WHALES: Women HAppier with Lowered Expectations and Standards: rubber chicken

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

science, monkey, chicken know all

hold the phone, readers! after my traumatic yesterday, i took an in-depth and muy scientific mental disorder diagnostic test to find out what, if anything, i had. (i would have put money on korsakoff's.) but the test results were unequivocal and positive: 'You Are Normal. Everyone requires some level of craziness in their lives to keep them sane and you have the perfect amount. Overall, you lead a well-balanced life. Also, you sexy genius!*'

needless to say, hallefuckinglujah! oh, WHALES, it's a wonderful life, is it not? i for one am just glad to have this silliness over and done with. next week will recommence business as usual, addressing the salient issues of the day. in fact, understandably inspired by hardcore science at the moment, i will publish the results of a comprehensive study i conducted last week wherein i observed various groups in their natural surroundings (i.e., at their favorite bars getting shitfaced): navy seals, musicians, foreigners and hobags. i will make sweeping generalizations/conclusions.

speaking of hobags, it's bedtime. ooh and i can't wait to break the news to stuffed monkey and rubber chicken! they've always asserted i was normal.
*added by ms. c.

Saturday, August 8, 2009

carpe diem: purloin the chicken! (or plunder blunder)

carpe diem, readers: that's what they say. so the instant the owner of a rubber chicken turned her head, i filched said chicken. dunno why exactly, but that is the way some successes happen, as my gal sarah famously said: I answered him ‘Yes’ [to 'run as his running mate'] because I have the confidence in that readiness and knowing that you can’t blink, you have to be wired in a way of being so committed to the mission, the mission that we’re on...you can’t blink. and i daresay ex-politico palin would be proud: i did not blink, i was so committed (to the mission) and consequently i surprised myself with victory (or acquiring a thing i never dreamt of owning) and a position i never thought i'd hold (with rubber chicken in my purse at a company cocktail party). of course i would never question the wisdom of nondead fish that go against the flow, because readiness, commitment, not-blinking--all whilst not thinking--are the cornerstones for a proper WHALES. but i wonder if some thought would have been advantageous in this case: while at first i thought to myself, 'i own a rubber chicken!' later that evening the chicken honestly creeped me

out.

maybe because it was on my pillow. either way, disappointed and ruing my plunder, i threw the chicken in a corner.

WHALES conception

WHALES was conceived of whilst writing a hate letter to jon stewart. members share WHALES tales and pictures, and wear hats that look like whales, you know, for morale and solidarity.

Dear Jon,

I am not a TV watcher per se, but I made an exception for ‘The Daily Show.’ While I used to simply appreciate the wit of the program, I now see disturbing implications of not so much the show, but of your existence. Allow me to explain.

While I was working at a cannery in Alaska (killing fish and brain cells with knives and Milwaukee’s Best, respectively), a girl there told me that her mother shared with her the secret to getting the man of her dreams. She said that the universe had to know precisely what you wanted in a man so you had to write down everything you wished for, and the more specific the better.

So I set about writing my list: intelligent, jocular, athletic, adventurous. ‘The more specific, the better,’ she’d said. So I added: passionate, diligent, ethical; a skilled listener, assertive and witty; irreverent, compromising and uncompromising; someone who flosses, likes big books, big words, satires and psychology; a Levi’s-wearing, badass callipygian with a cock of steel.

Years passed and after each pea-brained, smarmy boyfriend, the list shrank. Maybe he didn’t have to be irreverent. Maybe he didn’t need to know the word ‘irreverent.’ Instead of assertive, how about assimilated (as in he’s included in the town’s population count)? Rather than liking satires, satyrs?

Then I moved abroad – and the revised list? Speaks English, flosses. And even that was tentative. I’d been surprisingly adaptable. I’d come to accept these alterations to, or the near obliteration of, my list with a grace and dignity, a kind of maturity of which I’d become so proud. Speaks English and flosses? – come to mama.

After traveling the world for two years, I recently returned to the States and satellite television. So I’ve rediscovered your show, and now face the prospect that my two-line list might be a bit, I don’t know, unsubstantial. And I have this to say in response:

How dare you make me laugh AND be righteous AND have meaty soccer-player calves? Do us women a favor, and shove your NY Times puzzle page up your ass, you false expectation-giving so-called male. It is unconscionable to raise women’s standards for men like that. Just think: seeing on a daily basis Barbara Walters, Alyson Hannigan, and Fanny Brice rolled into one – and tell me that wouldn’t make life suck for you out in Dateland. FUCK YOU! Fuck you, Jon Stewart, and fuck that equine erudition you rode in on.

Why can’t you just be like all the other men in the world? Try it – fuck sakes, baby steps if need be. You can still use the word incendiary – just be talking about lighting your farts on fire. Eventually though, drop it down to the monosyllabic. Then when you’re blow-torching your ass, saying, ‘Dude, this is hot!’ you’ll be thrown back into the man-sea, and we can forget about all this ‘multi-faceted man’ nonsense. Men are like fish, Jon. And they have their competencies – and that would be the fins. Yet you – you’re this fish with fins, dancing around on legs, and flapping about wings. But I know that fish don’t have legs or wings – you mutant fucking freak!

Thing is, Jon, this attack on my life’s evolution, my acquisition of wisdom – my list! – is a horrible slap in the face, since I am a woman of otherwise blinding intelligence. To give you a glimpse into my genius – the sort that forces people into a life sans peers – I will share with you a couple of musings: grass-dyed pants and shit-brown undies for kids. And, dude, that’s just off the top of my head.

I’m a fair person, Jon, so although currently you’re my sole target, it’s not without reason. You'd better believe that if Stephen Colbert were fuckable, he’d be next.

When journalists pose the question, ‘Is Jon Stewart bad for America?’ I think it’s going too far. But be assured that when the womyn of America hear my case – that Jon Stewart needlessly raises our expectations and standards for men – WE will be the ones bad for YOU.

Sincerely,

Ms. C.
Future Founder and President
WHALES
Womyn HAppier with Lowered Expectations and Standards

P.S. Can I come on your show and tout my book-in-progress The Princess of WHALES: An Autobiography?

*note: see 'jon responds!' post for jon's response.

WHALES: Women HAppier with Lowered Expectations and Standards

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

science, monkey, chicken know all

Saturday, August 8, 2009

carpe diem: purloin the chicken! (or plunder blunder)

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