Hey smarmy Seth MacFarlane and idiots from the Onion,
You want to fight? Sure. How about you go out in the street and practice falling down for awhile, first.
Like we used to say in my old neighborhood: Two hits. Me hitting you and you hitting the floor. It wouldn’t even take a hit. I could tap you with my finger and you’d fall down go boom. Or you’d call me a name, let’s say, the “c” word.
Abby: Did you call me?
Abby: I heard dumb bitch. I assumed you were talking to me.
Roy: I was talking to her.
Abby: Your name is dumb bitch TOO? No wonder I keep getting all of your mail! You know, we could be related. There are a lot of us dumb bitches here in LA.
– “The Truth About Cats & Dogs”
You’d be all, “C word!” and I’d turn around and say, Perdon? and you would… dissipate. Spontaneously combust, or maybe just implode. There would be a little pile of lint, that’s all that would be left of you.
You’re wussies, that’s why. Not just those garden-variety wussies, either. You’re the next level of wuss, my friends. Remember that trucker from “Thelma and Louise”? Now, he was your garden-variety wussie boy.
Thelma: I mean really! That business with your tongue. What is that? That’s disgusting!
Louise: And, oh my God, that other thing, that pointing to your lap? What’s that supposed to mean exactly? Does that mean pull over, I want to show you what a big fat slob I am or…
Thelma: Does that mean suck my dick?
Trucker: You women are crazy!
Louise: You got that right.
You’re the kind of wussies who make certain people (moms, women, little girls, men who aren’t wussies) totally lose their shit. “Oh, what, you don’t have a sense of humor?”
Yeah, I like jokes.
When they’re funny.
1) You guys aren’t funny. You’re assholes and…
2) You can run, son, but you can’t hide.
Here’s a New Yorker article, because it’s all on the damn record now, isn’t it?
And then the Culture Vulture weighs in.
Also, a thoughtful post from Happy (or whatever).
On the one hand, I would like to pretend, like I have so very many times before, that this was just another bad date. You called me a slut, I went on my way, but you know what? We need to have this conversation, right here, right now. On the record. Because I’m not going anywhere.
But you are.
You guys said what you said, and acted like you acted, and it was bullshit. Old boys’ network and bwah-ha-ha and jokes about Jack Nicholson’s house and women’s “boobs” and calling a sweet little girl a horrible name… And really? Fucking really? More of this shit?
The difference this time is…
Everyone knows. And your way (the old way) is on the way out.
And that gives me, and my sisters, and our daughters, and all of those guys who aren’t wussies like you, a really good gift…
And a big smile.
So head on out to the street now, would you?