Dennis The Peasant

An Example of the Sort of Prose Amanda Marcotte Could Only Dream About Writing...

Muffy, who has suffered through her share of Amandaisms as part of her wifely devotions, pointed out this bit of prose as the sort of writing authors such as Amanda Marcotte should aspire to...

It comes from the back of a six-pack container of Dannon Activia Light Fat Free Yogurt, and goes (snicker) thusly:

Q. What is Activia? A. Dannon Activia is a delicious lowfat yogurt with the natural probiotic culture Bifidus Regularis. Activia is clinically proven to help regulate your digestive system when eaten daily for two weeks, by helping to reduce long intestinal transit time.

"Long intestinal transit time". That's a phrase so beautifully turned that I damn near cried upon first hearing it.

After giving this all certain amount of reflection, it seems logical to me that we honor the anonymous talent that turned this magnificent phrase in a manner befitting its context...

... So, let's have a contest!

Rewrite the Dannon Activia Q&A above as you'd imagine Amanda Marcotte would write it. If Amanda Marcotte could actually get a job writing copy, that is. Which she couldn't. In any event, submissions are being solicited and should be deposited (snicker) in the Comments Section. Don't let your transit time lengthen, though, because the winner gets a copy of It's A Jungle Out There, courtesy of Dennis the Peasant!

This Week's This Week's Amanda Sentence...

Sentence #1:

You want to read a book that will make you uncomfortably reexamine the kind of rhetoric you use, right down to your choice of metaphors?

27 words. "Uncomfortably reexamine"?

Sentence #2:

Well, if you don’t, you should: Jeffrey Feldman’s new book Outright Barbarous: How the Violent Language of the Right Poisons American Democracy.

22 words. First note that the above is not actually a sentence. It is, however, pure Amanda. Also note that this is the same Sensitive Progressive who routinely describes those with whom she disagrees as "wingnuts", "fundies", "facists" and "douchebags", and who (just last week) compared Karl Rove to a serial killer.

Sentence #3:

Conservatives can’t win in a fair debate where all sides present their views to be hashed out in the public forum, and they clearly know it, because instead of submitting themselves to the debate, the right wing pundits have instead turned to fear-mongering and reimagining our objectively peaceful country as a war zone.

54 words. News Flash: Amanda Marcotte now believes the United States is an "objectively peaceful" country. What happened to all the illegal warmongering in the Middle East? The imperialism in Southeast Asia? The subjugation of Africa by Capitalist Elements? The Patriarchy? Has Amanda forgotten all about the underlying thesis of Naomi Klein's "Disaster Capitalism"? Has she found White Privilege and Feminist Victimology to be base fiction? Or is she just too damn stupid to think through her argument?

Sentence #4:

There’s not much of an honest debate about gun control in this country, because right wingers skip the facts and go straight for the mythologizing about how every Republican man is besieged by a bunch of gun-wielding maniacs, attacking him in airports and fast food joints, and even coming into his home to rape his wife, and if he wasn’t able to periodically litter the landscape with bullets, it would be worse.

In the neighborhood of 69 words. Am I the only one struck by the elegance of this sentence? Despite said elegance, it is hard to ignore just how many clichés Amanda throws in to her "honest" argument against gun control.

Sentence #5:

The debate over church and state separation was slowly being won by the side of right through civilized arguments—even though the creationists tried to create a circus atmosphere in Dover, PA, for instance, the fact that people were still shoved into witness boxes and asked to explain themselves made it obvious that the creationists were spewing bullshit and they lost.

61 words. I'm sure Amanda is referencing a particular current event here, but it would be so much nicer if she could do so coherently. As it stands, what we have is a sentence with a very high "What the fuck?" factor.

Sentence #6:

It’s not a little alarming, because the War on Christmas is about cultural dominance for a strand of Protestant Christianity versus religious tolerance, and no good comes from convincing people that they’re waging a religious war.

37 words. Yet another sentence that makes between little and no sense. What is "not a little alarming"? And what does "not a little alarming" mean in this context? Is whatever it is extremely alarming, or is it not alarming at all?

Sentence #7:

I like science and reading about science more than your average American, I suspect (I have like half a dozen podcast subscriptions at least that are science podcasts of some sort), but I’m far from well-educated on these subjects.

40 words. There is much to ponder here. Which subjects does Amanda consider herself well-educated about? English composition? Rhetoric? Philosophy? Economics? Beyond that, imagine if Amanda had chosen to pursue a career in a scientific field. Imagine, if you can, our Amanda testing hypotheses with the same intellectual rigor she demonstrates in her writings at Pandagon. Come to think of it, though, Amanda probably could have fit in very well as a Climate Scientist. As an aside, it's always fun when someone pats themselves on the back for being smarter than the average bear and then says, in purest Valley Girl-ese, "I have like a half dozen…"

Sentence #8:

People don’t understand the laws of thermodynamics, but that doesn’t get the religious right all puffed up about filling in the blanks with god.

24 words. [Insert hysterical laughter here]

Sentence #9:

It probably also meant the scientists she was working with were a lot more clear on what exactly they know that the public must know, because the public’s ignorance is both more obvious and more dangerous in these areas.

39 words. Ignoring the rather serious WTF factor here, what I'd like to know is this: Just what is more clear than clear? Is there a state of clear that is less clear than the clearest clear. Or what?

Sentence #10:

This is where Angier’s talents at making forbidding topics easy to understand really comes in handy, because the theories that she explains are ones you probably need to know if you’re going out there to fight the good fight on the politicization.

42 words. "…the fight on politicization"? "Politicization"? Is that really a word? And if it is, the "politicization" of what? Or is everyone gather on the "politicization" for some sort of fight against something or other? Won't that cause it to be crushed?

Sentence #11:

And nor was I aware that the way DNA mutates is a major factor in why evolutionary theory makes so much sense—what initially seems like a random sequence of events starts seeming organized if you really understand it, albeit organized by itself and not by a guiding hand from the outside.

52 words. This woman considers herself more knowledgeable than most about science and she didn't understand the link between DNA mutation and evolutionary change? Oy vey.

Sentence #12:

Again, anyone who accepts that a child is a combination of the genetic coding from both its parents has, whether he’ll admit it or not, already given up the major reason that descent with modification is a fact.

38 words. Huh? Sometimes I think mapping the human genome would be less perplexing than trying to unravel certain Amanda Sentences. Maybe I should have been a scientist.

This Week's Special Jury Prize For Most Tasteless (And Unfunny) Amanda Joke That Didn't End Up In "It's A Jungle Out There":

Another [Ecuadorian legislator] suggested that the legislation is like life in prison. I had an imagine of a man with a woman strapped spread eagle to his face like a feedbag, but that’s the only way I could really see this as a prison.

Bad taste, thy name is Amanda.

Sentence #13:

If men found women’s enthusiasm to be the baseline for engaging in sexual activity, instead of just consent, however reluctantly provided, then there’d be a whole lot less situations where men felt they’d obtained consent that women didn’t really give.

40 words. So it isn't a matter of what a woman says, it's a matter of how enthusiastically they say it. I don't see any problems in applying such a standard to the Real World. Do you?

Sentence #14:

In my world, most men consider female sexual pleasure a prize highly sought, and getting to witness it regularly doesn’t diminish the appeal at all.

25 words. Well, aren't we special?

Sentence #15:

Taking the two together, it’s doubly clear not only are same-sex marriage rights linked with interracial marriage rights because they have arguments in common for them, but also because the opponents are the same assholes they’ve always been, using the same arguments that they always have.

47 words. The elegance of the prose is exceeded only by the sophistication of the analysis. Or is it the other way 'round?

Sentence #16:

I had to take the cats to the vet this morning and overslept.

13 words. A classic Amanda non-sentence.

Vote, you swarthy dogs (sorry, but I'm a wingnut... therefore I use violent language to enhance the violence inherent in the system). This week's winner wins...

... the Pandagon Tape Measure of Death!

The Westerville Chronicles: A Plot, Indeed…

By the time I'd finished explaining my cunning plan, the emotions coursing across Kevy's face had run the gambit from shock to amusement to consternation. Consternation was where he was now. By contrast, the face of Deputy Sherriff Bruno Gerkin hadn't betrayed much of anything. There were a few moments where his color seemed to elevate slightly, but I wouldn't have bet money on any significant change in blood pressure on his part. He didn't even bat an eye when I told him his boss, the Delaware County Sherriff, had called me that very day with the suggestion that Bruno might make an excellent police chief. At the moment, Bruno seemed to be trying to figure out just how crazy I really was.

"Good Lord," said Kevy, once he was sure I was finished. "This will go down in history as your personal best. Or worst."

I turned to Bruno Gerkin and met his gaze.

"What do you think?" I asked.

"I don't know," he said, and then swallowed hard. "I just don't know."

I looked at Kevy, and then returned my gaze to Bruno.

"Look," I said matter-of-factly. "We've established you're qualified for the job. You've passed the promotional exam with the Civil Service Commission. You've got ten years of exceptional service under your belt with the Sherriff's Office. You've got above average fitness reviews out the wazoo. And, you're an ex-Marine and a Gulf War vet. Right?"

Bruno didn't say anything.

"Am I right?" I asked.

"Yes, you are right," he said, jaw muscles starting to work. "It's just the coming out of the closet thing. It's bound to cause an uproar… Trouble for everyone…"

"No, no, no, no, no!" I said, wagging a finger at him. "It will cause trouble for me. Just me."

With that I took a swig of my Shirley Temple and stared Bruno Gerkin down.

"And that's exactly what I want…"

"But the City Council," Kevy said, breaking in. "You said they wouldn't oppose Bruno's appointment. How can you say that with Burt Flanagan there. He'll go crazy the minute he hears you're appointing an openly gay police chief. What about Penelope Gillenwater? And Clarence Detwiler?"

"Burt Flanagan may not like gays, but the bottom line is he's ex-Marine. Twenty years worth. His father was a Marine, and so was his father. It will be a cold day in Hell when Burt Flanagan opposes the appointment of an ex-Marine for any job the City has to offer. Believe me, I know Burt Flanagan. He'll be pissed at me… privately, that you can bet the farm on. But publicly oppose an ex-Marine becoming police chief because of his sexual orientation? Not a chance."

"What about the others?" Bruno asked.

"Penelope Gillenwater is an 82 year old retired librarian. When she finds out you're gay, she's going to be very pleased Westerville will have a happy police chief."

At that Kevy snickered and shook his head in agreement.

"I believe you're right about that," he said with a laugh. "What about Clarence Detwiler?"

"Clarence Detwiler's most fervent wish is to get through life without being blamed for anything. He'll do whatever Burt Flanagan does," I replied, not bothering to hide the offhand contempt for Clarence that was registering in my voice.

With that, Bruno's brow furrowed.

"The bottom line is this: Whether the Delaware County Commissioners fire you or not isn't the issue. You'll never see another promotion there as long as you live… Despite the fact that Sherriff Russell thinks you're the greatest thing since sliced bread. If you come to Westerville, you have two years before you're up for re-election. That gives you two years to win over the citizenry. What's not to like about those odds?"

Bruno Gerkin shot Kevy Bellouche a quick glance and then unfurrowed his brow.

"All right," he said with a firm tone of voice. "Count me in."

"Kevy," I said, "How about getting Franz to bring us three glasses of champagne?"

In no time we were each holding up a glass of the Astrological Love Lounge's finest bubbly.

"To your new career," I said, holding my glass up in a toast to Bruno. "May your career be long and successful."

Bruno's face broke into a smile as we each took a gulp of champagne.

"Thanks," he said.

"And to your new career," Kevy said to me. "May you be recalled immediately!"

"I'll drink to that!" I replied.

We were still laughing when Franz appeared to refill our glasses.

………………………………

Despite the fact that we kept our celebrations at PJ's Astrological Love Lounge to one bottle of bubbly, it was late by the time I arrived at Peasant Manor. From the drive I could see but a single light in the house, that being to our bedroom. My expectation was to find her reading in bed, but when I entered our bedroom what I found was clothing and shoes strewn across the length and width of the room. From Muffy's walk-in closet came the sound of furious activity. She was still up, alright, and thoroughly engrossed in trying to decide on her inauguration ensemble.

"Hello?" I said.

There was no response. I hesitated before calling her again, and in doing so noticed she was talking to herself. I noticed I was starting to feel uneasy.

"Muffy? Darling?"

Muffy's head popped out from around the closet door.

"Yes?" she said.

"Um… I'm home," I said.

"So you are," she said in a distracted voice. "Yes, yes you are home."

Her head disappeared back into the closet. Immediately I could tell she had resumed talking to herself. I cleared my throat as loudly as I could and then called her again.

"Muffy?" I said, voice somewhat raised.

The Muffy noises ceased and almost immediately she emerged from the closet, clad in panties, bra and slip.

She gave me a frown and asked, "What?"

"No, no, no," I said. "I've just come home. I've just called to you. This is when you come to me with joy in your heart, give me a kiss of equal parts affection and passion, and say something like 'Hello, Dear. It's nice to have you home.'…"

With that she gave me a quick, half-hearted smile.

"You're right, of course," she said, and then walked up and gave me a peck on the cheek. "How was your day?"

Her eyes were at once strangely bright and unmistakably distant.

"Fine…," I replied. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, yes… Just trying to pick out what I'm going to wear to the inauguration."

She turned and went back into the closet. Now I sensed danger.

"Dear?" I said meekly. "You really don't need to be putting in this sort of effort just for my inauguration. I mean, all they're going to do is swear me in."

The sound of hangers being pushed along steel rods ceased.

"What about your speech?" was what came from the closet.

"What speech?" I asked, in an even meeker tone.

"Your inauguration speech. Dear."

Despite the fact Muffy's tone was trending toward icy, I suddenly found myself beginning to sweat.

"Um… To be honest with you, Dear, I wasn’t planning on giving an inauguration speech."

With that, Muffy's head popped out of the closet a second time.

"Why," she said slowly, with a measure of menace, "Not?"

All of the sudden, I found myself talking very rapidly.

"Well, I'm not so sure I'm cut out to be Mayor of Westerville. It's a lot of responsibility, and I'm not real big on responsibility. I just don't think I'd be very happy having to make responsible decisions and conduct myself responsibly and set the sort of example that would encourage others to act responsibly and…"

"Dennis?"

"… I'm not sure I could pull it off because, after all, I'm 50 and I really haven't had much experience in being a responsible adult. So I was thinking of keeping everything real low-key and one way of keeping things low-key is by skipping an inauguration spee…"

"Dennis!"

"What?"

"You're babbling."

"No I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"Not at all, I was just pointing out that…"

"Stop! Babbling!"

"Yes, Dear."

By this point in our conversion, Muffy had left the confines of the closet and was standing in front of me. In fact, she was standing right in front of me. Very close in front of me, actually. And given that I'm all of five feet six and she's five foot eleven, I was, at this particular juncture, staring at her chin. As I stood there considering her chin, I come to feel the light touch of a single finger under my jaw. Muffy lifted my jaw with that single finger until she assumed I was meeting her eyes. What I was actually doing was staring up her nose, but I decided in this instance discretion was the better part of valor. If Muffy thought I was looking into her eyes, well, then I was indeed looking into her eyes.

"You're looking in my nose again, aren't you?"

"Kinda."

Muffy slowly lowered her face until the tip of her nose touched the tip of mine.

"And now?" she asked.

We'd gone through this before, so I knew the correct answer to her question.

"I see the two mystical orbs - the two crystal balls - that are your eyes."

"What do you see in my eyes, Dear?"

"My future."

"And what does your future hold, Dear?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure I see an inauguration speech in my future."

"Pretty sure?"

"No. Actually, I definitely see an inauguration speech in my near future. No doubt about it."

"That's nice, Dear," Muffy said as she slid away from me and back to the closet. "Don't you think you should get busy on that?"

Seeing that further discussion on the subjects of Muffy's state of mind and my lack of ambition in the political arena would not be productive, I took Muffy's advice and retreated to the study to compose an inauguration speech that set the appropriate tone for my administration. It was beginning to dawn on me that getting fired as Mayor of Westerville might end being the toughest job I'd ever had.

Last Week's This Week's Amanda Sentence...

Leonard Pinth-Garnell here. Last week was a busy one, what with links from Instapundit, Protein Wisdom and a clutch of Pajamas Media bloggers who have - at least until now - avoided this site like the plague. It is a measure of just how annoying Amanda Marcotte really is that cataloging her stupidities could be enough to motivate Glenn Reynolds to give me a link...

Anyway, here's a less than comprehensive listing of last week's Amanda brainfarts:

Sentence #1:

From Salon, I caught this article complaining about books-by-women-for-women, or more precisely, their covers.

18 words. Surprisingly enough, the article didn't complain about Amanda's book or its cover. Still, it's funny that Amanda would think this is the sort of subject she needs to address at this time…

Sentence #2:

Who doesn’t want to believe that being “good in bed” is about indulging your appetite for strawberry shortcake?

18 words. I've just received word that a Radical Woman of Cooking is claiming Amanda stole this idea from her.

Sentence #3:

In the real world, women experience sexual striving more as depriving ourselves of the shortcake.

15 words. "In the real world"?

Sentence #4:

I would add, as someone with my own set of capitalism-induced body image issues, that the reason many of covers prefer to focus on feet or ankles is because it’s easier to project yourself onto a slender ankle than onto an impossibly slender thigh.

45 words. "Capitalism-induced body image issues"? Is that like the capitalism-induced sexual striving shortcake deprivation thingy, or are we back to musing about Free Will?

Sentence #5:

I’m a big snob—I wish people read more for the edification of the mind and the deepening of the soul.

21 words. Oh, so that explains the impetus for "It's A Jungle Out There".

Sentence #6:

It’s sickening the way Rove is treated by the mainstream media—he should be received by decent people as if Jeffrey Dahmer walked into a room, but instead, he’s treated like a prince.

33 words. One thing you have to admit about our Mandy… She's got luv in her heart.

Sentence #7:

The country thanks this patriot for making all of us collectively stupider.

12 words. "Stupider"? I don't know, but it seems Amanda's already fairly patriotic, if you know what I mean.

Sentence #8:

But the real weak sauce, the demonstration that he’s just throwing shit against the wall to see what will stick, is in the list:

24 words. Throwing shit against the wall is a real weak sauce? Mealtime at Amanda's must be a lot of fun…

Sentence #9:

Carr2d2 has a post up at Skepchick examining whether or not “Battlestar Galactica” is propaganda-through-subterfuge, luring fans into Mormonism against our wills.

24 words. "Our wills"? We have more than one will? Last week Amanda was saying we didn't have any will. Or wills. Beyond that, how could anyone accuse feminism of being silly when you have feminists latching onto the idea that "Battlestar Galactica" is a front for Mormon proselytizing?

Sentence #10:

The sense of unmooredness, being adrift is something that speaks to people in these times, when living in the same neighborhood as your parents is becoming rare to the point of being frowned upon.

34 words. I defy anyone to explain this sentence. And where in the fuck did "unmooredness" come from?

On the off chance that one of your wills is free, feel compelled to vote for your favorite sentence. The winner will receive a Pandagonian Vagina of Death that is definitely more unmoored and stupider than the last Pandagonian Vagina of Death!

"Mmmm... Strawberry shortcake..."

Friday's Musical Exercise In Unabashed Male Privilege...

It's Time For Another Dose Of Bad Progressive Poetry...

Leonard Pinth-Garnell here, reminding you that this isn't the All Amanda Channel.

Poem for Sunday America

Horse of a Different Color
Red, white & grey-- a stop sign
dancing like a weed in
Katrina’s huff and puff and
I forget physics,
clinging
to a mattress,
a Maltese,
and the earth's sneeze
dismissing
what was not
so rooted
that it can out-howl
the wind.

McCain Poem

You look at the election
And you say "Who's John McCain?"
He's not the perfect candidate
Now just let me explain:
He says that he knows little
About matters economic
And vows to fight the infidels:
The terrorists Islamic.
His tortured years in Vietnam
Were noble and heroic
But I'd prefer a President
Born since the Mesozoic.
If he's elected there's one thing
Of which we can be sure:
We'll stay in Iraq a thousand years
And then a thousand more.
He says "reform campaign finance";
Runs against the corporate lobby;
But likes to fly on private jets
And meet folks like Chalabi.
And don't you put it past him
He'll do it if he can
We'll be in Iraq a thousand years
Then we'll invade Iran.
He'll jump to ban abortion
And the issue of gay marriage
He'll have affairs and no one cares
But Clinton's he'll disparage.
Justifying the Iraq war
With his time in Vietnam:
With his militaristic mindset
You know just who we'll bomb.
But then, you may ask, what comes next-
What is his long term plan?
Is it Turkey? Egypt? Syria?
Pakistan? Iran?
You needn't be an Einstein
Or the honored Dalai Lama...
To know that this guy just ain't fine
And to support Obama.

free ramble grazing poem

I come by here and I get pissed off and fired up
Ashcroft don't want to hear about Al-Queda
and dick in the Oval is clueless
where will it all end?
with a perp walk i so ardently hope for?
or with another exchange of deals?
boomer soonergrunt is heavily into the bottle
and i dont blame him
if i was facing another tour with no one to back me up
and no bullets
and no rifle
i would probably smoke a big fat joint and hope they would wash me out
i come by DailyKossack collage of humans and i get hope
and i get pissed off at how we have been reamed and cheated
and I refuse to give up
will keep firing off emails and going up to vote
my daughter asked me when i went to the caucus if
we were participating
i said yes and the little boy who i read to
and whose dad read to my daughter too while we tag-teamed in line
yep, we ARE participating, or as best as the youngster could grapple
with the idea that we do have an impact on society
goddamit! this means something and I am not going to give up
I live in a land that has chosen policy over reality
and i refuse to deny the facts
I will not kowtow or bend over
i will be bloodied but unbowed
i will not surrender to Machiavelli or to his Prince
I have all the bullets and if they demand lead
in the form of writs and lawsuits
so be it, i will give it to Karl
and damn his brain and confound the wisdom of the wise
let the widow browbeat the judge
until he relents and gives her justice
avenge me mine adversary
W, your days are numbered
and we will not forget or forgive
if you will not confess
if you will not relent
then we will not cease or desist

Sewing Machine Operator

Her derriere, that great bolt of cloth,
Ripples downward from her chair,
Spills like silk to cotton-puff knees,
Drapes over presser-bar legs.
Her hips are a behemoth sewing machine --
The swelling chest, a compressor
That slurps and whirrs and sucks.
Her fingers are needles piercing cloth.
Her mind's motor, its gears in friction
Grind and roar with her head
Till screams or yawns escape
Her gaping drawer mouth.
Meanwhile, round bobbins dangle
From deafened ears, thread unwinding,
Entangling her presser feet to bolted chair.

An Open Letter to Radical Women of Color From Amanda Marcotte's Sister

By Gretchen Marcotte-Pinth-Garnell

Quit whining and listen up.

Gretchen Marcotte-Pinth-Garnell

My name is Gretchen Marcotte-Pinth-Garnell, and I am the long-lost Republican sister of "noted" feminist "thinker", blogger and author, Amanda Marcotte. Amanda and I haven't talked much since she got drunk at my wedding and insisted on reciting The Vagina Monologues (from start to finish) while standing on the bridal couple's table at the reception hall, but that doesn't mean I don't love and respect her. Or at least love her. Kind of.

It really pains me (well, actually, it only kind of pains me) to see her being attacked - by other feminists no less - for being racist. It also pains me (somewhat) that many of those same feminists are accusing her of stealing the ideas of other feminists to advance her career as a "noted" feminist. How can feminists do this sort of thing to other feminists? I mean, what's the point of being a feminist if the biggest threat you face in life comes from other feminists? That's what I'd like to know.

I say all this with the greatest respect I can muster for feminism and its importance in the world today. While I'm not a feminist myself, and I'm about as white as you can get, even I understand that feminism is not merely a movement about middle-class white women and their interests. Rather, it's about a movement of middle-class white trying to interest middle-class non-white women in their interests. In that sense, feminism is about black women, brown women, yellow women, queer women, straight women and women like to feel put upon. It is about making the world a better place for middle-class white women, middle-class Radical Women of Color and those middle-class white men who submit to the dictates of middle-class white feminism, and it is a cause that should - in theory - unite all of you guys. Girls. Ladies… Whatever.

Can we at least agree upon that? I mean, that’s basically the rhetoric of inclusion and diversity and whatnot that you like to throw in the faces of those you disagree with, right?

Good. Then please consider the following list of blogs:

Angry African-American Woman
Anxious African-American Woman
Irritated African-American Woman
Annoyed Radical African-American Woman
Exasperated African-American Woman
Pissed-Off African-American Woman
Black, Queer and Angry
Black, Queer and Annoyed and Radical
Angry Nubian Woman
Anxious Nubian Woman
Exasperated Nubian Woman
Angry Black Amazon Radical Woman
Angry Radical Woman of Color
Irritated Woman of Color
Annoyed Woman of Color Who Is Somewhat Radical
Really, Really, Really Pissed Off Woman of Color
The Angry Black Women's Collective
The Even Angrier Black Women's Collective
The First Black Women's Radical Collective
The Real Black Women's Collective
The Angry Radical Women of Color's Collective
The First Angry Radical Women of Color's Collective and Communal Vegetable Garden

I could go on and on, but understand this is a pretty short list largely because I bore more easily than your average feminist. So it’s short — oops, there I go asserting Height Privilege over the vertically-challenged — incomplete list, but already far too inclusive of those Radical Women of Color who choose to blog. And when I say "far too inclusive", I mean way too inclusive… Believe you me.

You only have to spend a few minutes at any of the blogs listed above to come to the understanding of what these Radical Women of Color want to know: How many dedicated Radical Women of Color, who spend their lives fighting oppression by parking their asses in front of a keyboard, have to scream at white grrrls, or take down their blog in a huff, or throw up their hands in disgust and abandon the label “feminist”, or stamp their little feet before dim bulbs like my sister actually take their bitching at face value and LISTEN? And when I say LISTEN, what I mean of course, is humor, patronize and defer to (when convenient). I also mean, of course, get offered their own book deals from Seal Press.

At each of these blogs Women of Color express varying levels of outrage at being ignored, slighted and oppressed by mainstream white feminists like Amanda and their enablers like Seal Press. And despite the bitching, fuming, fussing and whining, white feminists keep claiming that they are neither ignoring, slighting or oppressing anyone. They insist they are victims, too. I mean, that's Amanda's shtick to a "t", isn't it? Being everybody's victim about everything? What exactly is the problem here? Isn't there enough honest-to-goodness racism to go around?

Radical Women of Color have spoken up again and again. About themselves and their interests. But just look at what they haven't spoken up about…

Busy talkin' about guaranteed political participation and universal suffrage for women in Africa and the Middle East?
No.
How about legal, political and institutional reforms to protect women with regards to property rights in Asia, Africa, Latin America and the Middle East?
No.
Or legal, political and institutional reforms to protect women from domestic and workplace exploitation and/or violence in Asia, Africa, Latin America and the Middle East ?
No.
Or legal, political and institutional reforms to guarantee women's right to reproductive and sexual health in Asia, Africa, Latin America and the Middle East?
No.
How about political and cultural reforms in the Middle East to end arranged marriages and child brides?
No.
How about political and cultural reforms in the Middle East and Africa to end female genital mutilation?
No.
Human trafficking in Asia?
Nope.
Rape of non-combatants in Africa?
Nada.

The last time this middle-class white woman checked, those were the sort of real issues confronting millions of Women of Color these days. Or I just too damned white to be allowed to point that out? Is it in too much bad taste to point out that there are probably more Women of Color suffering genital mutilation at this moment then suffering unjust, racist denial of publishing opportunities?

Maybe it's because, unlike my sister, I actually have a life. Maybe it's because I actually have a productive and rewarding career. Or maybe it's just because I'm unable to work up the level of self-absorption that seems endemic in feminist circles, but it would seem to me that if Middle-Class White Feminists are guilty of anything, it's of being just as blinkered, provincial and obsessively self-regarding as Middle-Class Women of Color Feminists. This is the pot calling the kettle white, and nothing more.

Here's another thing: Do any of you really think the idea that immigration (legal and illegal) and immigration policy impacts women (and especially women of color) constitutes an original enough insight to fight over its authorship? If so, why? What would make any grounded human being believe such a thing? Has it ever occurred to any of you that if you locked Paris Hilton and Britney Spears in a room for a weekend they'd probably be able to puzzle that one out for themselves?

And then there's Amanda's book. Have you actually read it? What would make anyone think Seal Press was staffed with competent professionals, given the fact that they published It's A Jungle Out There in the first place? Why would it come as a surprise anyone that they'd screw up the artwork twice? And besides, just what was Seal Press supposed to do in the first place? Set it in Minneapolis and call it It's A Suburb Out There? Would that have made it OK to show a blond bimbo in a dress hitting a non-white person in a pinstripe suit over the head with a briefcase? Or is that too close to the whole Hillary-Barack scenario for comfort?

In closing, if this thoroughly middle-class, thoroughly white and thoroughly unimpressed women is allowed to offer a bit of advice to those Radical Women of Color presently in a snit, it would be this: Get over yourselves. You're sounding way too much like my sister to be taken seriously.

Gretchen Marcotte-Pinth-Garnell

The Dirty Little Secrets of Amanda Marcotte's White Privilege -OR- "How Much Is That Gorilla In The Window?"

Amanda Marcotte's Favorite Song...

Amanda Marcotte's Favorite Cartoon Series...

Amanda Marcotte's Favorite Cartoon...

(We all understand that the word rabbit is an obvious code word for typical white person, right?)

Amanda Marcotte's Favorite Closing Credits Scene...

Amanda Marcotte's Favorite Saying...

(Amanda's mother was, evidently, a TYPICAL WHITE PERSON!)

Amanda Marcotte's Favorite Scene From Her Favorite Movie...

The Amanda Marcotte Version Of The Dance Of The Seven Veils, With Amanda Playing The Part Of Salome...

White Privilege at its worst!

Shameful, isn't it?

Although, truth be told, she's still the gorilla my dreams...

Amanda Steps In It Again…

Evidently a rather large proportion of those wimmen calling themselves feminists are genuine morons.

This point is amply illustrated by the illustrations used by Seal Press in Amanda Marcotte's utterly dreadful tome, It's A Jungle Out There. Prior to having canine dental surgery performed upon my copy, one of the first things that struck me about It's A Jungle Out There was the fact that the artwork was, in and of itself, a ticking time bomb. As your basic insensitive, insecure, capitalistic, patriarchy embracing, steeped in white male privilege white male, I couldn't help notice that several of the illustrations seemed to be unsuited for the sensitive, multicultural, racially inclusive and proudly progressive eyes of Amanda's intended audience.

In keeping with the obvious, unoriginal and trite nature of Marcotte's writings, her publisher, Seal Press, decided to illustrate the book using a White Amazon Woman (and White Male Hunter) motif rendered in a faux-1950s Marvel Comics style. Unfortunately, neither Amanda Marcotte nor anybody at Seal Press seemed to grasp that they were dealing with an exceptionally touchy cadre of readers. This Marcotte/Seal cluelessness is doubly amazing when you consider that the original cover art for the book was scrapped last year due to blogospheric outrage (at Pandagon, of all places) over its obvious (?), if subtle, racist imagery…

You'd think, given that little episode, that both Amanda and the grrrls at Seal Press would have their multicultural antennae in the wind to ensure that nothing about the new artwork could be remotely considered racist. Well, that's what you'd think. What actually ended up in It's A Jungle Out There was this:

Gee, who'd a thunk you couldn't sneak that by ten thousand or so pathologically race/creed/color/gender/orientation/class obsessed grievance-mongering Leftists, eh? Like I said, we're dealing with morons here.

Anyway, Amanda has issued an abject apology over at Pandagon:

I’m sorry. Plain and simple. I didn’t pick the offensive imagery in my book, but I should have caught it sooner than now. I didn’t and there’s no excuse. It was my first book, I was excited and happy, but I needed to have a more critical eye. I would do anything to remove racist images from the first printing of the book if I could, and I am relieved and happy to say that they will be removed from future printings. Seal Press has their note of apology up too, and they accept full responsibility for these mistakes. I really recommend reading it.

Amanda's apology goes on for another two paragraphs, and while she does try to weasel out of trouble by blaming Seal Press, it's clear her heart isn't into it. It's almost as if she's sitting there going, "Just what did I do to irritate the Negroes?"

On the other hand, Seal Press, which describes itself as "…devoted to publishing titles that inform, reveal, engage, delight, and support women of all ages and backgrounds…" is in full sacrifice-a-virgin-to-appease-the-angry-Gods supplication mode:

We are taking action immediately to remove the offensive images from It's A Jungle Out There. We are currently reprinting, and we will make these changes now. We apologize for any pain or concern these images have caused.

We do not believe it is appropriate for a book about feminism, albeit a book of humor, to have any images or illustrations that are offensive to anyone.

Some have asked the valid question, "What were you thinking?"

Please know that neither the cover, nor the interior images, were meant to make any serious statement. We were hoping for a campy, retro package to complement the author's humor. That is all. We were not thinking.

As an organization, we need to look seriously at the effects of white privilege. We will be looking for anti-racist trainings offered here in the Bay Area. [my emphasis - DTP] We want to incorporate race analysis into our work.

Attaboy… er, Attagrrrl! When in doubt, call in the diversity trainers!

But just what is this "White Privilege" that makes Leftists so blind and not see? I mean, after all, "White Privilege" sounds pretty Republican, and as such wouldn't afflict a bunch of scowling feminist wimmen (with tiny mustaches), right? Wrong! It seems that white feminists and Leftists are a big bunch of racists, too. Try this explanation of White Privilege - courtesy of feminist Twisty Faster of I Blame The Patriarchy - on for size:

That’s right! White privilege! It’s just like male privilege, except in this context it’s just for white chicks. Where dude bloggers may exercise control over women according to their status, white feminist bloggers may exercise control over women of color according to their status.

……….

In the example cited above, the one where I allude to having posted a pro-Marcotte book dealio, the “control” aspect was expressed in my failure to address the current controversy. In so failing, I effectively endorsed white privilege in feminist bloggery, and closed down a potential avenue of discussion. That this was unintentional is of no consequence; it was perceived by many, and rightly so, as an example of what has been popularly referred to as “circling the wagons.”

……….

The sad irony is that I never cut dudes the tiniest bit of slack in the male privilege department. They write in and say, “But Twisty, I never rape my girlfriend, aren’t you being just a little shrill?” And I always reply, “You might,” I used to tell them, “be the nicest male dude on 9 planets, but the fact remains that you’re a dude, so you automatically benefit from male privilege whether you actively choose to or not, and unfortunately this privilege, though it may be invisible to you, is experienced by women as misogyny [my emphasis-DTP], again, whether you like it or not.”

It’s the same exact thing with white privilege. So, if you’re a white feminist blogger: you may not choose it, you may hate it, you may ignore it, or you may not even see it, but you do exercise your white privilege daily, and it is absurd to expect that this exercise would be perceived by women of color as anything but racism. Because it is racism, dum-dum. [my emphasis-DTP]

So there you have it. White Privilege was to blame… No wonder Amanda Marcotte thinks Free Will is overrated. If you buy into the above flapdoodle, there is no place for such a thing: You're not racist because of the content of your character, you're racist because of the color of your skin! Male Privilege works the same way. You're not a misogynist because you act like a misogynist, you're a misogynist because you're male!

Isn't that great?

Given that Amanda Marcotte believes in this sort of crap, the fact that she couldn't figure out that illustrating her book with threatening Mau-Mau warriors might give offense is little more than astonishing. Beyond that, it's fun to note that these folks - both the white privileged feminist bloggers and the controlled by racism Radical Women of Color - can't understand why nobody in the real world pays the slightest bit of attention to them…

Complete. Utter. Morons.

The artwork for the second printing of Amanda's book...

FROM THE DEPARTMENT OF THINGS THAT ARE UTTERLY BRILLIANT DEPARTMENT:

Shamelessly lifted from the Protein Wisdom Pub...

Hats off to Serr8d, everyone!

Back By Popular Demand... This Week's Amanda Sentence!

Leonard Pinth-Garnell here...

I've had three people email me this week and ask when This Week's Amanda Sentence was going to return to Dennis The Peasant. Given my traffic, that constitutes a veritable avalanche of curiosity as well as a sure-fire indication of pent-up consumer demand... So here goes:

Sentence #1:

For obvious reasons, a lot is riding on the primary today, though I wouldn’t say it’s all over after today, because god knows Clinton and Obama could come out neck and neck, and this could all continue on.

38 words. A lot is riding on the primary unless, of course, there isn't a lot riding on the primary.

Sentence #2:

A vote for Obama is a vote for small donors, against the evil cadre of Clinton consultants, and for a figure with enough charisma that he could be the Reagan for the surge of liberalism that the internet has harnessed in the way the Moral Majority harnessed reactionary sentiment in the 70s.

51 words. Hillary Clinton employs an evil cadre of consultants? That's a pretty sexist thing to say, you know… Kind of smacks of the Wicked Witch of the West and those flying monkeys.

Sentence #3:

So we’re heading out for NYC for a week, so while I will try to do some blogging, it might be somewhat patchy and unpredictable.

25 words. The fact that Amanda's prose is patchy isn't at all unpredictable.

Sentence #4:

Rebecca Traister has a great article about the 10th anniversary of "The Vagina Monologues" in New Orleans, and ends up having the same reaction that a lot of what you might call advanced patriarchy-blamers have when seeing this play: a reluctant appreciation for how fun it is to see it, after a period of intense irritation at the hoopla around it.

62 words. Wow. Now that's what I call mangling some English.

Sentence #5:

I’m definitely in the rationalist category of feminism, as it were, and have little to no patience with the Earth Mother feminism that tries to make a big deal out of the feminine essence.

35 words. The fact that Amanda Marcotte can get away with labeling herself a "rational feminist" without being physically attacked tells you just about all you need to know about the state of feminism today. As an aside, I guess this means we won't be seeing her in earth shoes any time soon.

Sentence #6:

It’s true that we are awash in a culture where anxious men have a submissive relationship to The Phallus, but seriously, the way to correct that is not to make a great emblem out of vulvic energy or whatever you want to call it.

44 words. There's a head-scratcher. Just what sort of anxious phallic relationship is Amanda talking about? And what the fuck is "vulvic energy"? And isn't it frightening that there are people out there who think this sort of sentence makes sense?

Sentence #7:

There are some men who have a healthy relationship with the penis—they like it, but see it as a tool that belongs to them.

25 words. The "What the fuck?" factor is high enough that I'm not really sure if I should be asking whether there are men out there who see their penis as a being owned by someone other than themselves.

Sentence #8:

I think women flock to the play, because it’s refreshing to hear other women talk about their vaginas…..much in the way that men with healthy masculine identities see their penises.

31 words. Maybe it's me, but there's nothing remotely refreshing about listening to women talk about their vaginas. Unless you're a gynecologist. Which I am not. And just how does Amanda know that women talk about their vaginas the way men see their penises? Wait… on second thought, I don't want to know that.

This Week's Bonus Feature: Amanda furrows her brow over the concept of Free Will

Paragraph 1, Sentence #1:

In the past, I’ve tripped over the fact that it really upsets people to suggest that free will is an illusion, even though it’s hard for me to see how you could arrive at any other conclusion.

Especially if there is no free will…

Paragraph 1, Sentence #2:

The problem of free will is this: If you could make two absolutely identical people, with the exact same experiences and thoughts and lives, and give them a choice—any choice at all, from abortion or not to chocolate or vanilla—would they choose differently from each other?

As there is no possibility of there being two absolutely identical people with the exact same experiences and thoughts and lives, just how would Amanda propose we construct such a test?

Paragraph 1, Sentence #3:

The only way I can see that being possible is if the choices presented were of equal value to the person, and then the different choices would be more a matter of chance than will.

Oh, to Hell with testing… Let's just reach out and grab the unsubstantiated conclusion that appeals to us the most!

Paragraph 3, Sentence #1:

My problem with the concept of free will is that I think it’s overrated.

[Insert hysterical laughter here]

Paragraph 3, Sentence #2:

I think, as I’ve said before in another way, that it’s an important concept only because it’s primarily a religious concept.

Has anyone informed the world's philosophers of this paradigm-shifting intellectual development?

Paragraph 3, Sentence #3:

“Free will” outside of a theistic worldview doesn’t make the same sort of sense it does in a believer’s world.

Yes, you've already said that… and in several different ways. Get on with it.

Paragraph 3, Sentence #4:

The issue is only important because it was initially a theological issue—if god is omniscient and omnipotent, then how can he hold people accountable for sin when he made them sinners?

Again with the Theological Issue Thingy. Christ, just how many times can you repeat yourself in one paragraph? Do I need to start a contest to track that?

Paragraph 3, Sentence #5:

Doesn’t god bear the final responsibility for the actions of people, and if so, isn’t he an asshole to program people to fuck up and then punish them for it?

There Amanda goes… Stealing other people's ideas again. That line was straight out of the Summa Theologica of St. Thomas Aquinas!

Paragraph 3, Sentence #6:

To handle the conundrum, I think, theologists invented free will as a cheat to make their worldview work.

Lack of any real free will would certainly explain why I'm back doing the Amanda Marcotte Sentence of the Week, now wouldn't it?

And because there is NO FREE WILL, you will not only vote for your favorite Amanda sentence in the comments section of this post, but you will also accept this week's prize if you win...

"Mmm... Literary output!"

...The Pandagon Unmatched Book-End of Death!

From The Department of Brilliant Observations Department:

I received an email this evening from an on-the-ball reader asking the most important (and in retrospect, obvious) question one could ask Amanda regarding the existence of Free Will:

"By the way, if free will is a myth, I kind of wonder how reproductive "choice" can be discussed in a meaningful way."

God, I'd love to see the expressions that crossed her face as she tried to puzzle that one out.

Amanda Marcotte Gets Herself Oppressed

What to say about l'affaire Amanda?

For those of you who are well-adjusted and have real lives, you may have missed the furor within the Feminist Sisterhood over Amanda Marcotte's April 2nd post at RH Reality Check entitled Can A Person Be Illegal? It's the usual Marcotte dreck, presenting anecdotal evidence of male federal immigration agents victimizing female illegal immigrants in order to objectify all white males who disagree with her on immigration policy as racist, sexist, oppressive and whatnot.

Given the rather obvious course of Amanda's argument, it seems surprising (to me, at least) that a fellow Sister - and "Radical Woman of Color", no less - blogging under the name of Brownfemipower, got her knickers in a knot and claimed Marcotte had unethically appropriated her work on feminism and immigration to write Can A Person Be Illegal? Evidently Feminist Sisters thinking up new and different ways to be considered victims of the Patriarchy is taken pretty seriously on the Planet of Baritone Women.

In any event, Amanda has now managed to get herself accused of plagiarism, stealing and as a bonus, being white. The original post from Brownfemipower leveling these charges has disappeared - along with the rest of her site - but you can get a pretty good idea of the controversy from this post by some feminist man named Hugo Schwyzer. And be sure to read the comments, for they are, in and of themselves, instructive...

My own take on this controversy is rather simple: If this was really about a bit of plagiarism and/or unauthorized appropriation, all we'd need to do is ship a carton of Midol to wherever it is that Radical Women of Color pitch their Gaia-friendly hemp tents. But I don't think that's what is really going on here... Not by a long shot.

While I am of the (oft expressed) opinion that Amanda Marcotte has never had an original (coherent) thought in her life, anyone who has spent time reading Pandagon knows perfectly well that she's very good about citing (and linking to) the work of others when she uses it. Given the fact that her writings do little more than regurgitate whatever is current in the canon of Leftist Victimology, such behavior would seem to be one of the basic requirements of her craft. So the idea that Amanda, with malice aforethought, decided not to cite another Feminist Thinker in her little screed simply to stoke the fires of her own ego seems pretty lame to my own true self.

When you read something like this by a Radical Woman of Color named Holly, it becomes apparent that something else is going on here besides Amanda's alleged transgressions. It seems obvious - to me at least - that this isn't about Amanda Marcotte plagiarizing, nor is it about her stealing. It is about her being white. This is about Radical Women of Color demanding that all other Radical Women recognize that they - and not white, middle-class women like Amanda Marcotte - are at the apex of the Victimization Pyramid.

Amanda Marcotte isn't being hounded by elements of the feminist blogosphere for plagiarism or theft, she is being hounded for defending herself. What was demanded of her, at the time of Brownfemipower's accusation, was not proof of her innocence, but rather a very public display of subservience. Amanda being Amanda, she didn't (and doesn't) understand this, and so the more vigorous her defense, the louder the denunciations.

Now I'm not a mean person (or at least I'm not a really mean person) but I can't help but note the inherent humor of Amanda Marcotte - she who is so quick to accuse others of racism, sexism, classism and whatever -isms are current - has been hoist by her own petard. She is currently not a victim of the Patriarchy, or any nameless cabal of evil white men, but rather certain feminists and Radical Women of Color. The irony of it all is delicious…

Too bad Amanda Marcotte will never grasp that.