Not to brag or anything, but I go to a pretty progressive liberal arts college. We have minority students. And flag pole rallies where we raise awareness for hybrid organic hemp or whatever. We argue about politics after sex. And just in case students forget how progressive we're supposed to be, we're required to take "diversity" classes.
Of course, that's how I found myself floating in the estrogen cesspool of Women's Studies 101. Save the one ponytail douchebag who was just taking the class to get laid, the room was all vagina. Even I expected one giant slumber party full of pillow fights in lingerie.
Instead, on day one, my professor—an overweight toad of a woman—marched to the front of the room and scrawled the words "oppressive patriarchy" on the board. "The oppressive patriarchy is responsible for the plight of womankind," she said. "It is the answer to every question in this course."
We studied the peculiar behavior of a certain female subspecies: the dumb cunt. They're mostly college-age."What about the fact that women still only make 80 cents for every dollar men make?" asked a student.
"The oppressive patriarchy."
"And that second-wave feminism was actually more beneficial to men than women?" asked another.
"The oppressive patriarchy."
"Why did this guy I hooked up with call me a clingy bitch and pretend like he didn't know me?" asked another girl.
"The oppressive patriarchy."
And it went on like this for several minutes, until we progressives realized we didn't have to take notes. (Though, to be fair, that last girl did seem a bit like a Stage 4 Clinger.)
With the entire history, theory, and practice of Gloria-Steinem-brand feminism summed up in thirty seconds, I sat and wondered what we would do for the rest of the semester. Maybe that pillow fight after all. Well, turns out my professor took the title of "Women's Studies" quite literally. We studied women.
Now, gentlemen, don't get too excited. The anatomy class was down the hall, and I'm what you call a "non-science major" (I was taking a Women's Studies class, after all). But don't click away to your favorite hentai octopus site just yet. What I learned in this class could be of use to you. You know when a bitch be crazy, and you have no idea why? Well, I don't either.
However, in this class we studied the peculiar behavior of a certain female subspecies: the dumb cunt. They're mostly college-age, but this can vary, of course, depending how much their daddies didn't love them.
To successfully decode a vagina, stare at this picture for 30 seconds without blinking, spin around on your vibrator 20 times, suck 3 cocks, and then call your BFF to confess.I feel that these women exhibit seemingly innocent behavior that must be decoded to reveal its true intentions. The best way to explain, for me, is by looking at a female humor column written for my school's "underground" newspaper. The column below was written by a member of the Pi Beta Phi sorority. I have taken the liberty of translating her column to reveal the true motives of some members of the female species. (And fuck yeah, this was part of my final exam.)
Original text: I love my girlies. They are the best friends in the fucking world. I know my bitches are always there for me. Like, if one of my girls downs one too many tequila shots, I hold her hair back when she barfs. Because we're classy like that. And I know if I ever need to borrow a skimpy cocktail dress, one of my skanks will back me up.
Translation: I am in a sorority, which means I must constantly profess my companionship to my fellow members or else risk losing my only means of friendship. This act ensures that I will have bridesmaids at my wedding, which for me, is the only thing worth living for. Also, my dad pays $500 a year so I can be friends with these girls. By casually referencing drinking, I'm letting you know I'm a party girl who likes to "get down," and "suck cock." But just to make sure I don't seem like I'm trying too hard, I'll throw in a pseudo self-deprecating remark about being "classy." This comment also mitigates the following statement that invites you to imagine me in a slutty cocktail dress. Calling my friends "bitches" and "skanks" makes me seem edgy.
Original text: So when a bro screws over one of my bitches, it's time to get even. My girlies and I don't let guys get away with acting like total tools. The other day, my friend Jenny hooked up with this guy from the lacrosse team. Jenny said they had a great night together, and she was super confident that he was gonna call her the next day. But the bastard never called! And whenever he saw Jenny on the quad, he pretended not to know her! One day, after a flag pole rally to raise awareness about the country of Africa, Jenny finally cornered him. He called her a "clingy bitch" and then ran away! Like, what a dick!
The only way value is assessed in my life is if it has a cock in it. Definitely a win for feminism!Translation: When I recount this tale, I am obligated to side with Jenny even though she was obviously deluded about her encounter with this particular bro. Really, though, I would just like to advertise the fact that a guy rejected my friend while I presumably enjoy more romantic success than her. I'm superficial and will generally act in any way that provides me attention; it just so happens that I don't have to act crazy (yet) for those results. Also, I needed to talk about somebody other than myself for a moment so I could set up the following sexual encounter, which I will inevitably exaggerate.
Original text: Well, it was clear that this douchebag needed to pay. And I had the perfect scheme for revenge: hook up with him and then avoid him. Let's see how he liked it when someone rejected him. Next time I ran into him, I flirted a bit and he immediately accepted an invite back to my dorm. When we got to my place, I threw him on my bed and ripped off his clothes. Although he was really into it, this guy had no idea what he was doing. The sex was definitely not the best I've ever had, and I ended up faking an orgasm just for his ego boost. I didn't know what Jenny saw in this guy, but I knew sticking to my plan would be no problem
at all. Even though this lacrosse guy practically stalked me after our encounter, I pretended like I didn't know him. After a while he gave up. I never told Jenny what happened because I didn't want her to know that she had obsessed over such a loser. Even though she never knew what I did for her, I considered this a "win" for feminism!
Translation: By confidently stating my plan to hook up with this guy, I am implying that I have more success with guys than Jenny. This is later confirmed when I note how the guy "practically stalked me" after he avoided Jenny. My dismissal of this guy implies that I've been with many men and know good sex when Jenny apparently has less experience. This is important to note, because the only way value is assessed in my life is if it has a cock in it. Definitely a win for feminism!
Despite my allusions to "being around the block," I'm not a whore because I hooked up with the guy to help out a friend, rather than to just have sex. Nevertheless I am exhibiting a casual attitude towards sex, which will invite males to pursue me and therefore validate me. I didn't tell Jenny about my hookup because, despite the façade of selflessness, sleeping with a guy who rejected a friend is just poor form. Not that I care, because I'm a stupid, vapid bitch who doesn't understand that "faking an orgasm just for his ego boost" is not only a grammatical shit-stain, but also a fire-bomb through my original logic (why the blazing hell would she want to boost his ego if he hurt hypothetical Jenny's feelings?). So, in conclusion, I have set feminism back a good several decades, by including it in my story, without a single iota of what the word means. Ergo: Dumb. Cunt.
(I would say, this is a pretty scarily pervasive problem nowadays.)
Ahem.
Welp. Not bad for a Woman's Studies 101 class, right? For some reason I only got a B. My professor said my analysis was too subjective or judgmental or something. Whatever, I blame my grade on the oppressive patriarchy. Now, who's up for a pillow fight?!