A little more “Femail”

Dear Samantha Brick,

We have a lot in common, you and I. But dwelling on it more, it’s a little embarrassing to admit.

I was browsing the Orange County Register website the other day, and a link that was a little out of the ordinary caught my eye: “How plastic surgeons would treat Samantha Brick,” posted by Marilyn Kalfus. Thinking to myself, “Who the hell is Samantha Brick?” I clicked the link. I was directed to a picture of you in a cute, simple purple dress and a plethora of statements from different plastic surgeons in my Californian neck of the woods, passing judgment on your outer beauty and describing what kind of makeover they would give you.

It was then that I saw your most popular article on the U.K.’s Daily Mail website: “‘There are downsides to looking this pretty’: Why women hate me for being beautiful.” The entirety of your article, as well as the 5,000+ comments it received was great for some LOLs, and made sitting through my boring PSYC 331 class very amusing.

Samantha Brick

You wrote about how you have been smothered with gifts from random male strangers. You wrote about how you have never been a bridesmaid at a girlfriend’s wedding. You wrote about how your boss made you to change into some drabby clothes in the workplace. You wrote about how all hell will apparently break loose if a woman catches her husband looking at you.

Essentially, Samantha, you wrote about the sole reason why so many women hate you: Because you’re one hot piece of ass. And this is where all the Internet rage comes in.

Now, in my personal opinion, I don’t think you’re attractive at all. At the furthest extent of my generosity, you’re average-looking. But do I expect you to give a damn? No. And should you? Hell no.

The comments from readers solely noting your physical appearances from the pictures you have posted, and the fact that the Orange County Register would go so far as to find out what plastic surgeons would do to you for an entertaining read have given me yet another reason to lose my faith in humanity.

If you honestly believe you’re beautiful, then you are one step ahead of so many other women who are easily put down by what other people think of their appearances. Kudos to you! Your haters can go jump off a bridge. ‘Cause if anything, that is the most attractive quality anyone can have—confidence. And we’re on the same level when it comes to rating confidence on the sexy scale.

The only problem is, you weren’t writing about confidence. You wrote about your looks, and how every woman who hates you is jealous of them.

“You’d think we women would applaud each other for taking pride in our appearances … Unfortunately women find nothing more annoying than someone else being the most attractive girl in a room,” you wrote.

This is ALL your article consists of. It mentions nothing about why confidence is sexy. It mentions nothing about what women can do to put confidence into practice. You used the Daily Mail as a medium to talk about you, you, you, and what you think women are thinking.

It sounds arrogant. It sounds conceited. And it’s making you uglier every time you come out and make a comment like, “While I’ve been shocked and hurt by the global condemnation, I have just this to say: My detractors have simply proved my point. Their level of anger only underlines that no one in this world is more reviled than a pretty woman.”

Anyone making a comment on your face or body should be ignored. But anyone pointing out how ridiculous you sound has a valid point. How can you really expect someone to accept you for who you are, when the only glimpse we’ve caught of you is when you’re having an outrageous case of self-absorption?

I do like a lot of your other articles, though:

How TV is run by sexist pigs who only want one thing (and it’s not ratings): The shocking inside account from a former TV executive

and the one you wrote a year later with a lot less bitching and a lot more flirting,

I use my sex appeal to get ahead at work… and so does ANY woman with any sense

But my favorites are about your relationship with, whom strikes me as a dick of a French husband, particularly Why my husband says he’ll divorce me if I get fat.

Oh, Samantha. Just shut up. How can you not see how deluded your thinking (or at least the way you write) is? You’re not doing yourself any favors.

I wish every woman on this planet owned whatever kind of mirror you use to look at yourself in every day. But remember, mirrors only show physical appearances and not one’s character, so I hope these women wouldn’t have the audacity to write about what those mirrors literally reveal. That’s now become your area of expertise, and I’m okay with leaving you to it.

Yours most sincerely,

Another Beautiful Journalist

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Today’s conservatives are tomorrow’s punching bags

Dear Carly,

While moderating online comments on Cal State Fullerton’s Daily Titan website, I read your response to Keith Fierro’s article, “A ‘Fluke’ in this situation,” regarding the Rush Limbaugh/Sandra Fluke incident, and I have to honestly say, I’m not sure what it is you think I should be ashamed of.

Throughout the course of a single semester, I have the, um, pleasure of reading opinion articles the print journalism capstone class, COMM 471 writes for the school newspaper. While some are decent, some tend to give me horrible migraines because writers don’t exactly know how to write an opinion piece.

An opinion is an argument, and as a writer it is your job to defend it. You boldly state your argument, and use credible facts and statistics to support your argument. You are free to do this in any way you so desire, but I tell my writers to keep in mind that while I require a minimum of one credible source, they can never have too many in their articles. It just makes it more difficult for readers to leave condescending comments disproving the argument.

I would have loved to see Fierro back up his implication that women who have sex do worse in school. Or explain further why it’s “intellectually dishonest to pretend this debate is about women using oral contraceptives to manage mild acne or treat polycystic ovary syndrome.” He did use credible sources regarding the price of contraception at D.C. Target pharmacies and how much Cal State Fullerton commuters spend on gas. But I wasn’t going to make any more suggestions if he’s not a fan of being edited.

His originial ingenius title, "Today's nymphomaniacs are tomorrow's independent women" was too long and lacked the humor he so badly desired.

So if his lack of proving that women who engage in sexual activities get lower grades than they should and could care less about the pill’s other health benefits is what makes him a shitty writer, then I will defend your opinion to the end, my dear.

But I wish people like Chris who claims Fierro has “Poor punctuation, badly constructed sentences,” and Jon who claims that Fierro’s grammar is not the best would defend their argument on those mere opinions. For one, it’s not a slap in the face to Fierro; it’s a slap in the face to my editing skills and that of the copy desk’s, who stay in the newsroom beyond midnight every production night trying to avoid grammar, punctuation, and writing style errors, and WE are the ones who need that kind of critiquing. That, and it just sounds like Chris and Jon want to come up with some intelligent response but have nothing constructive to say, so they resort to childish insults.

But there are a lot of childish antics going around between both parties, anyway.

Seriously, how old are we again?

As I care about the integrity of my staff writers, I was grateful that Fierro kindly demonstrated to them that although it takes a lot more effort to go and find credible sources to back up ALL the claims and implications they make, it’s worth it in the end. They should be counting their blessings, as they can go to bed without several people passing out brochures about them and harassing them via personal blog, Facebook and Twitter.

But I digress. Let’s get back to this “shame” that I should apparently have. I’m going to take a shot in the dark and assume you mean I should be ashamed that I allowed this article to go to print. Well, perhaps I would if the First Amendment wasn’t still in effect.

In America, we have the luxury of free speech, but many luxuries tend to come with a price. Ours is sometimes having to read and listen to things we don’t necessarily agree with. It’s unethical and extremely biased for us to only publish opinions we agree with.

As an editor, I don’t have an issue with that in the slightest. Would you imagine what the Daily Titan would be like if every single opinion article matched the exact same opinion of the entire Cal State University populace? No one would give a shit about my section! Who really wants to read about things they already know and similar opinions they already have? You wouldn’t need a reason to read the opinion section, and trust me, that’s the first place I want your eyes when you pick up a hard copy of the paper.

And for the record, just because I chose to run the “Fluke” piece doesn’t mean I’m supporting him and we’re best buddies now. If anything, publishing his article was a quiet way of actually feeding him to the lions.

Personally, I’ve only used oral contraceptive during intercourse once, and that was when a condom broke inside me. Because I am that paranoid about getting knocked up, I’m more than happy to take money out of my own pocket and buy some Trojans to use with the pill as well. I apparently don’t trust the pill enough to be comfortable with a man ejaculation inside me, but I am extremely satisfied with the health benefits I gained from it. My acne, which I was always self-conscious about and was a big blow to my self-esteem, finally went away. My periods are now either heavy and short, or light and long, but no longer long and heavy. Even if I never had sex again, I’d still be on this lifesaver.

So for a man who can’t even begin to fathom how the female body biologically operates to write an article, implying that I’m a whore and a liar about what I use the pill for—an article that I have to spend precious time editing and fact-checking—is a huge middle finger to my face. If my assistant and the copy desk editors felt the exact same way, it’s only common sense other women would, too. So forgive me if I wasn’t going to hesitate to put a rude, loudmouthed, pompous Republican’s name out there for all other women to see.

He's never getting laid, is he?

I can definitely agree with you on one thing though, Carly—you are absolutely correct that this isn’t journalism. Fierro’s not a journalist. He’s studying political science. I published his work as a freelancer; in case you didn’t know, that’s the difference between “Daily Titan” and “For the Daily Titan” in the bylines of the printed issues. Just a little fun fact for you. We try to leave the real objective reporting to those who have spent three to four years being taught to do a better job than that.

But while we’re on that subject, and correct me if I’m wrong, I thought people expected the truth from journalists. I could have lied by not publishing Fierro’s article and covering up the fact that people with his mindset other than Rush Limbaugh do exist out in the real world, and some of them are on our campus. Or I could have been the honest editor I’d expect you’d expect from me, and expose his opinion (and full name in the byline) that he willingly gave me.

Either way, I guess I’m just not pleasing anyone. Guess it’s time to go to Home Depot, buy some wood, build a bridge, and get over it, then. Shame is the last thing I’m feeling.

Yours most sincerely,

A Pink Pill-Poppin’ Prostitute

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My stance on religion

Dear Jennifer,

Thank you so much for providing such amusing feedback on my Duggar family opinion article, published in Cal State Fullerton’s The Daily Titan in November. My only disappointment is that you did not respond sooner than this weekend, so that we could have published your “letter to the editor” for 35,000 students to read.

While a printed publication of your letter certainly can’t compare to a measly little blog, I will do you the honor of posting your “letter to the editor” here, as I have also used Yours Most Sincerely, to post my article from The Daily Titan.

Good Morning,

I just read the article you posted about the Duggar Family called “Nineteen problems and they’re still counting…” dated November 15. 2011

While I understand everyone has the freedom to express their opinion on just about everything and everyone, I wonder if you despise them so much – why just not watch their show.  But then I guess you wouldn’t have anything to write about, would you?

God does give life & God does take it away, but it’s so much more than that.  You are missing the big picture.  Way off base on so many levels.

If what happened to Michelle Duggar during the pregnancy & subsequent early birth of Josie, happened to a 20 year old or even someone in their early 30’s would you dare to say they should stop having children?

What harm is the Duggar family doing to you personally?  Do they effect your everyday living?  If they do, you have some serious issues and you need to get on your knees and start talking to God.  God loves each of us & it’s a choice to walk with him or not.  If you choose the not – then it’s your own fate.

How are your finances?  Do you live within your own financial means?  How do you help in your community?  Do you go to far away countries on mission trips and help people?  Do you encourage young moms on how to cope when things get tough in the everyday living?

For a family that shares the word of God to millions of people in a quiet gentle way,  building relationships and helping people,  I would say we all should aspire to be more like them,  19 kids or not, whatever you & I can do to help build the kingdom of God up here on earth is what we are called to do.  IF you choose not to do this,  then that’s your own fate.  Between you & God,  and the day you die & and stand in the judgement seat for all you could have done and didn’t — then it’s a point of Heaven & Hell for you.  I pray that you will see the light and stop your horrible rant about people who are just living an everyday life and working for God.

Oh Jennifer, this just warms my sinful little heart. Instead of emailing me, you could have been busy nailing a crucifix above your bed or protesting a soldier’s funeral. But you chose to defend a family solely because you hold similar religious beliefs and were kind enough to warn me of where my own fate lies in the afterlife as of now. And yes, that is all very sweet and well-intentioned, but I feel like you should really get to know my stance on religion before you waste any more of your precious time praying that I “will see the light.”

I hate religion because it opens so many doors for evil to just walk in and destroy everything good and right in our imperfect world. It is has been the cause of war from the time the Bible was written to the present day. Think of the Crusades. Think of Hitler’s regime. Think of the 9/11 attacks. Even Iran and Israel are on the verge of a World War III, for crying out loud. When you look at Westboro Baptist Church and the Klu Klux Klan, it’s obvious that religion has also been the cause of unnecessary hatred.

I hate religion because God apparently had more important things to do than write his set of instructions himself. Instead, the Bible, the Torah and the Quran were all written by man. And because they were written by man, man took the liberty of interpreting them himself. That’s why God hates fags but accepts them as his children—they just can’t get married in the state of California. Man also clearly interprets that his own written word must be shared with the rest of the world, and true followers must aid in the conversion of every man, woman and child on this planet to “see the light” and follow such instructions to ensure a lifetime and afterlife-time of peace and happiness.

For centuries, man has been the one playing the role of God and dictating what is sinful and what isn’t, and believe me, Jennifer, I’d much rather be on my knees answering to God than to man.

But because theological religion is all about interpretation, I can respect those who see religion as a personal journey and something to give their dull, dreary lives meaning. If what you say is true, and the Duggars do give back to their community and go on missions to help others struggling in less-fortunate countries, then they certainly do fall under this category. (For the record, I’ve never seen a single episode of 19 Kids and Counting. Other top-notch priorities such as plucking my eyebrows and scraping gum off the bottom of my shoe keep me away from those kinds of reality shows.) It was their logic behind their family planning I had an issue with, not their faith itself.

Some people in this world can’t go through life without having faith in something. They need some hope to hold on to. They need something to better their lives and keep them going. And if religion is the answer, more power to them. I’m not jumping up and down in joy that Michelle had a miscarriage (though I’m not exactly surprised), but if her family’s sorrow is healed by their belief that they will one day be reunited in Heaven as a whole family, then they have my kudos. Likewise, if someone believes a tiny leprechaun living in their left nostril is compelling them to live life happier, kinder and with more respect for their fellow man, then all hail Lord and Savior Seamus McFlannigan O’Toole! I’m not going to rain on their parade and tell them they’re wrong, but the magical pink unicorn in my right eardrum can save their souls instead.

But the most amusing part about your letter was when you spoke of standing in the judgment seat (I guess sitting is a luxury only for the holy and righteous?), which would be a point of Heaven or Hell for me. These kind of statements lead me to theorize, and correct me if I’m wrong, that the biggest reason for following a specific religion is that you, as well as millions of others out there, are afraid and uncertain of what the afterlife will be like. Sunshiny and happy for all eternity? Or swimming around in a pool of fire for all eternity? After all, it’s better to believe in God and find out there isn’t one than to not believe in God and find out there is one, yes?

This is where you and I so drastically differ in our belief systems, Jennifer. Unlike you, I’m not afraid of what will happen after I die.

In fact, I think it’s a little disappointing when someone does unto others, donates all their money, goes to church every Sunday and shares God’s message with the whole world for the sake of a reward—the rest of eternity with their loving deity. What kind of message is that sending? What exactly is so wrong with doing good deeds and following the Golden Rule just for the sake of being a good person? That’s what I try to do.

Yes, I do live within my financial means, and when I have a little extra left over, I donate money to cancer research. I give the bum on the street corner a dollar, unsure if he’s really going to use it to buy food or crack. Yes, I have given back to my community by tutoring mentally disabled students in high school. Although work and college is more than demanding of my free time, I do what I can to still keep in touch and actually hang out with these kids instead of abandoning them after graduation. I don’t help young mothers cope because that is far beyond my area of expertise, but I offer anyone a shoulder to cry on, and an ear to listen. I don’t do this because I want to be in God’s good graces. I do this because I don’t need a Bible telling me what’s morally and ethically right; being the most intelligent species on this planet, I believe that’s something everyone deep down inside just knows.

And if I should die and find out there really is a God, and he’s still sending me to Hell because I didn’t confess with my heart and my tongue that Jesus was his son, then so be it. At least I would have made a difference on Earth, where my good deeds mattered most.

I understand that you don’t want me judging a family I don’t even know, even though they opened themselves up to public judgment by inviting a camera crew to document their private lives. But don’t be the nonsensical, hypocritical one and judge me, Jennifer. Don’t let your strong religious beliefs blind you to the abnormally large differences between faith and fact. There wasn’t a damn thing in my article I was way off base on.

Yours most sincerely,

A Christian School Pupil Of 10 Years

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Nineteen problems and counting

Dear Michelle Duggar,

Congratulations on being pregnant with your 20th child! Not only is TLC’s 19 Kids and Counting going to have to make a third name change to keep up with you and Jim Bob, but you also have to come up with a name starting with the letter “J” that your other 19 kids and husband don’t have already! What a conundrum, Michelle! But don’t worry, I have some good suggestions:

Jewel, Jacquelyn, Jared, Jeffrey, Julie, Jamison, Joan, June, Janette, Julian, Jasmine… hell, you can even catch the whole world off guard and give it a name like Jorge, Julio, or Juanita. What a twist!

Let me tell you, Mrs. Duggar—the alliteration is the only thing that’s cute about your situation. In all seriousness, you should be ashamed that you and your husband are putting your relationships with your entire family in jeopardy.

“I know that my mommy years are probably numbered and I don’t know how many more children God will see fit to give me,” you told RadarOnline.com last May. “We asked the Lord to give us a love of children the way he loves children. That is something that we’ve prayed about and we’ll just see what the Lord has in store for our family in the future.”

Do you realize how many things are wrong with this quote? I’m going to pick this fucking paragraph apart to make it easier for you to see the stupidity of your logic.

Your mommy years aren’t numbered, Michelle. You’re 45. Your mommy years are gone. That became blatantly obvious when you nearly lost your life giving birth to your last daughter. Your body is supposed to be reaching menopause, not preparing itself to pop out more children. If an emergency C-section wasn’t performed three and a half months early, you would have died.

You suffered from gall bladder complications and preeclampsia, where your blood pressure went through the roof and protein was found in your urine. Women who have suffered this in one pregnancy run a high risk of suffering it again in another pregnancy. On top of it, women who have had multiple pregnancies vaginally may have excessive bleeding when the uterus has difficulty contracting to its normal size, which can lead to an emergency hysterectomy. At your age, gestational diabetes is also a possibility.

If your reproductive system could talk, it would be screaming, “YOU ARE DONE, BITCH!” Why are you making the conscious decision to ignore it?

And for the record, if you have a greater education beyond middle school, you would know for a fact that God doesn’t give anyone children. He doesn’t give life. Mommy and Daddy do. The only thing God is responsible for is giving you the tools necessary for giving life. Jim Bob’s sperm planting a wiggling little flag in your egg was not an act of some higher deity—it’s a biological outcome. So leaving your family planning “in God’s hands” without a decent method of birth control that’s actually been proven to work is nothing short of moronic.

Yes, Jesus does love the little children of the world. Red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in his sight, states the politically incorrect song. And I would hope that as a parent, you would have a strong love of children too. But do you really?

My parents know more than my name, age, what school I’m attending and where my place of employment is. They know that I have a strong hatred for the color pink. They remember who my best friend’s friend’s cousin’s friend is, and the drama that went down between us a few weeks ago. They know I like having my bedroom door closed during the day and open at night. They know I’m deathly afraid of the little white roots that sprout out of potatoes.

They also remember a couple hundred more insignificant facts about me—facts that don’t matter to anyone else in the long run, but facts that are vital to how I go about my life day to day. Can you remember each individual child’s favorite sport? Favorite food? Celebrity crush? Michelle, can you recall each child’s health history off the top of your head? Because if you did, you would remember your daughter Josie’s health history.

She was born about fourteen weeks premature. She suffered from a bowel perforation and had to be admitted to the hospital at least twice because her vital signs failed. She was lucky that was all she suffered, but we still have to wait and see how her mental state of mind is once she begins schooling. Children born to mothers over the age of 40 have a 1-in-30 chance of being born with Down syndrome, or another chromosomal disorder. It’s hard to believe you weren’t made aware of this by a doctor at least a few years ago.

When you know full well that your future child’s health—and possibly its life—could be at risk simply because of the way your body is aging, but you decide to go ahead and put your uterus “in God’s hands” anyway, is that love? If you truly want to love a child the way God loves children, you’ll focus on the abnormally large family you already have and understand that the rest of your eggs are better left unfertilized.

Oh, and let me tell you what the Lord will have in store for you and your family if the worst should happen. Let’s pretend the same scenario with Josie happened all over again with this child—only this time, the doctors weren’t able to save your life, or Kid No. 20’s. Actually, he won’t have much in store, surprisingly.

God won’t put band-aids on cut knees. God won’t drive your kids to soccer practice or attend theatre productions. God won’t make home-cooked meals. God won’t read your kids bedtime stories. God won’t be helping with financial burdens. God won’t be sitting in the front row at your next child’s wedding. God won’t hold and kiss your children and tell them how much he loves them. God won’t be the mother your children need right here, right now. God isn’t responsible for these little simplicities that mean the world to your children. They’re not your eldest children’s responsibilities. They’re yours and Jim Bob’s, and he would have one hell of a time figuring that mess out all by himself.

I’m not one to criticize another’s religious beliefs. But when those beliefs interfere with sound logic, that’s when someone should have the balls to stand up and say, “Enough is enough.”

Here’s some sound logic for you, Mrs. Duggar: If you can afford to take care of 20 children, you and Jim Bob can afford to get him a vasectomy.

Yours most sincerely,

Sister Of One

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The wrong-of-way

Rainy afternoon drive to Los Angeles.

Dear Vermont Avenue Jaywalker,

Did you just give me the finger? Did you seriously have the audacity to turn around and cuss me out in sign language? I thought my eyes might have deceived me, because you had no reason to flip me off. But after consulting with my key witness, the driver, it has become apparent that you have just indeed flipped me the bird.

No no no no no, dear Jaywalker. It is I that should be flipping you off.

Yes, I understand that the driver of my car made a very reckless move by nearly running you over as you were crossing the street in the designated crosswalk that had the Red Hand of Death. Yes, I understand he may have been kind of a douche about it. But I can guarantee that I might have done the same thing had I been in the driver’s seat.

According to my favorite handbook by the California Department of Motor Vehicles that I briefly had to skim through in order to pass the written portion of my driving test five years ago:

21950. (a) The driver of a vehicle shall yield the right-of-way to a pedestrian crossing the roadway within any marked crosswalk or within any unmarked crosswalk at an intersection… (State law giveth you a decent reason to flip me off…)

(b) This section does not relieve a pedestrian from the duty of using due care for his or her safety. No pedestrian may suddenly leave a curb or other place of safety and walk or run into the path of a vehicle that is so close as to constitute an immediate hazard. No pedestrian may unnecessarily stop or delay traffic while in a marked or unmarked crosswalk. (State law taketh away from you a decent reason to flip me off.)

(c) The driver of a vehicle approaching a pedestrian within any marked or unmarked crosswalk shall exercise all due care and shall reduce the speed of the vehicle or take any other action relating to the operation of the vehicle as necessary to safeguard the safety of the pedestrian. (Which I probably could have done if you stepped out in front of my car 100 feet away, not 10 feet away. I don’t care if you decide to illegally jaywalk across the street, as long as it doesn’t force me to slam on my brakes to avoid hitting your dumb ass.)

(d) Subdivision (b) does not relieve a driver of a vehicle from the duty of exercising due care for the safety of any pedestrian within any marked crosswalk or within any unmarked crosswalk at an intersection. (Hence the reason my driver didn’t actually run you over.)

The sad fact of the matter is, that in California, pedestrians have the right-of-way. Is it because they cannot move as fast as a vehicle? Perhaps. Is it because they are more vulnerable than someone driving in a vehicle? Indeed. But Vermont Avenue Jaywalker, it’s people like you who abuse this power that make me wonder how easy it would be to get away with a hit-and-run.

After all, it’s much easier to control your body and say to yourself, “I’m going to press the crosswalk button and wait until I can safely and legally cross” than it is for me to control my vehicle already going 40 miles per hour.

Gray areas in the CDMV handbook would suggest that if you were to walk out in front of my car and get hit, I may still be held accountable, despite the fact you’ve grown up with Mommy telling you to look both ways before you cross any street. But these same gray areas may also suggest I’m not doing anything wrong by making it a point to drive unnecessarily close to you—not to harm you in any way; mainly just to make my point—when you interfere with my right-of-way.

The rules of the road go both ways, pal. When you’re illegally crossing a street at an intersection when you’re not supposed to, thinking that you own the road just because you’re on two feet, why should my brakes have to suffer for your stupidity?

Yours most sincerely,

Honda’s Biggest Fan

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From the litterbox

Francesca

Dear Charlotte,

We have developed such a good scratch-my-back-and-I’ll-scratch-yours system over the past 15 years; that being you scratch my back, including that little ticklish spot behind my ears, and if you so choose to cease, I’ll bite your hand as a friendly reminder that you’re not done. Even when you discipline me with a swat on the nose, I hope you’ll never forget that you’re the best personal warmer any cat can have, and I certainly do not take you for granted.

With that being said, let’s talk about this gift-giving nonsense that you humans are so accustomed to doing every year for someone’s birthday.

Now I know I’ve been a little forgetful when it comes to your special day, but as it was the big 21 last week, I thought I’d get you something you could treasure forever. It took me a good long while to find a break in my busy schedule, just so you know. But somewhere between my early afternoon nap and mid-afternoon nap, just before my hour-long grooming session, I went out and caught a lizard for you. Nothing too big or fancy, but I caught it myself, which, I honestly think is pretty damn thoughtful. As a lack of thumbs would prevent me from being able to dig through your wallet to pay some 50-year-old lady named Gladys to perfectly giftwrap the poor bastard for you, I thought leaving it in your shoe would suffice.

And what a surprise it was! I could tell by the nauseated look on your face that you had absolutely no idea that I had hidden your gift inside the shoe you quickly slipped on to go meet up with your other human friends. I felt very proud of myself.

What I was not expecting you to do was to dispose of it outside. I mean, WHAT THE HELL? When you spend your hard-earned money on little mouse toys laced with catnip for me, I don’t immediately throw them away. I do the polite thing and tell you I am neither pleased nor displeased, and just leave it there for the dog to eventually eat.

But I wanted to let you know that there are no hard feelings. I’m a proud feline indeed, but even I can admit my gift-giving skills are sub-par to that of your own dim-witted species. I hope one day you can forgive me for my transgressions, and allow me the honor of being able to make it up to you.

As you screamed to your mother about how you would never be wearing those shoes again, it’s safe to assume that you took offense to my presentation of the gift. I have learned from my mistakes, dear Charlotte, and you will be pleased to know that I left a hairball the size of a shot glass on top of your bed, completely exposed.

Please get back to me at my earliest convenience and let me know how else I can improve on making your day just that much better.

Yours most sincerely,

The Cat

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If you got it, don’t flaunt it

Dear Audrey,

If I were a man, I would bang the hell out of you.

But it’s not because I’m captivated by your intelligence. It’s not because I’m enchanted by your passions in life. It’s not because your motivation and drive to get anything you want brings me to my knees in utter admiration and astonishment.

It’s because you’re easy, and I’m looking for a quick fuck.

I’m not surprised that you’ve made goo-goo eyes at my friend Trevor on several occasions. Granted, if I were a man, I’m sure you wouldn’t be able to resist my six-pack, bulging arms, an impressive package and five o’clock shadow to add to my macho manliness. But it’s not in my nature to crush poor Trevor’s ego, so we’ll just say for all intents and purposes that he is indeed a very attractive young man with everything going for him, as far as personality, looks, and work ethics are concerned. He’s quite the catch, and I applaud your fine taste in men.

But sweetheart, he’s not interested in being your boyfriend.

He’s already told you this at least once before. I’m sure in relaying this painful truth to you he was firm, yet gentle, as my giant man-hands would be on your silky smooth hips. And baby, I say let it go. Shrug it off. Move on. If he can’t see into your heart and realize what a charming, fantastic young woman you are, then it’s his loss. You can do better.

But no, you’re not going to let him get away that easily, are you? Instead, the shirt will come off and the tits will come out via several SMS messages.

Don’t worry, babe, I have not seen these pictures. And if I were a man, I would be extremely disappointed to have not gotten a glimpse. But I’m sure they’re very nice. And Trevor is one lucky son of a bitch to have his very own picture or twenty of your rack that you took just for him on his smart phone for him to ogle at whenever he so pleases.

Although, there is just one little problem left, Audrey… HE’S STILL NOT INTERESTED IN BEING YOUR BOYFRIEND.

So now what are you going to do? Well, you can’t ask for the pictures back.

If Trevor was a pig, he could very well show them off to all his bros at the bar, whereupon they would all give him a manly pat on the back and buy him a round. If he was an asshole, he could very well demand you send more SMS messages to appease him, lest you want those pictures to surface on some random yet frequently accessed porn website.

If Trevor was a heartless dick, he could flatter you, make false promises, find his way into your pants, and never call you again once he’s had his fill.

The female body can be a very powerful and persuasive tool, Audrey. If all you were looking for was sex, keep right on doing what you’re doing. If you don’t care about the long-term consequences, send pictures of your breasts off to every guy in your contact list. You’re bound to get some action sooner or later.

But you know just as well as I do that you’ve definitely considered a relationship with Trevor—something much more personal and intimate than a one-night stand. You see him as a potential long-term mate, someone whom you can fully commit to. Unfortunately, that’s not what he saw in you.

You got rejected. Dude, I’ve been there! Everyone’s been there at one point or another. But when you persist by sending pictures of yourself naked, or even topless, the photo caption might as well say: “I have nothing else to offer.”

There’s a pretty good chance it may get a guy to have sex with you, but the chances that he’ll still respect you afterwards start slimming with every SMS he gets.

So you tell me, Audrey, is the sex worth the lack of respect?

This is an easy question, but I’ll give you a hint anyway: I’ve never had to show a guy my chest to make him want to have sex with and/or get involved in a committed relationship with me. He knows I’m not humping everything that moves because I made him work for it. And if he doesn’t want to work for it, then I know for a fact that I’m too good for him and he walks away with nothing.

If you get the answer wrong… call me, hot stuff.

Yours most sincerely,

A Woman Who Would Be A Disgusting Pig If She Were A Man

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