Disco Chrysalis

“Ladies Looking” Looks More Like Slut Shaming

The Second City, a Chicago based comedy troupe, recently posted a video where comediennes recite direct messages sent through dating and hookup apps Grindr, SCRUFF, and GROWLr. The performers deliver messages like “Can I come over and suck ur coxk and swallow ur cum” sardonically or, with playful enthusiasm that manipulates the intended meanings of the messages. Hailed as “sassy” and quirky, what the good people at The Second City are doing is more heinous and insidious than a dm riddled with typos, poor syntax and, raunchy sexual advances; The Second City are slut shaming.

True, it’s a bit jarring to get an honest sexual advance through a
hookup app that reads: “let me cum in u butt,” but when you participate on a platform that is intended as an immediate solution to horniness + loneliness (um, there’s proximity mapping on apps like Grindr and Tindr) one might expect linguistic attempts at making the prescribed outcomes of the app a reality. The Second City and it’s battalion of viewers seem to not fucking get it. Dating and hookup apps, or really any internet community, develop vocabularies to enhance and enrich interactions. For hookup apps, nuanced vocabularies are used to increase success rates.

Using a hookup app is like gambling and counting cards, except with dick pics and emojis.


The hyper colloquial ramblings on hookup apps give users something people can’t get IRL - text based contracts with negotiations and agreed upon terms. If you don’t like what I’m texting, don’t fuck me. Simple.

The ladies at Second City have decided to present what they deem really fucked up sexual advances as fodder for ridicule and shame. Plot twist: these ladies identify themselves in the communities they are attacking. For a community that has fought to gain rights to sexual expression for so long, it’s pretty fucked up that they are ripping that liberation to shreds one YouTube view at a time. By ridiculing horny, sexually liberated or sexually curious people because of choice words these comediennes are essentially prompting a standard for sexual engagement through omission, humiliation and, othering. This may not seem problematic for some of you prudes, but trying to get laid can be difficult to navigate and having to re-negotiate and adhere to standards and limitations that could confuse both you and the target of your advances could lead to serious misunderstandings.


Seriously, if I just want someone to ram me from behind then come on my tits, I want to be able to coyly dm the cute guy cooking naked in his profiled pic: “u lyk me, cum o ma titties, u hung enuff?” without feeling like a slut, or like I should be writing a fucking Nora Roberts novel. All I really wanna do is get fucked.

Sure, the English language is beautiful and complex and full of great euphemisms and metaphors, but the invented languages that we develop through experimentation and refinement on the web allow us to distance ourselves from real space attempts. Come on, it’s a
fuck-me app.


I get it. The ladies at Second City are comediennes and sex is funny, but when you decide to shame a whole social group based on their means to secure sex, I call bullshit.


I realize we are over. You are going out with someone else tonight and, I am packed to leave. I want to pawn my engagement rings, take myself out to the fanciest of dinners, come back to our empty home and do that half line of MDMA we’ve been saving and go for a walk in the rain. I won’t miss you until I hear your feet come in the door. 


Suite B

J’habite dans une maison

Où l’Architect s’habite 

Et, je suis toujours inquiet mes choses vont se volés.

(L’Architect dit: “Il n’y a personne”)

Je vérifie tripple si j’ai verrouillé les portes

Et, je connais que je n’ai plus une clé.

L’Architect verrouille son porte lui-même

L’Architect reste

Et, j’habite dans mes rêves.

Je vais.


Peter Pan

I made private things 

a tigress lily bow peep 

anchored malice in the lost lagoon 

resting a childless lap; fled 

stroked numbers- lipless 

because, we wake an 

owl. 

While they, fluttering mistress, 

echo the sampled lilies  

(frogs, beware of stapled charisma), 

owls miss. 


There, 

under the cloud / like lilies 

little deeds were pecked  

in barked cloisters 

(a fellow matched ease), 

owl, plumbing 

the stake. 

Roped, lilies make themselves catchless. 

Simply. 


Certain birds can snap 

lilies from ponds. 

Certain lilies can be snapped  

from trees. 


But, owls have no use for lilies.

Only do pirates and 

boys who never grow up. 


MEN WHO DELIGHT IN SMALL VICTORIES

I fell asleep on the porch couch in a robe. I was invited inside by a girl with soft legs. I only touched them to bring up the blankets. She left. I didn’t get a ticket because I talked to a cop about guns. I got a ticket for smoking at an outdoor movie. I got high and watched her give him head. I got high and asked a Jew about the Torah. I went to a rally and watched topless girls hold up signs. I ate bacon, today. I got a job washing dishes at my favourite restaurant. I flipped a car. I danced over to her and groped her breasts. She walked away. I sat in a park and masturbated behind a copy of ‘Maus.’ I am a contrarian. I sit in my living room in the dark. I don’t pay my hydro bill. I fuck with the lights on. I masturbate with the lights off.
I walk across the street when I’m supposed to. I jay-walk back across. I plan to be politically involved.  I wipe my ass with discarded newspaper. I get hard during the evening news. I wear briefs. I smoke quickly. I chain smoke. When I can’t be nice, I kill them with kindness. I read it and, I didn’t like it. I made friends with a girl named ‘Teal.’ I grazed her arm with my dick as she bent over to tie her shoe lace. I think we’re still friends. I fuck on the first date. I think she likes me. I take a huge shit when the cocaine gets me. I get cocaine. I think we’re friends. I don’t get coke dick. I let ‘Teal’ paint my nails. I get asked. I am an opportunist.

I fuck on the first date.
   With the lights on.  


Who kissed the statue? Last was here.

She is like fabric. She is fabric.

I want to be as easy as she. Pressing her lips like a razor blade to the dichotomy of colour. What is the why to explain the crawling of her eyelashes over a thousand inverted impressions of arc;ed atomic fields and spectrums. A false dichotomy of colour. If she licked her lips. If she

licked the tips of my fingernails I would eat her chagrined wonder but, she is not. She is unfolding the lace around her hemisphere, detaching the bow, a sentiment to her apparent femininity. I wish her keep included mud. I am ancient in her gauze: been petrified for many meters, that, signified a hole crawl 
(her lashes)
(Her Lashes are Millipedes, you know).

I could ask her: “why?”
But, I prefer the slits she makes as she continues her vocal thread and, her tongue spits ribbons of salt for the slugs she makes.


And,
when the stitch is hemmed 
her eyes will crawl across
her casualties (cottonmouthed)

And,
she will be impressed by
how quickly the seams have
ruined by the ipswitch of
her bones.