Deconstruction Of The Image


This may be a campaign about HIV/AIDS awareness, but that’s no excuse. This is blatant misogyny, really sinister stuff that conveys a much more profound message about the female body.

Take another look at it. She’s got a killer smile, but still, you can’t see her eyes. The model is cropped so that she’s essentially headless. What makes her human is gone. What makes her a woman is on display. That’s a very deliberate creative choice.

She is an object to be fucked without a brain or an identity. Worse still, her vagina is a fully indexed destination on a Google map. The visual metaphor is so potent (and porn is so ubiquitous) that this image is more jarring than one in which she shows us her actual pussy.

It’s not about the fact that she’s had sex with Bill Johnson and 19 others. Who gives a fuck? What’s toxic is the idea that they checked into her vagina on Foursquare. What it’s saying is that her private parts aren’t private at all. They’re public. That’s the implicit message in this image, and it’s degrading.

It’s not slut-shaming so much as it’s female-shaming, and it reinforces the age-old cultural narrative that women’s bodies aren’t their own.

(Now, having said all that, I should add that I’m not the least bit offended by this image. My sensibilities aren’t that fucking delicate. I’m not over here clutching my pearls or burning my bra. Like I said, who gives a fuck?

The point here is the deconstruction of the image itself. Agree. Disagree. It doesn’t matter. In a media driven culture, what’s important is making the implicit message explicit.)


Coke Talk Of The Day

I’m angry today. I need some power yoga and a steak and an orgasm. Would it be too much to attempt all three at once? Probably. That would require considerable logistics, or at the very least a dude with a clean kitchen floor. Fuck it. I’ll take ‘em as they come.




Somewhere on Hollywood Boulevard at this very moment there is a segment producer for E! Entertainment Television who I’d like to buy a drink.

Just look at this shot. It’s a tiny little work of art.

I guarantee that the only creative decision this particular producer got to make all week was which direction to point the camera, and what did he choose? A massive chain link fence separating the hypnotized, unwashed masses.

It could have been just another filler segment featuring tuxedos and fake smiles, but no. Suddenly, it’s a smirking political statement. Those two douche canoes weren’t just yammering about Gerard Butler coming out of rehab. They were posing in a visual metaphor for America’s invisible caste system.

Yes, it’s deliberate, and that subversive motherfucker got away with it because no one in the broadcast truck either noticed or cared.


Coke Talk of the Day

Where did the anonymous masses aim all their misdirected rage before the internet had a comments section? Honestly, where did all that negative energy go before we installed a digital lint trap in the zeitgeist? Was it released into our daily lives through a billion other angry and ignorant gestures?

I want to believe that the sum total of physical and emotional trauma out there in the world has somehow been softened by the fact that people get to convert all that poison into harmless threads of online afterthought.

Not by much, maybe just a notch or two.

Still, that counts for something.

Professionally Offended



Why is anyone apologizing for this?

No one was offended.

No one gives a shit.

No one.

There are assholes out there whose job it is to get professionally offended, and all they managed to do was phone in another poorly written press release.

Come on, even they’re not really offended. You can tell they don’t believe their own bullshit anymore. They just have to justify their ridiculous existence.

Not one person of any age, of any gender, or of any culture out of the hundred million who watched the Super Bowl is owed an apology for this fraction of a broadcast second.

Ugh. Even ranting about the irony and hypocrisy of this kind of nonsense is tiresome and irrelevant.


Zen Poetry



There is an ancient custom amongst Zen monks and haiku poets to compose a jisei or “death poem” when nearing the very end of their lives.

I feel like Anna Nicole Smith may have been more of a Zen poet than any of us ever gave her credit for.

Buckets for the Cure



The Susan G. Komen Foundation recently withdrew their charitable support for Planned Parenthood. It’s a transparently political move that is both deplorable and not the least bit surprising.

Come on, folks. Have we already forgotten Buckets for the Cure? Seriously, those helmet haired humanitarians in charge of the Komen Foundation lost all their credibility the second they decided to raise breast cancer awareness with pink buckets of KFC chicken.

Of course, some good is coming out of their right-wing, anti-choice, red-state wrong-headedness, because almost half a million dollars has been donated directly to Planned Parenthood in the past twenty-four hours alone.

If you can, please donate.


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