Lul Wut.

Fifty years ago, Marilyn Monroe, a popular sex symbol of that time, would have been around a dress size of 12. Now, a lot of women would think they were overweight if they were that size. Suddenly women like Marilyn think they're too big to be pretty. Anyone larger suddenly becomes an unacceptable "model" size body for a woman.

Then, out of nowhere, a wild group of feminists appears! "That woman isn't fat, she's 'curvy.'"

Every day I get on the internet, and there's sidebar ads telling me that there's some secret tip to getting a flat belly, or that if I eat their magical fruit from Africa, I'll lose all that "stubborn belly fat," and they call it stubborn, as if everyone out there has been trying forever to lose weight. Every other page there's an ad telling me to get six pack abs. They also want me to find out if Justin Bieber is my soul mate, but that's not the point.

Then, men catch onto the trend. They start announcing that they want a "real woman" with "real curves," as if these tiny women aren't real.

Next, larger women start to protest the smaller, Cosmopolitan, "perfect body" women. A female blogger for xojane.com requests for larger women to post photos of them in their "fatkini's." (I know that Weekly World News is less reliable than The Onion, but the story is legit. You can research it yourself.)

People on the internet start joining the movement. Pictures like this one are uploaded:

Smaller women start feeling attacked because of their body type. The tables have turned.

And of course, me and most of the rest of the male gender are left sitting at home going "lul wut?"

And "lul wut" is what I say. Some people are born smaller than others, and vice versa. Magazines and television will probably continue to push their tiny woman agenda, and other people will probably keep trying to make them look evil and push their "curvy women are more beautiful" agenda, and women everywhere will probably blame it on men, and the government will probably call it "the war on women" because if they call it a war people will throw their money at it to support their cause, and I'll probably still be over there on the side saying "lul wut."

Awhile back I wrote a blog entry concerning women and their bodies, and it was witty and filled with all kinds of informative, scientific data that frankly, every guy I asked got a laugh out of. The girls, party-poopers that they are, thought it was sexist of me to tell them that yes, there is science in attraction, and that different guys like different things when it comes to women. I think it was really Sir Mix-A-Lot and his love for large behinds that got me in trouble. I think they misunderstood the intention of me posting his hilarious, catchy, crude, and thought-provoking song. (I say it's thought provoking because it makes me think about why some girls feel the need to criticize other women based on their body types. I thought girls were supposed to stick together, or something.)

While yes, he does love women who are indeed of a "curvy" nature, there's more to the song than "I like big butts and I cannot lie." Henceforth, here are the words of the great poet Sir Mix-A-Lot.

"Well Cosmo says you're fat, and I ain't down with that, 'cause your waist is small and your curves are kickin'.

See, he was simply standing up for women of all shapes and sizes. Which is probably what more women should do, too, but instead they have to argue and bicker about which is more beautiful, when they can't open their eyes and realize that they're all beautiful, even if not every single person on Earth thinks so.

Until then, I'll be here, watching from the outside as it all falls to pieces and more and more women of ALL (yes that's right, I said all. I'll say it again. ALL) sizes feel demoralized because of their bodies.

Lul wut.

Adventures in the QT parking lot

Look, lady in the nasty old SUV, if you're going to sit motionless in the parking lot at Quik Trip for more than a minute, It's more than reasonable for that guy in the small black truck to just kind of ignore you and back out of his spot. He knew you were there. He's not dumb, and he could back up enough to get out of his spot without hitting you. Therefore, I think you were a little out of line when, while he was still around fifteen feet away from you, you started honking and giving him the finger. You then proceeded to honk at him for the next twenty seconds as he left the parking lot, and I could see your lips forming some rather unsavory comments about him.

After he left, you continued to sit in that same spot, not moving. I waited and watched, and I could tell by the look on your face you just absolutely adored being cut off by me when you tried to pull into a spot. After you went into the store, I nonchalantly walked over to your car and made a few adjustments.

I hope you enjoyed the giant "you're a bad human being" I wrote in the dirt of your back window and the surprise Taco Bell Fire Sauce I squirted all over your door handle. If I had vaseline, car chalk, and saran wrap on me, it would have been way better, but sometimes you have to work with what you have.

Also, your left front tire pressure is going to be a little lower than the rest. The pressure gauge I was using to release air from it with left it at around 15 PSI. Not that that's like, a big deal or anything, but if you don't get it fixed, your tire's going to wear out faster, and then one day in the not too distant future, you're going to have really bad traction. So yeah. Take that. Greg: 1 Dumb hateful woman: 0.

Maybe next time you can put down your phone for a second and get out of the middle of the parking lot. If you'd learn how to drive like a normal, considerate human being, I wouldn't have to to this stuff to you. It's a little known fact, lady, but my name means "vigilante". The guy in that truck can sleep easy tonight knowing that the witch of a lady was thoroughly ticked off by the time I was through with her.

Also, if anybody here thinks I was wrong in doing this, there was a group of about four Hispanic gentlemen standing around a truck that had seen the whole ordeal, and they were giving me a thumbs up the whole time. Given the situation, I think I was absolutely justified in what I did. Maybe you should learn to contribute to society, strangely pugnacious woman, instead of being a giant rain cloud of suck on everyone's day.

The Moment I Turned Into Myself

Life is a series of memories that have, in one way or another, impacted one or more individuals to act in a specific manner from that point on.

I dislike preppy, clique-y girls. I tend to dress in any way I want, without regard to how others might see me. If someone has something to say, I'd prefer it to be said to my face and not behind my back. I like to speak my mind. I don't like going to buy wings from the Wing Stop by my house anymore. I have a deep-seeded hatred for gossip. All of these qualities in myself can be traced back to one specific moment in my life; one memory impacted me in such a manner that all of these things are a part of me now.

It was probably about 9th grade. My dad and I were going to go golfing, because golf is a gentleman's sport,  and we're real sirs. Because of the rules of the course, you have to wear pants or shorts with a tucked in polo, which is exactly what I was wearing. We decided to stop somewhere to get some food before we went out to the course, and I suggested wings, because we had never been there, and also because wings are delicious. So we get there, order some food, and sit down, waiting for our food to get to our table.

At this point, I notice that the only other people in the store was a group of three teenage girls. I remember  the two that were facing me kept giving me glances and all three of them were talking in a hushed manner, and of course, giggling about in their cheeky way. I got up to get a drink, and out of the corner of my eye I could see one of them looking at me and saying "what a fashion faux pas."


Now, first of all, nobody has even said "faux pas" since 1973, so I really don't understand why she felt it was an appropriate way to describe the fact that I was wearing jeans and a polo. Secondly, I was wearing jeans and a polo. People wear that all the time. I could have said the same thing about you and your Uggs and daisy dukes. That's the stupidest thing since Croc's, and Croc's are really stupid. My 1990 Camry is more stylish than you.

I didn't say anything. I didn't look at them, or even acknowledge their existence. I just sat there and quietly writhed around in my hatred for them. I've sat and thought about what I should have said to them. (The best so far is "you ugly anyways," but it's still open for discussion.) And even though I'd love to just reduce them to ruin, I think I'd probably just sit there like I did before and know in good confidence that they'll have at least one kid by 18 and be living off food stamps for the rest of their adult lives.

I don't like you, preppy, clique-y girls, with your secrecy and gossip. I will dress however I want, and I really don't care what you think, because I'm way above you.

So there you have it.

Remember them.

Remember me now mom, I'm wrapped in your arms.

Lying in bed as you read about farms.

Read about airplanes and trains and cars.

Tell me of knights and things in the stars.

Hold my hand and sing me a song.

Wherever you go, I'll come along.

I love you mom and I always will.

You think of those memories and time stands still.

Remember me now dear, when we had our first kiss.

When we were apart how you were so restless.

And that time at the park when we held hands and dreamt,

Of love and of life and of what it all meant.

Of the laughter and tears and the hopes and the fears

And the love that we promised would last for years.

I love you my sweetheart and I always will

You had my heart and I have yours still.

Remember me now son, you're my little man.

I know that you'll protect mom the best that you can.

Don't forget the time we had, playing catch in the yard.

Or when you lost your first fish because you reeled too hard.

Keep your chin up buddy, and I know that you're sad.

But when you think of a hero, you think of your dad.

I love you my boy and I always will.

Even though I'm gone I'm your daddy still.

Remember me still mom, though I'm wrapped in this flag.

Remember me still dear, the love that we had.

I'm here with you always, deep in your heart.

I'm here with you always even though we're apart.

Remember the son and the husband you had.

Remember your friend and remember your dad.

As they lower me down there's a tear in your eye.

Remember, even though it's goodbye.