Thursday, 13 June 2013

Toot Toot Chugga Chugga Big Red Box!

All of the boys at all the schools I ever went to wanted to know if I had red pubes to match my red hair.

Some of them were OBSESSED with finding out. They'd walk up to me during recess and lunch and just stand there, staring at my eyebrows, relentlessly questioning me.

I never answered them. In the beginning I was beyond mortified, because they'd always ask loudly and everyone, even the girls, would laugh. More boys would come over. Though I was meek and quiet at home, I had to grow tougher at school.

"Just answer us and we'll go away! Do you have red pubes? Do you? DO YOU?"

It was like they felt they had a right to know. Once when I was about eleven I was held down while one of them lifted my skirt and tried to find out for themselves. I kicked all of them in the balls, furiously, my face red. From then on, any boy who came close to me I would kick in the balls because Fuck. That. Shit.


Yesterday, it came to Australia's attention via twitter that there was a menu written back in March for a Liberal fundraiser, describing certain politicians in unflattering terms. In fact, they were described as things to eat from the menu itself.

The Prime Minister of this country was described as a Kentucky Fried Quail. With "Small Breasts, Huge Thighs, and a Big Red Box."

Yes, other politicians were put on the menu - Kevin Rudd was a goose, apparently. But the PM was the only one whose genitalia was described in such graphic detail.

I don't care what political party you're in or what gender you are, this is just appalling. I find the use of the word "big"  particularly derogatory. They couldn't have stopped at the breasts or thighs? Had to go the box too - and not just any box. Make sure you let us all know it's a BIIIIIIG box. Fuck this so hard. Fuck this culture - fuck everybody having a political agenda about this today, too. Lots of scrambling and hot-potato tossing.

I'm sick to death of women's bodies being dissected, violated, used, and raped. This menu means so much more than "just a joke" and I'm too tired to explain why. Can you imagine a menu being drawn up in America complete with Obama's Big Black Cock?

I didn't go to the Women for Gillard launch the other day because I'm tired. I'm cynical, jaded, and suspicious of almost every Australian politician at this point. I wish we could shuffle the deck and get some fresh ones, because this stinks.

In the meantime, I wonder if all the bodies of the people seeking asylum to this "lucky" country have been fished out of the waters yet? Maybe they're still there, bobbing up and down while twitter is alight with ridiculous crap?

Running a few polls of my own: 
Do you give a salad-toss about the menu? What "real" issues would you like to see covered in Aussie politics? And overseas readers - would this happen in your country?


In the end, when the sniggering boys went on and on about my pubic hair, I finally answered.

"Of COURSE I have red pubes. The hell did you expect .... purple feathers?"

Everyone still laughed but it was a different laugh. I got a bit of my power back.

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Write to be understood, speak to be heard. - Lawrence Powell

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