Ginger #1: The disposition of woman transmuted into the strange new forms of men: a torrid piece of shit

The disposition of woman transmuted into the strange new forms of men: a torrid piece of shit
by Ginger Somos

November 2, 2001


I was born premature, ripped from the lofty ether of my mother’s lush vagetation. My mind is tethered Chaos, compartmentalized into temperate zones; scattered blind obscurity.

My name is Ginger Somos, I live in Hesperia California. My favourite colour is blue. I like all types of music; from Bowie to Bach. I am writing for vocephus.com because my fingers have bellies, which are satiated only when I press the characters on my spray paint splattered keyboard.

That was my personal precursor, now I’ll need no introduction hereonin. Onward:

I want to be a man.

Well, not in the way Richard Simmons wishes he were a ball-totting MANs-MAN, instead of the sissy he is. I want to be man because I’m tired of bleeding, aching, and being treated like I am a garden-variety [fragile] flower. I am petulant and sassy, I definitely have the shape of budding young virgin, but I’m no rose. Living in the 21st century is terrible for both sides of the genitalia, but for the inverted ones, it’s worse. The last thing this article should be is a feminist phantasmal fight; fuck feminists. I write this to divulge my anger with women more than men. I want to be the panegyrist who gives the gender war its final words.

Girls are dotards. Fawning around looking for guys to abuse them. Shopping at the Gap, looking for the newest fashion trend in Contempo. Discovering mascara shades to hide what Cosmopolitan magazine deems, “unattractive.” Women are plagued by a terrible virus in which we have to be 110% desirable at all times; and the sad part is women buy into the scam: just an idiosyncrasy of our gender. Yeah right! Just keep watching Martha Stewart, No Thanks.

This article will be completed in 2 parts, this being the first. Keep checking back.

G. Somos