The Case Of Huffington Post Sexism

There’s been some internet chatter recently about how Huffington Post, a blog with mostly liberal writers and a liberal slant on the news, publishes a lot of photos and slideshows of half-naked female celebs. Two years ago I was on staff at the Huffington Post and this was going on back then too. The ongoing hypocrisy of an ostensibly liberal politics site objectifying women’s bodies, sadly, is not new.

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Sweden’s “Full Monty” Version Is Actually Hot

Susan Boyle ain’t got nothing on these dudes. On a type of “Sweden’s Got Talent” show, four wise alecks choreographed a naked dance as their “talent.” Mind you, these were cute, skinny, blond-haired wise alecks, so we can’t say we mind their childish antics too much. Calling it the “Crispbread Dance”, the guys ran around stage semi-creatively using giant crackers to hide their junk to the tunes of “Kung Fu Fighting”, “What What In My Butt” (clearly potty humor is the same over there), and some version of Riverdance.

So does Sweden have talent? If the rest of the country looks like this, then we say ja. Keep reading »

Gallery: Demi’s Doll Collection Creeps Out Ashton, And Other Celebrity Collectors

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Ashton Kutcher spent the weekend helping wife Demi Moore sort her collection of more than 3,000 dolls, which have been insured for $2.25 million. Needless to say, he wasn’t psyched. “Spent the day going through wifey’s insane doll collection,” he wrote. “3000 thousand contemporary art dolls all staring at U [sic]. I’m gonna have nightmares. I’m trying to convince wifey to open a doll museum. She also has thousands of Barbies and original GI Joes.” I don’t blame you Ashton, those glassy eyes can be pretty disconcerting. [StarPulse]

Here are nine more celebrities with eccentric collections.

“Tart Cards” Show How Sex Sells

Sex may sell, but how does one sell sex? Since the ’80s, prostitutes in London have been using “tart cards” to advertise their services. Tart Cards, a new graphic (in both meanings of the word) book, takes a look at how the art form has evolved from discreet illustrated pocket papers with text like “Charming Italian Model”, to the explicit pornographic photos posted in red telephone booths. Showcasing over 350 cards, the tome may shed some serious academic light on the history of a subculture, but it’s better as an amusing coffee table book, especially for the additional glossary of coded prostitute language. [$24.95 at Amazon.com]
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Five Gems From Last Night’s “Real Housewives” Episode

This week’s “Real Housewives Of New Jersey” was AC all the way, baby! While the Atlantic City plotline seemed perfectly made for drama, there was little to none. Only talks about Lexi (who got back from Greece without going to a water park or contracting some terrible waterborne disease), buh-bies and Teresa’s packing skills. Let’s take a look at what the girls were up to in the Jerz this week… Keep reading »

Anti-Abortion Group Dabbles In Real Estate

A Kansas-based anti-abortion group called Operation Rescue has dreamed up a new way to stop abortions: they’re buying clinics. Their headquarters in Wichita, Kansas are in a former abortion clinic, but because they’re finding the place is a little small, they’re thinking about offering to buy the clinic that was recently shut down after Dr. George Tiller was murdered. This is beyond tacky, since Dr. Tiller was shot at church, and the main suspect is crazed lunatic Scott Roeder, who had been known to post on Operation Rescue’s blog. Plus, Operation Rescue had been targeting this clinic for years now, staging massive, sometimes violent, protests going as far back as 1991.

Operation Rescue’s prez Troy Newman likes the symobolism of taking over the space and “establishing [it] as a center for life, one that nurtures and cares for babies, rather than taking their lives.” We say, there has to be another building available in Wichita that would work. [AP] Keep reading »

The Modern Husband Should Be…

Perhaps you’ve seen this little test for husbands making the rounds on the web? It was written in 1933 as a companion to a test for women about being good wives, with a list of merits and demerits for appropriate and inappropriate husband behavior. It was a bit antiquated to give the fellas in 2009, so we updated it…. Keep reading »

Is It A Proposal If There Isn’t A Ring?

Times are tough around the world, and we’re all cutting back in some area of our life. In Japan, one common cost-cutting measure seems to be diamond engagement rings. The percent of men who bought engagement rings will slip from 1993′s 80 percent to just 50 percent this year, according to estimates from the Yano Research Institute. Some couples are deciding to spend more on wedding bands, or to buy watches or other jewelry rather than investing in a rock. Certainly, people shouldn’t purchase engagement rings they can’t afford, but do you think it’s even necessary for a man to propose with a ring? We asked three women for their thoughts. Keep reading »

Stupid Quote Of The Day: “I’m Glad People Like Chris Brown Are Hurting Women”

You may not have heard of Max Drummey, so I’ll fill you in. He’s a guitarist for Chester French, a pretty decent band. He has hipster hair. And he married and divorced Bob Geldof spawn/Miss Ultimo model Peaches Geldof earlier this year. But now you can just file him away in your brain as a dumbass.

Max mouthed off to the Daily Mail about Chris Brown’s alleged beating of Rihanna, and said:

“We’re guys who have been hurt by women and I’m glad people like Chris Brown are finally taking it back and hurting women.”

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Mind Of Man: Enough With The Princess Crapola Already!

If I read the phrase “You’ve got to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince” on this site one more motherspelunking time, I’m going to spontaneously barf. You don’t really believe this, do you? Dudes don’t have an equivalent to this creaky, cliché trope.

It’s just not sexy to date a helpless princess with an aversion to peas and a bluebird fetish. Give us Sarah Connor in a black cocktail dress pumping a shotgun any day.

Men don’t want to date princesses. Maybe there are some who do, and the women who aspire to be princesses deserve the brutes. And for that matter, I sure as hell ain’t no prince, although I’d love to bring the cape back. These days, I’m just a messed up clown with a poet’s liver whispering sweet nothings to a pair of nickels in the hopes they’ll make babies so I can afford a new pair of over-sized shoes. Men do not want to be princes. Princes are born into success, men make their own. We want women who share that same ethic, however it is success is defined.

It’s just not sexy to date a helpless princess with an aversion to peas and a bluebird fetish. Give us Sarah Connor in a black cocktail dress pumping a shotgun any day.

I would never claim to be a “feminist.” I have other underhanded ways to get laid than feigning allegiance to a vibrant if fractious movement that doesn’t need my feeble brain power. But when I hear perfectly intelligent and willful women console each other with fairy tale mantras that promise, with a lot of persistence, they will find a well-heeled prince to care for them, I become conspiratorial.

Maybe there really is a patriarchy, and I’ve just never been invited to their annual meet-up. It’s a testosterone-jacked cabal of dudes smoking cigars, and wearing penis hats, sitting around an oblong table in a secret silo on a peninsula plotting how to reinforce absurd, medieval wish fulfillment fantasies in women. I imagine the meeting’s minutes going something like this:

High Lord Phallus: “Next on the list: gender programming. How do we keep these modern day suffragettes from full romantic self-actualization?”

The Grand Dong: “Why don’t we fill popular cartoon movies with stories about princesses, and hope they want nothing more than to be the gilded property of a feudal dictator in pantaloons.”

Minister of Testicles: “Excellent idea. Anyone want a bratwurst?”

Let’s break down the princess myth, because so many of you have Princess Mania. Myths are lies that become truth, so it is wise to pick the best possible lies to believe in. And the lie that romance for a woman is a humiliating lottery, a game of Russian roulette where all men are slimy little amphibians, save for one, just pollutes the collective unconscious.

And if you fully dissect the frog love, really get all up in the guts of the source material behind the whole Kermit-smooching archetype, absurdity abounds. Here’s your precious fable in a nutshell:

“Once upon a time there was a princess whose sole claim to being special was having the genetic luck to have wiggled out from between the loins of a Queen. She is pampered, fawned over and entitled, treated like a cross between a Kobe heifer and a Christmas tree. There is no one around to date but royal douchebags who play grog pong all the time, and then one day she gets chatted up by a frog with a nice personality. She’s bored, and desperate, and it couldn’t be any worse than swapping spit with Sir Chinless, so she heads to first base with the amphibian. Then there’s a poof! And the frog is suddenly an inbred ponce with a crown and they live happily ever after, forever and ever, until the divorce. The end.”

In some translations of the Brothers Grimm story “The Frog Prince,” the princess lobs the frog against a wall in disgust before it turns into a prince. And in some even more obscure versions, she decapitates the thing before it magically transforms. Like most fairy tales, “The Frog Prince” is a mordant little morality tale that cautiously suggests a lady needn’t be so choosy when picking a suitor. Even the more sanitized, and Americanized, versions of “The Frog Prince” offer this moral: personality counts! Allow yourself to be charmed by a talking frog and you’ll be rewarded. But first, you should be happy with only a talking frog. In fact, you should be so lucky to kiss him.

However, this is lost on those who see dating as a lot of reptile tonsil hockey and finger-crossing, which, do not doubt, just sounds like a depressing labor. Love is an opportunity, not a prize. It should be pursued greedily, recklessly, with an adamant heart. Kiss men, and move on. Maybe one day you’ll kiss a guy and he’ll turn into a guy who’ll march through tornadoes to get you tampons, admit when he’s wrong, and eat ice cream naked in bed with you. The point is: give regular people you date the chance to be extraordinary without the maudlin fairy tale expectation. The favor will be returned.

Lastly, ladies: if you’re heartbroken, grow a pair of ladyballs. Buck up, listen to some Patsy Cline, and toss back nice stiff shot of bourbon. Then try out this Snapple cap bon mot: “Men. Can’t live with ‘em, good thing they’ll keep making more.”

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