Afternoon Quickies: Twatted Month
(Like most women, way less fun than advertised upon closer inspection)
Welcome to March 2010, nuckas! March is a righteous month, in the parlance of the incomparable 1980s SFNT (Stoner Film and Ninja Turles, same thing really) movement that sought to wrest the term from churches and put in back in the Pizza Hut where it belongs. The obvious centerpiece to the month of awesome is St. Patrick’s Day, which celebrates the removal of snakes from Ireland by a dude with a flute or something by getting shitfaced, which is the only state of mind that the tradition makes any sense. The whole world can be Irish for a day, and the Irish get special dispensation to be uber-Irish, the privileges of which include indecent exposure, kisses for wearing instructional T-shirts, destroying sissy parade floats, and the unlicensed possession and deployment of potato cannons. March also features the Steak and BJ Day holiday on the 14th, exactly a month after the headache that is Valentine’s Day for boyfriends. Steak and BJ Day could also be titled Man’s Turn or Sweet Justice Hootenanny, and is the perfect way for girlfriends and wives to show their appreciation for having chocolates, jewelery, and (apparently) cell phones thrown at them because a bunch of Christians got eaten by lions some 2,000-odd years ago. Ladies, if your man performed his Hallmark Day duty admirably, fire up the grill and get down on your knees. It’s only fair.
We are also declaring March Twatted Month, in recognition of all the support our fans have provided on the social networking phenomenon that is Twitter (follow SBS here). This month will celebrate all that has been twatted in the past with occasional updates concerning Twitter, and highlight some of the daily cock-baggery the site seems to pitch like your local gay bar’s celebrity bear. We’ll start with the most disappointing Twitter-related headline I’ve seen all day:
Angie Jackson Live-Tweets Her Abortion (VIDEO) With video!? Talk about cutting edge entertainment! I would so buy the six-dollar Twizzlers with my ticket to that. I don’t know who this Angie Jackson is, but let’s give her the YouTube equivalent of an Emmy, right? That headline is a spoiler-free promise of action and suspense. Does she use the coat hanger or the vacuum? Will there be one of those prostate cameras involved, and will she have one of those spontaneous orgasms I hear so little about because of the unbelievably sexy shame that comes along with it? Is Angie a squirter? Will Bill Murray have a bitchin’ cameo?
Awww, bullshit. I haven’t been this let down since the first time I went to a nude beach with a backpack full of condoms and a baseball cap with a hidden camera in it. The only thing worse than someone who makes up their own self-defining term so their enemies can’t categorize them is someone who misses the point while doing so. Calling yourself an “Anti-theist” is like calling yourself an “anti-ployee”: if you’re so sure you’re not being controlled by your boss, why are you defining yourself with his terms? Because you’re just another useless reactionary that puts her eye shadow on with a putty knife, and is the proof that, indeed, if you keep making that self-satisfied, superior sneer, it will stick that way. I wonder if the medical condition that won’t let you be pregnant is the same one that won’t let you have those mutant, sentient polyps lanced… To be honest, I’m just ranting out of some sense of betrayal. Your cause, demystifying abortion so it’s not a terrifying experience for those in need of it, is a noble one, to be sure. I just feel like your taking RU486 robbed me, personally, of a cinematic extravaganza of sharp implements, battery acid, mutilated nethers, and projectile climaxes of mixed bloody placenta and cum. Next person to video/tweet their back-alley, equally illegal and dangerous hack job depregger gets a prize from me personally.
More Twitfoolery after the jump. Bring provisions, and a box of Magnums, unless you want to do outdo Angie while you’re there. I’ll help.
