Wednesday, February 27, 2002

Heavens. (Meta-patriarchal, gyno positive heavens, natch.) A girl can barely break WIND in the common interval without, apparently, exceeding some implausible NDA clause. My unfetterered congrats and general swoonage, Mme Dooce, for unpicking the seams of corporate malarkey. I, by forlorn contrast, barely allude to the (ahem) 'pussy-ass cocksmacks' within my own egomaniacal locus. Feminine specific coward that I am, I just bang on about my bowel, really.

In any case, salut to All The Honeys herein ;) I feel I ought enact a Wiccan vow. However, as an anti-essentialist who believes in little beyond regular dietary fibre, I don't have much time for the Goddess Tradition and, subsequently, no knowledge of pagan vows. Best concoct my own
  • O Jeneane I proffer this, my fluid girlish tithing. I vow, before admission to the uterine circle, NEVER to employ the terms 'empower', 'positive body image' nor, indeed, 'I find the music of Sarah McLachlan rilly inspiring.'
I trust this suffices to secure temporary residency.

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