Nine Pearls-Blogging for Fun and Cash Prizes

Kind of Numb

I am so tired of the smell of blood. Seriously, I never had any interest in nursing, or doctoring, or any sort of healing, but after the last week or so, I realize that the smells would have killed me. I’m okay with the sight of blood… but I’m seriously done with the smell.

It’s hard for me to come up with anything else to write about.

I mean… what else is happening out in the world? Maybe the begginning of World War 3? Who wants to write about that shit?

Well, probably a lot of people, now that I think about it. But, I don’t really read those sites.

Or, there’s the Girls Gone Wild guy… lots of talk about him. But, I mean, really? The Girls Gone Wild guy is a total misogynistic prick? Color me fucking shocked! Who’d-a thunk it?

How does some of this shit qualify as news?

Actually, I might want to comment on the Girls Gone Wild guy, but I’m so deeply and sincerely disgusted with all notions of more bitching about porn lovin’ vs. porn hatin’, that the thought of even bothering to bother with a round of “wow… it’s a darned shame that porn doesn’t exist in a utopia that only exists in certain radical minds” makes me wanna curl up and go into a permanent coma after dissolving my computer with a vat of acid.

Can I tell you how fucking tired I am of the Sex Positive vs Rad Fem arguments?

I’m so tired that I stopped reading a lot of your blogs, despite the fact that I loved you before you all got so stuck on shit. And, that works on both sides of the debate, ‘cause y’all…. I don’t fucking care anymore.

I’m so tired of it that Suzy Bright can go ahead and suck off Larry Flint on Bill O’Reilly’s show, while wearing heels and a pink boa and a corset made out of Jenna Jamison’s waxed and woven pubic hair, and call the whole exercise an empowering feminist act, and I’ll just let her have it, because I don’t fucking care anymore.

I’m sooooo tired of it that a coven of radical feminists could bring Andrea Dworkin back from the dead using magic Prude Dust, and Dworkin could rent a sky-writing machine and stain the heavens with ‘All Hetero Sex is Rape’ on Super Bowl Sunday, over the game, while cheerleaders sewed up thier vulvas and donned burkas of Implied Sexual Shame at having Ever Stirred a Penis, and I’ll shrug and walk away, because I don’t fucking care anymore.

So there.

Stick that in your pipe and smoke it.