A PETA billboard in Jacksonville, FL, calls larger women “whales” and urges them to “lose the blubber” by going vegetarian.
PETA’s press release on the billboard says “going vegetarian can be an effective way to shed those extra pounds that keep [women] from looking good in a bikini.” Oh, God, now even billboards are judging us?
Insults and fat-shaming aren’t tried-and-true ways to encourage tofu instead of burgers. But something tells us that wasn’t the point: Bigger women were the ones chosen to be dehumanized so this cruel, sexist billboard could get some chuckles. Gross. [via Feministing] Keep reading »
We love the idea, in theory, of a porn magazine for women. Unfortunately, Filament, a British for-women-by-women porn mag, is having a lot of troubles. First, the above-the-waist photos of “feminine” male models, which Filament‘s editors said academic research proved women are attracted to, were not pornographic enough for us. Sorry, but Rufus Wainwright clones don’t make us hot. Fortunately, the mag listened to the complaints and is trying to, um, fluff their content by including guys with erections in the next issue. But now Filament‘s publisher has stated it will not allow them to print pictures of aroused men. [Guardian UK] Keep reading »
Septuagenarian Elsie Poncher is removing her late husband’s remains from his resting place so that she can sell his graveyard crypt on eBay, and the bidding starts at $500,000. Why is this plot such hot property? Richard Poncher’s crypt is directly above the one that belongs to bombshell icon Marilyn Monroe.
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No reporter happened to be standing at abortion provider George Tiller‘s side on the Sunday morning in May when he was murdered at gunpoint, allegedly by an anti-choice extremist. But, like the famous newspaper article by journalist Jimmy Breslin that covered JFK’s assassination from the point of view of his grave digger, sometimes a reporter discovers the best way to tell a story lies someplace other than the obvious.
In “The Last Abortion Doctor, Esquire focuses on the Boulder Abortion Clinic in Colorado and Dr. Warren Hern, the last physician in the United States who can perform late-term abortions. Keep reading »
Hooray! The weekend is here. As far as we’re concerned, this week was one long waste of time before “Mad Men” returns for its third season. (We haven’t decided whether we’re going to dress up like Peggy Olsen, Joan Holloway, or Rachel Menken for the premiere. There’s still time.)
Lots of other stuff happened this week, though. Join us, won’t you, while we take a fond look back? Keep reading »
A cheating Guatemalan woman faked her own kidnapping in Barcelona, so she could keep cheating with her Spanish lover. Ay carumba! Mark Sanford, are you taking notes? A woman in Spain texted her hubby in Guatemala that she’d been kidnapped, sexually assaulted, and held against her will with other kidnappees. In truth, the two-timer was boning a guy she met online. Her worried hubby alerted the Embassy of Spain in Guatemala, who called cops in Spain. Police found her in Barcelona, where she claimed she’d escaped her captors. However, when a medical examination found she had no injuries befitting a rape or kidnapping, the woman admitted the whole charade. And she did it all for a little nookie on the side. [Barcelona Reporter, Euro Weekly] Keep reading »
Mormons do it … Swiss farm boys do it. Oxford students do it. Now, farm girls are doing it. Baring it all for a charity calendar, that is. British lasses in the Young Farmers’ Club posed nude for a 2010 farm-themed calendar to raise money for Cancer Research UK. Pitchforks, hay bales, and lotsa skin. [Sun UK] Keep reading »
It’s a cliche, but it’s true: when I was really ill from depression last summer, it became easy to see who really cared about me and who had only stuck around me for other reasons.
I had been hooking up with two different guys that summer—”Brandon” and “Mark.” Brandon and I had developed what I’d thought was a deep friendship and mutual respect for each other’s careers; Mark and I had passion and affection. Both of them knew how I’d been struggling with sadness for the past eight months or so.
But both guys flat-out disappeared after I told them I’d been diagnosed by a doctor and prescribed medication. Did naming it make it real? Did calling it what it was make it scary? It hurt to sit with the reality that Mark and I had been in his bed together on Saturday night, but when I texted Mark on Monday morning to say I’d gotten a scrip for Lexapro, he never replied. Keep reading »