Is this really the year of the Woman? Can I burn my bra and apply lipstick without feeling guilty?

Is this really the year of the Woman?

Can I burn my bra and apply lipstick without feeling guilty?


The good thing is, if I did actually burn my bra, I could make my own natural one, by simply slinging my love-pillows over my shoulders. Hence why I would need the lipstick – to distract potential admirers from such imperfections.


I enjoy wearing makeup for my own vain pleasure. Ladies, dont forget, we have that luxury of being able to make a silk purse from a sow’s ear.

We also have the upper hand – Surprise! So dont flinch from sporting that early morning, just-got-out-of-bed look, that is guaranteed to scare the hell out of any man.

I wear hairpieces and false eyelashes. I carefully and skilfully apply young-looking makeup. I prise myself into children’s clothes. I have grown my pubic hair very long, so that men with afros feel the need to compete.

I re-juvenile in homage to my youth, and make sure my body is free of any foliage. I have shaved runway strips, Cubans, Mexicans, and Love hearts into me. I have been Vejazzled, and spent a night terrified that one of the 6 dollar jewels that I had stuck on would became loose. That was after I tried to use superglue and glitter, which landed me with a trip to the local doctor.

I have had men screaming in terror as pieces actually fell away from me during passionate encounters.

I never felt obliged to do all these things, Oh no. In fact, I revel in the knowledge that I have these luxuries available to me. On a basic visual attraction level, there’s usually no false advertising, and we mostly know what we are getting into when it comes to straight men. Perhaps they sport the odd toupee, or some false teeth, but if men have indeed stepped up their game slightly in this competitive world, then I suspect that would mainly apply to Gay men.

I have to listen to my next door neighbour, Larry, on the subject of his moral objections to GAYS. Whilst I notice that his huge stomach seems to make a good kangaroo pouch for his little joey underneath, he belches his meaty beer breath at me. A smile reveals his two yellow teeth, as he launches a vain bid to win my affection. He simultaneously picks the loose skin that surrounds his straining belly button, thus proving to me he can multi-task. Despite all his efforts, his courting skills dont appear to be working.

I enjoy men pulling out chairs for me, but not from under me. I appreciate doors being opened for me, but not slammed in my face. A splash of perfume never killed me, but I’m more likely to spray a hippy.

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I must admit that I did once perform a sexual favour in order to further my career, and quite frankly the poor man was terrified, comparing me to an army assault course he did as a lad. Any man who is predatory with me gets poked in the groin with tweezers, or worse.

Despite assurances to the contrary from many maternaI types, I have never been a birthing pod. I can only do that kind of intense stretching from the outside. My best friend Marge once had to be reconstructed after giving birth, and her foo-foo ended up like the leaning tower of pizza.

I really have no trouble with children, as long as they are still in the womb. I feel that has always been my absolute right as a woman. Is this is my bra-burning side? Should I be condemned for enjoying a clean shirt and crutch on my men, whilst I give a hard slap to the ruddy cheeks of over paid men, who dare to compare themselves to us amazing women.

I watch the Women’s marches, on the internet. I am with them every step of the way, a subversive branch as I cook my lastest male victim a slap up meal. This is, in fact, torture. When it comes to my cooking, everything does NOT taste like chicken, in fact even chicken itself tastes more like a sweaty children’s shoe when prepared by me, but I do relish looking at their faces as they force it down, on the premise that sex is going to be on the cards, which it rarely is. It takes a magnificent specimen to actually infiltrate my lady-camp.

If throwing these tests doesn’t deter, and he asks for a second date, then he may be worth something I suppose. Let me get that lipstick…



All of Trixie’s videos can be found at Trixie Bloom’s YouTube channel

Trixie Bloom is the author of Facebook Blues, a high camp comedy with fifty shades of funny.

and, Trixercise – a parody on exercise and diet –

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