The L Word
Lesbian creative space - sponsored by Disney
Once billed as the love that dare not speak its name, at other times hailed as the fountain of life for such profound artistic pursuits as boot scoot dancing, bad haircuts and women’s arm-wrestling, the L word has come a long way. It doesn’t matter where you look – on the sporting fields, the nightly news, in the Arts, it’s out and proud, loud, crass and often incredibly ugly. Think an angry she hippo from the Okavango Delta. Yes: veganism has a lot to answer for.
The hardcore of the hardcore of the Brave Feminist Saves The World clique, a sort of special subset if you like, you can’t miss the achievements of such wimin… if only because they never shut the hell up about them. Brittney Griner, for example, was a political prisoner of such stature she needed Presidential help to gain freedom. Others thought she was just some ugly, scummy little dope peddler caught with a stash at the Russian border. Still, let’s not quibble about words. The woke left don’t much care for pesky things like dictionaries.
If they did they’d feel confronted and dissed by such words as pretty. And we all know what the L word feels about that particular P word. It’s why Megan Rapinoe, on a global crusade for wimin everywhere, took to the catwalk for Victoria’s Secret, right up there with the fatties, the dribblers and sundry other unspeakable forms allegedly human. Rapinoe is a sublime athlete you see. In fact, so talented in her field she was hoping to one day beat some under 15 schoolboys on the field. We await with bated breath. Higher, stronger, faster, and all that stuff.
Unfortunately some young men who witnessed Megan Rapinoe on the catwalk are still receiving medical treatment now, having tried to claw their own eyes out. The horror! The horror! Apocalypse now can happen almost anywhere these days it seems.
Some lesbians are more vocal about politics than others
The loud proud march of the Rubyfruit sisterhood has touched almost every corner of the modern West. Even the White House, under poor old dribbling Joe, has a special diversity hire in Karine Jean-Pierre. The lying antics of this woman are often reported by Rachel Maddow over at MSNBC, arguably the head woke left prefect babbler of the L School in modern America today.
Check out the haircut on Rachel Maddow. Or Mads as one barber calls her. As he remarked one day, “Where would really bad male hairdressers be today without the lesbians?” Man has a point. It’s the economy stupid…
Down in a distant land named Australia, it was a highly creative lesbian feminist artist who received government funding for a very important work: used tampon earrings. This was some years back, and many questioned the actual creative merit of the work. After all, bodily functions are just bodily functions, and if bloodied tampons are celebrated as high art today, what comes tomorrow – will people wear turds in their hair next? Will pulling your pants down in public and dropping one on the pavement gain the same sort of popularity as flash mob dancers?
As the trendy saying goes: The future is female.
Still somewhere vaguely Australia, a profoundly disabled woman decided to make dance her form of artistic expression. Naturally the governments in Australia tossed bundles of money at the woman. If you didn’t pay for a ticket and go along to see her perform, you were a homophobe, a bigot, a misogynist. Worse than Donald Trump even.
It’s difficult to describe, in pure artistic terms, what took place on stage. Some compared it to watching a flapping fish landed on a jetty or pier; others felt it resembled more a marsupial bitten by a taipan and in the final throes of death.
Dance: grace, movement, timing, rhythm. The physical splendors of the human body. Somehow it was reduced, in this performance, to a randomly spasming fish with some sort of palsy. As one critic muttered: What the hell is that thing?
Still, the opening night crowd walked out on Beckett’s Godot of course. There was almost a riot when Stravinsky staged Rites Of Spring. And let’s not forget, Australia is the home of radical feminist lesbian creative talent, like Hannah Gadsby for example. She has introduced a brave new form of humor at a global level. Humor without the funny part. So it logically follows, when you consider the matter, that talentless artists are the next Picassos and Beethovens.
The evidence for this is everywhere. And not confined to just lesbians either, but present in the wider entitled woke left feminist community. Brie Larson makes films that bomb and then blames everybody else for not watching her celluloid failures. Disney, a corporation that in modern guise specializes in losing hundreds of millions of dollars on things these days, hired Sharmeen Obaid-Chinoy for a Star Wars offering. You can’t say the woman brought nothing to the table, as some suggested. She did have a vagina, a very shrill voice, a gargantuan sense of feminist entitlement and almost no talent whatsoever. It’s a heady brew the feminist lesbians have turned to their advantage so far. Why change a winning formula?
The L word. The love that dare not speak its name. Rubyfruit jungle as an urban metaphor of our time. As one lesbian activist said recently: Every day is pride month now.
Ignore the doubters. The heteronormative uglies who say Yeah sure, the L word – do you mean Losers?
As they said at Woodstock: All you need is love. Yes, another L word. Damn things are everywhere these days.