Take a Stroll… with Rob Delaney - Problem Areas
Hi everybody! How’s it going? If you’re a woman, I hope your answer is “I’m fucking starving!” Bikini season will be here before you can say “Jamochachino Surprise,” so you better be torturing yourself and focusing your meager intellect and out-of-control emotions on shedding those pounds, girlfriend! I saw an article in a magazine yesterday that highlighted “four problem areas” a woman can have. Are you shitting me? I’m assuming that article was written by a woman, because if you think you’ve only got four problem areas to worry about you’ve gone so deep into the “Red Tent” of feminine insanity you might never come back. I don’t have a dedicated bank of super-servers in rural Washington State to store a giga-list of everything that could be or probably is wrong with your body, so I’ll just name a few:
Saddle bags, upper-arm fat, cottage cheese thighs, midriff-bulge (aka F.U.P.A aka “gunt”), flat chest, asymmetrical breasts, butt-beard, bacne, pit-cheese, cankles, surprise tampon string cameos, eczema, ham spatula, ashy elbows, feet of any kind, hairy knuckles, beef knuckles, uncle’s knuckles, vaginal halitosis, bald spots, loaf latch, sideburns, flatbottom, creeping jimson weed, dowager’s hump, treasure trail, Pepperidge Farm, razor bumps, leakage, phantom dangle, and panty dandruff.
I know it wasn’t easy to read that list since you likely recognized between 22 and 70 items from your very own body. Jesus Christ, that’s got to be discouraging. You probably feel like some sort of crippled, cupcake-hunting whale, listlessly bobbing in the ocean off the western coast of Mexico, hoping some merciful Ahab will happen upon you and order his big black Queequeg to hurl a harpoon into your heart, ending it all. (Unless there’s some sort of afterlife situation, where women who didn’t subject their appearance to enough scrutiny are punished for eternity, which, if we’re being honest, is probably exactly what happens.)
“Why me?” I can hear you screaming. Well, if you’re not too ashamed to leave the house, head down to your local library and pick up a Bible. You don’t have to read too far to get to the part where Eve (the first woman to both perspire AND fart when nervous) pigs out on a massive fruit buffet, angering God. As a result, God calls Eve a “fat bitch,” orders her to “put some fucking clothes on” (Genesis 3:16) and decrees that henceforth, all women’s bodies will essentially be lumpy torture-machines existing to satisfy men, assuming they can keep their “crazy pussy hair” under control (Genesis 3:20-22).
The Bible is loaded with great advice, and it’s important we remember that makeup companies and the media and plastic surgeons are not foisting some made-up idea of what’s “beautiful” upon women. These laws come straight from the mouth of Dr. Samuel F. Godburgers Himself, issued as He shrieks across the sky astride His prayer-powered Truth Rocket. And the fantastic news is that God’s first “Message to the Ladies” appears in the Old Testament, a text vital to Jews, Christians, and Muslims alike. So don’t be acting like you ain’t heard, unless maybe you grew up in Asia, subscribing to some religion that dilutes its firepower among 330 million Gods (why so many Gods? With that many Gods, there must be Gods named like, “Rick,” or maybe a God of hot turkey sandwiches? Why not?). Or even worse; maybe you were raised in a religion that doesn’t even have a God to give a shit about what you look like in a bikini. It sickens me to imagine.
I can hear some of you women disagreeing with me. You think the Bible is a dusty, 5,000-year-old comic book written by men. You believe that today’s arbiters of tastes and trends are cash-vacuuming soul murderers who subsist on your fear. And you might even think you can hear the board members of Procter and Gamble and the bearded polygamists who wrote the Bible high-fiving through a hole in the space-time continuum and having a good laugh.
But that would be crazy.