The Adventures of Superior Man and Lesser Girl

The individual commonly referred to with an indication of youth and gender as well as a colloquial description of his mental state, has of late been a cause of perturbation and annoyance. To annoy is to “v.t. Irritate; molest, harass. [f. OF anuier, anoier, f. com. -Rom. inodiare (as prec.)]” ^1 And therefore one must elucidate the matter for the sake of all fish!

You see, this male youth of predescribed mental state has expressed his displeasure that I think sharkie is more important than he is (he would totally deny that this is why he is complaining but it is SO true). You see, I have been suuuper busy lately because I had this dream where sharkie and air china pilot got in a big fight, which was really scary, so it got me thinking about; who would win, and (or) whether air china pilot is really red or in fact kind of purplish. So I decided to conduct some experiments: I asked the other fish what colour they thought air china pilot was, and they didnt give me a very satisfactory answer, so I fed them all to sharkie. But sharkie was still mad at me for not paying enough attention to him [he just wouldn’t stop swimming] so I obviously could not answer my phone when boy most emo phoned me, or show up at meetings or anything I mean SERIOUSLY. So next thing I know, in the middle of this immense personal crisis I hear from the afformentioned individual and he is all like “merh merh merh, bitch bitch bitch, I’m emo-boy!”^2 And I thought “I don’t care, sharkie is more important then you.” ^3 And so that is why he thinks sharkie is more important then him and so he is mad at me. And that is annoying.

^1 1911, H.W. Fowler, F.G. Fowler, The Concise Oxford Dictionary of Current English. Oxford: Clarendon Press

^2 2007, Emo-boy, personal communication

^3 2007, my thoughts

I’m not sure why some men are “allowed” to wear form-fitting clothes sometimes and others aren’t, but I do have an angle on why superheroes wear tights.

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I’m surprised at how when I go shopping for clothes, I can fit comfortably into most women’s mediums and larges, and yet small men’s shirts fit me like a tent.
Have you noticed how guy’s clothing is a lot bigger than women’s? A lot.

While the median man is bigger than the median women, “large” women’s clothing is smaller than “extra-small” men’s clothing. If you take a look at average height and weight charts (albeit American ones, taxonomized as you might expect) you’ll see that the difference is not as extreme as clothing would indicate: usually under 15cm and 9kg (6″ and 20lbs). That’s not that much, seeing how much variation there is within groups of men and women of the same age and race.

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Just so’s you know, the Qu’ran doesn’t actually say that anyone has to wear a veil, it says “dress modestly.”

Funny how, in some interpretations of all the Abrahamic religions, that gets turned into women covering themselves from ankle to neck. Funny how nudity gets equivocated with unconstrained sexuality (instead of, oh, I don’t know, Edenic innocence/sinlessness?) and being openly sexual is immodest.

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You know, when I wrote this one, I totally thought that I’d end up writing a post that reads about like this after it:

Ironic, Considering The Last Post I Made

I am so going to hell for this one.

But you know, Liminocentrist totally beat me to the self-effacing punch, so I’m going to take another tact:

If you don’t like the above comic, tough. At no point are we suggesting this comic is some sort of instruction manual for model behaviour in civilised society. The comic is supposed to be extreme, it is supposed to make you squirm, laugh, and probably feel guilty for laughing. That’s the point. Sometimes, shit will come out of this creative process that just got us cackling, and that’s it. Yeah, I’m pretty sure, in the big picture, we all think there’s some meaning behind what we do, but day to day, it’s just supposed to be funny.

Or, heck, I dunno, maybe I was just trying to get you offended. Sometimes I don’t even know.

I’m told that in Iran, back in the day, the veil was a woman’s choice - albeit a choice with heavy pressure from community or family.

Then in the 1950’s, as part of the long-term clusterfuck that is neocolonialism, Our Side put a lot of money, spies and guns into getting the Shah into power. That’s right: America and Britain put in a monarch.

Once in power, the Shah tried to brand Iran as modern/Westernized by legislating away the veil. Sorry ladies: you can’t wear it.

This would be like someone getting into power in the West and making women go without makeup or bras: it’s already legal, widely practiced, and, for a handful, can carry a hint of political and/or sexual statement but it’s (usually) not mandatory.

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…of course, I’m the one who drew it.

Is it worthwhile? Does it contain a thought that needs to have speech breathed into it? Or are we being (hurtful and) offensive for the sake of being offensive?

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When I was very young, I came to realise that if an Abrahamic God existed, he was a complete fuckhead. Damning the vast majority of humanity through time for not believing in a creating force (that is in no ways revealed in the same way as all other knowledge is revealed) is at best unfair and at worst spiteful and cruel. I decided that, if there were a Hell, I would gladly go there if only out of a sense of fury towards Him. And even if I must suffer an eternity of agony, at least I might converse with those that rebelled and commiserate. In that regard, I suppose I believed in it, just enough to hate.

And, while I got there honestly, I was spurred on by my own mind. You see, behind the edges of sanity, where I slip and lose control, there is a vast malice. Not like a darkness, but like terror that exists not past but through the very space that we exist in. Some Lovecraftian undoing that threatens sanity in the same way that it threatens existance. No popular media ever managed to capture it, the sense of it. Any physical resemblances of tentacles and teeth seem silly compared to an entity compromised of absence, that instills terror and madness yet is in actuality, nothing. And, from that perspective, it is, in fact, real, because it does not exist.

So it was relatively easy to begin to believe in a hateful and malicious Divinity. The faithful speak of “knowing” that there is a God, without concrete evidence, and that is how I could describe to you my feeling of “knowledge” of this terrible unforce. That I had faith in a God that was terrible and, preferrably, prevented from interferring in the operations of their creation.

I mange to ignore this, despite the fact that it wears at me when I am unvigilant. That I can become so very lost in nothing at all, and occasionally slip into fits and starts of screaming and blood. It is not that I am mad in that way, but that my madness shows itself through these things. It is not that I am afraid of the dark, but more that, when not holding onto my reason with firm grasp, I fear that the dark will not end when I turn on the light, that nothing will persist and the only thing I will have left to do is scream.

I mean, you don’t see me running around, trying to convince others in the existence of the one and true Dark God. Thankfully, I listen to the same things that give me everything from agriculture to cars, scientific reasoning, to determine whether or not my vague feeling is anything but madness. And you know what? It isn’t. It’s just stupid wires plugged in the wrong way in my brain at birth. I can ignore my bias in the face of reason.

Ok, I think I’m done ranting.