Have you noticed how often feminists like to get their clothes off? They love to use the female body as a means of protest. They write slogans across their naked breasts and stand naked in public while holding a sign. They see nudity as a powerful way to protest and it seems nothing is too offensive for them to use including pubic hair. I would like to provide you all with photographic evidence but the nudity would put our google ad revenue in jeopardy so you will have to settle for a word picture.
The latest attempt to use soft porn to sell a protest comes from Madonna. On her Twitter account, she tweeted a photo that shows pubic hair shaved in the shape of the Nike logo with the words, Yasssssssss! Just Do it!” “1 Million Women’s March!! Be There!!”
This sums up for me the inherent problem with third wave feminism. On the one hand it castigates and humiliates men for ridiculous things like wearing a shirt they don’t like to an award ceremony and on the other hand it thinks it is quite okay to use the female body as an offensive, eye-catching piece of advertising.
Recently declassified CIA map Cuba Missile Locations 1962
I am in a bit of a dilemma. I have an older male friend (I am middle aged myself) I met through work some years ago, and he has been very good at keeping up regular contact. He is conservative and a little left leaning compared to me but we can usually discuss any topic reasonably and not be too concerned if we don’t agree. Our discussions never get heated and we never feel threatened by each other. Read more »
Mr and Mrs Quail produced seven chicks. We were proud of our quail family and felt like proxy parents. But then the inevitable happened.
I found the bodies of two quail chicks lying on the lawn. Of the rest of the family, there was no sign.
After several days, the adult birds reappeared by themselves. We assumed that cats had got all the chicks.
They would have killed out of instinct, not necessity. The cats we see are well-fed and don’t need juvenile quail to supplement their diet.
Prior to this I’d harboured no ill-feeling toward cats. We don’t own one, but our section is treated as common ground by all the neighbours’ cats and we constantly see them around.
One took to lurking under the concealing foliage of a weeping Japanese maple, from where it would ambush any bird that came within striking distance. A pile of feathers on the lawn would tell the story.
I could tolerate that. One blackbird less, when our garden is overpopulated with them anyway, didn’t bother me. But the quail chicks were a different story.
At that point I began to have some sympathy for Gareth Morgan’s campaign for controls on domestic cats. But he’s got it only half right, because cats can be a pest for other reasons besides their blood lust.
We often encounter cat excrement in the garden. It’s not only foul-smelling, but potentially dangerous because it can transmit the parasitic disease toxoplasmosis.
My resent-o-meter was cranked up a further couple of notches recently when a cat started making itself comfortable at night on an outside settee. It left evidence of its sleepovers in the form of ineradicable stains on the cushions. Read more »
The Gremlin Special was a Douglas C-47 Skytrain that crashed during a sightseeing flight for U.S. service members over the Baliem Valley (‘Shangri-La Valley’) in New Guinea in 1945.
There was a terrible accident in a harsh landscape, three survivors, a hidden world with a Stone Age existence, and a heroic rescue mission. They soon ended up amidst a cutting edge culture still untouched by the outside world. The locals were known man-eaters, however fortunately for the crash survivors, they chiefly ate their adversary tribe.
On May 13, 1945, twenty-four officers, enlisted men, and women stationed on what was then Dutch New Guinea boarded a transport plane named the Gremlin Special for a sightseeing trip over “Shangri-La,” a beautiful and mysterious valley surrounded by steep, jagged mountain peaks deep within the island’s uncharted jungle.
But the pleasure tour became an unforgettable battle for survival when the plane crashed. Miraculously, three passengers survived – WAC Corporal Margaret Hastings, Lieutenant John McCollom, and Sergeant Kenneth Decker.
Punk rock philosopher. Liberalist contrarian. Grumpy old bastard. After working as a freelance music journalist, auto worker, railway worker, taxi driver, small business owner, volunteer firefighter and graphic designer, Lushington Dalrymple Brady decided he finally had an interesting enough resume to be a writer. Miraculously, he survived university Humanities departments with both his critical faculties intact and a healthy disdain for Marxism. He blogs at A Devil’s Curmudgeon. Lushington D. Brady is a pseudonym, obviously.
Possibly the greatest freedom we ever experienced as youngsters were those endless days at the lethargic end of summer when we’d aimlessly wander the neighbourhood trying to invent ways to enjoy the liberty of having nothing to do, and endless time to do it in.
Often we’d just drift wherever our feet took us within the world that was our neighbourhood. Other times we might choose to turn down this street, or cut across that yard, with a specific goal in mind: someone’s swimming pool, say. Then there were the times, simply bored with the freedom to go wherever we pleased, that we invented a game: at each corner, we’d toss a coin. Heads turn left; tails, right.