Before we say goodbye forever to what I’m calling “Crotchgate,” let me try to womansplain why so many of us went out of our minds over the Super Bowl halftime show. I shall now base my findings on science-ish. Which is like regular scientific data but with fewer boring parts. My findings are based entirely on comments made by my Facebook friends.
I realize this sounds nuttier than squirrel poo but you have to understand I got a bunch of Facebook friends—a maxxed-out 5,000 on my regular account and nearly 10,000 on my author page. This is not to brag (although, dayum!) but rather to let you know Crotchgate opinions are pretty much evenly divided in my fairly large sample. You can’t argue with science-ish.
This even split is like presidential polls except with body suits and pelvic thrusts. Crotchgate has divided us in ways we haven’t seen since, ohhhh, last week’s impeachment arguments.
Now the thing that surprised me most was the whole Commanders from Handmaid’s Tale vibe of many of the male commenters. They were shocked and offended by the gyrations of two uber fit goddesses, ages 50 and 43, amen.
My response to the menfolk is simple: What part of you doesn’t get that you don’t have the right to tell a woman how to dress/act/think/be? Those of you who ranted about the inappropriateness of scanty clothing and camera angles that revealed body parts you believe should only be revealed in the delivery room, just don’t have a dog in this fight.
Whining that your kids were traumatized (TRAUMATIZED!) was laughable. No chirren were injured in the making of that halftime spectacle. Unless you’ve raised some laboratory-distilled snowflake, that is. One only hopes you get half as wrought up when your precious spawn is happily blowing the heads off hookers in Grand Theft Auto every night.
So, in conclusion, shut up.
Now…the women. My sisteren, my posse, my people…My, Lord. What is wrong with almost exactly half of y’all?
JLo and Shakira, rather than being admired for their athleticism and dance skills are being blamed for promoting sex trafficking and child pornography and using twerking to destroy the feminist movement. More than a few Very Upset Feminists claimed these two entertainers at a football game had destroyed the entire #metoo movement. That’s just silly. Shinnying up that pole just proved these women had thighs strong enough to crack Harvey Weinstein’s bald head like a walnut. Good on ’em.
The vitriol aimed at these women puzzles me. It’s not like they did something truly awful like invent kombucha.
From where I sit, not twerking or, TBH, even walking all that much in my sixth decade, I find it inspirational, heroic, even, to see these mature women embrace their sexy, athletic selves for what appears to be exactly half of a grateful nation. The rest of you preachers-in-Footloose can keep looking for dark motives and deviancy. But what a joyless way to go through life.
Before we say goodbye forever to what I’m calling “Crotchgate,” let me try to womansplain why so many of us went out of our minds over the Super Bowl halftime show. I shall now base my findings on science-ish. Which is like regular scientific data but with fewer boring parts. My findings are based entirely on comments made by my Facebook friends.
I realize this sounds nuttier than squirrel poo but you have to understand I got a bunch of Facebook friends—a maxxed-out 5,000 on my regular account and nearly 10,000 on my author page. This is not to brag (although, dayum!) but rather to let you know Crotchgate opinions are pretty much evenly divided in my fairly large sample. You can’t argue with science-ish.
This even split is like presidential polls except with body suits and pelvic thrusts. Crotchgate has divided us in ways we haven’t seen since, ohhhh, last week’s impeachment arguments.
Now the thing that surprised me most was the whole Commanders from Handmaid’s Tale vibe of many of the male commenters. They were shocked and offended by the gyrations of two uber fit goddesses, ages 50 and 43, amen.
My response to the menfolk is simple: What part of you doesn’t get that you don’t have the right to tell a woman how to dress/act/think/be? Those of you who ranted about the inappropriateness of scanty clothing and camera angles that revealed body parts you believe should only be revealed in the delivery room, just don’t have a dog in this fight.
Whining that your kids were traumatized (TRAUMATIZED!) was laughable. No chirren were injured in the making of that halftime spectacle. Unless you’ve raised some laboratory-distilled snowflake, that is. One only hopes you get half as wrought up when your precious spawn is happily blowing the heads off hookers in Grand Theft Auto every night.
So, in conclusion, shut up.
Now…the women. My sisteren, my posse, my people…My, Lord. What is wrong with almost exactly half of y’all?
JLo and Shakira, rather than being admired for their athleticism and dance skills are being blamed for promoting sex trafficking and child pornography and using twerking to destroy the feminist movement. More than a few Very Upset Feminists claimed these two entertainers at a football game had destroyed the entire #metoo movement. That’s just silly. Shinnying up that pole just proved these women had thighs strong enough to crack Harvey Weinstein’s bald head like a walnut. Good on ’em.
The vitriol aimed at these women puzzles me. It’s not like they did something truly awful like invent kombucha.
From where I sit, not twerking or, TBH, even walking all that much in my sixth decade, I find it inspirational, heroic, even, to see these mature women embrace their sexy, athletic selves for what appears to be exactly half of a grateful nation. The rest of you preachers-in-Footloose can keep looking for dark motives and deviancy. But what a joyless way to go through life.
Before we say goodbye forever to what I’m calling “Crotchgate,” let me try to womansplain why so many of us went out of our minds over the Super Bowl halftime show. I shall now base my findings on science-ish. Which is like regular scientific data but with fewer boring parts. My findings are based entirely on comments made by my Facebook friends.
I realize this sounds nuttier than squirrel poo but you have to understand I got a bunch of Facebook friends—a maxxed-out 5,000 on my regular account and nearly 10,000 on my author page. This is not to brag (although, dayum!) but rather to let you know Crotchgate opinions are pretty much evenly divided in my fairly large sample. You can’t argue with science-ish.
This even split is like presidential polls except with body suits and pelvic thrusts. Crotchgate has divided us in ways we haven’t seen since, ohhhh, last week’s impeachment arguments.
Now the thing that surprised me most was the whole Commanders from Handmaid’s Tale vibe of many of the male commenters. They were shocked and offended by the gyrations of two uber fit goddesses, ages 50 and 43, amen.
My response to the menfolk is simple: What part of you doesn’t get that you don’t have the right to tell a woman how to dress/act/think/be? Those of you who ranted about the inappropriateness of scanty clothing and camera angles that revealed body parts you believe should only be revealed in the delivery room, just don’t have a dog in this fight.
Whining that your kids were traumatized (TRAUMATIZED!) was laughable. No chirren were injured in the making of that halftime spectacle. Unless you’ve raised some laboratory-distilled snowflake, that is. One only hopes you get half as wrought up when your precious spawn is happily blowing the heads off hookers in Grand Theft Auto every night.
So, in conclusion, shut up.
Now…the women. My sisteren, my posse, my people…My, Lord. What is wrong with almost exactly half of y’all?
JLo and Shakira, rather than being admired for their athleticism and dance skills are being blamed for promoting sex trafficking and child pornography and using twerking to destroy the feminist movement. More than a few Very Upset Feminists claimed these two entertainers at a football game had destroyed the entire #metoo movement. That’s just silly. Shinnying up that pole just proved these women had thighs strong enough to crack Harvey Weinstein’s bald head like a walnut. Good on ’em.
The vitriol aimed at these women puzzles me. It’s not like they did something truly awful like invent kombucha.
From where I sit, not twerking or, TBH, even walking all that much in my sixth decade, I find it inspirational, heroic, even, to see these mature women embrace their sexy, athletic selves for what appears to be exactly half of a grateful nation. The rest of you preachers-in-Footloose can keep looking for dark motives and deviancy. But what a joyless way to go through life.
Before we say goodbye forever to what I’m calling “Crotchgate,” let me try to womansplain why so many of us went out of our minds over the Super Bowl halftime show. I shall now base my findings on science-ish. Which is like regular scientific data but with fewer boring parts. My findings are based entirely on comments made by my Facebook friends.
I realize this sounds nuttier than squirrel poo but you have to understand I got a bunch of Facebook friends—a maxxed-out 5,000 on my regular account and nearly 10,000 on my author page. This is not to brag (although, dayum!) but rather to let you know Crotchgate opinions are pretty much evenly divided in my fairly large sample. You can’t argue with science-ish.
This even split is like presidential polls except with body suits and pelvic thrusts. Crotchgate has divided us in ways we haven’t seen since, ohhhh, last week’s impeachment arguments.
Now the thing that surprised me most was the whole Commanders from Handmaid’s Tale vibe of many of the male commenters. They were shocked and offended by the gyrations of two uber fit goddesses, ages 50 and 43, amen.
My response to the menfolk is simple: What part of you doesn’t get that you don’t have the right to tell a woman how to dress/act/think/be? Those of you who ranted about the inappropriateness of scanty clothing and camera angles that revealed body parts you believe should only be revealed in the delivery room, just don’t have a dog in this fight.
Whining that your kids were traumatized (TRAUMATIZED!) was laughable. No chirren were injured in the making of that halftime spectacle. Unless you’ve raised some laboratory-distilled snowflake, that is. One only hopes you get half as wrought up when your precious spawn is happily blowing the heads off hookers in Grand Theft Auto every night.
So, in conclusion, shut up.
Now…the women. My sisteren, my posse, my people…My, Lord. What is wrong with almost exactly half of y’all?
JLo and Shakira, rather than being admired for their athleticism and dance skills are being blamed for promoting sex trafficking and child pornography and using twerking to destroy the feminist movement. More than a few Very Upset Feminists claimed these two entertainers at a football game had destroyed the entire #metoo movement. That’s just silly. Shinnying up that pole just proved these women had thighs strong enough to crack Harvey Weinstein’s bald head like a walnut. Good on ’em.
The vitriol aimed at these women puzzles me. It’s not like they did something truly awful like invent kombucha.
From where I sit, not twerking or, TBH, even walking all that much in my sixth decade, I find it inspirational, heroic, even, to see these mature women embrace their sexy, athletic selves for what appears to be exactly half of a grateful nation. The rest of you preachers-in-Footloose can keep looking for dark motives and deviancy. But what a joyless way to go through life.