QUEEN BITCH (in Brighton)
August 2007

Of Mice, Sharks and ‘Men’

When a butterfly flutters its wings, it does not do so in order to create an earthquake; the butterfly is simply being a butterfly. The same principle of cause and effect can also be applied to the truly powerful. Those with the gift of inherent influence need only make the smallest, the most subtle of gestures, in order to create a significant effect.

Take, for example, a character whom others fear and respect in equal measures. Is this the person who swaggers around with a carefully-cultivated facial twitch and a ‘don’t fuck with me’ scowl-smirk, clouting whomever they deem appropriate and bragging about how ‘hard’ they are? Of course not, silly. The man who waves a gun around like a penis extension is not going to shoot you. If he was, you’d have been down and damned before you knew what had happened and he’d already be on a ‘plane to Timbuktu.

Similarly, those who strut around fetish events brandishing crops like personality extensions and taking ‘cheeky’ random swipes at anyone who takes their fancy, may be counted in the same category. Not only is it darn impolite, but the thwack happy crew have an unfortunate knack of often missing the mark and landing their blows on the kidney area or the ribs. Furthermore, members of the thwack happy gang seem to find this most amusing and, looking all pleased with themselves, they immediately scan the room like meerkats at the Oscars, their faces so expectant of audience reverence that they look almost childlike. Bless.

A word to the wise, though; if you are going to own a weapon, whether that be a sawn-off shotgun or a bullwhip, you’d better know how to use it. One good way to test your skill is to ask yourself; how much respect do I have for this weapon? Unless your answer is the same reverence that you seek from others, then it is fair to assume that you haven’t yet become a master of your art. To know how to use power, to know how to disable or disarm an enemy, means that you then have a choice as to whether or not you indulge in the action. Terror, my friends, can be instilled in others without you actually doing anything. In fact, if an assailant smashes a chair over your head and you simply look at them, smile and say, “Sorry, did you want something?”, said assailant will instantly assume the petrified demeaner of a rabbit before a cobra. Plus, you didn’t have to expend one iota of your own energy; although it does help if you have a shockproof skull. I have personally used this tactic a few times and it has proven to have an even more satisfying smug afterglow than the time I calmly and systematically dislocated the limbs of a truly deserving, girlfriend beating, crack head bully.

Oh dear, I sound like a bit of a psychopath don’t I. Well, let me inform you that the last injuries I inflicted upon a person were entirely accidental. In fact, I didn’t even touch him; rather, I merely recounted an anecdote comprising two related incidents within a short space of time. The poor chap found my tale so hilarious that he swung backwards in his chair, throwing his back out and somehow managing to poke himself in the eye at the same time. Crippled and blinded in one fell swoop, the poor dear. Worse still, said chap is actually a friend of whom I am rather fond (they do exist, you know, although I admit they are few and far between).

The anecdote itself lends itself quite nicely to the general theme of this rant and was thus; within the space of a month, two different parties likened me to a war. The first, a supposed real-life Bruce Willis / Vin Diesel (dumb weasel?) / Wolverine type, likened me to Hiroshima and ran off to the comparable sanctuary and safety of a war zone. The second, an alleged dastardly cad of the most perverted proportions, who is also a rather well-respected underwater shark photographer and who emailed me an image of himself with around 40 of the darling creatures in order to prove it, deemed me to be in the same league as Pear Harbour and flew to off to Egyptian waters to play with a different type of man eater.

As for what I had done to these representations of the ‘alpha male’; well, I did nothing. I just am.

Your very own Queen Bitch (of Hiroshima and Pearl Harbour) x