Fuck yeah! And not a minute too soon, either. I was getting so sick of hearing about all those slimewads who use them to photograph what’s up women’s skirts (a gross violation of privacy and personal space, BTW…and just one of the many reasons why I love my pants.) For that matter, I’m also sick of those slimewads posting bogus trackbacks to here…which of course, will net them no publicity as they’re automatically junked.
Anyhow: If you haven’t been there yet, you MUST see HollaBackNYC. Sure to become more than just a Noo Yawk thing very soon. It’s a blog dedicated to, as the name implies, hollering back at the harassers and the look-at-her-ass-ers that seem to abound just about everywhere, and who exist, it seems, just to piss us off.
The idea is beautifully simple, too…just snap a shot of the shit, write a post explaining where it happened, what was said, etc., and e-mail it to the blogger.
Some posts, like this one, really don’t need a whole lot of explaining. It’s one I can so relate to, as I once faced down a curb-crawling wanker of mine own. He asked me for directions, and if I hadn’t glimpsed some motion out of the corner of my eye, I’d never have known. Put me off my feed for weeks, man. Who ever knew a penis could be so butt-ugly? This one was damn near unrecognizable. Yes, it was that bad. And I had studied anatomy the previous year, so I was pretty much inured to bizarre sex organs, pickled and dissected to boot. But then again–they were dead. Once I realized what the guy was bouncing around in his hand, I was anxious to get away. But at the same time, I had to try to make it look like I hadn’t even noticed. And since I was within two city blocks of my apartment–a basement apartment, where I lived alone–well. All’s I can say is, it’s a good thing the guy was apparently stoned and really slow on the uptake.
And speaking of stoners slow on the uptake, check out this guy. I swear, that’s the dickweed my sister finally dumped after 5+ years of icky. Looks just like him except for the chin hair. Ewwwwww!
But for the real joy of guys-you’d-never-have-sex-with, the Holla Shame is a must. It’s the sweet side of sour. Seeing a clever chick sending up these asshats is a gas. Almost makes one wish for an opportunity of one’s own…
…but guys, PLEASE. Don’t push your luck. There’s a reason why I flip you off when you honk from the curb expecting me to get out of your dreams and into your car!