Hey Ladies, No Small Boobs or Explosive Orgasms!

Oh boy. I wish I was lying when I said that videos and images of female ejaculative orgasm and small breasts were being banned. I really wish. Really truly.

Unfortunately this is the kind of errant stupidity that our politics fosters. There is no scientific background to this. No logic either however I will explain the apparent reasoning.

According to the Board female ejaculation is just another form of urination and they detest golden showers like nothing else. Personally, watersports aren't my style, but if someone else wants to they're more than welcome to. What boggles me is how easily female ejaculation becomes a freakish, unclean thing (Noted as "abhorrent". I mean come on.) when male ejaculation is all fine and dandy. It's a scientifically noted occurrence.

I love the reasoning for the small breasts. Apparently they're too "childlike". It's too close to kiddie porn to be allowed on our Intarwebz.

Oh where to start with this crock of shit.

Women are already targeted for low self esteem. We're told we MUST be prettier, MUST be thinner, MUST be sexier. Now we're told again that ejaculation orgasms are freakish. I already know of people who have been hugely uncomfortable with themselves sexually because they've had bad reactions to how much they come.

Small breasts are much the same as angst over a small penis really. Are we going to ban all depictions of small penises because they're juvenile? Wait, I keep forgetting this is war against female sexual expression most of all at the moment.

Or we could all just go live in Victorian England.

I Am More Than Just A Great Arse, Thanks.

I was once strolling through town with a friend when he caught sight of his ex and decided to introduce us as "Great Arse" to "Great Tits." It's been quite a while since this happened but it still bothers me.

So I suppose the first lesson from this rant is "if you do something like that, it sticks in the memory." In fact my most distinct memory of the individual in question is this one despite some fun but ultimately it would seem mistaken bedroom antics.

The second would be that this isn't a joke. It's not funny, and in no way does it sound to the other people involved like a joke. His ex and I shared a moment of non-verbal communication that amounted to "This is why the break up?" "Yeah." "I know the feeling." We didn't laugh instead we were pissed off by such blatant and unabashed objectifying and to a degree embarrassed by our association with someone who would say that.

There's a school of thought which says we should be thankful for the compliment and enjoy the fact that he appreciated the fine aesthetic of these particular parts of our respective bodies. I disagree. If he wanted to compliment my posterior he could have, and did, do it privately. The statement he made in introducing me in this manner was not "I think this part of you is attractive." but rather "This is your best, and indeed foremost mention-worthy feature. Name? Personality? Subculture? Nah. Backside, baby." It's the same indication as he made to his ex. I suspect they didn't have a particularly fulfilling relationship.

Many men undoubtedly feel that I should be complimented by attention I get from them. If they're strangers or people who aren't close friends or my partner at the time I really don't. It just makes me feel like they think I'm there for their gratification. In my experience the road from that to being just there for physical gratification and experimentation is very short and rather destructive.

Thanks, but no. I'd much prefer to be complimented on how well I express my anger about these fucking idiotic attitudes and the kind of damage they cause.

"Real Women"

Ever heard the phrase "Real women are..." or something similar? I can't stand it. Those three words smack of so many problems faced in the Bitch battles of today. If we're trying to escape from traditional definitions of gender why the fuck are we in such a rush to re-define the restrictions? It's like enforcing gun control with an M16.

"Real women have curves" gives me particular problems. I know a lot of fat women. I am one myself. That doesn't make me any more or less a woman than say, a friend who is thin by benefit of that wonderful 75% genetic influence on ones weight. It just makes me fat. Real women don't give a shit about their weight. Other real women do. Real women are also trapped in the feeling that they absolutely must care about their image because that's the only way that they're going to land a man.

"Real women are intelligent." Nah, not all of us all the time. Not even close. And y'know what? It's not our place nor right to expect that everyone have a high IQ. We can have certain expectations of everyone as people but if we apply the logic to men and expect them all to be intelligent we'll be falling over ourselves with angst and disappointment. It works two ways.

"Real women don't have 12E breasts (32E US)" Really? I've met a few. They're also really intelligent and have curves.

Real women are mothers. Real women hate children. Real women simply couldn't care less either way. We are tall, short and in the middle. We have PhDs and are still in highschool, or have dropped out of highschool, or were home schooled, or never got the chance to go to highschool because we had the wrong downstairs equipment. We are bleach blond and all shades of the rainbow right up to black. We have pimples. We wear make up, or don't wear make up. We fart. We sweat. We wash as often as we can or hardly at all. We write. We type. We do complex mathematics because it's our first love alongside food. We love our 'sisters' and hate them and in the end, whether we like it or not we are all real women. The super models to the physicists to the feminists and the bull dykes.

We also need to grow the fuck up and get on with life without telling each other what to be.

Boobs, Games and Mr Laurie Croft

I've published a 500 word Op/Ed over at It's Nothing Serious. Got bored and started writing then BAM! Anyway, do have a look here, and enjoy. I've written some other stories for the blog, faux-news and the like. Feel free to browse.

So, ever wanted to be a Hot Woman (tm)?

Sometimes, forums throw up genuinely interesting questions.

To be honest I suspect I'd hate being a Hot Woman (tm). Sure it has perks such as people buying you drinks but there are huge disadvantages.

First off, being an attractive woman seems to give off the idea that ones body becomes a feel-up free for all whether one wants it or not. Big boobs are apparently public property. That presumption continues to the idea that if one is attractive, one is easy. If one isn't easy that it's this incredible weight upon the people one rejects because they can't be attractive. You don't want to make men feel insecure right you heartless bitch? Gotta fuck 'em all.

Second point. People assume that being attractive negates any other worth or capacity. We are encouraged to work on our looks because if we do we don't need to be smart, or hard working. Think of the term "gold digger".

Women are also taught to hate each other. I wish I was joking. If someone is attractive whether they spend hours working on it or not we are in competition with them for the best guys. We're told to be jealous of the way a attractive woman can hold herself in company, the attention she gets because those are the only things which (apparently) show worth in a woman.

Lastly, even if one is an attractive woman, one still gets lumped with all the double standards and bullshit which come associated with being Damned Whores or God's Police. If an attractive woman refuses to be promiscuous she's a prude and shunned. If she is promiscuous she's a slut. If she tries to find a happy medium she's both depending on who asks. How does one escape this? Why, one finds a Man to date exclusively and puts up with all the other women talking behind her back in jealousy.

This isn't the case for all women, not even close. It's the undertones and undercurrent of social interaction, media and the like. I know a lot of women who have very close female friends. Hell, my core group of friends is three women and an androgynous person. We don't snipe at each other for all we're encouraged to. Might be the drastically different tastes which are involved.

Being female doesn't stop us from talking about sex and football. We drink beer. We fart. We get angry and punch shit. Not all of us do (well, except for farting), but nor do all men do those things either. The sex of an individual is determined by genetics, not habits.

Bit Of Prose

So I read somewhere that a BNP ex-minister said that rape was like force-feeding a woman chocolate cake. Here's my response to that. Fair warning, the following is graphic.

Mango sorbet is wonderful. Or it used to be. I haven't had it in a while. Used to take great pleasure in sharing a cone, or a bowl, with my boyfriend. After we broke up I spent a few evenings eating sorbet with people I knew as acquaintances. It still tasted great, even though the atmosphere was different. Still melted on my tongue and made me coo with pleasure.

Then one night at a party I slipped up. Someone offered me lime sorbet and I turned it down. It's not as good, you see. Not to me anyway. I only said I didn't like lime flavour so I should have been clearer.

I wish I'd been clearer.

A few drinks later I woke up in a room with the Icecream Man and a few of his friends. I can't count how many. One had a scoop out and was smearing mango sorbet over my mouth. The cold made my teeth ache, my brain ache. It wrapped around me like a wet blanket and constricted. They were all so big standing around the bed. I couldn't talk because my lips were frozen. I couldn't tell them I was scared, that it hurt my teeth because it was so cold. Frozen.

One shoved a cone of sorbet into my mouth. It splintered, sharp little edges biting into my gums to make me bleed. He wouldn't stop. I choked on it as the scratches oozed blood. Oh god, oh god. My eyes stung with tears as I fought to breathe past my icy windpipe. It felt like I'd inhaled a whole scoop of sorbet which clung to the inside of my lungs. So cold.

My lips split, one gouged by a further shove of the cone when it was struck by a metal scoop. And struck again as they packed more sorbet into me. I couldn't taste the mango through the blood any more.

The Icecream Man and his friends took turns to force more sorbet into me. It was all I could do to swallow rather than choke. I just wanted them to empty the tub and be done.

I vomited most of it up afterwards, cones, blood and all. I was so ashamed. Why didn't I just say no? Scream it? Fight?

The next day saw me go through an entire tube of toothpaste and half a bottle of mouthwash. It hurt, but it helped. Somewhat. I could still taste the residue no matter how much I scrubbed or garbled and spat. It clung to my teeth like glue, and it felt like my whole head was on fire. It wouldn't go away.

Two years on and I can't stomach mango sorbet. My chest goes tight every time I smell it, or see someone eating it. Please don't feed me again.

An Epiphany

It's a very strange feeling when one realises what one wishes to do as a job. Even as a calling if you so wish to call it that. I suppose there'd better be a bit of background before the event.

If you read this blog you'll know I'm a feminist. I don't think I could hide that with a fuckton of paint and brain implants. I'm not sure how many of you know my background in science but it's rather strong thanks to parents and family culture. And school, really.

The two fields have been drawing ever closer in my mind of late with some very nasty occurrences to friends which made me wish to rend a dickhead or two open and possibly brand "rapist" into a forehead but that's not my story to tell. Feminist readings around Teh Intarwebz have continued the trend including a lot of background research into rape, women's issues and most importantly abortion.

Thus we come to the point. I've decided that I wish to be an abortion doctor, whether in Australia or overseas. It's something that I feel I can do to really make a difference. I'll be going for post-grad Ob/Gyn training because nothing short of a fucking miracle would get me the marks to go into undergrad med school. And then there's the wondrous issue of cost but that's a rant for another time, sadly.

I can see this decision coming up against a lot of resistance in my family. Catholic parents aren't usually positive about this kind of thing and my mother is definitely not a fan. However, screw them for a lark in the face of my Feminist Drive. Other factors which may try to go against me are friends and acquaintances who don't agree with the practice. Not surprisingly, I have few of those. At present there's also the tragic risk of getting shot or blown up but I suspect that's more in the US.

Perhaps in the future I will be able to save a few of you readers, or your sisters, cousins, aunts, friends etc from all the horror and pain of unwanted pregnancy. The pro-lifers can go stick their heads in lead paint.

Ohhh! The Muscles! An examination of the MAN in games.

In this day and age I can barely move for comments on the sexualising of women in games. I would say a lot of questions wind up being asked of me on the topic only because of my gender. Of late, however, I've decided to take a step back and examine things from a slightly different perspective.

As a woman I face bombardment from media about how to portray myself. I should be skinny. I should have a big chest. Woo for me! My male friends get the same treatment too. According to the media they should be built like fighters. Indeed, many of them are more paranoid about their appearance than I ever have been. How often to you hear about men hitting the gym obsessively because they must (MUST!!!) be able to lift that extra pound? In fact, eating disorders are on the rise amongst the male population as well.

It's okay, guys. I know your pain.

Time and again I hear people pointing the finger of accusation at games such as Tomb Raider. In all fairness it is far less practical to run around scantily dressed and with enormous cleavage than it is to be a CS avatars type of character, but the pressure remains the same. I can't imagine that gamers who fit stereotypes of our kind don't look at Solid Snake with some envy. After all, who doesn't want to be built like that, 'rugged' of face and 'badass' of nature?

While it's very easy to poke at action games and FPS for this, others are guilty of it as well. I'm going to take Final Fantasy as a prime example here. The male characters in that game display physical prowess and tone, especially when this latest generation of graphics allows it. One of the few games I've seen when you can even come close to some of the 'less derisible' physical structure as a male is Fable, and even then, you can quickly return to your 'prime'. I would say that even Gordon Freemon gives pressure for a certain body shape, for all he wears glasses (Ooohhh.. rebel!)

Clothing is another point picked on by those who see Lara Croft as the Devil. I would say for this that the tight clothing worn by some male characters to best show off their smuggled cantaloupe melons is just as sexualising as the cut-away outfits of the women. It's all a matter of degree. However it's somewhat more difficult to find mods which would allow JC Denton to run around in his underwear than it would be to find the same for Alyx Vance. A matter of target audience, I believe.

I digress.

The fact remains that the pressure is there. Both in the games as stated above, and in the media around us. To quote Fight Club "Is that what a real man looks like?" I think there's more to the uh.. 'not so fair' sex than that. Just like there's more to women than cleavage and miniskirts.

Yes, I am a "Fucking Feminist"

There is nothing more infuriating about "modern liberated" women than the belief that 'feminist' is a dirty word. The stigma itself is remarkable in construction, insidious of intent and fucking stupid for anyone, female or not, to go along with.

The immediate connotation of 'feminist' to these twits is on of a man-hating batshit insane bull dyke, spewing bile about how all housewives are complacent and a detriment to women. This image is intensely repulsive and so the word becomes something to be avoided like the plague. Did I mention it's also stupid? I probably should have.

Feminism is as broad a term as 'video game'. It comes in many different styles, with many different ideas attached. Exactly which ideas one adheres to depends on ones moral and ethical beliefs. My feminism is based on individual equality. It is bound to concepts of social freedom, cultural awareness and a loathing of hate crime. My feminism encompasses the queer rights struggle, racial equality, demographic equality, and a stringent desire to extend a middle digit towards the rigid class structure present in western culture.

Yet, because of the title, it's somehow dirty. Grow up for fuck's sake.

This comes back to media portrayal, fear, and cultural isolation. If you want drama you don't go for the easy-to-empathise-with feminists who want people to get along and generally be mature and intelligent. Far better to pander to fear and ratings by going for the more obnoxious stereotype-come-folk-devil icon which dominates the above mindset. People are outright scared of that kind of thing. Ohhh.. watch out for the scary woman with the crew cut. She's clearly going to eat your children and rip apart your house plants. Idiots.

It does damage to women everywhere for this stigma to be perpetuated. Once it becomes a blanket image for the entire feminist movement any worth while message is lost amongst the screams of the terrified sheep. Add to this the continuation of sex segregation and gender roles and you've got a winning formula for fuck all improving.

What's as bad is the idea that only women can be feminists. The historic dominance of women in this movement is for obvious reasons but the day you have to be a woman to get along with the cause is the day I have to be a bull dyke to be entirely behind the concept of queer rights. It doesn't work like that. The only logical reason not to be a feminist is if you really hate the idea of people being treated with a single base standard regardless of their sex.

Of course, I also have a problem with that particular idea coming from either side of the debate. Just because women have historically had less power does not mean that no one with a penis should ever be allowed to possess it in the place of a woman. The sins of the father are not the sins of the son and labelling people with said sin is just a way to stir up more resistance.

Wake up and smell the smoke ladies, gentlemen, and those undecided. I could go on to spew forth statistics about rape and employment but I'm sure you've all heard it before. I'm just asking that people open their eyes for once and look beyond their assumptions based on the word. You can keep whatever lifestyle you want, I don't give a shit, but it's no reason for anyone to hamstring the attempts of a movement like feminism.

Mosh To This

I love mosh pits. Truly, some of the best times of my life have been contained within them. Unfortunate to admit that some of the less pleasant ones as well. It depends more upon the crowd than the band (This might have something to do with my refusal to go to bands I dislike. Maybe.) and such a thing can make-or-break the fun for everyone involved. Of course, I've also observed some mosh pits which I avoided and they'll get due slogging here as well.


So here's a run-down on some of my experiences and what not to do when in a mosh pit.


Rage Against The Machine: Big Day Out 2008 or Don't Be A Cancerous, Sexist Prick


I like RATM. They're a fun band for listening and parties for all the music becomes rather samey after a while. In this case I was there for the band and hoping that maybe, just maybe, my low expectations for the mosh pit would be some way surpassed. The Anti-flag pit earlier in the day had been a lot of fun. Just a bunch of people hurling themselves around in a Circle.


Rage, unfortunately, was different.


By the time that the band made it to stage (Silverchair had previously been booed off to much personal appreciation.) it was late in the evening and all the alcohol consumed by various people throughout the day was starting to show. A few had even lit up joints in the pit to get the spirit flowing. Bad mark on the record number one. Don't do this, please. Smoking in pits is just asking for greater difficulty when people wish to breathe. Lung cancer does not mix well with tight spaces and sweaty, stinking bodies. I tried to ignored it, moving a little bit away from these people and finding myself a few rows forward. of where I had been. That's where the trouble started.


It's a terminally bad move to say "What's a chick doin' in here?" around female metal heads. Even worse is the dick move of "You're female, you can't take the pressure. Here, let me help you out of the danger zone with my hand on your arse for good measure." That kind of attitude will get people hurt. In this case it got the guy in question's face mashed with a solid fist. Alas that the impression didn't last, as within a little while the very same group were chanting "tits are for the boys" at two women who were lifted above the pit on their friends' shoulders. If these girls hadn't succumb to the pressure and flashed the crowd. It would have been so much better for all involved. These stupid women do nothing to help stem the flow of men who think we're naught but tits and arse. They deserve to be smacked around as much as the people who were screaming "show us ya tits, you slut!"


This is the crux of many problems for shows such as Big Day Out. Too many drunk people with idiotic approaches to others often ends with self-righteous chauvinism and the general annoyance of anyone like me in the vicinity. Not smart, oh drunken yobbo masses.


Rock Eisteddfod: 2008 Rehersal Day "Mosh Pit" or Teeny Boppers Shouldn't Mosh


I wasn't involved in this pit, I observed with an expression of arrogant, metalhead disgust from the back of the hall alongside others from my Backstage crew.


What was going on below was laughable. Highschool students bopping up and down to the beat of some mainstream shit with a woman singing about how she's so very attractive and deserves all the attention in the world. My ears were next to bleeding with the sheer sound of filth, and the screaming, girly masses were no help. There is no way you could call that moshing. It was nothing short of a competition to see which teenybopper could shake her tail the most for the closest guy. Boy did they love it too. Ugh.


Shoot the teenyboppers. Save us all a headache and turn off that fucking music.


Opeth: 2008 Big Top or Don't Drink In Pits, You Twit


I was front-and-centre barrier for this pit before I got a rib cracked. What annoyed me about it was the beer which some idiot spilt down my leg about half way through the first song. The rest of it was spectacular with an awesome band and a great pit (despite the injury) but seriously guys. Don't bring fucking sticky alcoholic drinks into mosh pits. The guys at the front have water bottles for those they can reach.


Alcohol and mosh pits don't mix anyway in my view. You're better off being sober so you can get yourself smashed around and still know when to get out. Spilling drinks down my leg is a good way to get smacked.




It's funny when I look back upon these and remember the adrenal rush at the time. The Rage pit was huge, hence it's intensity. Just served to make me angrier when there were stupid people around.