Archive for the ‘Lance Patriarchy’ Category

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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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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.

“Yup.”

“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.

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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.”

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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.

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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.

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