from the pages of
He Never Loved Her
Welcome to Hotel Satire where one of the services we provide is to keep you rad (therefore lesbian, therefore off the Belle Curve) gals informed about what's going on in the real world. I'm going to try to do that. It'll be difficult because all I do lately is weep over Prince Charles's shocking news about Princess Di. Yes, sniff, he never loved her.
Okay, I'm better now. Let's continue. Now gals, any report on gals is always limited to: breasts and/or disease; sex; men; babies, food, clothes, appearance; Barbie; Princess Di's latest activities.
Oh, just the mention of her name has set me off again. She was Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, and Cinderella all rolled into one. Yet, HE NEVER LOVED HER!
It's all right. I'm okay. To continue. Here's what's new and noteworthy in no particular order and with no rhyme or reason, cause that's how gals do things.
You may have missed it but there was an election and somehow Newt Salamander Gingrich became our new president, thank goodness. That Clinton was too radical. And don't get me started on Hillary. I haven't met Mrs. Fig Newt but I'm sure that's because she is either giving birth or home baking something. Anyway, the Newt-man has to be at the apex of the Bell Curve, doesn't he? How else could he ferret out that welfare moms (i.e., gals of color genetically inclined to suck our economy dry while having sex with anything that moves) are the cause of this country's woes. Newt, Hon, nothing you do in the coming years could be too right wing for me. For instance, with regard to social programs, ditch them all. Any able-bodied person of any age really ought to get a demeaning job or go to jail or have the wits/connections to suck up to some charity, know what I'm saying? Except gals. Marriage and motherhood for them. As long as they earn no money, have no identity, and service their men, we're okay, the family values are in tact. Welfare gals go to jail or work at Taco Bell. End of story.
Add this word to your vocabulary, Gals. It will be coming up a lot. Immigrant is a synonym for Mexicans who are sucking the economy dry and poisoning our children. This is the fault of you gals. If you hadn't left your children in order to selfishly pursue careers, we wouldn't need these immigrant scum to care for the kids, clean the homes, and pick the produce. By the way, don't confuse "immigrants" with Europeans who have been coming here to pillage and sack for centuries. These are nice people, especially the Nazi scientists who came in the 40s to work on bombs and as psychiatrists. Keep those folks coming. Nazis si, immigrants nada.
Big news here. The fashion industry is now campaigning to find/fund a cure for breast cancer. That is, they're putting ads featuring Miss Anorexic Waif herself, Kate Moss, posed in a T-shirt (and nothing) with a target over her breasts. Why they didn't have two targets, one over each breast, with exposed nipple in the center, escapes me. I think they would have sold more T-shirts. Still, the Kate Moss shirt is a hot item and sure to raise big bucks. What gal wouldn't pay for the chance to walk around with a target and the words cancer over her breasts? Diseased breasts as fashion statement oui, end to environmental causes of breast cancer not on your life.
A corollary news item here is the Fake Fur campaign. Here we have various models appearing as nude spokespeople for People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA). One ad shows Cindy Crawford in fake-fur aviator cap (sold to raise money for PETA) clutching a Siamese cat to her nude body. Demeaned women but of course, animal pelts forget it.
Wait. I'm weeping again. Charles, how could you? She gave birth to a male heir, plus a spare. She visited the children's wards at various hospitals. She cared about the poor, as all wealthy monarchs do. She was color-coordinated for chrissakes. Yet, HE NEVER LOVED HER.
Okay. I fine. I'm dealing with the pain. Whimper, sniffle.
Back to breasts. Also on the breast front is this restaurant chain, Hooters. It's been around for a while, but is making the news again because strident feminists ("politically correct fanatics," says a Hooters marketing director) are protesting. The waitresses wear short shorts and cleavage/midriff-exposing tank tops. Over the right breast is an owl, it's eyes peeing through the two O's in Hooters. Nice double entendre, I must say--owls, hooters, yuk, yuk. It amuses the hell out of me.
The menu describes raw oysters as nude (well, aren't they?) and describes a chicken sandwich as "After the wings are gone, what else could we do but save the breast." To send orders to the kitchen Hooter Girls have to attach order slips to a wire on a pulley high over their heads involving much stretching and hooter squeezing. When things get slow, Hooter Girls swivel hips and hooters in hula hoops to cheers from guys at their respective stations. Surprisingly, mostly men eat at Hooters. Or men with their kids. Some of the waitresses have objected to the inevitable comments and the ogling, but most find it a "day at the beach" compared to a lot of places. Others are just annoyed that the T-shirts are made of tacky polyester.
This is such good fun. Why they don't have the nipples poking right through the shirt and the owl's eyes or why they don't just do the sex act right at the table in amongst the meat and beer and other animal body parts escapes me. Why isn't there a spin-off chain of restaurants called Beavers with the "E's" as two little beady eyes right over the vagina as Beaver Girls serve up the suds? Maybe soon. Anyway, gals defined by their breasts yes, protests of any kind pathetic.
Two items of note here. First, most newspaper accounts of Jimmy Carter's negotiations to avert a U.S. invasion of Haiti were eager to inform us that Cedras's wife is slim and attractive. Thank goodness for that. Slim attractive wives are a real asset when you're a mass murdering dictator. I mean it redeems them.
Second, the gals of Sarajevo keep their looks (the makeup, the hair) even during war. According to the Ottawa Citizen (August 18), a newspaper that seems to understand that when you write about gals in the middle of war, rape, and torture, you gotta write about their appearance. Here are some quotes from "Sarajevo's women maintain elegance, pose and beauty" by Kittie McKinsey: "Thanks to the privations of war, Sarajevo women are slim and fit." "Dodging sniper bullets and schlepping heavy canisters of water up many flights of stairs in apartment buildings where elevators don't work have also been an excellent fitness program." "She's wearing a silky, olive-green jumpsuit, with a gold chain at her neck and a wide, black lizard belt nipping her waist. Her immaculate black high heels match the belt. She's perfectly quaffed and her rose nail polish matches her lipstick<193>"
I am so proud of these gals. I wouldn't personally wear olive green with black lizard, but what the hey. The real news here is that when reporting on gals at the front or in the cockpit, stick to the important stuff like descriptions of outfits and color of nail polish.
According to a report from the UN Economic Commission for Europe, women in Europe and North America "face a bleak job outlook in the coming years as lower pay and rising unemployment combine with continuing barriers to their entry to key posts." The report also says that women age emerging as a special underclass in poorly paid, part-time and temporary positions with little job security or job protection. "Women's remuneration has dropped since the 1980s, as has general quality and employment available to them<193> "Women continue to be segregated into traditionally female occupations, particularly in the service sector, where they comprise about half of all employees in most countries." Worldwide, women earned an average of 30 to 40 percent less than men for comparable work (come on, as stated above, they aren't doing comparable work, so there); in Norway women's average wage was half that of men. So? Is this news? I'm yawning.
Oh, the tears are forming again. Oh, God. Princess Di. Millions of gals worldwide want to be her (the hair, the clothes, the cash, the bulimic upchucking for God and Country) and yet, he never loved her.
Okay. I'm fine. Really. So let's refresh the makeup and get on with it.
Big news. It's Barbie's 35th birthday, I hope you realize. I celebrated. Did you? I got out my 24 Barbies with sixteen inch waists and pink cadillac and wardrobe and my Francie, my Scooter, Skipper, Casey, Christie, Midge, Stacey, Dawnie, Angie, Twiggy, Miffy, Muffy, Twittie, Perky, and Ken.
I just had a thought. Oh, Barbie. Maybe, after all these years Ken never loved her? I'm weeping, I'm hysterical. No. It's okay.
Here's the real news though. Did you know that Barbie was partly based on a for-adults only German doll named Lilli? According to Parade, Lilli hit the market in 1955. She was named for a cartoon character in the German tabloid Bild Zeitung. Lilli was eleven and a half inches tall, with a platinum ponytail and a set of black stiletto heels. She was a risque gag gift for men. Ads with pictures of Lilli in a windblown short skirt read "Gentlemen prefer Lilli." Ruth Handler, one of Mattel's founders, bought a few Lilli dolls in Switzerland and shared one with her designers, who did a makeover and transformed a German street-walker into a "wholesome<193> American icon" ( Parade's description of Barbie). Isn't this great?
Although I'm not sure our new president Newt Iguana Gingrich will be pleased with young gals plaything as ex-prostitute. Oh, God. Newt may outlaw Barbie. Newt may decide he never loved her. Aagh. I'm in pain.
No. Newt is our leader. I can deal. I'm fine. Let's proceed.
As we've said many times, any gal who is not legally, morally, psychologically, and economically dependent on a man (if you don't have one, call Newt Gingrich please) is a criminal. All teens (gals only) who have sex go to jail.
Of special note here is an October 19 Boston Globe article "Killer of adulterous wife gets light term in Maryland."
A man who shot his wife to death after catching her in bed with her lover(who was unharmed) was given 8 months, instead of up to 25 years, in prison from a sympathetic judge, Robert Cahill. Said Judge Cahill: "I seriously wonder how many men married five, four years would have the strength to walk away without inflicting some corporal punishment<193>I am forced to impose a sentence<193>only because I think I must do it to make the system honest."
What a guy that judge is. And high on the bell curve, I might add. Is he married, I wonder? He could have let the guy off as far as I'm concerned. Maybe even given him carte blanche to shoot a few other local wives who'd been misbehaving. Maybe our new president Newt G. will appoint him to the Supreme Court.
Aaaagh. Talk of adultery has reminded me of Charles and Di. People Magazine blasts: "Charles' shocking confession makes divorce certain--and leaves Britain wondering if he is fit to be King." No. He isn't. Kings can rob, rape, commit genocide, have bastard children etc., but they cannot marry Snow White/Cinderella, NEVER LOVE HER , then write about it, and still be King.
I suffer. I retire. I close the door to weep alone, and watch yet another episode of "Scarlett." Oh my god. Scarlett. Rhett. Did he love her all along? Or did he never love her? Oh my god, a news flash. Jackie may have had an affair with her brother-in-law, Bobbie Kennedy. She never loved JFK! RFK never loved Ethel! I can't go on.