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Dickflashers United

August 5th, 2011 | 6 comments | Posted by Diana

The first time I was flashed by someone’s unsolicited penis, I was 12. My female cousin and I were sitting at an outdoor table on the patio of a little French-Vietnamese cafe, eating cake, giggling, likely talking about floral skirts or boys. In the middle of a sentence, I noticed a man about five yards away, standing at his bicycle. “Yuck,” I said to my cousin. “That old  guy’s staring at us.”

“What guy?” she asked.

“Uh, the weird old guy over there standing at his bike,” I muttered under my breath. “Don’t look, don’t look, he’ll see–”

She turned unsubtly to look. I took another glance then, too, what the hell.

Undisturbed, the bike man kept staring at us. I immediately retreated from the eye contact and dropped my gaze… down… to… his limp penis, which was hanging out of the open zipper in his pants, the tip resting weirdly on the top tube of the bike frame.

Dirty, I thought, referring to both the tip-touched bike frame and the perv.

I was nervous and wanted to escape. She, thankfully, hadn’t taken in the whole picture yet. I spoke through my teeth, code-speaking a plan to get back inside to the safety of the cafe and its brightly-lit bakery case, and she followed me despite her confusion. We hid inside as he tucked his worm back in and pedaled away, then ran back to where we’d left our parents.

In the decades since, I’ve probably glimpsed about ten more strangers’ penises that I never wanted to see. Some silently shown, some being wanked, some flaccid, some less so, all hideous–because frankly, there’s nothing more hideous than an unsolicited penis.

Which is why I wish I had the nards to create a fake membership and start digging around on, a forum for people that love to, uh, flash their dicks to strangers (and a couple of hanger-on basic exhibitionists), which Jezebel’s Irin Carmon kindly infiltrated and investigated earlier this week. Continue reading Dickflashers United

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Cultural Interpretasians: The Miss Universe Pageant

May 22nd, 2007 | 0 comments | Posted by Jen

I once had, I guess you could say, the privilege of tagging along with a friend to the Miss Universe pageant, where my friend was a preliminary judge. As you can imagine, it did wonders for my self-esteem to be surrounded by Amazonian women in Lucite mules who, when asked about their greatest flaw, would answer, “I’m too perfect,” one after the other.

Just so my girlfriends who are reading this don’t hasten to the razorblade and Jenny Craig, I’ll let you in on a dirty little secret. THEY HAVE CELLULITE. Like, bitchin’ cellulite. All of ‘em. The cameras may be adding ten pounds to the contestants’ faces, but those lenses are doing wonders for their butt-dimples.

The Miss Universe 2007 pageant is currently underway in Mexico City, and the contestants have already paraded around in their “national costume” for the preliminary judges. This event is as fascinating to me as the Samoans were to Margaret Mead. What do these national costumes say about self-perception and the cultures they represent?

I’m no anthropologist, but here are a few interpretasians.

“That white boy Nick Carter has nothing on this Latina. Endangered coral? Check. Random sea sponge? Check. Flying dolphins? Double check. Salvemos los delphines!”
“Fuzzy things make me happy. Can I give you a hug? How about if I braid your hair? You’re so pretty. My mouth feels like cotton, I could really use an Evian and a lollipop. Which way is it to Burning Man?”–Miss Thailand
“Heeeeyyy. This competition thingy is really harshing our mellow. Where can we get a few cold ones? Who’s up for foosball? Game of quarters? Or should we just make out in that corner and let you guys watch?”

“Allow me to present a haiku, poetry of my people:
flash my kimono
only to reveal more and
more kimono ha!”
“We, the Philippines, are tired of being everybody’s bitch in the Pacific Rim. How do we make a bold international statement? How do we scare the bejesus out of our bullying neighbors?”

“Mimes, my friend. Freakin’ mimes.”

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