(Gin-blogging; could you tell?)

I really used to think that Allah P harbored tremendous amounts of sexism—perhaps even misogyny.

Now I believe he's terribly enlightened—though perhaps a bit depressed. I think that suggests that either (1) he's been getting laid more in the past few years, and/or (2) I was even more puritanical and judgmental a few years back than I am now. [[[shudder]]]

Now, of course, I'm convinced that not only is Ragnar the most sexist creature in the Rightosphere, but he's also an asshole the likes of which I haven't seen since . . . well, since the last time I watched broadcast news.

And he's green. Seventeen or eighteen years old, tops.

* * *

Oh, yes. Assholes who happen to be male:

When I was nine years old, my brother was 11. No offense, kitten-boy, but you were horrible. (I was thinking of buying a house down the block from yours sometime in the next few years; that way, my mother and I could just check in on you and your wife from time to time and make sure you two are alright—and that the boys don't need more iTunes gift certificates, so they can buy stuff from "Scars on Broadway.")

Then I was ten, and he was 12. This did not help matters whatsoever. He decided to teach me chess, which he accomplished by showing me how the pieces moved, and imparting nearly no strategy to me. In an odd turn of events, he found it easy to beat me rather rapidly when it came to chess.

So, see? It was a win-win situation: he got to win, and I got to lose, which was almost certainly good for my soul.

Surely that gives me the moral high ground in the years to come, and if it does not--well, I'll take it by force.

Perhaps my nephews need a place where they can go to shoot pool, and have a few beers. Like the garage/bonus room in the old days in Santa Monica.

I would hate to be a bad influence, of course. But my mother and I think we should live somewhere nearby, so that we and the dog could . . . enhance your lives! And I, for one, promise not so supply your sons with weed. Unless they ask me really, really nicely. For a nominal fee, I will not tell then (too many) stories from your days as a party boy.

* * * * *

[Actually, I'm completely making this up; the mom will be moving up to east LA: Pasadena, La Canada, or something like that.]

* * *

Fortunately, I shot the television a few nights ago with my .40-caliber Glock. My husband seems testy about it, even though I invited him to "watch the idiot box go boom!"

He's been muttering under his breath. I've only been able to pick out "football," "high-definition?" "sports bars" and "fuckin' bitch."

He does seem quite angry at the forces of radical feminism that have tried to shut down debate from equity feminists over the last few decades. So angry, in fact, that he barely speaks to me any more.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 02:21 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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