If Orwell was right in that we must have an enemy, then the cartoon becomes cartoonish when one imagines that the Soviet Union didn't spend themselves into fragmentation and that authoritarian-loving types still get up for commies. In this scenario, Obama has to be portrayed as a comrade and his wife, as a campus radical. If Japan hadn't been pushed back to its islands, then Obama would be given a different slant: slanty eyes. Michelle would be in a kimono. If plants had someone become sentient and attacked, then Obama would be given a green cast and a leafy 'do. Michelle would be given some Miracle Grow.

The thing is the need for the enemy and in defending or attacking the cartoon, it's easy to overlook that the right has to cast Obama as a collaborator, whatever or whoever today's enemy might be. One doesn't submit to Bush-scale authority without a monstrous enemy. This is why Bush and his submissives employ the language of WWII. They don't dare call it WWIII, so they settle for Global War on Terror. They don't dare compare Bush to Churchill, so they settle for comparing liberals to Chamberlain. The cartoon illustrates their comparisons. It's reporting. It's the messenger. I think illustrating what the right assets has value. I think discussing the right's eternal need for an enemy also has value.

Losing weight is good. Losing weight for a wedding is bad. It's better to be fat than to roller coaster. And it's way better to be thin than fat. A wedding dinner represents our profligate ways quite well: likker and cake carbs. And a thin bride represents our fixation on the skin, rather than the qualities that sustain relationship and make one worthy of marriage.

They look alike.

However, on one level, one is consumed (cake), while the other consumes (bride). On another level, they're both consumed. When the bride walks down the aisle, all in attendance consumer her. I wish I could articulate more about this consumption of the bride. Any help?

which they are. I think of Bush as Pontius Pilate, the man who approves torture, which he is. I think of Bush voters as the mob calling for torture, which they are.

And with this proposal, I think of our species as lemmings, happy to procreate ourselves to death.

I just love your post.

I had a blast at my wedding too.

Someone said, "I've never seen a more disorganized wedding and I've never seen so many people having so much fun."

I've also had a blast reading this thread and seeing that others don't buy into buying and focus instead on fun and forging a relationship.

However, I still wonder about the similarities, in color, form, and texture, between wedding cakes and brides. I do believe in an unconscious visual language and I do think our culture consumes us as we consume, with the bulk of consumption falling on women (You see this at every mall.) and women are consumed, visually, via advertising, sexually, as the most sexualized gender, and socially, as a bride walks the aisle and all those hungry eyes follow her, expecting her to be toned and tanned. Brides don't starve themselves because they enjoy being hungry. They starve themselves because that's expected. And it's great to read about women who defy expectations and instead, have fun.

So, she can "rock a two-piece suit."

Big deal.

However, her Oscar is a very big deal.

Ms. Price, getting giddy about a red bikini is unbecoming. It's great that Ms. Mirren looks great, but why do we give a shit about leaving a hot corpse? About seeming younger than we are? About looking fuckable at 60something? On one teeny-tiny hand, it seems feminist (and anti-ageist) celebrating a woman's beauty at 60something. On the other Hulk-sized hand, it seems very anti-feminist, reducing a woman to skin tone and proportions. And her looking great is largely a matter of class (She's rich.), never having been pregnant, and luck (good genes), none of which have much to do with Ms. Mirren, the person.

Once again, we agree. I was looking forward to a fizzy chat about the oddness of focusing on Ms. Mirren's belly and breasts at Broadsheet.

Posting such photos invites readers to say, "I'd fuck that!"

Sure enough, readers obliged.

Then there's the obligatory red star for the person who focused on Ms. Mirren's marvelous wrinkles and her courage for aging naturally. Awarding a red star for such a standard position serves up a smokescreen that can't obfuscate the burning red bikini.

Anyway, Svutlana, once again I'm glad you're at Broadstreet. I love that you can consider contrary positions and wobble gracefully on uncertainty.

Why encourage girls to aspire to nothingness, which is what a princess is? A princess doesn't work: her subjects do that. A princess doesn't create: her artisans do that. A princess doesn't even rule: her father does that. A princess is a vile confection, a leech in a tiara.