http://cannonfire.blogspot.com/
There’s a myth that politicians take the women’s vote for granted, and just give us whatever they want us to have, even if they have to shove it down our throats like a date rapists’ 12 inch penis after a Rohypnol-laced Sex On The Beach cocktail. While the second part is undeniably true, the first couldn’t be further from it. Neither political party takes our votes for granted, they fight each other tooth and nail for them. They just know that all they have to do is play us like babes to get them, so, that’s just what they do, and we let them get away with it, giggling like school girls when the Big Man on Campus du Jour, with his movie star looks, and rock star status, flashes his megawatt smile at us over his date’s head, gives us the high sign behind her back, and whispers, “be right witcha, babe” with his impossible-to-master arched eyebrow wink. Even though we know he’s fulla shit, because we saw him make the exact same moves with every other woman in the room, at the 
door, and every other place he passed on his Magic Red Carpet behind the Velvet Rope, from the flashy car to his current location, we convince ourselves that the Masked Superman of Our Dreams is our very own personal Hunka Hunka Burning Love, and is just playing all those other girls for the foolish tramps they are.
From John Kennedy’s ruggedly handsome, windblown hair, perfect teeth and fake athleticism, to Ronnie Raygun’s real aging movie star scripted cowboy charm, to Bill Clinton’s twinkling eyes, boyish smile and oozing he-man virility, to Georgie Bush’s endearingly bungling flyboy-who-wasn’t lopsided grin, to today’s milk chocolate Denzel Does Dumbo playing Gable-eared Prince Charming as a mild-mannered Mandingo, women have been voting for promises they haven’t heard over the thumping of their fluttering hearts, or seen for the stars in their eyes.
Wake the fuck up.
They’re all lying scum who want to get in your pants and stick you with a kid you hadn’t planned on while they do your sister before whoever’s next on their neighborhood list. You’re a notch on a bedpost, or, if you’re “special,” a starred name in a little black book to be called if he’s ever in town again, or his horny loser friend needs a date. And, though I’m sure the pretty sounding 
Cyrano-scripted words sound sweet and the thigh strokin’ feels real good as you get lost in his smoky bedroom eyes while he’s banging your ass against the dashboard of a borrowed car, or your head against the headboard in a rented room, it ain’t a ring, or a commitment, which would be worthless anyway, even if by some miracle he gave you one.
Stop gettin’ it twisted.
If there was ever any doubt that what I’m saying is true, the latest developments in the patriarchal date rape game that’s all the rage, Hyde The Balls, where they chip a little more of your freedom away and sheepishly shrug their shoulders as they blame a chick for making them do it, should have jarred you awake and out of bed into last night’s crumpled clothing with a quickness.
Unfortunately, some women still seem to think he’s actually gonna call them before he leaves town, he really is, he promised after all, and, besides, it’s his wife’s fault, or the kids’, ‘cuz, he’s so busy, and important, and anyway, he really loves me, me, me, right?
Doesn’t he?
No.
He doesn’t even know your name, sweetie. He’s got a lot of problems, at least 99, but a bitch like you ain’t none of ‘em. You’re not special; you’re just warm and wet. And one of many. That’s why he needs you. All salesman need clients, even when they’re selling snow.
He has a secret, too. He’s terrified of you. Terrified you’ll either see through him and turn him down, or, you’ll succumb, only to be disappointed. Both are nightmare scenarios that keep him and his buddies awake at night, worried for themselves and each other; (what if she says “no?” ugly dyke like that) no matter what you look like or what your sexual orientation may be. For him, and them, failure is not an option, conquest is his job, it’s what he does, why he was sent. The thought that you might tell your friends he’s not all that, or worse, that he’s a horrible lover with a penis no bigger than your clit, whose tongue technique made you long to be French kissed by a zucchini-wielding star of a Geico commercial, is enough to make him leap up in bed, no matter whose it is, wide-eyed and crazed, hair sticking up all over his head like he sucked down a bucket of electrified mousse, screaming in terror like a 9 year old girl after being locked in a closet and forced to watch “Psycho” alone for the first time by sadistically abusive parents. Heaven forbid you telephone, telegraph, tele-woman that he couldn’t make his little soldier salute at all, that could send him postal. He cannot countenance such a thought, you must love him, or he and his buddies will stand under the street light in front of your house, hands on crotches, catcalling insults about your morals loud enough for your neighbors to hear. If that doesn’t shame you into submission, Homey and the Boyz will try to accomplish that mission by force. However, if confronted by the reality of you and your sisters and friends, wide awake and locked and loaded, along with a couple of boyfriends, old and new, the brother you love to hang with when his six and a half foot bearded biker friend does drag, plus a few snarling dogs and spitting cats when they break in in the middle of the night, he’s likely to burst into tears immediately before soiling his tiger-print thong.
Not only is he a wimp and a liar, though, he’s just short of a crook, (rape doesn’t count) and can easily cross over the line in a strong wind. So when he gives especially daring conquests a small token of his “affection” before darting out the back door just ahead of her clueless husband coming in the front, he expects it back, and expects a smart girl like you to know the score. If said trinket is not returned post haste, in whole or installments, Mr. Lover Lover is not above recruiting his buds for a little second story strong arm with a gratuitous quickie love train and slapfest at gunpoint, in order to smooth his ruffled feathers and facilitate the gang of thieves’ return of pilfered doodad to its rightful owner before it is discovered missing as well as teach the chick so stupid as to believe him who’s boss.
But the bottom line is, he needs you. He and his Sharks are in a constant conquest contest with the Crosstown Jets and he’s desperate to win, so he can stay Leader. If the chicks flip to the other side, or horrors, close up shop, leave town, or import new players, they’re all screwed.
Therefore, he will stand with his worst enemy to protect his “right” to continue to use and abuse women. Thus, guys who insist upon being able to keep medical decisions in the hand of patients and their doctors will see no irony in goading the other team to deny that right and privilege to what both perceive to be their common pool of available mates. Nor will the goaded guys in the other side (wink, wink) even contemplate standing with their mothers, daughters, current and potential wives and lovers against such infringement. Similarly, those who engineer bailouts of corporations will see no contradiction in saying government intervention in the healthcare industry for the good of citizens and their families will be the downfall of the Republic, and having their co-conspirators on the other side go along on the downlow. No, they will all lie, “sorry babe/Mom/snookums, I’m doing it all for (over? to?) you.”
And, the Bamboozled Enablers of the Bambi Brigade will fall all over themselves elbowing and shoving each other aside for the right to stand in the shadows created by the light of his killer smile, bat their eyelashes, and swallow. Like always.
Wake up.
Say “no!”
And all non-activist women who, like me, don’t call themselves feminists, but are, and will continue to be, courted, abused and negatively affected by the Alpha Males head butting in their ongoing battle for the right to mate and claim their wager’s pot, read here about “the Family,” and their influence, and here, here, and here about the Hyde Amendment, the precursor to Stupak/Pitts, here about abortion funding, and here, here, here, here, here, and here about some of the religious folks trying to influence the all-around debate.
And, just for shitzengiggles, read here how your current Matinee Idol 
colluded with the Breck Boy to pimp the system and stack the deck against “the girl,” and how everybody’s still making excuses for him.
Then, take a trip around the Pumasphere to Wired Left, The Confluence, Not Your Sweetie, and PUMA Pac, to name a few on my blogroll, and read at least 3 or 4 of the posts at each from women and men who don’t tend to agree with each other about what and how things should be done, but do tend to agree that it’s gotta be something.
When you’re done with all that, read this and decide if you want to follow this guy’s advice, or heed the call to arms, and if you might wanna try it this way, this way, this way, or that.
I’m awake, I am mad and it’s posts like these that keep me sane.
This kinda makes the point, doesn’t it?
Off topic of getting sick and spectacle. I was at a rally where someone fainted and the speaker quietly but attentively pointed in that direction then looked toward the staff and then someone went toward the back of the stage and handed a secret service agent a bottle of water. The speaker had the nerve and insensitivity and callousness to continue on with her campaign rhetoric as all this was going on.
Awww, shucks…gee, thanks guys.
Really.
Cin, I knew right from the beginning that you were a power to be reckoned with – your words, your way with words. IMHO, unmatched by anyone out in the blogosphere or the media today. Whatsername Howdy Doody would kill for your gift.
Well done. I think you are the bee’s knees, the cat’s pajamas, the icing on the cake.
About that book……
Cinie, splendid, as usual.
“Feminists” on both sides of the aisle have been duped by the attraction to political celebrity.
While right wing feminists decry the Obama cult hea they’ve fallen into their own Palin cult. Palin obviously is not a “new” woman as she push ed the moderate female Republican, Scozzafava, under the bus for the far right male, Hoffman.
“Populist” Palin is in it for herself, not women, and she’ll set the women’s rights clock as far as necessary to win, just like Obama. Palin is no Hillary.
Thank you, Cinie, for the hat tip: Agree with our points of view or not, we deserve it. (God forbid someone, much less, a woman tut their own horn.) When “battle” is decried, take your armor off, at your own peril, much less the peril of others, but not mine.
And, I, by the way, decreed “vagina fortitude”, and “read our lips” of our labium, Latin for lips, long ago. Do I want credit, I am not sure, but am sure of the respect that I have for the moderators at Hillary Clinton dot com, which I naively thought was filled with mainly liberal lips, that allowed that night of frenzy to go through, knowing which lips I meant, as I made clear which lips I was referencing.
Now I feel as though, many of us, are running for choice, with our womb, bloodied and dangling outside our body, as we are desperately clutching it, as we run, holding it in desperation against our stomachs. What were we running toward when we heard the the dogs and kept running? Simple question. You “betcha” many will not be “drilled, baby, drilled” and put lipstick on our labia minora.
F@ck, I meant decreed not decried. Please change that, Cinie, or my ego will be forever bruised. LOL
This is the absolute last straw for me. On the backs of women…. every. single. time.
Cinie, you put all the raging, disconjointed thoughts in my head together in this post, thank you. Love you and your work as always.
cinie, much of the problem is that people no longer read. I mean to take the time to sit and fully evaluate the opinions of those who judge the political scene. A valid reason why newspapers, libraries and bookstores are closing their doors in deference to short essays found on the blogosphere, and where political differences are banned, deleted, or ignored if the commentator does not fully agree with the posting.
How many people have read “The Family”? Something tells me not enough as this book clearly lays out the agenda and long range planning this group has for the political changes they seek to insert into the nations scene. Where this book should stir up a measure of anxiety, it is basically ignored. My first thought when I witnessed the debacle of the Stupak Amendment was “The Family” and C Street and sure enough, the connection was made after the fact.
The complacency of the public, coupled with the inability to absorb critical analysis, leads us into the “cult of celebrity” in choosing candidates for positions of leadership. One is already forming around Palin and those who fell into the trap with Obama are watching their hopes die as a result.
It never works.
Cinie, I, as well as you, have taken heat from feminists who believe we can all come together and accomplish great things. The 51% solution is a fallacy. Women who believe in choice will be reviled by those who don’t and vice versa. Women need to accept it, breath it, and work for what they believe in.
“Feminists” or “non-partisan” women who believe they are helping the cause by ignoring this divide are in for a rude awakening. Just look at what happens when the issue is squandered away for some other political end. Look at the Stupak Amendment.
So, to blame NOW and other groups for falling down and getting into bed for political expediency is fine, just don’t think that doing it oneself is any different. Women who do this are just as big as sell outs as the groups they revile.
NOW is non partisan with a platform that includes choice, that does not make them a partisan organization holding back women’s rights. The Republican Party would never accept them as some ally. All of this new fang dangled stuff can be easily torn apart if a little common sense is applied. It is the patriarchy and social conservates wet dream.
No wonder the ancient Celts believed a satirist in full cry could kill with words alone. Woman, you get behind a keyboard and you ARE all that.
WOW!!!
No doubt this is a defining moment; gonna equal or exceed anything PIT (President In Training, and MO is FLIT – sorry Cinie, you are rubbing off on me)ever did. Looking around the Pumashperic atmosphere I traverse, it seems things are coming together again for us. May it be so. Thanks for all your remarkable work.