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“The Power of the Male Compliment”: The Story of a Shamed Feminist

I’m a terrible feminist.

Tonight I was all prepared to write something really scathing about the poor self-image the media inflicts upon young girls, and how a woman’s self-worth should not be determined by the opinions of a man.  I was so dedicated to this topic I didn’t even take off my bra before lighting it on fire.

BUT THEN…a customer came in.

And now after our exchange, all my measly weak-minded girly self can give you is this:

 

The Power of the Male Compliment: A Dramatic Scene

Female (LENA), early 20’s, understated, ravishing beauty sits behind the counter of a coffee shop, listening to Bob Dylan and wasting her youth. She’s feeling rather pensive and existential, whilst debating her attraction to Keira Knightley. NAMELESS MALE walks in, early 20’s, tall, kind of cute wearing  a pea coat that mildly resembles Bob Dylan’s on the cover of Blonde on Blonde, a fact she chooses to  withhold as no one ever cares when she tells them things like that. She stands up and walks to the center counter to greet him, wondering if he is a Bob Dylan fan and whether or not he has enough body hair to satisfy her.

LENA: (cheerily) Hey!

NAMELESS MALE: Hi…

LENA: What can I get for you?

NAMELESS MALE: Two chocolate donuts.

LENA: Ok. (turns around to reach for donuts, placing them into bag) Anything else?

NAMELESS MALE: Peanut.

LENA: Ok. (turns around, places one into bag) Anything else?

NAMELESS MALE: And coconut.

LENA briefly wonders if NAMELESS MALE continues asking her for donuts so he can ogle her goodies when she turns around to retrieve them, but determines, as she has less ass than a dolphin, he is simply hungry and indecisive.

 

LENA: Here you go. (hands the bag to him and he smiles at her holding out his money) Thanks.

NAMELESS MALE: You’re welcome…so, how is your night going?

LENA: (hands him his change) Oh you know, it’s not too bad. How is yours?

NAMELESS MALE: That’s good. It’s good…It’s okay.

LENA: (laughs) Good.

NAMELESS MALE: Well, thanks.

LENA: You’re welcome. Have a good night.

NAMELESS MALE: Thank you.

NAMELESS MALE begins to walk out, but as he opens the door, yells out

 

NAMELESS MALE: You’re very pretty!

LENA: (laughs) What? Oh, thanks!

As NAMELESS MALE gets into his vehicle outside, LENA trips over a plastic coffee stirrer on her way back to her computer, beaming with the giddiness only seen in “principal offices” on pornography sets.

END SCENE

 

There you have it.

No feminist thoughts. No well-written accusatory tone.

I have nothing worthwhile to say. I have lost all feminist energy, solely because some young man wearing a Bob Dylan-like pea coat told me I was pretty.

It’s like, such a huge problem, I just…

You know what? Why am I even trying to explain? As if any of you uggos will understand…

I need to talk to Samantha Brick.

Love,

The girl blogging under the influence of EXTRA Dessert Delights sugarfree gum (you don’t know me!)

 

Bitch + Prick = Samantha Brick, yo

Arrogance is the laxative of humanity. It brings out all of the shit in people.

I believe, deep in my heart, that a truly conceited person is nothing short of despicable, a phrase I formerly reserved for Robin Williams alone. But today I realized that if I were arrested by Bob Dylan’s security team and stuffed into a windowless 10×10 room I’d rather 77 furry and infuriating Robin Williamssssssssss to keep me company than ONE of this twat:

Samantha Brick

Sure, on the surface she looks like any other woman suffering from serious constipation. But like I said before, arrogance is the laxative of humanity. So if one thing’s for sure, constipation is not her problem and her pants are likely filled with feces. But I digress.

I’m not simply railing on this woman because it’s fun, although let’s face it. It’s phenomenal. But in all seriousness, Samantha Brick, the woman, the writer, the revolutionary force behind “beautiful” women everywhere recently published an article entitled, no lie, “’There Are Downsides to Looking This Pretty:’ Why Women Hate Me For Being Beautiful.”

I know. Just, I know.

Now, obviously anyone reading this is more curious about what this poor woman looks like, than anything she actually has to say. Kind of like how people mute Jennifer Lopez music videos. So, much to the disappointment and satisfaction of every reader, it is somewhat surprising when the woman writing the “I’m so pretty I should just die” article is actually, kinda, sorta, undeniably average. A whaaaaaat???

If you read my blog you know I’m somewhat of a lesbian. Not really. But there’s about 17 women I’d go gay for in a second if given the opportunity. Emma Stone, Amanda Seyfried, Sophia Bush, SHAKIRA, Dear Jesus, I can barely continue typing…

Point is, I have never in my life hated a woman for being beautiful. I typically end up idolizing them to an unhealthy degree before accepting that face transplants are only reserved for burn victims or people like Jocelyn Wildenstein.

So when a lady starts spouting off about how irresistibly boneable she is, I expect big things and am horrendously disappointed when all I get is a bony, blond, constipation face. Straight trippin.’ But to be honest there should be less focus on her looks because no matter how good looking she is, no one should be in such serious self-denial to think that their looks are so astonishing that an entire gender has collectively decided to hate them. No. The focus of all ridicule should be on the fact that, deep down inside where it actually MATTERS, this woman is utterly hideous. Here’s how:

I know how lucky I am. But there are downsides to being pretty — the main one being that other women hate me for no other reason than my lovely looks.”

“I’m not smug and I’m no flirt, yet over the years I’ve been dropped by countless friends who felt threatened if I was merely in the presence of their other halves. If their partners dared to actually talk to me, a sudden chill would descend on the room.”

“And most poignantly of all, not one girlfriend has ever asked me to be her bridesmaid.”

“You’d think we women would applaud each other for taking pride in our appearances. I work at mine — I don’t drink or smoke, I work out, even when I don’t feel like it, and very rarely succumb to chocolate. Unfortunately women find nothing more annoying than someone else being the most attractive girl in a room.”

I can’t even finish this article without laughing hysterically. I mean, honestly, it sounds like either one of two things.

1. A parody, a joke, satirical non-humor, or something more believable than someone actually being this much of an asshole.

OR

2. An EXTREMELY insecure woman whose mother once told her that the only reason people made fun of her constipation face was because they were jealous that they did not look    as constipated as her, and therefore for the rest of her life had to tell herself that every time people decided they didn’t like her shitty personality it was because they were jealous.

While I initially assumed, it HAD to be number 1, I was indescribably delighted when she wrote a follow up article confirming that it was number 2, shit and all.

 “While I’ve been shocked and hurt by the global condemnation, I have just this to say: my detractors have simply proved my point. Their level of anger only underlines that no one in this world is more reviled than a pretty woman.”


“If Brad Pitt were to say: ‘Yes, I’m a good-looking fella,’ then the world would nod sagely in agreement. But if Angelina Jolie uttered something along those lines, she’d be subject to the same foaming-at-the-mouth onslaught hurled at me yesterday.”

It’s like conceited **** comedy hour up in herrrrre (use your imagination to decide what word I starred out). I CANNOT get through this woman’s writing without taking a leak all over myself, metaphorically speaking.

While everything in this piece is pure gold, my favorite part is probably when she compares herself to Angeline Jolie.

See anything different about these two women? Anything at all? I know, like, how totally uggo is Angelina.

Let’s cut the shit, this woman’s inflated ego, ie. Insecure desperation to figure out why everyone she’s ever met hates her, says it all. But I’d like to say one last thing. Here it goes:

 

 

Dear Samantha,

H-h-h-h-h-i, I’m-m-m-m L-L-Lena. Sorry, I’m just stuttering because I can’t handle how beautiful you are.

Ok, I’m over it.

I know the last 24 hours have been difficult for you. You not only plastered pictures of yourself all over the internet for people to judge and ridicule, (tough break, girl) but you also let the entire world know, at once, how much your personality sucks. Now that’s a total bummer.

Because let’s face it, woman to woman. Even if you were the super bionic attractive specimen of sex personified you seem to think you are, in the vapid culture you believe yourself to flourish in, looks fade with time. And when you finally look as haggard as all the women who just don’t understand how difficult your life is, you won’t have a great personality to fall back on. All you will have is pictures of your younger self and soon-to-be embarrassing globally consumed publications of vanity to prove, that even when you looked your best, you still were so intolerable as a person, that not a single woman wanted to be friends with you and all men valued you for were your looks. Because if there is anything women know, it’s that it doesn’t take much more than having a pulse to get a man to hit on you. But it takes being a decent human being to establish real friendships.

In addition, it goes without saying, that if you want to write an article about how tough life is, you might want to focus it on something other than being beautiful. Last time I checked, the global economy has collapsed, kids are being murdered in third world countries, and Two and a Half Men is still on the air.

That’s all.

Peace out, ya’ll.

Love,

The girl with a personality to fall back on.