The Good. The Bad. The Asinine.

Miranda Devine is a fücking idiot

Well, she is. But don’t worry – I’m not being Mirandaphobic, because “fücking idiot” doesn’t mean what you think it means.

You see, a few weeks ago, a rugby league player called one of his opponents a “fücking gay cünt”. The NRL then suspended him for lack of creativity homophobia. Miranda was outraged:

There was no problem with the players trying to punch each other. No problem with the foul language. No problem with the sexist c-word. But woe betide the player who ­offends the gods of homosexuality. Let’s get one thing straight. “Gay” no longer just means “homosexual”. The word has changed meaning over the last decade. Young people use “gay” to mean lame, or dumb or stupid, as in: “That’s so gay.”

I don’t know who the “god of homosexuality” is, but I think it might be Jesus, since he not only seems to be the one making all the gay people, but can rock a tunic and sandals like nobody’s business. In any case, it would seem that according to Miranda:

  1. Yes, “gay” does mean homosexual; but
  2. It also means “stupid”; so
  3. It’s not homophobic.
  4. P.S. Calling someone a “cünt” is sexist.

That’s all fine, but how does it make Miranda Devine a fücking idiot? Well, to make things easier for us, Miranda claimed that calling someone a “cünt” is sexist. And that allows us to say this:

  1. Yes, “cünt” does mean vagina; but
  2. It also means “fückwit”; so
  3. It’s not sexist.
  4. P.S. Calling someone “gay” is homophobic.

Ergo, Miranda Devine is a fücking idiot.

Now, at this point, you may be thinking that I’m being Mirandaphobic. But you’d be wrong. You see, dear reader, words can change their meaning over time. And since I started this post, “fücking idiot” no longer just means “a person of colossal stupidity” – it now also means “a person of Devine-like intelligence, capable of both making an argument and defeating it in the same paragraph”.

Which means I’m off the hook.

But she’s still a fücking idiot.

On political correctness

I hate “political correctness”. Even the name, “political correctness”, is politically correct. We should just call it what it actually is – lying.

You see, words are important. How could I write these words and how could you read these words if words didn’t exist? You couldn’t, because neither of us would know what words were, because words would be non-existent. And non-existent things don’t exist. So, yeah, it’s pretty good that words exist.

But while the existence of words is important, the meaning of the words is also important. Actually, the meaning could be even more important than the existence. But I haven’t thought about it a lot, so I’ll just say they’re equally important, and call it a tie. Not one of those ties that you wear around your neck, obviously, because that makes no sense. Maybe I’ll call it a draw instead. A draw is like a tie. But not one of the ones you wear around your neck, obviously. See what I mean? The meaning of words is important. Things can get very confusing if you’re not clear on the meanings of words. That’s why I always use the right words for things.

Why can’t people be like me, and just say what they mean? I just want to call a spade a spade, and so should you, unless you’ve named your spade “John”, in which case you may call it “John”, although I should tell you that “Doug” is a much better name for a shovel. But whatever. The way you people dance around the truth with your silly euphemisms is just ridiculous. I think it’s time we all started being a little bit more honest.

Like when I see a woman feeding her child in public, I say “Would you mind tït-feeding that human parasite someplace else?” Imagine the confusion if I said “breastfeeding”, or “baby”. She might have thought I was asking her to stop feeding chicken to the girl from Dirty Dancing, and then she’d be confused, and I’d still be grossed out by her selfish act of infant nourishment. That’s what we call a lose-lose situation. And I much prefer win-win situations. Or win-lose situations, where I’m the winner, and you’re the loser.

And for god’s sake, don’t say “vision-impaired”, “intellectually-challenged” or “executive assistant”. Just say “blind”, “spastic” or “secretary”. Because that’s what they are. Likewise, don’t tell your wife you want to “make love”. Love isn’t made of anything, so it’s impossible to make it. Fücking isn’t impossible though, so do that instead. And don’t tell your colleagues you’re “going to the bathroom”. Not only is there almost certainly no bath at your work, but everyone knows what you’re really saying, so you might as well just say it: “I’m going to the shïtter to play Angry Turds.” Don’t say “I’m sorry for the loss of your mother”. They haven’t lost her, she’s inside that coffin over there, with a scarf covering her tracheotomy, slowly decomposing. Don’t ask your seven-year old daughter “Is it itchy down there?” Just tell her to stop scratching her cünt. Don’t say “gender-neutral”. Say “freak”. Don’t say “African-American”, “Japanese” or “Jew”. Say “nigger”, “nip” or “kyke”. And FFS, don’t say “gay”. Gay means happy. And yes, they all usually look quite happy. I can be happy too, but I’m not a faggot.

And if you happen to be at a funeral for a vision-impaired, intellectually-challenged, transgender, homosexual African-American executive assistant who died from smoking-induced lung cancer, and you get the urge to make love to yourself in the bathroom, just be honest and say “Well I guess that blind spastic freakish gay nigger secretary got what it deserved. I’m going to go fück myself in the pïsser.”

Sure, you might upset a few of the funeral-goers, but that’s their problem. You’re just telling the truth, and protecting your right to free speech.

And as an added bonus, I’m sure they’ll be happy to tell you to go fück yourself.

Found in translation

Oh Holger, you didn’t. Please tell me you didn’t say that “women should shut up in public”.

Because that’s what the Herald Sun, The Age, The Gaurdian, The Daily Mail and the ABC are saying you said. And, oh dear, I just checked YouTube, and it’s on there too, for all to see. “You push me around like my wife”, you said. “Women should shut up in public”, you said. What do you have to say for yourself?

You thought you were off the record? Come on Holger, you’ve been playing the press game long enough to know that nothing’s really off the record, especially when you have about 20 microphones in your face and you say something stupid.

Oh hang on, it was only a joke? A private joke between you and your wife? Well, sorry Holger, but just because you and your wife think it’s funny, it doesn’t mean the rest of us have to.

Wait, wait, what was that? What you actually said was “Mulieres taceres in ecclesia”? Haha, nice try Holger, but saying “Women should shut up in public” in Latin doesn’t make it sound any better. In French, maybe… but definitely not Latin.

Ahhhh, I see now. You were just quoting the Bible. 1 Corinthians 14:35, to be exact.

Well that can’t possibly be sexist. Carry on.
__________

Spotted by the eagle-eared Martin from Furious Purpose.

Well of course she was asking for it

Well, she was. What did she expect? Out late at night, putting herself in that position, dressed the way she was, what was I supposed to do?

I’m talking, of course, about the young woman I just ran over with my car. Now I know what you’re thinking, and believe me, I understand how you feel. I had the same thought when I first saw her. Running people over is generally considered to be a bit mean, and I have a big four wheel drive with a kick arse bull bar, and I knew it wasn’t exactly going to tickle if I ploughed right through her. She’d probably suffer lasting physical and emotional damage. She could even die.

So yes, I understand that you think running her over wasn’t the right thing to do. But hear me out.

It was late at night, as I said, and it was in a bit of a dodgy neighbourhood, so there were no streetlights. But on top of all that, she was also wearing dark clothes! How dumb can you get? She must have known that if she dressed like a ninja, and then crossed a dark street late at night, there was a good chance she would get hit by a car. What was she thinking?

Now if you think that’s bad, wait till you hear this. Despite all of that, I still managed to see her in the middle of the road. I am, after all, an excellent driver. My dad even lets me drive on the driveway. So yeah, I saw her. And yeah, I could have stopped, or beeped my horn to warn her. But you won’t believe what happened next. I looked up, and saw that she was crossing the street while the little man was red!

Can you believe it? No don’t worry, I couldn’t either.

So I stomped on the gas and ran that bitch over.

It’s what any nice, normal young man from a good family would do.

Submission impossible

The scene: Joe and Mary want to get married. Unaware of Sydney Anglicans’ new marriage vows, they approach their local Anglican priest to enquire about using his church for the ceremony…
___

Joe: Hi there. I’m Joe, and this is my fiance, Mary. We were wondering if we could talk to you about getting married in your church.

Priest: Hi Joe! Come in, please. Will Mary be waiting outside?

Joe: Excuse me?

Priest: Oh, you’re one of those. Fine, fine. Come in, please.

Joe: Thank you.

Priest: So, you want to be married in my church?

Joe: Yes, if that’s possible.

Priest: Shouldn’t be a problem. You’re both Christian, I hope?

Mary: Yes, we are.

Priest: Good, good. And I assume you know what will be expected of you, as soon-to-be-married Christians?

Joe: I think so. We should at all times be to each other what Christ was to his followers.

Priest: And that was…?

Mary: Respectful, loving, forgiving —

Priest: Goodness gracious! Where on earth did you hear that?

Mary: Oh, I thought the bible —

Priest: Haha, poor little thing. That’s not what the bible says at all… Your husband is your master!

Joe: That doesn’t sound right…

Priest: I can see how you might have missed it. I mean, it’s only in the first frikken book. “And the Lord God said to Adam, It is not good that you should be alone; I will make an help meet for you.”

Mary: An help meet?

Priest: Well, OK, the wording is a little silly. But there’s more, Mary! “Thy desire shall be to thy husband, and he shall rule over thee”. See? You have to find him sexy, and he gets to boss you around.

Mary: Oh… It really says that?

Priest: And more! This is the best bit. Adam wasn’t punished for eating the fruit, he was punished because he listened to his wife! “Because thou hast hearkened unto the voice of thy wife, cursed is the ground for thy sake”.

Mary: Well, maybe, but that’s just a story, isn’t it…

Priest: Don’t be so worried! Submission isn’t a bad thing, Mary. It’s like dancing. The man always leads, right?

Mary: I guess so… but a dance doesn’t last 50 years, does it?

Priest: OK, OK. Bad example. Think of it more like an altar boy submitting to his priest.

Joe: Well that doesn’t sound so bad. Right, honey?

Mary: Yeah, that does sound better!

Priest: So, we’re all on board?

Joe and Mary: Yep!

Priest: That’s great news! It’s great being Christian, isn’t it? Imagine being one of those damned Muslims. The way they treat their women. Disgraceful…

Until death do us part… and that’s when the fun starts

Most husbands are sad when their wives die. But apparently Egyptian Muslims just get horny. Which perhaps explains all the loose fitting attire at funerals.

Thankfully, the Egyptian parliament is going to do something about it. They’re going to legalise dead sex with your ex. Well, for the first six hours after death anyway. Any longer would be weird.

Now I don’t know about you, but I found this a little wacky at first. Why on earth would anyone want to have sex with their dead wife so soon after she died? But after thinking it through, I think they may be on to something:

Game on
One thing that’s always bugged me about sex is that women sometimes don’t want it. Not a problem when they’re dead. Just go up to your wife and say “Hands up who doesn’t want to have sex with me?”. Just make sure your other wives aren’t in the room. They’ll probably raise their hands, and that might kill your buzz.

Silence is golden
The other thing that annoys me about sex is that even when they’re up for it, they want it to be fun for them too. Finally, you can have sex in peace, with no more of the incessant “a little higher”, or “a little lower”, or – the worst – “is it my turn to come yet?”

Egypt is hot, dead bodies are not
Let’s face it – Egypt is pretty hot. So imagine how refreshing it would be to have your wife die, clear your head with a quick run to the pyramids, and then be home just in time for a nice, cooling, sex session with a former human.

One final thing…
I’m a misogynistic arsehole who thinks women are nothing more than two fun bags and a hole. Two holes if it’s my birthday.