Introducing MAN! I FEEL LIKE A WOMAN: Dude Week at For Shame.

You, our loyal readers, the lifeblood of this little blog, angels on earth, know quite a bit about us by now. You know, for instance, that LHB looks like a koala, JAF loves cinema and gingerhood, I, MRG, watch a lot of shitty British TV on Netflix, and KAB can turn a fucking phrase. You know so much about us, yet you do not know our names. And you never will, because we like the credibility and personal integrity we enjoy as RealHumans (or that I hope to one day enjoy as an AspiringHuman). You know us merely as three letters that may or may not but definitely could correspond with our initials. And that’s all. So here’s something that might shock you.

The “L” in LHB does not stand for Leonard.

The “K” in KAB does not stand for Kareem.

The “J” in JAF does not stand for Joffrey.

And the “M” in MRG certainly does not stand for Marcus (~YET~).

“WHAT?!” you say, incredulously. “But they’re SO GOOD at writing about history that according to my knowledge of all of history and literature and culture at large I simply CANNOT believe that they aren’t men! Surely if they were ladies, their uteri and compromised brain parts would prevent them from learning how to read or write. Surely you jest.”

This is what you get when you Google “historical men.”

We do not jest. We never jest. We’re here, we’re good at writing about historical sex, and we’re girls. It’s 2012. GET USED TO IT. (You’re probably already used to it because you’ve known all along that we’re ladies because we refer to ourselves as such, but fucking indulge me, it’s a bit).

…and this is what you get when you Google “historical women.” Also, I had to size DOWN the Rushmore photo. This is the actual size of the ladyphoto. SEPARATE BUT EQUAL.

But here’s the thing. We ladies have been thinking lately that although we’re really pretty and great at divulging history’s best scandals, our archives don’t offer a holistic view of What History Was Really Like because in History, women couldn’t do anything unrelated to childrearing, cookery, or common handicrafts. Right? Sounds right.

There was some definite gender inequality here at For Shame. And we thought it was only right that we do our best to reverse all three waves of feminism (you’re WELCOME) in our own little way by inviting select men to write for us.

THAT’S RIGHT. Fire up the grill, put on ESPN2, splash on some Aqua Velva, and brace yourself for MAN! I FEEL LIKE A WOMAN: DUDE WEEK AT FOR SHAME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1

We’ve each enlisted a talented and hirsute male friend to write about their favorite scandal over the next week.

FIRST, JAF’s dear friend PF will thrill you with a tale of sandals, the Satyricon, and suicide TOMORROW, proving once again that those ancients really couldn’t keep it in their tunicae (high school Latin DOING WORK).

NEXT, KAB’s pal ED (not like Ed, but the letters E and D) will follow with an account of everyone’s favorite bon mot machine and perhaps the Biggest Big Victorian Gay, Oscar Wilde. (ED also suggested the title of this theme week when I was panicking, so may Shania bless him in all her wisdom).

THEN, MRG’s beer buddy KP (who once suggested a scandal, if you recall) will weave us a tale of star-crossed lovers – he a German-Murican, she a WASP – and their crazy late nineteenth-century nympho jail sex.

FINALLY, LHB’s dear friend (and MRG’s sometime complicated boyfriend, don’t worry about it, it’s complicated) will regale you with the dulcet symphonic tones and undeniable sexual scandalosity of a one Mr. Franz Lizst.

We have entrusted this little patch of green blogspace and the hearts and minds of you, our sweet readers, to the very capable, manly, and undoubtedly calloused (from chopping wood and hammering things and stuff) hands of our manfriends. May you enjoy the authoritative and slightly deeper narrative voices of the be-testicled.

Wait…WE’RE PERSONS?!

Ashes to ashes, MENSES TO MEN, dust to dust, amen. Or A-MEN, right?!

Nailed it. VAGINAS OUT.



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