Update: I should note that this post was originally centered around a totally heinous picture of a rose with text that, to summarize, claimed that premarital fucking is like pulling precious petals off your filthy whore self so your future husband will be left holding a bare stem. No mention was made of the petals (or lacktherof) my future husband will be giving me.
The URL of the pic is all fucked up and I didn’t save it myself ’cause I’m a toolbag, so now the post is kind of shot. Oh well, you don’t really have to have a reason to bitch about fundies. Enjoy anyway…
Update # 2: Found it:
How could anyone object to telling little girls that their entire worth as human beings is completely dependent upon how sexually repressed they are until oh-so-graciously purchased validated by a “future husband” who may or may not actually exist?
Seriously, what’s the problem here? Jeez, lezbianazis! You can vote, you can wear pants – what more do you want?
This reminds me of one of my favorite quotes ever from Vice Magazine. I couldn’t find it on the internets, but it went something like this:
“Sometimes I think of how comforting the idea of religion is – a giant group of people who think the same way you do and love you for it. But then I remember how awesome it is to jerk off guilt-free, and I’m like “nah.”
2 Comments
March 9. 2008 at 3:02 am
Ewww.
They’re right. I am like a beautiful rose. But they’re wrong, too. My husband likes me just fine, even all experienced and damaged.
June 4. 2008 at 2:04 pm
[...] women’s sexual autonomy, and feminism is, like, so 1970s and we’re all equal now and everything is chillz so I can totally vote for McCain because Hillary and her icky vagina and the thought of women in [...]