Sometimes women really disappoint me, putting all their bimbosity on full global display. Obviously, I’m not talking about this striking cover shot capturing Grace Kelly at the height of her radiance. Here, and throughout the inside photo spread, she exudes all the iconic style that this feature article goes on about for several pages. It certainly didn’t paint her as the purest, chastest virgin throughout, but what separated her from the freak show in the next feature was that she possessed a quality in desperately short supply in modern American society. Discretion. Scruples about whom she saw, how far she went with them, and who knew her business.
Grace Kelly was totally different from the excuses for women in the next feature article. That story is an attempt to analyze the mind of Tiger Woods, through the objects of his obscene philadering. I can’t call these women Tiger’s “mistresses,” because even that word seems too good for them, given the foul, trashy ways in which they carried on. What’s really bizarre is that despite all the armies of reporters swarming his life right now, all the talk about him not using protection while he cheated on his wife with all these women, that there haven’t been any reports of out-of-wedlock babies and paternity suits.
It’s bad enough that these women are a bunch of brazen home wreckers, shamelessly publicizing their tarty misdeeds out in the streets, but they are obviously severely delusional and expect us to believe a lot of silly things about the Woodses. One woman claimed that Mr. and Mrs. Woods were never affectionate in public and there were never any pictures of the two of them in their house. Dream on. And she described how Tiger Woods never spent a lot of money on her. Oh, but he once bought her a chicken wrap sandwich from Subway. And they are their sandwiches over beer—which he guzzled straight out of the bottle—right before they fornicated. Unbelievable.
The article goes on and on, a runway of pathetic women posing nude and trying to stay in the limelight long enough to cash in and pay for their boob jobs. Honestly, I haven’t read the whole article and I’m not sure that I will. It’s an absolute travesty that this parade of females threw themselves at this billionaire lech, obviously with high hopes of either dethroning the first Mrs. Woods, getting knocked up with his baby and living off of the hush money (or filing a paternity suit and wringing the publicity for all it’s worth) or being a kept woman. But they got nothing except tawdry back room encounters from this man. So with no material gain to show for trying to monetize their femininity, they’re reduced to posing nude for Vanity Fair.
Let’s set aside all of the racial subtexts of a so-called black man running around having sex with every trashy white woman in sight. It’s the wrong interracial combination for this blog and it insults white women with brains and integrity. Honestly, I’m relieved that no black women thus far have been identified as part of his cross-country Fornication Fest. We have enough on our shoulders without Tiger Woods treating any one of us like we’re common. And I refuse to call this fool a black man. If there is one thing aside from his talent that I liked about Tiger Woods, it’s the fact that he acknowledged his diverse racial heritage. Calling him black would be the worst case of the stupid one-drop rule I’ve ever seen. In any case, he is not black. I know too many decent black men to include him in that club. The Caublasians, whoever they are, can have him, and all his kooties, too!