Snark

Charles Manson, Star Wars, and the Joy of Hate

Kevin Williamson opines on how monsters make the ladies swoon.

The phenomenon of young women falling in love with death-row inmates, particularly with serial killers, is not new: Women flocked to Ted Bundy’s trial — his trial for raping, torturing, and murdering young women as a prelude to acts of necrophilia — and he received stacks of love letters and marriage proposals. Jeffrey Dahmer and Richard Ramirez got the same treatment, and Anders Behring Breivik might as well be the Beatles during their heyday. An investment banker may have a Ferrari, but the serial killer, the terrorist, and the mass murderer are at the top of the food chain. On the subject of Nazis, P. J. O’Rourke famously joked that “no one has ever had a fantasy about being tied to a bed and sexually ravished by someone dressed as a liberal.” Like all good jokes, that is fundamentally true — even if the truth behind it horrifies the nice people at National Public Radio, who remain “bumfuzzled” that a rich and powerful woman would allow herself to be beaten bloody by a psychopathic meathead, repeatedly.

That all sounds thoughtful and probably true. Meanwhile, in nerd-world:

I cannot quite express it, but I feel as though there’s a similar dynamic at work. We Warsies (thanks Trekkies) could not stop complaining about Phantom Menace back in the day, any more than we could stop paying money to go see it. It was almost as though we enjoyed the abuse.

Oh, Good. MTV is Getting into the Buzzfeed Market.

Lists! Lists all the time!

xallthey

Here’s what I have to say in response to this paint-by-numbers men-are-icky listicle:

1. They know how to wire 17 devices through one surge protector…

Is that difficult? Put the plug in the socket. This is beyond female ken? Really?

2. But have no idea how to put down the toilet seat.

*sigh*  Yes we do. We have the idea to put it down every time we have to go no. 2. The only idea we don’t have is this odd expectation that the toilet seat is always going to be in the optimum position for us when we approach it. If we have to sit on it, and the seat is up, we put it down! I know! Like, without complaining or anything!

areyouawizard

3. They can proficiently operate an elaborate system of multiple remotes and cable boxes…

If you say so, sister. I get frustrated with mine a good deal. Inanimate objects vex me. My wife is much better with them.

4. But feel overwhelmed by using more than one shower product for all of their bathing needs.

Not overwhelmed. We just don’t see the point. You come out of the shower, you’re clean. We come out of the shower, we’re clean. Except you do it with fifteen different products and we do it with one. Whatever floats your boat, I guess.

5. They can easily be slipped vegan food if you focus on the fact that it is a “home cooked meal.”

Deception. The basis of any healthy relationship.

You do realize that you’ve given him a license to sneak bacon into your food, right?

6. They like football.

Because women don’t.

7. Like, a lot.

Because they like it so much that it takes up two places!

unfuny

8. But are totally not into reading laundry labels.

Okay, so far there’s been at least a tenuous juxtaposition between complicated things we do/simple things we don’t. But here the heuristic falls apart. How does “liking” football contrast with “totally not being into” laundry labels. Do women actually like reading laundry labels? Or do they just own clothes in so many different fabrics that it’s simply good sense to pay attention to them? Whereas guy clothes usually come in three fabrics:

  • Cotton, which washes well, and can only be dried wrong once
  • Polyester/blends, which wash and dry fine
  • Wool, which gets dry-cleaned

Our laundry lives just aren’t that complicated.

9. They collect tools in the same way that we collect nail polish…

bored - Copy

10. And the poor things think doing chores is as fun as having your nails did.

It’s the difference between doing something and chatting while something is done for you. Different strokes for different folks.

Also, I feel like most guys don’t consider mucking around with tools “chores” in the same sense that vacuuming and dishes are “chores”.

11. Finally, the three farts a day when you each had your own place? That was him holding back.

Women are dainty flowers who never expel methane from their rectum, said no husband ever.

You’re terrible at this, MTV. Go back to doing…whatever you do these days. Exploiting dumb people for giggles, last time I checked.

Mom Claims to be Breastfeeding Her 12-Year-Old Son on ThoughtCatalog, and the Internet Fails Another Satire Test.

Sometimes it’s hard to know when an idea is so crazy that someone advocating it is pulling your leg.

I’ll admit it: when I read this paragraph…

The fact of the matter is, if it weren’t natural, I wouldn’t still produce milk, and it wouldn’t feel good to breast feed my son. Because of the sexual repression of women, there’s little information on the sexual nerve receptors in the nipple and the rest of the titty, but when a baby sucks on a woman’s breast she experiences a bit of sexual pleasure. When a man does it, she receives even more pleasure because the breast is sensitive to facial hair, and now that my son Mason is old enough to grow facial hair, our breastfeeding sessions have become even more pleasurable for me.

…my immediate response was literally this:

wtf-computer-reaction

And when I say “literally”, I mean I held my phone, on which I initially read it, an arm’s length away, saying “what even the…!”

But the last line (thankfully) gives the game away…

I’m going to keep breast feeding my son until my body decides that it’s time to stop, and I get the feeling that my body isn’t producing milk because Mason needs it, it’s producing milk because my body knows that we live in a problematic society that discourages women from letting their children suck on their boobs in public. That and I have a hormonal imbalance.

Now, I’m not entirely certain what the target of the satire is. Crunchy Uber-Breastfeedery Anti-Vaccer types, most likely, with perhaps a last snook cocked at Third Wave Feminism. But in any case, at least half the commenters don’t get it. Which is either the sign of good satire, or more evidenced that mass media and irony don’t mix.

Zappos is Going to Have No Bosses, Say the Bosses

dr-evil-right

 

Let us assume they are serious, and this “holacracy” is their real intent as opposed to the kind of window dressing that small companies use to mask their transition to big companies. It’s still hogwash.

Labor is conditional upon employment: one works because one is paid. People whose work is unsatisfactory are thus a negative value for their employers. So any company must have the capacity to end employment for those who do not work to the company’s goals.

Ah, but who defines such things? Who decides what are the company’s goals and what is “satisfactory”? Not everyone, surely: such would mean an infinity of mission statements (the horror!), and eventually, collapse.

So only certain people are given the authority to a) decide the goals, and b) reward or punish those who meet, exceed, or fail these goals.

Whoever these people are, whatever their title, however carefully the iron fist is swaddled in dainty gloves of pre-war velvet, they are the bosses. Whoever isn’t a boss is a worker. Et voila! Hierarchy.

 

Let us Now Abuse Matt Yglesias

I am not among the woeful who spend their day reading Slate, so I must admit I have never truly savored Yglesias’ thumbless-monkey prose. But a despicable troll in the sub-cockle of my heart delights in literary takedowns, and has ever since he first read the beating Mark Twain administered on James Fenimore Cooper. So read CJ Ciaramella at the Federalist and delight:

At its best, Yglesias’ writing manages a simple utilitarianism reminiscent of an AP English essay. At its worst, it falls into an uncanny valley that makes readers wonder if the article was dragged two ways through Google Translate before being published.

gollum

 

Everyone who clicks on this video is going to Hell

You have been warned.

If I was a cynical man, I’d suspect that whatever intern at NSTB “confirmed” this decided that it was too funny NOT to go on the air. In any case, if you’re like me, you will laugh, and then despise yourself for laughing.

What makes it extra funny is the serious “journalist” voice that the anchor uses, and how carefully she pronounces “Fuk” so that it does not run afoul of Standards & Practices.

They have since retracted the names.

via Protein Wisdom.