Tuesday, May 20, 2008


I went on your site tonight expecting to see a tirade about crazy feminists ruining your big day, but I guess you've said your piece on that. Damn. It was real sexy the way you were telling everybody to "get a life" last week. On one hand, you were hollering "Chicks, math and science, not so much." And then you were all, "Try and do something with your lives." That's right, baby. When the going gets tough, the tough try and confuse the opposition. You're taking this shit to, like, this whole nother level.

And you're right. Those bitter women--what are they thinking, running around in trousers, fergodsake? (Don't they know that the most aphrodisiacal type accoutremont is a pink Chanel suit with pearls? Hot.)

Crazy liberals. They had some kind of nerve protesting. I mean, never in the history of the world has a conservative ever protested anything. It's true. Look it up.

Anywho. You are one classy broad, I don't care what anybody says. And in that little getup they had you in, you were quite the prurient little nanny goat. I have never wanted you more. Mreowr.

Sunday, May 18, 2008

How Dare You

I mean really, how dare you. (Said in aghast banshee hiss-whisper) The Bible clearly forbids such unions, particularly those that result in out-of-wedlock spawn. Well, I never...

Now shh, shh, Phyllis. Come on. It's just hatin', mami.


Dammit, woman.

Gay for Schlafly

A lot has been said about Phyllis Schlafly lately. How her message devalues women, that she's an anti-intellectual. That she's a big fat Jesus-train ridin' homophobe and immigrant hater. That the stick up her butt has an inscription on it reading "Voting sucks! Have more babies instead."

But there's one thing we haven't talked about yet. How smokin' hot she is.

I don't have anything original to contribute to the Phyllis Schlafly debate. And to be honest, I don't want to contribute to it. I'm a lover, not a fighter, see. So I want to take this opportunity to ask the only question that matters.

Phyllis, will you be my girlfriend?

Over the past few weeks, I have fallen in love with you. Your jowly, grandmotherly sexiness is ruining my life, woman, as is the way you work those wide-collared pantsuits. Goddamn. And that little hairdo! While I worry that it is cutting off circulation to your brain, I think it suits you awfully well and hope that you never change it. Don't ever let anyone tell you you aren't beautiful. Cuz you ARE.


I want to be lesbians with you. I want you to leave your husband (if he's still kicking) and move in with me. I realize you are about 60 years older than me, but it's ok. I dig older chicks.

Don't worry. We can take this thing slow. Maybe start over email, get to know each other a little. Then maybe chat on Yahoo messenger or something, before moving on to some phone time. I promise not to talk dirty. You probably hate that kind of thing, what with the whole grassroots conservatism thing and all. I totally get that. I'm prepared to be as discreet as you need to be in order for this love to work, because I figure if I can score a classy dame like yourself, that will be its own reward.

Once we are together, I will work hard to treat you like the lady you are. I will open doors for you, I will send flowers, and if you're not still driving, I will even take you to the beauty parlor.

No one has to know. Except the readers of this blog, of course, but don't ask me to take it down though--I need some kind of outlet where I give props to the righteous-assed magic that happens when two women knock-a the boots. Because I believe in magic. The only question is, do you?

Phyllis, darling, all I need is a sign. A sign that you're down for it. I will be so good to you. I will love you so hard you'll be saying "Equal Rights Amendme-whah?"

I think Peaches said it best.

Are you a left?
Or are you right?
Or are you switching
Just for tonight?
I don't even know all the codes
But baby you better find out
before you go.

Damn, girl. Damn. Did you ever look hot in that commencement robe.