Nine Deuce’s pants on fire, also hanging from a telephone wire.

This afternoon, I had just gotten done telling Davetavius that I don’t want to engage in personal Internet scuffles of any kind (since it’s narcissistic, juvenile, and counterproductive) when I checked my stats and found something that nearly knocked me off my 12-pack: a Divine impersonator who can’t read has made a video about me!

Unfortunately, it’s so funny that I’m going to have to respond, even if it does make me feel like a geek (a word which still means “uncool” in my book).

In her expose, entitled Nine Deuce: Feminist or Bigot? (someone call Sundance) Little Devil (Xiao Gui, 小鬼), whose interests include Dungeons and Dragons, Rammstein, Marilyn Manson, Insane Clown Posse, Rocky Horror Picture Show, eastern religions, and Nietzsche (no, I’m not kidding — it’s as if she copied and pasted a “How to Be the Biggest Goth/BDSM Cliche You Can Be” pamphlet onto her page) claims that there are five LIES (!) contained within the first three posts in my BDSM series, and that I’m just like a Christian fundamentalist who hates the gays because I wonder whether it might not be possible that M/f BDSM relationships are problematic (guess she hasn’t seen part 5).

Her page urges us to “Carpe diem, bitches,” so let us wander through the five dastardly LIES one-by-one, yes?

  1. Nine Deuce, apparently, thinks BDSM is “all about male dominance and female submission.” Nope. The posts stated that I know that BDSM can take many other forms, but that the vast majority of BDSM relationships and encounters (and porn, natch) are M/f or recreate a M/f dynamic with things like “sissification.” I acknowledge that other forms exist, as I did in the posts, but I still wonder why we think sex and power and abuse ought to be comingled, especially living as we do in a hierarchical and oppressive society. LD thinks she’s got me because the original ads I placed were as a submissive woman and a submissive man. She’d be right if my intent in the “research” had been to prove that BDSM was all about men dominating women. The thing is, I know a thing or two about research and was well aware of the fact that my method wouldn’t have been sound had I tried to use it to prove anything quantitative scientifically. What I was trying to do was to show that the types of responses I got from men writing to what they thought was a submissive woman illustrate the kinds of attitudes that dominant men share with plain old sex abusers.
  2. Nine Deuce thinks that “male dominance is an outgrowth of our patriarchal or misogynistic culture,” which is clearly a fucking lie! Say what? How is male dominance NOT an outgrowth of a patriarchal society? For fuck’s sake, it’s the DEFINITION of patriarchy! Apparently, my assumption that male dominants might have absorbed something of a message that’s more ubiquitous than Coke ads is “pseudo-psychological drivel” akin to people claiming that male homosexuality is caused by domineering mothers. Way to try to poison the well there, LD, but I don’t think anyone’s buying that comparison. Blaming mothers for homosexuality is double-dutch-deluxe misogyny: blame a woman for a man being like a woman (which is the worst thing one can be). It’s also quite a stretch to think that a mother bossing her son around would lead directly to a hankering for dong. What you’d have to believe in order to think that a mother could make her son gay is that assertive women raise timid men, and a timid man is basically a woman, and women get fucked by men. Hence we have a hula-hoop of haterism in which the unifying feature is misogyny and woman-blaming. That’s not psychology, it’s a weak and nonsensical justification for homophobia and misogyny. Compare that to my supposition, that a misogynistic and sexually-repressed society breeds a situation in which women are rewarded for being sexually submissive and in which men come to view women with a mix of desire and sexual guilt, which leads to the desire to abuse, dominate, and degrade. LD thinks that her own experiences and those of a few people she knows disprove the idea that culture might influence sexuality, and goes so far as to suggest that BDSM might be hereditary because she’s heard it runs in families. Are you fucking kidding me? As if we aren’t absorbing messages from birth about male and female behavior from the examples set by our parents and others in the household. Why does everyone seem to think that we are immune to social messages until we reach some magical age at which we know we’re gay/straight/submissive/dominant/into jam bands? I keep hearing this nonsense from BDSMers about how they knew they had submissive desires when they were five, or ten, or whatever, as if that’s proof that these sorts of things can’t be socially inculcated. Where were they until that age, on Mars? Absolute tomfoolery.
  3. Nine Deuce thinks kink is about “cheap thrills” rather than intimacy and love. I don’t give a fuck whether it’s about intimacy or adrenaline, really. I’m sure there are BDSM couples out there who love each other and are intimate as all get down, but I do wonder why, when your average couple is having problems, counselors think it appropriate for them to suggest that the couple introduce volatile power dynamics into their sex lives, and why that so often turns into a M/f situation. (That was what part 2 was all about.) LD also claims I’m basing my understanding of BDSM relationships on porn rather than real people’s experiences, which she’d know is not the case had she read part 4, part 5, or my post about Kink dot com. I’m aware that there’s a difference between porn and real life, but I’m also aware that they have an effect on each other, and I assume everyone else is too (barring “separaters,” of course).
  4. Nine Deuce thinks she knows better than everyone else what they want out of their sex lives! She’s like a homophobe telling a lesbian she just needs some dick! I don’t remember telling anyone that I know what they secretly want, but if you can find a quote, let’s see it.
  5. Nine Deuce thinks BDSMers are unfit to have children! That argument was put to rest in the comments on part 4 and part 5. LD says that “vanilla” (retch) couples don’t fuck in front of their kids, so why should we think BDSMers do? LD informs me, in a very knowing tone, that I’ve gotten the insane idea that BDSM relationships are 24/7 from porn. I have? I didn’t get the idea  that full-time BDSM relationships exist from porn (which, if I had, would make me an idiot, since I know the difference between people fucking for money on tape and real life), I got it from the blogs and comments of real people here and elsewhere. I don’t know whether there are any people out there breaking out the gag ball in front of their kids, but I do know there are people with kids in full-time BDSM relationships in which the D/s dynamic is apparent to the children. No, that’s not qualitatively different from a traditional, patriarchal family, but I’m not wearing a t-shirt in support of that shit either.

I’m a little concerned about LD’s ability to read. First of all, are any of these things actually “lies” on my part? Four them are mischaracterizations of what I’ve said, and one (the fourth one) is a flat-out lie itself, taken as it is from thin air rather than even the most warped of possible interpretations of what I’ve written. But even if I had written all of these things, would they be “lies”? Or would they be opinions and ideas that LD doesn’t agree with?

Then, of course, she breaks out the old, “You talk about it so much, you must secretly be into it!” and compares me to the anti-gay preacher who gets caught hosing a male prostitute. You got me, 小鬼! I’ve been blogging about my opposition to porn, misogynistic advertising, fascistic beauty standards, plastic surgery, eating disorders, rape, the fashion industry, male privilege in our legal and political system, Flomax, gender roles, kids toys that limit girls’ visions for their futures, Suicide Girls, and what’s wrong with sporting culture for about 18 months, to the tune of 181 posts. I’d better come out and tell everyone the truth now: I really spend my Saturdays making amateur bukkake videos in between butthole bleaching and pube waxing sessions.  On Sundays I get Botox injections in my elbow creases and get collagen injected into my calves, then head to the mall and try on stilettos and girdles all day. Monday I get back to work, where I create ads to sell Durex condoms (you can see my work here) and help author legislation that will make it easier for rapists to evade prosecution. I head home every night and do all the housework while my daughter plays with Bratz and watches the Disney channel and my son plays with GI Joes and plastic guns, then blow my husband while he watches the NFL and drinks Coors Light. Once everyone’s gone to bed, I gorge myself on Betty Crocker Warm Delights cakes and then make myself puke them back up. I mean, I wouldn’t want to get fat and find myself in a situation in which rapists didn’t think me hot enough to rape! And believe you me, I’m into rape. If I wasn’t, why would I write about it so much?

Prett weak sauce, 小鬼. Next time maybe you ought to put a little more time and effort into font selection and mesh-glove-to-lipstick coordination. And making sense.

Someone PLEASE burn Las Vegas to the ground. I’ll give you $50.

I grew up in Southern California, and somehow every town in that region is a five-hour drive from Las Vegas. That unfortunately means I have been there many, many times in my lifetime, and that I’ve watched it develop from a fading, seedy shithole into the world’s biggest high-end mall complex. Since I got old enough to tell my parents to fuck off when they tried to drag me to Las Vegas, I’ve only been there twice, once for an hour and once for three days, and I’m 99% sure I’ll never, ever set foot in the 702 area code again.

I hate Las Vegas for a lot of reasons: gambling is maybe the most assholish thing one can spend one’s time and money on, the place is a worldwide mecca for prostitution and sundry other forms of the exploitation of women, and the cultural environment is nothing but an arrogant celebration of wastefulness, materialism, and vapidity. Add to that a bunch of red-state dicks on vacation and a few thousand assholes from LA who feel like they need to head to Vegas for the weekend because they can’t get up to enough hedonism in one of the world’s most disgusting cities, and you’ve got what might be the most obnoxious party city in the world. Las Vegas is now the American Ibiza, and if you can think of something more embarrassing than that, I’ll buy you ten Jager bombs (Vegas style, baby!).

After a night last week that included about seven too many Whiskey Dick Stouts with Nate-thaniel, I found myself paralyzed on Davetavius’s couch staring at a horror show on the television that, due to the lack of a remote control, I was powerless to escape. That horror show was Rehab Party at the Hard Rock Hotel on Tru TV. I’m not even sure what to call this show. It might be called a documentary, or maybe it’s a reality show. Fuck, I don’t know. I mean, what do you call a show that’s nothing but footage of people dancing in bathing suits spliced between interviews with the least interesting waitstaff on Earth?

Maybe I should back up a little and give y’all the background on the show. Apparently there’s a club on Sundays at the hotel pool at the Hard Rock Hotel in Las Vegas, and that club is called Rehab. The pool is surrounded by lounge chairs and an upper level with cabanas, and the partying generally takes place in the pool, in the cabanas, and on every single surface that anyone can get enough of a toe grip on to do the Tootsee Roll. Rehab employs a large staff of Barbies with fake breasts who wander around in bikinis and sell $15 drinks and $250+ bottles to the male tribal-tattooed patrons that have already paid $50 to get in and to the lucky-ass ladies who only had to pay $30. The club opens at 10 AM and closes at or around dusk. It looks real cool, if your idea of cool is spending $600 on getting wrecked and getting a sunburn while listening to house music (yeah, house music, in 2009) with a bunch of date rapists and girls who have gone wild.

Tru TV decided to make a show about this club, and that show is Rehab Party at the Hard Rock Hotel. One might wonder why no one has ever made a show about people getting fucked up around a pool before, and it does seem unbelievable, but I think I’ve figured it out: until recently, anyone who saw a show comprised of nothing but footage of women in bikinis and interviews with waiters about what kinds of tips they’d scored would say, “Hey, this show has no substance! It’s nothing but a transparent excuse to broadcast a bunch of footage of nearly-naked women. I feel cheated!” But now, television producers have surmised that they’ve gotten us so used to having our brains sucked out through our eyes by utterly inane bullshit that they can fob this off on us and we won’t say shit. I’m pretty sure we can expect to see the premier of Ow, My Balls! any day now.

The producers of  Rehab Party at the Hard Rock Hotel clearly went out of their way to make sure that the show had almost no redeeming social value, but they totally failed. They’ve accidentally created a documentary illustrating the most serious social problems we face as Americans and citizens of the world. I’m serious, dude. You see, the environment at Rehab is such a pure distillation of our screwy values and priorities that it is very nearly a caricature. Let me explain.

At Rehab, everyone knows where they stand. There is a scale for men and a scale for women, and every man knows his position on the male scale by the position on the female scale of the women he can associate with. I’ll give everyone three guesses as to what is being measured on the male scale and the female scale. If you guessed intelligence and dancing ability, you’re wrong. Really, the club is an arena in which men compete to see who can throw away the most money and the women compete to prove they do more Pilates, waxing, and spray tanning than anyone else.

The people at the club fall into three distinct groups: the dudes with the cash to throw down on the cabanas, the women who are there to party and hook up with the dudes in the cabanas, and the rest of the dudes who are there to pick up on the chicks who aren’t hot enough for the cabana guys. Any geek off the street can pay the $50 cover and come in, but the badasses go for the cabanas, which carry a $200 food and beverage minimum, and the uber-badasses take it up a notch and go for bottle service, that gauche method of displaying one’s bourgeoisitude that only people in Las Vegas and New Jersey haven’t figured out is embarrassing yet. In the clips on the show in which the waitresses discuss their customers’ desires and behavior, they almost all take note of the fact that the men who are partying in these cabanas want to make sure everyone knows they’re wasting a shit-ton of cash, and the waitresses help them out in that endeavor by carrying bottles of Grey Goose and Patron (the two most obnoxiously Philistine-ish brands of alcohol there are) over their heads on their way to the cabanas. They can frequently be seen cloyingly complimenting their customers on their partying sensibilities, which encourages even more lewd wastefulness and whooping and hooting. The waitresses also help their customers out by wrangling women from among the crowd to party with the cabana dudes, telling hot chicks that they’ll be able to drink for free and be seen partying in the cabanas if they’d like to join a group of gentlemen who’ve expressed a desire to meet women, effectively turning Rehab into an ad hoc, unpaid hostess bar. But hey, who doesn’t want to party with a guy who can afford to buy a $2500 9-liter bottle of champagne that’ll get hot before anyone drinks it?

The only time any confusion arises within the hierarchy is when a D-list celebrity shows up. I mean, how do these chicks know who to shake their boobs at when you have a guy with a $9000 bar tab on the one hand, and somebody like David Faustino on the other?

So we have here the ultimate crystallization of modern gender roles in America: men’s worth is defined by how much money they have, and women’s worth is defined by how much of that money they can get those men to spend in the hopes of having a chance to see the few inches of flesh that the public doesn’t get to see. And here we get a clear picture of the kind of world we live in: a world in which moderate celebrity, inconsequential displays of insignificant wealth, and other such worthless status markers are the currency with which men rent and buy women who can think of nothing more exciting than simulating sex via dancing with a dickhead in swim trunks and a gold chain in hopes of being seen on TV.

Rehab is like a church at which people sacrifice their dignity to the gods of vanity, waste, empty celebrity, and nudity, and Las Vegas is the fucking holy land. If only these fools knew that Eurotrash have been doing this same shit for so long that even the parodies of it are old.

This show is a peek into the abyss, my friends. But it is really, really funny.

(Sorry to rip on your hometown like this, 702.)

I just took a feminist piss.

No, not really, because that’s absurd. Pro-porn types regularly respond to my arguments that porn hurts women with the claim that, sure, participating in the production of porn or producing porn might not be a feminist act, but neither are things like taking a shower, eating breakfast, or driving to work.

There’s a problem here, captain. The assumption is that any action one takes is either feminist or neutral, but there seems to be something missing, no? I say there are three ways you can divide acts up when it comes to their feministiness: feminist, neutral, and anti-feminist. Volunteering for a women’s shelter is a feminist act, writing a blog about some dickish and misogynistic thing you’ve seen is a feminist act, kicking an anti-American in the ass is a feminist act, telling your boyfriend that you are or aren’t into some sex act and expecting him to respect your feelings (i.e., not guilt trip you about it or threaten to look elsewhere) is a feminist act. All of these things qualify as feminist acts because they contribute to the aggregate growth of the social acceptance of the idea that women are human beings and deserve to be treated like human beings.

The piss I just took, however, was not a feminist act.  It was a neutral one (even though I was thinking about this post as I did it). Brushing your teeth is a neutral act, doing the Kid ‘n’ Play is a neutral act. Fuck, smoking angel dust — as far as feminism is concerned — is a neutral act. Neutral acts do not add to or detract from the progress of women’s liberation.

But participating (by choice) in the production of anti-woman propaganda (misogynistic porn) is not a neutral act, it’s an anti-feminist one. It directly contradicts the message of feminism, which is — at a minimum — that women are human beings who deserve to be treated with the same dignity men expect to be treated with.

When it comes to personal sexual encounters, it’s a bit harder to say whether one’s actions can be considered neutral, feminist, or anti-feminist. I’d say that the vast majority of people think that their personal sex lives consist of a string of neutral acts. I don’t really care to argue about that, as long as those people aren’t telling me that my sex life is lame or that I’m sexually repressed because I’m not into whatever they’re into (thus mimicking the behavior of phallocrats who would shame us into acquiescence with cries of  “frigid!”). When they do, however, I’d say they’ve crossed into anti-feminist territory (and have left the realm of the private), as they are using their sexual preferences to pressure other women to conform to some kind of subjective sexual “ideal.”

I spend plenty of my time on this blog talking shit about this or that sex act as it is depicted in porn, and on discussing what it means that previously fringe sex acts have been mainstreamed as a result of their appearance in porn. Is that the same as deploying my sexual preferences to pressure other people into adhering to my “ideal” form of sexuality? No, for a few reasons. First, I don’t have an idealized vision of human sexuality that extends beyond the vague expectation that people will respect and acknowledge their partners’ humanity (but that’s a really big expectation and one that’s rarely met). Second, I don’t particularly care what any individual chooses to do in their spare time unless they try to piss on my leg and tell me it’s raining (i.e., tell me that they think it’s a feminist act to “take one in the face”). I admit that I’m skeptical that men can engage in certain activities without the intent of degrading their partners, and that I think that intent matters, but no one needs me to approve of their sexual activities, do they? I’m not here to convince a woman who is into (insert contentious sex act) to stop being into it, I’m here to talk to people who aren’t sure where they stand, to discuss things with people who have misgivings about the influence of misogyny on human sexuality, and to try to figure out what “healthy sexuality” might mean when we live in a misogynistic world.

So, let’s talk about what makes for a feminist act in one’s private sexual life, and whether an individual’s private sexual activities can ever be considered anti-feminist (assuming it’s consensual).

Dear “sex positive” “feminists” who think I’m a dick for having a problem with bukkake…

I often get comments from people telling me that my raising questions about acts such as men ejaculating on women’s faces, bukkake, ATM, etc. equate to “the patriarchy” trying to limit women’s sexual freedom. They claim that I’m “trying to use the master’s tools to tear down his house” by making arguments against women’s participation in porn and other activities that derive from and abet misogyny. I understand the reasoning behind that argument (though I don’t agree with it), which I explained here (short version: men have been telling us we can’t like sex for so long, and now that we’ve gotten some freedom to like it, how dare you – as a woman – come and try to tell us what we like isn’t OK). But I’d really like an answer to one serious question: how does participating in the production of misogynistic porn “tear down the master’s house”? How does participating in sex acts intended to degrade, whether you personally enjoy them or not, result in the destruction of male supremacy? I don’t know that all that many people claim that it does or will, but I’ve gotten the distinct impression from several commenters that they think that it’s a better route than trying to extirpate the systemic misogyny, both external and internalized, that allows the sex industry to exist and that creates a situation in which some women take enjoyment from acts that their male partners enjoy specifically because they’re degrading.

The Worst Band Name of All Time

I was wandering around here in Atlanta the other day with Davetavius when I saw something that nearly made me lose my mind, a poster for a local band that call themselves the Bukkake Boys. Now, I normally wouldn’t complain about any stupid shit I see in Little Five Points, because Little Five Points exists solely as a collecting spot for stupid shit and because I was the one who decided to go there in the first place, but this was a bit much. I’ve now spent at least four hours of my life trying to figure out what could possibly have possessed these dudes to choose to name themselves the Bukkake Boys, and that kind of waste of my valuable time makes me very, very angry.

I had to go check out their MySpace page to see what such a band would sound like, and I have to say that I wasn’t surprised. They’re basically a shitty hardcore band that hasn’t figured out that it isn’t 1985 and that punk is, in fact, dead. Their song titles are fairly hilarious: “Nihilism Hate,” “Mind Vulture,” “Mind Copulation,” and “Trend Junkie.” Apparently they’re really angry and worried about mental contamination and they’re totally not down with social conditioning or trendiness, though I’m pretty sure that all of those sentiments are a bit trendy in the punk scene and have become parodies of themselves at this point. Regardless, nearly every week these guys can be seen here at the PBR-soaked hipster hangout known as the Star Bar getting fucked up and going off on stage about how lame those fucking posers who don’t have as many punk rock points as they do are and about how they see through all the bullshit.

As hilarious as all that might be, it doesn’t really matter. I could sit here and write about how stupid it is to be in a hardcore band in 2009 all day and never run out of bands to rip on, but that’s not the point. The point is that these guys are really special because they are indicative of the tenacity of a social trend that I was hoping was fading out; they thought that the most clever thing they could do to let us all know how punk they are would be to call themselves the fucking Bukkake Boys, to attempt to shock people into giving a shit about a band that couldn’t possibly be less noteworthy or more irrelevant. I thought the whole “talking about gross shit makes me edgy” thing was about over with, but I guess I was wrong and it’s still holding on strong here in “Hotlanta.”

But what, exactly, am I supposed to think about when I see the band’s name?  I’ve been trying to figure it out for awhile and I’ve come up with a few possibilities:

  • These guys watch a lot of porn and like to see women covered in semen. That means that they’re pieces of shit and should probably take up playing Russian Roulette, which would be punk as fuck if you think about it.
  • They like to get together and ejaculate on people as a group as a sort of band bonding activity. I’m pretty sure these guys have a hard time getting women to come to their parties whether this is the case or not.
  • They’re trying to tell people that they like to be ejaculated upon by large numbers of men. Maybe they’re going for a Jackass-style “pretending to be gay is so punk” thing.
  • They’re just dumbasses who couldn’t think of anything more clever and have no idea what they’re trying to say beyond, “Grrr, plthhh, shit, piss, semen, punk, argh, beer, fuck yeah!”

I’m guessing it’s a combination of the first and last.

I know I’m talking about a local punk band that can’t get more than forty people to come to a show, but the fact that people are naming a band after an incredibly degrading porn trend is a little worrisome to me, as is the fact that the entirety of the potential punk culture once had has been destroyed by punk’s devolution into yet another bro music scene. It’s absurd that there is a band out there that is celebrating an act that degrades and dehumanizes women by naming their band after that act and then writing songs about how stupid the general public is for not seeing their way past mainstream cultural and social values. I’m pretty sure that one of the most ubiquitous and destructive systemic social forces there is (misogyny) might deserve a bit of attention if one wants to claim to be bucking the status quo, if that was actually what was going on here. But these dicks aren’t really interested in any of that, they just want to rage against the Man for trying to keep them from partying, going off, and living in their parents’ basements forever and to attempt to distinguish themselves from John Fitzgerald Page by acting just like him while wearing anarchy t-shirts that they paid tax on.