I totally thought of it myself, I swear
Things you may hear me say soon:
“There are chemicals in the brain called neurotransmitters…”
Sites I may link to from time to time:
Things you may hear me say soon:
“There are chemicals in the brain called neurotransmitters…”
Sites I may link to from time to time:
Sady wins the internet. (with [BONER] jokes!). I’m still trying to figure out how a mansplaining, boner-obsessed, “feminist if it will get me laid” dude came to a site with the word “beatdown” in the title and didn’t think he would get one for patting all the ladies on the head and thanking them for playing “but let me show you how it’s done”-ing the crowd. But thank Grover Cleveland that he did it, because it whipped Sady Doyle into the most hilarious righteous frenzy I’ve ever seen. And he didn’t stop there, either – he proceeded down the list of every item on the Derailing for Dummies list:
“You’re Being Hostile”, “But That Happens To Me Too”, “You’re Being Overemotional”, “Don’t You Have More Important Issues To Think About”, “You’re Not Being Intellectual Enough”, “Your Experience Is Not Representative Of Everyone”, “You’re Not Being A Team Player”, “You’ve Lost Your Temper So I Don’t Have To Listen To You Anymore”, and “You’re Damaging Your Cause By Being Angry” among others (thanks to commenters for assembling that list.)
If you too love the hell out of goofy boner jokes or just want to bring sunshine into your day, please read the whole post but I would be remiss if I didn’t highlight the cherry on top:
And now, Freddie? Now, I’m Sady fucking Doyle. Of Tiger fucking Beatdown. Which gets roughly one hundred fucking thousand pageviews per month. And if you don’t like my jokes, motherfucker, then what you can do is, you can just. Fucking. LIVE WITH IT. Because these jokes, this secret little mode of resistance that I developed because I had no other options, have become the way I pay my rent. And neither you nor your various Serious Theory Friends nor God himself nor ANYTHING short of my own unexpected and sudden death in a car accident can fucking stop me. This is maybe self-aggrandizing, but you know what? I’m fine with that. I made myself who I am today, and she’s a pretty fucking great lady to be. And the thing is, if you can work harder than I have, if you can write better than I can, if you can equal or surpass my accomplishment, I’ll aggrandize you, too. God knows I don’t hesitate to sing the praises of people like, I dunno, Choire Sicha or Jessica Valenti or Jill Filipovic or Josh Fruhlinger or Clay Shirky, all of whom have done way better work than I have. But you can’t do even as well as I have, Freddie. Can you? Which is part of this whole deal. You’re not better than me, and it makes you sad.
When I grow up, I wanna be Sady (fucking) Doyle.
Once you’ve laughed your ass off, check out the two epic follow-ups regarding Freddie and his Boners:
Thank You For Subscribing to the Newsletter for the We Don’t Care About Freddie’s Boners Foundation
[BONERS], For Fun and Profit: The Extent To Which You Don’t Care About [BONERS], Revealed!
And if you just haven’t had enough of funny feminism, you know who else is funny, too? I Blame the Patriarchy. Tasty stuff.