Why oh why do we as women think we have to preface everything with ‘not all men’. why as women do we talk to each other about rape and prostitution – both acts of violence towards women, and feel we have to include the few male victims, into our discussion and equation? Why, as women do we feel we have to say “we don’t hate men” and then excuse ourselves and apologize for having difficult but necessary discussions about the patriarchy and men’s abuses? Do we as a group feel we have to make sure the men and other women who support the patriarchal system, are reassured we are not brutes for wanting safety and our sex based rights? Do we feel we have to ensure our safety from the systems of cancellation and internet trial by fire, by carefully wording our outrage, and making sure men are included at all times? Why is it in the slightest bit controversial to define women who are born women separately from men who have dysphoria and wish to be seen as women for their own psychological comfort. The day my psychological comfort is taken into consideration will be a cold day in hell. Nobody pussyfoots around me. I am expected to pull on my big girl pants and take the flack like a grown up. “It is in the past, Paltry, move on!” – that is what the men and quite a few women have to say to me. I am not allowed to be distressed or damaged, it is inconvenient and ‘unhelpful’. Men however, they expect to be accommodated, because lets face it, they generally are!
It is not unreasonable for women as a group to want to try and keep the attacking patriarchal hoards at bay. To do this by means of appeasement and flattery is understandable. For the handmaidens of this world, it is taken to extreme lengths. Zebras feeding close to the lions, thinking if they are the most invisible by means of their patriarchy- supporting stripes, they they might be eaten last. Some of them think they might not be eaten at all. Poor deluded fools.
It all gets very team based and tribal. Your identity is defined by your chosen belief system, a little bit like the having it your way whopper-lies we all tell ourselves, and are served hot and fresh at the altar of google, like some infernal bee kay joint for the generally incurious. Team Perfect Women! Get it your way! Have it ALL. Be pretty and sweet, and wear dresses and high heels, have children, go to work. Never falter. Never stop. Never listen to the voice inside your head that tells you that child rearing, a career, house cleaning, cooking, doing it al – having it all – being it all, is anything less than a reward given to you by modern third wave feminism. And when you are dragging yourself up out of bed at 3am, and your husband offers to ‘get the baby’ instead, you will be appropriately grateful….after all, he has to go to work…and so do you…except his rest, his work, his sleep is somehow more important than yours. The Great Big Fake Having It All Whopper.
The “I’m Alright Jack” cheesefest is every handmaiden’s dream. It is made from the pure distilled tears of every sex trafficked, raped with no recourse to the law just her dignity shredded, abused, beaten, murdered by her partner, murdered by some sex crazed porn added male stranger, fucked to death hung drawn and quartered aging blue movie victim, the last breaths of female addicts too scared to go to the clinic because the guys can’t keep their distance; every woman locked up in jail because the Hague convention criminalizes her for saving her own life and that of her children; every mother dying in child birth, third world mother victim of nestle’s sketchy practices, baby pageant princess paraded for her dimples and performing sexualized dances with so much mascara on that she can’t open her own eyes to the degradation, and and every female baby smothered at birth for the sin of being born female, every raped to death woman in India; every woman fired or her career destroyed because she had an opinion that didn’t serve males well and would not back down or wear the stripes, every knocked up teen girl whose boyfriend had the ability to run and whose abortion was denied or made impossible by other women who munch on the I’m Alright Jack Cheesy goodness of being buffered by money, family, and Fortune Herself.
How about the Alphabet Soup Whopper? That whopper serves up a heaping pile of horse manure that says that gay rights are lesbian rights. Do not look over at the reality pie being served up that any sexuality which involves men or people who were born male is treated with greater deference than a sexuality which rejects men and the male body entirely. It is served in cotton ceiling buns to pay homage to the fact that males are taking women’s fight for equality at work and in their career prospects- the glass ceiling – and co opting it, twisting it into the struggle for dudes to get lesbian women to sleep with ‘girldick’. It comes with a side order of “not a single natural vag on tinder’ fries your brain, and a bitter silicone DD melon tea in a size 14 hot pink pvc spike heeled boot.
The full menu is only served until 7pm, 4pm in winter, because after dark reality hits hard and every woman with any experience of life is too busy watching her back, keeping her head on a swivel in order to make sure no one is following her, and holding her car keys in one hand and the pepper spray in the other, so as to have her hands free, too overburdened with the task of staying alive to have a hunger for fast food philosophy and a hunk of patriarchal poultry based protein pie.
The Notorious RBG said to speak the truth, even though your voice shakes, and that is the only fast food for thought I want to chow down on. Make mine a strawberry and radical feminism.
Don’t be too angry, don’t be too honest, don’t be too Extra Ultra Having it Large with all the trimmings, don’t dare, don’t dream, and don’t anger the zebras. Don’t get to express your sexuality. Don’t get to question. Don’t get to rise to the top when a man who has put in exactly the same, or less than you sails by because they didn’t make and squeeze out and then raise an entire human being. Just don’t. Or else join me in saying fuck that for a game of deny the problems and feed -the-lions-the-weaker-ones. We don’t need to sugar the grease to choke it down, we can simply put down the poisoned plate and start again. Together. Dodo do doooo do! Let’s put some love in it!