horrified love-grunts

dropped my pants
shook my wang
told my gal to
Suck that thang!
she got up
grabbed a pan
smashed my nuts
into a flan
kicked my ass
made me yell
blood flew out
my dick as well

...then she said, "OK, now I'll suck it."

But I didn't believe her.

Because she had scissors.


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troublesome curves

One commenter at the product blog-- whose name and sex shall remain undisclosed (the comments are hidden)-- wanted me to remove certain language from Items 35 and 36, two pieces of brush art I had done a few years back, depicting a woman seated by what may be a riverbank (the scene is minimalist, so you can fill it in as you please). The woman's back is turned to us, but her curvaceous fundament is plainly visible. The comment I appended to the image jokes that, in painting this picture, I may have revealed my weakness for plump, curvy asses-- the "may have" of course alerts the reader to the fact that I haven't actually stated my real preference: we're in the world of humor, here.

The commenter didn't give a reason as to why the "weakness for" text should be deleted, leaving me to speculate as to what, exactly, was so distressing or offensive about it. Let's review-- and refute-- some possibilities.

1. A public comment by a male about his preference for plump, curvy asses is disrespectful to women: it objectifies them (women, not asses... or, yeah, maybe asses, too), and from there it's a slippery slope from objectification to victimization.

This claim fails on a number of fronts. First, any argument rooted in victimization undermines whatever feminist goal the claimant has in view. To speak, on the one hand, of women as empowered, equal, and even better than men in certain (or in many) respects, while also speaking of women as constantly vulnerable to "the male gaze" is to engage in a hypocrisy that keeps non-feminists from taking such feminists seriously.

Second, it's not obvious that objectification is always a bad thing. How can a man praise a woman's physical virtues without referring to her physical parts? There are many women who prefer such praise to remain vague and poetic, which I can understand (and a man who shouts "Damn, she got some junk in dat trunk!" isn't going to inspire female lust or admiration), but like it or not, people are wired to respond to each other's physicality. To stoop to the language of postmodernism for a moment: we are embodied; this is as much a part of our interiority as it is a brute, objective fact. To perceive someone is not merely to perceive them abstractly; it is, first and foremost, to perceive them concretely, i.e., through the senses. Women are no different from men in this, and these days women often offer sexual commentary that is just as public and just as raunchy (Exhibit A: MTV-- watch college girls talk about guys on any number of "reality" shows).

It's primarily the main strains of paleofeminism that attempt completely to separate sex from gender, peeling biology away, pretending it's irrelevant, and arguing that "manhood" and "womanhood" are purely mental and social constructions. This sort of thinking still gets a lot of play in American academe; it's a shame we Yanks aren't as relaxed as the French (I don't speak here of old-school French feminists, who are arguably among the worst offenders in the "abiological" movement), who take female sexuality to be an advantage, even a weapon-- a worldview that's closer to the truth than the twisted gospel preached in American classrooms.

And that's why, as I've mentioned here and elsewhere, I'm a Camille Paglia feminist. Paglia represents, to my mind, a far more liberated, empowered woman: a woman who can hear sexually charged male comments and say to those men, "Yeah, that's right... my ass is hot, and you ain't gettin' any of it." (Well, obviously: Paglia's a lesbian. Paleofeminists often uncharitably accuse her of being a betrayer, a "gay man in a woman's body," as one feminist put it.) Paglia doesn't separate sex and gender; biological reality is front and center in her thinking, and objectification is, for her, something we simply do:

Other feminists contest feminist claims about the objectification of women. Camille Paglia holds that "Turning people into sex objects is one of the specialties of our species." In her view, objectification is closely tied to (and may even be identical with) the highest human faculties toward conceptualization and aesthetics. Individualist feminist Wendy McElroy holds that the label "sex object" means nothing because inanimate objects are not sexual. She continues that women are their bodies and sexuality as well as their minds and souls. [source]

I also like McElroy's contention, quoted above, because it points to a major philosophical flaw in the abiological paleofeminist victimization stance. Is most objectification really objectification? Probably not. To be fair, I'm willing to grant that there are forms of human objectification that shouldn't be tolerated. The demonization of one's political enemies, in which the other side is portrayed as irrational or stupid or subhuman or simply evil, is a good example of this. Such a stance precludes meaningful dialogue, or at least makes it unnecessarily difficult. Other out-of-bounds forms of objectification can be seen when we turn to outright acts of cruelty, in which people are treated literally as objects. Some examples: slavery, kidnapping, spousal abuse, etc.

But my point is that putting a guy declaring "What an ass!" in the same moral category as spousal abuse strikes me as ridiculous, not to mention insulting to victims of abuse, i.e., people who actually merit the label "victim." Luckily, I'm not the only one who feels this way.

Third, it's not obvious that public statements of appreciation of the female form constitute objectification. Men aren't exactly known for phrasing their utterances in the most delicate manner; most of what men say to and about women is, believe it or not, a weird form of praise, and should be taken as such. (I'm obviously not including extreme cases, such as that of a violently drunk Mel Gibson snarling "Whadaya think you're lookin' at, sugar tits?" upon viewing a female officer at a police station in 2006.) But many women seem not to understand this, choosing instead to be offended. This state of affairs puzzles me since women are routinely touted as more perceptive than men! (I happen to agree, at least generally, that women are more perceptive than men, though I think each sex has its own set of blinders, denials, and other forms of self-deception.)

Finally, we can't end this section without noting that slippery-slope arguments are of dubious validity, if not outright invalid, when applied to human behavior. They rely on the idea that a certain set of psychological initial conditions will hold steady, even gain momentum. While there is evidence to support such an idea, there is, I think, an equal amount of evidence against it. People are both social creatures and creatures imbued with free will; they can be swayed to act in certain ways, often en masse, but they can also pull themselves out of a pattern of action before that pattern solidifies, for such is the nature of freedom. A guy might have a "what an ass!" moment upon seeing un joli cul, but this doesn't mean he's going to start kidnapping women and locking them in cellars as part of a growing collection. Such wildly irrational thinking is what leads some feminist schools of thought to preach, for example, that "all men are potential rapists." No, we're not.

2. The "plump, curvy ass" language matched neither the general tone of the rest of the blog, nor the tone of the picture in question.

It might be true that that tone is jarringly out of place for some, but this doesn't amount to an argument for removal of the offending language. Quite the contrary, asking for such a removal amounts to a rude imposition, as mentioned before: it's like coming into someone's house and demanding they rearrange the furniture.

3. It's just icky, OK? Change it! Strangely enough, this is probably the most compelling stance. But note that there's no reasoning here; whatever motivation exists behind the command is all visceral, totally irrational, purely emotional, and not particularly considerate of my rights to blog as I wish. Nevertheless, if the commenter is someone with whom I'm on friendly terms, that bond alone may be enough to make me back down. And that is, in fact, what I've done in this case (though not without grumbling about "the thought police"). Yes, you may call me a wuss. Or a pussy.

Two final thoughts: first, ultimately, I see nothing wrong with publicly appreciating the feminine form, whether we do it in florid language or in a markedly lower register. We, men and women, exist bodily and are prone to act bawdily. I'm not suggesting that we drop all pretensions to civility, charge outside, and rut madly in the streets (that's what nightclubs are for: to channel all that sexual energy), but we do need to relax and shed our political correctness. I'm reminded of this daily, because my own bathroom reading is currently George Carlin's often-hilarious When Will Jesus Bring the Pork Chops?, another collection that takes on the PC mentality that wants everything to be inoffensive... the end result of which is the stultification of thought and culture, all ironically in the name of respect.

Second, a public proclamation about a general stance ("I've got a weakness for plump, curvy asses") is not the same thing as loudly declaring "What an ass!" when a woman passes by. A lot of people fail to see the difference, which is usually the result of overly large ego boundaries that contribute to inordinate sensitivity. I've had commenters who, at both this and my other blog, have reacted to things I've written as if I had personally attacked them. That reaction might be understandable if I were, say, tossing off racist remarks or engaging in truly sexist rants (like this dude, or possibly even this dude), but I fail to see how appreciation qualifies as offensive.

I like big butts and I cannot lie
You other brothers can't deny
That when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist
And a round thing in your face
You get sprung, wanna [pull out your tough]
'Cause you notice that butt was stuffed
Deep in the jeans she's wearin'
I'm hooked and I can't stop starin'
Oh baby, I wanna get with you
And take your picture
My homeboys tried to warn me
But that butt you got makes me so horny
Ooh, Rump-o'-Smoothskin
You say you wanna get in my Benz?
Well, use me, use me
'Cause you ain't that average groupie
I've seen them dancin'
To hell with romancin'
She's sweat, wet,
Got it goin' like a turbo 'Vette
I'm tired of magazines
Sayin' flat butts are the thing
Take the average black man and ask him that
She gotta pack much back
So, fellas! (Yeah!) Fellas! (Yeah!)
Has your girlfriend got the butt? (Hell yeah!)
Tell 'em to shake it! (Shake it!) Shake it! (Shake it!)
Shake that healthy butt!
Baby got back!

(Sir Mix-a-Lot, "Baby Got Back")


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one nation, under semen

Do you have any idea how much victory sex will be going on this evening after Obama wins this election? Liberals can be found everywhere, not just in urban areas, and I guarantee you that they will be fucking each other's brains out. Sperm will be flying high and low, like bullets on Normandy Beach, so please: if you absolutely must drive tonight, break out the winter gear early to assure the maximum amount of traction. Put chains on your tires, or drag the hovercraft out of mothballs. If you can avoid driving, do so. Wait until tomorrow afternoon, when the spunk will have started to cake and crust over. Tonight, though, America will be auto-bukkake-ing itself, so seriously think about staying indoors.

And if you're a liberal... do the rest of us a favor and watch your aim.


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MASSIVE ERECTION DAY!

I'm breaking radio silence because I'm sexually excited by the prospect of watching the ultimate snuff film: Barack Obama avidly gnawing on John McCain's quivering intestines.

Not that I wouldn't be any less excited if it were the other way around, but as of this writing, it appears that it's McCain who's chained to the stalagmite and not his adversary. Sorry, John. It was a good run, but you're lunch.

Obama will pause in mid-gnaw, removing his head from inside McCain's abdominal cavity to sniff the air suspiciously. His eyes will prowl the cave until he finally sees the camera that's filming this ghoulish feast.

And then...

Barack Obama will smile a demon's smile, the corners of his mouth pulling away from each other to an impossible, inhuman distance. Tattered ropes and ribbons of John McCain will be visible in that maw, hanging wetly from Obama's faceful of saberlike fangs.

Obama will cackle madly, then return to his hellish repast with renewed fervor as McCain whimpers and struggles feebly, too far gone to be saved. Oh, the end is gonna be brutal, John. May your last thoughts be of Cindy... or of Sarah.


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