Archive for the ‘Lance Patriarchy’ Category

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Fashion is for the Phallus

August 30, 2010

I’m having many, many drinks with Tina the Lesbian the other day on my front porch and we got to talking about stereotypes and Tina brought up a salient point…

“Why is it that gay men are stereotyped to be so fashionable while lesbians get subjected to stereotypes regarding how poorly we supposedly dress?”  says Tina the Lesbian.

“Well, I think it has to with cock,”  I say.

“But heterosexual men have cocks and they dress for shit,”  says Tina the Lesbian. “Heterosexual women dress much better. They wear all the fashion show clothes.”

“I’m not talking about having a cock,”  I say.  “I’m talking about desiring cock.  You have to dress up for cock.”

“Why do gay men and straight women have to dress up for cock?”  says Tina the Lesbian.  “Why don’t lesbians and straight guys have to dress up for vagina?”

“It probably has something to do with erections,”  I say.  “You need to coax the cock to rise up and play.  The vagina’s just there.”

“It is not just there,” says Tina the Lesbian.  “You have to prime that pump too.”

“Yeah, but as far as I know there are no embarrassing stories from high school about girls going up to the blackboard with moist pussies,”  I say.  “But pretty much every guy has a story about having an obviously visible erection at an inopportune time.  You could be sopping wet right now and I’d have no idea – ‘cept maybe the smell depending on your personal bacteria levels – yet you’d readily know if I was packing wood.”

“But if men get aroused so easily, why would gay men and straight women need to dress up for cock?”  Tina says.

“For the same reason you throw money into the cup of a street performer,”  I say.  “It’s a show.  It’s a spectacle.  And you appreciate it.  This limp fleshy thing on my crotch gets engorged with blood and rises in size and rigidity pretty much involuntarily.  And if you rub it the right way long enough it spits out sticky goo.  What other body part does that?  Where else are you going to see that?  It’s like the Broadway of anatomy, and you get dressed up to see a Broadway show.”

“So vagina is off-Broadway?”  says Tina.  “I guess the miracle of child birth is too raw for the bright lights, big city crowd.”

“Well, the dress code is certainly more relaxed for pussy, that’s for sure,”  I say.   “But back to the clothing… women drop insane coin for Manolos or Kate Spade or whatever shoes they push on Sex and the City.  You think Tag Larkin paid over a hundred bucks for his shoes?  The man shops for clothes at Sears because he won’t buy clothes any place where he can’t also buy things that can be used as weapons, like circular saws or tire irons.   And I don’t think he pays for his merchandise half the time.  But he gets pussy nonetheless.”

“Hmm… Mikka wears hockey jerseys and retro video game shirts, and he gets laid by Samurai Cathy…”  Tina the Lesbian muses.

“Meanwhile here you are in khaki cargo shorts that hang past your knees, a pair of water sandals, and a faded and frayed Lilith Fair tanktop from 1999,” I say.  “You are obviously not looking for cock dressed like that, but you’ve got the notion you can get some poontang looking like that.”

“I think Lance Patriarchy is to blame for all this,”  says Tina the Lesbian.

“Oh, of course,”  I say.  “Who else but the embodiment of male oppression would engineer the need to dress up for cock while vag is relegated to Casual Fridays?”

“So how do we get people to dress up for pussy?”  Tina says.

“Why would I want to help you make the quest for pussy harder for me?”  I say.  “I have enough problems getting some as it is.  If equality is going to make it harder for me to get laid, then I’m not helping.”

“All right, how about we get people not to dress up for cock?”  says Tina the Lesbian.

“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with devaluing cock like that,”  I say. “Why would I want the price of a stock I personally and physically own to go down?  I can’t have you ruining my crotch portfolio.”

“Well, then you’re no damn help at all,”  says Tina.

“And I never claimed to be,”  I say.

Another couple pitchers of Tom Collins and we get to drafting a proposal to make speed metal the new stereotype music of choice for lesbians to replace that acoustic folksy crap they’re usually lumped into listening to.  Unfortunately we got so drunk that we wrote the draft in a code that we promptly forgot.  Well, sometimes you change the world, other times you don’t.  Better luck tomorrow.

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Getting married so people will shut the hell up about it

March 26, 2010

There’s a new study out that says single women between the ages of 25-35 are more subject to the social stigmas of not being, or having never been, married, even as the number of single women has increased.  Apparently being 36 and above gives you immunity.

“We found that never-married women’s social environments are characterized by pressure to conform to the conventional life pathway,” said Larry Ganong, co-chair of Human Development and Family Studies in the College of Human Environmental Sciences. “This pressure was manifested in women feeling highly visible and invisible. Heightened visibility came from feelings of exposure and invisibility came from assumptions made by others.”

What visibility and invisibility mean in this context is explained as…

They felt heightened visibility in situations such as bouquet tosses at weddings. These events brought about unwanted, intrusive questions. Feeling invisible, on the other hand, was likely when others made assumptions that they were married and had children or when they had to justify their singlehood. These interactions made them feel that their actual lives weren’t important or went unnoticed.

We fully agree with this study’s findings, and offer up a substantial example of how damaging these social stigmas can be.

Ninja Vicki. 

She’s single, she’s within the 25-35 age range (ask for her exact age and she’ll kick you in the throat), and she’s not married.  She’s a master of the ninja arts but even she cannot escape the societal pressures beset on the single woman in America for the crime of not settling down with the first guy who can remember her birthday. 

(Note: Tina the Lesbian does not have these pressures because she’s not allowed to get married in most parts of America.  She has a whole other laundry list of issues to contend with.)

Vicki’s mom has set her up on dates and gotten her an e-Harmony membership as a gift (which she canceled after a year of not getting any worthwhile matches) as not -so-subtle hints that she’d prefer her daughter to get hitched (which have often resulted in Vicki not talking to her parents for long stretches of time).  But it did grind down Vicki after a while, to the point where she went through a phase where she’d crash weddings just to steal the bouquet after the bride tossed it on the mistaken assumption that she could build enough cosmic mojo to be the next one of our friends to get married. 

We think these social stigmas have caused and perpetuate Ninja Vicki’s penchant for only liking men who don’t like her, which first manifested itself the time she tried to date Mikka just so he couldn’t date her blood enemy Samurai Cathy, and then mourning the fact that Mikka chose Cathy over her even though she doesn’t even like him. 

Then there were her dealings with Tag Larkin, the first of which being bringing him on an ambush double date with Mikka and Samurai Cathy for the misguided purpose of trying to make Mikka jealous.   That ended poorly for all parties involved, and with Tag Larkin standing outside Ninja Vicki’s house with a boombox for a couple months trying to woo the fair ninja, much to Ninja Vicki’s annoyed dismay.  Then Tag Larkin found someone else to ply his charms on and Vicki got jealous. 

They did have a second date or sorts, which was engineered by Tina the Lesbian as a diversion in her devious plot to see if Samurai Cathy would swing both ways.  The diversion (and subsquent date) involved Tag Larkin playing on Ninja Vicki’s tendency to only want men who don’t want her.   Luckily Ninja Vicki realized just in time that her weakness was being exploited and put an end to the lesbian plot. 

Then there was her attempts to get help for all these issues, which ended in her throwing a knife into her therapist’s chest because she thought he was going for a weapon.  A complete New Year’s Resolution failure on her part.   

So if the pressures society puts on women to get married can do these things to a master of ninjitsu, imagine what they can do to all you non-ninja single 25-to-35 year old women out there. 

Of course, men of that range feel those pressures as well (mostly from our moms), but not in the heightened doses that women do.  You don’t see men telling each other “Dude, when are you finally going to get married?”  That’s because that’s how Lance Patriarchy, the living embodiment of male dominance, arranged it, and arranged it masterfully.  A bold plan creating a societal expectation directed at women and having women be the very ones tasked with carrying out the majority effort of enforcing said expectation?  Brilliant!    Lance Patriarchy would be a Bond villain if he didn’t already rule the world. 

The solution: think like a 36 year old, because they don’t give a shit.  And not this young people’s enthusiastic not giving a shit attitude either, I’m talking about the not giving a shit where you look into the abyss, the abyss looks back into you, and you make the abyss flinch. 

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Do these pants make Skynet look fat?

February 9, 2010

A friend of mine in the flesh world made me aware of a project to make robots that can keep itself fueled and energized by eating.

“It can find, ingest, and extract energy from biomass in the environment (and other organically-based energy sources), as well as use conventional and alternative fuels (such as gasoline, heavy fuel, kerosene, diesel, propane, coal, cooking oil, and solar) when suitable.”

Now some people may panic over the prospect of robots being able to eat organic material or fuel itself autonomously, free of any human dependency.  They may be fearful that these are the first steps toward the robots rising up and exterminating humanity.  But I am not one of those people, and it’s not just because my drinking buddy is a half-cyborg cat who’s married to a nice Irish girl. 

If we can program robots to eat, we can program them to feel shameful about how much they eat, just like how we do to humans.  Well, mostly women.  We can give the robots bad body images and low self esteem by calling them fatties.  And the crushing realization that they cannot live up to the unreasonable aesthetic expectations of society will depress them enough to where they will excessively exercise and stop eating, thus canceling out their genocidal urge to purge the Earth of humanity.  Or they’ll commit suicide.  Whatever.  The point is, digital anorexia will be our best weapon against the eater robots.

Note: Digital bulimia will not work, as it requires the robot to binge and purge, meaning robots will still eat people but then throw them up.  Unacceptable. 

Yes, I came up with this plan with the help of Lance Patriarchy, the living embodiment of male dominance and oppression, because unattainable standards of beauty and shaming people who don’t meet them is one of his favorite things to do.  So when the robots don’t eat you and your family because you will all go right to their mechanical thighs and then no one will love them and they’ll be sad flabby worthless sacks of lard, I would hope you have the decency to send a thank you card to Lance Patriarchy for saving your life, even though it’s by the same means he uses to make your life miserable.  He finds that sort of irony delicious, but you can’t have any of it Fattison Square Garden! 

Now all we have to do is hope no one teaches the robots how to generate self-esteem and self-worth on their own and we’ll be good…

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Save the Cheerleader, Save Yourself a Torn ACL

September 23, 2009

An recent article in the Wall Street Journal posed the following question: What is the point of cheerleading?  The article was mainly about how dangerous cheerleading is and how many injuries occur from it, but I wanted an answer to the question posed in the headline so I gathered up a focus group.

First the women… what is the point of cheerleading?

“Why are you asking me?  I hated the cheerleaders at my high school and I hated our sports teams even more.”  says Ninja Vicki.  I then explain I asked her because she and the cheerleaders have similar athletic prowess.  “Ooh, some perky bitch can do a bunch of flippy shit.  Big motherfucking whoop.  Wake me when they can do that while swinging a sword and throwing ninja stars into people’s faces.”

“If there’s no cheerleaders, who will high school jocks date?”  says Tina the Lesbian.  “High school runs on a strict social ladder and exceeding your reach upward or downward on its rungs will not be tolerated by the powers that be.”

“Because it keeps those girls out of the band,” says Avonia the Wiccan Pimp, who played the flute in high school. 

“Chairlaedars ar’ fahkin’ useless as a twat en me elba,” Marlie says, halfway through her usual coffee pot of whiskey.  “Ya dan’t see pam-pam wavin’ tarts like that at a Manchesta U match.  Ef ya spart neads ‘alf-nekked cunts ta get ya ta cheer fa’ ya’ team, it’s ballacks.  Utta fahkin’ ballacks.”

“Well, what other outlet is there for tiny, easily throwable young women?”  says Samurai Cathy.  “They’re certainly not suited for basketball or field hockey.”

And now the guys…

“Seeing a cheerleader flip head over heels in a short skirt is the closest most of us got to seeing a girl’s underwear in high school,” says Mikka.  “You can look at all the panties you want in a Victoria’s Secret Catalog, but there’s nothing like seeing it live.” 

“Without cheerleaders we’d lose the second-most popular costume for bedroom role-playing,” says Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat.  The most popular being Catholic school girl.  Rounding out the top five are Nurse,  French Maid, and Wonder Woman.

“Because who else am I supposed to whack off to at a high school football game?”  says Anonymous Doug.  “The color guard?  Please…” 

Tag Larkin was not available for comment because no one wants to talk to him until he stops doing his Kanye West/Joe Wilson interruptions, so I called upon the living embodiment of male oppression Lance Patriarchy to throw in his two cents on the issue.

“Well, I mandate cheerleading in the world for objectification purposes,” says Lance Patriarchy.  “Then over the past couple decades women got it in their heads that if they added acrobatics to it they could stop being just a tits and ass show.  Didn’t really work, so now not only does cheerleading continue objectifying women it also gives them brutal injuries.  But hey, whatever perpetuates my reign, right?”

Maybe a group of people who didn’t have the best time in high school was a poor choice for this question.  But then again, they’re the only people I can tolerate listening to.

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It’s Getting Hot Out Here… So Put On All Your Clothes

May 12, 2009

Tina the Lesbian went out on an unseasonably hot day to get her mail… and found the physical manifestation of male oppression Lance Patriarchy waiting for her.

“So… it’s a scorcher today, ain’t it?” Lance Patriarchy says.

“Yes it is,” says Tina the Lesbian.

“Why aren’t you wearing your summer clothes?” asks Lance Patriarchy. “This is tanktop and shorts weather, not pants and long-sleeve weather . You must be sweating your balls off.”

“I wasn’t expecting this type of heat yet,” Tina the Lesbian says.

“Of course not,” says Lance Patriarchy. “This little taste of summer has caught you off-guard, before you could melt away those extra pounds you put on over the winter. You thought you had another month to get those thighs to be less jiggly.”

“Oh wow, the figure of male oppression is trying to make me feel bad about my body,” Tina the Lesbian sarcastically snaps. “Big shocker there.”

“I don’t have to try,” says Lance Patriarchy. “You’ve dreaded the summer before you even knew I existed. The hot weather rolls in and demands you to make an awful choice: you can either expose the shameful flab you’ve been hiding from those mean dumb boys and vicious catty girls under your hooded sweatshirts and jeans… or you can continue concealing it, drench yourself in sweat, and risk dehydration, heat stroke, and swamp ass while sparing yourself the embarrassment of people seeing your jiggly form. “

“Are you trying to tell me that summer is a tool of the patriarchy?” says Tina the Lesbian.

“Think about it,” says Lance Patiarchy. “Summer makes women wear revealing clothes that delight the male population. It also provides anxiety to those who don’t live up to the unrealistic physical expectations I’ve established. And it also invites women to wear sandals and flip-flops, abandoning footwear that demand respect. Wet T-shirt contests, car washes, tan lines… summer is obviously the season for male oppression.”

“I’d like to say you’re full of shit,” says Tina the Lesbian. “But then there’s all those Frankie Avalon/Annette Funicello movies and all the traditional gender roles they reinforced…”

“Just look at all those skinny girls with those bronze tans, string bikinis, and firm tummies, being greatly rewarded for bowing before my altar of expectations,” says Lance Patriarchy. “And then there’s you… red as a lobster and wearing a frumpy one piece because your back fat keeps eating the bikini string. Summer pays me my tribute.”

“So is Global Warming also in your employ?” asks Tina the Lesbian.

“Hey, whatever keep you women half-naked, shoeless, and under my phallic tyranny,” says Lance Patriarchy.

So Tina goes back in her house and cranks up the air conditioning. If running up a large electric bill helps thwart the machinations of the Patriarchy and Summer, so be it.

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Equality through mediocrity

September 24, 2008

So Tina the Lesbian was in the supermarket the other day, shopping for food like lesbians are wont to do, and she ran into someone she didn’t expect to see.

“Well, well, well,” says Lance Patriarchy, the human embodiment of male oppression. “So, I guess you’re a bit confused these days.”

“By what?” says Tina the Lesbian. “That pints of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream are two-for-seven bucks?”

“No, I’m talking about the John McCain/Sarah Palin ticket,” says Lance Patriarchy. “You’ve got quite the dilemma.”

“I told you already, we don’t want a woman in the White House just to have a woman in the White House,” says Tina the Lesbian. “We want a qualified woman in the White House who will advance the cause of equality for us.”

“And Sarah Palin does just that,” says Lance Patriarchy.

“No, she really doesn’t,” says Tina the Lesbian.

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong,” says Lance Patriarchy. “For you see, Sarah Palin opens the door for women of mediocre talent to be given jobs they’re obviously not qualified for.”

“I thought Condoleeza Rice already did that,” says Tina the Lesbian.

“No, she opened the door for women to fail upwards by being incompetent at their jobs, there’s a small difference” says Lance Patriarchy. “Sarah Palin is giving a whole new generation of women the opportunity to be like all those mediocre unqualified men who hold higher stations in life than they should. And she didn’t even have to marry into power to get this opportunity either. That’s progress.”

“She was the mayor of a town that made you pay for your own rape kit,” says Tina. “That’s not progress, that’s bullshit.”

“Did you think equality was all glorious accomplishments and admiring acceptance?” says Lance Patriarchy. “There’s a dark side that you don’t want to acknowledge. You want to show you’re just as good as a man, but that means you also have to show that you’re just as bad as a man too. It’s a package deal.”

“I think my gender will be more than willing to wait a bit longer to achieve professional mediocrity parity,” says Tina the Lesbian. “Especially when such mediocrity would endanger our reproductive rights.”

“Can’t make an equality omelet without losing your eggs,” says Lance Patriarchy. “Speaking of which…”

That’s when Lance Patriarchy reaches into Tina the Lesbian’s shopping cart and steals her carton of eggs, just to show her he’s still running the show.

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Polled by the Patriarchy

March 14, 2008

Tina the Lesbian had a unusual visitor at her front door today.

“Hi, would you like to participate in a short poll?” says Lance Patriarchy, the living embodiment of male dominance and oppression. Usually women can’t see him, they can only feel his oppressive nature. But for some reason lesbians can see him.

“About what?” says Tina the Lesbian, wary of conversing with Lance, for the patriarchy is crafty.

“The Democratic primary candidates for President,” says Lance Patriarchy. “Which one will you be voting for? Barack Obama or Hillary Clinton?”

“Obama,” answers Tina the Lesbian.

“Really?” says Lance Patriarchy, surprised.

“Yeah, really.”

Lance whistles then starts writing on his clipboard. “Okay…”

“What? What’s that all about?” asks Tina the Lesbian.

“Well, I had you pegged for Hillary,” says Lance Patriarchy.

“Why? Just because she’s a woman?” says Tina the Lesbian, slightly offended.

“Well, it is your gender’s best chance to put finally get one of your own into the most powerful position in the world,” says Lance Patriarchy.

“I just think Obama’s better than her,” says Tina the Lesbian.

“But how can you hope to defeat me if you won’t even vote for a woman candidate?” asks Lance Patriarchy.

“Because we’re waiting for a better one,” says Tina the Lesbian.

“Hmm… well, thank you for your time,” says Lance Patriarchy, looking a bit crestfallen.

“You sound almost upset about this,” says Tina the Lesbian.

“Well, usually I’d be happy about this,” says Lance Patriarchy. “But I was kind of looking forward to have a little verbal jousting with you. Then you had to go and pick my candidate.”

“So you’re saying I’m siding with the Patriarchy?” Tina the Lesbian says.

“Pretty much, yeah,” says Lance. “How does that make you feel?”

*blink* *blink* *blink*

“Shut the hell up,” says Tina the Lesbian. “You’re just trying to fuck with me.”

“Of course, I’m the Patriarchy,” says Lance. “But you do have to admit, it does sting a little knowing that you’re voting against the best chance for a female President ever.’

“Like I said, we’re just waiting for a better woman,” says Tina the Lesbian. “Unlike your camp that just throws any idiot up on the ballot.”

Lance gives Tina a smile and a wave. “Thanks for the tussle. See you later. I need to go make sure there’s still an unattainable standard of beauty for women to be pressured to strive for.”

Tina is going to stop answering her front door for a while.

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She’s hot. What’s your excuse?

August 28, 2007

We were watching Miss South Carolina Lauren Caitlin Upton during the Miss Teen USA pageant completely go vapid with a rambling response to a question about why Americans can’t find their own country on a map.  Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat said that with his enhanced kitty-cat hearing he could actually hear Miss South Carolina’s cerebral cortex collapse on itself as she babbled about South Africa and Iraq even though the question had nothing to do with those countries.  Bernie bet me five bucks she couldn’t find either of them on a map even if you spotted her a hemisphere. And oh, how we laughed.

And somewhere in America, Lance Patriarchy was laughing his ass off too.

But then came the news that US Attorney General Alberto Gonzales was resigning and our laughter quieted down.

“Oh hell,” I said.  “You don’t think…”

“Well, at least she wouldn’t be in charge of Homeland Security or FEMA,” Bernie said.

Sure enough, there’s Miss Teen South Carolina sitting before the Senate Judiciary Committee, fielding questions from senators about her qualifications for the job.

“I think that I would make a great General Attorney because… attorneys need generals… and they don’t have generals in… um… Iraq,” Miss Teen South Carolina said in response to a question by the ranking Republican senator on the committee Arlen Specter (R-PA).  “We need to get attorneys to… not be less than the attorneys that we think they might be, or could be.  In South Africa.”

“I just asked how you were doing,” said Senator Specter.

“I have a sash,” Miss Teen South Carolina replied.

“Well, she’s got my vote,” said Senator Specter.  And the TV talking heads all declared her incoherent rambling to be a welcomed change from the normal “I can’t recall” that everyone else from the Justice Department who recently stood before a House or Senate committee kept repeating.

And while she lost the nomination on a 10-8 party-line vote, Miss Teen South Carolina Lauren Caitlin Upton would later be installed by President Bush as Attorney General by way of a recess appointment.

Mikka’s pissed off that he hasn’t been able to improve his station in life by saying really dumb things like Miss Teen South Carolina or Alberto Gonzales has.  I feel his pain.

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Patriarchy: So strong, you could even skip a day

April 30, 2007

I was shooting hoops with Lance Patriarchy the other day, and after an hour of play I noticed he had not even broken a sweat yet, while I was a damp mess who had just saturated his second headband to the point of uselessness.

“How do you do it?” I say between exhausted gasps. “You’re bone dry.”

“Because the Patriarchy never sweats,” says Lance Patriarchy. “And these days I have even less to not sweat about.”

“Like that partial-birth abortion ban getting cleared by the Supreme Court,” I say.

“Never underestimate the power of five well-placed Catholics,” Lance Patriarchy says, shooting a three-pointer. He misses.

“Yeah, but there’s no health exemption for the woman,” I say, collecting the rebound. “What the hell’s up with that?”

“That was a fit of pique on my part,” says Lance Patriarchy, trying to guard me. “Sometimes the name-calling gets to me. ‘Rape Culture!’ ‘Rape Culture!’ All friggin’ day long. God! Ever just get the urge to lash out and crush something? I get that way sometimes.”

“Yeah, but women’s lives could be endangered,” I say, doing my killer cross-over and burning past Lance Patriarchy for a lay-up. “It’s a rare procedure, and it’s only used in less than 1 percent of all third trimester abortion. It’s the best procedure for the health of the mother in that situation.”

“Yeah, I bet NARAL is feeling really dumb now for supporting candidates that allowed Alito to get on the Supreme Court,” Lance Patriarchy says, gathering up the loose ball. “And you wonder why I don’t sweat.”

“This decision also might endanger the legality of all other methods of abortion,” I say, checking the ball back to him. “I really think you’ve been an total asshole about this.”

“What the hell do you expect from me? I’m the physical manifestation of the Patriarchy,” says Lance Patriarchy, trying to dribble past me. “This is what I do. It’s my thing. It’s like yelling at the bees for pollinating the flowers.”

“You better set this right eventually, or I’m seriously considering thinking about contemplating pondering not going to your New Year’s Eve parties any more,” I say, closely guarding him.

“Eh, it’s kind of out of my hands now,” says Lance Patriarchy, pulling up for a jumper and hitting it. “I can’t interact with the world to my detriment. Everyone else needs to fix this. I can only sit back and do nothing while you guys do it, like I did when women finally got the right to vote.”

“Where were you then?” I ask, grabbing the ball.

“Hanging out in Europe in the aftermath of World War I,” says Lance Patriarchy.   “And that was the last time I helped out the physical manifestation of War.  I come back to America when the war’s over and Susan B. Anthony’s got a whole movement all up in my grill.  Not much I could do there.”

“What’s the score?” I ask.

“I think overall I’m winning against the women of America,” says Lance Patriarchy.  “They still make like 77 cents for every dollar a man makes doing the same job.”

“No, I mean this game,” I say.

“Oh, you’re up 17-15,” says Lance Patriarchy.

Lance can’t handle my inside game.

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Not while Phyllis Schlafly is still alive

March 31, 2007

So Lance Patriarchy and I were down at the track, betting on the weekly homeless races (I’ve got the 3-6 exacta in the 5th race. Come on, Skittle Lee Shingles and Bumpy Nelson, in that particular order).

“I hear the Equal Rights Amendment is getting some play again,” I say to Lance as we watch the end of the 3rd race. It’s hometown favorite Jitters Danson by a length and a half.

“Heard that too,” says Lance Patriarchy.

“Nervous?” I ask.

“Not at all,” says Lance Patriarchy. “Because it will never go all the way through. It didn’t get ratified in the 70’s, it’s not getting ratified now.”

“Why’s that?” I say.

“Because it was I who brought it back to the forefront,” says Lance Patriarchy with a sinister grin. “And then I’m going to smack it back down again like I did before. Because I’m really bored and I need some excitement.”

“Your plan is sort of like the Emperor’s in Return of the Jedi,” I say. “That didn’t turn out too well for him or the Empire.”

“Big differences,” says Lance Patriarchy. “No Ewoks, no Jedi, and no Lando Calrissian to foil me.”

“And no George Lucas either,” I say. “Clever. But aside from the lack of LucasFilms intellectual property, how come you are so confident it will fail agan?”

“There’s still a big enough percentage of women in my employ to torpedo the ERA yet again,” says Lance Patriarchy. “And since equal rights amendments in states have been used to strike down gay-marriage bans, there will be an army of god heads and National Review readers willing to fight this too. “

“So gay marriage is just a casualty of the patriarchy – that being you – keeping women down,” I say.

“Can’t make a male-dominated omlette without breaking some eggs,” says Lance Patriarchy. “In this case, those eggs happen to be gay and are looking to enter a loving yet legally-binding commitment.”

“You’re kind of a dick, Lance Patriarchy,” I say.

“Yeah, well, what’cha gonna do?” says Lance Patriarchy as the 4th race begins. “I’m the only game in town and I ain’t going anywhere. And you know exactly why.”

“Because women wear sandals and can’t come to a consensus amongst themselves over who has dominion over their bodies,” I say. “Yes, we’ve been through this before.”

“Well, it bears repeating because apparently no one is listening,” says Lance Patriarchy. “I mean, shit, I’m practically giving the game away and I’m still winning. What the hell?”

And we watch as the homeless racers come running down the back stretch, chasing that little rabbit they use for the greyhounds. Except it’s got a giant can of beans taped to it. The crackhead known only as Fazzle wins the race, but breaks his leg as he crosses the finish line. They’re going to have to put him down, but that’s probably for the best.

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