Welcome to Hotel Satire where gals come from far and wide to learn about their true natures as domestic appendages—as well as the behavior and makeup necessary to achieve that god-given innateness. The other day we gals were in day five of our workshop on "Why Gals Are a Subspecies" when we got the news that socialist President Obama had won the Nobel Peace Prize. We were stunned. How was it possible? This prize (and a presidency for life) belongs to our beloved George Bush for his policy of war without end, a sure road to peace, as we all know.
We were so bereft at the news that we scheduled an evening retrospective on "The Bush Presidency and How it Helped Women Achieve Liberation Through Nonentity." We considered cancelling day six and seven of our week-long workshop. After all, this news was the final straw in what had been a year of deep mourning for the end of the Bush presidency. Added to that, was a profound sadness over the McCain/Palin defeat a year ago. Mrs. Palin, as vice president, would have proved once and for all that gals are, indeed, a subspecies and, as such, not fit for public life.
But then, something amazing happened: the arrival of a Halloween costume catalog. The images in that catalog inspired us to carry on—even to write this column again after a long absence. As we paged through colorful images of galettes in princess, witch, fairy, mermaid, and carhop outfits, we were reminded of how much the upcoming holidays are about the most important way to teach gals/galettes that they are in a category "whose population is distinct in distribution, appearance, and feeding habits (but can still interbreed)"—that is, a subspecies.
Let’s start with Halloween. Gals, your task here is to spend days and nights sewing costumes (store bought only in a pinch) for your boys and galettes as follows: galettes wear skimpy pink tulle, organza, or satin dresses (preferably designed so their legs and arms freeze in the October chill) and carry a magic wand (or a broom) or hold a boy’s hand submissively, while looking good. Very young galettes can, on occasion, wear non-gal specific outfits, like pumpkins or butterflies, as long as they look cute and stop wearing them by age 4.
Boys should wear knight’s outfits or other cool costumes representing marauding, genocidal males, carrying weapons of mini or mass destruction. Boys may never, on pain of being skewered by the swords they are flailing, wear anything with pink or tulle involved. We offer several images to help get you going—the knight with his princess; the ninja with his geisha, the motorcyclist with his rider. Could these images make it any clearer? We think not.
As for Thanksgiving, Gals, your task is defined by the image of "The First Thanksgiving" (although you won’t have the help of all the women in the village). You will bust a gut cooking the meal, making sure that, in addition to the foods they never served at the 1621 table—potatoes and corn, and some say even turkey—you load the table with native fruits like plums, melons, grapes, cranberries, leeks, wild onions, beans, Jerusalem artichokes, squash, turnips, cabbage, parsnips, onions, carrots, parsley, sage, rosemary, thyme, native birds and game, fish, shellfish, as well as the Wampanoag gift of five deer.
Once you have cooked the meal, do not sit with the men and eat it, rather stand behind them and serve, while occasionally rocking a cradle and serving a few Indians sitting on the ground nearby. This way gals can never lose sight of the fact that Thanksgiving, like life itself, is to celebrate the white male ability to annex whole continents, while gals serve up a massive meal for both annexers and annexees. (There are no gal annexees depicted as they are sub-subs. The hierarchy of gal subs, sub-subs, and sub-sub-subs is too complex to detail here.)
Which brings us to Christmas, the best holiday of all because it is a celebration of men as God’s chosen—His Uberspecies, if you will. Two holiday images clearly establish men as both the givers of gifts and the givers of life. Here’s how it works. Gals, your task is to buy and wrap all the gifts, cook the meals, arrange holiday parties, take the kids to religious and secular festivities, buy and decorate the tree, and do all manner of other things to give your families a wonderful holiday. Then make sure that two white-bearded, white males—one in a red suit, one in a white robe—take all the credit.
In addition, whether you are Christian or some lesser religion, the birth of the Christ child establishes that—although gals are the ones who give birth—creating life is not about gals, for chrissakes. Think of it. Are we ever concerned over the fact that Mary (on God’s says so, by the way) had to go through labor—after riding for hours on a donkey—while lying on a pile of straw in a stable with lots of animals gathered round to watch? Of course not. Who cares about her labor pains, afterbirth, umbilical chord, etc. What is of concern is the birth of a son (Jesus as the son of God representing all males as Gods), a cause for celebration in any and all cultures and religions.
The images that confirm this, Gals, are two paintings by Michelangelo. And who better to affirm for us that the act of creation is really the province of white males than a white male from the late 15th/early 16th century? In "Creation" we see that man is given life by God, by definition male. In turn, in "The Creation of Eve," Adam gives—painless, bloodless, and cordless, mind you—birth to Eve who rises from Adam, but is incapable of standing beyond a crouch in her subjection to God-man, man-God.
Gals, are you as moved as we are by these glorious (accurate, not to mention believable) images? We hope so. Happy sub-holidays.
Mermaid gal searches for feet
to trick or treat
Lydia Sargent, an actor and playwright, is co-founder and staff member of Z.