Whenever I hear some guy say that feminists don’t have a sense of humor, I want to punch that guy in the face.
What I mean is, I want to take a bunch of tiny razors and glue’em to a glove, kind of around the knuckle area, and put on this glove and then punch him pretty hard about six times and turn his nose into pâté. I would probably dip the razors in curare first, if there was some lying around and nobody else was using it. Because here on Savage Death Island, that shit is comedy gold.
What got me thinking about comedy gold was an item in the Canadian National Post headlined “B.C. police seek serial groin-kicker after series of attacks.” The item was emailed to me like 6 weeks ago by blamer Holly Campbell. Fast and friendly service, Holly, that’s what you get here at I Blame the Patriarchy.
Anyway. According to the article, a psychotic young woman is on the loose in British Columbia.
[T]he young woman inexplicably kicked [some dude] in the groin hard enough to send one of his testicles into his abdomen.
Having read the headline, you will not be surprised to learn that she is suspected of having kicked 3 or 4 other random dudes in the cubes, apparently without provocation. If the outraged dude message boards are to be believed, she is apparently the perfect radical feminist, since she’s actively living the violent anti-testicle fantasies the rest of us only dream about.
Anyway. Don’t tell me I don’t have a sense of humor, because this shit is funny as hell. Because the dude’s nut ruptured — ow! I bet that hurt! — and “will be replaced by a prosthetic before Christmas.” Just in the time for the annual B.C. Holiday Parade of Testicles! What a gasser!
Let me just say a few words about humor. Everyone loves humor, but the fact is that jokes are attacks. That’s why dudes on the Internet are always telling women to lighten up already and join them (the dudes) in busting a gut at their (women’s) own expense. Dudes like attacking women — it’s how they express affection — but since punching them in the face with curare-dipped razor gloves — at least in public — is somewhat frowned upon by those with gentle upbringings, jokes are all they’ve got left. So fuck you if you don’t like being their joke-butt. Ha ha!
Ergo:
According to the long-established elements of comedy we’ve all assimilated from oppression culture — e.g. surprise, irony, incongruity, impropriety, et al.– that hapless dude who got biffed in the giblets is a fucking Platonic ideal of a joke-butt. What a savory little fillip of unexpected delight is the whole ball-bonker tableau. It’s got it all, comedy-wise: a little white chick running around socking it to unsuspecting dudes who are strolling down the street minding their own beeswax.
Should I explicate further? Dudes usually have nothing to fear from little white chicks, see, since they (dudes) are, by universal agreement, the class who typically mete out the sex-based violence. Conversely, everyone recognizes that women typically don’t enjoy the dudes-only luxury of gaily sauntering through the town square without the expectation of sudden, unprovoked harassment. But here’s B.C. Girl, challenging the Global Accords Governing the Fair Use of Women with a surprising, ironic, incongruous, improprietous turnabout! The underdog puts one over on the overlord! Hi-fuckin-lariou
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