This is an ad for internet service targeting students that Bell Canada has been running around town.
You care because you think girls who have boy haircuts and look like they’re having a lot of fun are a lot easier, and maybe you’ll have a chance with them, especially if you sign up for a cheap internet connection from Bell Canada and invite them over to enjoy your collection of downloads, like the music that Pitchfork Media told you to listen to and the movies that your film student buddy told you watch.
I care because, apparently, now looking a bit dikey, but not too dikey, makes you look hip, and suddenly the mainstream regards you as a trend setter and the mere image of you is enough to make people want to buy things. Gawd, I’m going to be rich…
You care because she doesn’t look like a bull-dyke on wheels, but still has just enough of a touch a tomboy to appeal to the same part of your lizard brain that makes you and your buddies hang around the locker room in a towel for 45 minutes after you work out.
I care because her touch of femme tells me that she’s comfortable in her skin and not trying to over-compensate, and if we ever went out on a date, she wouldn’t keep trying to prove herself by paying for all of her own drinks and dropping subtle reminders that she likes men, too.
I snapped this shot on Parc Avenue in Montreal’s Mile-End neighborhood while out grocery shopping today.
You care because tights in that color are such an eye-catcher that they give you an excuse to ogle her backside, even if it’s nothing too magnificent.
I care because seeing a pair of long legs in tights in that color is like a cool autumn breeze blowing gently through my occipital lobes — especially with complementary shoes and jacket to match. If only her skirt had been another earth tone instead of black with a tacky, vintage print, I might’ve stopped to say hi.
This is a music video from Atmosphere, a white rapper from Minneapolis.
You care because seeing a white guy pull off making a music video with two chicks getting it on makes you think that maybe you, too, are interesting enough to one day do something that’ll be worth the attention of groupies. You also care because the photography is just artsy enough that you can convince yourself that it’s safe to watch at work whenever you’re bored and need something to appease the creeping semi in your pants.
I care because the girl with the short hair reminds me of who I was 5 years ago, and the girl with the long hair reminds me of who I am today, and it’s so much easier to relate to something you can identify with.
You care because it’s a picture of a skinny girl dressed up kind of nerdy which makes you think that she’s kind of like a school girl which you find hot because they look young, but this one has nothing on under her tunic and she looks a little bitchy which makes you think that maybe, just maybe, she’ll actually let you do some of the things to her that you want to do — that is, if you can get her to give you the time of day and hold her attention long enough to feed enough Tanqueray that she’d be willing to act against her better judgment.
I care because it’s a picture of a skinny girl dressed up kind of nerdy but who’s apparently into eco fashion, making me think that she’s sufficiently anti-mainstream that I might actually have a chance of talking her into trying my dreadlocks out as reigns while I bury my face between those clean-shaven toothpicks and remind her that I know my way around her junk better than you because I’ve contributed to recent editions of the user manual.
Lil’ Wayne’s new album […] should be called “Women Aren’t Human Beings” instead of “I Am Not a Human Being.” His new song “Gonorrhea” captures how bad sexism in hip hop can really get […] vilifying an unknown opponent by likening him to a bitch, a word that has become a synonym for women for the umpteenth time.
This direct association with gonorrhea and pussies implies that only women contract and transmit this STI, even though the CDC reveals that for the eighth consecutive year, gonorrhea rates among men and women are similar. Thus, if Weezy’s project is to attack a male opponent by making a swipe at his metaphorical STI status, he doesn’t even need to bring women into the picture to get the point across.
You care because anytime one feminist goes overboard with with a parallel or reads too much into something, it reinforces your belief that women can’t reason as well as men, and feminists in particular should all be lumped together into one group and ignored like a bunch of deluded radicals who would’ve been better off learning how to cook instead of learning to read.
I care because I’ve reclaimed “bitch” like it was the n-bomb, see the world in terms of the 20/80 rule, put myself in the upper percentile, and need a versatile adjective to describe easy pickings, vidictive exes, and meat-heads who whine about how a woman’s place is in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant, but can’t get even off the couch long enough to knock one up.
Some pics of Rihanna surfaced today. They’re from the shoot of the debut video from her new album.
You care because you find black girls intimidating until they dress up like candy stripers in Wonderland, and then you get to thinking that maybe, just maybe, you can work out your jungle fever and kiddy fetish all in one shot.
I care because, well, it’s RiRi, and seeing how those thick, smooth thighs run up to her perky booty makes me wish that Chris Brown had turned her off men permanently because then there’d at least be a remote chance of me answering the question of whether there’s a red carpet to match the curtains.
This is a Terry Richardson pic of some girl named Emily.You care because it’s the closest you’ll ever get to having a 10 look at you that way. I care because shit like this actually makes me want to be a man if only to know what it feels like to penetrate something beautiful.
The irony is that I probably have a better shot at getting in her pants as a trendy, dykie 6, than you would as hung, rich, and charming 8. But hey, no one ever said gender was fair. Welcome to the fourth wave playing field, bitch…
This is a picture of a Derby Doll named Ruca Von Riot drinking beer out of a roller Skate. She’s from a Newfoundland roller derby team called the 709 Derby Girls.
You care because there’s just something about a heavier girl putting something phallic in her mouth that you just can’t resist, especially when it’s a booze bottle because you imagine that soon she’ll be easier pickings than ever, and you might actually get a chance to hit those birthing hips that society has been telling you are “unattractive” but appeal to your primal instincts to spreak your seed.
I care because I have a thing for Derby Dolls because they’re feminine but they’re masculine, and they can rough me up in a way that reminds that sometimes I hate myself. That, and I also enjoy burying my head between a pair of thunder thighs and feeling them clamp down on my head. It takes my breath away much in the same way I imagine falling in love for the first time would.
This is a video of Rachel Bilson kissing a girl on How I Met Your Mother. You care because you enjoy watching female sexuality being commodified to suite your oppressive, voyeuristic fantasies. I care because this is the first indication I’ve seen since Rachel escaped the servitude Hayden Christensen’s farm that she might be willing to take the red pill.
In my freshman year, when I was still in my jock phase, pills played a huge part in my sex life. I know that sounds bad, “jock phase, pills, and sex life” but it wasn’t like that. My scene was more MDMA than roofies. Besides, I was a broke-ass freshman who could barely afford my own drugs, so I wasn’t about to start buying for anyone else.
Instead, I just hung around girls who were confused, overwhelmed, and possibly heartbroken, and just waited for the need to experiment or rebel to get the better of them. And the rest, as they say, is herstory…