Tag Archives: barbie dolls should be banned

Like sands through the hourglass…

average-housewife-afternoon-soap-operaI like sordid. In fact, I revel in it. This is mostly due to the fact that I’ve watched cheap soap operas whilst in my impressionable teenage years. I adored Taylor, Brooke, Sammy, Carrie and the other soap opera babes. All of them… It was only during my cynical early adulthood that I realised what they were – ‘Ambitious women that achieve their goals through questionable means’, otherwise referred to as whores, skanks, slappers, tarts, ho’s and sluts. I know, it’s easy to give them all a label and you think that any of those words apply. Wrong! There are intrinsic differences, subtle and equally dirty, but differences nonetheless.

THE ULTIMATE SKANK BLOG.

whoreWhores
Bio: In many cultures, they are referred to as the fore mothers of the modern variants we see frequenting our daily lives, labelled as such by those that prefer to use Old English to define them. Often portrayed as the most vulgar of them all, these women conduct daily life making a living through means of prostitution or stealing husbands. Once their acts are vindicated, they become martyrs, often seeking solace in exotic places such as Babylon or upon silk sheets in hotels along the French riviera.
Habitat: The whore is a nomad by nature, moving to places that allude to offering them wealth, though inclined to settle once their materialistic needs are fulfilled.
Mating habits: The whore uses sex as a trade, through a voluntary process, weighing her outputs against the value of her actions.

Skank
Bio: One of lower class, predominantly found in trailer parks or on the arm of Dennis Rodman. Often viewed as dirty, displaying a lack of personal hygiene and complete disregard for the condition of her skin. May be considered to be less beautiful than her peers. Also, a type of dance that white people do.
Habitat: A native of trailer parks, abandoned high-rise buildings and the back of Ford Cortinas.
Sexual habits: Elusive, often conducted in dark corners. Their sexual partners tend to deny any involvement, often evading questions through a semblance of logic. Ex: “I’d never sleep with her, she’s fugly”.

slut

Slapper
Bio: A party animal. A frequenter of bars, parties, clubs and pubs. That hot girl that’s a friend of a friend of Joe’s cousin who denied you the pleasure of her company and you’ve secretly been lusting after her since then. In it for the good times. Mostly considered as easy when under the influence of alcohol. Uses the power of suggestion to get what she wants without actually keeping to her promises.
Habitat: Trendy nightspots such as Manhattan and The Baron. Photographic evidence usually documented on Thunda.com, later tagged on Facebook.
Sexual habits: It seems as if she’ll do anyone except you.

Tart
Bio: A type of confectionery. Easily identified by her bubbly personality and/or complete lack of brain activity. A serial flirt by nature, the Tart manages to get a lot of attention through very little use of thinkery. Mainly used as a derogatory term amongst older woman of English heritage.
Habitat: Your mom’s tea party/braai, often engaged in conversation with the husband of that bitch Maude, whilst her friends stare at her in aplomb.
Sexual habits: A Tart will deny that she’s ever slept with your husband. You will believe her because she’ll do it in a very ditsy manner. Even if you could prove it, you would never allow yourself to believe that you got ousted by someone perceived to be less intelligent than you.

Ho’s
Bio: A product of hip hop. Not restricted to gender (see man ho’s and faux ho’s). Not necessarily a derogatory term. Created for means of use in rap songs. Words that rhyme with ho: mo’, fo sho’, blow, dough. A ho is a product, usually starting out as a shawty then yo’ girl then yo’ baby mamma and finally, a ho, when she demands alimony.
Habitat: Different area codes.
Sexual Habits: Usually sleeps with rap stars, older women of elaborate means and yo baby daddy.

Slut
pic4smBio: Usually sleeps with anyone as long as they flatter her ego. A woman with the morals of a man.
Habitat: They’re everywhere. Capable of adapting in the most harsh of environments. The Slut is also mobile through means of paying for lifts with sexual favours.
Sexual Habits: Anywhere. Any time. Any place. What? Did you just tell me that I’m beautiful? *pounces*

I must admit, defining these terms took a while and was very difficult at first, but I had lots of fun attempting to. Thanks to those that pushed me to write it. Slappers, the bunch of you.

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Everyone is equal but some are more equal than others

Before I rant, I would like to state for the record that I am not a feminist. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not hiding a penis under my skirt nor am I a woman that believes that her rightful place is in the kitchen or washing cars in a bikini.

I’d go as far as to say that I HATE feminists. ‘Oh boohoo! I’m belittled in the workplace! But I know what I’ll do to get my point across, I’ll burn my bra!’. Hey, I have an idea, how about you spend less time complaining about how unfair life is and actually do something about it. That ladder isn’t going to get climbed on by itself. Its things like that that works against everything you’re trying to achieve.

When I’m having an off day, I like to spend time in book stores. Sure the internet is a fanciful thing with all them search engines, but nothing beats the smell of inky pages with the occasional strawberry jam stain. I read a lot, at any given moment I could be reading about 4 novels at once. I’d love to say that I can pick up right where I left off but I can’t. I’m not THAT awesome see.

I love the little ‘gift book’ sections for their silly antidotes and nonsensical rambles. I’d never actually bought one of these so I figured I’d look for one to give as a gift to my niece. Cute as a button with curly hair, she eats sand and plays with worms and believes in fairies and watches War of the Worlds avidly. She’s by far one of my favorite people in the world (there are about 12 in total so you know I mean business). 

 This looked, for lack of a better word, perfect. Its great, its big and its glorious. One doesn’t often come  across  a  title so boastful that you are compelled to read it. And I did. I read the crap out of it.

 The contents spanned a whole page, written in fancy letters. You know, the types of lettering only a girl  could appreciate. Here is a selection of the afore mentioned contents-
 – Needlecraft
 – Make up and beauty
 – Home Spa
 – The Great outdoors.

  Yes, ‘the great outdoors’ has its own section. I was particularly intrigued with this one. Here is a list of  things a girl should know when in ‘the great outdoors’:
 – How to fall
 – How to not throw like a girl
 – How to climb trees

Very admirable things every girl should know. Sure she should know how to fall, if she falls in the wrong way, she could get hurt. Sure she should know how not to throw like a girl, even though she is a girl, because throwing like someone other than a girl would make her less cool right? And it is imperative to learn how to climb trees because apparently it would impress the boys. That last sentence was taken from the book.

 So I took a look at this one only to sate my curiosity. I was, literally, standing in the isle with my mouth open. Not the most attractive visual, but I’ve spared my appearance for the sake of this blog. THAT’S HOW MUCH THIS MEANS TO ME.

The contents are written in a no nonsense typeface with a considerably smaller font size. The list covers 1.25 pages AND is presented in two columns. Not only does this one have a schwing title but it also contains more factual information, such as-

Understanding grammar: I love grammar. Its more important to me than the price of oil. I’ve been      known to stop talking to people if their grammar is anything remotely below my standard. Where are the  corresponding pages in the girls book?
The Golden Age of Piracy:  I love pirates. I loved them before they became popular again. I wanted to be  a pirate… a pirate with good teeth. I wanted to start that revolution. Arr ye reddy to floss ye scurvey hag?  There aren’t enough girl pirates. 
–  The greatest paper plane in the world: Nuff said
Girls: There is a whole section for girls. I think this says a lot. From a guys perspective, the matter of girls can be compartmentalized. In the girls book, there are references to boys in almost every section. 

A message to writers of these books, could you try to make the girl version more awesome? Thanks. Until then, I have resolved to buy both. Why should my girl miss out on all the awesomeness just because of the colour of her pretty frock.

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Of Mice and Men

I overheard the term ‘soapbox’ this morning. Strange term that. Before I go on, let me state that this blog has nothing to do with the political and humanitarian rights aspect associated with protesting on discarded soap boxes.

When people say ‘soapbox’ I think of the endless lectures I got from my mom about how sad life was when they lived on the farm that she had to go to the river to fetch water so she could have a bath and she used this certain type of soap that was in a blue paper wrapping. You know the wrapping I’m talking about, the wrapping that gets all goo like after you’ve run from the shower to wherever the soap is kept, trying not to slip on the tiles as you pray that no-one is awake to watch this debacle in mild amusement. Then when you finally get to the shower, your hand is covered in this oatmeal like grunge. I hate that type of wrapping.

Times, as they say, are changing. Not only can you get soap in boxes that don’t disintegrate, but you get soap that promises cleansing capabilities of unfathomable kinds of dirt. Observe:

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I know that the makers of this product developed and marketed it as a sort of ‘kitch-cool’ thing that’s meant to be taken very tongue in cheek, see, I don’t. Why are there only two options? Where is the purple one with the ‘Not a virgin but definitely not at slut status’ title? I demand a purple soap!

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind sluts or virgins. I believe that they are an integral part of the economy. Virgins are the fantasy, the ideal.  Sluts are harder to explain without pissing one gender off… so I have come up with a clever solution:

IF YOU ARE A MAN PERSON, READ HERE
-A slut is a temporary distraction used for purposes of a sexual nature. Does not require any consideration thereon as she is freely available or disposable.
-Someone you can blame when things don’t go as planned, using her ‘wanton’ like ways as an indication of her moral character.

IF YOU ARE A FEMALE PERSON, READ HERE
-A slut is a term made up by men that need their fragile egos stroked once in a while so that they may become productive members of society
-A slut is a woman so envied by her counterparts that her less than equal enemies have no defence against so they resort to mud-slinging by ways of implying that her sexual appetite is morally wrong.

Just about anyone can be a slut. Take this woman for instance

PALIN CABINET

I know which soap you would use Ms Palin. Don’t even try to talk your way out of this one missy.

While we’re in Alaska, did you know that the plural for Moose is not Meese or Mice but actually Moose? Well that’s no fun at all.

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I surround myself with stupid people so I feel more intelligent.

The world has a way of making sense just when the outlook gets more mangled than Amy Winehouse’s dreadlocks… A strange visual I know, but that’s the only way I can look at it.

For months now, I’ve been complaining about my job. Everyone knows this because I bitch about it almost every day. I know I should have acted on this feeling a while ago but I didn’t because I got scared. Poor little pampered girl with a fetish for shoes that I am, I was more concerned about the fact that I enjoy and rely on a regular income to keep me fabulous. Also, I didn’t want to lose all that I worked so hard for over the past two years, and I know that knowledge can never be truly ‘lost’, but a reputation and a working record can, especially if I move out of my field.

I’m one of 5 people in the whole country that do what I do. I like saying that because it makes me sound so important, but I’m not that important really, any monkey in a skirt could do my job and still have time to spare.

If there is one thing I could possibly miss about my job, its all the free time, free time I use to stalk people. People that read my blogs. People like you. I know who you are. LOOK AT ME WHEN I TYPE TO YOU. I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE. YOU OWE ME A MILLION DOLLARS.

Poor reader. I’m sorry you have to read my crap. I assure you that my drivel will cease to be only because I won’t have time to write crap anymore. I’ll only write the important stuff like mission statements and lists about things that are meaningful like ways to cut down on your energy usage or maybe, if I’m really stimulated, a well informed discussion on my views about the state of the economic climate and how it impacts the environment.

Which reminds me, I have another blog to publish about how misleading the scientific community is. If you are a scientist, BEWARE! My thesis lacks evidence and would probably frustrate you, but if you feel the need to send me some sort of message, feel free to do so. I’ll respond maybe, or never, probably never.

So, readers, no more theories about martian kangaroos and toasted sandwiches. I swear. 

… until I get bored of my new job or its totally unfulfillable or I decide to take over the world or clean my cupboard or decide that I don’t need shoes to make me happy and only I can make me happy and maybe I shouldn’t really give a crap about what other people think of me… *deep breath*

so, back to Amy’s dreadlocks, does she ever wash them?

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I think the batman signal is broken.

So we went to ‘The Hat’ for Halloween. It was nice.

Hot like firecracker. And by that I mean something very heated and hot like.

Hot like firecracker. And by firecracker I mean something very heated and hot like.

There were 6 Jokers in attendance (I counted them during a not so entertaining moment). Felt a bit bummed out that they did not bring out the general psychotic absurdity of the character. (Well, all of them except for Paul who pulled off a very good drunk Joker.)

But where was Batman? Poor Batman, I think everyone forgot that he was supposed to be the hero of the story. Its not his fault, Heath Ledger did die (and that’s a very big deal), and his character makeup was out of this world.

I’m sorry Batman. I’m sorry people don’t like you as much. I’m sorry your outfit is so passe. I’m sorry you fell down a well and there was no Lassie to save you. If you didn’t fall down a well, who knows, you could just have been a regular 30-ish playboy with dozens of illegitimate children strewn across Gotham City. For that matter, I’m pretty sure Gotham City would have been a nice place to live in. There would be sunlight and fields of strawberries to run in (because fields of daisies are so cliche) and chocolate milk would flow like rivers down its gold cobbled streets.

Why did you not come Batman? Were you ashamed that the Joker got away and managed to get all the attention? Were you scared?

I understand. Johannesburg is no city for a flying man rat like you. The Metro Cops would probably give you 4 fines on Rivonia Road before you even get to ‘The Hat’. And then you’ll be in jail. You won’t be happy. You’ll worry about dropping arb things like soap. Some big manly muscle man will take you under his wing, you’ll think of your trusty sidekick Robin, and then you’ll realise…

Batman, you are gay.

(But being gay is fine because gay people need love too)

 All those children aren’t really yours. Those supermodels you thought you had sex with formed a secret organisation with the sole purpose of tricking you. You will rot in jail. Yes, rot. Because bats don’t live forever, this is not a remake of Vanilla Sky. Its a sad day when you have to resort to Tom Cruise tactics. I think you should just give up. This town is too big for you.

We could have been good together Batman, I’m just sorry the Joker turned you into a withering pansy.

P.S: Now that I look at it Mel, you do kinda look like the Pilsbury Doughman’s wife. Albeit a hot one, so that’s okay.

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Chocolate is the devil, that is why I love it.

When I was younger (around two years ago) I used to be sexy like Spock. I had these rock-like abs and legs that would make any woman dissolve in the acidity of her envy. That was before I started my career as a sometimes productive corporate monkey…

Now I’m only half as hot and totally unfit. The other day I took on the bold task of giving Mojo a bath. Not entirely the most genius of ideas, but I was getting bored of watching cartoons at 8:30 in the morning. Boy, was I in for a surprise. Not only did I spend +1 hour running after the little guy, but I did it with the gusto only an Olympic champion should possess.

Oh the pain… the sheer agony.

The next morning I woke up with the most excruciatingly sore thighs. I must have torn some muscle tissue. Not to mention the fact that I have to make myself pretty for work and wear these high pointy heels (because I’m a small person and small people need help) and walk around in them. So there I am, traipsing around like an old person, trying to look cool when all I really want to do is find a  semi-shaded spot to wallow in my self neglect.

That is when it dawned on me, I’m becoming one of those deluded people I despise so much. I have pretensia [An illness whereby the infected person pretends that things are a certain way, when in fact, they are not]. This blog is a written promise to myself to never get fat like Britney, because she too was hot once and now she’s just ‘meh’. I can’t be ‘meh’. Its not like I have buckets of sparkling personality to sustain me. One day, all this sarcastic venom that I spit out will lose its attractiveness. I need to have something else to fall back on. I need to be superficial for once (haha).

I need to *sniffle* give up chocolate.

I hereby solemnly swear that from the very moment this blog is viewable by public, I shall be a good girl and eat rabbit food (even though it tastes like cardboard). In addition, I shall come up with (and stick to) a regular exercise routine.

I am not destined to be a fat lady with a million cats.

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More is more

I wish I was clever enough to build my own super computer.

I don’t know what I would do with it. All I seem to do on computers these days is use it to check up on the million sites I’ve registered on, write arbitrary nonsense and spy on people, random people, probably people that don’t read my blogs. I want to know why they don’t read my blogs, it intrigues me. I have shit to say. People should listen, people in positions of power, like bank managers. I’d welcome a bank manager. I could use him to get those pens on chains. I like those pens on chains, but I probably won’t like them if I could get them so easily.

I always want what I can’t have, and when I do get it, I get bored with it. I think I may just be a spoilt brat. Not that I am a brat anymore. Not that I ever was spoilt either. I don’t think I ever owned a Barbie doll. This fact disturbs and saddens me. Every girl should have a Barbie doll. I don’t know what I would have done with one. I used to make dresses for my friends’ Barbie dolls. I wanted to be a fashion designer like Brooke from ‘The Bold and The Beautiful’. I was too young to realise that Brooke was nothing but a trailer park ho. I blame my grandmother for making me watch ‘The Bold and The Beautiful’. That must be why I’m so fucked up right now. She’s the one that probably told my mother not to get me any Barbie dolls. Typical woman. They dangle a bright shimmery dream in front of you and then leave you deprived, making you believe that you’re worthless.

When I grow up, I want to be like my grandmother. The only problem with growing up is that you get old. I don’t want to get old. I’ll have to buy those face products that fools me into thinking that it would save me from the inevitable. Buying those means I’ve given up, I’m deluded.

I don’t want to be deluded. I like this universe I’ve created for myself. Sometimes. Even though I hate my job because its all numbers, people get impressed with my job title and I earn wads of cash that I spend on junk, being a part of the vicious economic cycle. Having knowledge on the inner workings of said cycle disturbs me. I shouldn’t have to create links in my head after every interest rate hike. I can’t help it, its part of me now, and I hate myself for it. This was not the dream I had for myself. Given, I had many dreams. None of them were useful. I wanted to be an astronomer once. I thought it was so cool. I grew up and realised I needed human contact. Astronomers lack human contact. Plus they live in arb places. Like Sutherland. Its freezing in Sutherland, and I’m an indian. Indian people aren’t built for cold weather. So I’d have to wear a sheep to work everyday. I’d also have to eat a lot to insulate myself. That won’t happen. I can’t get fat.

If by chance a female is reading this right now, I bet she hates me. I don’t mind, there are lots of people that hate me a little bit. Hate is a very strong emotion. I admire strong emotions, but I dislike emotionally over-bearing people, especially those that inflict their suffering on others. These people are a waste of space and should be offed.

I should rule the world. I’ll make it a nice place. Down with posers and beautiful people with nothing intelligent to say! I don’t like these people. I also don’t like people that think that ‘less is more’. Bullshit. More is more. That is why everyone is constantly updating the world with shreds of information. More is more. Information rules the world. It comes before money, power, influence and sex. If I desired to rule the world, I’d have to corrupt information. I’d need time, and money.

I’d also need a super computer. 

Blue lights an optional extra.

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