As my fans and haters are aware, I was invited on to a political roundtable talk show yesterday to discuss breastfeeding with fellow intellectuals. My opponents took the (popular) stance that breastfeeding is wrong, and they compared it to bestiality after suggesting that I should be stoned to death for bonding with my child. That’s fair; I understand that the popular opinion is such, and I’m happy to have a healthy conversation about whether or not I should be killed for breast feeding my son, but then just several hours later in the day, something troubling happened.

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Olivia Wilde posed for breastfeeding shots in Glamour, and not a single person demanded that we enact Sharia law so that we may kill her. Suddenly, when she does it, it’s not a messed up sex act, comparable to bestiality, punishable by death under the holy order of the caliph. When Olivia Wilde breast feeds, it’s sexy and acceptable.

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
Bull. Fucking. Shit, Guys.
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First of all, my goddamn tits are way bigger than that cunt’s. I may not be as pretty as she is but I’ve got one of those whorey faces that commands attention at the karaoke bar and saves me about 200 dollars under sticker at used car dealerships. Why the double standard?
All the world over, grown men are downloading hot pics of Olivia Wilde letting her bald-ass Benjamin-Button-looking geezer-baby suck on her tits, meanwhile my son, who looks like the kind of man that should be sucking on a titty for pleasure, is demonized by his peers for being a titty boy. My son gets bullied for getting to second base with a fine woman, meanwhile Olivia Wilde’s kid, who is named Otis by the way (really? Otis? There’s only two kinds of people named Otis: mentally disabled janitors and portly German statesmen, and I’m pretty sure this kid won’t be serving in the Bundestag) gets to enjoy universal fame and adoration.
What kind of fucked up universe do we live in where regular middle class American folks like myself are seen as criminals for engaging in the same kind of behavior that we applaud celebrities for? Doesn’t that bother anyone else?

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We’ve got Monster Truck shows that you have to go pay to see, and those trucks make a lot of money. Meanwhile, if my boyfriend Derek puts giant tires on his truck and puts on a much less expensive show in the parking lot of Goodwill, he’s suddenly committed a moving violation and he’s under arrest for vehicular homicide. Let me ask you this: what’s the difference between Derek and Grave Digger?
Money. Who has the money? The fancy celebrity trucks. Who gets to run over cars and people and get away with it? Grave Digger.
Olivia Wilde is the Grave Digger of letting her son suck on her boobs.
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It’s messed up and wrong, guys, and you’re now presented with a choice. You can either praise me for breastfeeding my son, or you can berate Olivia Wilde and ask that she be stoned to death by radical Muslims. It’s up to you. [tc-mark]