Wonder Woman In All Her Divine Kinkiness

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Posted on January 2, 2015 by chezgigi

Wonder Woman was really into kinkiness. At least, all the men she came into contact with were into doing kinky things with her, like chaining her up, tying her up, manacling her, cuffing her, duct taping her, binding her up with anything they could get their hands on, and then putting her in their vans, and taking her to a creepy farmhouse in the country.

(Some people believe food shortages are caused by economic factors, like turning farmland into suburban developments, but they are really caused by people being kept in farmhouses. No work is getting done.)

Wonder Woman is actually the reason men wear pants that droop around their ankles. If her captors had nothing else, they would take off their belts and tie her up. She would laugh at them when they tripped on their pants, thus taking away their power. This enabled her to break her bonds and tie them up with their own pants.

Wonder Woman always managed to get free, because she was really limber, and really strong, and really smart. Once she was free, she’d tell the man who captured her to ‘Call me sometime, Duct-Tape Boy’, and off she’d go to save the world. Saving the world is much easier when you have great jewelry to wear. Wonder Woman had cuff bracelets, and a gold lariat which she turned into a long necklace on dates with Duct-Tape Boy.

Wonder Woman was raised on a secluded tropical island near ancient Greece, with other women known as Amazons, who had never been in contact with men. For many years it remained a mystery how she was conceived; there were no cabbage patches on this island, or even storks. She did have god-like superhero powers, leading some to believe she may have been ordered from a giant website, MtOlympus.com, which was later renamed Amazon.com in her honor.

The island was named Paradise Island, because there was no one to leave underpants on the floor, or miss the bowl when they peed. The women living there were strong and fearless, and loved to shop on the Internet, once they realized the scope of things that could be ordered. Paradise Island was soon filled with all kinds of gadgets when UPS men delivered their packages, and sometimes even the boxes. The trucks didn’t float, so they sank just before reaching land. The Amazon women had contests of skill and daring as they swam around gathering floating packages.

This young Amazon of Paradise Island was not christened Wonder when she was born, because her parents did not live in the years 2000-2014, when children are named Bus Stop Number 9, and D’Oneandonly. Her parents were a little more sensible, and named her Woman so her substitute teachers would know how to pronounce her name when they called roll.

Actually, she was named Diana, and she was the daughter of Queen Hippolyta, and Zeus, the philandering husband of Hera. He was always fooling around with someone, and we are all related to him by just a few degrees of separation. Wonder Woman almost wasn’t conceived, because her mom, Queen Hippolyta, refused to take off her magic girdle when Zeus showed up at her house. She wasn’t nicknamed ‘Hippo’ for nothing.

The queen later became an incredibly wealthy entrepreneur when she started an underwear company for women, which she named Spanks, a multi-million drachma start-up. She was inspired while watching ‘the girls’ at play one day.

Amazons loved their new underwear, because while togas could hide a multitude of sins, superhero outfits did not.

Though Wonder Woman liked women alright, she was stronger than most of her ‘sisters’ on the island. She also liked submission and domination, at least for short periods in each comic book. She wanted to try out men, especially after meeting a pilot who crashed near the island, and who lied to her about being married. His name was Steve Trevor, and he must have had temporary amnesia from being bonked on the head, because Wonder Woman would say his name in bold type in every panel.

Wonder Woman’s magic lariat was often used against her, which is convenient if you’re into domination games. Evil henchmen and pilots were forced to tell the truth when Wonder Woman ensnared them in the coils of her magical golden lasso. The pilot’s union tried to have it listed as a contraband item on flights, because it really put a crimp in their layover plans, but the flight attendant’s union won out over their objections. Normally, pilots love having a rope handy on layovers. They were also jealous of her invisible jet. It never had maintenance problems, and beat out every other airline for on time departures and arrivals.

She left the island, and went to America where people really appreciate a good outfit, and a great rack. America in the 1940s was where she could find men who were also into domination and submission. These men were known at the time as ‘Nazis’, and Wonder Woman made short work of them.

She did try to break her unhealthy patterns, and while struggling with her demons, she invented the ‘safe’ word. When an evil henchman tied her too tight, she’d yell out her safe word, ‘Knock it off, douche bag!’ (This is actually five words, but who’s counting?)The evil henchman would loosen the bonds, because he knew Wonder Woman could take away his belt, and make him trip over his pants.

There were two women who were the inspiration for Wonder Woman. They lived together with Dr. William Marston, her creator. One of the women was his wife, and he brought the other one home from work, and made up a scientific-sounding name for their arrangement, ‘polyamorous’. This really meant he was is in love with a woman named Polly. The other two women were jealous of Polly, and they took out their frustration by showing Wonder Woman being tied up by women, too.

The first incident of identity theft in America occurred when Wonder Woman met a young nurse named Diana Prince. Ms.Prince was distressed because her fiance was being transferred to a foreign country, or so he said. Wonder Woman took advantage of the situation, and became a nurse in this young woman’s stead. She didn’t even have to remember a new first name.

Wonder Woman, in her new guise as a nurse, and without even knowing how to work a blood pressure cuff, caused the death of many patients by giving them chocolate instead of their medications. This is standard procedure at St. Hershey’s, but that is the only hospital which recognizes Chocolate Infusion as an alternative wellness therapy. It is not covered by most insurance companies.

Eventually, Wonder Woman joined the Justice League after she got tired of nursing, and wearing scrubs that didn’t show off her great body. Plus, she was constantly being accused of killing patients, or giving them diabetes. The Justice League showed their appreciation by making her a secretary, and sending her out for coffee thirty times a day. Superheroes drink way too much coffee, but try telling them that. They get really ticked.

She had no training as a secretary either, so mostly the guys just chased her around their desks, but she was pretty fast. Flash was the only one who was faster than she was, but being a typical guy, and very speedy, she could never be sure anything happened when he did catch her.

During most meetings of the Justice League, the superheroes talked about mundane things, such as how the cost of having their outfits dry cleaned kept going up. Once though, they all decided to fly to Europe to help the Allies during World War II. The members of the Justice League didn’t have to take planes, which made Wonder Woman’s job as travel coordinator very easy.

However, no one could read her notes, and didn’t know when or where they had agreed to meet. Some of them stayed home, and some went to entirely different countries where there wasn’t even a war going on. This illustrates the importance of good note-taking. We still won the war, but it was touch and go there, for awhile.

Since secretarial work was the best she could hope for in this era, whatever it was, despite her qualifications of super strength, wisdom, and bondage capabilities, Wonder Woman eventually went home to Paradise Island, and became a motivational speaker. Her fellow Amazons loved her lectures, because after her talks they would tie each other up, and call themselves Polly. It was a hoot.

She is still on Paradise Island, and if you would like to hear her motivational speeches, they are available on a set of boxed CDs, reasonably priced at $235.00, for a limited time only. She will pay shipping costs if you call today, but don’t expect them to arrive via UPS.

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Bitches Be Like, ‘The Hydrant Club Is Misogynistic!’

Posted on March 1, 2015 by chezgigi

In an itty-bitty newspaper about downtown Las Vegas that is delivered once a week to our mailbox, there is an article about the Hydrant Club. The Hydrant Club includes an itty-bitty park, and the woman who started this club has taken over the Odd Fellows and Rebekahs Lodge nearby, to expand her venue.

As you might guess, if you weren’t brain dead, the Hydrant Club, and the itty-bitty park, are for dogs, or maybe for their owners, I’m not sure which. There are not a lot of public bathrooms downtown, so maybe the giant yellow fire hydrant, which is installed outside the park, is for the owners, and the dogs use the park.

This giant yellow hydrant is a working one, although why they would need one that big with so many working canine wieners on hand, I don’t know. We could save on water if dogs were trained to lift their legs on a fire. The dog park, which is a few blocks from where I live, is right off Crack Alley. Dogs love cracks. Cracks that show above your pants, cracks in the ground, you name it, if its cracked, dogs are there. There is an elegance in all this: Odd Fellows, Dogs, Hydrants, and Cracks.

The Hydrant Club is part of ongoing efforts to improve downtown Las Vegas, spearheaded by a guy who started a big shoe site. The big shoes are not for the people who use the big hydrant; the site is big, that’s all. I’m not sure what the ultimate aim of all this beautification is, but if it was to install a little park for dogs, they succeeded. Otherwise, the clientele of the mean streets off of Las Vegas Boulevard remains the same, regardless of how many palm trees they install in the middle of Fremont Street.

I had passed the Odd Fellows and Rebekahs Lodge many times in years past, and each time I would idly wonder what the heck they were. It sounded faintly erotic, like an oddly-named bordello. That’s where your mind goes when you live in Sin City.

Turns out, the Odd Fellows are a charitable organization, which got its name when its members consistently misspelled Rebeka. People would yell at them, ‘Hey dweebs! Rebecca is spelled with two ‘cs’!’ This did not endear the regular-guy-public to the Odd Fellows, who remained stubbornly odd in the face of many such obstacles.

The Hydrant Club founder says she has discovered human bones in the old lodge. The Odd Fellows used bones in their initiation ceremonies. The article didn’t mention whose bones these had belonged to, but I imagine if the evidence needed to be destroyed, throwing them into the itty-bitty park with the dogs would work just swell.

Dogs love bones. Bones and cracks. The bones that were mentioned in the article do not appear to be of interest to anyone, namely the police, but to be fair, Las Vegas Metro has other things to do. There are misspellings all over town that require someone to step in and correct them.

The Odd Fellows would recruit members from people passing by on the street in front of their lodge. There are many, many odd fellows walking around downtown Vegas, and the Odd Fellows didn’t lack for members.They didn’t choose future members based solely on their looks, although wearing a fur ear-flap Russian hat with a short, flirty blue skirt can be a dead giveaway for a possible member in good standing.

I saw a man wearing this outfit going into the library one day, as I was exiting, and the thought that sprang to mind was, ‘What an odd fellow!’ Not because he was wearing a skirt, necessarily, but because he had no stockings on, and it was cold. Too, I felt he was a little old for such a short skirt, but if, God bless, he wanted to wear it, he should at least have shaved his legs.

The Odd Fellows would strike up a conversation with a passing pedestrian, and talk about alien abduction, conspiracy theories, and how the CIA was listening in to their phone calls. They would decide from this conversation whether the fellow was odd enough for their lodge. In actuality, if you choose to call a small, 1940s block house a ‘lodge’, you probably qualify for membership.

If the Odd Fellows made a mistake and recruited a regular guy, a guy who was just being polite the first time he talked with these recruiters, but was really a guy who liked to talk about sports, pickup trucks, and girls with bodacious ta-tas, the Odd Fellows circled him when they got him alone in the lodge, dispatched him quietly, and used his bones in their ceremonies as a reminder to the other members that being a regular guy isn’t all its cracked up to be. Sometimes the Rebekahs got upset with this practice, and threatened to spell their name Rebecca, but nothing ever came of it.

The Rebekahs have come back temporarily to help out the female dogs who have been trying to gain membership to the Hydrant Club. As you are probably aware, if you live on Planet Earth with the rest of the odd fellows, only male dogs use hydrants. They use virtually everything else, too, but they are especially fond of fire hydrants for urination purposes. The very name of the club has made the female dogs feel unwelcome, and they have contacted various organizations, including the fire department, about this.

I don’t know why the bitches want to use this canine club, except that there is a steam room, a library, a gym, a dining room, a conference room, and a golf course, where the goings-on do not bear repeating. It doesn’t help that the Hydrant Club has installed a billboard showing a poodle in a rhinestone collar leaning against a pole, and a slobbering Rottweiler standing nearby. Pit bulls in black security jackets regularly patrol the itty-bitty dog park, ready to bounce any regular fellow who tries to come into their club. (This isn’t really true, so please don’t write letters to the Op-Ed page protesting the use of pit bulls for security.)

The Hydrant Club uses a personality test to judge whether a dog will be welcome in the park. If a dog is judged to be a regular guy, a guy who likes to sniff poop, bark at anything that moves, and who greets new visitors by sticking his nose up their butt, he is not allowed to join. Instead, his bones are used for initiation ceremonies. These bones are then buried in the park and are never seen again, unlike the Odd Fellow bones, which were left behind in walls and drawers of old lodges.

The female dogs would be well advised to dig up these bones and take them to the police. Perhaps then they will be allowed membership to the ‘club’, and they can pee in peace.

Should Criminals Have Their Own Country?

Posted on February 27, 2015 by chezgigi

I realize that criminals having their own country may be a controversial subject. After all, the law-abiding citizens of Planet Earth do not have THEIR own countries, so why should criminals get one? Oh, I guess you could say we do have our own countries, wherein someone makes laws they hope to keep hidden from the public, so that people will unknowingly break them and have to pay hefty fines, but in Criminal Country, Perp Patriots would have no such things. After all, they are criminals. Why would they have laws?

Except that to be a criminal requires a law to be broken, so voila! I have solved a huge societal problem for this new country in One Fell Swoop. (This phrase, along with Prurient Exudation, which my dentist recently taught me in the middle of a torture session, would be an awesome name for a rock group.) The Krooked Kingdom would have one immigration requirement, that you will have committed at least one crime before becoming a Reprehensible Resident.

So, the things to figure out are, A) Would this country be run any better than our own is now? B) Maybe we could go live there? And C, the Eddie Izzard Standard of Country-ness) Would it have a flag? And would this flag show a skull and crossbones, or has that been too played by pirates?

Giving criminals their own country occurred to me while I was watching a video clip show about dumb people. Sometimes these clips feature criminals who, no matter the obstacles, manage to keep committing crimes. I don’t know if this law-breaking habit stems from ignorance of the laws, or whether they are just in the habit of breaking them, or whether they just really enjoy breaking laws, and never formed the habit of whittling, or collecting Cabbage Patch dolls. Whatever the reason, these guys and gals are recidivists. Watching them get arrested and sentenced for the fourth, tenth, twentieth time, was when I got the idea that criminals should just have their own country, already.

Spielberg has kind of thought of this with his Walking Dead show, but a lot of those people aren’t really criminals. Mainly, its the dead people who aren’t criminals; no one can accuse them of breaking any laws. There are no more laws in this new world, so the Dead and the Still Living have to find a way to get along, mainly by the Still Living decapitating the Dead who are always hungry for flesh that isn’t recently dead, and is still on the hoof.

If I was a zombie, I’d develop a taste for other zombies, and get around the whole problem of people running away from me, or trying to decapitate me. Its really hard to run fast when you are supposed to shamble, unless the director says you can.

So, we can’t really go by Spielberg’s vision of lawlessness. There are no zombies yet walking around, so we’ll leave them to television for the time being. We still need to decide if criminals should have their own country.

Historically, I think the English thought of this first, and opened up a new country just for their criminals. They named it Australia. Australia really never recovered from this; they say things like ‘Gidday’, and ‘mate’ and the men don’t like women much. They like them enough to sleep with them now and then, but they don’t like hanging out with them.

Also, Australia established a government and laws, so unless we want to study their history in great detail, which we don’t, they don’t really count. We could take a page from their book though, and arrange to have lots of sharks surrounding the new country, in order to finally take care of the Truly Obnoxious, who opened for Prurient Exudation in 1986. If the TO try to leave, they get eaten, pure and simple.

If we insist on listening to people who don’t want to get rid of criminals permanently through the death penalty, and make them live on the streets instead, or in cells where they can get a college education and get themselves released, then we could send them somewhere where they would be free to break as many laws as they wanted.

There wouldn’t be any laws, and this may make criminals really cranky, but you can’t have everything. Those who get cranky could just start a religion and oppress their followers in a compound in Texas or Montana, places where criminals tried to go and start new countries, but failed.

Eventually, someone will yell that they are ‘in charge’ and start making rules, so the lawlessness only lasts until someone builds a church. We’ve seen this with Lee Marvin in Paint Your Wagon. He got to be married without all the responsibility, but that fun ended when the first church was built in town. Why the residents of No Name City didn’t just pull down the church as fast as the Buzz Kills could build it, I don’t know.

They weren’t really criminals, that’s why. They were just gold diggers, and didn’t visualize what a church could mean to a town. It means laws and rules, and taking the gold for themselves, that’s what. And no more being married to two men at once. That’s entirely too much fun for a woman. Only men are allowed that kind of leeway.

I seem to be going in circles here, which is usually what happens when I try to improve the world. I have really fuzzy logic, which is ok with me, because I get along better with everyone that way. Almost no one agrees with my premises, so either I find that I’m Way Out There, or everyone else is shortsighted and stupid.

I’m not even sure criminals would agree with me. They very likely don’t want to be sent away to their own country, because they wouldn’t know how to do in the new land. They would be free to wander, and may be homebodies at heart. Or, someone could murder them, and it would all be ok with everyone else.

Plus, not everyone fits a standard description of a criminal. There are many people in history who were criminals until the laws were changed. No Name residents, from Paint Your Wagon, can attest to the confusion that results from making up rules, just to have them change.

For instance, its ok to sleep with a lot of women if you establish a religion first. If you just go about marrying a bunch of women in order to sleep with them, the Law becomes incensed, puts you in jail, and makes all your wives bail you out. If the women jumped into bed with these guys without getting ‘married’ first, it would have been alright with Johnny Law, but not if they charged the men a fee. Sex gets really confusing in our country, but in Lawless Land, things would be different. For one thing, you wouldn’t be going to jail for doing any of these things.

Drinking is another example of rules and laws making criminals of people. One man back in the last century for instance, decided it wasn’t ok to drink alcohol. This was before doctors told him that red wine was useful for a healthy heart. This man took away the Working Man’s beer and locked everybody up who had Fun With Beverages.

There was also high art and culture. Old ladies used to go around breaking off penises from statues. Drinking and high art became sinful, so maybe all the sinners should have their own country. Oh, wait. We already do.

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Defending Yourself In Small Clones Court

Posted on February 20, 2015 by chezgigi

Clones are just like us. I am very proud of coming up with what is possibly the most oxymoronic sentence I’ve ever written. Perhaps its not an oxymoron, but is rather an elegant example of irony; I will be sure my clone has a better grasp of the finer points of literary devices than I do.

My clone being just like me worries me no end. No one admits they think about some of the things I think about, but no matter what I may tell myself, I know I am not unique. My clone would prove this beyond a doubt. The following illustrates the inanity to which my thoughts can sink.

I was thinking it might be tremendous fun to clone myself. I’m not sure why I think it would be fun. It might be a pain in the ass, and if I changed my mind, and took the sucker out with some weapon which is neatly at hand while I was chopping veggies and had to listen to it whine about what’s for dinner, would I be charged with murder?

I may conceivably be arrested for suicide, but since I would still be here, walking and talking, I quite obviously have not committed suicide. And since the clone is composed of my genetic material, it is I whom I have dispatched, and I would still be here. If ever there was material for a sonnet, here it is. Shakespeare would have had a blast in this day and age, with such scope for Shakespearean rants. ‘Murder most foul, when dost thou dispatch thyself back to the ether of thy parents mating.’ Or some such.

What if you wanted to clone yourself for the companionship, because who would be better to hang out with than someone who likes everything you like? Someone who would understand all your jokes, and think they’re funny, no matter how stupid? What if I cloned myself, and my clone didn’t even like me? Like I have to win a popularity contest with myself.

Would that be a self-esteem issue, or a sociological issue? Would I need a psychologist for me, or for my clone? Who’s in the wrong, if anyone? If my clone is in the wrong for not liking me, then it would still follow that there is something wrong with me, if I didn’t even like myself.

This is where the conundrum starts getting really messed up. You can probably get away with murdering your clone, especially if no one knows about its existence, but when you start getting into self-esteem issues and psychologists, you really start to queer the universe.

There are other things to consider too, should you really want a clone. For instance, if you clone yourself to help with housework, your clone may not want to do that. If you don’t want to do it, its quite possible it won’t either. What if it wants to sleep with your hubby? Should you be mad at yourself or at your two-timing spouse, especially when he kisses YOU good morning, and says he’s never had it better?A friend reminded me that there is also a gay angle here; if he had sex with his clone, would it be incest? Here is an opportunity to learn much about your technique, but you may never clone alone again, should you prove to be a Don Juan extraordinaire. Fifty Shades of Clones.

If you don’t want to commit a possible violence upon your faithless self, you will be stuck with a permanent freeloading house guest hanging around all day, wanting to talk when you want to read. Here’s a solution: You can drop U-2 off at your parent’s house.

Because, get this, your parents are the parents of your clone! Yes. Your clone is your genetic material, which is from your parent’s gene pool, and they are the biological parents of the Jerk Who Came To Dinner. So, if you ever wanted to get even with your mom for making you eat Brussel sprouts, here’s your chance for ultimate revenge. She will try to get your clone to eat them, too, and will have to fight the Vegetable Wars all over again.

Of course, its always possible she will decide to do things differently this time around, and let your clone eat whatever it wants. In which case, she will still have to listen to you whine about how YOU had to eat Brussel sprouts, how come your clone doesn’t have to?

This whole thing will really screw up your parent’s retirement, and they will have to go on a permanent world cruise to get away from you and you. The potential for endless griping will follow them to the ends of the ocean and beyond. ‘How come my clone gets to stay out past midnight? How come my clone gets a computer? How come my clone doesn’t have to do chores? How come you let you let my clone go on that school trip to Europe? How come you don’t make my clone practice piano every day? How come my clone gets to watch The Untouchables?’

For your part, you will get the poet’s wish, which is to see yourself as others see you. You will no longer get to say that there’s nothing wrong with you; that its everyone else who is at fault. You will finally know for sure that you are truly an ass-hat. You will now need to put in couch time at the therapist’s office, and you will be paying for two.

Your clone will want to go see the therapist too, to understand why you are an ass-hat, and why you wanted to bring another ass-hat into the world. If your clone should find the internal wherewithal to rise above its proclivities, and be better than itself, which is better than YOU, it will be torn spiritually and emotionally by your nagging that it should be more like you. It will have to listen to your existentialist bitching about how you think you’re better than you. Oy.

I thought the fun part might be saying what a chip off the old block my clone is. Or telling people that it has brown eyes just like its mom. Getting to be in two places at once, and the Hollywood hilarity that would ensue. Maybe even rob a bank and have an airtight alibi. Getting it to do the things you are sure you would have been famous for, if you’d had the right amount of discipline and support.

Turns out, your clone may not even look like you! That’s right. In the crap shoot of nature and its tendency to gamble and stay out late, its possible your clone will not even inherit your brown eyes, or your capacity for eating a half gallon of ice cream at one sitting. Your clone may be the mirror of what you could have been if you hadn’t eaten that ice cream, making you feel that much more murderous.

If you don’t want to spend all your spare time in Small Clones court, or even a court of higher appeals, I suggest you just do all the housework yourself. Don’t delegate it to yourself.

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Chez Gigi

Is it Solipsistic in Here, or is it Just me?

Wonder Woman In All Her Divine Kinkiness

Featured

Bitches Be Like, ‘The Hydrant Club Is Misogynistic!’

Should Criminals Have Their Own Country?

Defending Yourself In Small Clones Court