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March 08, 2016
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Sometimes you just need to be a nasty garbage girl.

As a woman, life is already filled with frustrating, binary choices. Do you have a career or have a family? A fulfilling social life or a husband? A bluetooth headset or a baby? There’s just no having it all!

And you’d think we’d be cut a break today on International Womens’ Day, but nope. That’s right, today women have to choose whether or not to celebrate International Womens’ Day or Be Nasty Day. And some of you might try to dismiss Be Nasty Day as just another unverified Internet holiday, but try telling that to Be Nasty pioneers like Tara Reid. Was all her nasty work for nothing? Look, I wish we could celebrate both, but I don’t make the rules. I just blindly follow them and force everyone I know to do so, as well.

That’s why I simply refuse to defend my choice to celebrate Be Nasty Day over Womens’ Day. Normally nothing could preempt my observance of a holiday dedicated to empowering women. Nothing except for “Be Nasty Day,” the one day a year where girls can get down with their stinky, garbage girl, selves.

Sure, women are still largely disenfranchised and any occasion that seeks to amend that is important, but why does that mean I can’t have this one damn day to load a Supersoaker full of my own piss and spray it at pedestrians? I’m tired of having to feel bad about my choices. Today, I choose to be a grimy lil goblin who gets sick from drinking too much public pool water. Today, I choose to shotgun a gallon of sardines and then make rawdog in a laser tag arcade bathroom. Today, I choose to be nasty.

Now I don’t expect everyone to understand my decision. The manager of the Starbucks I stormed into certainly didn’t. I’m not sure if he took issue with the fact that I rubbed my bare butt cheeks on every straw while scream-singing Baha Men deep cuts, OR if it was the fact that I wasn’t wearing my “The Future Is Female” sweater. Typical male “feminists.” I can’t force people to understand; all I can do is demand their respect while I get real yucky.

And before you try to villainize me or call me a fair-weather feminist, consider the difficulty of the situation I was in. Maybe you’re strong enough to turn down an offer from Geraldo Rivera to dress up in slutty Minion costumes and clip Scotty Pippin’s toenails together. Maybe you don’t feel the need to be nasty anymore. That’s just not me. Sorry I’m not some perfect Emma Watson-type. Or you know what? Sorry that I’m NOT sorry. I’m a feminist, but I just happen to be a nasty, poo poo girl first.

Now excuse me, while I use my only my teeth to fish for crabs in anticipation of my third favorite holiday tomorrow - National Crab Meat Day.

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