* HUD claims that transgender people are protected against housing discrimination via the Fair Housing Act's prohibition against "gender discrimination"—even though the law doesn't specifically list gender identity discrimination as prohibited.

* Mark Gower, a 26-year-old dancer at SW strip club Secrets, was found dead in his apartment last week.

* The Washington Post conducted a four-month investigation into the career of former Manassas schoolteacher Kevin Ricks, a man the paper says "moved from one teaching job to the next over nearly 30 years, navigating the nation's public and private school systems undetected, evading traps designed to catch him"—and racking up molestation allegations along the way.

* Carolyn Hax on the etiquette of outing your gay ex-husband.

* DC Center plans discussion on body image issues among gay, bisexual, and trans men.

* Susannah Breslin on sexual assault games:

To promote the release of Bret Easton Ellis' new novel, Imperial Bedrooms, a digital creative agency in London created an online game that encourages players to virtually manipulate a young woman. If you play the game right — encourage her, get her drunk, get her high — you'll score a blow job, and then you can brag to your friends about a job well done by posting your "high" score to the social networking site of your choice. So, is this social commentary, or marketing misogyny?

Yesterday, the c-word—chivalry—arose in the comments section of this blog, in the context of the outdated gender code's unfairness to men. Ah, chivalry: That old code of behavior that men must follow in order to protect the "honor" of women they know. Through chivalry, a woman's honor becomes a man's responsibility; her honor brings honor to him, and her shame brings him shame. Chivalry isn't just offensive because it forces men to protect women, but also because traditional ideas of what brings  "honor" and "shame" to women are often highly sexist. And so, chivalry also works to encourage women to internalize misogyny in order to preempt shame from befalling men.

Three recent events that provide an insight into chivalry, and how it functions:

1. In a recent post on Holla Back DC, a woman describes being harassed by a group of firemen while out celebrating her fiance's birthday. As her fiance stepped away to retrieve cash from an ATM, she stepped to the curb to look for a cab. She was "dressed up," but "did not look slutty," she says; the firemen disagreed:

As I was looking down the street at oncoming traffic, a fire engine drove by. It was not on its way to an emergency, as its lights and siren weren’t on and they were driving at a somewhat slow speed. However, they honked their loud siren at me and started cheering out of the window. This was of course just as my fiance was walking out of the ATM. He was offended that men in uniform would do that, and to tell you the truth, it made me feel like common street trash and that they treated me like a hooker. Even if my fiance was outside with me and it happened, nothing could really have been done. He may have yelled after the fire engine, but that wouldn’t have accomplished anything.

I was really embarrassed and am still embarrassed when I think about it. I even felt embarrassed on behalf of my fiance, as I thought others may have thought he was with a hooker. I don’t know if that’s rational or not. It makes me want to cover up more when I go out, but I shouldn’t have to. I was dressed quite nicely, yet I still was treated in this manner. It was disgusting.

For this anonymous Holla Back DC poster, being treated "like a hooker" was a stunning insult of her value as a woman, and therefore a great source of shame. (As far as traditional expectations of women go, being confused with a sex worker is, unfortunately, pretty low on the "honor" list). This woman's reaction may help to explain why some victims feel shame after being sexually harassed or assaulted. When women are treated as less-than-human, there are often two conflicting internal reactions: (a) anger at the harassers who devalued her based on her gender, and (b) being forced to consider the idea, however briefly, that she has no value.

Our writer presents a third reaction: A secondary source of shame, derived from the possibility that someone "may have thought [her fiance] was with a hooker." Since the woman's fiance is responsible for her shame as well, he may have a similarly conflicted reaction: (a) anger at the harassers who devalued her based on her gender, and (b) shame that he is associated with a woman who is considered by other men to be valueless. Chivalry encourages him to take personal offense to this, inciting one of two reactions: (a) engaging in a verbal or physical altercation with the harassers in order to compensate for the woman's shame with a display of manhood; and/or (b) chastising the woman for bringing shame upon him, i.e. "Don't embarrass me in front of other men"; "Don't go out looking like that"; "See what you made me do."

In this case, there's no indication that the fiance openly chastised this woman for dressing inappropriately (though he may have gone after the firemen had he had the opportunity). The actual display of chivalry isn't necessary to instill in this woman a sense of responsibility for her fiance's honor. The realization that a man may be shamed when she is harassed for being a woman makes her want to dress more conservatively in order to preempt any further shame on him in the future.

2. This weekend, I had a conversation with a guy visiting the District from Turkey. We got to talking about the evolving tradition of women wearing headscarves in his country. About half the women he knows wear headscarves, and half don't; his mom wears one, but his wife doesn't. In Turkey, he said, a woman who doesn't cover her head brings society's shaming not only upon herself, but also upon her husband. Insisting that a woman wear a headscarf is considered a man's responsibility, and a woman with her head uncovered can reflect a personal failure on the man assigned to enforce the rule. "If you follow all the rules of the religion, you get an A+ in being a Muslim," he explained. If your wife doesn't cover your head, you can still be a good Muslim, but your grade gets knocked down a few points.

Not all women wear the headscarf because their husbands or fathers or brothers tell them (or force them) to. Some choose to wear it for personal, cultural, and religious reasons. And some choose to wear it in order to preempt any possibility of shame being brought upon the men in their lives. They want their husbands to get an A+.

3. Today, WTOP reported that Vladimir Djordjevic has died after spending three years in the hospital attempting to recover from the extreme burns covering his body. Djordjevic, a manager at District strip club Good Guys, was "doused with gasoline and set on fire" on Nov. 4, 2007, after he ejected a patron for breaking a house rule—he took a cell-phone photo of a dancer's butt. The patron, trucker Vasile Graure, returned to the club with a gallon of gasoline and proceeded to light Djordjevic—and then the club—on fire. (You can read a complete account of the trial here; Graure was sentenced to 30 years in prison, which may be increased in light of Djordjevic's death).

So: Graure thought he had complete authority over the naked woman in front of him; Djordjevic informed him that he did not; Graure set Djordjevic on fire.

Djordjevic's death is an extreme example of how chivalry facilitates the transfer of misogyny from women to men. As Amanda Marcotte noted earlier this year,  "when it comes to the patriarchy, sexist men will enforce the rules not just on women, but on other men who seem insufficiently committed to the art of oppressing women," she writes. When Graure set Djordjevic on fire, he applied his misogynistic rage to the man who would not sit back and allow him to control women. You see the same kind of transfer of misogyny with guys who, thanks to chivalry, will "Never Hit A Woman"; instead, they'll hit the closest guy.

This kind of misogyny transfer doesn't just result in the tragic deaths of guys like Djordjevic (who, as club security, had the unnerving professional task of protecting dancers from misogynistic patrons). It also helps to obscure the root of the violence, which is an extreme hatred of women. By placing a male intermediary between a misogynist and the intended recipient of his misogyny (a woman), the misogynist can walk away from a chivalry-induced fist-fight patting himself on the back for how much he "respects women." Meanwhile, some blame for said fist-fight can be conveniently transferred onto the woman for failing to take the punch herself. In order to avoid both the fist-fight and the self-blame, the woman has one line of defense—don't do whatever you think caused the misogynist to get so angry. Don't wear a short skirt. Don't protest when he takes your photo in a strip club. Don't get angry when he sexually harasses you.

"The lesson here is not that women should be more eager to be treated like subhumans," Marcotte writes. "The lesson is that sexual harassment is a dominance display, and the harassers will often resort to violence to maintain the dominance they desire. 'Never hit a woman' doesn’t really do much to address the underlying cause of violence against women, which is male dominance and misogyny."

Chivalry encourages a form of preemptive internalized misogyny that results in the policing of women, how they dress, where they go, how much hair they show, and whether they stand up for themselves when harassed or assaulted. In the future, the woman harassed by the firemen may dress more conservatively, or avoid standing on the street corner alone, in order to prevent her husband from ever being associated with someone who is confused for "a hooker". A woman may choose to wear a headscarf in order to preempt any shame being brought to her husband. And a woman who is victimized by a man may not speak out, in order to avoid the chivalrous man-next-door from starting a fist-fight—or criticizing her for somehow encouraging the harassment.

Chivalry works to unfairly displace misogyny onto men. But focusing solely on that particular failure of chivalry ignores the obvious truth—that misogyny is unfair for everyone. Women, too!

Photo via David Spender, Creative Commons Attribution License 2.0

Insider airline misogyny! On Monday, Continental Airlines CEO Jeff Smisek announced the company's merger with United by leveling the following burn against United Airlines: "Smisek told analysts and reporters Continental began a whirlwind courtship with United after learning it was in merger talks with Tempe-based US Airways because it didn't want United to end up with 'the ugly girl.' He called Continental the pretty one."

United U.S. Airways shot back by claiming the "ugly girl" comment was offensive to women—but more importantly, it was offensive to U.S. Airways:

CEO Doug Parker addressed the slam, which he called inappropriate, in a memo to employees Tuesday afternoon, and said Smisek has apologized for the remarks.

"Like me, many of you found his comment both chauvinistic and offensive to the hard-working people of US Airways," Parker said.

. . . He said one employee asked, "Why are we the ugly girl?"

So which is it? Either you denounce the comment as being legitimately offensive to women, or you act all butthurt that your male-run airline has been compared to the most worthless form of woman (the un-pretty kind!).

Listen: I'm a heterosexual cisgender thin able-bodied atheist white lady. If someone attempts to insult me by using a slur that's offensive to gays, or trans people, or a racial group,  or the disabled, or fat people, or a religious group, it's unhelpful for me to respond by saying, for example, "That's offensive to gays, and also, I'm personally offended that you would ever compare me to a gay person."

Also unhelpful: How U.S. Airways chose to resolve the flap:

[Doug Parker] said Smisek sent him an apology in which he said he "got carried away in the moment" and "really felt badly."

"I believe Jeff was sincere in his apology, have accepted it on behalf of all of us and am ready to move past it," Parker's memo said.

In conclusion, some guy has decided that he's ready to move past some other guy's sexism.

Photo via chrisny2, Creative Commons Attribution License 2.0

This week in college sex columns: The University of Mary Washington tells students to fuck finals, and just fuck; Georgetown University explains WTF a "Zombie Fling" is, and why it should be avoided; Jaclyn Friedman administers a beatdown to misogynist college columnists.

UNIVERSITY OF MARY WASHINGTON tells you to fuck finals:

Sex Tip: In this edition of The Bullet sex column Sexclamations, Erin Hill advises students to take sexual study breaks to relieve stress: "Although it will consume a bit of your study time, making love to your partner and enjoying his or her presence will boost your mood and help you get a better grip on stress and other activities related to it. You may not find yourself 'in the mood,' but spending time with your partner and getting a few sessions in the sack can ultimately be extremely rewarding and beneficial to you and your partner’s well being."

Life Lesson: You don't have to take your clothes off: "simply holding hands can alleviate stress," Hill writes. Students without hands to hold can also "look at some LOLcats and have a few giggles," or masturbate.

Progressive Meter: Blowing off studying to have sex? Including options for students who don't want to have sex, and those who want to have sex with themselves? A+.

—

GEORGETOWN UNIVERSITY wants your relationships to feel like "an icy cool glass of lemonade on a hot July day":

Sex Tip: Hoya relationship columnist Colleen Leahey apprises her classmates of all manner of "fling" they can engage in this summer. According to Leahey, all summer flings are good ideas. Except for the "Zombie Fling," which must be avoided:

This relationship resembles a pesky bee you continuously chase around the room trying to swat, but, at the last minute, feel too bad to kill. It’s that hook-up you absolutely hate to enjoy and desperately want out, but you can’t seem to fully climb down the escape ladder. Out of all the flings, this is the only one I would suggest staying away from, for the complex feelings it typically yields are far from refreshing or exhilarating. If you find yourself with a zombie, get the strength to end things and use the summer as your rebound. There is no better time for a little recuperation than the summer months."

Life Lesson: "Like an icy cool glass of lemonade on a hot July day, the summer fling refreshes the exhausted college student’s mental and physical health."

Progressive Meter: Leahey approves of all summer relationship lengths, of from one week to three months. I'll take it.

—

SEX COLUMNIST EMERITUS and feminist superstar Jaclyn Friedman ain't in college anymore. But campus columnists of the misogynist variety would do well to heed her advice:

Sex Tip: Your faux-edgy pro-rape columns are not, in fact, edgy. "Congratulations. You have written a column encouraging dudes to rape drunk girls, and it's now earning you 15 seconds of internet fame. Well played. I hope you're making the most of your moment," Friedman writes. Unfortunately, your misogyny is boring: "don't kid yourself into thinking you're groundbreaking or even original. People have been telling women who 'misbehave' that they deserve/secretly want 'whatever happens to them' since the dawn of time."

Life Lesson: Do not write faux-edgy pro-rape columns: "please go directly to hell," Friedman concludes. "I have just as much right as any man does to go out and have a few drinks without having a violent felony perpetrated against me."

Progressive Meter: A zillion.

Photo via the Library of Virginia.

In an e-mail last week, Sexist reader Ari Sahagun wrote in objecting to some "incongruous" advertising accompanying a Sexist blog post. She writes:

So I was reading some articles in The Sexist blog; mostly about feminism, women's rights, women's issues, etc.  I came to this page, where I was shown an ad about weight loss with a skinny, busty, blond woman in a bikini.  I'm attaching a screenshot for your reference [it's above -ed].

Can you, writers and hosts of a feminist blog, create a healthy space for feminist discussion, or must our entire lives be littered with this unhealthy imagery of women?

Good question! The short answer, unfortunately, is: No, I can't create a safe space here free from the encroachment of busty advertising. But I can write at length about my thoughts on that busty advertising! Below, a more involved rumination on sexist ads on a feminist Web site:

At the Washington City Paper, the newspaper that employs me and hosts this blog, the editorial and advertising ends of the paper are completely separate operations. The two sections of the paper are so uninvolved with one another that I generally have no idea who advertises in the paper; I simply pay no attention to it.

In many ways, this is a very good thing. Because the ads have nothing to do with my job, I can write about any subject I like in any way I like without fear of offending an advertiser. And if I do offend an advertiser, I don't care.  Last year, for example, I wrote a long story that took a critical eye to Catholic University's student sex ban. At that time, Catholic U. had a healthy advertising contract with the paper—a contract that was severed when my story hit, the university immediately ceased advertising in the newspaper, and  all copies of the City Paper were removed from its campus.

The busty dieting ad is far from the most problematic ad you'll find in this paper. After I wrote a blog post mocking local prostitution enthusiasts, one so-called prostitution "monger" informed me in the comments section that he had "found out about [several] massage parlors from their ads in the City Paper, and I have paid for sex with several prostitutes whom I found through their advertisements in the City Paper." If I cared about who advertised in the paper, I would have to determine that, because my salary is paid by these ads, it is in my self-interest to encourage support for massage parlors that offer "happy endings," and not write blog posts mocking people who frequent them. Thankfully, I don't care, so the mockery stands.

What does the City Paper's advertising department think of my blatant disregard for the advertisers who pay my salary? I don't know, because I don't care enough to ask, but I do know that no one has ever approached me and asked me to print something positive about an advertiser, or to not print something negative about an advertiser. And I afford our advertising department the same professional courtesy: I don't take issue with the ads they decide to book. And so, when an advertisement appears next to my blog which tells readers to "Learn the FREE tip discovered by a mom to turn their flats into a sexy body that they dreamed of," I have a lot of personal reactions to that ad. Like, how does a "mom" have "their" flats? Who are "they"? What are "flats"? Why do I have the sneaking suspicion that this tip is not truly free? I might even deem the ad enough of a train wreck of misogyny and copy editing to warrant commentary on my blog. What I won't do is go down to our advertising department and ask them to remove it.

Our advertising department does have its own internal standards that it uses to determine which ads are acceptable and which ones aren't. Again, I don't generally concern myself with those standards, but City Paper managing editor Andrew Beaujon did unearth some of the paper's classifieds guidelines last year: "In a City Paper ad, says [Classifieds director Heather] McAndrews, you can't post a photo of genitalia or penetration. 'Nipples are kind of on a fence,' she says." That being said: If you, as readers and potential consumers of the products advertised on our Web site, are ever turned off by any of the ads here, please contact our advertising department and let them know. I'm sure they'll be happy to hear your concerns.

Last week, I interviewed Jaclyn Friedman about fucking while feminist and the tangled web feminists weave when we try to bring a relationship partner into our down-with-the-patriarchy worlds. In the interview, Friedman expressed the desire to establish a dating litmus test that feminists can use to weed out incompatible matches early on in the relationship. Friedman used to screen guys who professed a love for Fight Club, but she abandoned that particular test after she "learned that a lot of smart, progressive, even feminist guy like Fight Club." Is there any shortcut that feminists can use to ensure they're not wasting their time on misogynists? After Friedman bared her dating dilemmas, the feminist blogosphere exploded with insight on the idea of the feminist fucking litmus test. But first, I'll share my own litmus test:

Mine is pretty simple. I don't require people I date to identify as feminist, or be aware of what "male privilege" is, or watch porn with a critical eye, or give even the tiniest shit about gender roles in Superbowl commercials. Of course, I've got some idiosyncratic deal-breakers unrelated to feminism (if you have ever changed your handle or IP address in order to comment multiple times on a blog post, it is probably not going to work out). My dating litmus test is the same one that many have used to consider candidates for the United States Supreme Court: If you don't support a woman's right to abortion, then we can't have sex, ever.

Jill Filipovic at Feministe suggests that it's a lot easier to suggest litmus tests for other feminists to follow than to actually weed out men based solely on principle:

Even getting to the point of “this is a person worth dating in the first place” is… not easy. Any relationship requires compromise and flexibility, sure; but how and where to compromise on the feminism thing is particularly difficult because we aren’t talking about a political issue here, we’re talking about a way of seeing the world. I also watch a lot of women date men who are, to be kind, Not Great, but they want to date someone and Not Great Guy is there I guess. I remember being at one feminist conference or another, and an audience member who identified as a feminist asked a panel of feminist writers what they do about the men in their lives who joke about sexism — she was engaged, she said, and her fiance and her dad love to joke about how she should get in the kitchen and make them a sandwich, ha ha ha, and she told them a bunch of times that it bothers her but that they still do it. And all I could think was, “Oh sister they are not joking, dump that dude and dump him now.” But I’m pretty sure I could have said that and she would not have dumped that dude, now or otherwise. And then I remembered that I once dated a dude who sat me down to watch an episode of Tough Love (“I know you’re skeptical, but he totally helps these girls!”) where host-man tells one of the contestants that she’s so slutty she’s going to get herself raped. I voiced my disgust and he was basically like, “But host-man is kind of right, don’t you think?” And I didn’t dump that dude on the spot either, even though I felt so gut-punched I could barely talk.

Point being, it’s awfully easy to look at other feminist women and think that they are making obviously terrible choices with their love lives; it is much harder to actually find someone who meets all the requirements of a feminist litmus test, and is single and is someone you’re attracted to and is also attacted to you and is someone who you want to discuss things other than feminism with and is in the right place at the right time. So if you want a relationship — and I think that most people really do want relationships — you have to be able to put some things aside. Where and how you put your feminism aside is, for me, significantly harder than he likes cats and I’m more of a dog person.

Andrea Grimes at Heartless Doll doesn't cop to a particular litmus test, but she does say that her feminism has greatly improved her love life. At some point, her standards shifted in imperceptible ways, and it resulted in a quality-over-quantity change to her dating roster:

I didn't self-identify as feminist until a couple of years ago. It was a long process of consciousness-raising through blog-reading, book-buying and news consumption before I finally, at the age of 24, decided that feminism was the way to go. And I definitely did a whole hell of a lot more dating–casual and serious–before I was 24. Is feminism to "blame"? Hard to say. Being in college, and being young generally, put me in a bigger dating pool. I was less jaded, willing to put up with all kinds of shit and fairly serious about seeing what the world had to offer me in the way of dick.

. . . As I've gotten older, I find it much, much more difficult to even crush on anyone. The allure of the deadbeat rock-star-bartender is gone. I no longer want to sleep with a guy just because he looks like Dan Radcliffe. I'm not gazing longingly at every writer under age 70 with a Rolling Stone byline. Having had several long-term relationships and experienced the good and the bad that comes with, I'm much, much less personally invested in finding one again and far more comfortable and happy with myself overall. I fantasize about weddings, not marriage. (I  need to upgrade my Hello Kitty toaster, anyway.)

But while my dating quantity has gone down as I identified as a feminist, the quality of dating has gone way, way up. If I never again talked to most of the guys I slept with before I was 24, I would not much be bothered. But the guys I've met and loved and screwed since will, I hope, remain my friends to some degree or another.

I think being a feminist has made me a better girlfriend, a better dater, a better lover, a better person generally. What's not to like? (Apart from the functional alcoholism and cat obsession.) Indeed, I polled guys I've dated since my feminist awakening, and none of them seem to take much issue with my fierce-ladyness. In fact, it seems to be something they're into. I asked them whether my feminism was a problem, and whether they're more or less attracted to feminists generally.

Merrit Martin from Heartless Doll says forearms first, feminism later:

... when I was dating, I would look for someone interested in learning about the feminist ideals and women's issues I believe in . . . though, to be honest, I'd do that after the first chit-chat and "do I even like his voice, forearms, hair, etc." part. I have to be honest—the physical part is important. I may be fairly traditional in terms of waiting a while before doing the deed, but if I can't even comprehend his P in my V (or at least Frenching a little), there's no point in finding out how he feels about Margaret Sanger.

Natalia Antonova keeps her feminism in perspective:

When I first meet someone, and decide that I adore them, I don’t really consider their politics at first. And while I usually mention that I’m a feminist, I do it in a flirtatious way—“yeah, I’m a feminist. A hardcore one.” . . . I don’t mind being anyone’s challenge, not initially, probably because I believe that initial attraction is always pretty superficial. I don’t even care if a guy offends me at first, because I’ll argue with him, and maybe he’ll argue back, and maybe we’ll discover that we actually have more in common than we realize, or else even less in common than previously thought. I’ve made my peace with the fact that “feminist” tends to be a loaded term, and when it provokes a reaction, I just deal with it, and move on. I don’t even think about it much anymore. It’s a little like being on autopilot.

Whenever I sacrifice my feminism for a man, I do it while remembering that it’s feminism that allows me that choice in the first place.

Viv at Finally, a Feminism 101 Blog has got a litmus test that works on the very first date:

In terms of feminist dating litmus tests, it’s nearly 20 years since I last dated, and perhaps this one isn’t so uncommon now as it was then, but one of my litmus tests was: is he OK about me thinking of something we could go see together, me ringing him up to invite him, and then me organising and paying for the tickets plus paying for the meal beforehand? My experience was that some men found this reversal of stereotypical dating roles confronting. Most were surprised, definitely. My partner of the last nearly 20 years hardly turned a hair (this doesn’t mean that we haven’t had our “why can’t you see this is a problem?” moments at times, but it was a damn good start).

Some Sexist commenters offered up their own guidelines. bellacoker looks for men who have been capable of change:

I have a litmus test, but not about feminism particularly. If the topic comes up in conversation I pay close attention to how potential partners discuss their previous partners, how those relationships ended and how they distribute the blame.

Super bonus points for being able to analyze personal situations critically and admit and learn from their own imperfections. Complete deal breaker for references to how their ex’s are any kind of “crazy,” unless diagnosed by an actual mental health professional in a clinical setting.

Amber looks for men who treat her as an individual:

In my current relationship with a very good man I have taken an incremental approach to explaining what feminism is and how it relates to his life. When we hear a story about “corrective rape” in South Africa on NPR that can become a conversation about the rape culture here. When we see an ad that sexualizes rape, I try to explain how these images normalize violence against women. Why “Law and Order SVU” sucks. Point being, I’ve tried to show him the world through my eyes. There are compromises; the gender roles are a little more traditional than I would like but he passes my personal litmus test of seeing me as an individual rather than filling the role as an archetype for their personal narrative. I’ll take it.

And DB's litmus test sounds awkward:

Potential litmus #1:

his last girlfriend isn’t an idiot (ask for references)

Photo by L Marie, Creative Commons Attribution License 2.0

When I wrote my piece parsing the feminist and misogynist undertones in the works of Lil Wayne, I overlooked one verse from "We Like Her," Wayne's ode to wanting to "fuck every girl in the world":

This verse comes courtesy of Mack Maine, president of Weezy's Young Money Entertainment:

For free suites, I'd give Paris Hilton all-nighters
In about 3 years, holla at me Miley Cyrus
I don't discriminate, no not at all
Kit Kat a midget if that ass soft I break her off
I exchange V-Cards with the retards
And get behind the Christian like Dior

So . . . Mack Maine is interested in having sex with celebrity socialites, girls who will reach the age of consent sometime in the future, Christians, women affected by dwarfism (with soft asses), and virgins with developmental disabilities. But don't worry, he does not discriminate as to which female vessel he achieves sexual release in.

I've heard this song on the radio dozens of times, but I must have blocked this verse out in order to avoid that special combination of offensive terminology and sexual assault overtones. Last night, my boyfriend called to confirm that he had actually heard the line, "V-Cards with the retards," broadcast over the radio. He did. Hey, as long as it's not "no homo," it's okay by them.

When Mack Maine says he'll have sex with Paris Hilton in exchange for free hotel rooms, he is dreaming. When he says he will "exchange" V-cards—I doubt Mack Maine is still holding on to his, but you never know—with developmentally disabled virgins, he is actually frightening me. It's also one of the more pathetic attempts at swagger I've ever come across. But good for him, he made something rhyme.

I recently scolded Chris Brown for employing the phrase on the Wendy Williams Show, citing four criteria (a) "I Love Women" essentializes an entire gender; (b) it really means "I love having sex with women"; (c) it is generally employed as a thin cover for a blatant sexist phase; or, worse: (d) it is assumed to be a get-0ut-of-jail-free card for past misogynistic behavior.

But Weingarten insists that he's not using "I love women" in the Chris Brown sense of the phrase:

Washington, D.C.: As a regular user of the phrase "I love women" right here in this very chat, what say you about this?

Gene Weingarten: This is interesting, and a comeuppance for me. Except when I say "I love women" I do not mean "I love to have sex with women." I mean something less crude, but no less objectionable, I suppose. I am saying that I find a combination of certain traits—compassion, empathy, the ability to wield sexual power with sophistication and adroitness and mercy, the sometimes comical pursuit of decency and cleanliness, a distaste for the vulgar and common, an instinctive kindness, and instinctive appreciation of tastefulness and decorum, a charming embarrassment over coarse bodily functions, and several other attributes—to be adorable and enviable and worthy and beyond the understanding of many men. In this sense, I am, in fact, both generalizing (all women are not alike) and diminutizing (I find these things, God help me, "cute"). I am guilty of this and apologize.

Gene Weingarten: Here's how much I respect women: If I were a gynecologist, I would administer ma'am-ograms.

So, Weingarten isn't using "I love women" in a (b) "sex!" or (d) "excuse for hitting his girlfriend" way, but he is using "I love women" in an (a) "generalizing" and (c) "deminutizing" way. Basically, he's batting .500 on "I love women." But hey, at least he's honest about it.

First up: "A Milli," a track off Tha Carter III:

[youtube:v=eTF6N7EWzOA]

Relevant Lyrics: "The Bible told us every girl was sour / Don't play in her garden and don't smell her flower / Call me Mr. Carter or Mr. Lawnmower"

Feminist: Weezy's lawnmower is here to destroy all those antiquated ideas about female sexuality.

Misogynist: A man's lawnmower chopping up a woman's flower is not exactly the most sex-positive imagery.

—

"Mrs. Officer," a song about a sexy cop.

[youtube:v=AnS040x1gVs]

Relevant Lyrics: "Doin a buck in the latest drop/ I got stopped by a lady cop/ She got me thinking I can date a cop/ Cause her uniform pants are so tight . . . And I know she the law, and she know I'm the boss / And she know I can hide above the law / And she know I'm raw, she know it from the street / And all she want me to do is fuck the police."

Feminist: He's attracted to women in positions of power!

Misogynist: . . . as long as their pants are tight, and he can neutralize their authority by pulling out his wang.

—

"We Like Her," a song about wanting to fuck every girl in the world. Every single one!

[youtube:v=4pdrJfDAZDQ]

Relevant Lyrics: "Open up her legs then filet mignon that pussy / I'm a get in and on that pussy / If she let me in I'm a own that pussy / Go'n throw it back and bust it open like you 'posed to / Girl I got that dope dick / Now come here let me dope you / You gon' be a dope fiend / Your friends should call you dopey"

Feminist: Every woman is beautiful.

Misogynist: Just beautiful enough for Wayne to declare ownership of her genitals and describe their courtship in sexual assault terms.

—

"Lollipop," a song about oral sex.

[youtube:v=2v6xK1eSBFk]

Relevant Lyrics: "I get her on top / She drop it like it's hot / And when I'm at the bottom / She Hilary Rodham."

Feminist: He just name-checked Hilary Rodham. In a positive way! And without the Clinton, even!

Misogynist: I'm not sure that riding Weezy is exactly the type of women's liberation Hil is working for.

—

"Prostitute Flange," a song about not caring if your lady previously turned tricks.

[youtube:v=wWRTccgV-qE]

Relevant Lyrics: I wouldn't care if you were prostitutin' / That you hit every man that you ever knew / See it wouldn't make a difference / If that was way before me and you girl.

Feminist: An anti-slut-shaming anthem: Her sexual history is not an issue, even if she had sex with every man she has ever met. That's pretty progressive!

Misogynist: Well, the history is unimportant as long as it's ancient—"way before me and you"—and as long as she's now only his forever: "Three letters: I do."

—

"Project Bitch," a track from Lil Wayne's Hot Boys days.

[youtube:v=FNlbKNSFd6k]

Relevant Lyrics: Wayne's contribution to this track is devoted to the ladies who " be puttin' they mouth on it / and they suck everything out of it / and they catch it and swallow it. . . . When I come through in a Rolls Royce / I leave them with no choice / but to hop up in it an just let me make they throat moist."

Feminist: Hmm.

Misogynist: Yeah.

I was really impressed that the Post chose to ask its seven resident football bloggers this question: Should football cheerleading squads be disbanded because they are a misogynist tradition? But then the bloggers were all like: "Nope!"

First, Sarah Schorno is like, STFU you guys cheerleaders are pretty: "You can take the 'it's degrading to women' and 'it's inappropriate for children' arguments and shove it."

And then Dan Levy is all, seriously? "I honestly can't believe we are having this conversation," he writes. (Me neither!) "And before people get all 'oh my gosh you're such a misogynist' on me, let me be perfectly clear on one thing. . . you're over-reacting."

And then Brandon Benson goes, you can't get rid of cheerleaders, because porn: "I admit that I always watch the gratuitous shot of a cheerleader as the network comes back from a commercial break. I admit to lingering over the cheerleader pictures posted on many NFL websites, and watching glimpses of various cheerleader tryouts on the NFL Network."

And then Adam Tracey is all, DUH it can't be misogynistic because it's for men not women: "Yes women and kids watch football, but let's face it; football's main demographic is guys. We like football, we like beer and we like cheerleaders."

And theeeeen, Dawn Knight goes, "I'm sure there are people out there who would want me to bring up the whole women- shouldn't-be-objectified argument," but then she TOTALLY DOESN'T BRING THAT UP, and instead says that a lot of cheerleaders are really nice ladies, and she's "glad times have changed enough to look beyond the short skirts" . . . that we still make the cheerleaders wear. (Is your brain exploding? Mine is too!)

So then finally, Dan Parker is like, okay it's misogynistic, but I'm going to put "misogynistic" in quotes because it's not really: "the league could do well to get rid of cheerleaders in an effort to perhaps make the games seem less 'misogynistic' toward female viewers. "

Parker's opinion is poorly received:

Well, it's been fun, Washington Post's The League! Thanks for having this really productive chat about misogyny! Next time, homophobia?

Why aren't there more female marijuana activists, Marijuana Policy Project employee Laura Greenback asks in High Times. Ooh! Pick me! I know the answer!

It's not that women don't like smoking weed. We do. And it's not that we don't care about the ass-backwards war on drugs—despite Greenback's fears, half of the MPP's top staff are women. It's not that there are too few pop-culture stoner females, as Double X suggests—though we're getting warmer!

Women don't identify with marijuana activism because weed culture is dude culture. On the surface, a lot of the trappings of weed culture are coed-ready: women, too, can get high, blast Phish, play hacky sack, and stuff miniature Reese's Peanut Butter Cups into our faces. But even if we're allowed to strap on a fucking hemp necklace and toke up with the boys, we will still have to deal with the tits. Let's check out the advertising paired with Greenback's piece:

There's the sexy vaporizer shot (above). There's the weed bikini shot (below):

And then there's this:

Seriously? Pot vagina? No strength of medicinal could calm the nausea that ad just inspired.

Here's what these advertisements say to women: Weed isn't for you. It's for men. (Also for men? Your boobs). And the targets of those advertisements—high school and college guys—often echo those misogynist attitudes.  You know what's even more annoying than a misogynist? A misogynist who is high out of his mind. No wonder we tend to skip the pot rallies.

MORE: Why misogyny in the counter-culture is more annoying than mainstream misogyny.

In a promotional blitz for his film, I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell, Tucker Max has published a series of comedic "facts" to help publicize the IHTSBIH way of life. "Blind girls never see you coming," reads one insight; "The best thing about fat girls is heart disease," reads another. These "facts" have been deemed too offensive for ad space by at least one ad agency and the Chicago Transit Authority. But for every feminist spoilsport who finds Max's facts vile, there's a fan willing to defend the jokes as just plain hilarious.

I have one big problem with the "but it's just funny!" defense. If an appreciation for Max's "facts" requires only a sense of humor, and not latent misogyny, racism, or homophobia, why are his fans willing to listen to the exact same joke over and over and over again? It's the same fucking joke.

Today, I clicked refresh on Tucker Max's Web several dozen times in an effort to distill Max's comedy down to seven easy-to-learn formulas. Now, you too can become a brilliant college humorist with a true ear for real comedy! Just insert deaf-girl-joke here, aspiring Maxes!:

1. The "Disability / Body Type" joke (by far the most common).

* Formula: [ comment on a woman's disability / height / size] + [sexual pun / assault inference / expression of disgust (explicit)] x [expression of disgust (implied)].

Variation: "Blind"

#7 Blind girls never see you coming.

#13 Blind people hate electric cars.

#29 Bros Before Hos: Unless she’s blind.

Variation: "Deaf"

#6 Deaf girls never hear you coming.

#15 Deaf people hate the Verizon guy.

#25 Ever heard a deaf girl come? Neither has she.

Variation: "Midget"

# 1 Midgets have shallow vaginas.

#11 Midget jokes are beneath us.

#30 Bros Before Hos: Unless she’s a midget.

Variation: "Fat"

#3 Fat girls are not real people.

#19 The best thing about fat girls is heart disease.

—

2. The "Challenging Feminist Definitions" joke:

* Formula: [feminist trope] + [misogyny] + [denial].

#8 It’s not misogyny if you hate EVERYONE.

#22 Sexism isn’t the same as misogyny, you stupid bitch.

#27 Bitches are cunts.

—

3. The "Mexican" joke.

* Formula: ["Mexicans"] + [are / are not] + [something in Spanish].

#2 Drunk Mexicans are not your “amigos."

—

4. "Women are Sluts (Also, Homeless People)" jokes.

* Formula: [ women / homeless people] + [are] + [sluts].

#10 There’s at least one slut in every bachelorette party.

#16 Every woman has her price.

#12 Strippers will not tolerate disrespect (HAHA, just kidding!)

#21 Whores fuck for money, sluts fuck for free.

#23 Girls Night Out = Bathroom BJ.

#20 Bums will fuck anything.

—

5. The "Gay" joke:

* Formula: [Thing] + [is] + [gay]

#24 Weddings are gay.

—
6. The "Violence Against Women" joke:

* Formula: [Universally recognized bad thing] + [surprise reversal] x ["edge"] x ["shock value"] = [Family Guy]

#4 Scott Peterson killed his pregnant wife. But not in a funny way.

—

7. The "Science" Joke

* Formula: [dismissal] + [thing girls like] + [hopefully conscious reversal of underlying scientific fact] = [actually kinda funny!]

#9 If it has sugar in it, it’s not a real shot.

This Week In Sexist History:

Good Ol’ Day: August 20, 1883

Dateline: Long Branch, NJ

1. Women must be pretty.

2. But they are born ugly, so we must make them pretty.

3. Women who go to the beach make this task very difficult for us.

4. And women who actually swim are nearly beyond help.

5. It is rather amusing, however, just how ugly swimming makes women!

6. Women who swim are so ugly, they don't even want men to look at their ugly bodies! But we do look at them, and then detail their hideousness in the pages of the New York Times.

7. Well, at least they are still wealthy.

8. Though these ugly, oceanic women allow no one to see how profoundly uncomfortable they are, I know they are profoundly uncomfortable, because I understand women. Even the ugly ones.

9. If a woman is not pretty, then she does not enjoy herself. As is proper.

10. But perhaps the water will help to cure her extreme ugliness anyhow.

11. And remember, even Butterfaces could be hiding a sensual ankle in the surf.

12. [Obligatory rhapsodic account of historical beach leering].

13. [Obligatory rhapsodic account of modern beach leering].

14. Foreign women! They are kind of hot, but so ignorant of the customs of our modern American beach leering!

15. This one hot foreign actress wore the ugliest swimsuit one time.

16. She was a shitty actress, too.

17. Yes, I am using the term "dudes." In 1883.

18. Girls can't swim!

19. Well, at least they display their pearly white arms when they're trying. Oh, did I mention that I am also a racist?

20. One reason for women to swim, of course, is to wear an outfit which mimics an animal's yoke, in order to infer that she would make a good, obedient wife.

21. Have I not sufficiently compared women to animals? Women women zebras.

22. Now I am leering at children.

23. Aaaaand back to the racism.

24. Old women are disgusting and must be kept indoors.

25. I like watching girls fall down.

26. Middle-aged women are the most heinous, for they insist upon swimming, though their bodies are universally reviled.

27. Have I mentioned swimming is for men?

The two exchanges are surprisingly similar—both target those with low self-esteem to exploit them for personal gain. Here's how it works: The Pick-Up Artist devotee feels worthless. He is informed that self-worth may be secured by having sex with women agreed to be attractive by the Pick-Up Artist community. He is told that in order to have sex with these women, he must not "be himself"—remember, he is worthless. Instead, he must pay exorbitant amounts of money to learn the correct "tactics" not to gain self-worth—but to convince the women that it is they who are truly worthless. Only the Pick-Up Artist "master" wins here—he gets the cash regardless of the outcome of the sexual conquest, while feeling superior to his male devotees (who are, in turn, superior to all women).

"How to Date Out of Your League"—a very elementary-level, college age version of game written by COED Magazine's Michael Dance—makes this dynamic perfectly clear.

Dance writes:

The holy grail of dating is to actually find a girl who’s hot but is still willing to go out with you.  And as you’ve already figured out, that’s really hard.  But even if you’re not as attractive or as suave as that friend who has so much sex you want to punch him, even if you “have no game,” there are a few ways to tip the scales in your favor.  These aren’t magic bullets.  They’re practical, actionable things that you can do to help you snag that gorgeous girl who it turns out has low enough self-esteem to actually go for you.

And so it begins. It is not enough for the Pick-Up Artist devotee to date someone who is his equal; in order to receive respect in the community, he must date someone who is somehow "better" than him ("hotter"). At the same time, the Pick-Up Artist  operates on the assumption that women who don't want to have sex with him—even these "better," hotter women—are conceited bitches. The Pick-Up Artist must find a woman he deems superior who, in turn, deems herself inferior. In order for the scam to work, both parties must believe that they are less-than the person they're sleeping with. Only the Pick-Up Artist master—the guy selling the books—is superior.

1. Actually Ask Girls Out on Dates Look, you can’t date out of your league if you don’t have the balls to actually ask a girl out on a date.  Sure, you might be able to get lucky at a party with a drunk girl, but as you’ve already experienced, it’s harder to do that consistently than you fantasized about in high school.  So many guys whine inwardly about not being a chick-magnet and forget it’s because they don’t actually put themselves out there and talk to any girls.

. . . The key is to be perceptive.  The problem for most guys who are unlucky with girls is not that they’re bad looking, it’s that they’re oblivious.  Girls make it very obvious when they don’t like what you’re doing (and for the record, pick-up lines and transparent attempts to impress her never work).  If she’s interested, she won’t be looking around the room for her girlfriends to save her.  She won’t be responding to your questions in polite two-word answers.  In fact, she won’t have to respond to too many of your questions, because she’ll be asking you questions, too.

Do you see how he talks down to you? You have no balls. You're so pathetic that you fantasize about having sex with drunk girls. You're oblivious. You think that "pick-up lines and transparent attempts to impress her" will actually work? Of course not—you need much, much more help than one lousy pick-up line can provide (buy the book). The actual advice—talk to girls—is so obvious that only a man with the lowest self-esteem could regard it as a revelation.

2. Don’t Talk About Yourself.  At All.

“When I was in seventh grade, I was really into Magic: The Gathering.”

“Yeah, I love movies!  I even went to the midnight opening of Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith.  Sat in the front row.”

“While I was masturbating this morning I was thinking about my mom…”

. . . But the “don’t talk about yourself” rule extends beyond just the obvious.  I really mean don’t talk about yourself at all.  You know why?  You’re not interesting.  You work in the scheduling department of a non-profit?  You taught yourself web design?  Your football team made sectionals in high school?  Your professor is just super, super lame?  Don’tcaredon’tcaredon’tcaredon’tcare.

Depending on exactly how “out of your league” the girl is, she’s probably not interesting either.  Unless she’s Mary-Louise Parker’s illegitimate daughter who got the hot genes from her mom and currently works as a spy for the CIA, chances are she’s just some random bitchy princess you want to sleep with, in which case — pat yourself on the back — she’s even less interesting than you.  If you ever want her to go down on you, just shut up and listen.

You're worthless. She's worthless. You're all worthless, except for me. Only I deserve to be heard; only I am worth listening to. I am a worthwhile person; you are a sad, pathetic loser who might be allowed to receive a blowjob from another sad, pathetic loser if you listen to what I have to say.

3. But At the Same Time, Don’t Be a Pussy.

There’s shutting up and listening to her stories, and then there’s letting her whine to you about this guy who’s mean to her and she’s so glad she has a really, really great friend like you.  If you’ve gotten to the latter point, you’re beyond saving.

It’s not a secret anymore that in general, girls are attracted to guys who don’t treat them well.  . . . But there’s two things wrong with that rule.  First, you can only really pull it off if you’re good-looking.  If you’re a hot jerk, you’re a badass; if you’re an average-looking jerk, you’re a tool.  It’s not fair, but such is life.

The other problem is that most of you who need to read articles like this one are too nice.  You literally cannot be a jerk to a girl.  Your parents taught you manners, thank you very much, and there shouldn’t be anything wrong with that.

There’s not.  The solution?  Just be assertive. That means, simply, that you should come across like a man who knows what he wants.  When you ask her out, give her a specific time, place, and activity.  Never say “I don’t care, what do you want to do?”  If she asks your opinion on something, give it to her.  Etc.

If she does specifically ask you about yourself, you’re permitted to tell her that you have a steady job or are well on your way down a lucrative career path.  No, she’s not seriously considering you as a mate yet, but if you think there’s no difference between “I’m studying to be a lawyer” and “I’m an English major,” you’re wrong.

"Nice." Nice is the classic marker of a girl who's not interested, and when administered from a Pick-Up Artist master to a Pick-Up Artist devotee, it's a very effective neg.  As is clear from the title of this tactic, being "nice" really means being a "pussy." Let's go ahead and sub that in to make sure we're not softening the blow: "most of you who need to read articles like this one are pussies." Sure, there's nothing wrong with being a pussy. Just be sure that you act like a pussy who knows what he wants (which is pussy). Thankfully, the Pick-Up Artist master is here to step in and tell you how to be the right kind of pussy: Just lie. Hey, it's what the master does best.

I'm not too familiar with online communities like AntiMisandry.com, a Web site dedicated to the cause of "curing feminist indoctrination." Since feminism is an affliction from which I suffer, it looks like I'm going to have to cure myself before I commence ridding the world of misandry. You know the old saying: One must truly begin to love onself before one may begin to blame all bad things on feminism.

Feminists, as is proper, hate men (RAARRRGGHHH). And yet, our deep, anti-discriminatory instincts tell us that in order to end misogyny, we must also work to end misandry. We're so torn!

And so, I've decided to delve into AntiMisandry.com to see if the anti-misandrists and the feminists can ever learn to love one another. Someone tell Matthew McConaughey, because I smell rom-com!

First, the unexpected attraction: A quick perusal of the AntiMisandry.com FAQ reveals the Web site to be as concerned withdiscrimination as your average feminist. AntiMisandry.com has strict rules against personal attacks in its forums (topics of discussion include "Female Paedophiles" and "Stupidity," but who am I to judge?). The following is a list of "discriminatory remarks & personal attacks" that AntiMisandry.com does not tolerate:

* Affiliations (male-centric for example)
* Color
* Disabilities (of any form)
* Female Centric threads (non male, father, boy, husband specific)
* Geographical local
* Military and/or Veteran Status (statements like baby killers, murderers etal)
* Misandrous global/generalizations (Obviously – See the name of the site!)
* Personal attributes (Cut/Uncut etal)
* Race
* Religious Beliefs
* Sexual Preference

So, AntiMisandry.com does not tolerate racist, homophobic, or anti-semitic postings on its Web site. It rejects any discrimination against the disabled. And it welcomes readers with all different styles of penis (circumcised and uncircumcised). Swoon!

On the other hand, it considers posts about women to be "personal attacks." But let's give the AntiMises the benefit of the doubt and chalk that up to editorial-decision jitters—after all, this is a space to talk about misandry, not misogyny. I shouldn't be so picky!

Let's take a look at the bright side! The site bans holocaust and slavery deniers (bonus!). What's more, AntiMisandry.com also rejects sexist and racist terms—the site's list of unacceptable "derogatory labels" ranges from "cocksucker" to "kraut." And here's the kicker: AntiMisandry.com explicitly bans the word "cunt." My hero!

But then, all of a suddent, AntiMisandry.com changed. Behold, the inevitable bombshell:

Search results for the word "kraut" (2)

Search results for the word "cocksucker" (6)

Search results for the word "cunt" (101)

Whaaa—but—how can this be? "Cunt" is a definitive no-no on AntiMisandry.com. And AntiMisandry.com would never lie to me! Would you, AntiMisandry.com? There must be some explanation for this!

And there is: "Please note that if the label is indeed used, CONTEXT will of course be taken into consideration."

Oh, of course! The context of "cunt." Whew. Baby. I knew I was overreacting. Your 101 posts referencing "cunt" must really be delving into the progressive, Vagina Monologue-y, I'm-taking-"cunt"-back context, right, AntiMisandry.com?

Right? Anti?

Well, let's take a look. First, we have the "cunt journalist" context:

The confusingly laudatory "alpha cunt" context:

And my personal favorite, the context of "cuntoon":

AntiMisandry.com, you bastard. I knew I never should have fallen for you. Sure, the part of me that hopes to score a lucrative movie deal out of this experience wants to say, "you had me at cuntoon." But the part of me that hopes to never hear the word "cuntoon" again, however, needs to say goodbye.

It would be difficult for any advertising campaign to convince me to drink a Bacardi Breezer anywhere—much less in a shopping mall. Unfortunately, Bacardi's "Get An Ugly Girlfriend" campaign has managed to produce the same feeling of nausea in me, but without the 4 percent alcoholic buzz!

Jezebel has already remarked on how the campaign misfires by attempting to target typically misogynystic alcohol advertising at women instead of the usual target (men). But the "Get An Ugly Girlfriend" campaign got another thing wrong, too: the Internet.

The Bacardi campaign, launched in Tel Aviv, is all set up to make online waves. On the Web site, you can fill out a form to receive a free Bacardi Breezer (though I'm not convinced Get An Ugly Girlfriend will look any better when we're drunk). You can add write in with your own comments about each of Bacardi's ugly girlfriends: Sally, the fat one; Daisy, the hippie (and probably the feminist) one; Wendy, the kinda gothy one; and Lucy, another fat one. And you can "friend" each of the girls on Facebook—a feature which sends you over to the campaign's Facebook page. It's so interactive!

Well, it was until this morning. When I logged onto the Facebook group yesterday afternoon, the campaign had about 100 followers—and dozens of negative comments applying a variety of critiques to Bacardi's ad men. The comments ranged from feminist attacks on Bacardi's misogynystic disregard of its potential customers to more aesthetic criticisms ridiculing Bacardi for passing off a grade-school insult as innovation.

But when I attempted to log onto the Facebook page again this morning—what can I say, I'm a fan—the whole interactive feature had mysteriously disappeared. That's the downside of "going viral" when you're trying to sell booze, not pageviews. Personally, I don't mind a spike in visitors when a lot of people are pissed off at whatever I have to say. But if you actually need your online visitors to buy what you're selling, it doesn't help that everyone coming to your site would never buy this misogynystic crap—much less an actual Bacardi Breezer.

It looks like Bacardi has decided to cut its losses on this one and shut down the impromptu Bacardi bitching site (though the ad campaign is still up online). The "comments" feature, however, is still up on the Web site: It includes three generic positive comments supplied by Bacardi. The "Add Your Comment" button below the comments goes nowhere. Now, all that visitors to the Web site can do is shut up and fill out the form for a free Bacardi. That's more like it!

UPDATE: Oops, looks like the Web site has been taken down entirely. Feminist social networking FTW?

UPDATE: A Bacardi rep sent the following apology to Jezebel:

Thank you for taking the time to post your story on Bacardi Breezer.

The campaign you are referring to ran in 2008 for two months in Israel. Even though Bacardi Breezer is not sold or distributed in the United States, we immediately notified the appropriate Bacardi affiliate and had this website shut down.

Bacardi proudly celebrates diversity and we do not endorse the views of this site. We sincerely apologize to anyone who was offended by this site and thank you for bringing it to our attention.

Please do not hesitate to contact me at anytime should you have any questions.

It's no secret that The Huffington Post fancies itself a left-leaning Web rag. Wikipedia describes Arianna Huffington's aggregatorial monster as "an American liberal news website." Conservapedia's definition, however, might be more helpful: "The site is an extreme mouthpiece for liberals," it reads. "The Huffington Post calls itself an internet newspaper of blogs, news and video but often is referred to as a hate site where its one-sided news cannot be trusted."

But even HuffPo's liberal readership gets tired of hating on conservatives sometimes, guys. Sometimes, they just want to sit back, relax, and look at accidentally bare nipples—just like the rest of America. This one-sided liberal hate site has one fatal weakness—boobs. Let's check out some recent stories from the Huffington Post's entertainment section:

* Here are some photos of Natalie Portman's nipple.

* Here are some photos of Beyonce's nipple, complete with HuffPo-provided "NSFW zoom."

* Here are some photos of Pamela Anderson's nipple (hardly news, but a boob's a boob).

* Here is an entire page devoted to recently naked women (and Barack Obama).

* Here is a collection of zoomed-in photos of 23 celebrities' breasts, made into a fun game called "Guess the Celebrity Breast Implants?"

Pretty standard entertainment-section blog fare here—though HuffPo does go above and beyond with the "NSFW zoom." You don't see a Beyonce nipple that close just anywhere.

So, what do nipple slips and boob jobs have to do with liberal politics?

The obvious answer, of course, would be nothing. People—even progressive, conservative-hating, liberal-minded people—will click on nipple slip slideshows and boob jobs guessing games, and that's a big part of the Huffington Post's model.

But look past the nipples, if you can, and you will find a clear liberal bent in HuffPo's non-boob Entertainment stories. Yesterday, the top three links on the Entertainment page could be considered GLBT interest stories: "Adam Lambert Confirms Rolling Stone To Address His Sexuality"; "WATCH: Neil Patrick Harris' FANTASTIC Tonys Closing Song"; "Gordon Ramsay Shocks Audience With 'Lesbian' Rant About Journalist." Also on the page yesterday was blogger Jackson Katz's post directly addressing the objectification of women in entertainment, titled "Eminem, Misogyny and the Sounds of Silence." Even "Guess the Celebrity Breast Implants" was inspired by a progressive premise: the Carrie Prejean controversy, which the Huffington Post began following as a homophobia-shaming story, before turning around and covering it as a topless-photograph-shaming story.

Here's the lib logic on that one: How dare this professional spokesmodel both hate gay people and take revealing modeling photographs? Our only choice is to shame her by posting them on our Web site. It is the only thing that will finally reveal her hypocrisy (and reel in the pageviews)!

This same Prejean logic is used by the Huffington Post to justify its other women-as-object pieces, as well. Though Senior Features editor Katherine Thomson didn't immediately return my request for comment yesterday, HuffPo has, in the past, addressed stray nipples directly. Cenk Uygur, host of "The Young Turks," took this position on the Janet Jackson flap:

CBS was fined $550,000 for showing Janet Jackson's right nipple on live television. Coal mines that endanger the lives of their workers are commonly fined $60 per violation. . . . How do you like those priorities?

Uygur has a point—who cares? It's just a nipple! Only a religious conservative would bother to make a stink out of a body part which most men, women, and children have in sets of two. It's almost enough to make fetishizing nipples on your Web site sound like a liberal position. If it pisses off the religious conservatives, that means it's a good thing, right? After all, this is just "entertainment," anyway—who cares if it's progressive or not when we're all just staring at nipples and having a good time? As Harry Shearer points out on HuffPo, everybody's doing it!

The problem is that people really do care about nipples. They care so much about nipples that the Huffington Post devotes pages and pages of photographs to them when women accidentally (or, you know, against their will) reveal them to the public. In that way, there's no difference between the religious conservative who is scandalized by a bare breast popping up in the middle of his football game and a liberal Web site which devotes its resources to naked chicks. A woman's body part is a priority. Real women's issues, not so much.

The Prejean logic, while tenuous, is at least accompanied by her blatant homophobia; how items like "Rihanna's Battered Face (PHOTO)" and "Valerie Bertinelli Gets Back In Her Bikini" key into HuffPo's liberal identity remains a mystery to me. But I'm confident that any item that reaps a lot of pageviews can some way, somehow, be justified as "liberal."

Henderson rightly points out that the "lewd references to sexual acts by [openly gay police officer Matt] Mahl and a female police sergeant who is also assigned to the Third District substation" indicate that Mahl was not the only victim of the hate-based slurs. Police sources identified the male officer in the graffiti to the Blade as Matt Mahl, but didn't identify the female mentioned in the case, or describe how the graffiti implicated her. Henderson is also right that it would be interesting to note how D.C. police have discussed the case—are they, too, focusing solely on the homophobic epithets, or considering the misogynist ones as well? I'll update if and when I hear back from MPD.

Read the whole thing—there are almost as many horrific plane crashes as there are extramarital affairs!—or read on for The Sexist's highlights. Below, all the sham marriages, Chelsea Clinton jokes, and easy Rio flings you can shake a big stick at!

* Dickinson opens the story with the following exchange, between McCain and an old war acquaintance (as Dickinson reveals, few could reasonably be described as "friend"):

"I'm going to the Middle East," Dramesi says. "Turkey, Kuwait, Lebanon, Iran."

"Why are you going to the Middle East?" McCain asks, dismissively.

"It's a place we're probably going to have some problems," Dramesi says. "Why? Where are you going to, John?"

"Oh, I'm going to Rio."

"What the hell are you going to Rio for?"

McCain, a married father of three, shrugs.

"I got a better chance of getting laid."

* And so begins our private look into John McCain's storied bone/hate affair with the female sex. The contempt for women began early on, Dickinson reports. Take this anecdote from McCain's school days, where he earned, if nothing else, the nickname "McNasty":

McCain was not only a lousy student, he had his father's taste for drink and a darkly misogynistic streak. The summer after his sophomore year, cruising with a friend near Arlington, McCain tried to pick up a pair of young women. When they laughed at him, he cursed them so vilely that he was hauled into court on a profanity charge.

* As the Republican nominee aged, his innocent profanity charges blossomed into full-blown, alcohol-fueled misogyny tomcattery. "He continued to get sauced and treat girls badly," writes Dickinson. "Before meeting a girlfriend's parents for the first time, McCain got so shitfaced that he literally crashed through the screen door when he showed up in his white midshipman's uniform."

* McCain's "dating experience" in the Navy continued along the same lines. McCain "chased a lot of tail," Dickinson reports. "He picked up models when he could, screwed a stripper when he couldn't."

* And then, suddenly, came love:

In 1964, while still at the base, McCain began a serious romance with Carol Shepp, a vivacious former model who had just divorced one of his classmates from Annapolis. Commandeering a Navy plane, McCain spent most weekends flying from Meridian to Philadelphia for their dates. They married the following summer.

* And then, inevitably, came contempt:

If heroism is defined by physical suffering, Carol McCain is every bit her ex-husband's equal. Driving alone on Christmas Eve 1969, she skidded out on a patch of ice and crashed into a telephone pole. . . . The former model McCain bragged of to his buddies in the POW camp as his "long tall Sally" was now five inches shorter and walked with crutches. . . . By any standard, McCain treated her contemptibly. Whatever his dreams of getting laid in Rio, he got plenty of ass during his command post in Jacksonville. According to biographer Robert Timberg, McCain seduced his conquests on off-duty cross-country flights — even though adultery is a court-martial offense. He was also rumored to be romantically involved with a number of his subordinates.

* And then, McCain learned to love (and hastily divorce) again:

In the spring of 1979, while conducting official business for the Navy, the still-married McCain encountered Cindy Lou Hensley, a willowy former cheerleader for USC. Mutually smitten, the two lied to each other about their ages. The 24-year-old Hensley became 27; the 42-year-old McCain became 38. For nearly a year the two carried on a cross-country romance while McCain was still living with Carol: Court documents filed with their divorce proceeding indicate that they "cohabitated as husband and wife" for the first nine months of the affair.

* And then, finally, he learned to totally flip his shit:

During his 1992 campaign, at the end of a long day, McCain's wife, Cindy, mussed his receding hair and needled him playfully that he was "getting a little thin up there." McCain reportedly blew his top, cutting his wife down with the kind of language that had gotten him hauled into court as a high schooler: "At least I don't plaster on the makeup like a trollop, you cunt." Even though the incident was witnessed by three reporters, the McCain campaign denies it took place.

* But through it all, McCain came away with a Hail Mary GOP fund-raiser joke that managed to somehow demean both Chelsea Clinton and Janet Reno at the same time:

the senator told a joke about President Clinton's teenage daughter at a GOP fundraiser. "Why is Chelsea Clinton so ugly?" McCain asked. "Because her father is Janet Reno!"