Check out the tits on that dead girl!

A human being, who also happened to be a woman (so, not actually a human being), who also happened to be a sex worker (so REALLY not a human being) was tortured and murdered on September 11th, 2009.  Naturally, CBS decided that the most appropriate way to commemorate her life and pontificate on the epidemic of violence against women that is the direct result of our international policy of lady-dehumanization, would be a photo slide show demonstrating how fuckable she is (or, er, was…you know, back when she was alive and useful and shit):

That link to the “Porn Star Felicia Lee Murdered” photo gallery (catchy title, no?) appears within the article FOUR FUCKING TIMES:

(This piece, which is about half the written length of the previously-mentioned one, also manages to squeeze in 3 links to the photo gallery, as well as two titty-fantastic pics of the victim.)

In the aforementioned photo slideshow, CBS has happily chopped up their article into easy-to-digest single sentences and placed them next to photos of Felicia in various states of pornification, for those who find reading news without accompanying pics of scantily-clad murder victims just too boring.

(I know what you’re thinking.  “But Kendall, you unreasonable feminist, they always post pictures of murder victims!  She just happened to be a porn star, so she obviously only ever took slutty photos!  They were just using what was available!”  Well, actually, they could have used her driver’s license pic, like the slightly-more-respectful San Gabriel Valley Tribute did.  Kudos to the editor who made that call.)

In case you were worried that the article would overlook important aspects of Felicia’s life, fear not.  They don’t fail to mention that “Felicia Lee’s official Web site, where she was known as “Felicia Tang,” allows fans to purchase DVDs and posters featuring the model/actress. Lee even created a wish-list for fans to purchase lingerie which she would then wear during web-cam sessions.”  They’re also careful to list the titles of her adult films, so you can honor her memory with a bottle of lotion and your favorite sock.

So if you’ve been thinking “men may act like little entitled, dehumanizing fucks now, but when I’m dead, I’ll finally get the respect and freedom from objectification that I’ve been thirsting for all these years like so many fountain Diet Cokes,” I have some bad news for you…it just ain’t happening, yo.  Women exist primarily to provide sexual satisfaction for men, and we’ll be taking that shit to the grave.

Felicia, I’m sorry someone did this to you, and I’m even sorrier to say that he’ll, most likely, not receive anything close to an appropriate punishment.  We’re all assholes, and you deserved better – both in life, and in death.

(For those wondering why I made no mention of the fact that her suspected killer is a Christian pastor, I offer this probably unsatisfactory response:  I find it less than surprising when a man belonging to and promoting a religion – the entire foundation of which is predicated on the “merits” of female subjugation – is misogynistic to a degree that he is able to beat and murder a woman.  I mean, the hypocrisy is delicious in a schadenfreude kind of way, but it happens so often that there’s really nothing left to say about it or analyze.  It just…is.  Sad but true.)

Update – Holy Fuck:

Why, god, why?

When I first moved to New York City, my mother told me her only paranoid mom-type requirement was that I live  in a building with a doorman.  She was so adamant about this that she even offered to help subsidize my rent…until I told her what apartments in doorman buildings cost, then all of a sudden those sketchy Brooklyn lofts didn’t look so bad after all.   Hell, my current apartment didn’t even have a lock on the front door until a few months ago.

Well mom, you’ll be happy to know that upon returning to my humble little 3 story walk-up last night, I discovered that I now have my very own doorman!

I didn’t get his name, but it took me about 5 minutes to figure out how to get in without treading on his face, which leads me to believe he is an excellent deterrent for would-be thieves and rapists.  Would YOU try to run out of an apartment with a television if you had to figure out how to step over this guy?

Crime prevention, Brooklyn style.

Can’t you just hear a chorus of big, oafy white guys whining right now “What?  We said she’s more than just a piece of meat.  It’s a compliment!  Sheesh!”

Words can’t express how much I hate Carl’s Jr.  I honestly hope their entire advertising and marketing team dies.  Yeah, it’s that serious.

(Don’t even get me started on the vegetarian thing.)

Heh heh heh. Thems some unfortunately introspective wording choices considering  Dov Charney is also fond of fingerin…well, you know.  The banana hammock panty shot just tops it all off.  Reuters is fucking with us, right?  Because this is, like, the best thing ever.

It’s amazing what you run across when cruising the ol’ blogosphere.  This ad for “conservative shirts” knocked my dick in the dirt.  I seriously fucking love it:

Haha me too!  I’d totally spend every day off at Guantanamo Bay torturing people if I could!

Yeah, ok guys.  You see though, this shirt is great because it immediately lets you know that person is an asshole without even talking to them.  It saves you from, 20 minutes later, having to be all “mmmhmm, yeah, I want to see the birth certificate too…yup…mmmhmm…socialized medicine would totally kill us all, sure….right, Sotomayor is going to make it illegal to be a white man, that makes sense…listen, I have to, um, go to the bathroom…”

I totally forget shit like this actually exists because I don’t typically subject myself to right wing blathering, but when I stumble on that rare gem, it’s funny, sad, and poignantly revealing all at the same time…kind of like a good movie.

I would also just like to point out that progressives would never make a shirt that says “I’d rather be aborting.”

http://www.feministing.com/archives/015744.html

Thank you for all you did.

Holy fucking shit. Long story short:  Republican embarrassment Michael Steele uses the following tidbit to demonstrate why providing gay employees with partner benefits is exactly like sucking fat Al Qaeda wiener and taking a poo all over freedom, apple pie, Christmas, McDonalds, baseball, trucks, cowboys, and your mom:

“Now all of a sudden I’ve got someone who wasn’t a spouse before, that I had no responsibility for, who is now getting claimed as a spouse that I now have financial responsibility for,” Steele told Republicans at the state convention in traditionally conservative Georgia. “So how do I pay for that? Who pays for that? You just cost me money.”

God, I know, right?  All this homo entitlement makes me totally sick.  It’s almost like gay people expect to be treated like real human beings, with rights and everything!  WHY DO YOU HATE AMERICA, QUEERS?!

I see Steele’s point.  Providing pesky pinko benefits for your staff costs a good Christian business money.  Therefore, a great way to reduce the amount of hard-earned cash that the communists force you to spend on people is to have some of your employees not actually be considered people.  You will not only save oodles of money, but also become a shining example of American creative business ingenuity and capitalistic know-how!

Actually, this little argument is pretty awesome for us.  Why, under Mr. Steele’s logic, the institution of marriage itself – gay or, um, “opposite” – is a business liability.  Does that mean that the GOP is going to go from “patriarchal hetero marriage and the nuclear family are the fundamental building blocks of society and those who don’t participate are terrorists!”  to “marriage and family equal the death of small business, capitalism, and America.  Uncle Sam wants YOU to stay single!”?  I gotta say, as a person that thinks marriage is kind of a little bit of bullshit, I’d be pretty amped to see this happen.

I mean, either way, we can’t really lose here.  Since neither the legalization of gay marriage nor the toppling of the institution itself isn’t likely to happen anytime soon, in the short term all a small business has to do to survive this wonderful economy is hire nothing but gay Atheist unmarried feminist non-reproducing baby-killing socialist fagtards!  We are, literally, the most desirable candidates for any and all financially-savvy institutions nationwide.  Suck on my balls, unemployment!

Hmmm…I smell the most beautiful of  conservative inner struggles emerging:  Do you love money more than you hate homos?  Or do you hate homos more than you love money?  You can also replace “homos” with “illegals” to play the 2006 version of this game, and if you’re really up for a challenge, use both.

Oh my god, somebody get thee to a Wal-Mart/sports’ bar/trading floor before I pass the fuck out.

I know you all were really worried because I’ve been a little absent, but I am totally ok.  You know how sometimes managing life (or, um, sleeping) becomes more important than blogging?  Yeah.

I mean, everything’s fine.  It’s just that work’s been mad busy and the weather is finally starting to get nice, so, you know…fuck all y’all, I’m going outside.

Holy fucking shit!

I’ll start from the beginning…

So I was on my way to see my bf Greg.  He’s soooooo hot, and I was thinking I was totally going to let him get to 3rd base…maybe even go all the way!  We’ve been going out for like 6 months and I think I’m kinda ready.  Katie’s sister Heather (the one with the big boobs) said that it’s not even that big a deal and said it probably wouldn’t hurt that much if his thingie isn’t super big and OMG, she would know.  She’s done it with, like, 5 guys, including Kevin from the soccer team WHILE he was going out with Lisa!!!  She even showed me and Katie how to give a blow job!  I can’t even imagine doing that – so gross!  But Heather said it’s, like, the best way to get boys to like you (as long as you keep your teeth out of the way).  Ew, whatever.  I just hope my boobs start growing soon.  Training bras are bullshit.

Anyway, so I get on the L train to go to Greg’s, and I’m sitting in the very last car near the back window.  I may or may not have been very much under the influence of “nature’s medicine” (shut up, I have glaucoma).  As we were pulling out of the station, I guess someone yanked the emergency brake because the whole train instantly lurched to a complete stop out of nowhere.  Nobody knew what was going on, and all of a sudden some dude comes running through the car, lunges toward the back window, and starts screaming “yo!  There’s a guy on the tracks!  You hit him!  He’s all smashed up!”  Um, ew.  Calamity ensues, and for some disgusting reason, all the people in the car dash to the window to check this shit out, loudly reporting unnecessarily graphic details to everybody who had the misfortune of being around.  “Oh my god – there’s a piece of him right over there!”  “He’s still alive!  He’s wiggling!”  “He got runned over!  He’s cut in half!”  I seemed to be literally the only person who had absolutely no interest in investigating something that would undoubtedly give me nightmares for the rest of my life, and I remained paralyzed in my seat with my head in my lap and my fingers in my ears singing “LA LA LA LA LA LA LA!” while I fought off the pukes and tried desperately to go to my happy place.

My initial thought was “I’m way too fucking buzzed to deal with this,” but needless to say, mellow was quickly harshed.

So people were obviously going totally batshit.  That first guy who came barreling through the car kept yelling “let me the fuck out!” and eventually escaped through an open window.  I guess he thought he was going to, like, sew dude back together on the spot and be a hero or something.  They eventually opened the train doors and people started spilling out and going to get a closer look!  Hipsters were whipping out their Holgas and Polaroids and iPhone cameras and giant Nikons swinging ’round their necks, literally clamoring for the money shot*.  I mean, seriously – I can’t imagine wanting to do anything but run screaming in the other direction, but apparently I’m a weirdo or something.  I’ve learned a lesson recently, and it’s that America fucking LOVES gore.

*(The first response my boyfriend had was that he “resented” this sentence, obvs because  he is a photographer with a giant Nikon that is constantly dangling from his neck.  But what he doesn’t understand is that what I described totally fucking happened and was actually true, no matter how much it reads as a dig on young, “cool” freelance photographers.  Um, don’t take it personally, unless you happen to be the girl that I saw doing this.)

As the riders started filing out of the station (because that train wasn’t about to go anywhere for a long ass time), we all started conversing and piecing together what happened.  Apparently there were two guys, one who was supes wasted, trying to switch cars.  I guess the less-faced dude was having to almost carry lushie because his motor skills were very much impaired, and somewhere between the cars balance was lost, and, well…yeah.  I thought I was traumatized until I talked to a chick who watched this go down, and she told me that peeps were all hating on ‘em right before IT happened because that guy was hammered and acting a fool.  One minute everyone is giving him shit, the next minute, he be dead, yo.  Now, everybody who’s ever used public transportation on a Friday night knows how annoying obnoxious drunk people are (especially if you happen to be sober), so we’re all guilty of giving the stink eye to sloppies – but seriously, can you fucking imagine?! Yeah.  So the lesson here is be nice to your fellow wo/man, even if they’re stupid, because those people who were all “what an asshole!” are going to feel like shit for a long, long time.

This city is fucking insane.

Oh, and it took the cops, like, 15 minutes to get there, and the ambulance didn’t arrive until 5 minutes after the cops – like there are more pressing issues in Brooklyn than a guy who was dismembered.  Jesus fucking Christ.

In short, I will never walk between train cars ever again.  Those MTA “we’re serious about safety – your safety” posters may be poorly written and lack proper punctuation and use ugly models, but um, the point has been made.  It turns out they are serious about safety!

Well, that’s it for tonight, Diary!  TTYL!

Yours ’till Niagara falls,

Kendall

P.S.  Greg and I totally went all the way!  Home run!  Actually, it was more like 17 home runs, winning the World Series, getting an endorsement deal from Nike, and landing on the Wheaties box (= anal).