Some Thoughts on “Guilty Pleasures” from a Female Serial Killer
Hey ladies!
I just recently got wifi in my converted Idyllwild cabin/murder shed and I’ve noticed a disturbing trend in advertising for women. I was, honestly, so upset by what I read that I had to take a break from creating fake twitter accounts to taunt local police to come down here and talk to you today.
You see, as I was browsing the internet on my second-hand 1998 creme-colored Dell desktop, I noticed that a lot of things marketed towards women are billed as “Guilty Pleasures”:
Yogurt sold by John Stamos, books with bright pink covers, reality shows about bored rich women (who, surprisingly, are not also serial killers), french fries, glossy magazines with sex tips, doughnuts, television shows about horny teenagers played by adults, that one novel about a horny billionaire (who is also not a serial killer??), ice cream, 90s R&B…
And, guys, I know I’m not great about the whole concept of “guilt”, but I feel like advertisers are using the term a little too broadly. While I mostly just parrot genuine human emotion and affect in my spare interactions with sheriffs and that one guy who works nights at the AM/PM where I buy my trail mix and duct tape, it seems like all those things are just normal things that women like.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d start to think that maybe these things are degraded because they’ve taken on a gendered perception in our society, which views most feminized traits as undesirable and things to be ashamed of, but who can really say, you know?
I just feel like, if we’re gonna throw the term “Guilty Pleasure” around willy-nilly, we should at least use it on things that should actually cause us to feel guilt- if we could feel guilt, that is. You know, things like:
Luring truckers to your murder cabin and murdering them, making trophies out of their beards and selling them on Etsy, sending taunting origami covered in nonsense Wingdings to the editors of The Desert Sun and the Idyllwild Town Crier, accidentally stepping on your pet’s paw, etc.
Look, I’m not going to tell you how to live your life. Life’s short. Especially if you’re a bearded man aged 35–50 passing through Idyllwild, CA. Just do you and don’t apologize for it, even when you know the Feds are probably closing in on you.
So eat that yoghurt! Read about the horny billionaire! Listen to that R&B! Tell your male family members to stay off Route 243!
