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Feb. 26, 2014 - Sargon of Akkad - Carl Benjamin
04:09
Feminist poetry reading
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I haven't watched this following video.
I've watched about 10 seconds of it.
But that's enough to make me think this will probably be a laugh.
How to cure a feminist.
I was gonna go for a lobotomy joke here, but that would be redundant.
Ever find a pretty little lady at a bar?
The type of look that screams of arm candy that- No, of course not.
This isn't the 1950s.
The type of skin that longs to be unzipped, only to find out that she is an empowered woman?
Again, no.
Well, whoa no longer, man friend.
Just follow these simple steps to cure your feminist.
If she's a strong empowered woman, she's probably not a perpetual victim.
Step one, win her over.
Do this by pretending you care about women.
Example, replace the word tits with the word equality and resume normal conversation.
Do you mean like I jizzed all over her equality?
I love equality.
I wish that women didn't have to hide their equality.
I really want to snort cocaine off of some drunk girl's equality.
Turns out I was doing it right.
Step two, open her eyes.
Girls are basically designed to be brainwashed.
It's how they became feminists in the first place.
I'd like to invoke Poe's law here.
I have absolutely no idea if that's supposed to be a joke.
Too many strong-willed women in their past or something.
Reverse this nasty little habit with subliminal messaging.
Example, place a tube of lipstick in your medicine cabinet.
She will soon feel inadequate to the woman you are presumably cheating on her with.
This will convince her.
Nay, force her into acting like a more civilized, submissive girl.
What does it say about you making rape jokes about civilizing women?
Step three, treat her right.
Now, let's not get crazy here.
You don't actually have to treat her right, but if you buy her things while you quietly undermine her Ford Explorer and combat boots, she will start to think of this as positive reinforcement, like a dog.
Soon, when you insult her, she will ask you to pick up the check.
Pretty fucking sure she's gonna ask me to do that no matter what I say.
Step four, put her on a diet of cigarettes and hairspray until her waist is an apple core.
Tell her she has never looked more ravishing.
Put her on it?
I can't fucking stop her from doing it.
Step five, buy a trophy case.
You will need a place to store her pelvic bone and the pre-notch bedpost.
I think you're failing to understand the concept of notching a bedpost.
Step six, show her what you are capable of.
Come home, covered in another man's blood, dragging a chunk of his muscle in your mouth.
Make her clean up the mess.
Is that how women fight?
Men fight with their fucking fists.
Step seven, build her a bomb shelter.
Tell her the world is not wondering where she is.
Fashion a dog collar out of broken glass.
Lock her up like the good liquor.
I'm not gonna build her any fucking thing.
She's a strong empowered woman.
She can build her own fucking bomb shelter.
Step eight.
Give her a new name.
You're a dirty girl, aren't you, private pile?
First whisper it in the crook of her neck until her muscles have committed it to memory.
Then shout it in the belly of her bedroom until the echo haunts her sleep finally.
Scratch it into her back while you fuck her.
How the hell do I fuck someone in their back?
Like branding your favorite ball gag.
It is proof that nothing is sacred.
That no backbone is too straight to be snapped into submission.
That every layer of skin can be clawed off.
Nothing before this mattered.
Suddenly I don't really feel like having sex.
Maybe we should just cuddle.
She never even existed without you.
Well, I will consider this a warning.
If I ever meet any men from the 1950s, I will be sure to let them know they're going to create feminism.
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