Sure, we want high-profile women to be allies to other women—and it stings extra hard when sexism is perpetuated through their public personas, instead of exclusively by dudes. But behind one Olivia Munn is a producer instructing Munn to "take it off reeeeeeally slow," and a network president "standing on a speaker in the back, leaning over to get pictures," and a team of photographers vying to catch an unauthorized glimpse of Munn's nipple, and a male co-host who insists that he "violate [her] from behind" despite her protestations, and a whole audience full of fanboys screaming at Munn to put her mouth on something. Behind her is an entire industry making sure this happens.

"Olivia Munn is not the one running this show," Sady Doyle writes. "If she weren’t willing to play this role, she wouldn’t have her job; if she didn’t have her job, someone else would. . . . Olivia Munn embodies geek-misogynist expectations and desires for women, in this one specific job she does, but those expectations and desires are what make girls’ lives hard, not the women who are paid to fulfill them."

Another expectation making girls' lives hard? The equally sexist demand that women take full responsibility for these sexist expectations by always refusing to fulfill them. By faulting Munn for "flaunting it"—instead of taking a look at the demand side of the Hot Girl equation—we're not only accusing Munn of being a bad feminist, but also a poor gatekeeper of sexism. An entertainment industry that's built on arousing men by wearing women down until they acquiesce? That, we take for granted. Women, who have little power in this structure, are nevertheless expected to keep the industry's libido under control—just as they're expected to hold off sex, keep a sufficient amount of clothes on so as not to tempt men, and never "put themselves in situations" where sexual assailants may strike.

It's unreasonable, of course, for us to expect any one woman to hold off a whole culture's misogyny. In fact, we expect all women to do it—not just high-profile women like Olivia Munn, but our peers and ourselves. In this world, when a woman is subjected to sexist treatment over and over again—like Munn has been, in magazines and on television—it's not evidence of systemic sexism. It's evidence that we should be "skeptical" of the woman herself who failed to adequately shake it off—and once again turn our attentions away from that big industry behind the girl.

Yesterday, Mary Elizabeth Williams wrote an open letter on Broadsheet to all the "celebrities" who appear in leaked sex tapes. Short version: You are all dumb sluts.

She begins:

Today's revelation that Hustler is releasing a 75-minute opus of "Real Housewives" star Danielle Staub doing the nasty is just the latest in a genre that wore out its welcome long before Dustin Diamond popularized the Dirty Sanchez. At this point, if you're a contestant on "Survivor," ever ran for president or have the name "Kardashian," we just assume there's a video out there of you making your O face. And our fatigue from your narcissism has actually finally won out over mere prurient curiosity.

Believe us, when it comes to the getting on of anyone's freak, we give a really wide berth. But call us cynical, we just can't shake the suspicion that what was once a private, loving act between an aspiring model and an aspiring DJ has now become something else—the pilot for a new Bravo series. Spare us the outrage at how you feel sooooo betrayed, how you have no idea how this could have fallen into the wrong hands. At least Jesse James admitted that, deep down, he wanted to get caught. This whole pretext of "I didn't really make and distribute my own little porno here" so you can give the public something that appears furtive and dirty and secret while still showing off how weird you look in night vision? Enough. And if you are actually dumb enough to make a sex tape and think it won't get leaked, you are too dumb to ever have sex again.

Allow me to translate for all the dumb sluts reading along here: You were asking for it. You saaaay you don't want the sex tape of your boyfriend coercing you into making a sex tape revealed to millions of downloaders, but we know better. You say no, but you mean yes. And if you can't figure even that much out—well, you're a dumb slut, after all.

We would like to just let this slide, but it turns out that your dumb sluttiness is getting veeeeery, very inconvenient for us sex bloggers out there in the business of covering dumb sluts. This business: Let me tell you, it is rough. We are routinely chained to our laptops and forced to watch Dustin Diamond, Kim Kardashian, various Survivors, and all manner of one-time political candidates pretend to not want us to be watching them do it, and then pen Internet posts detailing our displeasure with this scenario. We tolerated this, for a time. But now: A Real Housewife? For 75 minutes? This, it is too much to bear.

Perhaps you are wondering whether people who are tired of being forced to watch celebrity sex tapes are actually just too stupid to use the Internet? And to that we say: Quiet, dumb sluts. We are very busy judging you right now.

There may have been a time, long ago in the Tommy and Pam era, when simultaneous horniness and access to technology was a novelty. And there are no doubt still many, both in the celebrity spotlight and here among the rabble, who just want to mix it up a little in the bedroom now and again. There's no shame in wanting to watch yourself blow your boyfriend, I suppose. As far as attention-getting ploys go, though, the sex tape makes going out without your underpants look downright classy.

Of course, there are exceptions. There's "no shame," we suppose, in making a videotape of yourself having sex, as long as you ensure that your last name never becomes famous, you never run for office, you never appear on television, and you never participate in any beauty pageant. There's no shame in it, as long as you never attend middle school. There's no shame, as long as you never blog about sex—just like us dumb sluts. But if visual imagery of you engaging in sex ever comes anywhere near the periphery of possible Salon blog topics—well, prepare for a thorough public shaming. It's a long, lonely road, shame: We will not also be shaming the ex who leaked the tape without your consent, nor the porn company that's profiting from it, nor the downloaders consuming "the sex tape they didn't want you to see!" The dumb sluts will have to go it alone on this one. If you're lucky, you'll be joined by people who do not wear underwear. There's a special place in hell for both of you.

As a friend pondered recently: What happened to the eroticism of imagination? Whether you're a Real Housewife or just plain folk, a transitory adventure, with no record beyond the smile you just can't wipe off whenever you remember it, can be pretty goddamn awesome. And if ever there were a moment to stop self-promoting, to worry less about how cool this looks and more about how nice it feels, that'd be while you're doing it.

And where would a good round dumb-slut-shaming be without an Andy Rooney moment to cap it off? Sex was just better in the good old days, before some dumb slut got her hands on a video camera. Of course, there's always the possibility that you dumb sluts aren't videotaping  yourself each and every time you have sex, that you're not all ignorant to the peculiar pleasures of sex with the lens cap on, and that you're actually quite aware of how nice sex feels. If so . . . Well. It looks like you're even sluttier than we thought.

Photo via makelessnoise, Creative Commons Attribution License 2.0

Readers, I get so many weird e-mails. So far, I've just been letting them accumulate in my in-box, never to be read again—even the ones with the attached shirtless photos. But now, it's purge time.

Some context for our first Sexist e-mail: Six months ago, I wrote a post called "Women And Gay Men Are Sluts," which explained how the sexual double standard—as Jessica Valenti so aptly summarized, "he's a stud, she's a slut"—pretty much goes out the window when gay men are concerned. As I wrote—six months ago—when gay men are sexually promiscuous, they're not considered "studs"—they're decried as bad, immoral, evil sluts, just like us girls.

And now, after all this time, a reader has written in to explain the real sexual double standard to me. In short: Forget about gay guys! Are you aware of the great social problem of straight men being denied sex because they are just too nice?

Why yes, I am aware of this. But I digress:

Concerning your article, 'women and gay men are sluts',

We as humans don't respect or value what is handed to us. We only value what we have worked to acheive. That is probably why you don't feel respected. Nice guys don't get respected because they are too easy. It's the same thing. It's human nature.

It's not like guys are coming out and disrespecting you, calling you a 'slut'. It's probably more that you don't 'feel' respected. Neither nice guys or sluts get respected because they are too easy. And neither get top choice when it comes to a relationship.

The only difference is we actually give sluts what they want, but women don't give nice guys the sex they want. It's ok if you want to be promiscuous, you just have to accept that way of life. You won't get disrespected verbally. Men just won't want to go out with you, that's all. It all depends on what you want..

We only respect or put value on what we have worked to achieve. It makes more sense when you think of it that way..

The battle for ideological dominance in our nation’s capital’s collegiate sex columns continues. Are our local campus columnists on the forefront of radical sex writing, or are they bringing back the good old days of blaming girls for getting unexpected boners rubbed on their butts?

This week: How to get laid without anyone knowing you got laid; sympathy for Rihanna is running out; butt boners!

GEORGETOWN UNIVERSITY

Sex Tips: Georgetown Hoya sex columnist Colleen Leahey is officially the only person willing to admit that she appreciates the work of Chris Surette, the infamous Fairfield Mirror sex columnist who conceives of casual sex in these terms: "Not only is it a story for you and your boys, but others will soon realize what happened when they see your victim walking back to the dorms in her dress from last night, with a disgraceful look on her face as if she was robbed of her dignity."

Well, those words were such an influence on Leahey that they inspired her new column: "How to Survive the Dreaded Walk of Shame." (A servicey take on the matter!) "I’m sure [Surette] received countless emails ripping him apart for his chauvinistic comments," writes Leahey. "But the article was also a hoot because it is true."

Life Lesson: Remember: It's not the sex that's  shameful, it's people knowing that you had the sex. "If you truly desire to avoid the walk of shame, make him come home with you," writes Leahey. "Hooking up on your turf, rather than his, is optimal. You can avoid his teasing and snickering friends the next morning. You know your sheets have been cleaned in the past week; Lord knows the last time he threw his into the washing machine. And (sound the trumpet here), you avoid the walk of shame."

Progressive Meter: Hey, at least it's okay to hook up. But it's not a college dating column without some traditional gender roles thrown in for good measure. Boys are dirty! Four.

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HOWARD UNIVERSITY

Sex Tips: The Howard University Hilltop doesn't publish a regular sex column, but its editorial staff regularly weighs in on "issues." This time around: "Yeah, He Was Wrong-–-But is Rihanna Trying to Play Us?," in which the Hilltop staff declares that Rihanna's recent 20/20 interview was "calculated and inauthentic." "Maybe it would have been different if she had used the situation and the publicity it received to do what she claimed she was doing with her '20/20' interview all along," they write—"before her album was set for release."

Life Lesson: Keep your private and professional lives separate, so that your history with domestic abuse is never misconstrued as an attempt to gain popularity points.

Progressive Meter: The story's lone commenter dismisses the opinion as "another femi-nazi editorial." Hmm. Really?

I, too, have expressed discomfort with the idea that Rihanna's "recovery" from her abusive relationship must arrive right on schedule—just as her new album drops. But I'm more interested in the public pressure that has required Rihanna's life as a pop star life and abuse victim to be perfectly in sync.

Rihanna's public image has been appropriated by so many fans, feminist commentators, and music executives since Chris Brown beat her up last February, I feel it's short-sighted to pin this awkward timing on Rihanna's own misstep. Instead, let's focus on the music industry's insistence upon exploiting her history of domestic violence to amp up her stardom—and the media's insistence upon exploiting Rihanna's stardom in order to discuss domestic violence. True feminazis know this is all about the structure. Good discussion, though! Seven.

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UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND

Sex Tips: Esti Frischling of the UMD Diamondback advises girls how to avoid getting unexpectedly rubbed by a man's genitals in College Park bar The Thirsty Turtle. This is what "The Turtle" feels like for a girl: "At real-people bars, it’s not socially acceptable to just go up to strange girls and start humping them from behind. At the Turtle there seems to be an unwritten rule that makes uninvited dry sex the new 'can I buy you a drink?' You don’t even get to see the guy’s face, but he gets to feel you up in public, and you get to feel his boner."

Life Lesson: "Boner-to-butt" is an emergency indeed, and should be treated as such. "Your friends can also be a valuable asset in the repelling process. You guys should each agree beforehand to be in charge of rescuing the others in the event of a boner-to-butt emergency." But in the end, it's your fault for whoring it up at the Thirsty Turtle. "You and your friends can also act as a team by collectively dressing less like sluts. If you guys are the only girls in the Turtle who aren’t wearing hankies as shirts and belts as skirts, you’re likely to get a lot less unwanted attention."

Progressive Meter: I love that Frischling is tackling the modern problem of butt boners! I don't love the assumption that butt boners are only a problem for the sluttiest of hos, however—or that the problem should be solved by girls buttoning up. Three.

Photo by Claire L. Evans, Creative Commons Attribution License 2.0

This Week in Sexist History:

Good Ol’ Day: July 30, 1908

Dateline: Washington, D.C.

Subject: A District man's "attentions" to local married women—the phone calls! the hugging!—inspire a band of husbands to retaliate. Their weapons? Tar, feathers, nude sitting-on, and accusations of turn-of-the-century witchcraft. (In 1908, they called it "hypnosis"). Let the olde-tyme male slut-shaming begin:

Calling on a woman? In the evening? Bad slut. Bring out the tar:

So, Bliss comes to visit this chick in Columbia Heights. Says they're engaged. In love. Headed to New York to seal the deal. NYT reporter, however, is not buying this guy's love story at all. But couldn't this all be cleared up by—I don't know—asking the woman what happened? No? Fine:

Side note: How do you spontaneously tar and feather someone in a Columbia Heights basement? Where do the feathers come from?

Kinky. Though he arrived in the home as a mere adulterer, he left as THE SLUTMONSTER OF CAPITOL HILL:

But surely, the three dudes who captured him, stuck him in a basement, took all his clothes off, sat on him, painted him with tar, and then dusted him with the insides of a couch did so for good reason:

He's a witch!

Ah, the old I-fell-under-his-hypnotic-influence-at-an-innocent-dinner-party-and-was-unable-to-control-myself-when-I-got-his-messages-by-mental-telepathy trick. How dare this man take advantage of this poor, weak-brained woman! Only this hypnotist's slutty witchery could possibly have caused her to stray from the dude who sits on naked people in his basement and then exacts olde-tyme tortures on them. Yep, she sure is lucky she wasn't whisked away to New York City, never to see her husband again. Whew. Close one.

Telephone calls? Embraces? It's about time we got this guy off the streets, and into some crazy olde-tyme BDSM basement in Columbia Heights.

Protesters—15 of 'em!—who gathered outside a Late Show With David Letterman taping yesterday had a hard time finding a consistent message.

One responded to Letterman's jokes about Sarah Palin's daughters by suggesting that Letterman's son, who "was born out of wedlock," was fair game for mockery. "I believe there's a term for that," the protester hinted.

Another responding to Letterman's joke about Palin dressing like a "slutty flight attendant" by suggesting that Letterman himself had "a slut for a wife."

Yet another responded to I don't know what by suggesting that David Letterman will "rape you with his mouth."

Others expressed more creative gripes with the late-night comedian, or "the general sentiment that Jay Leno is a better host than Letterman."

Also, one of them thinks Alex Rodriguez plays basketball.

Methinks these protesters may need a refresher course on how not to fight hypocrisy with hypocrisy. And also, maybe, American professional sports.

* Photos of Bristol Palin and Levi Johnston's son, Tripp, have netted the underage couple $300,000 from People magazine. Is that enough to get the fuck out of Wasilla and never look back? Or just enough to fund a forced white wedding?

* Dude blogger Roissy in D.C. knows how to identify a slut! She is sarcastic, wears no underwear, and has "that crazy, hyper, coked-up look in her eyes." Roissy knows this because he has had sex with many, many sluts, which raises the question—does Roissy wear underwear?

* Zack at The New Gay writes on the type of gay men straight men are comfortable befriending:

Recently, a straight guy told my boyfriend how much he loved him for not letting his gayness define him as a person. In short, he was really excited that my boyfriend was gay, but not "gay like that."

* Note to cops: Don't threaten feminist bloggers; they'll put it on YouTube and make fun of you for only having one friend on MySpace (Tom).

* Tiger Beatdown calls out the New York Times Book Review for its glowing Phyllis McGinley review:

Ginia Bellafante, apparently not into this whole "history and also actual well-documented fact" thing, seems to recall the 1950s differently: as a blissful Eden, from which women were expelled when they ate from the Tree of Wanting an Actual Freaking Choice.

Photo via trialsanderrors.