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West Shied Story- RichWoodsblog

If a man has sexual relations with a man as one does with a woman, both of them have done what is detestable. They are to be put to death;
their blood will be on their own heads. -Leviticus 20:13

There is one particular Dominionist bedfellow which has created a revulsion within the GOP…. to the point where it’s like they’ve awoken to a regrettable romantic interlude after a rough night drinking.

On a public relations front, sometimes a political message can become inadvertently equated with an undesired element. Unintentional socio/economic associations –when made by the public– can be embarrassing when one is trying to create a winning political brand. Still, “image” comparisons between political brands are often easy enough to make when there is a distinct similarity in tone, and terminology.

On a public relations front, sometimes a political message can become inadvertently equated with an undesired element. Unintentional socio/economic associations –when made by the public– can be embarrassing when one is trying to create a winning political brand. Still, “image” comparisons between political brands are often easy enough to make when there is a distinct similarity in tone, and terminology.

However despite a few semantic discrepancies, or one’s willingness to employ discretionary vernacular, the evangelical-fundamentalist-Christian message is synonymous with the GOP brand. Which is why throughout the conservative lexicon, it is rare when the moral imperatives of Christianity are debated within the Republican party. Routinely those who reside on the political right support one another when assigning biblical precedence while legislating. Fearing “moral” retribution amidst their own party, no one of political significance in the TEA/GOP differs with those who espouse Christian fundamentalism.

But there is one, hilarious exception.

Unless you’ve recently arisen from cryogenic stasis, you might have heard of a delightful group of good Christian folks whose tiny church resides on the West side of Topeka, Kansas. Founded by a grandfather like fella, the late Pastor Fred Phelps –and presently led by his charming daughter, the ever engaging Shirley Phelps-Roper– this church and it’s members are dedicated to bringing the message of divine superintendence through a literal interpretation of the bible. Better known as the Westboro Baptist Church, they have become famous for their firebrand method of saving Christian souls, morality, and patriotism. And en mass, the GOP rebukes the WBC for all the wrong reasons.

The across the board castigation of the Westboro Baptist Church from the political/Christian right is moral hypocrisy at its side splitting best. Although evangelicals, Republicans, and conservative media denounce the Westboro Baptist Church for their acerbic hate speech, or for picketing of tragic events (as a means to express Yahweh’s anger at America for allowing secularism) the overall Christian message is virtually the same. Sure, the folks who made “God Hates Fags” so right-wing chic are more vitriolic in their speech than most biblical purists. But if it weren’t for Fred and Shirley’s unwillingness to be tempered by political correctness, and the lack of diplomacy they use when speaking their minds, the majority of the things that they say, and the twenty-first century GOP says, are otherwise identical.

“The way to prove you love thy neighbor is to warn them they’re committing sin, I’m the only one who loves the fags.” -Pastor Fred Phelps

“Homosexual conduct is, and has been, considered abhorrent, immoral, detestable, a crime against nature, and a violation of the laws of nature and
of nature’s God upon  which this Nation and our laws are predicated.”
– Alabama Supreme Court Chief Justice Roy “makes Fred Phelps seem tolerant” Moore

From the literal interpretation of the bible, to the condemnation of gays, to the irrational disdain for President Obama, to blaming tragedies on divine retribution, to the denial of science in favor of what the bible says, the WBC and the TEA/GOP have no moral departure from one another. But the good folks at the Westboro Baptist Church won’t play according to the rules of American politics. They don’t bother to mask their hate speech with conservative code. Neither do they make overtures to regard the crazy and stupid moral assertions that blab from their vapid traps.

So the TEA/GOP mustn’t allow their voting base to make the legitimate correlation between themselves, and the WBC. Because it might allow the more Christian-casual members of the Republican body politic to realize that they’ve been voting for xenophobes and lunatics. Indeed, the Westboro Baptist Church has unwittingly exposed how crazy and stupid one has to be in order to reference the bible for science, history, or morality. And doing so has become part of the TEA/GOP platform.

But in a way you gotta love the Westboro Baptist Church –via an unintentional satire of the fundamentalist Christian TEA/GOP– they have managed to shed a light on the psychosis of twenty-first century conservative politics.


Confessions of a Boob Man

When patriarchy collides with feminism, the collateral sociological damage can be significant. The power struggle –as it concerns sexual perception and reality– has created certain colloquialistic compromises, if not sexual concessions. Indeed, these are lasciviously confusing, if not sex-o-phobic times in which we live. The result of which is often a politically correct –albeit incorrect– presumption of one’s libidinous inclinations.

And as with any other form of political correctness, it comes at the expense of honesty.

As such, the travails of boob-men are many. Denounced by the estrogenic body politic as lecherous and insensitive, those among the Y-Chromosome masses who find themselves inexorably drawn to a disproportionate female facade are often painted with the same broad brush stroke as public masturbators. Depicted as social pariahs –incapable of emoting beyond an awkward grope or an insincere motivation– men who are wired to erect at the sight of a significant mammalian cantilever have had to deny the nature of their genetic predisposition, and pretend that a woman possessing a sensationally superfluous stack is of no more carnal interest than a can of tuna fish.

But we all know that is bullshit.

For in a purely social setting, the American male is permitted by the gynecological elite to acknowledge a beautiful pair of eyes, but not a formidable pair of projectile intumescences. It is socially acceptable for a man to approach a woman and comment on the way the moonlight glistens off of her hair, but not suggest an equal affection for the pleasant aesthetics of her preposterously prolific pontoons. What makes eyes or hair a more compliment-friendly body part than her squeezies? Does this strike no other as hypocritical, when everyone involved in this perfidiously interactive fiasco is painfully aware that it takes every ounce of self restraint a boob aficionado can summon to maintain eye contact?

In a world committed to truth, and sexual equality, the conversation should go more like this:

“Excuse me, I couldn’t help but notice the gravity defying slope of that majestic rack you’re so proudly displaying via the textile limitations of your sweater. I’d like to buy you a drink, and if the evening progresses thusly, it is my sincerest wish to have my face buried therein sometime in the near future. Although I would not be so bold as to suggest a proper time-table, I do so find your copious silhouette extraordinarily attractive. And should you be so inclined to not view me as a less than suitable candidate for your affections due to my candor, and would have preferred that I pretend not to have noticed the gigantic jumblies jostling under that woefully inadequate –albeit extremely revealing– top your wearing, I’d truly appreciate it. You see, it’s not that gargantuan gazongas are the one and only qualification I’m seeking in a potential mate, however they are no less important than any other feature that one might find attractive in order to make initial contact. So if you’d rather acquiesce to the truth about the nature of my libido, as opposed to the pre-existing nonsense that says that I must pretend to not be who I am, well then what’ll ya have”????

Yet for some inexplicable reason, the over sensitive sexualizing of the female breast has become ground zero for striking back at years of patriarchal subjugation. It’s almost as if the gynic matriarchy has decided that “boobs as a no-ogle-zone” are proper retribution for centuries of male domination. Verboten mastoids as a means to strike back at men. And all it really accomplishes it to perpetuate the patriarchal, sexual double standard that most women hope to escape from in the first place.

But to make matters worse, women are often their own worst enemies where it concerns preserving the sexual double standard. Insofar as women “slut-shame” one another for having the audacity to indulge their sexual inclinations –as opposed to the bronze-age perception of chastity as a function of gender– many do the same with gals who posses overly endowed orbs. In what I can only assume to be sexual repression expressing itself as petty jealousy, a significant amount of women “boob-shame” their glandularly gifted sisters.

Even more hypocritical is when women make the distinction between nature and cosmetics. For when it comes to superficiality, it is only surgically enhanced spheroids that women denounce as something lewd. “Look at those fake tits on that bimbo, mine are natural” … as if one had to accomplish anything to grow them. Call me crazy, but I think that there is something to be said for a gal who plunks down a few grand and says “Gimme the big round ones from the top shelf.” As opposed to someone whose heredity makes them D-cup predisposed.

But still, boob shaming –especially where it concerns an augmented anterior– is all too common. Where it applies to cosmetic enhancements, the pseudo- feminist boob-hypocrisy is staggering. Is that perfume? or are we to believe that you actually smell like flowers blooming in Spring? Is that make-up? Or are we under the mistaken impression that your eyelids are naturally blue? Is that a perm? Or are we to believe that your hair began to curl on its own last week? Oh, and nice roots, Morticia.

So truth be told, I love tits. The bigger the better. In particular, I enjoy a globular pair of cartoon proportioned volleyballs acquired in an afternoon of cosmetic surgery. And although mams of extraordinary magnitude are neither a deal breaker, or a singular qualification for a woman to posses for me to be sexually attracted to them… it sure as hell helps. A great ass, and the cognitive ability to form a valid opinion are important too. But for an afternoon of frolic, the funbags’ll do.

Sorry, that’s what turns me on. I have no control over it. And if feminists don’t want to be viewed as “sexual objects”, well that’s just tough. We are all sexual beings. Perhaps we should stop telling one another what we are and are not allowed to find appealing. Maybe then the sexual double standard might begin to disappear.

The Wedding Scam

It seems that any time I log onto Facebook and read the engagement announcements in the right hand column of my news feed, I feel a cynical, albeit amusing sense of dread for the would-be newlyweds.

While the nation justifiably inches towards marriage equality, they have neglected to realize that while we are doing so, we should also be collectively vying for marital sanity. Especially where it concerns our wedding day. Because regardless of the amount of X or Y chromosomes that any two people taking the plunge together have, from soup to nuts, the institution requires a complete abandoning of one’s senses. I can only hope that when it comes to the “big day”, that same sex couples have more brains than their heterosexual counterparts.
There will never be another day when you are as financially taken advantage of –with the possible exception of your funeral– than your wedding day. If you’re really lucky, they will both happen on the same day. From the moment you decide to have one of these vapid, typically American “traditional” fiascoes with an obscenely self indulgent, can-you-top-this party immediately thereafter, you begin hemorrhaging money that you probably can’t afford like British Petroleum during the Gulf crisis.

It truly takes a psychosis to do what most Americans do leading up to, and including walking down the aisle. We all know that roughly half of everyone who endeavors matrimony, fails miserably. But subjectivity being what it is, people unknowingly suffer from a hormone induced dementia called “wedding fever”, and as they do so, they make complete fools out of themselves to everyone they know. Then, when it’s our turn, we do the same. It’s a complete cycle of lunacy. Almost without fail, young American future newlyweds fall under the mistaken impression that somehow their love is the stuff written about in story books, and which every chick flick is based.

Here’s a helpful hint to all of my younger readers…. It’s not.

The wedding dress itself is a monument to unreason. In a Walt Disney engendered psychosis which causes otherwise rational women to spend thousands of dollars (that she might want to put towards starting her family) so that she can play a one night performance as a fairy princess. Brides still dress in traditional white, as if we all aren’t painfully aware that even before she met the sap she’s marrying, she’d been legs up more times than a gymnast. I won’t even get into the stupidity of a grown woman who is not royalty wearing a tiara. chap5bridezillabw

These aren’t clothes we wear on our wedding day… they’re costumes. If not for tradition, we might as well be dressed as a Cowboy and a French Maid. And while we’re on the subject of ridiculous nuptial-wear, do you know what no woman in the history of weddings has ever said? “Oh I just loved my bridesmaid dress, it was soooo pretty.” Brides maids dresses are a punishment for all the petty backstabbing that women perpetrate on one another, and they only tolerate it because they hope to return the favor one day.

The penguin-wear that grooms have been conditioned to display is slightly less vacuous, but for only the fact that they are usually only rented, albeit as at obscene expense. While it may be nice to pretend to be James Bond in Monte Carlo –when insipidly tooling around with your band of dim-witted, testosterone rich band of groomsmen– while becoming inebriated in the back of your limousine — one look at the painted snow beast waddling up the aisle — praying that her spaghetti straps don’t burst since she was hoping to be ten pounds lighter before she crammed herself into this ridiculous expenditure — should snap you back into reality.

This all became a foregone conclusion once the stolid suitor made his futile attempt to impress the friends of his betrothed with an engagement ring that might as well have been purchased at a yard sale. No one who looks at it knows it’s value. They only “ooh and ah” because they pretend to. Americans spend thousands on diamonds, when they are truly worthless bits of indulgence, and which, for the average person is indistinguishable from any other piece of glass. We only engage in this idiocy because it’s expect of us, and because if we don’t, we’re afraid that people might think less of us. So we bribe our bride and hope that somehow this farce will translate into a lifetime of oral sex.

It almost never does. And when it happens, it has nothing to do with the ring.

But eventually the wedding is over, and the party begins. We pay big money to feed and entertain our friends and family so that they can hokey-pokey around a disco-ball lit dance floor and work off the eight roving appetizers and choice of prime rib or chicken cordon bleu. Thankfully the fog machine spares most young newlyweds from the horrors of what marriage has done to their glutinous, anxiety ridden wedding guests, and how their children have robbed them of their once youthful exuberance, and their sanity.

All of this is choreographed according to your caterer. Like Pavlov’s poodles, the newly-partnered soul mates marvel at the succession of unoriginal productions performed in their honor. From the tedium of watching your serving staff walk in a circle for the “champagne march” … to the less than fascinating self indulgence of the “Hi-Ho the Cherry-O” version of watching a grown woman cut a cake, and then mash it in the face of her new husband… to backwards flower tossing … it’s all nuts.

… And then we wake up the day after “Happily Ever After”… and we’re married. Walt Disney never mentioned what happens in the sixty years that follow. So maybe it might be a good idea to begin our marriages on a sane note. If you’re considering taking this step in your life, also consider that hopping in line with the other cliff-bound lemmings might not be in your best interest. The white dress, cake, and needless expenditure have NOTHING to do with a lifetime of love, respect, and interdependence. chap10romancecplbw

This is not about money. It’s about sanity.

Love cannot be expressed through needless expenditure. It’s time we forego the pomp, and come to this simple understanding… that we stop playing at love, and learn the difference between Hollywood romance, and what it really takes to be in a marriage that both loves, and endures.
Here’s a good start;