Farting Is My Secret Feminist Weapon that Works Every Time

[corbe]

Farting Is My Secret Feminist Weapon that Works Every Time

I fart in the grocery store to get the men behind me in line to back up a notch. I fart on the ferry to get men to take their goddamned arm off the back of my seat.

Allison HopeAllison Hope· Jul 30, 2015

It’s hard being a woman in this world. We get silenced, pushed aside, ignored, paid less, denied care, called names, and a million and one other bad things.

We have to work twice as hard and get paid two thirds as much as our male counterparts to survive in the dog eats dog world. We climb some ladder that inevitably has a white man at the top who, at best, wants to look down your shirt, and at worst, doesn’t care that you were ever born and might accidentally step down hard with his fancy, shiny shoes on the rung that your hand just happens to be holding on to for dear life.

We still bear the pressures of finding a spouse and settling down with kids while not dating too much less we be seen as a slut shaking our money maker just to get diamonds and top-shelf vodka and private jet rides to private islands with fancy dinners where you’re expected to eat only salad because if you order the filet mignon someone might be more likely to judge your back fat.

Even as a woman in 2015, these social pressures feel every bit as real as they did to my mom’s generation and my grandma’s, and the women who came before them. At the end of the day, we are still living in a man’s world.

As women, we have to walk a line of being assertive enough so we’re taken seriously at work and are considered for leadership positions with the chance to advance on our career paths. But we have to balance that with the right dose of modesty that doesn’t render us meek and subservient lest we come across as bitchy.

When we walk down the street, we have to fear for our safety. We worry that a skirt too short or a sidewalk too dark might mean unwanted advances from some lurking man who might do unspeakable things to us.

We have to guard our bodies and our drinks at bars and our calories so that we don’t get to the point when men stop hitting on us altogether (NOTE: I’ve reached that point, but happily so since I’m a lesbian and generally a hater of all things creepy men).

We have to dodge men spitting and peeing and exposing themselves. We have to watch our backs and our fronts and everything in between.

Even if we’re not being hit on, men often sidle a little too close for comfort, man-spreading to give their giant testicles breathing room, or for some other unknown justification. We have to squish our legs together and endure hairy man elbows in our face on public transportation, in movie theaters and in allegedly cute European-style (AKA, small) restaurants.

I finally got so fed up with the male-dominated world around me and my inability to exert my five-foot-two feminine authority enough to have an entire goddamned seat to myself on the subway, that I devised a solution. In fact, I realized I had it in me the entire time. I would even say it came entirely naturally.

I farted.

The first time it happened, I admit it wasn’t deliberate. It was one of those days when I had eaten something like fava beans for lunch, and the gas was just mounting in my intestines for hours while I pushed it back in at work.

I was sitting on the train on my way home that evening and my little sphincter ani externus was like the engine that just couldn’t anymore, and a mighty fart gave way.

 I was mortified, naturally. I mean, I’m not the daintiest of gals. Not even close. But I try not to do things like burp and fart in public.

I quickly learned, though, that my gaseous excretions were muted by the insanely high decibel that is the MTA subway car merrily screeching along three stories underground. No one heard my fart.

Not 10 seconds after my flatulence escaped me, though, a line of noxious odor that can only be described in subway terms as more-gross-than-unbathed-homeless-person and less-gross-than-actual-feces, and crept along to the unassuming nostrils of the privileged man half sitting in my seat.

Faster than the speed of fart, this man sniffled ever so slightly and then shifted over in his seat, removing the part of his thighs and butt that had been crossing the line into my territory.

 It was a miracle.

I became less butt shy and tried my method out again the next day. It worked like a charm. Otherwise bravado men in suits shifted uncomfortably and discreetly moved further away from me. I had cracked the code on women's dominance. It was invisible but had been there all along. Ladies, we can stink men into submission.

Thank goodness New York City is so loud. I fart everywhere now. I fart in the grocery store to get the men behind me in line to back up a notch. I fart on the ferry to get men to take their goddamned arm off the back of my seat. I fart at the gym to get the sweaty men to move on over and not take the machine right next to mine. I fart on the street to get men to slow their roll and keep a respectful distance behind me and not encroach on my personal space.

 Humid days are the best because the fart hangs around longer. More bang for my butt. Carb-loaded days also tend to be beneficial as they give me more ammo to work with.

I’m not going to say I was proud of my remedy at first. I was afraid to tell anyone for a long time, months even. But the more I realized that it worked, the more confident I felt trumpeting my secret weapon.

And now I impart to you, lovely ladies of the world, an invaluable and affordable tool at your disposal. Use it well.


http://www.xojane.com/fun/my-secret-feminist-weapon

[corbe]

   Your wasting your farts:




   Besides Woman cannot live by fava beans alone.

[driftdiver]

That's a man baby

[Wingnut]

That's a man baby

I'll need to hear her/him/it rip one off before I commit.

[Ghost Bear]

Whoa, I had no idea that I was a feminist!

I thought I was just crude.

[Idaho_Cowboy]

Women have come so far that they act like teenage boys. What a statement.

[Smokin Joe]

That's a man baby

About half way down, she wrote:

(NOTE: I’ve reached that point, but happily so since I’m a lesbian and generally a hater of all things creepy men).

Oh, well, that just negated all the whining about having to find a guy and do the kid thing and all those other 'find a guy' problems in what might have been an ill behaved low life neighborhood. Prince Charming isn't going to follow his nose, and if he had, she wouldn't have wanted him anyway--or is this just sour grapes? (or beans, or something).

If she really wants to clear a room, I recommend pickled eggs, cheap draft beer, and pickled pepperoncini peppers. That'll get 'em every time. Beans might add volume, but they can't compete for potency. Add in a few good, hot chillis, and she can run off a cur dog from a dead sleep.

As for

Ladies, we can stink men into submission.

Nope, real men will give ground, but submission is out of the question. At least some poor SOB with serious beer goggles won't be tempted to invade her space. She might attract a few coprophiles, though.

I know Ladies who are no taller than she is, yet command a room when they walk in, not out of wealth, fancy clothes, 'hot looks', or social status, but because their personality is one which elicits the respect of those around them. They don't just 'get respect', they make the people around them feel respected too. It's an art, and apparently, she never mastered that--but then, "lady" just doesn't seem to be the first term which comes to mind in describing someone who will fart their way to a double wide seat on a subway. Pity she never mastered the fine art of simply asking if someone would just move over a little.

In fact, I think she found her problem. If she wants to walk around blaming men, well, she won't be the first person. I notice she specified "white" men, so apparently she has some additional grievance based on race (maybe because 'white men' tend to be 'hairier' than others, something she seems to find off-putting), but basically what I am seeing here is a typical SJW who has decided to paint the inside of her bloomers with farticles to get even with a world she doesn't feel has treated her in the way to which she thinks she should be automatically accustomed.

If she truly believes a world of people relieving themselves in public, lurking in shadows, and crowding her on the subways will (hairy arms and all) will be improved by her release of noxious emanations, I genuinely feel sorry for her, but more so for the people around her who are living in that same world, condemned to breathing the results of her efforts.

What this selfish princess doesn't get is that the people on that subway have their own problems, and fouling the deck (or the air) just means the world got a little nastier for everyone. Without regard for the miseries everyone else endures, their sets of problems, their troubles, it's all about her, and what she can inflict on those she thinks are better off, because she thinks they are better off.

Chances are, they are just more mature at dealing with their problems, and instead of trying to make her world a little better, one person at a time, she is out to make everyone more miserable. I just hope he has to wash the butterflies out of her own britches.

[Ghost Bear]

Wait now, this woman:



is a lesbian?

...

Now who would have guessed that?