Feminist Rage-A-Holics UNITE!

Behold one of the finest of all the wymyn’s livejournals: the Feminist Rage Page! It brings a fond tingle to my naughty bits… bits for which no man is worthy.

Feminist Rage is a stewing and unfathomable sea of forever-churning FURY FURY FURY!!! A gleaming reservoir of pure grrl-venom.

Rage is an emotion that us feminists are quite familiar with. Some of us even have brains that have been half-melted by it.

In their keen master-plan, the members of the Feminist Rage livejournal community strive to combat the stereotype of man-hating feminists by living-up to the stereotype as much as humanly possible. Allow me to illustrate with this Venn diagram:

FeministRage

As you can see above, true Feminist Rage™ results from a wonderful convergence of several ingredients, any one of which is enough to make you a womyn’s-libber. What boosts the F-Ragers a step above the rest is that they nurture the whole kaboodle. This accounts for the hair-trigger offense-taking at the everyday world which us feisty wimmin find to be so profound.

Their entire online community is dedicated to compiling and cataloging tale after tale of petty and unassociated gripes. They never seem to resolve any of their problems, but revel in being horribly indignant about it all. Every day, womyn such as myself can find yet another reason to simmer in grouchiness always. Their transcendent state of exasperation can be illustrated by this case in point:

It’s always a good way to start the morning: gender confusion with my cappuccino.

Just now, I went to get a pair of headphones at the educational resources desk in the library. The day supervisor looked at me and grunted (loudly): “Can I help you, ma’am? … Or sir. I can’t really tell.”

Unfortunately, my eye-lasers didn’t char him to a crisp. I should’ve remembered to grease the engine last night.

I wanted to leap across the desk and stand in front of him and WAVE MY FIST and holler: “I’m SO SORRY that I had BREAST REDUCTION SURGERY for my HEALTH and that NOW you can’t TELL what kind of body I have under my BOYFRIEND’S shirt because you can’t see my TINY TINY WAIST or SMALLER BOOBS and I’m SO SORRY that the mousse in my SHORT spiky hair CONFUSES you and I don’t have LONG PAINTED NAILS or MAKEUP to help you out there with your STARE. Why don’t you pay me 87 cents while you’re at it? BECAUSE ULTIMATELY DOES IT MATTER?”

The nerve of that asshole’s confusion. It’s not THAT hard to tell if the author is a grown womyn or a clean-shaven teenage boy. See for yourself:

FeministRager

I can’t comprehend where that clerk’s bewilderment came from. The author does her utmost to appear androgenous as a way of protesting the concept of beauty and understandably goes mad with pique when somebody has trouble figuring out what sex she is. Fuckin’ Patriarchy.

Day after day, the Feminist Ragers tally how disrespect for wimmin resides in every nook and cranny and how it hides behind every rock and tree. Whenever our plucky Rage-A-Holics encounter those who do not capitulate to their fanatic outlook, they have enough wit to pelt miscreants with ingenious retorts like: “You really suck!” and “Go to hell!”

Say, did you ever notice that outrage, ire, resentment, pissed-offedness, the kicking of groins and the sticking-up of middle fingers permeate much of the feminist blogosphere in general? As you can see from the quote above, angry fantasies of retribution are one of feminism’s central rhetorical themes.

In my case, much of this goes back to one of my childhood imaginings. Late at night, I would pull the covers over my head and pretend that I was secretly descended from a bloodline of Carpathian princesses. I wished that one day a scroll of parchment would appear in my mailbox and the truth would suddenly be revealed to my evil step-parents, who would then grovel for my forgiveness. And in all my aristocratic splendor, I would publicly humiliate and destroy all of those who had been even slightly rude to me on past occasions that they’d long since forgotten.

I became a feminist when it suddenly dawned on me that my daydream would never come to attainment.

At this point, all I have to say is: Thank you, Feminist Rage!!

Thank you for showing us that all mundane things in the world actually have hidden sexist subtexts underlying them. Most of all, thank you for demonstrating that “crazy feminists” do not exist and never have existed.

Full steam ahead and RAGE THE FUCK ON!!!