Why Do You Honk At Me?

A few clippings I found from Riot Grrl fanzines that made me laugh. Sighhhhhhhhhhhhh.This is something I go by every day. This quote is self explanatory. The resilience of my legs makes it hard to keep my creamy thighs closed. It's a shame. I'm quite sure that my cooter has grown wings and I can magically fly everywhere. Oh, the magnificence of female evolution.....to the next step.
Here's a translation for all you blind people out there. Is it because you think it's flattering, or because you think I'm beautiful and sexy? Because if it is, I just wanted to tell you that I'm aware of the fact that I'm amazing and beautiful, and just so you know, I didn't try to look good for you, because I think you're stupid, and the last thing I want is business and beergut men reassuring me of something I already know and next time you see an amazing woman walking down the street, think about how you would feel if every time you left your home you felt like you had to hide anything attractive about yourself so that you wouldn't be harrassed and laughed at, and you were anyway. Thank you, Every Girl
All I can say is: 1) I'm not sexy enough....or hookery enough to be honked at. Then again, that defeats the purpose of me being section jailbait. hoho. This does not relate to me. I guess it's time to run out into the streets over yonder wearing a tube top with breast ventilation. Just kidding. That would feel reall weird.Ha! And who said women belonged in the kitchen? Please marry me, Alice Duer Miller. I'll make out with your corpse if I have to. Except not really. Oh gosh, having my own magazine would be great. There would be a scandalous picture section, recipe section, etc. Crafternoon sounds fun, except when there are riot girls, it'll probably end up with....popsicle sticks and yarn being shoved down each other's......shirts. HA! AND YOU THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO SAY SOMETHING ELSE! And the cupcakes would probably be made out of dead boy babies, kahlua, and pepto bismol pink sprinkles.
To me, this is what a Riot Grrl's average weekend is:
1. Put on ripped fishnets, wear a bikini on your underdeveloped breasts, and write SLUT or WHORE or FLOOZY on your tummy with lipstick and wear lesbo cargo pants and pour grease in your hair.
2. Go to a gay bar and ingest lots of fruity cocktails and line dance with the slutty male cage dancers
3. Record really bad music with a children's karoke set
4. Run into the streets and whip off your clothes, exposing your braided armpit hair
5. Start getting freaky with your gurl friends.

THE END.