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How many feminists does it take to screw in a lightbulb?

Gina Barreca writes in the Chronicle of Higher Education about how women respond to and de-escalate sexist speech with humor, citing this famous exchange:

For example, after Liz Carpenter worked for the Johnson administration she wrote a book about her experiences working at the White House. The book was out for a while, did pretty well. One evening she met Arthur Schlesinger at a cocktail party. He came over to her and smiled and said “Like your book Liz. Who wrote it for you?”

Now, clearly dear Arthur meant this as his little joke. If she had stammered and blushed, he would win the point. He could then say, “see, you just can’t joke around with these women.” If she’d pounded her fist on the table and threatened to call a lawyer, he could say the same thing.

Instead what Carpenter did was to say in response, “Glad you liked it, Arthur. Who read it to you?”

In the comments at Barreca’s post, another reader offers this example:

…my sister was once walking home from her job working with the chronically unemployed, waiting at a street corner for the light to change. Suddenly, she felt a man, who turned out to be one of her clients, grab her hips from behind. He yelled “I want your ass,” loud enough to be heard by many of the people in the area.

My sister turned, looked at him, and calmly said “I’m not surprised. Every asshole needs a home.”

I love a zinger, especially because humor is one of the better ways to take the sting out of sexist and other oppressive commentary, but also because this kind of small, under-cutting speech is so goddamned common.

Heard any good jokes or comebacks lately?


59 thoughts on How many feminists does it take to screw in a lightbulb?

  1. Me: [Arrgharghargh Lesbian Vampire Killersargharghargh bomb at the box office so bad they never want to make another argharghargh] (Truncated version of much longer rant: I had just seen the trailer the evening before when I went to see Gran Torino and I hated it so bad…)
    Cow-orker: I’ll buy you two tickets to go see it!
    Me: …and I’ll make you eat them.

    (Actually, he’d already made an attempted funny in the middle of my argharghargh about how the problem he was that the wrong sort of lesbians were getting killed in the movie, obviously the film should be about “unattractive women wearing sensible shoes” getting killed: yes, he knows I’m a lesbian, yes, he thinks of me as fitting that stereotype, and no, I had no humorous response: literally the only recourse that occurred to me when someone makes a joke about how I should get killed is to keep talking as if he’d said nothing.)

  2. “I wanna get in yer pants”, he sez.
    “Already got one asshole in there, sorry.” sez I.

    “Is it true that women in the military are either sluts or lesbians?” he sez.
    “Up until now I was pretty happy being a slut. Now I’m giving lesbianism serious consideration.” sez I.

    “You’re not too old for a spanking!” he threatened.
    “You put out a hand to try it, and you’ll draw back a bloody stump, and you’ll be lucky if I don’t shove your hand bloody end first into your ass!” I retort.
    “I was only joking”, he whines.
    “Oh, quitcher sniveling, so was I! Men–no sense of humor at all.” I chide.

  3. Awesome feminist mother Blue Milk has a great comeback for someone who commented on her now well advanced pregnancy. He said, “Woah, look at you, we all better sit down before you give birth. Are we going to need some stirrups in this meeting or what?”

    Head over to her blog to see her reply: Pregnancy as public property

  4. I like – How many feminists does it take to screw in a lightbulb? None, it’s not the lightbulb that needs changing.

  5. Morris returns from the doctor and tells his wife that the doctor has told he only has 24 hours left to live.

    Morris asks his wife for sex and given the prognosis she agrees and they make love.

    About 6 hours later Morris goes to his wife again and says, “Honey you know I only have 18 hours left to live. Could we make love one more time. Of course, says his wife and they make love again.

    Later, Morris gets into bed, looks at his watch and realizes he now only has 8 hours left to live. He touches wife’s shoulder and asks, “Honey, please…just once more before I die.”

    Oh of course dear she say and they make love for the third time. Finally she falls asleep.

    Morris, needless to say tosses and turns, worrying about what is to come until he realizes he now only has four hours remaining.

    He taps his wife’s shoulder and says “Honey, I only have four hours left. Do you think we could…” but before he can finish his sentence his wife says,

    “Listen Morris, I know you don’t have to wake up in the morning but some of us do…..

  6. I like – How many feminists does it take to screw in a lightbulb? None, it’s not the lightbulb that needs changing.

    I like: None. The lightbulb is entirely too small for sexual activities.

    Also a favorite, since I have blond hair and have to endure a bazillion blonde jokes:

    What do you call a blonde flying an airplane?
    A pilot, you sexist piece of shit.

  7. I don’t know if this is apocryphal or not, but: A young actress made a sex tape with her lover and, when they split up, he released it. (Nice guy.) After the release, some alleged comedian accosted her with, “Sorry, I didn’t recognize you without a cock in your mouth.”

    She coolly responded, “Well, you might want to have your eyes checked.”

    “My eyes?”

    “Yes. Contrary to common belief, it turns out that compulsive masturbation can damage eyesight.” She patted him on the elbow. “Have a nice night,” she said and passed on.

  8. At a party, some douche told my friend and I that he expected blow jobs from both of us. She spit her beer on him and said “There’s your blow job!”

    Classic.

  9. There’s a guy at my college who’s a sexist asshole but for some reason or another thinks I’m his friend. He’s always making snide comments about me being a feminist. So today we ran into each other and he asked what I’ve been up to. I said, “Oh, the usual. Castrating men, turning virgins into sluts, burning bras, enjoying the homosexual lifestyle.”

  10. so when i was younger, i was lead to believe that if i told street harassing dudes trying to pick me up that i was gay or married (i’ve actually told some men that i’m gay AND married to a man, which made their heads spin but did not dissuade them)… just for anyone who doesn’t know, IT DOES NOT WORK. but anyway, i carried a picture of my best friend (who i had legitimately been in love with but was not dating) to really lend creedence to the story. anyway, this guy was sadly NOT JOKING, but you know, still funny:

    me: *16 years old, trying to get a subway sandwich during her lunch block*
    some guy: hayyyy
    me: *entertains conversation with him*
    some guy: *after some time* soooo you wanna come home with me?
    me: no, my class is starting in 15 minutes and i have a girlfriend *shows him picture in her wallet*
    some guy: well, i don’t mean to be vulgar, miss… but have you ever had you pussy eaten out by a man?
    me: yes, i have, and i was thoroughly unimpressed.

    which, at the time, was unfortunately all too true, hahaha.

  11. The other day, I was looking at this amazing “bodybuilding” magazine from the early 1960s at a used bookstore. Lots of luscious photos of buff men in G-strings, sometimes posing with a lion skin or in within a steamy roman baths type setting. The text beneath the pictures consisted of letters to the editor, questions from readers, and coy commentary. One of these went something like this:

    “Recently we received in the mail a box of booklets from the Church of the Blazing Redeemer offering advice on how to get out of the “gay lifestyle.” We don’t believe that many of our readers would find this sort of advice germane, but if you’d like a copy, write to the following address…

    On the other hand, if you’d like some advice on how to get THE MOST out of the “gay lifestyle,” write to us at…”

  12. Not sure if this is related to feminism exactly, but when a group of religious nuts accosted me on campus and said something to the effect of, “DOn’t you want to know how to avoid sin?”, I said “Actually, I’m trying to find it.”

    It’s funnier when you know that at the time, I was an uptight, sexually repressed virgin. 🙂

  13. This isn’t *quite* the same thing, but it’s related. I was on a Southwest flight, and I was seated in the emergency row; it had three seats facing forwards and three facing backwards. I was sitting in one of the backwards seats and across from me was a very conventionally attractive young woman (~18?) and a creepy guy in his 30’s. He was desperately trying to start a conversation with her, and for whatever reason looked at me and said, “Hey, at least you have something pretty to look at for two hours.”

    I looked at him, feigned being a bit puzzled, and said, “Why, yes, your daughter is very lovely, but I was planning to read.”

    She laughed, he was mortified, and nobody said a word for the rest of the flight.

  14. Oh! My friend was walking her dog the other day, and a guy said “nice legs,” and she replied, (about the dog,) “yeah, she does have nice legs, but she’s way out of your league.”

    I thought that was pretty brilliant.

  15. He licked his index finger, touched it to the shoulder of my blouse, and said, “Why don’t we go back to my place and get you out of those wet clothes?”

    I pulled the fabric out and peered down at it. “No, thanks,” I said, “since that’s the only place you’d get me wet.”

  16. Rayna, there’s an old stand-by when you cant think of anything good. Just crack a patronizing half-grin, and look at them like a puppy that just peed on the carpet but is too cute to get mad at. But, y’know, condescendingly.

  17. Went to a very conservative high school where kids would say the most outrageous things with that self-satisfied tone of voice that tells you they don’t expect anyone in their audience to a) disagree or b) be personally affected by whatever issue they are discussing. I call it the privilege sneer.

    So I took great pride in those instances where I was able to think quick enough on my feet and get the rest of the kids to laugh with me.

    For instance, during a conversation where homosexuality was mentioned, says one boy to another: “look, there’s a tab and a slot, okay? Tab “a” goes into slot “a”, and that’s just how it is.”
    Says I: “hey, you’re mom gave you the sex-ed pop-up book too? I thought I was the only one.”

    On world history: “society always has and always will be patriarchal.”
    My response: “can you back that up with a source that’s not out of the Conan the Barbarian canon?”

    I also had a lot of those fantasy come-backs that I thought of right after exiting myself from the situations where they would have been useful.

    School Guidance Counselor: “Face it, you just don’t have a scientific mind.”
    Me: “Your job title is what, now?”
    Him: “Guidance Counselor”
    Me: “Ah, good. I thought for a second there that I should be worried.”

  18. Not quite a sexist remark, just a creepy bloke trying to chat up my friend:

    He: …my birthday’s on February 13th, but I get a lot more post on the 14th! *eyebrow waggle*
    She: What, second-class post?

    I lol’ed, anyway.

  19. I love some of these.
    Oddly, unless there is some context, the initial example (“who wrote your book for you”) doesn’t strike me as sexist. I can see him saying the same thing to a man. It’s dickish, but it doesn’t strike me as specifically sexist. (There could be context and history between them that makes it obviously so, of course.)

    Also, while I love a bunch of these, Lance’s is priceless.

  20. I love some of these.
    Oddly, unless there is some context, the initial example (“who wrote your book for you”) doesn’t strike me as sexist. I can see him saying the same thing to a man. It’s dickish, but it doesn’t strike me as specifically sexist. (There could be context and history between them that makes it obviously so, of course.)

    Also, while I love a bunch of these, Lance’s is priceless.
    Oops…forgot to say great post! Looking forward to your next one.

  21. Lots of good stuff here!

    I’m amazed at the gall that some of these guys are showing by propositioning random women in creepy yucky ways. Eww. It takes people a bit of time to figure out I’m a woman, and I guess that puts a damper on trying to pick me up. Kind of a shame, as PWNing jerks is fun.

    One time, though, I was with my really pretty roommate at a beach bar. A guy came up and was trying to chat with us. I chatted right back, all the while slipping leftover shrimp tails into my beer bottle and pretending to take a swig. Yeah, he get lost pretty quickly.

  22. Was walking down the quad one morning at 7 a.m., on my way to get coffee before class.

    Frat dudes on bench: ‘Hey, what guy’s room are *you* sneaking out of so early?

    Me: ‘Is it just at 7 a.m., or are you guys assholes all the time?”

    Frat dudes:

  23. These are so funny!

    Back in highschool:

    Me: *trying to park my car but facing some difficulty*
    Male Friend on curb: *in a mocking tone* Aww, do you need some help parking?
    Me:*matter of factly* Do you know how to drive stick?
    MF: *shocked look on face, because he, in fact, could NOT drive stick.*

  24. While still in my first year of apprenticeship, I was assigned to work with a man most of the journeymen in my Local refused to work for or with. He was known for his bad temper, all-day-long cantankerous attitude, and being argumentative when he wasn’t giving the silent treatment. A kind brother told me the day before I was transferred to that job to just grin and bear it, don’t say anything that would get me in trouble (which is just about everything), and (since this brother happened to be a devout Irish Catholic) to “offer it up.”

    I mostly got the silent treatment. He was gruff, but not like the stories I’d been told. I figured I needed to do something to break the ice. He was standing on top of a ten-foot ladder (a big no-no, but it was in the archives of a library with those space-saving shelves; we couldn’t get a twelve-footer in there). “Cut me an eight-inch nipple,” he barked in his customary “or else” way. I cut him a four-inch nipple and handed it up. He went to put it in, and threw it to the ground when he realized it was too short. “What the fuck’s amatter with you? I said I needed an eight-inch nipple!”

    Me: “I’m sorry Al, I was always told that was eight inches.”

    We got along great after that. Every now and then, he’d use the old canard, “If this was easy (work), they’d have women and kids doing it.” I’d come back with, “why the hell not? they’ve already got old men!” (he was two years from retirement—back then, full retirement wasn’t until 62. It’s 60 now.)

    But one of the classic stories my Local still tells about me is from later in my apprenticeship—I was fourth year. I was on a new-construction job; a six story building. It was the dead of winter, and I was working with (yet another) bad-tempered brother that most guys preferred to avoid (biker, tough guy, known to clear out a bar with his fists). We were building conduit racks on the upper floors—-the ones that hadn’t been closed in and heated yet. In fact, the stairwells weren’t poured yet, so a trip to the bathroom was a loooonnnnggg trip down several ladders. I was wearing several layers of clothing too, to help keep the wind off. The weather wasn’t improving my tool buddy’s attitude, or mine, but with all the coffee I was drinking, I couldn’t put off my bathroom run any longer.

    And of course, it’s a port-a-john. I took off my coat before I went in and laid it over some pallets. It takes awhile to get all those layers off and back on (Carharrt bibs, blue jeans, long johns, thin gore-tex long johns too in addition to underwear—hey, what can I say? I get fucking cold!). It probably didn’t help that I was also having my period, and needed to change a tampon.

    I come out, and there’s a painter standing there, shivering. No coat. Shivering in his shirt sleeves. The bottom floors of the building were closed in and heated for the tapers and painters to work (not for them, silly. For the drywall mud and the paint!). His eyes shot daggers at me. “What the fuck took you so long?!”

    Now, I don’t really know what set me off. Maybe it was because I’d had a bellyful of my tool buddy’s shit that morning. Maybe it was the weather. My personal life was pretty much a disaster at that time too, as I was planning my escape from an abusive husband and spent much of the day wishing he’d either leave me or get hit by a bus (work was my saving grace, so when I wasn’t having a good day working—-katy bar the door). One thing’s for sure—I wasn’t taking this crap from a candy-ass, spoiled fucking painter who got to work all day long in the toasty warm environment of the second floor while I was freezing my ass off on five and six.

    I went right up to him, nose-to-nose (well, kinda. he was a shorter guy, but I’m short too) and said, “I got my dick. caught. in my zipper.”

    Two tapers standing behing him (yes, there was a line. Two port-a-johns on site, but one of them was unusable after a certain laborer went in—-no, I’m serious. It wasn’t just the smell. It was—-unspeakable)—-fell out laughing, while this poor bastard’s face fell. He went white. He stammered. “did…..did you hear what tha’….tha’…..thaat little girl s…..sss….said to me?” while the tapers back-slapped each other and laughed at him. “BWA HA HA! Guess she told you!!” and “ask her another stupid question! Hee hee hee!”

    Word got around. I still get guys asking me if I’ve gotten my dick caught in my zipper lately. That painter avoided me like the bubonic plague for the rest of the job.

  25. “I also had a lot of those fantasy come-backs that I thought of right after exiting myself from the situations where they would have been useful.”

    L’esprit d’escalier would make a good third-tier comicbook theme villain, wouldn’t it?

    “suggestion: lessons for witless gits like me.”

    Someone on the Feministing thread suggested pretending not to get it, if it’s in a social situation instead of some random asshole on the street or in a bar. If you can stick them on the spot trying to explain themselves without using the phrase “Well, you see, I was being an asshole and…”, it tends to take the wind out of their sails and make them look pretty pathetic.

  26. Oddly, unless there is some context, the initial example (”who wrote your book for you”) doesn’t strike me as sexist. I can see him saying the same thing to a man. It’s dickish, but it doesn’t strike me as specifically sexist. (There could be context and history between them that makes it obviously so, of course.)

    Hanging out with a lot of writers, while, yes, some male writers are total pricks to EVERYONE, not just to women they want to belittle, there is a fine line of difference between male-male ball busting and the things such assholes will say to women they want to take down a notch for specifically sexist reasons. It’s hard to describe, and it’s probably more of a tone or context thing than anything else. But believe me, as a woman (occasional) writer, you know when you’re being treated like a pretty doll or piece of meat, and when they’re taking the piss as if you were one of the guys.

    I would guess that this used to be a lot worse ‘back in the day’ when it was fully acceptable to suggest that women were not capable of the same levels of artistic expression as men.

  27. “I went right up to him, nose-to-nose (well, kinda. he was a shorter guy, but I’m short too) and said, “I got my dick. caught. in my zipper.””

    That is a thing of great beauty.

  28. Dymphna says:

    I also had a lot of those fantasy come-backs that I thought of right after exiting myself from the situations where they would have been useful.

    School Guidance Counselor: “Face it, you just don’t have a scientific mind.”
    Me: “Your job title is what, now?”
    Him: “Guidance Counselor”
    Me: “Ah, good. I thought for a second there that I should be worried.”
    ___________________________________________
    Hey now! I’m a guidance counselor who loves my job and is damn good at it. Let’s not throw all guidance counselors under the bus, please.

  29. 1972, clueless 19-year-old male cheechako cannery worker, across the room:
    “I want you for my wife!!”
    Clue’d 16-year-old female sourdough cannery worker: “What’s your wife gonna do with me??”
    [A sourdough is someone who has gotten sour on Alaska but hasn’t got the dough to leave]
    Years later: About to walk into room where 2 co-workers are joking, hears one say “What’s the worst thing about eating pussy? The crust!”
    Entering, she says “The secret is in the yeast!”
    [Coffee squirts out their ears]

  30. Oh, I have another one that seems to be more pertinent to feminism specifically.

    I’m sitting on a plane next to a co-worker. We’re heading out to a client’s to do user testing. He’s a programmer, I’m an analyst. Like I often do on planes, I pull out my notebook and start writing.

    Him: “What are you writing here?”
    Me: “It’s a novel.”
    Him (smarmily): “Oh, are you writing one of those romance novels?” (because, of course, having a vagina means you never write anything other than romance novels)
    Me: “Actually it’s science fiction, about this guy who’s a physicist, who gets kidnapped, raped and tortured by aliens.”

    Absolute silence from the guy.

    It was actually *true*, but as a comeback to “all women ever write is romance novels” I’m not sure I could have come up with a better hypothetical subject matter if I’d tried to make something up on the spot.

  31. How many feminists does it take to screw in a lightbulb?

    Just two – but they have to be really, really small. 🙂

  32. The Opoponax:

    I figured it is something like that. There are times where in the moment it is painfully obvious that this isn’t just a “ball-busting” thing.

    Preying Mantis:
    I love lL’esprit d’escalier as a phrase. Sadly, the French intimidates most of my friends I try to teach it to. (Also, it is a bit long.)

    I complained to a friend and she suggested “Treppenwitz” as a German-derived version which fits into English a mite more easily.

  33. I have very full lips (especially for a white person, apparently, but that’s a whole ‘nother sexist-racist story) and people constantly feel the need to comment on them. It has gotten better as I get older – either my peers have learned manners, or I have become sufficiently intimidating – but the last great commenter era was when I was completing my undergrad, when I developed a defensive response for the first time (as opposed to apologizing like a mook and explaining that I was born like that).

    Now, as many of you probably know, the kind of person who feels obligated to comment on your body occasionally just likes to state things at you, or phrase it as a question (“You have big lips” or “Did you know you have big lips?”) to which I’d usually just look at them incredulously and say something lame like, yes, I am aware. Why would you feel the need to tell me I possess a facial feature? You have nostrils…

    But I finally hit on the gold when my friend’s roommate walked in and interrupted our conversation just to deliver the usual “Hey, you have really big lips, did you know that?” while I was over for dinner (we were 21 at the time – 21 for frack’s sake -that’s something a 4 year old would say!) and I turned to my friend with widened eyes and went “I do?! That’s odd… Oh shit, were there peanuts in this?!”

  34. My homophobic high school friend was putting his fingers together like two penises colliding, and saying “When are they going to figure out this doesn’t work?”
    I stuck my finger just inside my mouth and said, “Well THIS works, so I think they’re all set.”

  35. Eons ago, a group of white frat-boy types was following me near a deserted area adjacent to a large college campus–I guess I was about 22. I was pretty nervous, since I could hear them talking about my ass.

    Finally, got to the stoplight and they caught up to me. The self-selected “cool” guy says to me, all suave and smug: “And where YOU going?”

    And I just smiled and said very sweetly, “Nowhere with you.”

    The rest of the guys just hooted and howled and laughed at the guy who said it, pointing at him and saying “OOOOOOoooooooOOOOhhhh!” as I crossed the street. (I realized then, they enjoyed seeing him taken down like that.)

    I still think of that, years later, with some satisfaction. 🙂

  36. Aw PattyCake, I knew I’d get at least one guidance counselor responding to that. I’m sorry it came off like I was attacking your profession as a whole. My intention was not to disparage your career, only to imply that you are not, in fact, sufficiently educated in neurobiology and cognitive assessment to make sweeping generalization about my brain functions on the basis of a few grades in high school. Someone who would do that with no awareness of his own ignorance is probably not, himself, particularly scientific. In other words, he wasn’t unreliable because he was a guidance counselor; he was unreliable because he was a guidance counselor making claims far beyond his area of expertise. Perhaps if I added a “so, not a doctor?” “no” “neurobiologist” “no” “any type of scientist whatsoever” “no” “Oh good, I thought for a second there that I should worry.”

  37. No worries, Dymphna. It’s just that we guidance counselors tend to get shit on a lot so I have to stick up for us when I can. 🙂

  38. It’s not exactly feminist related but i went through a period when i was being constantly picked on by religious zealots (seriously, in town, they came to my door, refused to go away, i was a bit of a wimp back then).

    Anyway, few weeks after my last encounter they’re back on the cornhill harassing passers by. I’ve got a reply but i’m still a whimp so I keep my head down and try and pass them by but no, the young one catches me.

    “I’m sorry,” i tell him, “But i dont wan to go to heaven. None of my friends will be there.”

    His jaw dropped, i smiled and sauntered off (yes sauntered, i was exceptionally pleased with myself for having the guts to say that). He did eventually call after me but i was too far away to hear what he said.

  39. Happy Feet:

    Good one! I have very large breasts (and as I’m less than 5ft tall they’re quite obvious) and my favorite responses to the inevitable “You’re breasts are HUGE!!!” is either “Yes, I know, I do dress myself” or to clutch them in surprise and yell “REALLY?! I swear they were tiny this morning!” Stupid obvious statements deserve annoying obvious answers.

  40. Cat, I used to have tons of fun with the naive religious fundamentalist kids in my Catholic high school. Being Protestant, I got to sit out of things like Confession, Giving Stuff Up For Lent, St. So-and-so’s Day, saying the Hail Mary, etc. In response to this stuff, the fundy kids, many of whom had never even heard of any religion besides Catholicism, always had to ask, “What are you?”

    My response varied depending on my mood. Some days I was Ancient Egyptian, other days I was a Satanist. It was great seeing their jaws hit the floor, especially since at the time I was really just an Episcopalian with Fuzzy Bunny Wiccan leanings.

  41. I have a favourite joke to break out when ‘the Guys’ are tossing around sexist jokes, of the ‘why do women suck at life – cause they’re stoopid and they have wombs LOL’ variety:

    “Why are women so bad at parallel parking? – Cause guys like you keep telling then that this (hold up fingers about an inch apart) is six inches.”

    And when I’m with ‘the Gals’ and they start trashing men and telling jokes intimating that all men are dumb/hormonal/commitment phobic (and you know damn well it happens) I just say ‘yeah, we’re all scum, aren’t we.’ I’m also working on a list of ‘whitey’ jokes to shut down a racist gagfest.

  42. For the last while, my standard comeback to the way-too-frequent cis person’s I’m-humoring-you condescending,
    “Well, I think of you as a real woman! *pat pat*”
    has been a wide-eyed, hyper-sincere, gushy,
    “Oh, I think of you as one, too. You’re very convincing.”

    With most disgusting come-ons, I’ve been fond of just tilting my head and, in my best pitying tsk-tsk auntie tone, just saying “Oh, duckling, no.” and turning away like they’re a five-year-old trying to impress you by showing you their chewed food.

  43. For what it’s worth, my favorite lightbulb joke is:

    How many infertile couples does it take to screw in a lightbulb?

    Screw in a lightbulb? Do you think it would help?

  44. I never think of anything funny on the spur of the moment. The best response I’ve come up with is to just ignore them completely–not even look away or refuse to answer or walk faster, but just act like they don’t exist at all. It’s relatively safe, totally modular, and it offers them no fun and no way to keep engaging you. Also, they look kind of stupid.

    I wish I had some castrastic response to disgusting comeons from disgusting strangers, but it never works out that way.

    Wait, I do have one, although he wasn’t a total asshole. This guy tried to chat me up: “English? French? German? Spanish? Swedish?” and I just kept shaking my head. He came closer, finally, and said, “You’re reading an English book.” And I said, “I must just really want you to go away, then!”

    “No, I’m sorry, I don’t speak any English at all,” also works.

  45. Shamelessly stolen from a story my husband tells: Two of his friends in college were having an animated/quasi-hostile argument about religion. One of them was an atheist, the other rather religious.

    Religious friend (getting rather agitated): I can understand why you think that some people unthinkingly follow organized religion, but I’m getting really tired of you calling us all sheep!

    Atheist friend: Well, if you’d stop calling the Lord your shepherd…

    (The tone of the conversation did not improve, but the story remains.)

  46. My favorite version of the “how many feminists…” joke is as follows:

    Start off with a big smile on your face.

    “How many feminists does it take to screw in a lightbulb?”

    Your tellee should answer, “How many?”

    Drop your smile and replace it with a not-amused sort of look:

    “That’s not funny.”

    Works every time.

  47. My friend said she was accosted by a frat guy on campus who was wearing a shirt that said, “Ask me about my penis.” He stood in front of her, and streched his shirt out so she could read it.

    She said, “Well, I would, but I don’t like small talk!”

    Priceless!

  48. well
    i don’t think what i did was totally right but here i go:

    i was pissed cuz i had forgotten my money to come back home, and i had to walk a lot under the hellish managua sun, and some guy, ans as i passes by a man in his 30’s sittin in a parked car, he shouted at me, “good bye you delicious thing” i turned around, and said: “excuse me, what?” and he said “goodbye you delicious thing”, well, long story short i beated the hell out of him with the tripod i carried, now i have a little scratch from the time he tried to protect his face.

    I need to add i’m a 19 year old, 115 pund versus some random 30 something 180-190 pound bastard.

    hope he learned his lesson.

  49. Glow… I hope you don’t get in trouble beating on random assholes! It’s really not worth the effort.

  50. …still looking for a good response to the standard “check her out” (or worse)…

    ignoring it doesn’t really do the trick and doesn’t really teach him the lesson he needs…

  51. I know this post is old so no one may see this, but I just thought of a great come back to the creepy hitting on. After he utters his lame line or whatever just say “Hold that thought, I have to take a really nasty dump.” Then walk away. Men like that can’t conceive of women defecating–I mean sex objects don’t poop do they? Not to be used with Oliver Stone.

    As for personal stories, mine is from a time before I read/fell in love with a lot of feminism. My friend had warned a certain guy not to come to a party we were going to with a female friend whom this guy had gotten drunk and pressured into sex. This guy shows up anyways and my friend confronts him. After a minute or two I come up behind my friend and the guy loses his confidence–I’m 6’6″ and at the time I weighed probably 340 pounds or so.

    He says to me “Dude, I don’t even know you.”

    And off the cuff I reply “Yeah, well first impressions aren’t going so well so why don’t you get the fuck out of here.”

    He departed presently. Not so much funny as Clint Eastwood style badassery.

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