A Maven Who Meets the Zeitgeist Head-On : Malegrievance “Mike” Atheistbitch-Godisdead
So send in your questions! The collision starts now. WITH INAUGURATION DAY SETTING EVERYONE’S NERVES a-janglin’ down south, and its embarrassing, bargain-basement Canadian complement, the show-trial and ousting of tendentious, racist Derek Sloan from the Conservative Party of Canada drifting by unnoticed up here, birthplace of ice cubes and frozen dreams, I thought it fitting to just ignore anything of real consequence and, bearing down like an elderly prima gravida popping out an unwelcome thalidomide baby, birth yet another of my controversial alter egos. Ker-PLOP! The trouble with ousting someone from the Conservative Party for racism and obnoxiousness is the always-present danger that you might get them mixed up with everyone else in the Conservative Party and oust the wrong one. I mean, if it’s even possible for there to be a wrong one, considering they’re all conservatives. To help you differentiate: Derek Sloan is the POS who stood in a freshly plowed field and asked if our Chief Medical Officer, distinguished infectious diseases specialist Doctor Theresa Tam, FRCPC, was working in collusion with the Chinese to get his order from Spring Rolls wrong every Friday night and make us fuck up our pandemic response. He has also “accused” her of being transgender. Jeezus. From Amal Clooney to Hillary Clinton to Michelle Obama, and every other unsung heroine, in the spotlight or laboring behind the scenes, heterosexual men just can’t get their pointy heads around strong, gutsy women of achievement. They’re really men, of course, or else they cast about for some fatal flaw that will diminish them in the world’s eyes, so they believe, anyway. Ten out of ten times, they get it hilariously wrong. Guys! How many times do I have to tell you. Being transgender is not a shameful secret that you can use against someone. It’s just normal life. It’s just another expression of gender, itself a societal construct. It’s not like something scandalous and criminal and incomprehensible, a stain on someone’s conscience that they’d want to hide, like being a conservative. OK? The Inauguration, because of the U.S. being currently in the grip of toxic, armed Neo-Nazi flat earthers and conspiracy theorists who think Trump, someday soon, is going to go like TA-DA and be revealed in his glory, through parted clouds spilling god-light, as Christ the Toupée, is being pared down a bit. Just a lectern, a microphone, a big sheet of bulletproof plexiglass and a few body bags ready to contain the bloody, quivering arms, legs and torsos that could be all that remains of Weepy Joe, not-quite-black-enough Kamala, don’t-forget-to-call-her Doctor Jill Biden, and the First Husband, what’s-his-name, once the pipe bombs go off. And I’ve been wondering: “Doctor” Jill Biden, with your Certificate of Turning up Online from the Learning Annex, take note: anybody can pick up a couple of templates from Staples, but if you’re a Doctor of Education, can you cure stupid? Right? So much for America! The U.S., face-it, just knows how to put on a kick-ass live potential terrorist event, and all without lazy falling back on typical Cirque du soleil-style crowd pleasers, like a bunch of self-fellating French mimes playing floating grand pianos upside down. Here in Canada, the closest we’ve come to a terrorist attack on a politician is the guy who drove his car up to the gates of the prime minister’s residence, then changed his mind, apologized, then drove to Tim Hortons and had a Steeped Tea to calm his shattered nerves. “Jeezus, when I think how wrong that could have gone, eh, with me in such a snarky mood!” the would-be attacker remarked to reporters, after a cautious thirty-mile-an-hour car chase through downtown Ottawa with their seat belts on, during which they stopped at all the red lights, drove extra-slowly, without sirens or honking impatiently, past an elementary school in case of darting children, and helped an elderly blind woman use the cross-walk. And now, without any further, or previous, or any type of ado whatsoever, frankly, allow me, ladies and gentlemen, to introduce you to my special guest today, the woman, and I use the term in its broadest sense, who put lipstick on while riding the Megabus to New York thinking it was lip salve, and started a self-esteem revolution: Malegrievance “Mike” Atheistbitchgodisdead, Certified Relationship Maven Extraordinaire and if she’s the wrong size or color, just regift her—I’ve kept the receipt. Welcome, Malegrievance— Mike, call me Mike, please! Thank you, Mike, welcome to the show, or rather, blog—you know, this is such a thrill but I have to admit, I feel so oog-y and awkward and nervous speaking with you! I’m used to it, Darryl, believe me! And I see you’re in your signature off both shoulders ensemble, with make up that takes more than a little inspiration from, where does it exactly, you know— Devon, whether it’s crunching numbers for the World Bank or crunching cocktail peanuts with a glass of Veuve Clicquot at Davos, my signature look has you covered. It’s a little bit “Pagliacci,” a little bit flat web design and a big, wet dollop of let out of maximum security psych ward a bit too early! Well let’s cut to the chase. Tell me, why did you choose “Malegrievance” as your feminist, post-fun-to-be-with name? It stems from the conundrum at the heart of our human existence, namely: why do men still exist when we’ve had turkey basters for nigh on – It must be at least a century, Yes, indeed. I know my grandmother had a turkey baster, which she kept in her bedroom, I guess because it was so crucial around Thanksgiving and she always wanted to have it by her side. I’m going to complete this interview using the “Answer a Question” feature from Facebook. Ready? Let me just pull this camisole a bit further down, to completely expose my breasts. There, ready. I know that you’re extremely well-travelled, some would say, been around the block. Ha ha. Seriously, how many countries have you visited? I’ve traipsed the Kingdom United,
East to West in America the Blighted.
Fulfilled many a need in
The midnight sun’d Sweden
A quick in and out for the land of the Kraut
And the French city called Ah, Paree.
But I’ve never been to Me. Would you like a tissue? I’m OK. You would like to travel to….? … Forget my infamous past. Indeed. Getting to know you a bit better, between spring, summer, fall and winter, what do you prefer? Frenzied masturbation to the point of chafing! I completely identify. It’s like separated at birth! Carry on. Let’s see now. How do you relax after a hard day? I like to just pour myself a cold drink, find a comfy chair and put my feet down. Did you have a nickname when you were young? I mean when you were a child? Is “Hey, Faggot” a nickname? What do you value most in life? The priceless lessons it teaches me about love. No wait, sorry—money! Here’s one that really digs deep. Which TV character do you most identify with? I’d have to say—Madame Bovril. If you were a musical instrument, you would be….? Pissed off because I’d probably be made of wood and have metal strings instead of hands. WTF??!! Do you drink coffee? How often? N*[Bodum/4] + π > 0
where N = days in the month
and π = a piece of pi If you could speak to everyone in the world at the same time, what would you say? Could you PLEASE stop taking my phone charger! Thank you!! Malegrievance Atheistbitchgodisdead, it’s been a pleasure! Call me “Mike.” ֍ CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS:
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