So much has happened since the last time I bothered to post that I’m just going to ignore it all and start here.

First it must be acknowledged that here at Spinster Aunt HQ we are suffering from Chilean Miner Fatigue. Yes, we’re as enchanted as the next aunt by the time-honored spectacle of extracting humans from holes in the ground, but in the name of all that’s tasteful we draw the line at traveling to the nearest Chilean embassy to hang teddy bears on the railing.

Teddy bears. That reminds me. It’s breast cancer awareness month! Awesome!

There is much patriarchy to blame when it comes to breast cancer awareness month. Such as Komen. Komen, as I have declaimed extensively, has brainwashed millions into believing that the act of buying pink crap turns them into selfless philanthropists. Snap out of it! All you are doing is buying pink crap. Komen is a patriarchy-replicating commerce facilitator. They do not reduce breast cancer occurrence. They do not reduce breast cancer deaths. All they do is hook up sanctimonious shopaholics with corporate leeches who want to shine up their tarnished public images.

One may also blame such vile entities as Estee Lauder, which bolsters its public image with gratuitous pornography (see photo). There is a bizarre connection in the public consciousness between hottt! cleavage and deadly breast tumors. Remember that “Boobython” freakshow? How many other cancers can be successfully advertised with sex? Can you picture an ad for prostate cancer featuring a delicate, manicured hand squishing a dude’s junk? It blows the lobe.

Of course Estee Lauder is a bleepin cosmetics company, a world leader in the woman-hating Beauty Industrial Complex. According to Cosmetics Database, Estee Lauder manufactures at least 120 products with moderate to high hazard ratings. But a little pink ribbon erotica making vague allusions to breast cancer solidarity makes it OK to poison their customers, I guess. “Prevent breast cancer one woman at a time” indeed. By burning her fucking Estee Lauder wrinkle cream!

One may also blame breast cancer awareness month as the month when Vagina-Americans are most likely to Shop/Walk/Eat Toxic Processed Yogurt For the Cure. If I see one more pink teddy bear, one more pink food processor, one more pink TV commercial where those chicks stop in the middle of their triathlon to lick yog-spunk off their pink Yoplait lids, put on your raincoats, girls, because I’m gonna bust another lobe. I have no wish to observe yogurt-coated tongues sticking out of models’ faces while being told that replicating this act will cause 10 cents to be donated to Komen. “Save lids to save lives” is the slogan. As though Komen, or Yoplait for that matter, saves lives.

“Avoid this crappy yogurt at all costs to save lives” is more like it.

Yoplait. You know what’s in a Yoplait yogurt? Me neither, because they decline, for some reason, to publish any ingredients on the website. Yoplait.com says only that Yoplait is good for your “health.” The website suggests, for example, that the vitamin D in a Yoplait yogurt is sufficient to ward off “bone fractures […] heart disease, diabetes, osteoporosis, and certain cancers.”

Yoplait anecdote alert

A couple of months ago, when cruising the Super S grocery store in Dripping Springs, Texas for a head of iceberg lettuce, I bought a Yoplait yogurt called Yoplait® Whips!® Key Lime Pie. It was a ghoulish pastel green color most commonly found in My Little Unicorn play-sets. This “yogurt” had the sticky, fluffy texture of a sugary pond scum, and tasted like pure polyester syrup. The only way that creepy unnatural thing was gonna be good for me was if I threw it away instead of eating it. In fact, the best thing would have probably been be to load it onto a rocket and shoot it into the sun.

As the world’s leading expert on human nutrition, I suggest getting vitamin D the old-fashioned way: 15 minutes of sun. It’s free, it feels nice, and involves little-to-no FD&C Yellow No. 5.