Tuesday, April 8, 2014

Sufferin' Sappho!

Tina Louise had an unusually varied career for someone often pigeonholed as a sex symbol. A member of the Actors Studio, she modeled for the Frederick's of Hollywood catalog and various men's magazines while acting on Broadway (Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter?, Li'l Abner), and appearing in both motion pictures and prestigious live television dramas. But let's face it, she will always be best remembered as the glamorous beauty stuck on an island and surrounded by idiots, in Sappho, Venus of Lesbos.

This is a curious, even bizarre, entry in the sword 'n sandal genre.  It features many European actors familiar from peplum films of the 50s and 60s, but instead of an American bodybuilder at the center of the action playing an ass-kicking Hercules or Samson, we've got Tina Louise playing the poet Sappho, opposite fellowAmerican expatriate Kerwin Matthews (The 7th Voyage of Sinbad, Jack the Giant Killer), who once again proves that as an actor, he's most convincing when his co-stars are added in post-production by Ray Harryhausen.
Sappho, the Venus of Lesbos AKA The Warrior Empress (1960)
Directed by Pietro Francisci
Screenplay by Ennio De Concini, Pietro Francisci, Luciano Martino

Kerwin Matthews, wearing a tunic so short it’s basically a belly shirt, is sitting on a rock, leading a Robert Bly workshop, and explaining to a semi-circle of half-nude extras why Iron John wants them to air out their scrotums twice daily. The Vienna Boys Lesbian Choir is humming the haunting Love Theme from Sappho, Venus of Lesbos, when suddenly Kerwin and the Greek Anti-Pants League are attacked by the USC Marching Band, which are in a crappy mood because they’ve forgotten the lyrics to “Tusk.”

Everyone dies except Kerwin, who leaps on a horse and rides away, which would normally lead to an exciting chase scene, except Kerwin somehow manages to instantly fall off the horse and then off a cliff, knocking himself cold. So it’s not exactly a clean getaway. The Trojans decide to leave him for the Lesbians, who’ve been known to skeletonize a grown man in less than 12 seconds.

Kerwin regains consciousness, only to be attacked by stock footage of a lion. Fortunately Kerwin has an above-the-title credit, so he figures no way he dies this early in the picture. Then he remembers Janet Leigh thought the same thing in Psycho, so he pulls his sword and flails around at the cutaway. But the lions laugh at his mighty sword, which he promptly drops it as he scrambles up the cliff, escaping certain death and simultaneously inventing upskirt porn.

Cut to a circus maximus nearby, where three hot women – a blonde, a brunet, and redhead Tina Louise -- are competing in the Ben-Her chariot race. Tina, who has Charlton Heston’s team of four white stallions, is whipping them into a froth, which visibly excites the all-girl crowd in the stands.

Now let’s head to the exclusive after-party at the Temple, where hot young woman lounge around watching hot young woman dance around, and Sappho prays to a giant statue of Aphrodite, asking that whoever took her Phranc albums please return them.

The lead Trojan, Hyperbole, barges into the Temple in hot pursuit of Kerwin, and all the girls scream and run like it’s a panty raid on the sorority house. Hyperbole is in love with Sappho, and offers to quit massacring drum circles and profaning the Temple of Aphrodite with his testes if she’ll marry him. She declines, but he says, “I will put my trust in time…and in your poems, Sappho. One day, you will decide to come out.” So this isn’t a movie so much as one of those “It Gets Better” videos.

Sappho’s girlfriend Activia is outraged by Hyperbole’s marriage proposal, and demands that her BFF stay away from boys. Sappho looks abashed and murmurs, “They must have made you suffer very much.”

“I hate them,” Activia snarls. “They dazzle you with their insolent glances.”

While I can’t speak on behalf of every man on earth, I’d like to take this opportunity to offer my personal apologies to all you ladies out there. Honestly, I didn’t mean to dazzle you; it just happened.

Hyperbole rides back to the palace, where the Lesbian King is in a rage. It seems that all the men’s workshops are rebelling against him, just because he likes to wear a two-foot tall henna-rinsed beehive hairdo.

That night, the RA wanders around the Temple doing a bed check, but that doesn’t stop the girls from sneaking into Sappho and Activia’s dorm room to gossip; unfortunately, their gab session is interrupted by Kerwin, who staggers inside and faints on Sappho’s bed. Well, it’s not the first time a pantsless dude has passed out in a sorority house (or maybe -- considering this is the 5th Century B.C. -- it is, and we’re seeing History in the making).

Naturally, Activia wants to narc on Kerwin, but Sappho prefers to commit blasphemy by stashing him in the Altar of Aphrodite, which historians believe was the first slang term for "vagina" to appear in the Urban Dictionary (then called the City-State Lexicon). The other girls are torn; some want to report him to the house mother, while the others want to keep him around so they can try out some of those tricks they saw in Puppetry of the Penis.

Sappho decides to secretly nurse Kerwin back to health and almost immediately regrets it, because he’s like one of those husbands in a cold remedy commercial, whiny and demanding, making her bring him water and listen to his boring speeches about “freedom,” presumably the freedom of movement genitals enjoy in his pantsless sub-culture.

Activia is jealous of the interest Sappho shows in Kerwin’s all-too-visible area, so she puts on a nude see-through mini-tunic that displays her nipples in bold relief, and goes to confront him, giving us the film’s first fight scene—the age-old battle between the Area and the Areolae. She reveals that Sappho is the niece of King Beehive (true) and is planning to betray Kerwin (false). Kerwin believes her, thereby only scoring 50% on the quiz.

But that doesn’t stop him from kissing Sappho in front of the sunset backdrop from the Sears Portrait Studio, then panicking when the breeze sounds kind of weird. Sappho takes him by the hand and leads him to the “lips” of the “Cave of Lesbos,” which is guarded by the fearsome mythical beast, “the Clitoris” and is extremely damp inside, filled with foaming pools and gushing waterfalls. Even though he’s a Lesbian, all this oral sex innuendo gives Kerwin a bad case of performance anxiety, and he decides he’d better get back to this men’s encounter group, especially because it’s “Sweat Lodge Saturday" and he pre-paid for a seat.

Sappho covers Kerwin’s escape by making out with Hyperbole, but he spies one of Kerwin’s discarded Hercules Power Wrist-Bands®, and inexplicably stuffs it into his crotch. He informs Sappho that since she kissed him she now has to marry him. This seems like an exceedingly strict rule, and explains why so few Lesbians ever agreed to neck with me.

The Lesbos Chorale kicks in again as Kerwin maneuvers a tiny rowboat into a cave full of mermaids with blonde dreadlocks, where he chokes and faints as the mermaids transform into pelicans. Then Sappho suddenly wakes up, and we realize her therapist isn’t going to get any decent spank bank material out of this week’s dream analysis.

The next day, Hyperbole’s spy tells King B-52 how much the people hate his stupid hairdo, and we see the spy is really…Kerwin! So, he’s a Lesbian by day, but a pants-free Iron John enthusiast by day-for-night!

Sappho leaves the Temple, and Activia is so depressed that her roommate’s getting married that she climbs down into the lion-filled ravine and commits suicide by stock footage.

Kerwin rides around with Hyperbole in his Trojan drag, and they go bug Sappho at work, where she’s painting frescoes on the temple of the sea goddess, because air-brushing custom vans hasn’t been invented yet. Hyperbole notices the two macking on each other the instant his back is turned, and immediately remembers that sweaty leather wristband he stuffed down his adult diaper in an earlier scene.

Hyperbole ambushes Kerwin at Sappho’s house. Kerwin is defiant, basically yelling at Hyperbole, “Ha! I totally kissed your girlfriend!” and “Catch me if you can!” Turns out he can. Kerwin jumps off a wall and is instantly hogpiled at the bottom by Hyperbole’s men, making this the fastest action sequence in film history (32 feet per second per second).

Kerwin is exiled from Lesbos and sent to the Island of Misfit Male Leads, but he just turns around and comes back, which is why I've always believed those Havahart traps never really work.

Kerwin and his encounter group show up outside the gates with the World’s Most Phallic Battering Ram (it dangles from a sort of wooden pubic triangle and thrusts in and out like it’s planning to dry hump the city), and after a hard-fought 43-second battle, overthrow King Hairspray.

But Sappho has already skipped town, announcing that from now on, "She will dedicate her life to the Temple’s young ladies.” And if she’d done that from the beginning, this would’ve been a much more interesting movie, and probably wound up in heavy rotation on Cinemax After Dark.

But Kerwin won’t take gay for an answer, and goes back to the Temple, where he and Hyperbole get into a sword fight, if you know what I mean. But they lose their footing while roughhousing on a wall, and fall straight into the lion footage.

Kerwin waits until a big cat mauls Hyperpole to death, then he sneaks up and stabs it in the back. Naturally, this sight turns Sappho straight, and the two of them go back to the Sears Portrait Studio and kiss awkwardly in a chariot in front of the sunset backdrop. 8x10s and wallet size prints are available in the lobby.

The End.

Sunday, March 30, 2014

Post-Friday Beast Blogging: The Rules of Attraction Edition

RILEY: All right, this is just the sort of presumptuous invasion of personal space up with which I will not put!

RILEY:  I can't even tell whose tail is whose anymore -- Begone!

MOONDOGGIE: You sure about that?

RILEY:  Don't be impertinent. Of course I'm--

MOONDOGGIE:  Smell my foot...

RILEY:  What?  I...No, I'm not going to smell your--


MOONDOGGIE:  That's right, I just walked all over the dirty laundry. My feet are pure funk and pheromones...

RILEY: (SIGH)  I wish I could quit you.

MOONDOGGIE: As long as you've got a nose to smell with, and I've got feet to stink with, we'll always be together.

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

Happy Birthday, MaryC! By Bill S!

Today marks the birthday of World O'Crap's own MaryC. According to the Internet Movie Database, she shares her birthday with such luminaries as Tennessee Williams, Leonard Nimoy, Diana Ross, Jennifer Grey, Steven Tyler, Vicki Lawrence, James Caan, Teddy Pendergrass, Bob Elliott and Martin Short. But this year, the IMDb's top-ranking celebrity with a March 26th birthday is hunky actor-singer Jonathan Groff.
Groff's high ranking is no doubt the result of his role in the hit animated feature Frozen, which, according to Pastor Kevin Swanson, was produced by Satan to turn children gay.  Kevin swears he's not a "tin foil hat conspiratorialist," and I think he's telling the truth. The twisted logic required to make that leap makes him more of a conspiratortionist (I know that's not a real word, but it sounds like it should be one, doesn't it?)

As always, finding that special gift for a special lady (and a very exciting girl) isn't easy, so once again, I turn to the ever reliable Carol Wright Gifts. (And by "reliable," I mean it offers items that no one else would ever imagine as suitable gift ideas. Unless you feel like saying "I love you" by giving someone a product for treating toenail fungus.) What can I get her this year?

AIR CURLER "As seen on TV" ($14.99): "Create a head full of soft curls and dry your hair in seconds with the Air Curler. This easy-to-use styling tool twirls perfect tangle-free curls with most hair dryers. Simply attach it to your hair dryer's nozzle, place a section of hair into the Air Curler and blow dry."
One Girl, One Cup

Yes, I'm sure setting a clump of wet hair into a plastic cup dangling below the nozzle of a hair dryer will curl your hair perfectly in a matter of seconds. 

HANDY TOILET TISSUE HOLDER Holds Up To Five Rolls (Why pay $19.99? Ours only $9.99): "Keep toilet tissue at hand and out of sight with this discreet toilet tissue caddy. With a beautifully embossed, long-stem rose motif, it provides convenient sanitary storage for up to five standard-size rolls. A tight-fitting lid keeps toilet tissue dry and dust free."
Because what's more handy when doing your business than wrestling a lid off a plastic tube? But it really becomes handy when you get to roll #5 and get your arm stuck in the damn thing.

DIGGING PUPPY ($7.99): "Add a touch of whimsy to your yard or garden. This realistic-looking, water-resistant polyresin puppy looks like it's burrowing for bones. This adorable decoration is sure to make your friends and neighbors smile."
"Honey, remember the year you got me that plastic ass for my birthday? They had to rush me to Urgent Care with dangerously high blood whimsy levels."

And if you're in a really whimsical mood, put it in your neighbor's garden, smack in the middle of her prize petunias.

SECURITY CAMERA (only $9.99): "Fake security camera with flashing red light and mounting hardware moves from side to side when anyone passes by. Uses 3 AA batteries (not included)"
A fake security camera will provide excellent protection from imaginary burglars.

NECK GENIE ELITE (Why pay $21.99? Ours only $9.99): "New and improved! World's first resistance toning system for your neckline! This new and improved version of the Neck Genie has a built-in adjustable tension control that helps firm, lift and smooth your neckline and reduce double chin and neck folds."
Beauty treatment, or suicide attempt? To quote Crow T. Robot, "Look out! She's got a Lady Hemingway!"

I'm sure it works, I'm just not sure how to explain why I'm walking around holding a the thing under my neck all evening.

TELESCOPING BUG ZAPPER (Why pay $25.73? Ours only $12.99): "Get rid of bugs without harmful chemicals, expensive bug traps or ineffective fly swatters! Instantly zap them dead with this telescoping bug zapper. It extends from 23" to 37"L to deliver a fatal shock to bees, mosquitoes, hornets, roaches, flies, spiders, gnats and more."
And since, from the looks of the thing, it's an electrified tennis racket, those dead bugs will slip through and land in your hair. Hope you didn't spend the morning using that air curler.

VALLEY LANE SCRUNCH BOOTS (only $29.99): They're go-go boots, only, really, really wrinkled. 
I think we have a winner!

Happy Birthday, MaryC!

-Bill S.

[From Scott: Thanks, Bill.  We now end our broadcasting day with the traditional:
Sexy Birthday Lizard!]

Saturday, March 22, 2014

Post-Friday Beast Blogging: The "Mystery of the Take-Out Box" Edition

RILEY: What...?  Your tuna tataki is missing?

RILEY:  That's weird. Can't imagine what could have happened to it...

Saturday, March 15, 2014

Happy Birthday to Bill S! and The Minx!

...not quite Pinky and The Brain, but I'd still watch their weekly attempts to conquer the world, however quixotic, because I can't help but feel we'd be better off with them calling the shots and pontificating on the Sunday shows, even though I suspect Bill would replace our current system of due process with a summary Trial by SongPop, in which alleged felons would have to compete against him for their freedom and/or very lives (white collar defendants would get relatively easy categories like "New Wave" or "Break Up Songs," while suspected terrorists would be subjected to enhanced interrogation via "One Hit Wonders" or "TV Themes").  The Minx, who likes to accentuate the positive, would probably put less stress on punishment when reforming our judicial system, and more on rehabilitation, asking prisoners what they're grateful for, and rewarding time off for those who provide a life-affirming answer such as, "Today I'm thankful that our bank fraud laws are essentially toothless, and that even if convicted I'll never see the inside of a prison cell and can probably get my fine reduced on appeal. Can I go now?" or, "I'm thankful that I'm not living under the draconian bootheel of Bill S!, because right about now I'd be struggling to identify even one non-Motown mid-Sixties girl group."

And on a programming note, remember when I said the other day that my project was over and I was back on blogging duty? Well, I was, but my harddrive decided -- after nearly seven years of faithful service -- to commit suicide, taking with it all my cat photos, cat videos, and sexy birthday lizards. Fortunately, this didn't happen before I'd turned in the script and gotten paid, because I was able to hire the local Mac guys to install a new drive, one that's smaller but faster, and most important, completely free of Doug Giles glamour shots and The Collected Spam Emails of Reince Preibus.

So...now I'm back. And just in time for the big Double Birthday Bash!  Usually Bill emails me in advance of the day with a suggested beefcake tasting menu, but this year he's left me to my own devices. So I'm going to default to a previous model, Hawaii Five-O's Scott Caan, because last year's image of Sonny Corleone fils sucking on a stogie in a bathtub continues to generate page views.
Movie and television star Scott Caan advises you to air-dry your armpits at least twice a week to avoid chapping.

For The Minx, I thought we'd go with a variation on the traditional Sexy Birthday Lizard -- still sexy, still lizardly, but now with taut womanly tummy added, absolutely free!
Please join me in wishing Bill and The Minx -- two of our favorite crappers -- a very happy birthday.

Friday, March 7, 2014

Revenge of the Male Amazons!

Annnnnnnd...we're back. The script I've been working on has been delivered, and in three or four years might eventually become an animated film that will probably only be seen on pirated DVDs in Asia. The sense of accomplishment is almost too pungent.

Anyway, getting back to our usual bailiwick...With same-sex marriage bans toppling all over the country, the folks who are weirdly obsessed by this subject even though it can't possibly affect them, since they are not themselves gay, need a new wrinkle. And veteran wingnut Kelly Bartlett is here to supply the rhetorical crowsfeet: Gay marriage is segregation, so ladies, you better not let the sun go down on you in West Hollywood (stick to lesbians, they have more experience).
Gender, Discrimination, and Marriage
My daughter was catching up on her college homework. Chapter Ten in her psychology textbook is titled “Sex and Gender.” It covers topics such as gender differences, similarities, and stereotypes. The chapter wends its way from transgender issues to sexual harassment to the glass ceiling, the invisible but real boundary in the workplace beyond which women are not welcome. The book defines sexism as “differential treatment of an individual on the basis of his or her sex.”
Wait a second...Just to be clear: you're helping your daughter with her college homework?  I think even Ward Cleaver would have drawn the line somewhere north of that point: "Yes, yes, Beaver, I appreciate your diligence, but I'd really prefer to settle in with the evening edition than hear about your 'Women's Studies' class. All I know about that bushwa is that your mother read The Feminine Mystique, and now she's off banging some hairy fakir in an ashram in Oregon. Get up, you're sitting on the Sports Page..."
As the text points out, more than half of all women in the United States now work outside the home. They are breaking through the glass ceiling and garnering high-profile positions in private industry, government, and politics. There is one domain, however, in which women are increasingly discriminated against and excluded: families.
It's true. Females comprise only 50% of this family, and that's counting the cats.
Ironically, same-sex marriage laws do this in the name of equality. We open our hearts and minds and definition of marriage to include two men, and in doing so we close the door to a wife in the living room, a mom in the nursery, and a feminine lover in the bedroom.
Well, we're not all Mormon fundamentalists. Plus, not everyone can afford a separate mom for living room, nursery, and bedroom, not to mention individual wives for the laundry, bonus room, and gazebo. I mean, if you're not careful, they start to breed, and then you have to call in an exterminator, or at least set up some of those Have-A-Heart Live Wife Traps, and then you've got to drive way out into the country to release them, otherwise they just come back and start nursing your children and folding your underpants again.
 We create a crass ceiling.
I agree that the principle danger of permitting women to freely pursue their dreams and ambitions in the work force is that some of them will just make shitty puns.  But is it really so different with men?  After all, some are Shakespeare, and some just sit in the Break Room making armpit farts.
It’s one thing for two guys to love each other; it’s altogether different for society to endorse this union by granting these two men the status of marriage.
Once they're married, the whole idea of two guys loving each other becomes a lot less hot.
A male marriage might not look overtly sexist, but what about the long-term effects? Redefining marriage grants men the legal right to deprive children of a relationship with their mother simply because she's female. Because she’s “born that way.” What if this gender discrimination continues?
Um, there's a few rather glaring logic flaws in that paragraph. I'm beginning to wonder why Kelly's daughter would even come to her for help with her college homework in the first place. Let's check the senior Bartlett's bio at MercatorNet, an ostensibly nonpartisan webzine on bioethics where she periodically spray-paints the walls with outrage over gays and abortion:
Say, this doesn't look like the face of a woman who would spend her days laboring to thwart gay marriage. This looks like the warm, friendly, welcoming face of a woman who'd really like you to try the rich taste of mountain grown Folger's coffee.
Kelly Bartlett has been practicing life, love, and marriage for decades, hoping to improve her game. She writes from a house nestled in a meadow off a dirt road in Vermont, surrounded by family and friends, music and mountains.
Her monograph, "On Squealing Like a Pig" has been successfully set to a lively banjo tune.
She has taught religious education using the Catechesis of the Good Shepherd and is certified by the safe environment program, VIRTUS: Protecting God’s Children.
VIRTUS is a program brought to you by "The National Catholic Risk Retention Group, Inc," which sounds like an insurance company for priests that got tired of forking out for sex abuse settlements.
After seventeen years of homeschooling her kids, she gives herself an A for effort and graduates summa cum laughter. 
Ha! Yes...it's like Erma Bombeck after a closed-head injury.
 She enjoys handing out A’s 
Well, I think we now know how her daughter got into college. And by "college" I mean "The University of Mom's Breakfast Nook".
and would be delighted to give you one also if you “Like” MercatorNet on Facebook.

Go on.  I dare ya.
Obviously, two men cannot reproduce with each other, but in tandem with marriage comes the right to adopt. If a male couple’s adopted son meets and marries a like-minded guy whose dads commissioned him from a surrogate mother, then we would see an extended family bereft of not only mothers but also grandmothers. On both sides. Under current law in many states, this chauvinism can continue for generations.
Which would mean an incalculable amount of men who never had the experience of being offered a hard candy by an elderly woman who keeps it rolled up in a Kleenex in her purse.
Decades from now, young Marvin can trace his family tree and compare it with that of his pal Leroy.
While studying genealogy, Leroy and Marvin might pause to wonder why they both sound like characters from Fat Albert and the Cosby Kids.
The latter has one mom and one dad, two grandmothers and two grandfathers, four great-grandmothers and four great-grandfathers. Leroy’s family tree is gender-integrated and balanced.
Sounds like one of those liberal, affirmative action quota systems to me. Surely Clarence Thomas won't stand for this!
Meanwhile, Marvin lists two dads, four grandpas, and eight great-grandfathers.
Sounds like a call sheet for Duck Dynasty.
 His family has fourteen men and zero women; it’s gender-segregated and devoid of wives, mothers, grandmothers, and their feminine love.
As a result, the greeting card industry has become a husk of its once robust self.
Of course, we know that babies can’t actually be nurtured for nine months in a test tube using IVF, no matter how many thousands of dollars we thrust at researchers...Marvin had to have a mom or he wouldn’t be here.
I remember when I was a kid, "fags" were presumed to be mama's boys who never cut the apron strings and imprinted on a strong father figure. You'd think after three generations of nothing but male role models, Marvin would be the butchest dude on the planet!
And his parents had to have mothers as well. It’s not that Marvin doesn’t have a mom or grandmothers in his ancestry. These women are invisible to Marvin, but they are real. They were intentionally excluded from his family precisely because of their sex. This man-made barricade is more harmful than the glass ceiling at work since it prevents children from accessing their own mothers.
Is this really a problem, Kelly?  Is same sex marriage (which apparently doesn't include lesbians) really going to result in legions of gay men genetically engineering their own posterior-loving posterity?  And even if so, do we really want our young men "accessing their own mothers"?  That sounds less like sound social policy, and more like a Please Don't Eat the Daisies fan fic.
Man caves are fun. Man family trees . . . not so much.
So men, let your manly pals have fun in your cave, but don't be afraid to let the ladies climb your man tree.
If two guys fall in love, they can choose to keep their relationship private or make it public. They can even make it official by announcing it on Facebook. 
I guess Facebook posts are now legally binding.  So if you clicked "Like" on a friend's blurry smartphone pic of a schooner full of green-dyed St. Paddy's Day beer, you're now married to them, even if you're both boys.  So start laying in a supply of blue baby booties and foam rubber footballs for your multitude of strangely male-only descendants.
It’s their choice. But requesting a marriage license is different.
For one thing, you usually have to shout at the clerk through that bulletproof glass.
Marriage is the bond that seals a family together and plants the roots of our culture.
It bonds! It seals! It plants and tends roots! Marriage is the most amazing Ronco product you've ever seen, and it's not available in any store!
 Families are the living cells of the great organism of life. Typically, marriage creates new micro-societies: mom, dad, and their children. Marriage is social by nature; therefore, weddings require witnesses.
So do crimes.
It is important to note that de-gendered families exclude females not by accident, but by design.
Even lesbians refuse to admit women into their gay marriages, even though gay men are much more likely to make catty remarks about the bride's plaid flannel wedding gown.  One question, though, Kelly: How does this "de-gendering" process gay men go through when they wed actually work? Is it anything like getting your dog neutered, because if so, I'm gonna need a bigger pet taxi.
Same-sex marriage constitutes sex discrimination and segregation. 
It's the "Coloreds Only" drinking fountain of legal pair bonding.
But I have spent too many years interacting with mothers and children to support the idea of excluding moms from families because of their sex.
Can we exclude them from the family because of their habit of snooping in your sock drawer looking for porn? Because I'd totally be down with that.
 I love and respect my own mother and grandmothers far too much to fall for the notion that contracting them out of our marriage laws constitutes “equality.”
So if two men love each other and wish to wed, the state should require that the happy couple enter into a plural marriage with a grandmother, because it's only fair.
 And even if I didn’t have the firsthand experience of knowing so many women exhibiting their feminine genius, I would disagree with gender discrimination in principle.
Then wouldn't you agree that you yourself are discriminating against women by not bringing one into your marriage bed and licking the alphabet?  And where's this exhibit of feminine genius being held, because I could really use some at the moment.
After all, if gender is not important in marriage, when on earth is it important? 
Not many places that I've ever seen. Gender is kind of like algebra -- the teacher swears you're going to need it later in life, but I've successfully avoided it for decades. 
Will the same progressives clamoring for male marriage now seek gender quotas in the years to come? Will future feminists fight for the right of children to know their mothers?
That's a good question, but I believe Zager and Evans already answered it in the summer of 1969:

In the year 6565
Ain't gonna need no husband, won't need no wife
You'll pick your son, pick your daughter too
From the bottom of a long glass tube
Gender segregation belongs in public restrooms, not families.
Men just naturally have a wider stance than women, and should be free to express it in the toilet stall of their choice. Especially if they're a Republican senator and have a gender inclusive beard waiting at home.
Let’s keep our ancestry honest and inclusive; let’s keep our families intact and thriving.
And let's keep our wingnuts frothy and frenzied and whipped into stiff peaks.