Once again, Sex and the City proves it’s capable of remaining a constant source of timely and fresh material no matter how old it gets with the latest disgusting revelation about a certain not so handsome, not really a politico’s boudoir preferences (I’ma pull a Meryl and not even mention his name). After paying some Russian sex workers to pee on a bed that Michelle and Barack Obama had allegedly slept on (a psychologist’s field day, really) while they were on an official visit to the country back in 2013, the future “leader” of America may or may not have actually engaged in the portion of piss play that requires getting, well, sprayed.
Regardless of being a golden shower participant or voyeur, it’s clear that this sexual deviant is only going to turn the White House into tenfold the brothel it was under Clinton (though staunch Republicans will still never admit it, clinging as desperately as they can to the notion of Bill as a satanic lothario). With the sexual practice currently more popular than ever–at least to talk about–thanks to America’s impending führer, it calls into the spotlight the type of “man” who actually enjoys being urinated on. While, sure, “men” have every reason to hate themselves for the unreliable, erratic pieces of shit they are, there’s really nothing less sexy to a woman than a “man’s” self-deprecation, especially in bed. But that doesn’t mean she won’t capitalize on it for her financial benefit. Might as well get some money out of weirdos white dudes cultivating idiosyncrasies to make up for the fact they don’t have any problems.
There’s little need for “men.” It becomes more apparent as time wears on, though it’s always sort of been there, tacitly waiting to jump to the surface and threaten their existence. And yet, today is a day it must be admitted that women need them–at least the stodgy old fucks in the electoral college that might still give the U.S. a chance to not go full-on Nazi.
Yes, it is up to those “men” who are faithless electors to salvage any hope–especially and specifically female hope for what the future holds post-2016. Historically speaking, it is possible (though extremely rare) for faithless electors to make a difference, as they did in 1836, when a group of twenty-three Virginia electors abstained from voting for their appointed Democratic vice presidential candidate, Richard M. Johnson (it was because he had a slave mistress–like everyone else of the hypocritical time).
In truth, what we really need on our hands are a slew of Roger MacBrides, the first man who ever cast his vote for a woman (Tonie Nathan, for the vice presidential role) in lieu of sticking with his Republican candidates, Richard Nixon and Spiro Agnew.
Considering the extremely disturbing and indisputable information the electoral college has about Russia and its involvement in hacking the election to favor Trump, if these faithless electors don’t come through (and they probably won’t), well, it’s only going to solidify the already pervasive faithlessness in “men” women rightly have.
Angela Chase once said, “Can’t people just cheer on their own? Like to themselves?” The same goes for people voting. One can perhaps trace this fervor for proudly showcasing that one voted to the early 90s, when it suddenly became chic post-Reagan to “stand for something” (the 90s were sort of like a less intense reinvention of the 60s in terms of causes).
In any case, between “I Voted” stickers and MTV’s Rock the Vote campaign, the need for “men” to proudly display that they checked a box (not, of course, your box) has only grown stronger over the years. And what are they so damned smug about? The fact that they’re doing something requisite of being an average citizen? Who knows? All one can say is that beaming with pride over being able to post a photo from the poll station probably means one is missing a pole of his own.
Look, I know that, deep down, a lot of gay “men” hate women more than straight “men,” but it’s a rare breed of dicklessness to be not just a Trump supporter, but a gay, New York-based Trump supporter. Deemed “alt-right” proponents of the erstwhile real estate mogul-cum-presidential candidate (though one doubts he’s capable of cumming out of a wang so microscopic), the orchestrator of the upcoming #DaddyWillSaveUs: Make Art Great Again! art show, Lucian Wintrich, is making Williamsburg even worse.
In addition to presumably featuring some #Twinks4Trump-inspired artwork, Wintrich is also hosting other pro-Trump gay boys contributing art to the project, though one imagines there won’t be much variation in style on the walls as there are probably, at most, only four gay “men” residing in New York wiling to “create” in support of this event. Appropriately, it’s likely Martin Shkreli will be there. And so, there goes America. Williamsburg was already gone.
There’s missing a dick and then there’s missing ten potential dicks in the form of fingers. While, yes, it’s an old cliche–maybe even a, to use a derogatory expression, “old wives’ tale”–that those who have small hands also have a small dick. But then again, maybe “tales” of such a nature exist for a reason: to prevent dickless “men” from getting the kind of “tails” they oughtn’t be fucking with.
The roster of notable small-handed “men” has, of course, done nothing to debunk the myth that behind every pair of petite digits is an even more petite penis. From Napoleon to Trump–it’s clear that “men” with demure phalanges have psychological issues from being incapable of pleasuring a woman with their hands. And it isn’t just that a “man” whose fist feels more like wearing a pad than riding a bike when he presses it against your vag is unenjoyable to be in bed with. It’s that, yes, his dick size mirrors the hands, okay?
It isn’t just a certain Republican presidential nominee that has revived an interest in “men’s” activism. It’s that, for a particular sect of faux penis possessors, women have gone too far (see: Beyoncé), provoking a not so understated backlash that has left, in its wake, an absurd desire for women to, in essence, “be quiet” and stop looking and being so goddamn superior.
Some “rights” “men’s” activists are keen on
The steady build of “men’s” activism, which developed in the 1970s out of the fear that the feminist movement of the 60s was getting, well, out of hand–which just means a woman preferred to use her hand for other things besides cooking and manual stimulation of a non-existent dick–has only increased over time as a response to “men’s” natural panic at no longer being subjectively viewed as the “better,” more powerful sex. But the incongruity–the sheer oxymoron–of the movement and term is circumcised by one simple fact: women have never subjugated “men.” Instead, they have let them believe, all this time, that they have even a modicum of control, letting them be free–even with their derogatory “activism.” A feminist, on the flip side, is merely an advocate of equality, not oppression. Though, in the current epoch, it feels as though feminism’s definition is becoming dangerously muddled with misandry’s. Which, if “men’s” activists aren’t careful, will win out in the end.