Dear Material Girl (who looks more material, less girl),
Let’s have some girl talk, shall we? Based on your recent comments about ladies who voted Trump, it seems there’s a gap between your feelings and reality. A gap wider than the space between your knees. A wide enough gap for all to enter. Of course these days no one dare venture to such horrific places. Some environments are too toxic for even the most daring of individuals.
When it comes to relating to your fellow sisters of the Ya Ya Vaginahood, your grasp on reality is as tight as your skin. After the obvious slut-shaming one paragraph above, I doubt this statement ruffles your wrinkles any more than they’re already allowed to ruffle in the slightest of breezes. Perhaps not even a breeze, but the collective booing of displeased audience members turning down your sexual offerings for Hillary votes.
Here’s are your words, written in The Guardian:
Women hate women. That’s what I think it is. Women’s nature is not to support other women. It’s really sad. Men protect each other, and women protect their men and children. Women turn inward and men are more external. A lot of it has do with jealousy and some sort of tribal inability to accept that one of their kind could lead a nation. Other people just didn’t bother to vote because they didn’t like either candidate, or they didn’t think Trump had a chance in the world. They took their hands off the wheel and then the car crashed.
Firstly Madonna, can I assume you supported the candidacy of Carly Fiorina? For she, like your cohort Cankles, ran for the presidency while possessing female anatomy. Fiorina also led a few other business enterprises prior to tossing her feathered cap into the mostly male arena for president. So you supported her, yes? Because ladies stick together, just like you implied?
Hillary, by contrast, failed to lead four Americans out of Benghazi. Later blaming the attack on a YouTube video no one saw. So much for your “Women protect their men and children” idea, Pointy Bewbs. Those four Americans are dead. Even deader than your relevancy.
Oh! Before I forget, Hillary also threw her fellow women under a fecal-dripping bus. Not literally (of course there was a literal #ImWithHer bus with human waste seeping from it). No, no, Hillary Clinton heaved Juanita Broadderick, Kathleen Willey and Paula Jones (among others) head first into the Screw Feminism oncoming train. Her husband, as you’re undoubtedly familiar (wink), raped them. “Allegedly.” Did Hillary stand up and fight for these women victimized by a powerful political figure, Bill Clinton? No. Hillary ground them with mortar and pestle, their essences later added to a smoking cauldron of blood, semen and piss. I’m sure you’re familiar with spirit cooking. Don’t pretend otherwise.
Score so far? You and Hillary stand at zero. Or maybe you’re kneeling.
Hey, you were the one to bring it up. Don’t pretend you’re like a virgin, touched with a slut joke for the very first time.
As a real, cis-gendered, card-carrying female who didn’t vote for Hillary, I feel perfectly qualified to express myself and why I, and other women, would’ve rather voted for a rampaging, menstruating rhinoceros than Hillary Clinton. At least the rhino would limit its damage to the surrounding area. Hillary Clinton’s presidential reaching destruction would’ve spanned the globe. Possibly further if she summoned enough demons.
Hillary Clinton’s possession of a vagina ranked last as a reason for my intense dislike of her very being. I believe Hillary Clinton, and her most sycophantic zealots (diddling twits like you), as possessing the moral capacity of freshly defecated dog crap. Squeezed into the deep crevices of a overly supported athletic shoe, never to be fully douched.
Take a bow, I aim such easy shots at you. Millions of women decided, with functioning brains, to either abstain from the presidential election, or vote the lesser of two evils. One evil a poorly coiffed businessman who once said he liked to grab women by the body part you, Madonna, can’t seem to talk enough about, the other Madam Pantsuit. Whose many sins, both personal and national, would make Mephistopheles blush. With pride.
Your desperate calls of “Boo-hoo, Hillary lost, therefore women hate women, muh sexism” is nothing more than an unbecoming tantrum better suited for a diapered geriatric, crapping herself to peeve the nursing staff. Bet you thought I’d take the diaper jab in a more Gerberish direction, huh? Sorry, La Isla Bonita. You have far more in common with the cackling witch better housed in an insane asylum than the innocent baby gracing a Pamper’s box. Whose dismemberment Hillary would’ve supported some nine months earlier.
Have I crystalized this point clearly enough for you? Tossing all women aboard the Moon Cycle bus, assuming all ladies will sync up and vote similarly, is the very definition of sexism. I know, words are hard. Especially post decades of liberal Botox. Is there a refund on those treatments by the way? Because gravity is winning the war, sweet cheeks.
Since you were so quick to admonish your fellow ladies, allow me to offer a bit of advice in exchange: enjoy all the millions you earned from your glory days of slutting it up on stage, while you still had the assets to swing. You had some genuine chart-topping hits. So kudos. Enjoy the cash. Wear age appropriate attire. Stop being a whore. Live out your retirement. Quietly. Far from microphones, the press, and camera lenses. Specifically camera lenses which capture detail with terrifying accuracy. Holy hell.
~Written by Courtney Kirchoff