I don´t need to be the one to tell you that it’s been a pretty rough week for a lot of people. This whole "getting a candidate we actually wanted and voted for" elected as the next president of the United States has left millions upon millions of us — except the rich assholes who voted for John McCain — without things to complain about.
I mean, Barack Obama is a half-black sort-of-socialist with progressive policies toward women and women’s rights. He eliminates the need to stand up against racism, sexism and poverty in one fell swoop.
Without things to fight for or campaigns to participate in, what are we supposed to do? Especially us ladies? As a modern American woman, who am I if I’m not a feminist?
Having a liberal progressive minority president is sort of like having a woman for commander in chief. Obama has all the good qualities a female president would have without the menstrual mood swings.
He’s proven that anyone can be president — a black man or a white man (not necessarily a woman but any man) — and reconfirmed that we don’t even need a woman president when we have a dude who understands women’s rights. All female politicians are either stupid and pretty like Sarah Palin or mean and practical-looking like Hillary Clinton.
No one wants to be bossed around by an opinionated bitch. I’d rather be governed by a strong, confident male.
I used to wake up every morning almost paralyzed by uncertainty, hop in the shower and debate whether or not I should shave my legs. I really like shaving my legs, but is that giving in? Am I surrendering to masculine societal constructs by enjoying smooth skin?
What if I want to wear a skirt? Is that OK? Should I always be wearing a pantsuit?
For breakfast, do I have to eat yogurt? I don’t like yogurt all that much even though commercials tell me that as a woman I’m supposed to really, really like it — more than I’m supposed to like shoes.
But with a president who ensures that he won’t reverse Roe v.
Wade, I don’t even have to think about all these “female” problems. I can just be myself.
It’s like Obama basically called me up and said, “Hey, Maija, don’t even worry about it. When I’m president, we’re all going to be free to be ourselves. If you get knocked up, we can take care of it. It’s your body, right? Your choice.”
And then I was all, “Wow, that’s great. It’s not like I want to be a frequent aborter, but thanks guy. This concrete stance makes me feel comfortable and assured that you have my best interests in mind.”
Speaking of best interests, Obama also wants to make sure that I make more than 77 cents for every man-dollar. As a co-sponsor of the Fair Pay Act and supporter of the Illinois Equal Pay Act, he’s all about me making money.
Burn my bra? No thanks. I think I’ll wear my padded one … to work.
Hell, if I’m guaranteed equal pay, I don’t need to get noticed for the work I do. I can get noticed for my great, perky rack. These puppies are going to succumb to gravity soon enough; Obama makes it so I can enjoy the good years I have left with them.
Paycheck equity = deep v-neck mania. I’m single.
With all of his great female-first policies, President- Elect Obama is like a father figure, a responsible boyfriend and a cool doctor all rolled into one. His commitment to helping the estimated 14.6 million women living below the poverty line is kind of like when your dad gives you a “gas” credit card that he lets you use for other things, like clothes.
Obama also supports the Prevention First Act, which ensures that I’m going to get fairly priced birth control and that the boys I sleep with use condoms. He’s also really concerned about my heart and ovaries, not to mention the amount of mercury I ingest.
Dr. Obama wants to examine gender and health disparities and increase awareness of ovarian cancer. I didn’t even know I needed to be concerned about mercury! Shows what kind of socially aware woman I am.
It’s like I woke up last Wednesday and basically had nothing left to worry about or fight for. This mild but pleasant identity crisis has led me to realize that feminism meant I was fighting for my rights until a man came along who could take care of me.
It’s too hard to be concerned about gender roles and gender rights. I can’t spend one more minute thinking about the inherent gender biases in the English language or how our patriarchal society subordinates my social group by calling us “woMEN” instead of “woMYN,” you know?
So from this moment on, I’m going to be the brand new me — well, the brand new real old me. I’m sick of opening doors for myself, so I’m going to stop doing that. And I’m going to stop paying for my meals or going “Dutch.”
I’m going to start accepting alcohol from random guys at bars because I’m not spending any of my hard-earned equal pay money on booze. I’ll even let people call me sweetheart or baby, especially if it means they’re going to give me things.
In fact, I’m just not going to do anything for myself anymore if I can have a man do it for me. And isn’t that what real feminism is about? Women having power?
Thank you, Future President Barack Obama, for making my life like a thousand times easier. You’re really sexy.
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