“A commentator said Team USA members looked like they ‘might as well be standing in the middle of a mall’ after they were caught on camera laughing and talking following their utter annihilation of the competition during the qualifying round.”
I really have nothing intelligent to say, but in fairness I think the only thing TO say is “Go fuck yourself.”
Google News headline: “It’s unclear whether yearly pelvic exam is necessary, task force says”
Subhead/lead: “The annual pelvic exam is uncomfortable, invasive – and might not be necessary for healthy women. Or is it? There isn’t a clear answer.”
Well. Saved you a click, then. The full article likely explains both sides, but I don’t need to know details of “There isn’t a clear answer.” I’m just gonna keep being reassured annually that my business is up to code as long as insurance will let me, because symptoms of lady cancer are, like, being tired and getting your period, so…yeah. I’ll just continue being appraised on the annual, thanks.
Also, maybe I’m weird, but I don’t find the exam that uncomfortable or invasive. Sure, a stranger is in your bits, so that’s never ideal. But I’d rather be uncomfortable talking about the weather while someone is penetrating me once a year than be uncomfortable because I have cancer.
P.S. How do I become a part of a Pelvic Task Force? I enjoy pelvic tasks.
I can’t imagine why. The Underground Railroad seemed like a real hoot.
It IS a shame she’s not smiling, since all those white dudes on my money are happy as fuck. They’re ALL whimsy and shenanigans, sticking out their tongues, one’s got a friend doing bunny ears behind his head. And OMG, it’s totes hilar-balls how Franklin’s got one of those moustaches on a stick on the $100 — motherfucker was so jolly, Santa Claus asked him for pointers. In fact, Franklin advised Santa to get the reindeer. *nod* I think I read that somewhere.
Normally the Internet is one of my favorite things, but sometimes it can be kind of an asshole.
Like when I ask Amazon to send me a book about being child-free because it’s written by a comedian I’m currently obsessed with (Jen Kirkman — ladies, go watch her Netflix special. Gentlemen, sorry, no guarantees). So I’m mostly reading it because it’s a book by a funny woman — I’d read whatever book she wrote, but this one happens to be about not having kids.
But then Amazon’s all, “Oh, hey! I see you like books about being a Barreness. HERE ARE 600 MORE books about it!”
I’m good, Amazon, really. I don’t need THAT much support. Thanks, though.
(My personal favorite was when I bought the clutter book, and Amazon was like, “Would you like us to send you a shit-ton of other books about clutter?” YOU’RE NOT HELPING, AMAZON!)