Whooooo, beloveds, it has been a rage-inducing week for your favourite feminist. Oh, the delicious misogony of virtually every member of the Republican party, still further attacks on the autonomy and equality of lady people.
This week, however, will forever be known to me as the week her favourite bandbroke your professor’s heart. I received a super-cool-new-song type link to click on in my news feed. “The Baddest Man Alive” with the Black Keys and the RZA. Excitedly, and with the awesomeness promised, I clicked. I watched. I loved, beloveds, I loved. There was badassery. There was slow-motion kung-fu film homage. There was iceberg lettuce used as a weapon. I laughed. I believe there may even have been some sort of fist-pump motion happening with my right hand. And then, at the two minute thirty second mark — record scratch. What. The. Fuck.
Go head, watch it, beloveds.
So, yeah, for no reason other than to be an asshole, he just rips her shirt off. She’s afraid and she’s angry. She is not into it. Now, if RZA had been all “all the ladies is into my stuff” and she had been all like “yes, please. . .I am so into the stuff of the RZA” and then he ripped her shirt off and she was still into it, well, then I would deem this hot and badass. But it’s neither hot nor badass, because she is so obviously terrorized by this. Terrorizing people doesn’t make you a badass. It makes you a person with very, very bad manners who needs a slap upside the face. Maybe your professor can become a world-famous music superstar by proving that she is the biggest badass by smacking the RZA upside his ignorant noggin.
Yes, you heard right. That is if what you heard was the line “I’ll date-rape Beauty right in front of the Beast.” Really? The RZA? Really? This doesn’t make you a badass, it makes you a jackass. And a rapist. This is not something you call out, it’s not cool, it’s not a sign of your prowess, and frankly it makes me totally hate you. Let me make a shocking revelation to you, the RZA. When you make a kung-fu homage movie, this professor is your motherfucking demographic. The professor holds two separate black belts, has the entire filmography of Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan (and Christina Rothrock. Excellent martial arts, horrible films) pretty much memorized. I practically wept with joy at the film Machete, and both Kill Bill and Inglourios Basterds totally gave me a lady boner. You know what doesn’t give me anything other than a rage-boner? Rape. Any mention of it, any implication that it makes you some kind of badass, any joke about it, any so-called “satire” incorporating it, any intimation that it does anything other than suck the lifeblood out of our society as a whole just fills me with vagilante justice rage.
So, I’m very sorry The Black Keys. I love you, but I’m totally breaking up with you over this collaboration. And I have loved you since before you sold our and were on the radio. I loved you when you were still recording in “medium fidelity” and playing clubs in Akron.
Presidential bonus clicky of the day. This, politicians, this is how you define rape. Period. And. . .scene.
 Her favourite band changes hourly. For the purposes of this writing, read on.
 I know she’s acting. It’s the performativity of fear that’s important here.