Archive for the ‘Lance Patriarchy’ Category


Streaks on the china… never mattered before…

February 28, 2007

“Okay… let’s run the numbers again,” says Tina the Lesbian.

“Sure,” I say.

“Employed single women living alone do 10 hours of housework a week, right?” says Tina the Lesbian.

“According to the new British study, yeah,” I say.

“And employed women cohabitating with a guy do 15 hours of housework a week?” says Tina the Lesbian.


“And single employed men living alone do 7 hours of housework a week,” says Tina the Lesbian. “While men living with a woman only do 5 hours.”

“You got it,” I say.

“So to make up for the two hours of housework that men don’t do, women do five more hours of housework than they would if they lived alone?” Tina the Lesbian says.

“That’s three more hours of housework being done than if they lived in separate domiciles,” I say.

“So this means men still think of women has housekeepers instead of actual people?” says Tina the Lesbian.

“Or it means working women are obsessive compulsive about housework and it makes men not want to do any of it,” I say. “That’s why you end up doing five hours of work to make up for the two we’re not doing.”

“And that’s why men are in charge!” says Lance Patriarchy, jumping into view. “We’re not working harder, we’re working smarter!”

“Hey, who is that guy?” says Tina the Lesbian.

“Hey, how can you see me?” says Lance Patriarchy. “I’m the embodiment of the patriarchy. Women shouldn’t be able to see me, they can only feel my oppressive presence in their daily lives.”

“She’s a lesbian,” I say.

“Oh, right…” says Lance Patriarchy. “They can see me.”

“So what’s the deal with the housework, Patriarchy?” asks Tina the Lesbian.

“Hey, I said you can see me, but you don’t get to talk to me,” says Lance Patriarchy. “Now who wants to go to the nudie bar?”

“I do!” I say.

And that’s why men do less housework… because we’re not home to do it.


Cry louder! I can’t get off if I can’t hear you sobbing!

December 23, 2006

“So Miss USA likes underage drinking, drugs, and maybe even hooking up with other chicks,” I say as I sit at the kitchen table with my morning newspaper, a bowl of Bran Shark, and my smoking robe, which is complimented with my smoking pipe as opposed to my drinking pipe.

“That sounds like the perfect representation of American bitches,” says Psycho Dave. He is sitting across from me with a forty of New Orleans Flood Water Malt Liquor and wearing nothing but an apron and his army boots for when the race war comes. He’s not sure what side he’ll take, but he wants in.

“So you’re saying that someone who doesn’t meet the high patriarchal moral standards set by the Miss USA paegentneers is a better representative of the young women of America?” I ask.

“Something like that,” says Psycho Dave. He pours some of his forty out for his dead homies, then takes a healthy swig. It’s his Forty-Dog Breakfast of Champs. Word, dog. “It’s more fitting that Miss USA is a broad with a healthy penchant for experimentation.”

Read the rest of this entry ?


Buy bitches buy!

October 11, 2006

Lance Patriarchy and I are down at the strip club, taking in the matinee show.

“There was a recent study out saying that men are almost as likely to be compulsive shoppers as women,” I say.

“Yeah, I was hoping to keep that a secret for a while longer,” says Lance Patriarchy. “But men are better compulsive shoppers than women.”

“How so?” I say.

“Men buy CD’s and DVD’s and tools and computer stuff,” says Lance Patriarchy. “Things we can enjoy on a regular basis. Things that look good in the context of a collection. Women buy shoes and clothes and make-up. Having 50 pairs of shoes is just disgustingly indulgent.”

“That’s Marie Antoinette/Imelda Marcos indulgent,” I say. “And no one likes that.”

“Plus if you’re buying new clothes every week, that means the clothes you’ve already bought are just sitting in a closet,” says Lance Patriarchy. “That’s wasteful. At least with DVD’s or tools you can display them for status.”

“You can learn a lot about someone based on their DVD collection,” I say.

“Or their CD collection or their computer setup or their toolbox,” says Lance Patriarchy. He pauses briefly to laugh to himself. “Heh heh… toolbox. But no one displays their clothing in the closet for people to see. You see one outfit at a time, and maybe there are outfits or shoes that you never get to see.”

“So to dispel the myth of the compulsive-shopper female, women just have to buy cooler things?” I say.

“Cooler things as dictated by me, the patriarchy,” says Lance. “And my good friend Chris Materialism.”

The patriarchy is a slick motherfucker.


You’re only empowered if you’re hot

August 21, 2006

I’m hanging with Lance Patriarchy at the driving range, smacking a couple buckets of balls to kill off an afternoon. Being left-handed, I use a 2-wood instead of the normal 1-wood Driver. The ball doesn’t go as far, but it sure does fly high and look pretty when I smack it.

“You goddamn lefties and your crazy-ass clubs,” Lance Patriarchy says to me. “Don’t tell me you’ve got one of those two-handed separated-grip putters in your bag too.”

“No, I don’t,” I say. “Do left-handed men undermine the patriarchy?”

“Of course not,” says Lance Patriarchy. “Left-handedness is a prized value. Especially in baseball.”

“So who undermines the patriarchy these days?” I ask.

Read the rest of this entry ?


These balls are pure

April 27, 2006

Lance Patriarchy was in a good mood today. He bought lunch for me.

“Why have you paid for my Heart-Stopper Cheesesteak today?” I ask.

“Two words,” grins Lance Patriarcy. “Purity Balls.”

*blink* *blink*

“Is that some sort of new testicle cleaner that I’m not aware of,” I say. “Because you know I’m all about scrotal cleanliness.”

Read the rest of this entry ?


My Metaphysical Lunch

March 13, 2006

Another benefit of being in Portuguese Intelligence is that you get to interact with Abstract forces of this plane of existence. I was having lunch the other day with the physical manifestation of what feminist activists call The Patriarchy. His name is Lance. Lance Patriarchy.

“Hey Lance Patriarchy,” I say as he sits down at my table at Mussolini’s Italian Bistro. Where the food is poorly made but arrives on time.

“Hey, how’s it hangin’ my man,” Lance Patriarchy cooly says as he sits down. He always looks so relaxed and non-chalant everytime I see him, which is weird considering the gains made by women in the past century.

“How do you stay so relaxed?” I ask. “I mean, the male-dominant society has seen stronger days.”

“Because I don’t sweat the small stuff, baby,” Lance Patriarchy says. “It don’t matter if you win the Super Bowl by 7 points or 70 points. You’re still the champ.”

Read the rest of this entry ?

%d bloggers like this: