Picture story of sorts
You know the burqa.
You do, I can assure you.
Burqas, the full cover required by women in fundamentalist Islam cultures.
For us, women of the West, the whole idea seems abhorrent. When we see these women, we feel sympathy and feel sorry for them. For they are slaves. For they are devout of their own freedom. For they are just things in the world of men.
They are pawns for the sexual and self serving desires of a man.
For we are free.
We are pawns for the sexual desires of ourselves … many man.
We are given the wonderful opportunity to be objectified.
We get to spread our legs to sell ugly clothes:
If we cant sing, we can strip:
If we can sing, we might as well spread the legs too…why not:
It is what we like, it is what we want, right.
Violence against us is quite useful to sell clothes:
Sexeeeey, baby. (She asked for it anyway.)
Feel the power? Oh, the freedom we have.
Dead/battered women… women strippers are quite empowered too. They sell shoes:
You have perfume to sell?
No worries, grab a strong free woman and come “all over her”:
We have it so much better.
We should be thankful for all we have. All this mind blowing head spinning freedom to live the way we want, the way that makes us most happy, not the way men want of us.