Why your wonderfully pert bosom will save the world, and such like fiction.

Why do the women in action films always, make that only, wear push-up bras?

I realise that most action movies are made for men, by men, but given that my half of the species also has eyes, and money to spend, and a mild propensity for mindless violence, you’d think the buggers would at least try to consult a woman when making their explosion fests, no?  No.  If I had a shilling for every movie I’ve watched with a scantily clad woman, always in a push-up bra, serving no purpose other than to titillate the audience, I would be a bloody millionaire.  ‘Well, thousandaire, surely I can’t have watched a million action movies, what am I, idle?’ she scoffs, slowly nudging her stack(s) of bootleg tapes and DVD’s further under the table, all surreptitious like.  What?  Yes, I have video tapes, it’s not like you can throw them away?  Ah shit, I’m so analogue it’s embarrassing.   Moving on swiftly…  It used to be scantily clad women hanging around in movies like accessories, but the feminists raised a stink and now the scantily clad women have guns too, and occasionally save the world.  In push-up bras.  Oh joy!

Now I don’t know about other women, but when I’m looking to get into some strenuous activities of the saving the planet (read, America) variety, I like to put on a comfortable bra, one that has no under-wires eating into my rib cage, and no dodgy cups pushing my twins up as close to my chin as possible.  But these women on screen?  No no no…  These women are wearing lovely, delicate, little bras designed to lift and separate, and expose, and this as they get thrown around the room by people/things twice their size, running 100m dashes in two seconds and blowing up a loose building.  How now?  Mr movie director, I’m sure in your fantasies a woman will scale a 10 foot wall with ease in nothing but Victoria’s Secret lace underwear, but in the real world, I assure you, she will not.  It’s not that she can’t, it’s just that she doesn’t need her fun bags, and other, getting in the way of her speedy escape, not if she can help it.  Women are nothing if not practical, and if I know I’m going to chase a bad guy halfway around the city, on foot, possibly culminating in fisticuffs, you have to know I’ll strap those babies down good and tight.  You can’t have them flapping about while you sprint, that shit is uncomfortable.  Worse still, imagine them swinging in the face of the villain while you bitch slap his ass, what if he pulls a Justin on your Janets and malfunctions your wardrobe?  Life and death, people, I have no time to be wondering whether the twins will make a surprise appearance.

Of course, the geniuses responsible for action fiction have no interest in reality, which is why Wonder Woman spends all her time in a strapless bustier that only just covers her lovely DD’s.  These buggers have no clue.  Speaking of which…

Why are the women always in high heels, all bloody day long, even when they’re kicking ass?

I watched a movie last night which had a woman fleeing from an alien robot in 4 inch pumps, and she got away.  How now?   Ladies, have you ever worn heels,real heels, 3 or more inches? You’ve just nodded, because we all have a couple of those in our closets.  Now tell me, did you walk around in them all day?  Maybe even took a quick jog round the corner?  No?  That’s probably because you’re sane.  Gentlemen, I’m going to let you in on a little secret.  High hells hurt.  They look good, but they hurt like a bitch.  A woman cannot, and should not, spend an entire day in 3 plus inches, not unless her job entails sitting around all day, and never having to walk for more than five minutes at any given time.   Those cops on CSI standing around in the lab in Manolos?  Never ever.  And the fixer woman running around Washington in her Louboutins?  In hell.  And the super spy cum assassin killing a small army while daintily shod in Choos?  Really?  High heels are designed to get you from point A to point B, where point A and B are separated by a distance no greater that 167m, on a flat surface.  All those women on screen stomping about in sky high heels?  They take them off the minute the director yells, ‘Cut!’ and that’s after only half an hour.  The ones running around?  Wamelipwa, literally.  Note how when the tabloids take those ‘seen out and about’ photos, the same women are always in flat shoes.  All I’m saying is someone is lying to us, and being the sheep we are, we’re swallowing it, hook, line and bloody stiletto.  All the women you see tottering around our city of cracked pavements?  There’s a reason they’re tottering, their shoes are uncomfortable, and unsafe, but she looks good, no?

Stop looking at me badly, I have nothing against heels, I love them.  I’ve already told you how I use mine like a weapon, seeing as how they allow me to tower over unsuspecting buggers, or at the very least look them in the eye, but I know to use them wisely, when I shall not be required to make a quick getaway, or walk for more than 15 minutes.  High heels may be one of mankind’s most famous inventions, but the fact remains they are not particularly well designed.  A heel tilts you forward, forcing you to compensate by arching backwards, thereby giving your legs and ass that lovely shape, but in the process ruining your posture and hurting your spine, and shoulders, and feet.  I get the feeling some of the gentlemen reading this are giving me a blank stare right now, so let me make it a bit simpler.  See that car parked by the curb?  Try to push it over.  No joy?  That’s because it’s stable, on four wheels and everything (and it weighs a couple of tons, but let’s not split hairs, I’m trying to make a point here).  Now picture a three wheeled Tuk Tuk.  A well placed shove and you can get it on its side, yes?  Women in high heels are Tuk Tuks, unstable as hell, but much prettier (I hope).

TV and movie people, women who walk around a lot do not wear heels all day, and they sure as hell don’t sprint up stairs in them.  Stop shaking your head, they do not.  And neither, for that matter, do they spend shit loads of money on designer shoes and then wear them to go shopping for vegetables and such like mundane activities.  Expensive shoes = showing off = (possibly fancy) occasion.  Just because we’re silly enough to wear the damn things, that doesn’t mean we’ll wear them anywhere.  Bloody Nkt!

Why are the women on TV always in perfect make-up, even when they’ve just woken up?

Of all the fictions the film industry has spread, none has been more detrimental to women.  This ‘always looking perfect’ story is the reason men wake up next to us and get scared, talking about how fake we are and shit, because we don’t look like we did the night before, asubuhi na mapema.  Listen here, it’s not our fault, you buggers have been brainwashed.  If the movies were real, that scene with the couple in bed, first thing in the morning, would have the mama with her hair all over the place, old make up smeared on the pillow case, eyes crusty with that icky yellow stuff, saliva stain running from the corner of her mouth down to her chin.  And the jamaa would be looking just as dodgy, with his face puffy with sleep and his tongue and gums grey with gunk for good measure.  That’s reality.  We all look a bit suspect when we get up, because we have just been sleeping, as in not conscious and therefore not mindful of our appearance.  But on TV, nooooo…  Buggers open their eyes looking like they’ve just stepped out of a salon, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, hair in place, foundation lightly applied and lips wondrously soft.  For the love of God, man, how?   It gets worse, they look just as good all day long, with nary a touch up. Lipstick never fades, eye-shadow never smudges, false eyelashes never fall off.  Damn these lies, damn them to hell.

Gentlemen, we will never look that good.  Never.  The best you can hope for is two hours of splendour in the evening, right after work, before we tuck into the Kenchic, sorry, lavish dinner you shall buy us as a reward for looking so good.

Talking of people who look good…

Why are superheroes always in skin-tight outfits, with no pockets?

This one has vexed me for years.  I know they’re perfectly proportioned, all firm muscles and toned rumps, but come on, could those outfits be any tighter?  You know how Superman flies around in his body suit cum underwear, and cape?   Wait, I have to pause here and ask, what is with the damn capes?   Apart from Batman, whose cape is a fancy wing-glider thingi, why the hell are the other buggers walking and flying around with bloody sheets strapped to their backs?  Apart from the obvious fire hazard (not a ridiculous thought, they do encounter random explosions often these caped crusaders, no?), those things are none too aerodynamic, and they make for handy grips when a bugger wants to fling you about (read, Loki).  And the capes look silly as hell.  To quote Ironman, ‘Doth mother know thou wearest her drapes?’  I don’t get it.  Back to the skin tight clothing.  I can see the inspiration, these buggers are like athletes, they need to move freely and loose clothing can be a bit of a bother, but where pray tell does Catwoman keep the keys to the car she no doubt has (unless she walks/crawls/jumps everywhere), or cell phone, or bloody hankie in case she has the sniffles?  And Superman, the one who wears his ‘suit’ under his clothes all day long, just in case there’s an emergency, where does he leave his regular clothes, seeing as how he’s not flying around with a bloody knapsack, and how is it they are never stolen in that crime ridden city of his?  The less said about Batman and his rubber/plastic get-up the better, but at least he has the good sense to carry a tool belt, no?  That and he’s a clever bugger, he uses the wondrous power of mechanical engineering to get around, unlike the broke ass bastard with spider goop spewing out of his hands, swinging all over the place, until it runs out.  See, if Spiderman had pockets, he could carry a spare cartridge or two, no?

The only advantage I can see to the tight clothing is how perfectly it outlines the ladies’ impossibly perfect boobs, and bums, which brings me back to, why are they always in push-up bras?