Guess who’s back.

This has been a long time brewing. The subject matter is one I never intended to discuss, but a recent conversation with Siv Parker has brought the issue to the point of personal detonation, so shall I rant. For the record, Siv is one of the most outstanding advocates I’ve ever met. She happens to be black, though I’d class her as a champion of humanity as opposed to merely an indigenous spokesperson – honourable enough as that is.
The backbone of this dummy-spit is personal, so in the interests of full disclosure and an inherent unwillingness to inflict painful boredom I strongly advise you to stop reading now. Warn others to do the same for the sake of all that is good and holy.
Some time ago I wrote a piece for King’s Tribune. It was angry and sorrowful, written on my final night in Vietnam. I had developed a deep and abiding love for the country. It had not only provided me with the love of my life, whom I had recently married, but blown me away with the warmth and sincerity of its inhabitants and convinced me to regard the place as something of a spiritual home. I would trade my Australian citizenship in a second to live in Tam Dau, or Vinh Yen, or Hanoi if it came to it.
The aforementioned piece bemoaned the uniquely Australian preoccupation with the mundane, as opposed to substantive issues worthy of true indignation. In the course of that particular rant I purposefully drew a tasteless analogy involving a silicate and an orifice I have since learned exists solely to be lovingly admired with the aid of a hand mirror. True to form, and sadly thrusting my gist into incredulous mouths on my behalf, a certain spanner-resembling portion of the online community railed against the words in euphoric ignorance of the argument. My editor caved to concerted pressure and censored the offending paragraph. A first, I believe. A published rebuttal would have been my choice, but when dealing with people who think a caps locked ‘fuck you’ is a reasoned response, she didn’t really have much to work with.
Jane copped the worst of it. I was left with an even split of the morbidly unhappy, those who view soap as a capitalist plot and a few reasonable people who argued their case in a reasonable manner. OK, that’s a lie. There was one reasonable person.
Of all the barrage of dickhead there was a resplendently standout moment, a singularity of gross lack of self awareness that actually hurt me. It came from a woman who regards herself as something of feminist royalty. I won’t name her as she embezzles enough oxygen already. Also, we have friends in common. Finally, I don’t want to toss the intellectually impoverished a buoy. She’ll have to forage for ideas elsewhere.
The comment was a throw-away. It wasn’t worthy of a screen capture, so I’ll paraphrase it as ‘he went to Vietnam because he couldn’t marry a real woman’, which is a pretty fair rendition. I’d now like to address that remark comprehensively.
First, you call yourself a feminist yet women other than Australians are less real? Less worthy? You fucking sad little failure. You are to feminism what Deveny is to atheism.
Second, my wife speaks three languages. She is an accountant with a business degree. She runs her family’s numerous companies. She could buy you with her pocket change. I don’t know enough Vietnamese yet to appreciate her in her native tongue, but she uses English with a concision, originality and humour I am yet to read in anything you’ve written. In fact, you’re a dead set bore.
Third, I followed her from Australia, where she was studying, to Vietnam. I did this because I had fallen deeply in love with her. She met me at the airport in a simple dress and was the most beautiful vision I had ever seen, an ethereal beauty that one only ever gets to witness once if they’re supremely lucky. I was looking at the love of my life. I had no idea of her family’s wealth, or of how I would be accepted as part of said family. I have uncles, aunts, grandparents who opened their hearts and hearths to me. Their acceptance matters very much. Their money doesn’t.
Fourth, fuck you. I’m rich and have a beautiful wife who teaches high impact aerobics and yoga as a hobby. She is simply better than you. Hell, she can do the splits against a wall while negotiating a discount on a shipment in progress, using the bill of lading as leverage. She uses her spare time to tutor my son in English.
What the fuck are you doing besides whine? What do you actually contribute to anything?
I stopped writing because I didn’t want to subject my wife to racism. You know what? Fuck it and fuck you racists. Bring it on. If you’re lucky you’ll only have to deal with me. My wife will spit your bones out, you cowardly sacks of shit.