media

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.

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.

The Cyrus-versy™

I am commenting on the Miley Cyrus controversy because I’m very concerned.

About my page views.

They’re low.

By now, you are aware that Miley Cyrus twerked and gene-simmonsed her way through a performance of her hit song “Mediocre Pop Song.”

If you’re not aware, it looked like this:

mileytongue

Like many, I was shocked. Shocked that the Video Music Awards was actually still a thing and that humans actually watched.

And then I saw that the performance became a news story and real-live journalists were talking about it. Even that Mika Brzezezzezzzzzzzzzzazzzzzzskii who famously tried to burn a story about Paris Hilton’s release from jail because she deemed it “trivial.”

mikatweetParent bloggers or Ploggers™ were up in arms over the performance and wondered if their children would view their Hannah Montana vibrating toothbrushes in a different way.  And zombies…well the zombies just said “BRAAIINNSSSS.”

Why has this performance gained so much traction? When you break it down, it really is the story of a young commodity trying to break out of her target market into a new synergized market share. A story as old as time.

And yet here I was doing this in Adobe Illustrator:

fartSee, it looks like Miley is on the receiving end of a fart in the face.

What did it all mean?

Later in the performance, Alan Thicke’s semen creation came out to ruin Marvin Gaye’s “Got to Get It Up” whilst Miley poked at his privates with a giant foam finger. If I didn’t know better, I would have pegged the performance a brilliant parody of what passes for “sexXy” in American society. In case you didn’t know, this is sexXy:

hamburgerhelperI don’t know how this any less foolish than Madonna kissing a female Gremlin birthed out of Lady Gaga’s robotic birth canal or Katy Perry dressed as a skunk spraying whipped cream from her anal cavity.

As an aside, please make both happen for next year’s VMAs.

But I think we’ve lost sight of the real issue and that is, both songs really sucked. I mean, what the fuck, America. Get better musical taste and this would not happen. So I blame you.

All of you. Even Donald Trump.

donald

Donald Trump Explains it All

Donald Trump is the news again because. . . um . . . there have been no shark attacks? I’m not sure why.

ABC scored the interview after a bull shark from Discovery Channel’s Shark Week had to cancel.

Trump is our generation’s P.T. Barnum, if P.T. Barnum was a raging hemorrhoid covered in silly string.

Here’s what happened: A moistened hole opened in that giant orange face and spewed out something. What he said was a mystery because I had the interview on mute. I just got over a debilitating case of diarrhea; I didn’t need a relapse.

I can only imagine the important news Trump imparted:

donald1

arabicdonald

donaldnetworth

donaldbreath

ivanaanddonald

donaldbankrupt

donaldgollum

donaldhair

And perhaps the biggest surprise of all:

braindeaddonald

Making Robotic Whoopie

I’ve been on this kick of reading books that illuminate how our immediate future will soon resemble a Philip K. Dick novel.

The latest was Alone Together: Why We Expect More From Technology and Less From Each Other by Sherry Turkle. Turkle is a professor at MIT. She is able to understand science stuff even though she possesses a vagina, and didn’t get the memo from possible future fed head Lawrence Summers that chicks should stick to their capabilities like cooking and transvaginal wand-mounting.

barbiedum

Turkle was teaching when Joseph Weizenbaum unveiled the ELIZA program in the 1970s. ELIZA was a computer program where users could engage in a conversation with a machine. Like a person could type “My boyfriend is making me sad” and get the response “Tell me more about your boyfriend.” Weizenbaum found his students wanted to be alone with ELIZA and was alarmed by their attachment to it.

Today, the talk is of sociable robots caring for our elderly in nursing homes. Nursing homes are already using Paro, the robotic seal, to provide comfort to patients with dementia.

paroRobots are also being considered as caretakers for children to free up adults so they have more time to spend on tweeting about their on-again, off-again relationship with Siri and Instagramming their dic picks.

Turkle is not a fan of this nor of the inevitable future of human-robot relationships. She believes people–children especially–need to be around other humans to keep that pesky thing called empathy alive. Empathy is like soooooo 1994.

Research–the thing that’s the opposite of gut reaction–is showing that Americans are increasingly insecure, isolated and lonely.

Turkle believes the future of robots as love partners will compound this.  It is the gateway to new narcissistic experiences. The robot is cast in the role of what you need. You can power it off when it begins to nag you about the dishes. How can it be a relationship if one of the parties is not really alive and capable of human emotions? I’ll tell ya how.

roombaI can see some advantages to a robot partner, for example:

  • farting freely
  • minimal engagement with the in-laws since they don’t exist
  • dance marathon advantage

But I may be siding with Turkle on this one. It seems very much like dating oneself and who would want to do that?

kanyeAs of now, we seem more fixated on our distraction devices than we are on our relationships to people who physically occupy the same room. Go to any airport and you’ll see what I mean. At some point, I can see people becoming frustrated with their robot partners, which will inevitably lead to this:

cosmo

And no one wants that.

Is Gangnam Style Still Fresh?

You know, I never really thought about it until YouTube emailed me.

YouTube initially guilted me for forgetting Gangnam Style’s 1-year-old birthday and then posited that existential question:

youtube

I really wanted to answer: “Fuck yes, it is!” But before I did, I figured I should ask YouTube since that’s what the computer was telling me to do and you do not say no to your computer, amirite humans?

YouTube was surprisingly reticient. It wanted to show me parodies of the song, but didn’t–or wouldn’t–provide the answer.

This was a journey of discovery I had to make on my own.

I figured I should probably watch the video having never seen it, but jesus, who has that kind of time? Those candies aren’t going to crush themselves.

Apparently 1.7 billion people found the time. I am lazier than 1.7 billion people.

I decided to consult a trusted advisor.

hugoganghamHugo, I’m sorry to disturb you, but I need to know if Gangham Style is still fresh a year later.

hugogangham2True, but not very helpful.

Nowhere closer to an answer, I looked it up in the dictionary and realized I had been spelling it “gingham” all along.  Gangnam is something like the Korean version of the soul-killing phrase YOLO, which is an acronym for “Nearly as Annoying as You Go Girl”

What makes something fresh? Doesn’t everything–except radioactive isotopes and styrofoam lunch trays–have an expiration date? I would think anything Internet-based is fresh for about as long as it takes to pin The Towel Workout onto a Pinterest board.

Mathematical formula: Viral video + Today show - quinoa recipe - sharkando = freshness.

Mathematical formula: Viral video + Today show – quinoa recipe – sharkando = freshness.

I guess since YouTube is still talking about Gangnam Style a year later means it is still relatively fresh so I will stick by my original response because, after all, you only live once and you go girl.

Amusing Ourselves To. . . I Forget

My brain is distracted.

I realized this when I was reading a book called The Shallows: What the Internet is Doing to Our Brains and I would hear the siren call of Facebook. I put the book down and lunged for my computer so I could look at stuff like this:

facebook

There, all better. Now what was that book saying?

Something about how distraction has always been around since the advent of electronic media, but:

(N)ever has there been a medium that has been programmed to so widely scatter our attention and to do it so insistently.

I knew it was happening to me. I saw it when trying to read The New York Times online and finding I could only make it through three paragraphs before losing interest and clicking elsewhere–usually on ads for the Chillow pillow

chillow

I can read the physical paper in its entirety as long as I can continue to check Facebook every ten minutes.

facebook2

It’s probably unsurprising, but reading print materials activitates different parts of the brain than reading online. For instance, as you read this, the part of your brain that regulates break dancing has been stimulated. That book readin’ activiates them language, memory and visual processing parts. Now you tell me, which is better?

breakin

I’ve experienced the moment when it feels like the whole world recedes as I look at a Buzzfeed list of the craziest bras ever created. That’s what the Internet does. It grabs our attention only to scatter it like a bra made out of birdseed.

In Neil Postman’s book Amusing Ourselves to Death (disclaimer: I tried to read this online and made it three sentences in before giving up. I’m reading a print version now), he brings up the two varying views of the future: George Orwell’s and Aldous Huxley’s. Orwell predicted a totalitarian world where information was scarce. Huxley’s world was one of excess where people willingly gave up their autonomy in exchange for their distractions. Information was everywhere.

I wonder whose view is more spot on?

snowdenkimyeIt would appear that the notion of the U.S. government collecting the phone records and Internet searches of millions of Americans, an act that is in direct violation of the 4th amendment, would be somewhat troubling.

Shouldn’t it be?

I don’t know because while I was looking up the NSA story, I was sidetracked by a video of Justin Bieber pissing in a mop bucket.

My journey ultimately ended here:

facebook3There, all better.

Hooter-rific!

Mother’s Day is quickly approaching.

Before you resort to yanking a handful of dandelions out of the yard and purchasing this card:

Mothersdaycardconsider taking Mom here:

hootersHooter’s is offering moms a free meal on Mother’s Day as long as they bring proof of their mommyhood like a child or a photograph of their stretched out uteri, which will then be placed on the Hooter’s Loves Your Cooter bulletin board.

Apparently Hooter’s is having trouble attracting a female client base. Hm. That’s puzzling. Maybe ladies aren’t into the oversexualization and objectification of the Hooter’s girls or the rape den-like atmosphere?

But a free meal!?! Well then get me a white T-shirt, spray me with a hose and let me wrestle in jello because I am so there, buddy. With my child too!

Let marketing wizard Dave Henniger explain: “We know you don’t think of Hooters as a typical place to take Mom, but we want to make it more appealing for Mom to come in. We view Mom as a pair of tits with legs too.”

“And we have salad, ladies, so you don’t get all fat on us!”

Happy Mother’s Day, everyone.

Ready for Cancellation

It’s taken me awhile to put together a recrap of the third episode of the live-doll reality show Ready for Love. 

Rumors swirled that the show had been cancelled, but then executive producer Eva Longoria took to Twitter, saying it is moving to a new time, new night. Tim-something of The Plain White T’s joined the fray saying “Please download my song from iTunes.”

And then I had to deal with my own feelings of despair over the knowledge that I actually wasted moments of my life reading inane tweets and articles on E!

But here we are again, ready-for-lovers!

We begin our “journey” with Tim’s “journey.” Tim is referred to as “rock star” ad nauseum. That’s like calling Snooki, author of the turdpile Confessions of a Guidette, a literary giant.

Bret Michaels, another dude looking for televised love by examining multiple vaginas, is a rock star. Yes, he wears a bandana hairpiece and plays amusement park gigs, but he was a legitimate rock star 25 years ago in that shit band Poison. Tim’s band The Plain White T’s had one hit song. The Fruit of the Loom guys are more recognizable. I don’t know why I’m getting all worked up about this. The important thing is that I have wasted so much of my life and will die with regrets.

Tim plans an unannounced visit to his poon palace at 6 a.m. He jumps on the women’s beds and surprisingly is not kneed in the nuts. He wants them to leave the house sans make up (the horror!!!!). They do, and society comes crashing to a halt. They arrive at a spa, and it’s filled with all things the girlies love like make-up, shoes and transvaginal ultrasounds.

Taonayanayanaya is bummed because she has not engaged in any one-on-one time with Tim. When she gets her chance, she tells Tim he is like a book with all the pages stuck together, which sounds kinda gross. Tim’s expression indicates he feels the same. Awkward silence after his reply: “That’s interesting.” She clumsily moves onto “What’s your sign?” Tim dismisses with “I don’t believe in any of that.”

tonyana

Taonynayanaya breaks down sobbing in the bathroom, wailing “I’ve been through so much!” That’s an Aquarius for you.

She ends up getting the boot at the rose garden ceremony. Lots of nonsense about “journeys” and “connections” and “this is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do™” blather.

sohardNext up is Ernesto’s journey. One of the women, Olivia, keeps crying and saying she wants to leave. Another gets brownie points from the producers by saying “She is not ready for love.”

Olivia meets with Tracy the matchmaker, and talks about her disdain of drama and negative energy even though she has been the main cause of drama and negative energy. Tracy mentions how this show is a process. I thought it was a journey. I’m so fucking confused.

Before she leaves, Olivia engages in crying fit in the living room.

meltdown

She goes, and it would mean so much more if there weren’t 5,000 other people on this show so I will just leave it at “smell you later.”

Ernesto is having the women get dolled up for a fashion show because this show is trying to get into the Guinness Book of World Records for having the most gender stereotypes in one television episode. The producers fly his sister in from Milan to go undercover as a style assistant to see what the women have to say about her brother. Erica treats Ernesto’s sister like something on the bottom of her shoe.

bitchyericaErica tries to say she did not know why she acted like that because she normally has sunshine streaming out of her ass. At the slave auction garden ceremony, Erica is saved and some woman whose name escapes me is tearfully sent home. Cheer up, nameless person, you’ve actually won.

Ben is third, but wins first place in douchery. The show continues its dress-up theme because that’s all the ladies want, right? We want to be pinched into 14-inch heels, stuffed into sausage casings, covered in greasepaint and judged by Us Weekly. Ben salsas and presses his groin and lips against the women. His ex-girlfriend Kari is getting pissed and asks him to refrain from being a “lip slut.”

kariMatt asks Beth, whom he refers to as “mature” (translation: old), why she is still single. She counters: “Why are you?”

Ben answers: “Because I was in the middle east for four years, duh.” (translation: “I ain’t marrying no middle-eastern person because my brain is full-on douche.”)

Ben lip-sluts it up all over town. The matchmakers send the other women to their pods–one actually refers to it as such–while they grill Kari about her intentions. This is as exciting as the time I did laundry.

confrontationBen decides to send home the single mother with this chestnut:

benchopsI don’t know about you, but I am ready for cancellation.

Ready for Zzzzzzzzzzz

Nothing happened on the second episode of Ready for Love.

I mean, I guess some things happened, but in the end it added up to a bunch of nothing. I was most intrigued by audience members holding up signs:

signs

If you are unfamiliar with this new reality television show, it’s basically The Bachelor, but with three dudes of meat. There are also three matchmakers who remind me of The Fates. They choose women from binders and place them in plastic doll cases for the meat dudes’ appraisal. Like so:

dolls

Two meat dudes get to flail their meat appendages around tonight. Both dudes are completely comfortable being shirtless in their biographical videos; Ben morso than Ernesto.

benspecs

Ben bores with his “fascinating” origin story. “My parents were doctors. I’m a frat boy. I worked on Wall Street. I’m comfortable being filmed continually sans shirt.” But if I continue being nonfascinated by Ben, I will miss out on the pfftt that is Ernesto’s journey.

Two of “his” women are former Miss USA contestants. This knowledge thrills the remaining contestants:

beauty-queensSurprisingly, some of the contestants are emotinally unhinged. One waxes fart about her spirituality, and spends the majority of the episode trying to kill one of the beauty queens:

bitchAnother expresses astonishment that she has to compete for Ernesto. . . on a reality dating show. She sulks during the extremely relevant hot tub time:

hottub

In her one-on-one time, she rambles on about the other women not picking up their pubic hair and dishes. During the matchmaker meeting, she is placed in the bottom three to go home. The dude matchmaker, who has an affinity for vests, says lady is boresville.

harrypotterErnesto dumps her, and acts as if the woman he saved from elimination should be thankful for the honor.

ericaBen has a former ex vying for his frat love. One of the contestants is a virgin who proffers her impending broken hymen as a gift to Ben. Another makes a “save-the-date” card for their wedding and is immediately banished to the bowels of hell. And yet another dresses up as a superhero unfortunately named “Miss Devotion.” Her power is infinite sadness.

Ben overuses “you guys” to refer to his potential wives. He confabs with a woman who has kids, and makes me uncomfortable with his “momma” talk.

stinkyHis ex thinks “it sucks” that she has to compete with other women. . . on a reality dating show. Ben feels her, dawg.

benwithshirtHe kisses a few dames; notably Miss Devotion and then sends her back to the planet Demotion. It is thrilling.

This show also has two cohosts. The married couple that is better known as Giuliana Rancic. Her husband serves no purpose.

impointless

I guess there’s that.