I run into feminist women quite a lot in my life. Why? I do not know, but such are the cards that I've been dealt. I should say right off the bat that I'm not talking about normal, pleasant women who see pockets in society where females are getting the short end of the stick and utilize their influence and resources to mend it -- I like those women. They make me feel empowered, successful, and ready to face the world on my own two feet. My beef is with "womyn" whose general attitude projects "a girl needs a boy like a penguin needs Prada pumps"; we will group them collectively under the name "Jocasta." You couldn't pay me to back "wimmin" like this, because:
1. I like boys. They're generally uncomplicated, open creatures in the best way. Most of my sincerest, intellectual conversations are with boys. Their dirty jokes make me laugh. It's really quite amazing how well my hands fit into theirs, and they smell so deliciously different than any girls I know. I know Jocasta would rather spend her time with lonely, middle-aged women passionately discussing the misogyny and brainwashing effect of the Barbie franchise, but why spend your time chatting with menopausal chocolate fiends when you could be watching The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly with Johnny?
2. I like makeup. Jocasta, I know you'd like to tell me that makeup is just another way men subjugate me into the dark corner of a unfulfilled housewife by setting forth products that promise an unattainable standard of beauty, but let me tell you, sister, pimples are a real beeyotch. I know they're natural, and I know everyone gets them, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to do anything in my power to gag them, throw them in a box, and drop said box in a ditch on some lonely country road, capisce? More than that, though, it's fun. I love coloring with the blazing flame of eternity. All I really ask of anything in the world is that it be brightly colored and shiny, and boy does makeup fulfill that!
These two points are, of course, a very small part of the feminazi agenda. However, these are the ones that hit closest to home for me. Instead of straggling off on a boring ending that will inevitably sink into an angry, political rant and surface my insecurities and gnawing anxiety, forcing me to hop downstairs and whip up a glass of chocolate milk before the cold sweats set in, I'll just say this:
How can you not love?
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