By Jesse Saunders
An excerpt from “The ‘PC’ Issue”
I don’t care how hard you work, or how much you have to pee. Sit down right now. Right now. Put down your pasta spoon. I said put it down. It’s time for all the men out there to listen up, because here are seven things that we all agree need to end.
1. Contacting all of my male relatives (dead or alive) to ask them for their blessing for marriage
The constant séances in my living room are an affront to my personhood. Men need to realize that my great-great-great-great-grand-uncle doesn’t own me, and that contacting him from beyond the grave is only acceptable when searching for his buried treasure.
2. Only allowing boys to eat the grass with their teeth when it is time for it to be cut
Everyone’s lives would be easier if all the children were allowed to eat the grass when the long grass season begins, but only boys get to join in on the fun. Letting me and my girlfriends join in on the fun is not only efficient, it’s a human right.
3. My neighbor, Todd
Todd hasn’t done anything sexist yet, but he never buys Girl Scout cookies and doesn’t know my birthday. For the better of everyone, especially me, Todd needs to stop.
4. Being addressed as “little pile” by men who are taller than me
I am a human, and in no way am a pile of dirt and despair piled into a tiny mass in an attempt to create a human. It is time once and all for us to move on and come up with a name that better represents me… “large pile” perhaps?
5. Needing to rub Ragu on my nose to ward off the evil desires of The Darkest One
Ragu is significantly more expensive than more generic brands of pasta sauce, and it’s just not in my budget to get a new jar whenever the chosen one warns of The Darkest One’s coming. Women of all shapes and sizes deserve to feel safe from evil’s whims wearing only generic brand pasta sauce.
6. Having to replace the wheels of my bike with large flowers that can only be found in the woods
The woods are frightening and I don’t like them at all! I want to be able to use a bike with wheels just like all the boys in town. The large flowers are pretty but they don’t come in a color that matches my fire engine red Huffy.
7. Assuming that I have six years of drag racing experience under my belt because I am a girl who has been drag racing for six years
It is rude to make assumptions, and I am sick and tired of men assuming I am a qualified drag racer just because I list it on my resume, and mention it in every conversation. My gender has nothing to do with my sick fucking drag racing skills.
There it is. The seven ways that our culture needs to totally find its chill. And if you disagree with these ways, I want you to delete your Facebook. I only want to receive birthday messages from strangers who I agree with politically. Your posts will be missed, GramGram.