Let us weigh in on The Bachelor debate, bicycle babes.
No one has mentioned the fact that this is one of the few times in human history when we are witness to a man behaving like a damsel in distress and wooing women by fluttering his ‘multi-colour’ eyes.
Thanks, Lana, for pointing that out, again!
There almost isn’t a single moment in history when men have wanted, never mind volunteered, to be fought over. It is a grown man’s instinct to want to prove his prowess with women, not the other way around.
It used to only ever be the twisted fantasy of the skinny geeks, who couldn’t wield a sword if they tried, to rock out with their cock out surrounded by a haream of highly-painted concubines.
One of the last times men played that role was when China’s last boy emperor, a feeble and sickly imp of a kid, was never allowed to grow in to his own skin and muscle, and was treated like an ABI patient who couldn’t wipe his own arse.
Am I the only person to recall the documentary The Last Emperor, and have a personal commitment to it never happening again?!
What self respecting women wants the kind of guy who needs a harem of painted freaks to pander to his demented, totally unsexy, sex fetishes?!
What on Earth is going on!
The business of Batchie has to be only the second time in the course of evolution that men have been so emotionally mixed up as to come up with the concept to watch a man behave like a neutered, still-in-nappies child who at the slightest sight of a new painted face, giggles, bats his eye lids, and asks to have his hand held because he’s afraid of heights.
What are you doing Sam?! You’re built like a goddam Trojan Roman, please do us all a favor and start acting like one.
Knights, warriors, hunters and cowboys were all in the business of using their muscle to fight for, defend to the death and ultimately gain the attention of women.
So far, Sam, you have flapped about like a whore with a maxed-out credit card, hoping for a warrior princesses to save your day and pay your loans.
Actually, come to think of it, I’m not sure if I’m delighted by the role reversal and should cry ‘Hooray!,’ or cover my eyes and simply cry.
I don’t have a problem with equality meaning that women must prove themselves and men are no longer all brawn and no brains.
But I sure see a problem when we pretend that men don’t actually yearn to test their metal and be bold and brave, and instead we put them in to weird scenarios where he’s neither tested, nor expected, to be any kind of warrior.
I most definitely take issue when women are not even vaguely treated like the princesses the show supposes them to be, and instead like wicked witches who have to clamber and clutch at his royal arse’s robes for his snooty attention.
Femisim didn’t invent The Bachelor. We didn’t ask for men to become man-children and for women to tussle for his hauty attention. We asked for the vote, education and equal pay.
It is male TV producers with demented, totally unatural, concubine festishes that invented televised castrations and the vile vilifying of women.
In fact the name, The Bachelor, is rather apt. Who wants to marry a eunuch? Once a Bachie, always a Bachie, bro.
What is certainly there to be said is that the situation is demented for everyone involved. But me thinks it most sad that these lads are completely in the dark as to the effect this is having on their fellow species.
They have, three times now, put one of their own to the slaughter and the rest of us have to watch in agony while the most basic needs of men – to have a forum in which they can prove their strength and courage and worth to women – has been done away with.
Even more puce, when the live castration becomes all too humiliating for his male onlookers, their angst manifests as a vitriolic woman hunt.
It’s now our fault that Sam’s lost his balls! No indeed, Sirs, it is not!
So thank you, Sam, we are not ‘slow burners’, or ‘the full package’, we are women. Intelligent, well-rounded, interesting, dynamic women. Which is why it is so difficult to choose between them and why there are many of them and only one of you.
So thank you, Sam, for your assessments, but frankly my dear keep your name calling and snide judgements to yourself. Did your mother not teach you that name calling is nasty? I think she probably did, but now that you’ve found yourself on the TV version of Tinder all rules are off, even for a man who should know better.
And thank you Deputy Editor of the SMH, Ben Cubby, you should definitely know better than to demonize women on mass. If you haven’t got anything intelligent to say, don’t say anything at all.
Oh and I do love Sam’s version of getting to know Snezana ‘the woman’. At least he got that bit right. He tells us with such confidence that after one date ‘he knows’ Snezana ‘the mother’. I doubt that Samister. I seriously doubt that, but I digress.
Now Samister is on said second date and he’s going to discover all there is to know about Snez, ‘the woman’. However, on said getting to know ‘the woman’ date we hear almost nothing from Snez. Sam however, tells us how amazing it is that he doesn’t have a problem with the fact that she is a mother.
Well pigs might fly!
Why would anyone have a problem with a women who has been so powerful as to raise her child on her own!
Sam, sweet chops, how about having a problem with the fact that once again the women has been left on her own by the father of the child!
Tell us, Sam, what problem might you have with Snez being a mother? That she’s got her life sorted? That she’s a responsible women who has demonstrated she can do the job of two?
Those things you should defo be worried about, but the fact that she’s a mother? That’s something to bow down to, young man. Know who you are in the presence of!
Ah Sam, so blinded by your own reflection that you can’t see this for what is it. You are a stumbling knave among queens and princesses.
Emily, despite being portrayed as vain and haughty, did what any woman who knows her worth would do and leave without giving the would-be-but-failed knight the satisfaction of casting her aside.
She took herself off to find a prince worthy of the term, who will cast his red cape for her to walk on and throw rose petals at her feet. You go girl! You will rise like a pheonix from this.
May the others find the same courage to walk away from this fallen knave, and tell him to rein in his horse and stop flashings his tits at them. HTFU Sam. HTFU. It was you who was born to fight for their attention. Act like it.
But hang on, you say, what dose a bicycle babe have to do with Bachie’s degrading delusions about women and his illusions about himself?
This.
There is more, much more, to living the bicycle life than meets the male eye. The bicycle, since its invention has been the freedom machine of women: it was the catalyst to our liberation from restrictive clothing; the turning point in gaining the vote; and it was even the impetus for liberation from other institutions that engage in the suppression of women as independent-thinking free agents, and the public castration of men, none other than the catholic church!
And I quote:
‘Attendance upon religious services in these places has been helped by the fact they there was little else to do on Sunday. Now came the bicycle with a proposal for a social ride in to the country on Sunday…it is not in human nature…to resist a call like this’. – Newspaperman Joseph Bishop 1896
And thank God for it too!
Women especially enjoyed the new found freedom of the bicycle because with the advent of the car they didn’t take to Sunday drives with the same enthusiasm. Who wants to be stuck in traffic on a Sunday as well, a Sunday bicycle ride is still the preferred option.
Thus, when a modern-day bicycle babe who has discovered the liberation that comes with free, easy, fun travel sees her fellow sisters having to endure this pretence at heroism at the hands of a man whore, we are appalled and we have to speak.
First time we had The Bachie, it was shame on the juvenile dweeb TV producers, masterbating over their 11-year-old boy fantasies of having a harem.
Second, and third time, it is shame on us sisters for not standing up and calling a spade a spade, or a bunch of wankers, wankers. Shame on us sisters for not flushing that shit out. Shame on us because, for God’s sake, Sam has suffered the indignity of being a fallen knight long enough.
Ladies please do this fawning, mincing, shadow-of-a-man a favour and break free from his whingy, suffocating judgemental castle of cards, and ride, ride like the wind in to the world of real women, and men.
We await you.
What do you think?