Month: September 2013

A Farewell to Penis

I’ve been having difficulty writing lately, and now I’ve finally figured out why:

I possess a vagina.

It gets in the way of everything. When I’m attempting to squeeze a big thought out of my tiny woman brain, my vagina interrupts the process with demands for chocolate. When I attempt to hold a pen using my weakly woman arms, my vagina shrieks about being too fat. When I try to write a post on Speaker7, my vagina threatens to set itself on fire.

It’s no wonder the ladies get paid less, amirte fellas. Up top.

David Gilmour gets it. He sees no value in teaching the drivel excreted by ladybits in his Big Dick Writers 101 seminar.

“Women be stupid,” Gilmour laments.

That’s a slight paraphrase. What he actually said was much worse:

“I say I don’t love women writers enough to teach them, if you want women writers go down the hall. What I teach is guys. Serious heterosexual guys. F. Scott Fitzgerald, Chekhov, Tolstoy. Real guy-guys. Henry Miller. Philip Roth,” Gilmour huffs whilst sticking his enormous plumbing into the biggest glory hole one has ever seen.

doucheI should probably amend the paraphrase to add women and gays be stupid, but Gilmour is likely the type of specimen to think the terms interchangable.

Gilmour is able to stop masturbating over his copy of Henry Miller’s Tropic of Cancer to give props to lady mouthpiece Virginia Woolf, stating “she made a mean bundt cake.” (slight paraphrasing)

O Captain! My Captain! …Shit! I’m trying to stand on a desk to salute this brilliant professor, but I’ve got my period and whole slew of laundry that needs a-washing.

By the way, what the blazing fuck is a woman writer anyway?

I’m answering my own question:

One who writes with her vagina.

This profile in misogyny made me harken back to my days of playing drums in a rock band that no one–apart from my parents and that guy at the bar–ever heard. I can’t tell you how many times I heard:

You’re one of the best female drummers.

I don’t know. . . is that a thing? Did male drummers have some sort of advantage by being able to use their penis to bang on the floor tom?

All great questions, but too taxing for my smaller, less interesting brain.

My vagina’s tired of writing anyways and is angrily demanding chocolate.

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Tips for a Successful Marriage

Today is my wedding anniversary.

Many people ask me, “Speaker7, why is your marriage so successful?”

My marriage has truly been a partnership as we have raised our two boys with great hope and optimism that they would one day become fine young men. Mr. Speaker7 has often said that God put him on this earth to be a wife and a mother. Our family, of which Mr. Speaker7 is the heart, is testimony that he has embraced that calling. Over the last 28 years, we have loved, cried, laughed, despaired and celebrated. I reveled in featuring my giant pumpkin head, grating Southern accent, and condescending shitball personality on Oprah while making loads of dough exploiting other people’s mental illness.

….Wait a second….Oopsies! I just plagiarized the majority of that last paragraph from Dr. Phil McGraw’s book Family First. My bad, everyone.

The truth is no one has ever asked me about my succesful marriage and Dr. Phil is a colossal fuckstick.

dr.doucheMy marriage is successful because I have no trouble admitting when I’m wrong.

The other day, I ate what I thought was a plain roasted edamame. Instead it turned out to be coated in wasabi, a substance slightly hotter than the surface of the sun.

It immediately felt like I flicked a bic lighter inside one of my nostrils. I dipped my tongue in cleaning fluid to dull the burning hemorrhoid sensation on my tongue.

I knew I had fucked up.

If you would like to know some other tips to a successful marriage, they are these:

  • drink plenty of cranberry juice
  • drink plenty of water
  • avoid consuming irritants like caffeine except for the six to eight cups one needs to wake up in the morning
  • wipe from front to back

Interestingly this will also keep you from getting a urinary tract infection.