We’ve all seen them: those websites for men. Loaded, Maxim, New Scientist and the like. But apart from the odd successful online knitting guide, cat-meme toilet and liberal-outrage-encourager, the girls among us are being perilously ignored by men who want to make money from them.
Friends, that’s where I come in, take my shoes off, make myself comfortable and shit on your bed.
Having seen exciting developments afoot in other industries (such as pole-dance manufacture, skipping ropes and whoring), and become conscious that many women are pregnant, unemployed or too unhappy to leave their present accommodation, I realised that a gaping girl-coloured hole was dilating across the online market.
Women can read and write
We all know that women can take photographs. What fewer people know is that, sometimes, women write, and write well, despite what you ‘old media’ squares think. The fashion industry, which has been enslaving, starving and ruining women for centuries, has under-invested in how to translate this experience into, to use the parlance of the current young-person-demographic, deh intehwebbinzgzlollolz.
In June, only two dormice, a confused actuary and a Katrina & The Waves tribute act visited Vogue’s website. This made me realise what an enormous appetite there is for a similar venture.
‘Is it not high time that women wrote things and people looked at them?’ I thought. With this simple but brilliant idea, I have secreted millions of banknotes into my porous scaly skin, ready to herald a new era in lady-words: literateconcubines.com.
To the rescue, here I am
I have assembled a highbrow harem of startlingly clever fillies, who, along with some men what have wallets, will be launching a revolution in female publishing with me as their supreme leader, friend and mentor. I also bought 15 African elephants and had jewels shaped like penises sewn onto their eyelids. Not sure why. Will probably come in useful at some point.
Making good with the use of my giant business-acumen-satured head glands, then, I imagined whether people would ask questions about it and have come up with this fantastic FAQWPTATs (Frequently Asked Questions, Were People To Ask Them[s]) section.
Hey whoah there nonny nonny, you’re a man! How in the name of a burned bra named Melinda can you be the voice of this amaze ladything?
Rest easy! You’ll be delighted and relieved to hear that I’m just as self-deprecating as the next entrepreneurial multimillionaire. No, I won’t be the voice of literateconcubines; instead, using my brain to devastating effect once again, I have bribed some of the most literate women in the world to do this. They are allowed sole editorial control of their pieces, a say in the business and both chairs and toilet breaks for sitting down. So the actual work will be done by them: I don’t pretend to know about mascara, frilly knickers, equal pay or anything like that. ‘Phew,’ I hear you say! Well, phew isn’t really a word, but I understand what you mean.
I’m so utterly impressed you managed to raise such a gigantic amount of cash!
Well, again, that isn’t exactly a question per se, but thanks very much; it’s pretty cool huh?
So how is literateconcubines any different from other sites manned by women?
I prefer to think of it as a site womanned by women, man; women who think about all sorts of things and know what their chromosome-sharing fraternity likes to read (while my tech investors will find out where they live, where they shop and what their deepest fears are).
With that firmly in mind, we are going to create a media platform unlike any other, where serious Tolstoy (or whoever the girl equivalent was) type stuff joins a lighthearted look at the world through the soft and beautiful eyes of the modern lady.
Is this a feminist publication?
Kind of? I mean YES. Yes it darn.. is.
This might sound pretty far-fetched to some, but that’s just the kind of guy I am. The office will be pretty much like something out of one of those Karl Marks books. So one of my concubines will be all like, ‘I wanna write about lacy bras or terrapins or something’, and I’ll be like, ‘Rockin’, go right ahead, I bet loads of your sistas will love it.’ What’s this? Another wants to go to Cairo to report on all that stuff happening there and get herself fondled and exploded to death? Go right ahead, you little empowerment-bomb. Another of my writers likes hanging baby mice on little hooks? Superb, terrific, pulchritudinous, tits. Make me money for ALL women. And wait til you see the ‘Sidebar of Strangely Ambivalent Triumph’…
Can men read literateconcubines too?
Mmmmmm. You bet your sweet symmetrical arse they will. A bit.