Convenient Identities

I love how so many modern straight people identify with queerness. As in “I’m straight, but I really identify with the queer community.”

What part do you identify with, exactly? Having to come out on a daily basis? Workplace discrimination, both covert and overt? Prejudice from family? Fear of hate crimes? Being the token homo in of a group of friends? Wait— you identify with none of these? Oh, you identify with being different.


Yeah, I’m white, but I really identify with the black community because of how much time I spend in solitude.

Someone please explain to me why the residents of Queens consistently walk at the pace of a family driving to lunch after a Sunday sermon in Mississippi. The size of their families doesn’t help matters either, as they take up the entirety of the sidewalk. It puts me into a blind rage twice daily.

I much prefer the isolation of being a single person in Manhattan or Brooklyn walking with mild anger in a rush to get to work. Or somewhere. Anywhere.

For those of you who are worried that your bare, childlike, labia majora are going to rear their ugly curves in your skin-tight bathing suit, have no fear! Cuchini is here!

Because beach bums can’t keep all the self-loathing for themselves!

Next stop for the men’s rights movement: Peen-ini.

Because men shouldn’t have to be embarrassed by the magnitude of their bulges sticking out for another day!

The Perks of Ladyhood

I was at a store in Bed Stuy the other day, and as soon as I walked in, a young guy came up to me and asked if he could help me. I told him what I was looking for, and he directed me to the guy behind the counter. Turned out this guy didn’t even work there!

While I was waiting at the counter, the guy walked up to me, not leaving more than a foot in between his and my face. He then proceeded to ask me “Hey- can I get with you” I said “No”. Then he said “Come on. Lemme get your number so we can hang.”

I said “No” again and added that “and anyway I don’t date men”. He clearly didn’t get it and after asking more questions, asked me “You like girls? That’s ok. I can act like a girl for you.”

I told him no and that it didn’t work that way. Then I said “What if I was a guy and I said to you ‘Let’s get together. I’ll act like a girl.”

He then got very mad, muttered a string of sentences that were just barely comprehensible, then asked me what he looked like, that he was into girls and that I’m not a guy, he doesn’t like guys, why would I even ask that. I told him I posed the question to put his into perspective.

Then he said to the store that he knew I “had threesomes with guys”, that I was “that type” and that he knew it “just from looking” at me.