With the presidential election in full swing, I'd like to discuss an issue of utmost importance.
Since this post concerns delicate matters of government, national security, and the secretion of bodily fluids, we ask all easily upset readers to stop reading right now. Ideally, the reader should have served as a paramedic for at least two years in a bad area of Chicago, and led a platoon during the siege of Fallujah. A stint in federal prison would be a definite advantage.
OK, now that we have the namby-pamby softies out of the way, let's get down and dirty and talk straight.
We have a problem at the White House. The problem is affecting the performance of the executive branch, and possibly having long-ranging impact on foreign relations and the economy. It is a problem which has long gone undiscussed and unmentioned.
The problem is presidential frustration.
I do not need to be the one to tell you that males - of any species, but especially homo sapiens - are prone to an intense inner urge to copulate. To copulate with exactly what depends on the particular male in question, but of course most males are driven to copulate with females of their own species, if available, or genus, if not.
For good and sensible reasons which I will not go into, society frowns upon this built-in urge, and likes to pretend that it doesn't exist. Moreover, society expects males to mate only with their pair-bonded females, most of whom lose their attractiveness over time. (They may stay attractive to other males, but for reasons unknown become less attractive to their own mate.)
Consequently, males afflicted by the overpowering and uncontrollable desire to release their genes tend to skulk in dark alleys with cheap hookers, or drop serious cash for escort services. Failing either, they will ogle strippers, get a lap dance or two, and jack off in the restroom. Worst-case scenario, if financially strapped, they may rely on the Internet.
Nothing extraordinary so far. But the problem really becomes dire when the male in question is the president of the United States of America. He is watched 24/7, by the secret service and the omnipresent media. He cannot call up an escort service, because if he gets nailed, the resulting fiasco would entail more than a distraught spouse. If he were to even sneak out at night with a fake moustache, the excursion would be playing out live on CNN before he got off Pennsylvania Avenue.
Technically, he could have sex with his wife, of course, but unlike the First Lady in France, US presidential spouses do not exactly fit the description of "sex-bomb."
So what to do?
Bill Clinton's solution, of course, is well-known. He got into a lot of hot water over it. But we at Woussaa have to applaud him, because at least he did not resort to self-service. We do not wish to even contemplate the specter of the the Commander-in-Chief, the most powerful man in the world - having to lock the door of the Oval Office and pleasure himself like a schoolboy. The idea would be too pathetic for words. (The Carter Administration comes to mind.)
Of course, there is always a possibility that a president may resort to abstinence and celibacy. That would be bad for America and for the world. Frustrated men make stupid decisions. They will lose focus and do rash things, purely out of spite. They will not be able to concentrate on the job at hand. Intelligence will not be listened to carefully. Irrational decisions will be made.
In a future post Woussaa will discuss possible solutions to this thorny issue.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Monday, June 30, 2008
Woussaa and You - What You Need to Know
All Woussaa posts, possibly but not definitely including this one, are works of fiction, for the most part. Any similarity to actual persons or events is sort of coincidental, in that the events discussed here pertain to a parallel universe remarkably (and coincdentally) similar to the one you live in.
While the intent to poke fun at, ridicule, and humiliate in public may definitely lie in Woussaa's heart, as it does in the heart of any hominid, said intent (probably) has no bearing to the posts on this blog.
Woussaa accepts no responsibility nor liability for any effects of any posts, unless of course the whole "butterfly in China" theory happens to be true, in which case a perfectly innocent post here could well trigger a legal hurricane in Nebraska.
Speaking of Nebraska, all Nebraskans I know are fat and hairy, but that's neither here nor there.
While the intent to poke fun at, ridicule, and humiliate in public may definitely lie in Woussaa's heart, as it does in the heart of any hominid, said intent (probably) has no bearing to the posts on this blog.
Woussaa accepts no responsibility nor liability for any effects of any posts, unless of course the whole "butterfly in China" theory happens to be true, in which case a perfectly innocent post here could well trigger a legal hurricane in Nebraska.
Speaking of Nebraska, all Nebraskans I know are fat and hairy, but that's neither here nor there.
It's a Cesspit!
As you can see, I have finally joined the world of the blogging, but let there be no mistake about it: I will not engage in the dirty tactics used by the big blogs.
Enough is enough! The blogosphere is a cesspit and it stinks to high heaven. The NYC Police Department smells of roses compared to what goes on here. This culture of corruption has gone on long enough. It is time to end the pervasive malfeasance you all have become accustomed to.
Why, some of you probably don't even know what I am talking about.
You know what they do. Them bloggers. They will go to high-profile blogs, any darn high-profile blog, and leave tame and vaguely encouraging comments, solely for the purposes of enhancing the visibility of their name, and of not-so-subtly enjoining reciprocity.
Says one blogger, who asked to remain anonymous: "I'll leave dozens of comments a day, without even reading the posts properly. It doesn't matter what the post is about, or if it's lame. You just skim through it and leave a comment about the first thing that comes to mind. It's like a word association game. The idea is to leave a relevant and non-negative link, as quickly as possible. "
We ask if that isn't tantamount to spam.
The blogger hesitates, and finally nods: "You could say that. But the idea is to leave something just relevant enough to prevent the blog owner from deleting it. It isn't machine-generated spam. But it sure ain't wagyu either."
What's more, the blog owners not only tolerate comments from these commentators with patently ulterior motives, but openly encourage them to comment. After all, the more comments you get, the better. Most bloggers declined to discuss the issue, but we managed to find one blogger who agreed to talk on the record, provided her identity remained a secret. She chewed her nails nervously throughout the interview, and kept glancing at her laptop.
Woussaa How many comments do you get?
Anonymous Blogger Between ten and thirty a post. I get a lot of comments.
Woussaa And how many of those comments are authentic?
AB Look, I know about [the comments situation]. It's really a kind of bribe from the commentator, given to the blogger who posted. The blogger who made the post gets more comments, which is good for her credibility. And the commentator gets a link back. I'll scratch your back, you scratch mine - that's the idea. Authenticity isn't the issue.
Woussaa Bribery is illegal in the off-line world. Doesn't that bother you?
AB Well, [the situation] is not ideal. But I need the comments to keep my rep up. I don't want to get 1 or 2 comments per post, or, God forbid, none! I've been at this since 2006. Do I want to look like a newbie?
Woussaa Do you yourself leave comments at others' blogs?
AB Come on, how else would I get traffic? But I actually read the posts, some of the time. Sometimes, if the post is really interesting, I will even read the other comments.
A recent BSU study revealed that 89% of the bloggers who left comments on blogs receiving more than 10 hits per day admitted to being motivated by "a desperate need for more traffic, any traffic at all."
We at Woussaa will have none of this. It is time for a change. Woussaa will be a new force for ethical practice and transparency in the blogosphere. This blog will stand up for what is right. We will take the high road, though a lonely journey it may be. Under no circumstances will we leave bland and brown-nosing comments on other people's blogs (unless of course their Alexa rank is higher than 10,000). And we will definitely not tolerate comments from slimey desperados eager to grease our palm with a sentence of bland flattery (unless of course their blog has a Technorati authority higher than 50). Please support Woussaa in our campaign, and leave your words of encouragement in the form below. Thank you.
Enough is enough! The blogosphere is a cesspit and it stinks to high heaven. The NYC Police Department smells of roses compared to what goes on here. This culture of corruption has gone on long enough. It is time to end the pervasive malfeasance you all have become accustomed to.
Why, some of you probably don't even know what I am talking about.
You know what they do. Them bloggers. They will go to high-profile blogs, any darn high-profile blog, and leave tame and vaguely encouraging comments, solely for the purposes of enhancing the visibility of their name, and of not-so-subtly enjoining reciprocity.
Says one blogger, who asked to remain anonymous: "I'll leave dozens of comments a day, without even reading the posts properly. It doesn't matter what the post is about, or if it's lame. You just skim through it and leave a comment about the first thing that comes to mind. It's like a word association game. The idea is to leave a relevant and non-negative link, as quickly as possible. "
We ask if that isn't tantamount to spam.
The blogger hesitates, and finally nods: "You could say that. But the idea is to leave something just relevant enough to prevent the blog owner from deleting it. It isn't machine-generated spam. But it sure ain't wagyu either."
What's more, the blog owners not only tolerate comments from these commentators with patently ulterior motives, but openly encourage them to comment. After all, the more comments you get, the better. Most bloggers declined to discuss the issue, but we managed to find one blogger who agreed to talk on the record, provided her identity remained a secret. She chewed her nails nervously throughout the interview, and kept glancing at her laptop.
Woussaa How many comments do you get?
Anonymous Blogger Between ten and thirty a post. I get a lot of comments.
Woussaa And how many of those comments are authentic?
AB Look, I know about [the comments situation]. It's really a kind of bribe from the commentator, given to the blogger who posted. The blogger who made the post gets more comments, which is good for her credibility. And the commentator gets a link back. I'll scratch your back, you scratch mine - that's the idea. Authenticity isn't the issue.
Woussaa Bribery is illegal in the off-line world. Doesn't that bother you?
AB Well, [the situation] is not ideal. But I need the comments to keep my rep up. I don't want to get 1 or 2 comments per post, or, God forbid, none! I've been at this since 2006. Do I want to look like a newbie?
Woussaa Do you yourself leave comments at others' blogs?
AB Come on, how else would I get traffic? But I actually read the posts, some of the time. Sometimes, if the post is really interesting, I will even read the other comments.
A recent BSU study revealed that 89% of the bloggers who left comments on blogs receiving more than 10 hits per day admitted to being motivated by "a desperate need for more traffic, any traffic at all."
We at Woussaa will have none of this. It is time for a change. Woussaa will be a new force for ethical practice and transparency in the blogosphere. This blog will stand up for what is right. We will take the high road, though a lonely journey it may be. Under no circumstances will we leave bland and brown-nosing comments on other people's blogs (unless of course their Alexa rank is higher than 10,000). And we will definitely not tolerate comments from slimey desperados eager to grease our palm with a sentence of bland flattery (unless of course their blog has a Technorati authority higher than 50). Please support Woussaa in our campaign, and leave your words of encouragement in the form below. Thank you.
Introducing Woussaa
This being my first post on a brand new, completely unknown blog, it is unlikely anyone will read this particular post, except the odd search engine bot perhaps, and that will only happen a few months from now.
I suppose I'd better introduce myself and get this over and done with while nobody is reading.
My name shall remain unknown, but call me Woussaa. I'm just an ordinary blogger. I was born male, but at age 13, upon entering puberty, I started feeling uncomfortable with my body. It was as if I was a girl trapped in boy's body. Every day was pure agony and, oh, how I longed to escape! Finally, on my 16th birthday, I flew to Thailand, and the next day had a sex-change operation.
The surgeons worked on me for hours, and the stitches took a long time to heal. But when the bandages were cut away, I knew that it had all been worth it - like a butterfly, I had been reborn.
I took on the name of Zoe, and started wearing hotpants, blouses with plunging necklines the better to show off my new 36D rack, and makeup.
After a few months, I realized I felt uncomfortable in my body. It dawned on me that, this time, I was a man trapped in a woman's body, so I flew back to Bangkok. The same surgical team operated on me again, and after a week I emerged from the hospital striding confidently with an extra-long "package" dangling between my legs.
It didn't take more than a few months for me to find out, however, that I was woman trapped in a man's body, and that a change was needed - this time I flew to Honduras, as the airline gave me a free flight thanks to all the frequent flyer miles I'd racked up.
And so it went. Now in my 30's, I've lost count of the operations I've had. Sometimes I forget my current gender and waver indecisively in front of restroom entrances. I'll plunge into the men's room - usually less crowded - and quickly step back when I get stared at. Or I'll sashay into the ladies' room, only to be met by screams and pepper spray.
People tell me that I should make my mind up. Friends of both genders - all of whom I've slept with at least twice - try to talk me out of the next operation. Even the surgeons aren't keen to whip out their scalpels any more - until, of course, I whip out my Platinum Visa.
And I agree. Frankly, I hate the food served at hospitals and the deteriorating quality of service these days. Moreover, it is no longer socially acceptable to keep increasing my carbon footprint by flying to Thailand, Honduras, Bulgaria, etc. So I will settle for a gender once and for all - chosen by the loyal readers of this blog, on a popular vote to be held on its first anniversary on July 1, 2009.
Meanwhile, if you'll excuse me, I have a boat to catch.
I suppose I'd better introduce myself and get this over and done with while nobody is reading.
My name shall remain unknown, but call me Woussaa. I'm just an ordinary blogger. I was born male, but at age 13, upon entering puberty, I started feeling uncomfortable with my body. It was as if I was a girl trapped in boy's body. Every day was pure agony and, oh, how I longed to escape! Finally, on my 16th birthday, I flew to Thailand, and the next day had a sex-change operation.
The surgeons worked on me for hours, and the stitches took a long time to heal. But when the bandages were cut away, I knew that it had all been worth it - like a butterfly, I had been reborn.
I took on the name of Zoe, and started wearing hotpants, blouses with plunging necklines the better to show off my new 36D rack, and makeup.
After a few months, I realized I felt uncomfortable in my body. It dawned on me that, this time, I was a man trapped in a woman's body, so I flew back to Bangkok. The same surgical team operated on me again, and after a week I emerged from the hospital striding confidently with an extra-long "package" dangling between my legs.
It didn't take more than a few months for me to find out, however, that I was woman trapped in a man's body, and that a change was needed - this time I flew to Honduras, as the airline gave me a free flight thanks to all the frequent flyer miles I'd racked up.
And so it went. Now in my 30's, I've lost count of the operations I've had. Sometimes I forget my current gender and waver indecisively in front of restroom entrances. I'll plunge into the men's room - usually less crowded - and quickly step back when I get stared at. Or I'll sashay into the ladies' room, only to be met by screams and pepper spray.
People tell me that I should make my mind up. Friends of both genders - all of whom I've slept with at least twice - try to talk me out of the next operation. Even the surgeons aren't keen to whip out their scalpels any more - until, of course, I whip out my Platinum Visa.
And I agree. Frankly, I hate the food served at hospitals and the deteriorating quality of service these days. Moreover, it is no longer socially acceptable to keep increasing my carbon footprint by flying to Thailand, Honduras, Bulgaria, etc. So I will settle for a gender once and for all - chosen by the loyal readers of this blog, on a popular vote to be held on its first anniversary on July 1, 2009.
Meanwhile, if you'll excuse me, I have a boat to catch.
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