The Awesome, The Amazing: “Man Trap”

A little girl;
Some summer fun;
A marble on a racing run;
It starts out plain;
And ends transformed;
Look out, you men:
You have been WARNED!!

If you’re old enough, you were in love with Mousetrap:

Tiny Mousetrap Game

What Fun Your Mice Had Playing It–Remember?

(BTW, you can actually ORDER that teeny-tiny version above, and the makers claim it really works! How cool is THAT?!)

I was nuts about Mousetrap. When I was eleven, I decided to make my own Rube Goldberg device. The awesome, amazing “Man Trap“.

Mantrap Drawing Title Registered Trademark

Note the “Registered Trademark” Logo. Sophisticated Li’l Punk I Was

(Click drawings to enlarge, but Back Arrow to return or the post will close.)

The concept was simple. Simple and SO sexist.

An unsuspecting man would encounter a devious woman who, previously plain, had altered her appearance via the beauty products my eleven-year-old self was most familiar with. Then the man, helpless and enraptured in the face of so much beauty, would bow to the woman’s will and marry her.

Oh, my Golly, Miss “Feminine Plastique”1 Molly.

The Base

The base of the Man Trap was a TV dinner.

Swanson Chicken TV Dinner

Mmmm… Chemicals…

After all, “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” Who didn’t like TV dinners? I thought. (Could THIS be why I’m single now for so long 😉 )

The Marble Chute

Argh. Nothing I tried would curl into a lovely spiral without squeezing and slowing my marble. I had to go with half-tube ramps instead, made from short lengths of the top edge of our backyard pool, tacked to a backboard in a Z shape.

Home-Made Marble Ramp

Here’s Someone Else’s Homemade Marble Ramp

The ends of the tube ramps would have let my little marble leap out. I needed something springy to close them so that the marble would maintain its momentum when it hit them and changed direction.

Got it! I peeled the rubber tire off one of my brother’s toy cars. It fit perfectly into the end of a tube. So I denuded five more tyres off that and another car. Without asking, of course.

Oh: The marble began its journey being dropped into the bachelor’s life by way of a beer can (a painted turtle food container).

Mantrap Beer Can Drawing

I Remember the Flat Poster Paint Kept Peeling Away From the Glossy, Curved Surface

The Backboard

The backboard which held the marble ramps was covered by a Playboy magazine. (Sigh.)

Pink Playboy Cover 1965

Is That S-L-I-T Supposed To Make a Man Think of a Woman’s Cha-Cha? Guess That Would Make the Bunny the Baby. (And What Would That Make the Playboy, Hmmm?).

On the backboard, between the ramps, I glued large letters: P-L-A-Y-T-E-X.

Speed limit signs at each “turn” of the marble ramp–there would be three–were to reflect the ideal woman’s measurements–from a man’s point of view. (I’m so ashamed.) So I asked my Dad what these would be. His answer is pretty revealing about HIS tastes:

“40 – 23 – 35”.
(Ouch. THAT poor woman felt the need to have her lower ribs removed.)

So: The plain marble travelled through the land of PLAYTEX–famous for squeezy girdles and pointy bras–and acquired the perfect figure, according to my Dad. How ill is THAT, for an eleven-year-old to believe that nature alone could never equip a woman to attract a man? (EXACTLY what we’re teaching ’em today.)

The Marble(s)

The marble was to start out plain, but end fancy. Hmmm…

Aha! I created a sign that said “Maybelline”. The beauteous marble would wait patiently at this sign, subtly, drawing no attention to herself. The plain marble would roll along rapidly, hit the sign with a THWACK!–magically acquiring makeup–and stop cold, transferring energy to the beauteous marble. She would then take off running. A magical transformation. Genius! (Well, that’s what I thought at the time.)

Mantrap Drawing Maybelline

She’s Made Up Like a Marble of the Night, Isn’t She?

Here are the “before” and “after” marbles:

Mantrap Before Marble

Yeah–I Felt I Had To Label It “Before”

Mantrap After Marble

Tell Me She’s Not Gaw-Juss

Now, stop laughing. YOU try painting a dang marble with the paints available from your brother’s Revell car kits and his chewed up brushes. Glue on some flocking for hair. Then age these a coupla’ decades and see how YOURS look!

The Payoff: The Engagement and Marriage

Okay, so now we have a sexy woman with a beautiful face and figure, all ready to entrap her man. First, he will offer her the engagement ring. The beautiful marble, after leaving Maybelline Land, dropped down a chute aimed squarely at said ring (a teensy one my Mom got from a wedding place-setting).

Mantrap Engagement Ring Trigger

Tip of Pinkie Finger Included For Scale : )

This yanked a thread tied to a hatpin at one end and a rolling pin at the other–no stereotypical women’s implements HERE!

Mantrap Rolling Pin

Carved From a Pencil. I Sewed the Cover From a Piece of My Brother’s Undershirt.

The rolling pin propped up the trap door of a gallows.

Mantrap Gallows

It Used to Have Legs…

This now dropped. The poor schlub bachelor then dropped, too.

Mantrap Mouse Hanging

Why Blurry? Caught In Mid-Swing

You DO see he is hung by a wedding ring?

It took me forever to saw through that hard plastic troll body in order to make this mouse-man hybrid. I was proud I was able to succeed at this. My sister, the owner of that troll, was less proud.

He looks quite faithful to my original drawing:

Mantrap Mouse Drawing

He STILL Looks Like He Doesn’t Know What’s Coming!

Do you understand WHY he had to be half-man, half-mouse?

Because, in the answer to the question “Are you a man, or a mouse?”, obviously the man who allowed himself to be trapped into marriage was a mouse.

How proud am I, that I created such an amazing device, based upon such feminist principles?

Here is the Man Trap’s original explanation, showing how short this post SHOULD have been:

Mantrap Drawing Steps

See? I Wasn’t Always This Verbose!

BTW, I am still dateless, since Fang, even with my online efforts (admittedly minimal). Perhaps a trip to Maybelline and Playtex are in order, after all?


“The Feminine Mystique” is a 1963 book by Betty Friedan which is widely credited with sparking the beginning of second-wave feminism in the United States.” (Wikipedia)


What did I do with that troll’s head, you wonder (or not)? Well, gaw, isn’t it obvious? I poured a couple of drops of gravy on it, folded a chewed piece of bubble gum around it, scrunched it up in a piece of paper upon which I’d written N-A-V-Y, and gave the wad to my sister.

“Ba-by, Ba-by,
Stick your head in gra-vy,
Wrap it up in bub-ble gum,
And send it to the Na-vy!”

Troll Head In Bubble Gum For Navy

I’m Definitely Going to Hell

Mantrap Entire Plan Shrunken

Can You Believe I Still Have This Sh#t? (Sheet)

Raped By My Boyfriend For Love

Sounds like a headline inquiring minds want to know, doesn’t it? But THIS really happened.

Randy and I had been dating a year before I went away to college. He was worried about me going away, and he had reason to be. I just wasn’t as into him as he was into me.

I’m Getting Really Uncomfortable Here…

It can’t have been a big surprise to him when I told him during his second visit that I had decided to end it between us. “No, there isn’t someone else”, I said in my usual tactful Asperger’s1 fashion (there wasn’t), “there just isn’t enough someone us.”

Randy took this much too calmly. In a flat, zombie-like voice, staring into my eyes as if he could convince me by using hypnosis, he said, “You’re wrong. You can’t do this. You’re making a mistake.

I’d seen enough old movies that I knew how to respond: “No, Randy, I’ve thought about this for some time. I’m sorry, but I’ve made up my mind.

Can’t You See Those Flowing Curtains? They Show I Mean Business.

No. You can’t!” Randy’s calm left him. His voice broke as it got louder. “I’m going to prove that you’re making a mistake!

Then he literally LEAPED on top of me on the bed and tried to thrust his tongue in my mouth. I turned my head away in disgust. He began unzipping his fly and pushing down my pants! I couldn’t believe it!

Randy, STOP!” I twisted my body and tried to arch my back to throw him off. I tried pushing his hands away. But, as I had learned during a rape attempt by a stranger when I was fourteen years old, boys are a LOT stronger than girls (most of them, more than most of us).

They’re Stronger Even When They’re Not Cheating Like This Boy (His Wrist Bent, Her Wrist Straight)

Stopping Randy was also complicated by two stupid, stupid facts:
(1) I felt sorry for him!
Yes! I really did! Because I could see that he was hurting so badly emotionally, I didn’t want to also hurt him physically–even though HE was hurting ME:

Randy always kept his nails long on one hand for guitar-picking, and these were now cutting into the small of my back as he thrust into me.

From That Time On, Guitar Nails On Guys Have Always Grossed Me Out.

I felt sick. I thought I might vomit.

But I still felt too sorry for my RAPIST to injure him to make him stop.

How effed up is THAT?

Pretty D#mned Effed Up–That’s How Effed Up.

(2) I was embarrassed.

At that time, seventeen years old, bony, skinny, not confident in myself or my physical appearance, I didn’t want the dozen kids out in the campus lounge to rush to my doorway and see me half-naked.

I preferred to be RAPED rather than be SEEN NAKED.

How effed up is THAT?

Effed up, but understandable:

Sure. Fine. Tell That To a 17-Year-Old After Males and the Media (and Some Females Too!) Have Told Her Otherwise For 17 Years.

What’s more, I didn’t want RANDY to be embarrassed, either.

I knew he was temporarily out of his mind. He was crying, even as he raped me. He was panicked, not just at losing me, but at the thought that he’d never have another girlfriend–I was his first.

And I recognized–even in the middle of being raped–that this pathetic boy–who was also at that moment a violent, selfish rapist caring only about what HE wanted–was a victim of our sexist culture.

Randy had bought into the media package presented repeatedly to us growing up:

  1. Man pushes his attentions on a resistant woman
  2. Woman gets turned on.
  3. Woman gives in.

Randy truly believed that if he could just force me to have sex again, I would “fall back in love” with him. How triple-sadly sad.

So I got raped.

I Didn’t Fall Back In Love With Him Afterward.

I still carry faint fingernail scars on my lower back to remind me of that very special afternoon–as if I could forget any of the many times males have been sexually abusive with me.

I think all women remember those times. Don’t you, ladies?


For years, I harbored a real fear that Randy, whom I considered unstable because of this incident and how it ended (I left that out), was going to show up at my door one day wielding an axe, blaming me for everything that had gone wrong in his life since that terrible afternoon. In reality, he probably healed and moved on, and never gave the rape another thought. He most likely did not even view himself as a rapist. Rapists can lie to themselves that way.
Second Addendum

If you feel like angrily commenting to lambast me, and tell me that rape is always and only about power, save your keystrokes. If you understood my piece, you know that I DID say this rape was (also) about power. Further, what I wrote here is MY reality. It was MY rape.

(1) Asperger’s syndrome is considered a high-functioning form of autism. One common feature about people with it is that we are typically not very good at reading social cues (facial expressions and hints–the things other people use to learn how to be tactful, to take turns in conversations, and to generally get along with each other).

The Sexist Word Hit List (Women’s Version)

Ball-and-chain, cougar, crone, ditzy, flat-chested, hag, homely, jailbait, kankles, nag, old maid, plain Jane, skank, slut, spinster…

Here’s a thought: If there’s no equivalent word to insult males, STOP USING THE WORD. If we’re serious about this equality thing, that is.

Stop using them in your speech. If you’re a writer or blogger, stop writing ’em.

Some of you, though, are already laughing too hard. “The idiot! How can there be a male equivalent for ‘flat-chested‘?”.

And I say: How about “Small-balled?” “Puny-pricked?”

Men would be up in arms if their penis sizes (or ass, shoulder, or bicep sizes) were commented on openly, yet men feel free to comment openly about women’s body part sizes and shapes, often in mixed groups, in print and public, even in respected publications.

What. The. F#ck.

The Pejorative Alphabet of Sexism–Women’s Version

Feel free to comment, add terms, fill in the missing letters.

ball and chain
A wife or live-in girlfriend as a weight dragging down her man. “Chain”, at least, ought to apply to the wife-beaters out there.

A woman who men think has a sexy body but an unattractive face (“Sexy but [for] her face.”) No equivalent term for men. Because fewer women are both so shallow and cruel?

A middle-aged or older woman dating a much-younger man. Some women think this is a compliment. Most men use it as an insult. It seems that most men admire older men who “snag” younger women; especially when the age gap is very large.

A wrinkled old woman. No equivalent for a wrinkled old man. Why don’t we stop insulting old men AND women?

A silly, disorganized woman. No equivalent for men.

An unnecessary vaginal bidet-in-a-bottle, used to insult men. Just yuck.

Why is it okay to consider the body a woman was born with–or anyone’s body or face they cannot change without surgery–fair game for insult? Any body size/part insults used only for men?

girl/little girl/ladies(when used to mean “weak” or “cowardly”)
Fathers, coaches, teachers, drill sergeants–call boys “ladies” or “girls” to insult them and make them work harder. Males, you are insulting your own mothers, wives, sisters, and daughters, as well as those of your sons, and you are preparing your straight sons for poorer relationships with women.

See how young boys are when they learn their girls-are-lesser lessons:

An ugly, usually old, woman. See crone

harpy, harridan
Terms that describe extremely unpleasant abrasive women who constantly harrangue others. There are no equivalent insult words for men.

“To henpeck” — When a man doesn’t like a woman complaining more than once about something he hasn’t done yet. See nag.

“Henpecked”– What some men call another who listens to his woman partner more than THEY think he should. See pussy-whipped.

Or: A cowardly man afraid of a bossy woman partner. Used as a meme in books and film, the woman is often portrayed as large, ugly, and loud-mouthed, and the man as petite.

A word for ugly; used almost exclusively for women.

Males who are wrongly attracted to very young girls use this term to let themselves off the moral hook by blaming those girls. But females wanting sex with too-young males are viewed as perverts–as well they should be.

Ankles wider than a man thinks they should be. No new words are coined by women for men’s body parts to insult them. (Comment if you know of any.)

Penis. As in “I’ll LET you lick it”. Other cultures have described the delights of women’s nether regions, but ours has offered very little in that regard in comparison to extolling the joys of dick. (Love you, Missy Elliot, for a great experience of hearing something different in tone –tho’ eff that shaving it sh#t! If a man wants a little-girl pussy, he probably likes jailbait, too.)

Frequently paired with “flat-chested”. A meme in film, as if smaller-breasted women are genetically doomed to be virgins and frightened of the world. Just as larger-breasted women are thought by many males to be hotter for (their) action.

nag, nagging
When a man complains that a job wasn’t done which should have been, it’s called “complaining”. When a woman makes a reasonable request of a man, and he blows her off, and then again, and then AGAIN, this word is his way of excusing himself and blaming her, even in the business world (e.g. “I would have done it if she hadn’t NAGGED me.”)

old maid
An unmarried woman older than a culture thinks is acceptable for her to stay single. But for men, “bachelor” is acceptable, or even a compliment, at any age.

plain Jane
No male equivalent.

pussy(when used to mean cowardly)
WHY is okay to call males cowards by publicly calling them a word for “vagina”?

The modern, more women-hating version of henpecked.

A slut who is also dirty.

The double standard is just as alive today as in the 1950’s. The more women a man “conquers”, the more he is admired.

Another word for old maid.

thunder thighs
Yet another repulsive term used by some men–even obese men–to insult a part of women’s bodies. Yet women do not think to do the same to men. Isn’t it time the greater number of men who indulge in first-grade name-calling about women chose to grow up instead?

WHY do many men continue to put women down? If they’d stop, we women could stop putting men down…

You think I WANT to be up on a feminist soapbox so often? Makes me tired. Now, where are some strong male arms to carry me to bed…

Uh…no. Not yours.


More songs about cunnilingus:
Jezebel Blog>Songs About Cunnilingus
If you liked this post, you might like others on the Sexism menu, like these:
F#ck You, Women Readers–Male Writers
F#ck You, Women Readers–Android Market
“Thunder thighs” inspired by another blogger’s post which I’d link to, but forgot which (sorry!)–write if it was yours.


The Evolution of Sexy

a.k.a. “Sex in History Lite, Part I”

This is part of a HAWT (!!!) series of posts based on excerpts from Sex in History, by Reay Tannahill. (Thumbnail review: Read the second half of her book. Worth it.)

From Learning to Walk Upright, to Learning to Sashay in Modern Foot-Bindings

Does Kinky Rough Hair Equal Smooth Sailing?

In discussing the move to frontal sex that bipedalism opened up for us human-types, Tannahill has this to say:

“By the time the frontal position was generally adopted, early humans had probably shed most of the body fur of their ancestors, but they found it necessary to grow some again so as to reduce friction during intercourse.”

Hmm… Some of us sensitive Princess-and-the-Pea types find that certain men’s particularly rough hair down there hurts.

In those cases, I’d far prefer a bare bear who uses Nair. In no way can I imagine that evolution would have chosen any fur other than bunny or chinchilla to reduce the friction of (front-facing) intercourse.


Now Him I’d Consider!

Are Male Hairy Apes Less or More Sexist Than Male Humans?

“…it is said that frontal sex made the human female susceptible to something that is physiologically impossible for other primates—rape. In the living world, only one species of spider appears to share with humanity the ability to conclude a mating against the will of the female.”

This made no sense to me when I read it. How can a female animal, in estrus or not, physically close off the vaginal opening and prevent unwanted penetration?

Impossible for human females to prevent rape—we who are usually literally the weaker sex—and what about animals where the male presents with a penile bone?

I found Tannahill’s “animal rape doesn’t happen” claim very difficult to believe, and indeed, her claim was mistaken.

Rape does happen among non-human animals, and not infrequently among our fairly close primate cousins.

And No Wonder…

The book Sexual Coercion in Primates and Humans gathers together research papers examining sexual coercion by males against females—both by hairy apes and by our naked human variety.

The big question is, do patterns of behavior in rape and sexual aggression by human apes mirror patterns by non-human apes? So far, the book concludes, it appears the jury is still out on this.

Ooh, Baby, Twirl Those Belly Tassels!

Oh, dear—it was disappointing to read Tannahill trotting out a pulled-it-out-of-her-*ss theory right at the start of her book:

That this very *ss was the hottest-ticket part of a cave-woman’s bod back when doggie-style sex was in vogue before humans walked upright.

Cave-guys supposedly didn’t give a fig-leaf for anything on the front half of women (‘cause, what, they couldn’t reach around?).

“Ugh-Puh, Ak!” Translation:“Cover those up and back it up, bee-yatch!”

(Yeah, yeah, I know: Real cave-ladies’ probably didn’t have anything like that to grab up front—like today’s monkeys—but I bet their supposedly-hot backsides were pretty much “eh”, too.)

Tannahill then spews a corresponding dribble that I seem to recall reading from other (male) anthropologists:

That our supposedly tushie-lovin’ foredaddies later switched to the hots for bellies and boobs after humans switched to a bipedal strut and front-facing sex.

Now, why is it I’m thinking that most anthropologists:

(1) Are men of the white persuasion; and,
(2) Think missionary style is pretty much all there is?

Regarding Tannahill’s claim that the frontal sex switch caused a switch to a “liking for resilient breasts and stomachs” (Tannahill’s support: See those zaftig prehistoric “Venus” figures? They have big bellies and boobs, so guys musta liked dem tings!)

Venus Figure

If true, then when men starting wanting women with big, honking boobs, why didn’t they also want us with big, honking bellies to match?

Imagine a 300-pound Angelina Jolie with belly folds hanging down past her knees…How hot do most of today’s guys think THAT is?


This post was based entirely on information found on page 17 of my edition.
Next Post in This Series: It’s GATHERER-Hunters!

F*ck You, Women Readers—Android Market

An e-book noobie in the woods, I excitedly trip over to the Misogynist Android Market to see what free offerings might be available for such poor folk as I.  A nasty surprise alurks:

Under “Fiction”, I see a category that interests me: “Adventure”. At the same level, another is called “Men’s Adventure”. 

I look in vain for a “Women’s Adventure” equivalent.   What the hell, Android Market?!

Looking at the books within the two categories—
“Adventure”, welcoming men, women, or children, and
“Men’s Adventure”, to which only men are invited—

I see that, in Android’s opinion, women are not interested in reading, for example, Clive Cussler, Ken Follett, Wilbur Smith, or Edgar Rice Burroughs.  

What the hell, Android Market?!

I like all four of those authors!  Particularly Follett and Smith.  Just to make certain, I check down between my legs:  Yup.  A fine, fine innie.  Definitely not an outie.
Books Android Market thinks no women should read:

Stay Away from Adventure If It's Not Romance, Ladies!!!

Books Android Market thinks women should stick to:

Let the Little Ladies Stick to Classics or Kids Books

Understand, though, men are welcome to read these, too–this is, after all, not a “Women’s” category.  Perhaps the higher-brow offerings in this grouping are intended for the men, or to improve our naturally-feebler minds, and the children’s books are intended for women and children.

F*ck you right back, Android Market.  Yours Truly, Outlier Babe.

Thank You, Bailey Weaver From Medford, For Doing to Android Market What I Am Too Polite To Do

Just for the record, Life of Pi is one of my favorite books, but I also love a trashy getaway as much as the next gal. How dare Android Market try to limit my choices by how I stand or sit to urinate, and how dare they, fifty years after the 60’s, be boldly, brazenly offering a “Men’s” category of anything other than undergarments? It gets me ill. It really does.
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