AN ANNOUNCEMENT FROM MUFFY HIGGINBOTTOM
PRESIDENT OF DELTA SIGMA TAU,
ON THE OCCASION OF THE WOMEN’S MARCH
AND THE WORLD JUST GENERALLY BEING A FLAMING POOP FIRE
Thank you for coming downstairs for this meeting on such short notice. I appreciate y’all taking time away from the things you’ve been doing to cope, like staying drunk, listening to “Lemonade” on repeat, and Instagramming pics of your soon-to-be-outlawed IUDs with moody filters and hashtags like #YouAintGettinNoHandmaidsTailFromMeAnymore.
I get it. I do. Like every time I pass by the Election Day Cake Ji-won and Margarita made with the top breaking through an edible glass ceiling and that sagging banner of a winking HRC drinking a celebratory Colt 45 under a “Number 45 BITCHES!” banner, I feel like crying, then vomiting out a poisonous fire blood that would lay waste to the smirking patriarchy like a feminist Cronenberg film. But, as they say, “Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is for marching in the streets like a crew of motherfucking bosses.” I think that’s how that phrase goes. I don’t shop Hallmark all that much, tbh.
Okay, first, let me drop a dollar in the Delta Sigma Tau swear jar for the MF I just spewed. Just so you know, I’m gonna be real hardcore about the swear jar in the coming months. Let’s face it—these are XL sweary times, sisters. Even my MeeMaw, who is so Baptist she calls Dancing with the Stars “Dancing with All the People Earning a Fast Pass to Hell,” dropped a real swear scorcher on Inauguration Day. She’s mostly recovered now, although she’s not welcome at my cousin’s next baptism. The point is: If you let slip with a mouthful of swears that could strip the paint from the walls, woman up and put your dollars in the jar. We’re gonna need that money to pay for our Norwegian pap smears.
But this is not a wake, sisters! This is a call to action! it’s time to buck up and hit back like the true Delta Sigma Tau resistance fighters we are, y’all! I am so proud of the work many of our sisters are already doing.
Like Aisha. Where’s Aisha? Y’all, Aisha is on Birth Control Resistance Work. She figured out how to get into Speaker Ryan’s P90X fan club bank account and transfer allll that money to Planned Parenthood. We call it our Affordable Care Hack. Our back room is currently stacked to the ceiling with boxes of contraception paid for by the Speaker of the House. We’re gonna go Pussy Wilding(TM), handing out birth control pills like Pez. There’s some postcards of armed uteruses in Che Guevara berets—thanks Lindsay and Oksana!—which y’all can send to Speaker Ryan en masse to thank him personally. Remember: We are Deltas, and we have manners. Thank you notes are très importante.
So many snaps to our STEM girls, LaKeisha, Vivian, Charlie, and XY-XX for our brand-new panty line which we the Shock-and-AWEsome. First of all, LOVE the polka dots and lace combo. So. On. Fleek. But these super-Modcloth-worthy panties are actually imbued with a patented, Anti-Pussy-Grabbing grabbing technology: It’s part panty, part Taser. If some Overcomb-pensating, Putin acolytes with the moral suck of an open spaceship airlock feel emboldened enough to grab a handful of your lady parts, they’ll receive 50,000 volts that’ll make it hard for them to choke the monkey or, I don’t know, sign offensive legislation for quite some time. I understand that the smaller your hands, the more it hurts. It’s almost Valentine’s Day, ladies. These make darling gifts. Stock up now. I have a feeling we’ll need them.
And speaking of Valentine’s Day—how about some additional snaps for our filmmaking team, Esther, Haruka, Jennifer and Jennifer! Ever since GODDESS Ava Duvernay decided she was So. Over. This. Patriarchal. Racist. Bullshit. we’ve been nurturing a team of Delta Sigma Tau filmmakers to storm the walls of the Hollywood Boys Club. I’m pleased to announce that they’ve just finished their first movie, just in time for Valentine’s Day, called “Well, Actually….” It’s a rom-com in the style of “Love, Actually” that follows the lives of several women, told via simultaneously unfolding, intersecting and intersectional plot lines in which…oh, none of that matters. Because each plot line is interrupted by a character called Annoying Dude in Your Timeline who pops up to tell the ladies what each of their stories is ACTUALLY about. Every time he does, we take a drink. Y’all, we are gonna be soooo drunk! Par-taaayy!
Anyway, SPOILER ALERT: At the end, all the ladies come together and wrap the Annoying Dude in a roll of #NotAllMen duct tape and leave him in the desert while he complains that he’s actually the victim of reverse sexism, and the ladies respond, “Well, ACTUALLY…” to a laugh track stolen from a Chuck Lorre sitcom as they drive away in a vintage Cadillac that they absolutely, positively do NOT drive off a cliff. Fin. So stoked for our first screening! And those 12 bottles of vodka.
There’s also some amaaazeballs work from our Delta Sigma Tau WOC committee—Achutebe, Nahla, Preeti, and Tiffani—who have compiled an anthology of resistance essays: “Yeah, We’ve Been Doing This Shit a Long Time Where the Fuck Have You Been?” Yes, Hazel, I know there’s another dollar for the swear jar. Somebody’s getting a pap smear in Lillehammer tonight! Anyway, all proceeds from the anthology will go toward writing workshops to empower the next generation. And if you subscribe to the Delta Sigma Tau WOC podcast, “Pissed Off, Live and In Color,” today, you’ll get a free baseball cap: Make America Stop Being Such an Asshole.
Moving on: Our theater arts team is staging a 24-hour reading of Lysistrata on the Capitol steps. There are sign-up sheets in the back. Ladies, let’s do this now before our NEA funding gets slashed like a couple of fornicating teenagers in an 80s horror movie.
If you have any musical talent and you’d like to join a Delta Sigma Tau Women’s March band, please see Sakura, Ashley, and Ashleigh at the back. I think the band name they’re going for is Alt-Fact Pussy? And they’ve written their first song, “Your Con Ways.” It goes: “Kellyanne, Kellyanne, spin that shit from the Capitol Klan, kiss the ass of the Orange Man, WTF’s your damage, Kellyanne, Kellyanne?” A note from Sakura: Need a cowbell. And a chainsaw.
Okay. That’s a whole lotta dollars in the swear jar.
True fact: OB-GYNs in Norway warm the stirrups first. It’s practically heaven.
As you can see, we’ve set up a merch table with an array of homemade t-shirts, and every cent goes to funding candidates who will fight back against the erosion of our rights:
Dear Dear Congress: I Am Not Fallopian with You.
My Rights Trump Your Wrongs
There’s an Us in Uterus, Motherfuckers.
Snatch My Rights & I’ll Snatch Your Seat (Women for Congress 2018)
This Beaver Bites.
And, of course, the ever-popular, My Lady Business Is None of Yours.
(Dollar. In. The. Swear. Jar. Done.)
Okay. On a heartrending note, Maria, Alison, and Yumei have started a Go Fund Me page to see if we can get some necessary spinal implants for the House and Senate Democrats. Senator Gillibrand has graciously offered to be a spinal donor. We hope to raise enough money by 2018.
In conclusion, Delta Sigma Tau sisters, I know it’s tough going. I know we’re all in shock and dodging flaming poop balls daily. I know we’re trying to come to grips with the idea that an Oompa-Loompa-hued, sentient DSM-V manual who seems to be following the script of a “Saw” movie while signing literal death into legislation with a swipe of the pen clutched in his freakish baby hands has been unleashed on the country, and, as usual, it’s gonna be up to a bunch of pissed-off women to keep democracy safe so we can go on making 73 cents to every man’s dollar while fighting for the rights to own our own fucking bodies while having to listen to a host of Congressional douche nozzles “Well, actually…”-ing at us 24/7, and yes, Sally, I know that’s another dollar. (By tomorrow, I could probably fund a tour group to Norway’s finest gynecology clinics, like a Napa tour but without waking up wondering why you’re wearing a Wine Not? T-shirt that’s not yours.)
But this is not the end. This is the beginning. They can’t stop all of us. I swear to Angela Davis they can’t. Remember our motto: Clear eyes, full hearts, Tasers on stun, can’t lose.
I fucking love y’all. For reals.
(*puts all the dollars in the jar*)
Your President and Sister,