Archive for feminism

Gaga Must Be in Awe of Mark Ryden. (Hell, Who Isn’t?)

Posted in Art & Culture, Fame & Celebrity, Feminism (Shades of Gray), Goof & Glamour, I Heart Shaman*Art, I Heart Tricksters, In Celebration of the Absurd, Lipstick Shamaness, Psyche & Sexuality, punk rock, Sexuality, Sideshow Siren & Bearded Lady, Star F*#ker, Style & Fashion, Technicolor Pop, Top 2% of Coolest Mofos with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 15, 2010 by alphabetfiend

   I didn’t watch the VMAs but, periodically glancing down at my iphone screen, I saw that twitter was all a-twitter over Lady Gaga’s meat dress.     

(Yes, IPhone, yes Twitter. Groan. “Long Story,” sighs The Lusty Luddite.)    

    

But no one was saying the obvious which was “OMG! Gaga’s gone real life Ryden!”    

Check out that white flaxen hair!

  

Being the selfish little writer-chick that I am I decided to save my “OMG!” for y’all. Except then I couldn’t get online for the umpteenth time (boy, the free wifi from my next door coffee shop sho’ ain’t whut it used ta be.) By the next morning, several people were pointing it out, including Ryden himself. (On Twitter. Hence Twitter.)    

    

Look, no one’s calling Gaga a Ryden rip-off or at least I’m not. It’s still super cool & mad genius. Once again, Lady Gaga used costume as an artistic and spiritual medium; stirring our own frockful fantasies; probing own throbbing architectures of mythos & meaning. So yea, it was pretty much awesome. After all, the girl in “Incarnation” isn’t a real-life girl with stepped-one toes. She was a fantasy, up for the taking.    

Gaga plucked that sucker from the tree of meaning and took a big juicy bite. Oh, wait, let’s try that again. >>I’m a bit rusty due to my recent sabBRATtical. << Gaga fillet’d that fucker from the flank of id and toothesomely tore off a hunk of bloody flesh.    

    

It was brilliant, really, I loved it, except… well, it would’ve been much cooler if she had given Ryden a big old “Yea, baby!” shout-out rather than mumbling some vague, tired shit about feeling like a piece of meat or being seen as a commodity or bla bla bla. Shaaaad up, Lady Bla Bla.    

    

Look, the whole feminism “feeling like a piece of meat” thing, I get it. I just don’t buy it. Not from Gaga.    

Lady Gaga is an absolute expert at letting her meat hang out. If she were really troubled — feeling like a piece of ass — she’d probably cover that ass.     

     

Nah, I think it’s much more likely that Lady Gaga, just like the rest of us, has spent hours agog and drooling over Ryden’s paintings, searching for ourselves from among his feminine archetypes.    

    

I’ve often blamed Ryden’s meat paintings on pop culture’s current carnivorous phase. At the store, as customers went nuts over steak bath-mats and bacon band-aids, I’d just chuckle at Ryden’s far-reaching influence. People may not know that Ryden’s the reason they’re craving meaty gewgaws but he is.    

Mark Ryden put meat on the muther-fuckin’ map. Mark Ryden made meat cool.    

I dunno but I’ve heard that if you wanna get more followers on Twitter, you need only name-drop bacon.    

And vagina.    

And penis.    

And there, folks, is all you really need to know about WHY we are so obsessed with meat.    

    

We are meat. Sometimes we forget that we’re meat. And sometimes we long to remember.    

    

Mark Ryden probes that soft, bloody, fleshy place inside of us. And we…respond.    

    

Lady Gaga wasn’t saying “How dare you treat me like a piece of meat!” Puh-leeze. She was shouting, “Hey, everybody, look at me! I’m meaty!”    

"Broken Label" with Mark Ryden

  

Gaga was acting on an impulse that wasn’t as wholly original as many non-Ryden fans might think. In 2009, freaky fashion blogger Tatianista gave voice to that Grade A urge.    

How utterly fabulous would it be for an underground fashionista like myself to have wearable meat a la Ryden to add to my ever-growing, glamorously eccentric wardrobe? So fab, in fact, that someone far more clever thought of it long before I did.    

Tatianista waxed poetic about the Nagi Noda / Mark Ryden collaboration, which launched Noda’s “Broken Label.”    

The first and only collaborative fashion collection the two artists produced…will likely be as highly collectible as just about anything else Ryden has produced…even more-so now that Noda, whose broad body of work included everything from popular music videos and commercials to sculpture, conceptual art and “hair hats” died tragically young last year. She left this world wearing her favorite Chanel boots, Victor and Rolf black lace eyelashes and one of her own Mark Ryden dresses.    

In February of this year (2010) the prescient Schadenfreude Pony declared of the meat dress in Ryden’s “Incarnation”    

GaGa will be wearing it next week.    

Unlike Tatianista and Gaga, I’ve never felt an enormous need to wear a meat dress. I’ve always been more into Ryden’s more mythic maidens, all filled-up from the inside with story & secrets.    

    

 I was obsessed for a time with creating a t-bone steak clutch, perfect accessory for the LBD, but was too lazy and never got around to making it.    

    

The ground chuck bag was a Ryden collab with Paul Frank. I’m not sure who did the pork slab but isn’t it the ideal briefcase for bringin’ home the bacon?    

    

My someday steak purse would not be a real t-bone, of course, cause I can barely stomach raw meat when preparing it for the grill (and my stomach.) My meaty fashion forays would be more figurative than real life soon-to-be rotting flesh.    

    

Such as these folks did for a Mark Ryden opening. (She’s in stilts, I think, which is all kinds of circusy spectacular)    

Man in a meat at Mark Ryden show

  

Though I give Gaga big props for keeping it real. I mean, look at these shoes.    

    

They look like they’re ready for the oven not the VMAs.    

    

One sultry June night in Toledo, I met my friend Dan McGuire — my Precocious Dandy — at a gritty east-side club. Dan was joining a local band, The Porn Flakes, on-stage. As a steak. All 6 feet and 5 inches of Dan had disappeared into a giant foam-rubber t-bone. Back stage, in the tiny yard behind the club, Dan stripped outta the steak and changed into a giant cow.  I dropped down onto the discarded steak, lounging like it was a carne-chaise. In a tiny pinkey-orange sundress & pink boa, with a nice marmaladey tan, I was feeling pretty luxurious, pretty damn cheeky. Things were going great, until one of the Porn Flakes began to eye me hungrily.    

“What?” I playfully glowered. “What am I? Just a piece of meat?”    

“I dunno, nah,” he drooled, “But you sure do look like a golden, buttery mushroom to me mmm.”    

“Hey, hey! ” Dan hollered. “That’ll be enough of that. Have a little fuckin’ respect, why don’tya?   

While Dan railed and ranted — protectively, possevively — I lounged extra lasciviously on my meat chaise. I batted my lashes as Dan hurried to pack his things. I smirked as he reached for my hand, yanking me up, pulling me away from those perverted Porn Flakes. I giggled as I caught up with his long aggravated strides, glancing back at my starving admirer. Then I leaned lovingly into Dan’s sturdy ribs as we ran excitedly down the dirty street, a trail of pink feathers behind us.    

*All paintings/art by the crazy gorgeous genius Mark Ryden. Check out his dot.com  

*For another meaty anecdote, read “Ham, I Am”

“Con Te Partiro”; With You I Leave (Sunday AM Punk Rock Gospel)

Posted in Art & Culture, Art Lover, Livin' La Vida Frida, Style & Fashion, Sunday AM Punk Rock Gospel with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 18, 2010 by alphabetfiend

When you are far away I dream on the horizon and words fail, and I do know that you are with me, with me, with me. You, my moon, you are here with me. My sun, you are here with me, with me, with me, with me. With you I will leave.

As you may already know, I’ve been a most irresponsible ringleader. I’ve only recently returned to Cream Scene Carnival after a long hiatus. It wasn’t until I returned that I learned I had any “real” readers and now that I know, I’ve promised no more extended absences.

But can a gypsy-carnie with a history of wanderlust really make such a vow?

Well… yes.

Some time away doesn’t seem like such a big deal except for when it comes to one reoccurring post: The Sunday A.M. Punk Rock Gospel. The column I obsessed over and that no one ever read (besides The Reliable One) but he loved it too so I forged ahead with the idea. The idea?

A temple built of alphabet & musical notes, a church constructed of code, a sacrament of song.

I call it “The Punk Rock Gospel” though only some of the song choices are officially “punk rock.” It’s our attitude that’s punk rock. 

We’re outside the religious main-stream but still ass-kicker omen-seeker mystic-minded mutants who are looking for a moment of holy meditation but on our own damn terms.

No nun to rap our knuckles, no priest to diddle us under our choir robes. No bigot to tell us who to love or hate. No big-mouth phoney with his pants down and his hand out. No saintly soul with her lips pursed & judging our upblown skirts as we smirk all Tinto-Brass balls-out saucy. No one luring our loved one to the woods and striking her down because she is beautiful and he wants her which makes him hate her. (RIP Ronnie. The Robot-Boy misses you.) No one to tell us which hotdog to eat. No one to chop at the genitals of our babes. No one to shame us for unabashedly loving eachother and ourselves.

Now watch as I pass out pastels and ooh and ahh as you draw chalky caricatures of Muhammad on the sidewalk.

No one to kill us afterwards.

Down with the dogma! Up with the dada!

When I started Cream Scene Carnival, I had high hopes for the punk rock gospel. I wanted people to read it, to love it, to listen to the songs and then to come back again. And again.

It seemed as if it would never happen. Now, almost out of nowhere, my hopes have been realized. Y’all are reading the punk rock gospel! You’re coming back the next week and the next week too! I’m so happy I could fly my own heart like a bright red kite.

Which is why I MUST find my way here every single Saturday night or early Sunday morning (Monday at the latest?) Either that or I must initiate others to serve as Gurus of Garage Rock or Mofos of Funk for those times when I am unavailable in any of my holy guises: High-Priestess of Tom-foolery; Trickster Fox Fortune-teller; Lipstick Shamaness. Finding a sacred sub is really the perfect solution as it means a fresh perspective or a whole new kind of song on a special kinda Sunday.

This week is in that spirit, even though I am here (having hauled my butt to a late-night diner to surf their wireless.) So it’s me whose typing these words today but it’s a reader — and new interwebby friend, Alice — who chose this video and song. She sent the link to me after a recent post on Frida Kahlo’s 103rd birthday. Maybe, if you are lucky, Alice will contribute her own thoughts/”gospel” in the comments. Although I’ve noticed that a normal modest person with decent goodness and the appropriate level of humility doesn’t take easily to the idea of writing “gospel”. I say, Phooey! and Screw that chicken til the feathers fly! I say take the word “gospel” and make it work for you. I say that God was created by us and is ours to recreate.

Of course there are those who will gasp — aghast! — and call me a hell-bound heathen. But the way I look at it, I’m keeping my heavenly options open. Wide open. I’m after an all-access pass! If I wanna smoke a stogey with the Devil after a day of wind-surfing with Jesus but before a long night of drunken club-hopping with Artemis and Venus, well then, so fucking be it. These are OUR MYTHS and we should be able to interact with them freely.

On that note, I’d like to open up the Sunday A.M. Punk Rock Gospel to all of you because it was my gift to you and now it’s yours. That doesn’t mean I won’t keep writing week after week but it does mean that I am open to song suggestions or topics of discussion. Anyone interested in guest-hosting a punk rock gospel (choosing song, video & theme, as well as writing the text) should raise their hand with a hell yea! or a why the hell not!?

This week’s song is Com Te Pardis or “With you, I Will Leave” (also known as “Time to Say Goodbye.”) The song is sung by Andrea Bocelli and was “chosen” by Alice who “gifted” it to me after a tough couple weeks in which I wrestled with issues of loss, grief and death. As Alice and I discussed, there’s always that shamanic meaning within injury, illness or trauma.

Let us be the ones to look for those gifts which aren’t showy or jewel-encrusted.

Let us be the ones to love being alive and to never ever be too cool, too hip or too busy to (know) show it.

Let us be the ones who find a new spirit in the rubble of religion.

Let us be Lizard Kings! Let us be everything!

Livin’ la vida Frida!!

Con Te Partiro; With You, I Will Leave

(With you, I leave)

Quando sono solo sogno all’orizzonte e mancan le parole
(When I’m alone I dream of the horizon and words fail)

si, lo so che non c’e luce in una stanza quando manca il sole
(Yes, I know there is no light in a room when the sun is absent)

se non ci sei tu con me / con me
(If you are not with me / with me)

su le finestre
(at the windows)

mostra a tutti il mio cuore che hai acceso
(show everyone my heart which you set alight)

chiudi dentro me la luce che / hai incontrato per strada
(give to me the light / you found on the street)

con te partiro
(with you i will leave)

paesi / che non ho mai
(countries which i have never)

veduto e vissuto con te
(seen and experienced with you)

adesso, si, li vivro
(now, yes, i will live them)

con te partiro
(with you i will leave)

su navi per mari
(on ships across seas)

che, io lo so / no, no, non esistono piu
(which, i know, no, no, no longer exist)

con te io li vivro
(with you i will live them)

quando sei lontana sogno all’orizzonte e mancan le parole
(when you are far away I dream on the horizon and words fail)

e io si lo so che sei con me / con me
(and I do know that you are with me, with me)

tu, mia luna, tu sei qui con me
(you, my moon, you are here with me)

mio sole, tu sei qui con me, con me, con me, con me
(my sun, you are here with me, with me, with me, with me)

con te partiro
(with you I will leave)

paesi che non ho mai
(countries which i have never)

veduto e vissuto con te
(seen and experienced with you)

adesso, si, li vivro
(now, yes, i will live them)

con te partiro
(with you i will leave)

su navi per mari
(on ships across seas)

che, io lo so / no, no, non esistono piu
(which, i know, no, no, no longer exist)

con te io li rivivro
(with you i will relive them)

con te partiro
(with you i will leave)

su navi per mari
(on ships across seas)

che, io lo so, no, no, non esistono piu
(which, i know, no, no, exist no longer)

con te io li rivivro
(with you i will relive them)

Io con te!
(I’m with you!)

********************************

*The surrealist pieces Angels of Death & Infinity are by George Gris and are available as prints.

I love how the Angel of Death has the rowboat which she sails in the song: “With you I will leave, on ships across seas, which, I know, no, no, no longer exist, with you I will relive them, with you I will leave, on ships across seas.”

I’ll be all gypsy-wild & on the road after this is published so there may be some delay in answering comments. But I’ll be back. Be assured.

Happy Birthday, Frida!

Posted in Art & Culture, Art Lover, Goof & Glamour, Livin' La Vida Frida, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 7, 2010 by alphabetfiend

Today, on google, I was surprised to see Frida’s face. Was what Frida Kahlo doing on Google?, I wondered.

So I googled it.

I typed in “frida kahlo birthday???” and sure enough, it’s Frida’s 103 birthday this July 6, 2010. Frida was born in the sign of cancer and, like myself, on the auspicious sixth day of the month. (Mine is June 6.)

I love Frida Kahlo. I’ve loved her since I was a child. (My mother, also a painter, looks eerily like Frida.)

It’s interesting how she’s gaining a new kind of notoriety, what with Salma Hayek’s film Frida and now a Google tribute. I went to carnivale, just a few years ago, dressed as Frida. I piled a whole bouquet of flowers onto my head with braided loops and penciled my eyebrows together. I wore a velvet skirt w/tulle layers and a fringed shawl. I wrapped a tangle of faux barbed wire & bird around my neck. I stuck Diego’s face onto my forehead with eyelash glue. But the best part, by far — covering  my nipples — were the weirdest pasties EVER: big “EYES” with sequin irises and black plastic lashes.

"Diego and Me" by Frida Kahlo (Frida was married to famous mexican muralist, Diego Rivera)

My carnivale get-up — “Fleshpot Frida” — was surreal and beautiful and creepy. So Frida! The people who got it loved it, absolutely, but I was shocked at how many people had no idea who Frida Kahlo was, what she did or how she changed the art world. Frida Kahlo had always been akin to a catholic Saint in our home: Saint Frida!

It’s no wonder I love Vicki Berndt’s St. Frida painting! If I had an extra $1500 I’d snap that sucker up cause it’s still available for purchase and it’s so worth the money. (Berndt’s paintings are usually bought in a blink of an eye. If Frida were more well known, St. Frida would be sold by now.)

"Tree of Hope" by Frida Kahlo

Frida Kahlo was a surrealist who painted deeply personal almost religious paintings, often depicting physical & emotional pain in a gory realistic way.

No one had ever painted PAIN like that before.

But amidst all the pain was glorious joy, prolific creativity and a profound insight into life and love.

Like Frida, I live with chronic physical pain, but I also have a frida-esque joy and gusto for life. I’m reading Role Models by John Waters and so I’ve been asking myself “Who are my role models? Who are those people who have influenced or inspired or helped me to live my life on my own odd terms?” Kahlo is definitely a role model. She’s a hero of mine for many reasons.

When she was hurting, she painted in bed and when she was able, she danced her ass off.

I totally get that.

When people try to force me to “take it easy” during my good times or to get outta bed on bad days, I just tell ’em to fuck off already cause I’m livin’ la vida Frida.

Livin’ la vida, Frida, bitches!

***Happy Birthday, Frida Kahlo. I love you. Thank you. For everything.***

Obama: He’s Black Enough

Posted in Art & Culture, Feminism (Shades of Gray), Hooray for Choice!, I heart hip hop, politics, Rock & Roll with tags , , , , , , , , , , on October 9, 2008 by alphabetfiend

“All I need is my blackness, some others seem to lack this.”

Schooly D says “Obama’s black enough!”

In light of last night’s “THAT ONE” comment made by McCain about Obama, I thought I’d post this most wondrous thing which I watched almost daily last spring. The McCain camp can turn the race screws and that might work on some but there’s tons of people out there who, like me, are absolutely giddy to see a black man this close to the White House. This is how change happens. Barriers are knocked down and change charges in. It’s not about politics for me so much as it’s about human rights. Race, yes. But also gay and gender rights. It affects all of us everytime one of us wins. So point out his blackness all you want Repubs. Yes, he’s black and it’s a beautiful thing.

(Ala)Skin Flick: Larry Flint to Make a Palin Porn

Posted in Feminism (Shades of Gray), I like big butts & I can not lie, politics, Porn Stars are Peeple too, Psyche & Sexuality, Rock & Roll, Sex & XXX with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 2, 2008 by alphabetfiend

Yet another craning look up Sarah Palin’s (mini)skirt*….

"No one's been mocked more than Sarah Palin, since Jesus Christ hit the earth." -- Austin's own, Kinky Friedman

"No one's been mocked more than Sarah Palin since Jesus Christ hit the earth." -- Austin's own, Kinky Friedman

Larry Flint is looking to tap (giggety) America’s indecent interest in the Repub VP Nom. Flint’s famously x-rated mind has hand-picked (giggety) a Palin look-a-like to star in his political project.

Flint better get this out out ASAP

Flint better get this sucker out out ASAP

      Larry Flint has fought hard for his rights and sacrificed hugely which has made him an unlikely American hero. Like it or leave it, Flint is definitely a freedom loving freedom fighting American. Maybe you wish he had less freedom but I hope not because that would make you less American than Mr. Flint.
      In College, when devouring Women’s Studies classes, I wrestled with my views on porn. I asked myself “Did I hate Larry Flint?” so I learned more about him. Eventually, as my freedom affords, I made up my own mind on the issue. Porn just isn’t my thing aesthetically. I like a few pounds and a few pubes on a woman and the men….well, a beautiful member doesn’t make for a beautiful man. Now a dirty cartoon complete with sound effects & ample bouncy booty, that’s more like it. I’m too playful and cerebral to enjoy mainstream porn. I’m more of a Tinto Brass kinda girl. (The bicycle scene in Frivolous Lola is some juicy delish!)
      Still I kinda love Larry Flint.
      I admire his voice if not his vision.
      I choose pervy Larry over the hatred that left him paralyzed. I’d rather spend a tropical vacation with Flint than with the a-hole who shot him. He’s more my kinda people. I’ll take a tenacious kinkster over a violent hater every damn time.
      As for the argument that porn is violence against women, I just refuse. I don’t think we should be making any excuses for violent offenders. Violence is a choice. When a rapist rapes, the only person who is robbed of choice is his victim. I don’t give a damn if my man subscribes to Playboy or if Flint publishes Hustler but rapists are scum whose issues run much deeper than their jack-stash. If you think I’m “part of the patriarchy” for having my own opinion then maybe you need a jack-stash of your own. I recommend Tinto Brass. (Especially if you’re an ass-man. Or booty-lady, either way, if you love the bum rent some Brass.)
No wonder Palin has "energized the Republicans"*

No wonder Palin has "energized the Republicans"*

      As usual, Larry Flint has his finger on the pulse-pulse of America’s privates. We’re obviously quite titillated by this stranger they call Sarah Palin. In Chicago, a painter hung a nude portrait of Palin in a pub and folks flocked in for icy mugs of brewsky and a lil’ look-see. (I posted a piece about the artist Bruce Everett and his nudie gun-toting Palin yesterday and it beat out one on McCain’s desires to be a dictator. Scary.) So don’t blame Flint, blame yer grand-dad or your uncle or yourself. We’re Americans! We reserve the right to sexualize our VP nominees. (So far Margaret Cho’s done it best.)
      We do it because we don’t know what else to do with her. Sarah Palin is an unqualified nobody who stumbles over the simplest of policy questions. (As I write this, Katie Couric is on the CBS news saying “The polls show that Governor Palin is declining in her ability to understand complex issues.”)  Sarah Palin has nothing to say so our minds wander and our eyes stray… we wonder “Hmm, hows’zer rack?”  What else are we supposed to do with a dumb as rocks beauty queen turned PTA mom turned mayor of nowhere who wants to strip us of our rights?
      Palin wants to strip us of our rights, so we wanna strip Palin of her clothes.
She's perty...
      If the Repubs didn’t want us to objectify Sarah Palin they should’ve nominated someone who brought more than pretty to the podium. Alas. I blame that old horndog McCain. He started it! Someone brought him a stack of files and he picked the one with the hottest photo. It was an easy choice for the man with a lifesize Barbie. McCain’s Missus even moves like a Barbie doll. I suspect he used his military clearance to put a perfectly-coiffed plastic Barbie into a top-secret machine and then pressed the button that said “Big.”
      Fortunately for Flint, porn can be shot in an afternoon. It shouldn’t be too hard to hustle up some red stripper heels, a polar bear pelt, a loaded rifle and a moose who shits himself. Tell the “actress” to swing by Lenscrafters on her way.  It should be shot-shipped-&-edited by Friday.  Just in time for a Saturday’s bored & bothered self love session. Flint will act quick. He’ll have to. Palin’s 15 minutes are almost up. GULP. I hope.
      For the sake of alphabetfiend, I’ll watch it but I REFUSE to enjoy it. Sure, I’ll laugh my ass off but that’s ALL my ass is getting. Unless we pop in a little Tinto Brass afterwards, y’know, cause it’s Saturday and we’re bored. Here at the Dollhouse, we’re more psyched to see Homer vote for Obama.  The Simpsons’ episode won’t air until November 2 but the Palin porn may be at yer door this Saturday morn. Enjoy!
Palin was mentioned to capture the feminist vote but got the "giggety" vote instead.

Palin was meant to capture the feminist vote but got the "Giggety" vote

*Aside from the shoulders up b&w photo the rest of these Palin piks are obviously doctored; in fairness & feminism, check out the Palin Sexism Watch.
*As Katie Couric said on CBS news.

Alphabetfiend is Dia VanGunten — a writer & wanna-be circus freak living in Austin, Texas.

Cho Eating Crap for Wanting to Eat Palin

Posted in Art & Culture, I Heart Funny Femmes, politics with tags , , , , , , , , , on September 23, 2008 by alphabetfiend
Cho has been a long-time warrior for gay & gender rights

Cho has been a long-time warrior for gay & gender rights

When I read Margaret Cho’s blog “I Wanna Steam Up Those Glasses,” I laughed my ass off!  I called my RobotBoy into the room and read it aloud like it was foreplay and then HE laughed his ass off.  Maybe YOU will laugh your ass off but be warned — if you start to snicker and spit out your milk, well SHAME ON YOU b/c that makes you part of the patriarchy.  Cho thinks of herself as a feminist and so do I but apparently we are both wrong because it is (all kinda yummy) wrong to want Palin to relax her rigid thighs (and views) a little and it is wrong to laugh at the mere REDONKULOUS idea of it.  Arg!  This really burns me up — and not in a good way.  Palin made rape victims pay for their own rape kits but my sweet giggle is tyranny?  Palin’s positions on women’s rights are so scarily appalling that one wonders if she is even a woman at all…  so maybe some of us, like Cho, want to picture her in a different position entirely and who can blame us?  Though, Cho’s on her own as far as giving Palin sexual favors.  Me, I just like to watch.

I’ve been a Cho fan forever and I will never be a fan of Palin’s so maybe I’m biased, maybe my good taste and good sense has me skewed on this issue.  I only know that I trust one more than I trust the other.  Cho isn’t qualified to be vice-president or else I’d vote for her.  Cho for VP!  Well, why not?  Palin isn’t qualified either.  But imagine the insanity of asking a rape victim to pony up some dough so that their insides can be swabbed in the the hopes of justice?  Now imagine that the sperm she never asked for has taken root in her insides and the same dumb bitch who asked her to pay for her rape kit is telling her she has to keep those seeds of violence inside of her?  The RobotBoy asked me if I’d ever choose to keep the child of rape and I said, “I dunno, maybe…” and then he rolled his eyes like he didn’t believe me.  I turned 34 in June so maybe my clock is starting to tick and also I’m one to look for that silver lining, maybe I’d want to see if some good could come of it but then I have never been raped so who am I to say?  More likely, I’d need to spend the year+ (plus plus)  after the attack just trying to sleep through the night without nightmares.  I’d probably be pretty pissed when the rapist’s spawn woke me up with its hollering. It would probably be all I could do just to find a little spot of safe so I doubt I’d be up to providing a little one with the motherly safety it needed to overcome its genetic ick.  The RobotBoy and I have had this nature/nurture argument before and he rolls his eyes b/c he can’t get past the genetics issue…. which would be a valid worry… I argue nurture but would I risk the nature?  That’s a hell of a gamble.  I have to wonder “Has Palin even walked her mind through this?”  Well,  I bet Margaret Cho has.

Cho for VP! Viva Cho!

Anyways, here’s what Cho said that got the panties of some all atwist.  Personally, I think you’re in for a treat, but maybe you’ll be as appalled as I was at Palin charging for rape kits.  Either way, as a woman, as a feminist, I reserve the right to laugh my (well)tapped ass off!

I wanna steam up those glasses  ( a blog by Margaret Cho)

I am not voting for McCain. I hope that is obvious. I am sick of every one saying – “He was a good soldier. He was a good soldier.”

Um yeah. He was captured.

So he was not that good.

And now with Sarah Palin at his side, they have actually become the worst ticket imaginable. The only way it could be worse would be if Satan were running with Chuck Norris as his VP. Actually, Lucifer-Norris sounds better than McCain-Palin.

But even though I would never, ever vote for Palin, I am kind of obsessed with fucking her. She is sexy and hot in a MILF/Cougar way. Like you could have that real mature, straight to the point, adult, over forty, gonna cum multiple times with a big, oversize t-shirt on and nothing else and “I don’t care what I look like cuz I am gonna bust nuts in your curl” kind of fucking with her. I want to steam up those glasses and show her what a pitbull with lipstick really needs – doggy style!

Seriously – I wanna eat her Alaskan pussy from behind. Like an Eskimo. What?! I’m just trying to keep warm!

Although you know that thing is frozen and my tongue would probably stick.

 

To  see what Cho has to say about the above, go to her blog:

http://blog.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.view&friendID=30965431&blogID=435388279

Alphabetfiend is Dia VanGunten — a writer & wanna-be circus freak living in Austin, Texas.

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