This makes me feel like a clown--laughing on the outside, but crying on the inside
Reader Avalon Carthew sent me this barely coherent rant against feminism that is really a cut above your usual strawman thrashing in terms of sheer enjoyment. The writer Rachel Chunko manages to embarrass herself twice over--once for being a dreadful suck-up to male dominance in hopes to get some scraps, perhaps praise for being pretty smart for a dumb cunt, and once more for, and I can barely make myself type this, making up a fictional crowd to approve of her idiocy and injecting this fantasy into her editorial. For what purpose I don't know. It's not like it's hard to get at least a handful of smug assholes to offer condescending praise to a woman who willingly puts down other women, especially if she looks good in a miniskirt.
The crowd falls silent. Rachel Chunko steps onto the soapbox.
Something went wrong between the quiet battles fought by Mary Wollstonecraft and Mary Astell and the graceless, whimpering feminism of today. And it's annoying.
That would be my fault. I ran into the corner of a door with my foot this morning and stubbed my toe. After falling to the ground, I let out a whimper, thereby destroying all credibility that feminism ever had. Feel free to strip away my right to vote.
The feminists I know are not the strong women I hoped they'd be. In reality, they are catty and full of unfounded self-pity.
Meow! You sure showed those feminists from catty!
I'm sure feminism really does rock like a girl with dreadlocks at Lillith Fair, but I have no evidence to that end. Feminism is inherently flawed for two reasons:
Perhaps your problem is that you think rocking with dreadlocks to Sarah McLaughlan is like the height of kicking ass. But don't let me make you feel like your limited experience should have any bearing on your ability to thrash a strawman.
1. Ask a feminist what feminism is, and she'll tell you, "It's about equality between the sexes." Tell a feminist why, logically, the prefix of the movement should not be "fem" and that the concept is therefore inherently flawed, and she'll tell you you're wrong and then not be able to tell you why. Feminism should be "equitism" by their logic, but it's not.
We have our first lie. This conversation never happened, or if it did, it only happened once. Why do I say? The answer to this inquiry is obvious--feminism starts with "fem" is that we don't have an "any means necessary" approach to achieving equality, but instead choose to promote the interests of "fems" until equality is achieved.
And now some free psychoanalysis:
2. It seems as if feminists, for the most part, find themselves in some way incompetent or incomplete as women.
Yep, she used the "feminists just need some dick" argument. It's true, of course. I haven't had sex in, damn, like hours or something and already my uterus has begun to wander around, causing hysterical thoughts like, "Why the hell do women still only make 76 cents to a man's dollar?"
All neo-feminism does is dwell on the differences among people, rather than work from the starting point we're all given. In this modern environment, aren't we past the need for such pronounced separations?
Who knew that Larry Summers was actually spreading covert neo-feminism? I thought I saw him dreading his hair at the Lilith Fair.
For some reason, it's unpleasant to be reminded of the feminist dogma. There's nothing worse than people who can't laugh at themselves.
I can think of something worse--people who make imaginary supporters to applaud them.
The feminists are everywhere.
Like roaches in Houston. And like Houston roaches, we can fly, too.
I am female, strong and capable.
Well, your imaginary admirers certainly agree.
When Virginia Woolf stood and proclaimed that a woman needs a room of her own to sit and think -- that a woman does think -- it was never meant to transform into worship of the mason jar that holds Gertrude Stein's testicles preserved in formaldehyde.
I read that sentence like 15 times trying to make fun of it and then realized that really, it's circular and whole and needs no embellishment from me to make you spit your drink all over your keyboard.
It does raise the question--don't you all think that Woolf would have a blog and write an introspective, soul-searching post about how she'd like to link to women bloggers but she doesn't know any besides Wonkette?
In a gesture of triumph, Rachel throws up her arms. The crowd looks at her quizzically, and then bursts into rousing applause. She quiets them and continues.
The imaginary crowd had a very real moment there when they thought she was done and they were free, but nope, they are stuck with her longer. Perhaps she will next suggest that Frieda Kahlo painted with her penis.
Even white males are oppressed in today's society in some form or another, and so is the woman who just wants to sing Chaka Khan and be every woman.
All those women who marched on D.C. last year where marching for the right to have men who don't screw around because we're all they need. I think. I mean, what else could it have been about?
It's generally not pleasant to be around a modern feminist. She has to tell you about it.
Who do those feminists think you are, Rachel? Foolish women, thinking Rachel is some female, and that she should give a shit about women's issues as if that had any bearing on her life.
But where is the activism? She keeps talking about what she believes. But what is she doing about it?
Hear hear! I'll bet those lazy feminists are sitting on their asses right this minute.
Modern feminism is a load of crap. Conceptually, it is a wonderful force to help women through their hard times and to band together in times of fragmented strength. In practice, however, feminism falls short.
Cause we're all cats, no doubt about it. I hate all those other feminist bitches and they hate me and we just can't ever do anything together peacefully.
A joyous cry is heard from the crowd, "Finally, somebody said it!"
What bravery! My god, no one has ever had the guts to criticize a feminist before this moment in time. It is truly an act of selfless courage that is both tantalizingly feminine in its selflessness but also refreshingly masculine in its courage. Women want to be you and men will give you honorary manhood, I'm sure of it.
Feminists say they're strong, but they aren't.
It's true. I can't bench press a jar of spaghetti sauce.
It doesn't count to be sitting in a room with a feminist and to be told why you're wrong.
Persuading other women to join the cause has never done anyone a lick of good that we know of.
I drink for free when I wear a low cut shirt. Now that's powerful.
Hell, that's nothing. Suck a cock on South Congress and you can get your payment in cash. Now that's powerful.
The female body is powerful, just like the female mind. It has inspired great art, courtly love and the Wonder Bra. Let's all just enjoy it.
We feminists stand firmly against women enjoying their own bodies.
Your convictions arose freshman year when you didn't know anybody and went to a Campus Women's Organization meeting to make friends.
When you should have been letting frat boys buy you lewdly named shooters in exchange for staring at your boobies.
You're lying: You're not strong nor are you equal, because you separate yourselves.
Okay, y'all. I know Rachel is a drag what with the Boobies Are More Powerful Than the Sword crap, but look what shunning her has caused--she has to make up friends.
Rachel Chunko descends from her soapbox. The crowd gives her thunderous applause.
However, I do think the soapbox is real.
Rachel Chunko is a chauvanistic pig. Castrate her at (and no I'm not including her email address).
Castrate her?! What a sorry choice--be a feminist and be told you need some dick or be an anti-feminist and think you have a dick. But I think I'll go with the former, because otherwise I may get caught in an airport Spinal Tap-style trying to trick people.