I was going to spend the day parading my disabled son around the park, but it’s raining out, and honestly, I don’t really need the money. So, I’ve decided to do a little empowering.
I feel like people often get the impression that I am a callous bitch who cares little for anyone but herself. While this is mostly true, I do have a heart, and as grinchly and withered as it may be, I can assure you that it crumbles like a pocketed Chinese mint every time I read an article by a young women bemoaning her imperfections and her lack of self-esteem in regards to her body.
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Low self-esteem is the oldest woman-profession in the world. Since the dawn of man, women have been right beside their male counterparts, unsure of themselves and looking for a release from their imperfect physicality. Cave women had to wait thousands of years for the razor and an ability to rid themselves of their unsightly body hair. Women in early agrarian communities worked hard in the rice paddies worrying that their tans would set uneven due to over exposure on the backs of their necks. Victorian era women had to practice fainting to appear more rapeable. The free love hippies had to take a bunch of drugs to feel as if they weren’t just being whores.

I’m carrying something deep within me, something that feels heavy and haunted, something I’ve tried so desperately to control and manage on my own.
For The Sin You Can’t Talk About
The latest iteration of female subjugation comes in the form of thigh gaps. The thigh gap, an expression of the female desire to escape from the shackles of an imperforate lap, is bullshit. For the last year I’ve been reading articles about the enviable thigh gap and the lengths women will go to achieve it. It always begs the question, shouldn’t these girls be more concerned with the space between their ears rather than the space between their legs?
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[tc-related post=”268608″ align=”right”]
The thing is, ladies, you don’t need a thigh gap – you already have one. It’s called a pussy, and you can use it to make men like you. You need to open your minds, and your legs, to your own potential and realize that you don’t need to conform to other people’s standards just to feel good about yourself. You just have to let people fuck you in exchange for the things that you want in life.
And trust me, there’s plenty of men in positions of power that do not care about thigh gaps. Some even find it disgusting. These men are called chubby chasers, and you can often fuck them for money or simple validation. I recently consulted a friend of mine, who is a renowned chubby chaser and always a scholar, on his preference for thick women. He summed it up astutely and succinctly:

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“Why would you want less bitch?”
Ah, out of the mouths of baes.
That’s what I don’t understand about my friends that bitch about the glass ceiling. It’s like, hello, have you even tried fucking your way to the top? I’m telling you, friends, it most certainly works. I’ve fucked myself to the top, and to the bottom, and in every direction you could possible imagine. As long as you’re not fucking laterally, you’re garnering experience, and isn’t experience the one thing that we have in life? That and DUI convictions?
Here’s the thing, if you really want a thigh gap, that’s fine. But just be honest with yourself about your reasoning. Why do you want the thigh gap?
Will it make you smarter? Of course not, you’re a dummy. Will it make people like you? No, that’s what sex is for. Will it make other women envious of you? Of course it will, but you don’t need legs like a field goal to make other women jealous. You can simply lie about your finances or flirt with their boyfriend. Hurting other women is a lot easier than going on an impossible diet, and we owe it to ourselves to explore the paths of least resistance. So to my fellow bepussied individuals, I say ignore the thigh gap, and focus on the important things in life.
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After all, a thigh gap is an absence of substance – and as women, we should be focused on keeping things between our legs, rather than emptying that space and leaving it as barren as our polycystic wombs. [tc-mark]