just an ordinary goddess…

Update: please see the comments for a few excellent points by my friend Eric, a damned good lawyer who does credit to his profession. I may not agree with him on all points, but I respect his point of view. There’s a reason why he’s the subject of mucho internet lust by the UCF Trollops.

So, this morning I’m checking my referral logs and I find a referral that gets my blood boiling.

The referral is from Google. The search term: “how can a drunk driver get off on a technicality.” The searcher was directed to my “white-hot hate” category, wherein my post about P*r*s H*lt*n’s sentence for drunk driving is located. So he or she no doubt read – or at least saw – that entry.

I’m including the actual search term used because I am hoping that Mr./Ms. Cox Communications in Newport Beach, California finds this specific entry and sees him/herself referenced.

Mr./Ms. Cox Communications in Newport Beach, California? You are an asshole.

You dare to drive drunk, endangering others (you’re obviously so stupid I don’t care if you endanger yourself – the gene pool would be well-rid of you) and you have the temerity to try to get off on a technicality? Fuck you, asshole. Not only do I hope you not “get off on a technicality,” I hope your sorry drunk ass is thrown in jail.

I’ve had a sister killed by a drunk driver. I know how it can tear a family apart. And I have no sympathy for anyone who has been drinking enough to set off a breathalyzer and then is stupid and uncaring enough to get behind the wheel and drive. You’re fucking lucky I don’t try to hunt you down and shame the fuck out of you to all of your neighbors, find some way to make sure you land in jail. There are ways. I know people.

But I won’t do that. Because it is illegal. Because I don’t believe in breaking the law. Unlike you, you waste of skin. And, unlike you, my fantasy of breaking the law wouldn’t endanger anyone.

So if you do come across this entry and see yourself in it – be a man. Be a woman. Be an adult. Be a fucking human being, for G-d’s sake, and turn yourself in. Get help. You obviously need it.

Is homophobia associated with homosexual arousal?

Both groups exhibited increases in penile circumference to the heterosexual and female homosexual videos. Only the homophobic men showed an increase in penile erection to male homosexual stimuli. The groups did not differ in aggression. Homophobia is apparently associated with homosexual arousal that the homophobic individual is either unaware of or denies.

Well, now we’s got science to back up our previous suppositions.

Problem is, many of the folks who could benefit from this knowledge generally deny that science has any validity, so I don’t know that letting a homophobe know that well, maybe there’s some serious denial going on is going to do any good.

(Tip o’ the hat to Brian.)

I hate the celebrity society in which we live. Hate how the deaths in Iraq and Darfur and Afghanistan are less important than the Alec Baldwin tape. I despise it with a white-hot passion.

But I feel I have to respond to this whol P*r*s H*lt*n crap happening. I feel I have to respond to her cries of, “I feel that I was treated unfairly and that the sentence is both cruel and unwarranted. I don’t deserve this.”

Fuck you, cunt.

Forty-five days is not cruel. It is certainly not unwarranted. If you were anyone else, you would have been in jail for at least a year, and deservedly so.

You drove drunk. You could have killed yourself. You could have killed another human being. Then you were stupid enough to drive on a suspended license. Consider yourself lucky that no one died and that I wasn’t your judge, because you can bet you’d get the maximum amount of jail time available.

I hope that, while in jail (and you had damned well better go to jail and not get off on a technicality), you are forced to talk to people who have lost loved ones to drunk drivers. I’ll gladly step up to the plate for that one. I’ll watch you squirm as I tell you about how, thirty-four years ago last week, my brother watched my sister get hit by a drunk driver as she crossed a street. How he saw her dragged under the car wheels for several yards. How my mother, when she had to identify her oldest child’s body, wasn’t allowed to hug her one last time because, as the police told her later, her daughter’s scalp had been torn off and was only sitting on the top of her skull. How the driver got off with a slap on the hand when she should have been locked up for man-slaughter for killing a ten year old girl and shattering a family whose members still have scars from that day and always will.

On Saturday I told some friends, when the subject of drinking and driving came up, that I am a stone cold bitch when it comes to this subject. I will always be a stone cold bitch in regards to drinking and driving. I make no apologies for that, nor will I ever.

Suck it up, P*r*s. Do the time. Be human. For once.

Christopher Hitchens is an ass.

I know this comes as no surprise to a number of y’all, but this time he has truly surpassed himself. Why? Because in the January 2007 Vanity Fair he deigns to explain to us, “Why Women Aren’t Funny.“

Granted, the name of the column is, “Provocation.” It is expected that what is written there is likely to raise more than a few hackles.

But this bilge? Please, girlfriend.

It’s not just that the premise from which Hitchens works is a faulty and patently disprovable one: in Hitchens’ world, while he admits there are many witty women, he goes on to imply that witty and funny are not related to one another. Which begs the question: why do both make people laugh?

It’s also that the “logic” which he uses is tenuous at best and laughable (hee?) at worst. It took me three tries to slog through the piece of crap he tries to pass off as insight into womens’ humor centers. I still don’t understand it. I think my brain automatically shuts off when presented with faulty “logic,” in an effort keep me from going all Nomad and self-destructing.

Hitchens can bite my shiny white ass.

(Hey, it ain’t exactly wit, but he don’t deserve my wit.)