(Above: life without Archie or Crikey).
Following on Crikey editor Jonathan Green's tweet as to why women don't subscribe to Crikey, the possum asks the question "where are the big female political bloggers in Australia?"
Thereby demonstrating that navel gazing always inhibits awareness of the real world. Seek and ye shall find. But please without the condescension:
The place is getting a little too blokey.
Oh please. Not another bit of let's help the little lady to find her voice SNAG type nonsense. Don't be shy girls, let's hear your voice, speak up, we'll give you exposure, we loves ya, oh you're so modest and retiring and we know you can't stand the hard cut and thrust of modern political debate. Y'all speak in such soft sweet tones, oh aren't you soooh cute.
Oh and by the way after we've done that would you mind ducking out to the kitchen and whipping up a cup of tea and a hot buttered scone? Whew the revolutionary practices of sixties comrades never leaves us, does it.
Gherkin. Where's Julia Gillard when she's needed, so she could tear strips off this particular possum and serve him up at a feminist barbeque.
But wait, it gets worse. Sophie Black then penned an impassioned plea Crikey seeks women: for conversation, companionship and fun times.
Well they had to get a woman to write it, didn't they, with that kind of header, so there'd be no jokes about losing the comb over, dropping some weight, losing the cultural baggage, and lifting the eyes from tit level gazing. But then it gets worse: full tilt SNAG.
... it was generally agreed around the editorial meeting table this morning that the men in here are “reconstructed.” That is, they bake, they talk about jasmine, they wear rainbow stripey socks, they make pots of tea, they play mixed netball, they are very caring and sensitive to their own girlfriends, wives, daughters and sisters, but they still like footy and wrestling and dogs.
Or as Green put it, “we’ve considered carefully the advances of feminism over the last few decades and placed ourselves within that context, while still pulling chicks.”
Or as Green put it, “we’ve considered carefully the advances of feminism over the last few decades and placed ourselves within that context, while still pulling chicks.”
Oh puhlease. Include me out.
No wonder I've dedicated my life to reading the commentariat columnists and their rabid ratbaggery.
Why is why I turned to a much bigger crisis in life. It seems Archie has finally made a choice, and he's settled for ... Veronica.
Yep, it's all charted here in Arch Rivals, As Archie Sidles Up to a Bride, who Does the Betty-vs.-Veronica Debate Ring Eternal?
Now you might think The Washington Post has better, more political things to do with its pages than to dally in the world of a comic heading towards its seventieth year (and you might have to register after a couple of clicks to access their content, the rats).
You might even think it's just a cheap makeover and a quick fix for an ailing franchise, a bit like the way the dark knight stirred up the Batman franchise.
Well of course. But the cheap cynicism of the move is breath-taking, a stab in the heart for any woman who's learned how to fix her own car. Because they've made Archie go for the money, that upstart super rich snob Veronica.
Froget the blonde v. brunette thing. This is just American for class warfare, and they've gone with the rich bitch.
Once again the girl next door gets done over by the eastern suburbs (in an Australian way of speaking).
So when Crikey starts advertising for ladies, I think bugger that, they can head off to the eastern suburbs like Archie.
Especially when they use Rosie the Riveter! Well women can do without dropping bucks on Crikey if all they want is ladies ...
Yes we can. Go Rosie.
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