Category Archives: angry

Well, could I have her spam, instead of the baked beans, then?

Humor me, just for a minute, ok?

This is only going to work if you’re reading this post on my blog. So if you’re reading this via email, or in a reader, you’re going to have to do me a solid and click through to my blog. I KNOW. I AM SUCH A PAIN IN THE ASS.

“Aaaaaamy, it’s SAAAAAAAATURDAY, I don’t WAAAAAANT to.” Urgh, just HUMOR me.

OK, so you’re here. Scroll on down to the bottom. Ooh and aah over Andreas’ pretty blog redesign while you’re there, no one’s stopping you.

Are you there? Awesome. Right there in the middle. See that? See my follower count?

2,336 followers. (Well, that’s what it is NOW. Who knows what it’ll be when you read this, at the rate things are going.)

Now, if you’re new to blogging, or maybe not a blogger, this probably seems pretty spiffy. And if you’d told me when I started blogging I’d have that many followers? I’d totally have laughed at you. I was thinking the other day how funny the idea of blogging would have been to the me I was ten years ago, and how, if now-me went back and talked to then-me and told her what I’m up to, then-me would tell now-me she was a crazypants. She’d admire her kicky new glasses, though.

Now, you can break this statistic down further, if you get behind-the-scenes in the dashboard. I’m not supposed to show you this, probably. This is probably breaking all kinds of blogger rules.

Eh, don’t care.

Now, first I added these all together and didn’t get the 2,336 and was all WHAAAA? but then I realized they’re not counting the comment followers so that’s alright.

As you can see, I don’t care about Tumblr enough (I know, I suck, I really only use it to post blog posts and never, ever click over there, Tumblr has always confused the everloving hell out of me) and probably I should use my blog Facebook page more (listen, there are only so many hours in a day, people, I do what I can.) Twitter’s ok, even though I’ve been really terrible at the Twitterz lately. I keep saying I’ll go back eventually. It never seems to happen. I HAVE NOT YET GIVEN UP HOPE, HOWEVER!

The blog-follower count looks nice, though, right? Impressive? Look at all my readers! I’m like a legitimate blogger!

Well, no. Not really. And let me tell you why.

That follower count?

About 75% of those people are spammers.

It’s a dirty little secret WordPress doesn’t want you all to know. Or doesn’t CARE if you know, actually; they’re doing nothing, absolutely nothing, about it.

How do I know they’re spam followers? Well, I’ve clicked through to their blogs. Or, at least I used to, before I started getting probably ten of them a day and I just got tired of it. Some don’t have blogs, just Gravatars with shady non-name names. Some have blogs, but with only one post, and it’s in really broken English. Some have blogs with just reblogs. Some have blank blogs. Some have blogs with links to things like “free vacations now” or “iPad giveaway.” sj had one the other day with posts about boxes. No, not the euphemistic kind, which would kind of be an awesome, if porny, blog. Cardboard boxes. Posts like “Boxes vs. Cartons.” Because THAT’S a real blog. (Side note: it wasn’t.)



I’ve tromped with my kickass Doc Martens all through the forums trying to find out a why, and a how, and a WHAT THE HELL CAN I DO ABOUT THIS, and the answer, per WordPress?


There’s no option to delete spam followers, once they’ve chosen you to target. (And it seems they’ve chosen all of us to target.) WordPress says they’re “looking into why spammers have increased lately.” These threads go back to April, and that’s when I started seeing the spammers – March/April.

WordPress also added the option to “like” a post straight from the Reader not too long ago, when they updated the Reader, which means you get likes on your posts IMMEDIATELY upon publication. Well, if you only published a photo, there’s a possibility a like happened that quickly. But if you write at length as much as I do, odds that someone named “trueerectionpillz4u” read and liked my 2,000 word post in .0005 seconds are pretty slim.

WordPress doesn’t seem to think this is a problem. And I suppose, for them, it’s not. It inflates their user count. They can then use that user count to sell ads, to recruit new bloggers, etc. And some of the new bloggers (me, for example) pay for this service, so they make money from us. No, these spam followers aren’t a problem for WordPress.

And, technically, they’re not really a problem for us bloggers, are they? Not really. They aren’t DOING anything there. Sometimes they randomly reblog our content on their shady blogs, and their weird Gravatars show up in our likes, and they’re there inflating our follower counts, making us look fancy and popular. And who doesn’t like to be popular, am I right? I mean, when I started blogging, I’d look at that follower count on other blogger’s blogs and think, whoa, THIS person knows what’s up.

But they’re lies. That follower count is lies. Most of our followers aren’t real people; they’re not reading our content. They’re not interacting with us. They’re just kind of…there. Weirdly lurking. Sometimes they hit “like,” which I assume they think maybe would get someone to click their spammy blog. Sometimes they don’t do ANYTHING. And that’s a little disconcerting, isn’t it? It’s like having this weird silent army stalking you all the time. You don’t know what the hell they WANT.

Now, WordPress has been oh-so-helpful in telling us that we can report each and every one of these spammers to them, they’ll “look into it” and “maybe delete the accounts.” Well, if it was just one or two spammers, fine. But who the hell has the free time to check up on, and report, probably 700 or so fake bloggers? And why is it MY job to do this? Shouldn’t these people have to prove they’re not spammers on WordPress’ end?

Another end result of this? Some of you new followers, who very well MIGHT be real people? Well, I wouldn’t know. Because I no longer have the time to weed through all the spam to get to the real blogs. So I might be missing some awesome new blogs I should be reading. I WOULDN’T KNOW. I used to be able to check out all the new blogs that followed me, and now I can’t do that. So, new bloggers, if you ARE a real blog, say hi. Comment, or say hi on Twitter, or send me an email. SOMETHING. I can’t promise I’ll follow your blog – I read a LOT of blogs, and my time gets more and more limited daily – but I can promise if you’re a real blogger, and not a creature made of spam, I’ll at least check you out.

I’ve also stopped following other blogs in the WordPress reader. I used to do a courtesy follow every time I followed a WordPress blog. Why courtesy follow? Well, I hate the WordPress reader. I refuse to use it. So I use an alternate reader. (Feedly, if you must know – it’s no Google Reader, but nothing is. Sigh.) But I *used* to click the “follow” button on any WordPress blog I was following in my reader; that way, the blogger knew I was following them, and maybe they’d return the favor, and we could all go ’round the mulberry bush. NOT A EUPHEMISM. I don’t bother anymore. I assume most WordPress bloggers aren’t bothering to even check out new followers anymore, so why should I do the extra step? I follow on the sly; if I like the blog and have extra time and feel I have something worthwhile to say and am not too daunted, I comment, and then they know I’m reading, I suppose.

What’s the solution to this? Well, there isn’t one. Not until WordPress creates one for us – and they’ve shown no interest in doing that whatsoever. And like I said, this really shouldn’t bother me. And I know I’m kind of biting the hand that feeds me by even blogging about it here – WordPress doesn’t like you to complain about them on their own service. (Or at all, actually. Too many complaints, I’ve noticed, they stop responding to you in the forums, or their most vocal volunteer, whose name I won’t mention but I’d be willing to bet anyone who’s come in contact with this person knows EXACTLY who I’m talking about – will snark at you, seemingly in the hopes of making you…I don’t know, quit asking for help? Quit WordPress? I’m not really sure.)

(Side note: as I was writing this, I just got another spam follower. Don’t think I didn’t note the irony. I’m like a magnet for such things.)

So, you either move to Blogger (terrible service, terrible functionality) or you self-host (and lose the community you have on WordPress, because there really are real people in there, among the spammers) or…you, I don’t know, go to LiveJournal? Start writing furiously in notebooks and taking photos of the pages and putting them up on Instagram? Your options, they are somewhat limited, friends. WordPress is by far the best blogging platform, and they know it. And when you’re at the top of the food chain, you don’t have to listen to the little guys saying “help, help, I’m being oppressed,” now, do you?

I don’t have an answer for you. I don’t have anything. I just have a huge cloud of spammers following my blog, is all. Like gnats. Like pesty, pesky gnats. I’d ask them to stop following me, but we all know they’re not reading these posts, so there’s no point.

I can tell you, based on the way this, and many other things, have been handled, if another comparable blogging option ever opens up, I’d be one of the first ones to jump ship. Hell, it’s either that or the random scribbling in notebooks.

Which, sometimes, seem like a very good option.

Shoo. Shoo, spammers. Shoo.

You’re gonna carry that weight; carry that weight a long time

I was a skinny kid. Photos of me from back then are all pigtails and smeary glasses and I’m usually covered in mud. And I’m sometimes brandishing things like frogs or buckets of mucky water, for whatever reason. I probably had a plan for those buckets. Maybe I was going to put the frog in them. I don’t know.

Then puberty hit. You can’t fight science, people. I come from hearty peasant stock on both sides of my family. Dad’s side are all, in his words, “built like tops – big on the top, skinny on the bottom.” (I attempted to explain to him that’s not exactly how tops work, and also we don’t spin very well, but he was all “WE ARE LIKE TOPS!” so who am I to argue with him?) and my mom’s side are all built like the Goddess of Willendorf. Curvy doesn’t even begin to explain it. Genetics decided I needed a little of both, apparently.

Now, Dad had been heavy growing up, and teased about it mercilessly. He lost quite a bit of weight when he married my mother (who was, and remains, thin; she’s the only one in her family that is.) Dad saw that I was starting to gain weight and immediately feared that I was going to be teased about it at school.

His solution? Constantly watch everything I put in my mouth, tell me how disgusting being fat was, tell me I needed to be working out and/or being active every single minute of every single day, tell me I was never going to find anyone to love me if I was fat, and call me things like “elephant.” If I got upset about this, he was genuinely confused. “I just want you to be happy,” he’d say. “I just want you to be pretty and thin.”

Now, I don’t know what size you’re imagining me in high school, but if I remember correctly, I was about a size twelve. A twelve. I was probably around…oh, I don’t know. 140 pounds, maybe? 150? Just about the thinnest I’ve ever been in my adulthood, anyway. I certainly wasn’t fat. And I’m fairly tall. 5’8.


However, years and years of being told, by the person you love and admire most in the whole world, that you are ugly, fat and worthless, take their toll. My self-esteem, never overly good to begin with, wasn’t getting much better.

Senior year, I was tired of being so ugly and fat (although I was neither – I look at photos of myself from that time and think “GOOD GRIEF, WHY DIDN”T YOU REALIZE HOW GORGEOUS YOU WERE?!?!”) and went on a crash diet. This diet was basically a bowl of cereal at breakfast and a can of Chinese vegetables at dinner. Sometimes some chicken. No lunch. This was what I ate every day for about 8 months. I worked out for hours at a time daily. I lost about fifty pounds. I could see my hipbones and my ribs and my cheekbones. My collarbones were so prominent I would sometimes accidentally bump them and leave bruises.

It was the first time my father ever told me I was beautiful. He followed it with “See? All you had to do was lose weight. I knew you were beautiful underneath that.”

I was starving. I had headaches constantly. I was tired all the time. But I was THIN. Boys were paying attention to me. One of my teachers told me, “Don’t you dare ever gain weight again. Don’t you DARE” which at the time I was all “Aw, nice!” and now, looking back, I’m all, “Um. CREEPSTER!”

I think you can see where this is going. Can anyone maintain that kind of diet and exercise regimen in the long-term? And not get scurvy? And not go CRAZY? I mean, I couldn’t eat ANYTHING. I was counting the calories in CORNSTARCH. I’m not even kidding you about this. This is not a way to live a life.

I gained the weight back over about a year. I felt terrible shame. I’d let everyone down. I was disgusting. I was ugly and fat again. I had no self-esteem; I didn’t like to go out in public, I didn’t like to go out with my friends, I didn’t date because who would have me? I drank a lot, though. Liquid courage, right? Mmm-hmm. Works every time, except when you start needing it for everything, ever. Like getting out of bed in the morning, or to get to sleep at night. Or for everything in between.

I’ve fluctuated in weight ever since. Sometimes I’m heavier; sometimes I’m lighter. And here’s the thing; as I age, it matters less to me. I still don’t love what I see in the mirror every day; I still see photos of myself and think, “Good grief, that’s an unflattering photo.” I still have residual shame. I still think “If only I was thinner, life would be easier, in a million different ways.” But it’s not a daily thing. It’s not even all that often anymore.

And before you start to hate him, Dad understands, and has repeatedly apologized, for what he did when I was younger. I often think most of parenting is a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants affair. He really, truly thought he was doing the right thing. He thought he was stopping me from the ridicule he’d experienced as a teen. He didn’t realize – and did anyone, back then? – the long-standing effect that kind of treatment would have on my psyche. I’ve forgiven him. He doesn’t say a word now. And he’s said, without prompting, many times since, that I’m beautiful – no matter what size I am. He loves his daughter.

We live in a culture where it is not allowed (well, it still happens, but it’s not appropriate) to make racial jokes, or jokes about someone’s sexuality, or mental illness. But we’re still allowed to make fat jokes. Because fat jokes are funny. Fat PEOPLE are funny, right? Because, well, we CHOSE this. We chose this because we eat ALL the Twinkies and chips and cake and pie and sit around all day doing nothing. We chose this, and because we are fat, we are lazy and we also smell. Of course we do! And sometimes we fall. Ha ha! How funny!

So the best thing to do is make fun of us. To shame us. Because, as this VERY scientific study proves, it’s the only way to make us get off our lazy asses and get thin. Thin and therefore healthy. Oh, because, I don’t know if you’re aware – if you’re fat, you’re immediately unhealthy. There’s no such thing as a healthy fat person. We’re all one HoHo away from our first (or second, or third, or last) coronary. So the thing to do is shame us. According to this “prominent bioethicist” (I don’t see “ethics” coming into this at all) what you should say to any fat people you know, I mean, if you care about them at all, is “If you are overweight or obese, are you pleased with the way that you look?” Because of COURSE they’re not! And they just didn’t realize it until you shamed them! Oh, what a favor you are doing for them. They will thank you on the finish line of their first triathalon! They will shout your name from the top of Kilimanjaro!

Or they might tell you to shut your nosy piehole. Because I’m going to tell you something right now, and if you take anything away from this, I want it to be this.

My body, his body, her body, their bodies – anyone’s body but your own – ARE NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS.

I don’t care if you’re fat-shaming them, thin-shaming them (yes, it exists, please read sj’s amazing post about it, and the comments, and I know from personal experience, as I have a dear loved one who has constantly been picked on about being too thin, which she can help JUST about as much as I can help my body shape, so it’s real) or ANYTHING shaming-them, or if you say you’re doing it because you’re worried about their health, or what, exactly, your impetus for putting your nose in someone else’s business is. You have no right. None. You have no right to tell them they should lose weight (unless you are their doctor, and even then, sometimes, it gets worrisome, because there are some doctors who prescribe weightloss as an easy out for everything from asthma to a sprained toe because they don’t treat the patient, they just see a fat person and think, “I KNOW WHAT’S WRONG IT IS FATNESS!”); you have no right to say things about their lifestyle choices, their clothing choices, who they’re dating, what they’re eating, how loud they’re talking, or anything whatsoever. Keep your eyes on your own test, buckaroo. I’m sure you have something you’re not proud of. Would you like someone walking up to you and saying, “Man, that’s a huge nose you have there. You should get that surgically reduced. You know, for health reasons.” Or, “I noticed you have a very small penis, Man I’m About to Have Sex With. Have you thought about getting that surgically enhanced? You know, for health reasons?” IT WOULD BE THE SAME THING.

Here’s some Fun With Fat-Shaming. Don’t even think I didn’t research the hell out of this.

First, we have Kate Upton. Who is, I think we can all agree, STUNNINGLY GORGEOUS.

She also really likes bikini shots, so it was hard to find a photo of her clothed. Hell, good for her. She is smoking hot.

She also really likes bikini shots, so it was hard to find a photo of her clothed. Hell, good for her. She is smoking hot.

Well! Were you also aware she is “well-marbled,” “thick,” “vulgar,” and – this one’s my favorite – a “little piggie?” Or – well, how about a whole paragraph of hate? Sure!

Huge thighs, NO waist, big fat floppy boobs, terrible body definition – she looks like a squishy brick. Is this what American women are “striving” for now? The lazy, lardy look? Have we really gotten so fat in this country that Kate is the best we can aim for? Sorry, but: eww!

YES! She has been called out as too fat to model by a VERY reputable blog site called Skinny Gossip. Two things I loathe! People who judge others’ bodies and gossip! (Also, she tagged the post with “fatties” and “thunder thighs,” because, well, why not?)

Guess why she’s not model-material? BECAUSE SHE’S NORMAL-HUMAN SIZED. Well, no. She’s actually quite a bit less than normal human sized, as normal humans are, what, a size 12 now? 14? Something like that? I don’t think she’s that size. But she’s not waif-thin, and apparently, Skinny Gossip thinks that’s what size you have to be to model clothing.

Psst, Skinny Gossip, MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS. She’s stunning. And it can’t possibly make you feel any better about yourself to call people pigs, can it? Really? Do you sleep well at night knowing you put something like that out there in the world? That kind of hate?

Next: employees at CVS will now be forced to take a BMI test and a blood-glucose screen to remain on their healthcare plan, or risk a fine. Why?

The company’s rationale? Coercing employees to submit to health testing will provide incentive for workers to get—and stay—in shape.

Huh. “Coercing.” Forcing, really, because the fine is $600 and they don’t pay much above minimum to work at CVS. And what happens once you take the test? Do you have to see a counselor about your totally fat fatness? Are you told if you don’t lose weight, you’ll be let go? Are your test results posted in the breakroom next to a photo of a bag of Cheetos with a red circle and a line through it? WHO KNOWS.

Or, how about, let’s fat-shame our children with this new ad campaign? Because there’s nothing that kids need more than to be shamed. I mean, it’s worked out so well for me, right?

Please read the article that accompanies this photo. It’s kickass. It has excellent examples of fat-shaming. HEARTBREAKING examples. And, sadly, TRUE examples. People think it is ok to walk up to perfect strangers in the grocery store and QUESTION THEIR FOOD CHOICES.

(True story: I had a woman come up to me in the grocery store and tell me she worked for Herbalife and they had an excellent line of diet pills I might like to try. First thought: shame. Second thought: WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE. Second thought won out over first thought; I told her I was not at all interested in a pyramid scheme for products that don’t work in the first place, and I was sorry she felt the need to walk up to strangers and judge their body type, and walked away. She was offering them to the next woman that walked past as I checked out. So apparently my words meant nothing.)

So, anyway. Yes, that’s an ad campaign for (well, against, I guess) childhood obesity, targeting overweight children. Because they probably aren’t aware they’re fat. So let’s do a whole ad campaign for it. That’s a good way to help kids with positive self-esteem. Way to go, guys.

Of course, there’s also good old Southwest Airlines, who expect their fat passengers to spring for two seats. And even their not-so-fat passengers. Whoever THEY deem as a little too fat. They SAY it’s if the passenger can’t put the armrests down, but as Kevin Smith found out a few years ago, that’s not it at all – it’s racial profiling, only with your weight. It’s fat-profiling. He was able to put his armrests down; the passengers on either side of him told the flight attendant they had plenty of room. They still kicked him off the plane. And when he got back on a later flight that they hurriedly put him on once they realized who he was and that he was tweeting millions of people about this practice, they fat-profiled another person, then put her in his row, so she’d tell him about it, and he’d know it wasn’t just him, and feel better.

DEFINITELY taking up way too much room. He should have purchased the WHOLE DAMN PLANE. *eyeroll*

DEFINITELY taking up way too much room. He should have purchased the WHOLE DAMN PLANE. *eyeroll*

Yes! Because nothing makes us feel better than to be shamed in front of a crowd of people than to do it to someone else. NOTHING. (I read his book Tough Shit recently which went in detail into the incident, and my heart just broke for him. Because no matter what you think of Kevin Smith – you all know I think he’s fantastic, but you can hate him if you want, just don’t tell me about it, ok? – when that happened, he was just an average guy, being fat-shamed in front of a full airplane of people. Worse, he was a FAMOUS guy being fat-shamed in front of a crowd of people, and if it was an average guy, it might be a laugh or two, but with a famous person, it’s news, you know? He took control of the news and labeled it “too fat to fly” himself – he’s very good at self-deprecating – but it hurt. Of course it did. Because no matter who you are, where you are in the world, being shamed for your body size is not something you can laugh off. It just isn’t. The shame should be on Southwest Airlines, not the people they’re profiling.)

Then there’s this. I can’t embed a Facebook thread, so sadly, you will have to click. Here’s a screenshot, though, because pretty pictures, right?

Now, you have to click to see the comments. The comments are really what makes this. Because this STARTS OUT as normal, then this person shows up who hates fat people. HATES THEM. Only, no no! She doesn’t HATE them. She has MANY FAT FRIENDS! (Does this sound at all like someone who makes a lot of racist comments, then says, “What? I’m not a racist! I have MANY MANY BLACK FRIENDS!” Yeah, to me, too.) So she starts writing things like “no, it’s a known fact that all fat people are unhealthy and many doctors refuse to operate on them because, well, they’ll just die on the table. Because, well, fat, you know?”

Don’t worry. There are some kickass commenters on there. They give her the smackdown. She doesn’t ever shut up, but they win intelligence. She doesn’t win anything but idiocy and mouth-flappery.

This is, by the way, called “concern-trolling.” It’s like being a troll, only you’re pretending it’s because you CARE. Isn’t that nice? A whole new way to be a douchecanoe!

Sara, from Laments and Lullabies, wrote an amazing post recently about fat-shaming, which you all should read. Her post, and the terrible comments on that Facebook post up there, were what finally made me realize I needed to write my own post. Here’s her post. You should all a., read, and b., comment. Oh, and c., follow her blog.

There are more. There are so many more. But this is edging into way too many words for a Saturday territory, and also I’d like to get to bed at some point.

I will leave you with some bullet points. Because, who doesn’t like bullet points, am I right?

  • Other people’s bodies are none of your business. Keep your words off them. Unless you’re telling them they’re beautiful. Everyone likes that shit. Even if they pretend they don’t.
  • Pretending you’re “worried about someone’s health” is not an excuse for commenting on someone’s weight, whether they’re heavy or thin. Again, see the first bullet point. Even if they’re naked with you, their size is none of your business. Whose business is it then, Amy? THEIRS. No one’s but theirs.
  • Making fat jokes is a., not funny, and b., lazy. There are actual funny things in the world to point out. Like misspellings. Who doesn’t like a good misplaced apostrophe or missing comma? The answer to that is NO ONE.
  • To reiterate what we learned in the first bullet point: before making a comment about someone’s weight, please think the following quietly to yourself: “What is my least-favorite attribute. Now, would I like someone to loudly mention it and say it is ugly and/or unhealthy for me to have, and publicly shame me about it?” The answer to that question is always no. ALWAYS.
  • Also: if you think you are too fat, and everyone’s judging you, and you’re ugly, and OMG I CANNOT LEAVE THE HOUSE, guess what. No, seriously, guess. Hardly anyone even notices. The only people that do are assholes. And who cares what assholes think? I hope you don’t.
  • Finally: I’m going to tell you something I’ve learned in my old age. Ready? Shh, don’t share this one around, it’s kind of radical. WE ARE ALL BEAUTIFUL. I know! Every single last one of us. Fat. Thin. Tall. Short. We’re a lovely bunch of coconuts. Except – there is one thing that makes you ugly. Guess what that is? Hatefulness. Being hateful. You can’t be beautiful with hate in your mind, soul, or mouth. So get rid of that, and guess what? You’re gorgeous again. And everyone will see it. I can see it right now! Whoa, babe, dial that back, you’re blinding me with it.

We’ve become a culture of shaming. We’re rape-shaming and we’re slut-shaming and we’re thin-shaming and we’re fat-shaming. It’s repulsive and this shit’s gotta stop. Like, immediately.

Stop shaming anyone. Including yourself. You are beautiful. The people around you are beautiful. No one should be shamed for how they look. The next time you look at yourself in the mirror, be amazed at how gorgeous you are. And tell the people around you how beautiful they are. Don’t allow them to blow it off and say things like, “Oh, I look like a cow in this top” or whatever, either. Nope. Not today, buckaroos. Tell them they’re beautiful AGAIN. Until they actually believe it.

Then, all of that stuff? Do quadruple that for your kids. Make sure your kids enter the world with the strongest self-esteem possible. They’re going to need it, and you can help them with that.

We might be surrounded by shame, but we can combat that with love. Is that the opposite of shame? Don’t care. For our purposes it is.

Love you guys. You’re gorgeous. Every last one of you.

…the status is not quo. The world is a mess and I just need to rule it.

sj alerted me to this and I do not approve. (Of the story, not of sj. I approve of sj most wholeheartedly.)

Apparently, there is a website called WND. I didn’t know it existed, either. Don’t feel bad. “WND” stands for World Net Daily. They find news and then tell you about it from a conservative viewpoint. Oh, I know about this! It’s called Fox News. Dad fills me in on this every day. I’m totally up on the conservative viewpoint and the mockery thereof. It’s both fair AND balanced, you guys.

So WND (I keep wanting to call it WWD and wonder where the fashion is, yo) decided the latest person they hated is – ready for this? Neil Patrick Harris.


See, I don’t know if you’re aware? But NPH is gay. YES IT IS TRUE FACTS! He is married to a lovely man and they have adorable twins.

He’s also a talented actor, onstage and in movies and on television, and seems, in interviews, to be a very well-spoken, intelligent, and interesting person. He also sings and dances beautifully and is very, very funny. Seriously, his hosting stint on Saturday Night Live made me laugh until I almost choked. If stupid played nice with WordPress I would show you. Instead, here’s a link. And another. (First link is NPH doing this Doogie Howser musical thing – I can’t even explain. Roommate C. and I were in TEARS of laughter. And second link is NPH doing a Broadway skit. Both are worth the click, promise.)

PLUS, come ON, how many actors are happy to make fun of themselves in a stoner movie?

“Yeah. It was a total dick move on my part. That’s why I’m paying for your burgers.”


“Did you notice that he threw you in the garbage?”


So anyway, NPH did the following ad for the Superbowl:


I have nothing against Tim Tebow, but apparently the Christian right has decided he’s their spokesperson? Worrisome. I think you already HAVE a spokesperson. JESUS. My mom told me that and I have to believe her, as she is my mom.

So! By wearing this crap on his face with the dates on it (apparently this is called “eyeblack”, who knew) NPH is “…pushing a gay agenda …and…mocking Christians at the same time.”

OH! Is THAT what he’s doing! Well. Isn’t THAT a whole bunch of things to be doing all at once like that, how very multitasky!

(Also, if you want to see a cross-section of super-awesome humans? Read the comments on the WND post. OH MY OH NO. “REPENT REPENT!” says the very first one. Um. You repent for gaybashing, I’ll repent for whatever it is you’re judging me for, bub.)

Shit. Well, if NPH is too gay for the Superbowl, then so am I. I AM SPARTACUS. I’m totally boycotting it this year.

What’s that? I boycott it every year because I refuse to watch it because it’s sports and I hate sports and this is really not a BOYCOTT, per se, if I’m doing something I would do ANYWAY and just SAYING it’s a political statement?

Well. Aren’t YOU judgey. That’s very rude of you. Huff, huff.

(For the record, guess who can enjoy sports? Gay people. Straight people. People with no legs. People with two heads. People with red hair. People who wear too many gold chains. People who like their pizza with black olives. People with penises. People without penises. People with both penises AND vaginas. Tall people. Short people. Fat people. Skinny people. People who wear sweaters with kittens on the front. People who like dairy. People who are lactose-intolerant. In short: ANYONE AT ALL.)

There’s no gay agenda. Well, no, I take that back. There’s totally a gay agenda. The gays (yes, I’ve talked to all of them) would like the following:

  • to be treated like productive members of society, no matter who they love
  • to be given the same rights as everyone else
  • to not be beaten up for who they love (or called names on the street, or given dirty looks, or be made to feel unsafe in any way)

That’s pretty much it. I don’t know if three bullet points make an “agenda.” I mean, I’m on a board of directors. We have more bullet points than that on our monthly board meeting agendas.

Listen. I don’t care about a lot of things. But if you don’t like NPH, at least a little, I think your heart might be dead. He is just pure joy, this guy. He isn’t furthering ANYTHING. He’s the star of one of the biggest shows on his network. I bet half or more of the people who watch his show don’t even KNOW he’s gay. He doesn’t even play someone gay ON the show. And the photo above is from a promo clip on his network, who would be stupid not to use one of their most recognizable faces for publicity purposes.

That’s it. That’s the agenda. His network wants people to watch the Superbowl; they used one of their resources to get people to do so. I don’t think they were mocking Tebow. Little known fact: people were using that eyeblack shit before Tebow came along. IT IS TRUE.

Dear WND: please to be getting a life. You make me sad and also angry. You are small-minded and hateful people and at some point you have forgotten that we’re all human on this rock in space and there’s no room for that kind of thinking because it’s 2013 and we don’t need to put up with it anymore.

In short, WND, feel most free to bite me. Grow the hell up.

Just be nice to the gentlemen, Fancy, and they’ll be nice to you.

There are a lot of problems in the world today. Unless you’re living in a happy plastic bubble or a biodome or something, I’m sure you’ve heard about some of them. Shooting people. Crazy religious types Jesus-shouting at funerals. The hatred of all things not-“normal” – so you’re screwed if you’re not a straight old rich white man. The world’s a maelstrom of lunacy at the moment. It’s a lot of fun to live in. If by “fun” you mean “a place filled with many pits of quicksand so TREAD LIGHTLY DARLING GINGERSNAPS.”

This one’s kind of miniscule, overall. Comparatively, I mean. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t infuriate me. So are we going to rant about it? You bet we are.

I heard about this here. Sprocket Ink (our friend Jim used to write there, and once he left, I stayed around, because I enjoyed their articles…which is what people say about Playboy, right? So THAT sounded suspect) covers a lot of news stories in a snarky way I enjoy. Also since I have trouble keeping up with the news lately they’re super-helpful with keeping me up-to-date with things. Snarkily. I like that.

In case you don’t feel like clicking through (I see your stats, I know like one or two of you a day click through) I will recap the article for you. I can do that. I’m helpful. Also pissed.

There is a website called Potential Prostitutes. I know, doesn’t that sound like the most fun? It’s not.

I think this is an actual prostitute, not even a potential one.

I think this is an actual prostitute, not even a potential one.

On this site, anyone (it’s anonymous) can click and input the name, photograph, location, and phone number of a “potential prostitute.” The website will put that person up on the site. It’s all very simple.

Who are the potential prostitutes?

Doesn’t matter.

Could be a potential prostitute. Could be an actual prostitute. Could be your ex-girlfriend. Could be the girl who stole your boyfriend. Could be the pretty girl in your math class that gets more attention from the boys that you do. Could be the girl that wouldn’t sleep with you on that date the other night. Could be that girl that wouldn’t go out with you the other night. Could be the girl that’s treating your best friend like shit and he’s too over the moon to see it.Could be the girl that hates you for no reason and you just want to pay it forward. Could be the girl that’s bullying you. Could be the girl you’re bullying.

It. Does. Not. Matter.

And shitty. Also it's shitty.

And shitty. Also it’s shitty.

This totally up-and-up website will take this info and post it so people can search it by location. That’s it. Very simple, very easy. Then everyone can see this potential prostitute. And we can all shame her. SHAMMMMMEEEEE HERRRRRR.

What’s that? She’s not a prostitute? Well, THAT doesn’t matter.

What if you’re the girl on the site? What if someone emails you and says, “is this you?” and sends you a screencap of you on the Potential Prostitute site? Is your life over? How will you live this down?

Well! Don’t worry. It’s not a forever thing. For only $99.95, you can get yourself off the site. You’re safe! I mean, what’s $99.95 in the grand scheme of saving your good name from the Potential Prostitute site?

OK, the people that own this site? Assholes. Scammers. Using the internet to make money. Yes. Of course they are. Scum. Lower than the low. Similar to that bag of dicks who makes those Girls Gone Wild videos. I can’t imagine this site will stay up for long. They’ll screw up, post an underage kid’s photo or something, they’ll get sued, the site will get pulled down. I’m not a psychic, I’m just practical. (Although they’re hiding behind some law that they say makes what they’re doing ok. Which I would link you to but I’m not linkbaiting this site because I hate it so much it’s giving me hives. Also, it’s free speech, they’re saying. Assholes, all. This is not what free speech was made for, you guys. Back in the late 1700s they weren’t all “we gotta provide for the Potential Prostitutes of the world, yo.”)

"Also Potential Prostitutes. We gotta look out for these bastions of all that is right and good in the world?"

“Also Potential Prostitutes. We gotta look out for these bastions of all that is right and good in the world?”

However, what bothers me is the people who are submitting photos to this site.

Sure, there might be actual people submitting actual photos of actual prostitutes to the site. Anything’s possible. I don’t know that we have to shame prostitutes; it’s a shitty enough job, and as long as they’re not shanking people and stealing their wallets, or speading all the STDs, or something, why don’t we leave them alone, already? Prostitution is legal in enough other countries. I’m finding it more and more ridiculous we’re so backward here in good old Merka about this. But of course we are. Here in Merka, we’re attempting to take away a woman’s right to choose, as well as our access to birth control and probably, eventually, our right to do anything but pump out babies and stay barefoot chained to the stove making pies or something, I don’t know what the hell. We’re sure as hell not going to legalize prostitution any damn time soon.

But I’m willing to bet actual prostitutes aren’t going to pay the people who put up the site almost $100 to take their photos down. Why would they care if they’re on a shady site? I don’t think the cops would use this site to arrest them, and it’s probably free advertising for them.

No, this site was set up because whoever’s behind it is betting on humans being human. And being small, and petty, and slut-shaming women. For whatever reason they want. Hurt feelings? Hatred? Bullying? Whatever. Doesn’t matter. Let’s call them a whore on the interwebs. And make the target of that vitriol pay about $100 to get their name removed from said site, or not pay it, and run the risk of someone finding it there and assuming they’re a whore. Sorry. A prostitute. Not even! A “potential” prostitute. Because that’s classier.

This infuriates me.

It’s got a slut-shaming component, which infurates me already. But it’s got a bullying component to it, too. A “let’s ruin someone’s life just because we can” component.

Listen, I get hating people. I try very hard not to. I do. But I’m a human being. And there are people in this world that I just detest. Whether they’ve done something to me personally, or to someone I love, or they’re just soul-sucking wastes devoid of human emotion…well, the reasons vary. As I get older, my irrational hatred has gotten less frequent. I’m mellowing in my old age, you see. But, yes. There are people in this world that I hate. I can think of a handful. And a few of those are women.

Would I put them up on a site and call them potential prostitutes?

No. No, I would not. I can’t imagine anyone being that petty…although I know there are people who are. I work for an answering service, you see. I deal with all sorts over there. (Callers, not coworkers. I love my coworkers.)


We don’t need to be putting people up on a website and calling them a whore. Whether they are or not. Whether they’re selling themselves or whether they’re just someone you’re mad at or someone who got someone or something you wanted. That is catty and pathetic and small and mean and it is BENEATH YOU. No matter who you are. Can you really sleep at the end of the day knowing you did this to someone, no matter how much you hate them? That person has a life and parents and maybe children and people who love them. This makes YOU an asshole. This makes you a terrible person. This makes you a bully and a liar and also most likely lower than that crap that leaks out of dumpsters and smells like death.

This is you. Proud of yourself, darlin'?

This is you. Proud of yourself, darlin’?

We don’t have to like everyone in the world. Those people that I referenced above? That I hate? I’m never going to like them. Imagining them falling in a hole and dying a long, drawn-out, lonely death of starvation? Yes. I might have done that now and again. I’m not proud. I’m human. But I’m not going to put more evil out there. I’m not going to put more hatred out there in the world. We don’t need to be doing that. Whatever that person did to you to make you hate them? That’s on them. Don’t let it be on you. Don’t let it turn you into a bitter, twisted human taking revenge. Don’t let them control you like that. Because that’s what it is, you know. Them controlling you. And do you want that? Them controlling you like that? Like a puppet? That person you hate that much? I can’t imagine you do.

And, just because I’m THOROUGH, yo, I totally searched to see if there were any potential prostitutes in my area, and NO, there were NOT, but there are like a billion in Hudson, New York. And Hudson’s not even very big. That’s like a town of just whores. Like this book I read once where they put all the lepers in one town. Hudson must be where they put ALL the potential prostitutes. And I guess the johns just pop in for a bit and then go home? Huh. I have friends that grew up around there, I don’t think they ever mentioned living near Whoretown.

I don't think this looks whorey at all. It's actually kind of pretty. Hmm. Perplexing. Is there a CHANCE this site is WRONG?

I don’t think this looks whorey at all. It’s actually kind of pretty. Hmm. Perplexing. Is there a CHANCE this site is WRONG?

I looked for whores in sj‘s town but there weren’t any so I made her send me the name of the closest biggest town to her and there were STILL no whores and the only whores I could find were in the biggest city in her state and that makes me sad. Come on, small towns, you gotta step up here, whore-wise. (Soon sj will be moving and there will be more cities with whores in her new state, so that’s nice.)

Also, there are no whores at all in Finland. Sorry, Andreas.

There’s more than enough ugliness in the world, people. Let’s put a little more of the opposite out there, ok? I’m not saying you have to like everyone. Listen, I know how hard it is to love thine enemy. Do I ever know. But love more and hate less and DO NOT FOR THE LOVE OF PETE CALL PEOPLE WHORES ONLINE. Also, when are we going to get to the point where whore isn’t a huge insult, I wonder? When are we going to grow the hell UP?

Thanks. This has been a public service announcement from me. Carry on with your day. Nothing more to see here. (BE NICE TO EACH OTHER PLEASE!)

It’s a war! Defend yourselves, men, we’re coming for your SOULS!


Men, listen, I am so sorry. I’m here to give you a warning.

You’re going to want to probably arm yourselves. I’m thinking crossbows? Maybe trebuchets? Boiling vats of hot oil? Vicious taunting?


There is a WAR on you. A whole war! Just on you and your dangly bits!

How do I know this? Well, Fox News told me. Listen, guys. They’re both fair and balanced. It’s right in their slogan. So you know they’re telling the truth. I mean, if someone’s fair and balanced, how could they be telling us a falsehood?

You know this guy’s fair and balanced, as he’s the one who thinks we’re all gonna marry TURTLES.

Dad’s been telling me this for a while now, but I’ve been ignoring him. I feel terrible. Sorry, Dad. I guess you were telling me the truth all along. I’ll send you a trebuchet. You get the first trebuchet, Dad. Shit, there is a WAR on, you can’t go into this UNARMED.

According to Suzanne Venker, who you know you have to trust because she is a lady who writes for Fox News (she has written such illustrious tomes as The Flipside of Feminism and How to Choose a Husband and 7 Myths of Working Mothers, so she’s here for US, ladies, and let’s not even discuss how ironic it is she has time to write all these things as a person with lady-bits who should be serving her man and children in all things!) there is no war on women. Women have taken over the world. We get more college degrees, we’ve taken over the workforce, in other words: WE RULE.

Well. I already knew we ruled. And honestly, I don’t doubt those statistics, but only because there are more women than men (at least in MERKA!) so it would figure there were more women in the workforce and more women getting college degrees. It only makes sense.

But Ms. Venker (I bet she’d be so mad I called her Ms., so you know I’m going to keep doing it; also, I keep wanting to call her Ms. Venkman, like from Ghostbusters? Because I’m a dork) says that all the women are complaining THERE ARE NO GOOD MEN LEFT TO MARRY. And she disagrees. There are PLENTY of good men. They just don’t want to marry us. Why?

Women aren’t women anymore.


Yep. Women aren’t WOMEN anymore. And by “women,” she of course means the 50s stereotype: aproned, hair done just so, waiting at home for her man to bring home the bacon with dinner on the table and a smile on her face and dead, dead eyes. Women who pop out kids like kittens and keep their mouths shut to opinions and vote like their husbands tell them to, if their husbands encourage them to at all, and read books about the Lord.

Once, Dad gave Mom a vaccuum for their anniversary. She didn’t talk to him for a WEEK. True story!

In a nutshell, women are angry. They’re also defensive, though often unknowingly. That’s because they’ve been raised to think of men as the enemy. Armed with this new attitude, women pushed men off their pedestal (women had their own pedestal, but feminists convinced them otherwise) and climbed up to take what they were taught to believe was rightfully theirs.

Please read this paragraph again. No, seriously. Read it again, and then just soak it in for a minute.

  • “Women are angry.” Blanket generalizations are fantastic, aren’t they? I’m a woman. Let me check my internal barometer. Nope. Not angry at the moment. Are women angry sometimes? Sure they are. They’re also sometimes happy, sad, calm, jubilant, depressed, and sleepy. And – top secret info, my little jujubes? SO ARE MEN. You know why that is? WE’RE ALL HUMANS AND HAVE EMOTIONS IN OUR HEADPLACES.
  • Shit, now I don’t know if I’m defensive or not. I might be defensive and not even know it. THIS IS TERRIBLE.
  • Raised to think men were the enemy. Well, here’s the thing. I wasn’t raised to think men were the enemy. One of my primary caregivers wasn’t a huge fan of men, but that’s just one person. The rest of my people were pretty equal-opportunity. I was actually raised around a lot of men. The Lucy’s Football family was pretty man-heavy. So I’ve always liked men. (NOT LIKE THAT. Well, yes, also like that. But not SOLELY like that.) I’m not going to say I GET them, that’s silly, but I grew up surrounded by supportive, loving, intelligent, loyal men. None of whom are the enemy. Most of whom I would actually, willingly, give up my life for. Not raised to think they’re the enemy. Raised to think they were equals – and that I was their equal. Despite my lack of a penis. There’s a difference.
  • That last sentence – well, here’s the thing. I don’t disagree with most of it. I don’t think men-hating led us to attempt to claim equal-rights status – I think that was just the notion – the INSANE notion – that as humans, we deserved the same rights as everyone else. And I think we did have a pedestal. The pedestal of WIFE and MOTHER. Brainless, pretty, and useless except for breeding purposes. Who the hell wants to stay on THAT fucking pedestal? That pedestal SUCKS. I’m so lucky I was born in an era where not only was I not expected to be on that pedestal, every time someone pointed me toward that pedestal, I kicked it. With steel-toed Docs. The feminists (the way that’s phrased, can’t you just hear her SPITTING that hated word? FEMINISTS UGH) didn’t convince us otherwise. THEY OPENED OUR EYES. They said, “you are a HUMAN BEING. You deserve THE SAME RIGHTS AS EVERYONE ELSE.”
  • I guess I am angry. Huh. Well, it must be because I have a vagina and I hate men.

Don’t worry. Ms. Venker’s not done. I hope among the time it took her to write this article she was able to service her man and put her kids to bed. That’s what women are for, after all. Also clipping coupons. And hanging out at the beauty salon under those huge blowdry helmets.

But what if the dearth of good men, and ongoing battle of the sexes, is – hold on to your seats – women’s fault?

You’ll never hear that in the media. All the articles and books (and television programs, for that matter) put women front and center, while men and children sit in the back seat. But after decades of browbeating the American male, men are tired. Tired of being told there’s something fundamentally wrong with them. Tired of being told that if women aren’t happy, it’s men’s fault.

Contrary to what feminists like Hanna Rosin, author of The End of Men, say, the so-called rise of women has not threatened men. It has pissed them off. It has also undermined their ability to become self-sufficient in the hopes of someday supporting a family. Men want to love women, not compete with them. They want to provide for and protect their families – it’s in their DNA. But modern women won’t let them.

Who is telling men that if women aren’t happy, it’s their fault? Who’s telling them that? If in a relationship, people aren’t happy (the man, the woman, whoever) BOTH of them have to work to fix it. It’s not just one person’s fault. Both people have to change if it’s going to work. Or maybe it’s not going to work, I don’t know your life. Sometimes one of the people is kind of an asshole. Sometimes the people aren’t compatible. Sometimes they grow apart. But is there someone going around the world saying “MAN’S FAULT!” and pointing the finger at the men all the time? Because that’s a shitty thing to do. Some of my nearest and dearest have been in relationships that haven’t worked out. And I know damn well it wasn’t their fault. And – here’s a shocker – THEY ARE MEN. ZOMG! I know! Totally distressing, as a woman, I should probably have shaken my finger in their face and been all “YOUR FAULT!”, right?

Now I want you to read that last paragraph. NO SERIOUSLY. Really read it. (Her last paragraph, not mine.)

This paragraph makes men out to be GIGANTIC ASSHOLES.

Gigantic assholes from the 50s wearing fedoras and smoking many cigarettes and carrying the newspaper and expecting their wives to rub their feet and provide them with brisket when they get home. OR FACE THE CONSEQUENCES DAMMIT.

I have male friends. And honestly, don’t you even presume to speak for them, ma’am. Don’t you even. Because honestly, if my male friends were presented with the kind of woman you are purporting they want? I think they’d just feel bad for them. And I think they’d probably wonder what was wrong with them, and wonder what kind of childhood trauma they went through that made them feel so worthless that they had to be subservient and docile, and not want to spend any time with them because who wants to spend time willingly with a Stepford wife?

My male friends? Some of whom are single, some of whom are in relationships? RESPECT powerful women. They like us to have brains. They LIKE us to think about things, to speak our minds, to be intelligent, funny, self-sufficient. They are not afraid of us because we have power. They would not want us any other way.

Women in power are AMAZING and BEAUTIFUL and STRONG. Screw you if you think otherwise. It’s a failing in yourself, not in them.

This is the only type of man I associate myself with. This is the only type of man I want anything to fucking DO with. If you, Ms. Venker, have been spending time with whiny-ass men who are all “GONE ARE THE DAYS I COULD COME HOME TO A CLEAN HOUSE AND A STEAK AND A BJ,” well, you can send those assholes right back where they came from – in a wormhole to Ozzy and Harrietville.

SO HAPPY! Except for the missing part. You can’t see that. The missing part is her SOUL.

Also, IT IS NOT IN THEIR DNA. No more than it is in WOMEN’S DNA. THAT IS NOT HOW SCIENCE WORKS. You can’t just make up science. We ALL want to provide for and protect our families. Are you telling me, ma’am, that single moms don’t want to provide for and protect their families? Because they have, what, unicorns and kittens in their DNA?

Also, “modern women won’t LET them?” I FORBID YOU, MAN I LOVE, TO PROVIDE FOR OR PROTECT MY FAMILY! Yeah, that happens a lot, I think. Probably all the damn time.

Well, listen. I haven’t written EXTENSIVE BOOKS about how women are ruining men, or anything, and based on this article, I am the enemy, but here are my two cents. Not that you asked for them. And not that I’d spare you two cents; I mean, I’m sure your husband is the sole provider in your family, right, ma’am? You don’t get paid for writing these articles, right? Or those books? Or for going on the extensive speaking tours you advertise on your slick website?

You are out of your everloving mind. And – AND, worst of all – you’re poisoning the minds of people I care about.

My dad thinks this shit is true. My dad saw this on your damnable television channel and ACTUALLY TOLD ME that the war on women was to cover up the actual war on men that’s going on. (Also, he’s quite sure if I were more ladylike, I’d be married right now. “But then I wouldn’t be me!” I said. He thought about this for a minute. “That’s true. I like you the way you are. I guess stay the way you are. Could you pretend to be a lady to catch a man? That might work.” “NO DAD I AM NOT USING CHICANERY TO HOOK ME A FELLA,” I replied.)

It’s not a war. It’s EVOLUTION. It’s PROGRESS. Other countries have been doing this – and doing it RIGHT, and without a COMPLAINT – for YEARS. Why in Merka is it something we have to write articles about, bemoaning the lack of 50s sensibilities? Listen, both of my grandmothers REVEL in the freedoms women today have that women in their day didn’t.

This article is 50% you trolling us (I’m sure Fox encouraged you to write it, and to include such inflammatory language) and 50% shit you believe. And Ms. Venker, that makes me sad. Because you are raising children. Who are looking to you to be an example. You are poisoning young minds. This utterly terrifies me.

Women: don’t let anyone tell you there’s no war on us. Men – the small-minded ones – are terrified of our power. Because we are powerful. And there are a LOT of us. And if we banded together, oh, the change for the better we could make.

Thanks to the amazing sj – a woman of power if there ever was one – for this image!

And men? Well, shit. I’m so sorry war’s been declared on the Kingdom of Your Genitalia. Expect your trebuchets in the mail in 3-5 business days. Well, except for those of you in Europe. Shipping costs to your lands are a little prohibitive so I gotta send those via the slow boat. Protect yourselves with vegetable peelers for the time being.


We’re comin’ for you.

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