Michelle Malkin, It's Time to Get Serious and Play Ball

Useful person and right-wing pundit Michelle Malkin has been getting angry lately about comments made about her balls. On a recent radio show, left-wing comic Aisha Tyler made a crack about kicking Malkin right in them. It was obviously a rhetorical flourish — Tyler had no way of knowing about Malkin's balls — but Malkin overreacted anyway:

Left-wing female comedians are proving that they can be as crude and stupid as their male counterparts. Who knew that striving for gender equality meant pursuing the dream that one day, someday, liberal women would be able to mock their conservative counterparts’ sexuality with the unfettered vulgarity of Andrew Dice Clay?

Recently, Kathy Griffin attacked GOP Sen. Scott Brown’s daughters as “prostitutes” on her Bravo “comedy” show.

Now, via Brian Maloney at the Radio Equalizer, supposed funnywomen Stephanie Miller and Aisha Tyler make genital jokes

She then goes on to quote the joke, ending her commentary with, "In a follow-up, an indignant Miller defends her friend’s gutter 'humor' and castigates unsophisticated conservatives who do not comprehend their nuance. I hope you are proud, feminists."

Now, I've no doubt that this is a stone bummer for feminism. It's been peremptorily killed by an offhand comedic trope from a relatively unknown commentator, just when Sarah Palin finally got the movement back on track again by having fat American women LARP as the Thundercats and wave guns while complaining about minorities. But there's a bigger issue here:

This is really gonna fuck up my avant garde film.

For the last several months, I've been collaborating with a west-coast director on an extended short film we were writing with Michelle Malkin exclusively considered for the lead role. I'm 100% serious when I say that we are willing to throw this into the trash heap on top of the mouldering corpses of Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Gloria Steinem if we can't get Michelle committed to start principal filming.

The film is a daring look at gender identity in America — a Star Trek/Jim Henson crossover furry/gender/sci-fi character study about how Mr. Spock has a vestigial vagina and a red and tortured mini-weiner that looks like Hubba Bubba made of corned-beef chewing gum. Working title?—The Secret of Nimoy. We even had a working tag-line for the trailer: "Set a course for that Non Gender Binary Star System—Mindwarp Factor: AMERICA." We figured Michelle would be perfect for the role. For one thing, we don't have to throw a ton of money away on prosthetics, because her eyes already look like that. For another, she has a dick and balls.

Now, we're not the sort to judge books solely by their covers. This wasn't a race or a genderqueer decision, but rather one made on layers of interest and intersecting talents. For one, Michelle's a first-class actress. She totally passes as a woman, and she says some of the clumsiest lines in public without breaking character. Second, she has a real hard-line reputation when it comes to conservative issues, and I'm pretty sure her setting foot on set would make some of our problems go away.

For instance, because of immigrant swine flu or Mexican plague or something, I have to pay out the ass for the permits to dump hog offal on whomever will be the protagonist in the big Carrie homage/metamorphosis scene where the bucket of pig's blood finally actualizes Spock's (Malkin's) ability to menstruate during Pon Farr, while also symbolizing Ronald Reagan's 1984 electoral map results. Michelle could kick all the undocumenteds off set and directly across the border, and I'm sure she could change the debate to focus on America's real threat for tainted blood: homosexuals. Problem solved.

Also, the fucking unions have crawled up my ass with a microscope, I guess because that's the last place to check for the WMDs or whatever, and they're stalling even second unit shooting. Like, apparently you can't just film somebody machine gunning a shitload of trees without a union-sanctioned "gun wrangler" (what the fuck is that??? is it just Brett Favre in fucking jorts going, "Point the end where the bullets come out at the trees?") OR planting your own replacement trees something. At the moment, I got neither, so when it comes to the big allegorical firefight showing the (gender) identity infancy of the human race and its shedding lethal tears of impotent rage at its inchoate yearnings, I guess I'm fucked both ways.

Either way, Michelle could clear this up in a pinch. I mean, the second amendment is there for a reason: free expression and binding contracts. Second, the only way you teach the consequences of mishandling guns is by letting people be free to make their own mistakes. Third, apart from the Screen Actor's Guild, it's not like Reagan had any truck with this union bullshit. It's time to deregulate the guns. At the very worst, we just Youtube her shooting a tree over and over and calling it Al Gore. The message'll get through.

In fact, the only good thing I had going on is completely ruined if Michelle's not on board. Union and OSHA hassles are just sprinkles on my muffin by comparison. Okay, so, picture this: Spock/Michelle comes out dressed as a daisy whose petals are all poorly circumcised or otherwise mutilated penises, and she does a kind of Shirley Temple/Bo Peep thing where she twirls in a field and tries to use her shepherdess crook to emasculate the petals on her head and make herself into a perfect girl. But she starts crying, because nothing's working, and she buries her face in these psychedelic Georgia O'Keefe pussy-lilies that surround her.

All of a sudden, all these male dwarves in heavy tranny drag come out to this sick Busby Berkely dream-sequence choreography that the cast and I are just crushing in rehearsals. They move along diagonals and into these roiling vortices, emerging into what seems like straightforward "rational" movements while doing a West Side Story snaps thing with their fingers. Then they're sucked back into the vortices and chant in despair:

This is not an invitation
This is not an invitation
This is not an invitation
To rape me

Now, it seems a bit abstruse, especially considering all the puke-pea-soup-colored 1960s clothes they're wearing and their long straight hair, but as soon as the audience sees them listed in the credits as "The Andrea Dwarkins," I figure they'll be able to get it eventually. Thank God they're so fucking tiny, because I'm saving a fortune paying them scale.

Anyway, all these conflicting impulses push and pull Spock/Michelle one way and then the other before she realizes the value in accepting herself as she is, outside the constructs and strictures of a gender-binary worldview. It at that point that she ascends to a higher level of consciousness, one so powerful that it changes her corporeal form into that of a giant lamprey, which attacks Mola Ram just as he's reaching the orgone-power apex of his castrati-ritual sequence. It's at this moment that Spock/Michelle finally doesn't have any balls, which is ironic, because it would take a giant pair to really grip this role.

Look, if Michelle Malkin wants to let the liberal media to cow her into denial about herself, that's fine. It's not my fight, and I'm not ashamed of my body. Maybe you might think I'm a little bit of a dick for writing off her concerns like this, but that's who I am. Apart from the dick thing — my dick is actually enormous. But I'd be ignoring the lesson of my own movie if I presumed to lecture other people about when and how they accept who they are.

All I know is that we have to return our funding if we don't get underway soon, and Michelle was the only woman out there with the conservative credentials to solve a lot of our labor and licensing problems. And a penis. At this point, I think I might have to stunt cast in the opposite direction and get an ostensibly straight man who is obviously a flaming homosexual with a penis and a useless vagina. But while I'm sure he can cut costs by bringing his own makeup, I think Brian Kilmeade's under daily contract.

Fucking show business.