she's using her savvy marketing skills to only pretend to be a bimbo. That she's so aware, in fact, of how the entertainment industry works, she's portraying this ditzy blonde cliche for the cameras because the only thing that sells better than sex is Dumb Hot Chicks who you want to sex with.

And while i applaud these journalist jokes for giving her the benefit of the doubt--they know, I know, and surely Nick knows, that there is no hidden layer of intellect behind the airhead facade. There is, in fact, no facade. Or business savvy or sneaky plot of subversion or irony or Ultimate Masterplan beyond our comprehension: The girl is just stupid.

And whenever there are genuinely stupid people in the public eye, there will always be other rather stupid people trying to promote them by convincing other stupid people that they are not that stupid.


I know. Stupid, isnt it?


And now the pseudo righty political "pundits" are taking a stab at it again, with another target: Sarah Palin. Cause when the attempts to woo feminist/women voters with a Palin-faced Rosie the Riveter, and "Palin Power" buttons failed, and the hockey-mom thing lost its puck, the GOP media came up with a better idea: To make Palin look like an undiscovered genius. And after Thursday's debate, they seemed to have convinced everyone that everything she did was somehow evident of a deliberate and very strategic plan to help Old Man River shuffle into office:

#1.) Palin dodges questions and makes statements like "I'm gonna talk straight to the American people".Reason?: Because Palin's exceptional debate skills and preparation have taught her that voters don't want you to talk to your opponent, but through the lense of the camera, straight into the homes of American familys!

#2.) Palin fills up a generous part of her two-minutes with a shout-out to her brother's 3rd-grade class and a corny joke about extra credit. GOP says it because: Palin did this intentionally. She knows how much the American people appreciate family values, and children interests, so she was simply scoring points!

#3.) Palin uses folksy lingo; from "you betcha" to "dog-gonnit" and a wink or two for effect during her spiels. Survey says?: Palin understands the importance of relating to middle-class familys and Average Joes. She is trying to proove that she can talk in simpleton language, unlike all of those elitist liberals with their big ol' 3-syllable words and technical explanations and accurate facts that only they understand!

But i don't buy it, Palin. I know you can't answer questions directly because you're sketchy and coniving with poor-to-moderate acting skills! Like Halle Berry on a good day, you may be overrated but you wont get the Oscar till' you take your top off! And you're "folksy" lingo is about as real as Pam Anderson's ta-tas pre-hepatitis C, and insulting to! Anyone can watch a segment from Larry the Cable Guy and get the redneck down pat. Oh, and that shout-out to those anonymous 3rd-graders? Seriously. You do know this isn't 106 & Park, right? You know there are people watching and you're supposed to answer questions relating to the topic, right? Because--worst case scenerio--you do get in office, after Wrinkle-stilt-skin kicks, you're gonna have to take over and actually do stuff. And just ask Dubya, doing stuff is always the worst part.

Though i'll give you this Palin, you do understand the most important part about being stupid; and that is never to correct the people who think you're smart. You're the type of gal who knows its better to stumble publically, then laugh and say you did it on purpose. Or ask someone to explain the concept of tuna to you, then claim its just good TV.

And who knows, if this whole political thing doesn't work out (and we pray to Jesus, Mary and Joseph that it doesn't) I think you definitely have a future in showbiz. You could even hit up Jessica for pointers. Have her peeps call your peeps.

The Wonderful World of Wifedom: More of the Same

In my "Marriage and Family" class today, (where, predictably, we study the "dynamics" of a "healthy" marriage and family) the prof gave us a photocopied handout of a 1955 article in Housekeeping Monthly magazine, entitled, "The Good Wife's Guide", a instructive list of duties and tasks that the wife must complete in order to please her husband, sustain her marriage, and thus conserve her status as a domestic slave:

Numero uno, the most obvious, states: Have dinner ready. "This is a way of letting him know you have been thinking of him and are concerned about his needs." writes HouseKeeping.

#2: Be happy to see him.

#3: Prepare the children....comb their hair if necessary....at the time of his arrival, eliminate all noise of the washer, dryer, or vacuum. Try to encourage the children to be quiet.

#4: Make the evening his. Never complain if he goes out to dinner, or places of entertainment without you.

Highlights (and my personal favorites) include:

• Make him comfortable. Have him lean back in a comfortable chair or have him lie down in the bedroom. Have a cool or warm drink ready for him.


• Arrange his pillow and offer to take off his shoes. Speak in a low, soothing, and pleasant voice.


• Listen to him. You may have a dozen important things to tell him, but the moment of his arrival is not the time...remember, his topics of conversation are more important than yours.


• Don't question him about his actions or question his judgement or integrity...remember,he is the master of the house...you have no right to question him.

The writer then adds a nice little bow to the entire piece, ending with: "A good wife always knows her place."

Of course, the class (majority of whom are women) took turns lashing out at the article, lamenting on how ridiculous and degrading they found it.

And it is.

It's just that this 50's article still isn't too far from the mindset of most women today. Sure, morons like to go on and on about "how far we've come" and how many "choices" women have; but most of these women choose to get married early, and sit on their asses for a life of laziness and luxury as a housewife. Most gals still believe in the very same marital values that this article describes, no matter how many times they'd deny it aloud. Because it's still an unconscious thing: women still fantasize about being brides in Vera Wang gowns and tieras. They still kill themselves to cook and clean and work and be Stepford soccer-mom and a fantastic sexual partner and be thin and attractive and fresh-looking and sexy all AT THE SAME TIME. As long as Kelly Ripa (and other bimbotic, celebrity mom/wifes) continue to bounce around Beverly Hills in Chanel and wonderbread babies on their arm; proving to America with a gushing smile that, yes, it is possible to Have It All--then the myth of the Perfect Wife lives on.

And we will continue to look articles in the so-called "women's magazines" with titles like, "How to Tell If He's Into You" and "The Naughty Sex He Craves" to tell us what be and how to be and what to do in order to Keep Our Man. Its just that in 1955, we had Housekeeping Monthly. And now we have Cosmopolitan.

Anchor Anguish

The following is my imitation of every TV news network in America. Ahem:


"Gas prices
gas prices
gas prices.
Obama.
terrorism.
mosquitos will kill you.
vegetables will kill you.
cell phones will blow up. give you tumors. and then kill you.
this just in!--research shows that vegetables will not kill you. However, everything else still stands.
gas prices are high
foreclosure
debt
recession
unemployment
economy
gas prices
obesity.
doom, doom, doom
the world's going to hell.
there's a serial killer on the loose! lock up your daughters.
breaking news--research shows that locking up your daughters may lead to suicide, STDs, and Alzheimers later in life.
statistics
gas prices.
gas prices
death
doom
done.
Britney spears is pregnant.

I'm Katie Couric, thanks for watching."

The Col-Jerk Report

Uhh, i don't really think Steve Colbert likes us all that much.

Judging by how he treats his feminists guests, i'd say the women's libbers rank just above Bill O'Reilly but right below Jon Stewart on his List of Things to Destroy Using Dry Comedic Irony.

I mean, honestly Steve. First Ariel Levy, now Jessica Valenti?

But I know that its your job to play the smug, satirical show host and wear badly tailored suits and wire-rimmed glasses so you can cross your arms with a raised eyebrow to prove how pensive and intellectual you are, before reading irrelevant jokes from a teleprompter and waiting for the eruption of audience laughter who are either a.) paid actors Or b.) on acid.

I also, totally, get that you have to challenge the views of these crazy "feminists" with those biting skills you learned back in Debate 101 and your acerbic wit to deliver the list of punchlines you probably have on a napkin underneath your desk. And i understand that by the look on your face, everything Ms. Valenti is saying is akin to the wamp-wamp-wamp Charlie Brown language or ebonics from those rapper guys on MTV, and that you wish--between glances at your punchlines and not-so-casual glances at her breasts--that she would just SHUT UP already, and let you say something funny because you only have an hour, damnit, to make things happen, so you're going to do a bit about the naked lady on the book cover because, hell, what other questions can you think of when never even heard of "Jessica Valenti" or all this "feminism" stuff until like, five seconds ago, when the producer told you backstage, and even then you were too busy moussing your hair into that perfect mini-pompadour shape to listen, because if you're going to out-do Mr. Stewart you've gotta have The Do, you know what I'm sayin'?

And that's the whole joke, right?: pretending to hate America and Bush and all stuff, but then pose in front of a flag so everyone knows you're J.K; that you're just being ironic and totally sarcastic, because you looked up the definition of irony (or at least your assistant did) on Wikipedia and thats what it said, right? Pssh, i got you, Steve. Now if only those uptight ol' biddies could get with the program (your program, of course) and just let you make your freakin' jokes so everyone can tell you how funny you are after the show.


Har-de-har-har, indeed.

Barbie 90210 (Tits and Turkey)

Femspo for the day: A cartoon i drew, despite my limited artistic skills...

(click for larger)


Plastic surgery always makes me think of Thanksgiving turkeys. In fact, I'd bet a cosmetic procedure is practically identical to that of turkey preparation. I mean, in both scenarios, the subject (the turkey/girl) is sliced, diced, cut, carved, slashed, and gutted with sharp utensils and then stuffed with foreign objects. Granted, the turkey will probably be mutilated by your Aunt Agnes wearing a Christmas sweater and a fanny pack, whereas the woman will dish out a few grand to be mutilated by an uncertified lab-coat wearing nurse's assistant who will tell you "its normal, you have nothing to worry about" when you complain that your tits have turned a yellowish green color and fallen off.


But. yeah. other than that though, its basically the same.


And while being able to fill out that hot pink halter top you saw in Abercrombie will cost a pretty penny, and certainly may leave you permantly disfigured, its totally worth it, as you will reap the endless benefits of doing so:


1.) The most obvious one is simple: you will have gigantic knockers. You will now be known as "so-and-so with the big puppies" and your fuckable rate will be inceased by a whole 5 points. They will be the convo starters in every social gathering you find yourself in from then on, causing you to come up with clever nicknames for your new friends as party-lines (Laverne & Shirley, Peanut Butter & Jelly, Mary-Kate and Ashley etc.) that will just crack the guys up. OR, if you have a particularly low I.Q, and one-liners like these prove to be too challenging, you dont have to talk at all. You can do something as simple as, oh, wear a tank top. As your male conterpart will be so entranced with the XXX beach balls two centimeters from his face, no conversation will really be necessary.


2.) If you should be brutally murdered by a random sociopath, buried four feet underground in some abandoned forest in Wyoming, and are found by hikers ten years later, but cant be identified because your body is so decomposed, they identify it by tracing the serial number in the silicone. Trust me. It's happened.


3.) Besides those already mentioned, fake knockers offer an extra perk that boring ol' natural ones don't: you always have a large, inexplicable space between each one. This offers a nice little storage compartment, to fit items such as cell-phones, I-pods, and wallets, keys, whatever! Now thats what I call a built-in closet!


4.) Fights will be relatively easy to win, or at least to bear, with your new assets in place. When, say, the bitch down the street gets testy and declares a catfight, or your husband is undergoing "work-related stress" and decides to rough you up to relieve it--a blow to the chest (wherein most girls would hurt like a mother) will be virtually pain-free for you. Once you've had them for a while and they begin to form their rock-life structure, any boob-bopping will feel like punching a brick wall with your bare hands. You will bloody knuckles! You will make grown men cry! Arnold Schwarzenegger will step down and deem you the "Tit-a-nator".


And you, after getting this taste of bliss from the hands of your surgeon, will definetly be bauk .