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Fuck Politeness

This is a revolution, not a public relations movement

Tag Archives: penises

So, I’ve joked about this with friends before before, but I really do think that the world would be a better and more equal place…if penises were attached by velcro.

Hear me out!

I started getting sexually harrassed by men as I walked down the street at thirteen. Groups of men making lewd comments at thirteen year old girls? Instant red card. Ref comes in, snatches the penis(es) and says “You can have THIS back when you behave”.

I walked past a man once who waggled his eyebrows at me and made a noise like he was having an orgasm. It was gross and uncomfortable. I told him it was rude and asked him to desist. Everytime I saw him after that he wolfwhistled at me then looked the other way to pretend it wasn’t him. I mean I do NOT want to be reaching down his pants, but if I confiscated his penis, you betcha he’d learn to shut the fuck up. And at least it would mean I didn’t jump up and pummel the fucker’s face til he cried for mercy.

I hear the counter-arguments amassing: HORROR! You wants to take the pee-pee??? What if WE took your VAGINA away??? Well, firstly, let’s be honest, sexual harrasment is a constant for women, and penises get used as weapons, or as the threat of harm quite often in society, particularly where rape is used as a tool of war, or a tool of control. The vulva does not have such a prominent role as a weapon of violence.  Second, I don’t *want* to take it, I am not saying let’s pre-emptively remove them all, I’m saying act like a tool and you’re on the bench for a few days, though I do think if we’re talking war, the penises come off til you come home, seems fair really. Maybe you can be alloted some alone time with them at night. But for real? Don’t act like a turd and you’ve got nothing to worry about. If you’re sitting there moaning about “WHY do the feminists hates me so much?” if you AREN’T behaving like an ARSEHOLE then this is not about you!

So I really think it works as a concept: you get to confiscate something of importance, there’s no pain, no violence, no ridicule, just a straight up consequence, like confiscating a favourite toy from a child who’s having a tantrum. You take it away, they have quiet time, they apologise, you give it back reminding them to behave better next time – except where they’ve been violent with it. Then maybe we talk about more long-term solutions. And they know you fucking mean business. Men might think twice before harrassing or scaring women. Choices and consequences dudes. Remember those?

So I’m thinking I confiscate them (yep, I fancy myself the Penis-Confiscating-Avenger), label them, store them on racks (like pool queues) and then the men come and line up and make their cases for having them back again. Any macho misogynist anger will result in a lengthening (hehe) of your suspension. Sounds infinately reasonable to me!

I ran this by someone a while ago and they thought I’d be utilising them for pleasure. No way, this is strictly business yáll. Confiscate and return. Besides, dunno if you noticed guys but when you are being an arsehole, we don’t actually truck with your penis. So if I’ve got a wall of penises (penii?) lined up on racks for being JERKS then it’s hardly likely to make me feel saucy. And some stranger’s disembodied dick? Sorry, they’re just NOT that irresistable! Hate to crush you like this guys, but we’re not mad for dick like we’re mad for chocolate. It’s contextual.

I mean I might be tempted to draw little moustaches on them and take photos, but that would be veering away from the respect for the business-like structure I’d like to keep in place.

Anyway. What reminded me of this revolutionary theory? Today’s blog post by Sam and the City. I know, I shouldn’t read her, it just makes my ears bleed with rage. But I did and it was horrible.

So it’s all about this amazing new author (Gareth Sibson)! Who claims [gasp] women are all boring! And self absorbed! And far too ready for sex! And nowhere near as sexy as they think! It’s really offputting for him (why doesn’t this guy shag his mates then? I mean they’re apparently SOOOOO interesting, witty, demure and coy, which are all the right turn ons for him. If women turn you off and are so inferior compared to men…why don’t you get yourself a boyfriend? OHhhh right. Women are fine for acting as a mastubatory hole for you cos you don’t wanna be like “gay”  or anything! Apparently “real men” shag women – while simultaneously hating them and everything they say/do/think/represent).

Says Sibson: “These women aren’t as sexy, strong and independent as they like to think they are,” he says. “They are unsavoury and positively rapacious ladies with a penchant for boasting about their bra size within moments of meeting.”

WTF??? Unsavoury? Rapacious? Dude, you have a SERIOUS problem!

Sam asks us if the author is right. Should we conclude we’re all insane? We’re all boring? We’re all desperate?

How about concluding that this prick read his dates DIARY and spazzed out over her having a thriteen year old moment which probably meant NOTHING other than she didn’t know him enough to loathe him like he deserves, how about concluding he’s full of shit, that he’s another attention-seeking misogynist?

He’s a PRIME candidate for the first one to go up on the rack. Simmer down buddy, work through your issues. Choose your dates more carefully. Stop reading other people’s diaries. Consider your own idiocy for a while. Once you’ve done this and have reached a zen-like state, where I can be sure that vitriolic women-hating bile will not pour forth from you, I will give it back.


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1/ That the sticky part faces down: when I first got my period, Mum handed me a pad without explanation, I took it out of the packet, looked at it a few times, wondered how it stayed “on” and proceeded to utilise it sticky side up…uncomfortable!

2/That airline workers are always more curious than the situation warrants: when my son was two, he and I did a lot of travelling around Australia. On one flight, he had been clambering over me, on my head for quite a bit of time. I was delirious with tiredness. As was my custom back then, due to his age, I would take him into the bathroom stall with me rather than leave him alone outside. So I’m sitting on the toilet, savouring a few moments to myself while my son rattled around the stall. It wasn’t a large space, and he was staggering around bouncing off the walls etc because he was still a little unsteady on his legs anyway, and the plane toilet floor was not a steady surface. Anyway, I’m finally feeling ready to leave and embrace motherhood again, and I stand up, attempt to balance, and reach down to pull up my pants. Right then, right in that split second of perfect vulnerability, when my pants are down and my “map of Tasmania” is facing the doorway, it is suddenly open, and there are five or six heads, all stacked up on top of one another as they all try to get a chance to peer in.

We all skip a rather large beat as I stare at them and they stare at me, and I finally, finally manage to make a noise of incomprehension. They say, “Oh, we heard rattling, we thought you fell!” They are STILL.THERE!!!

3/ The male penis; from whence it originates: So, I was a particularly naive teenager I think. No brothers, not from a naked family, never played ‘doctors and nurses’ or anything when I was a kid.

The extent of my knowledge of the penis was that when making out with a guy, there was something akin to a relay runners baton stuffed down the front of his pants. But (I know, it’s almost incomprehensible that I didn’t know this)…I didn’t know if it started at the bottom and went up, or started at the top and went down. I mean the damned things were always trapped inside a pair of jeans…how would I know? (This does make me wonder how on earth I thought people had sex if it started at the top and pointed down, but I dunno…I guess I didn’t think it through all that much.)  

So…this lack of knowledge was always going to out itself in a humiliating way. First year Uni, drama class, I’m seventeen, and no, still never seen a penis sans Levis. (And, looking back, I figure if I was this naive, I had no business trucking with a penis anyway!) So at seventeen I’m well getting into the University drama classes, I’m loving the stage, I’m over my nerves. Anyway, this one particular day, they say, “Right, you’re a guy. A young, working class guy. Walk for us.” I strut around, led by the groin, sniff a bit, do a bit of manly this and that. They’re LOVING it, they’re lapping it up, they’re eating out of my hands. I glance down from the stage and I see the drama teacher and two guys from class sitting and glowing with admiration.

Then they say…”Ok, pee up against the wall”… (you can already see this coming can’t you?) I unzip, I “flop it out”, I hold it as I start to pee (I figure you don’t wanna get pee everywhere), so I’m “holding it” somewhere just below my belly button. Nope. My belly button is not abnormally placed near my pubic bone, it’s in the regular spot.

The teacher calls out “Lower”. I shift it about an inch or so. He calls out “Lower” after a few moments silence, this time sounding a mixture of bemused and annoyed.  I shift it again. Is still, quite clearly not in the right spot. The resounding silence tells me this. I cave, and my face a picture of embarrasment, I look out at this group with a plea for help, as in “Please give me another task” and right then, right in that exchange of glances (maybe I could have gone further in drama, or at least the eyebrow acting variety) they get it. I watch as confusion and mild amusement begins to transform into comprehension…the teacher kind of goes “Ohh” and then looks as confused as before, one guy just kinda looks the same the whole way through this process, the middle guy, the “hot guy” in drama, goes kinda “Huh? What? Ohhh! OOOHHH! Heh heh”, goes through confusion, bemusement, comprehension, then what can only be described as some kind of pervy appreciation. I don’t know how many classes I went back to after that, but I do know I didn’t finish up the semester.

4/ To ask any other person in the room to dance: Also at around seventeen, my mum dragged me to a church dinner dance. I was hoping some of the kids I’d gone to the Youth Group with would be there and be my teenage sarcastic too-cool partners in crime. Nope. They had backbones and told their mums to stick the dinner dance. So, there I am, looking pretty fine, with no one my age to talk to and a good few hours of excrutiating boredom ahead of me. I was ANG.RY!

After about twenty minutes I figured I wasn’t getting out of it, I might as well try hard to enjoy it. I figured that despite how shit it was, if I was nice, and asked an old person to dance then the time might pass quicker. I’d feel like a Good Samaritan, and I might even have a giggle. So, knowing better than to ask old men to dance as a fairly voluptuous teenager with nice dress and a mane of red curls, I decided to ask one of the old women.

Like a person deciding to adopt a puppy from the pound, I stood back, made my choice, and made a beeline for a particularly sweet and lonely looking little old lady. I stride, smiling across the room to her and say “Would you like to dance?” (I’m scaring myself with my uber sweet and bouncy persona at this point). She says, “No, I couldn’t”. I mistake this for coyness, and say in my booming voice “OH! Come on, it’ll be fun!” She looks at me for a good long while, then says “I’d love to dear…but I only have one leg”

I make my apologies and bide the time left til I can leave without appearing freaked out…I have a photo of this moment, where I’ve come walking back to my family, and my uncle has raised the camera, and unable to hold it in I’ve let out a giant whoop of embarrassed laughter. You can see it all in my face, the energy, the embarrasment, the HUGE amount of amusement that of “all the churches in all the cities”, I had to come into this one, and ask that particular lady to dance..and the recognition that this was a story for years to come.

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