Recently, a writer for Cosmopolitan.com decided to share the sordid details of the rapid decline of her mental health and sex life with her husband, a man, all due to anxiety over the 2016 election; more specifically, Donald Judas Trump.
Laura Hooper Beck could be mentally unstable, bordering on dangerous. Who knows for sure? Only the gods, and possibly her sexless boring husband. But she’s not boring–and she’ll go to great lengths to tell you how full of sexy sex fun she is when she’s not picturing Donald Trump grabbing her by the pussy.
But here’s the rub…the pussy-rub if you’re feeling adventurous: If Trump is destroying your sex life, it’s your problem. Because the joy and uncertainty and excitement of this election process should be sending a tingling through your loins if you’re into it…and if you’re just a normal person (read: shouldn’t be voting, anyway) you shouldn’t be invested enough to let it effect your chemistry in the first place.
But Laura Hooper Beck isn’t a normal person. And that is what I’ll set out to prove.
Exhibit A: On Laura’s personal page she describes herself as a “fat redhead” and contributor to various “magazines” including Jezebel (go figure), “sexxxy lady magazine” Cosmopolitan (which we’re going to explore), and “vegan lifestyle blog” (red flag) Vegansaurus!
She’s desperate to be a sitcom writer and she’s available for hire; if you can live with having an erratic fat redhead in your writer’s room (which…let’s be honest…you can’t).
Before I go all in, I’d like to make clear that I’m sure Laura Hooper Beck is a capable human being (despite all evidence to the contrary). She has an impressive resume, and I’m certain that if she gets the help she needs (up to, and including a team of world-class psychiatrists), she may…one day…be a functional member of society. Her largest faults (pun intended) seems to be her self-depreciation, lack of self-esteem, and the overwhelmingly socially crippling desire to come off as “cute” as an adult woman.
Exhibit B: The Cosmopolitan Article. I’m going to jump around, but rest assured…each paragraph is more insane than the last.
“I haven’t had sex in weeks. After considering why and how this election is threatening to ruin my previously amicable (even enthusiastic) relationship with sex, I think the problem is twofold. On one hand, the thought of being touched by my husband, a man, after spending day upon never-ending day listening to Donald Trump’s sexually assaultive language, is not a pleasant one. On the other, we are both so obsessed with the election that our combined anxiety is killing our sex drives.”
The fact that she feels the need to identify her husband as “a man” is ultimately troubling, and likely to be, considering his decrease in libido over an election, demonstrably false. Personally, I can’t imagine being sexually attracted to anyone who describes their relationship with sex as “amicable.” Let alone a fat-positive ginger.
“Instead of retiring to my boudoir to engage in a garden of sensual delights with my husband (quick missionary followed by a [bubblegum] cigarette), I stay up late into the night, refreshing FiveThirtyEight in hopes that my benevolent/merciless overlord Nate Silver will bring some rest for the weary (in the form of blue states).”
The use of terms like “boudoir” and “sexual delights” are only rendered overbearingly cringe-worthy by the admission of “quick missionary” sex followed by a “bubblegum cigarette.” Presuming Laura and her “male” husband aren’t children, or in some way related, this information should send any sexual adult into immediate and violent dry-heaves.
Imagine–for a fucking second–that you just finished having boring missionary sex with your “male” husband, chewing a stick of bubble gum, then turning on the TV for a post-coital look at your “benevolent overlord” Nate fucking Silver, who…I should remind you…looks like this:
“Did you see Trump gained on Hillary in Utah?” I say to my husband who is as far away from me as humanly possible on the other side of our king-size bed (read: almost falling off). I’m lying down and also sweating, probably because I’m about to have a stroke.”
What a frightening and unattractive image, Laura. Your poor cucked husband would rather sleep on the floor than spend another moment waking up in a mattress soaked with your sweat, tears, and dead eggs.
“…Then we both pop extra Ambien and blessedly slip into darkness, clutching our phones, fully clothed and barricaded by pillows — another night of restlessness and absolutely no sexual congress.”
This picture is getting darker and darker. I fear that at some point, the sun will rise and Laura and her “male” husband will just be dust in the wind…as if they’d never really existed at all. And perhaps they didn’t, because with a narrative so bleak as this, can you really call it “living”?
Clutching your phones. Fully clothed and barricaded by pillows. No wonder you have no sexual congress. You call it sexual congress! Even the fucking act of making love to your “male” husband is comparable to impending political discourse.
Laura’s psychiatrist (surprise, surprise) tells her that part of what she’s experiencing is normal. Often people who are in great stress lose their sex drives. Which is true. The brain can do weird and awful things to the body if it’s under the influence of stress or depression.
Laura compares this to how contestants on Survivor lose their desire to fuck because they’re exhausted and stressed over physical and mental challenges.
This, however, seems unreasonably naive considering that Laura has no physical challenge, but may be extremely mentally challenged. Her advice to her readers is to watch political documentaries instead of having sex. Good advice, Laura, you spherical shrew…but not everyone has the desire to suck all of the joy from our lives.
“I’m not alone. Friends and family members alike (OK, just friends; I don’t talk to my family about sex) told me they also feel the stress of this election cycle building a wall down the middle of their bed. One lady friend in a long-term relationship said she wasn’t necessarily opposed to sex, but she just didn’t have the time between refreshing David Fahrenthold’s Twitter and worrying about all the ways in which we’re all gonna be screwed if Trump wins. Spoiler: It’s not the orgasmic way.”
First off, yes you are alone. Desperately alone. Your unfuckable “male” husband has now rendered your freckled mug unfuckable, and your life, as you would have expected it to be as an optimistic little Disney princess adolescent, is over.
Second, your “lady friend” (if she exists, and isn’t just a surrogate character in this narrative for yourself) shouldn’t be refreshing feeds by a man (David Fahrenthold) who looks like this:
Did either of you actually consider that maybe the rapid decrease in your sex drive has less to do with this man:
And more to do with the fact that you’re all mentally ill babies who get all of their affirmations and masculine input from men who look like they crawled out from a jizz-filled sewer, behind a series of thick weeds, underneath their mothers’ basements. You can’t survive this way. I’m not saying every man needs to be the height of masculinity, but these men you look up to–and try to bring yourselves to fuck–look like they carry an extra pair of shoes around in a plastic grocery bag just in case they step in a puddle. Real go-getters.
“Every time I try to get in the mood, I just picture Donald Trump’s face over my boyfriend’s and I want to Hulk smash,” said one friend who was happily married before this election cycle began. A currently single pal shared that she felt her vagina glue itself closed when she read Trump’s comments about Mexicans being rapists; she hasn’t had the time or inclination to DIY it back open yet.”
Fucking gross. All of these “friends” that Laura has are just as unstable as she is; which does very little to upset the echo-chamber.
“It can be fun to joke about this terrifying election but mainly because if you don’t laugh, you’ll cry. Maybe forever.”
Can you imagine someone who can’t make a joke about a meaningless political process…who claims they may start crying…perhaps forever? No man reads Cosmopolitan, but if they actually did (as I did, just for you), do you really think they’d have any sympathy for this kind of behavior? If your “male” husband has any decency or self-respect, he’s currently elbow deep in something relatively less likely to be shaped and colored like a Halloween-themed bag of leaves. But I doubt that very much…since he consciously (we hope) married you, Laura.
“I love my husband very much and he is truly one of the most decent humans I’ve ever met, but sometimes I look at him during this election, and I want to say, “I love you, but please stay away from me right now.”
Laura goes on to say that she approached a “male friend” at a party and bothered him about Donald Trump until he had nightmares…then had the nerve to say:
“See, it was only a matter of time before Trump got him too, and right where it hurts: in his blue-state balls. (Sorry. It’s too many bad puns. I know this. I wouldn’t be making these if I was having sex. Puns will never Make America Fuck Again.)”
Trump didn’t get to him, Laura! YOU DID. You rendered a (gay) man incapable of fucking. I hope you’re proud of yourself. Christians have been trying to do this for centuries. But one look at that freckle-puss and it was “so-long, downtown!”
“No, the only way out is through: through making informed decisions and making sure you exercise your goddamned right to vote. But don’t stop there: Talk to your friends and family, volunteer at a phone bank, knock on doors, post on social media. (Yes, be that person who posts about politics on social media. Everyone loves us!) Because if you’re not fucking — and you’re not, stop lying, girl — you can at least use this time to make a difference. On Nov. 9, I’ll know I did my part, and then I’m gonna take a vacation and get so laid.”
This is one of the grossest paragraphs I’ve ever read; and I’ve read large portions of both the Bible and the Koran. This entire endeavor ends with a plea for strangers to post political things online and to vote. Note, she didn’t say “vote if you’re progressive” she said “vote.” She then assumes that, because she’s not fucking, no one is fucking. False.
People who aren’t dangerous lunatics are fucking. Hard and passionately. Because on November 9th, we hope that all of our giddy excitement over the future of our country will culminate in people as emotionally fragile and regressive as Laura never being able to fuck again.
Jesus…just the fucking possibility of that makes my dick harder than Laura’s “male” husband’s when he thinks about anyone but Laura.