I planned on calling this blog entry Mewesings of a Failed Feminist, but snapped when I remembered I fucking don’t do cutesy.
Pardon me. Someone is at the door.
I’m back. That was a representative from the National Organization of Women (N.O.W.) demanding I return my vagina.
She informed me that in these days of the pros and cons of unauthorized pussy grabbing, one must choose sides. Obviously I’m against it, but I do have a conflict.
Years ago I fell hard for the character Jay in the film Clerks. Yes, that Jay. The one who said, “Hey, what’s up, babes? What’s up, sluts?”
What kind of feminist does that?
The kind who has a deep and abiding love for words. Kevin Smith created Jay and all his vulgar, offensive and misogynistic words so Jay gets a pass from me. One of the many reasons why is from the screenplay of Clerks below.
You get my slapped with a fine, you fight with the customers and I have to patch everything up. You get us chased out of a funeral by violating a corpse. To top it all off, you ruin my relationship. What’s your encore? Do you anally rape my mother while pouring sugar in my gas tank?
You know what the real tragedy is? I’m not even supposed to be here today!
Fuck you. Fuck you, pal. Listen to you trying to pass the buck again. I’m the source of all your misery. Who closed the store to play hockey? Who closed the store to attend a wake? Who tried to win back an ex-girlfriend without even discussing how he felt with his present one? You wanna blame somebody, blame yourself.
I’m not even supposed to be here today.
You sound like an asshole. Whose choice was it to be here today? Nobody twisted your arm. You’re here today of your own volition, my friend. But you’d like to believe that the weight of the world rests on your shoulders-that the store would crumble if Dante wasn’t here. Well, I got news for you, jerk: This store would survive without you. Without me either. All you do is overcompensate for having what’s basically a monkey’s job. You push fucking buttons. Any moron can waltz in here and do our jobs, but you’re obsessed with making it seem so much more fucking important, so much more epic than it really is. You work in a convenience store, Dante. And badly, I might add. And I work in a shitty video store. Badly, as well.
You know, that guy Jay’s got it right-he has no delusions about what he does. Us? We like to make ourselves seem so much better than the people that come in here, just looking to pick up a paper or-God-forbid-cigarettes. We look down on them, as it we’re so advanced. Well, if we’re so fucking advanced, then what are we doing working here?
While I loved the entire film, that scene did it for me. How was it possible for Kevin Smith, a guy from Jersey, to nail my stupid, shitty, self-destructive life? Had he been following me around Texas listening to me whine? Probably not, but from that moment on, I didn’t care what Jay and Silent Bob did or said. I’m a fan. N.O.W. can keep my vagina. It’s not like I’m using it for anything.
Going to a Con has been on my bucket list for ages and I’m excited to be there, but I’m thrilled about Jason Mewes being there as well! If I sell enough books, I’ll even be able to afford to get him to sign my Jay Bobblehead. (Hint to readers of this blog.)
I’m a failed feminist. But I will be giving away free bookmarks. So there’s that.