Friday, 15 September 2017


Of course one should not say such things as this, indisputably it would be considered as being derogatory towards women, the fact that most men would agree with this statement counts for nothing in the arse about face world of political correctness which as we all know is the Nicene creed of modern life, and God help any who are so intellectually incontinent as to question this unassailable fact. Well, I am incontinent therefore I am about to sally forth in defence of the male of the species, most of whom have no balls, as those useful tools have been swiped by the harpies of the metropolitan dykehood.

Where do we start on this inexhaustible subject of which nobody of any sense had ever heard of until recently? A good place to kick off is Miriam Gonzalez, who is she? You may ask, anything to do with Mrs Pankhurst? nothing so exalted, the lady referred to is none other than the missus of Nick Clegg, a clapped out British politico who was given the bums rush by the electorate at the last election. This dippy bird is a lawyer, well what else would you expect? When she is not helping shady characters to evade their just deserts, she is running around looking for excuses to be outraged over, usually some perceived slight to feminine supremacy.

Mrs Clegg always gets a splash in the papers when throwing a wobbly over the iniquities of male attitudes, in the argot of the age the woman is a celebrity, but why does she enjoy all this attention? What has she done to earn such deference? The answer to that is sweet fuck all. This harridan glides to the attention of the nation on the coat tails of her old man who she castrated before the poor sap had even shuffled down the isle, if there is one thing guaranteed to send our Miriam screaming up the wall it is to be addressed as Mrs Clegg. That’s feminism for you lad, Hypocrisy in a D cup.

The lady is not alone on the rostrum populated by professional offence takers on behalf of womankind, head and shoulders above all others is the doyenne of dick destroyers, Germaine Greer herself, perpetually fulminating against the insufferable domination of men, although I seriously doubt that any man has dominated this crusading academic, or at least having tried to do so, walked away from the confrontation fully intact and in working order. Once wore hypocrisy rears its ugly head, if it were not for men, who would have heard of Germaine Greer? Oh she needs us, believe you me, if the woman had a shred of gratitude she would offer grateful thanks to the male sex for the limitless publicity their presence on the planet has afforded her no,t forgetting the shed loads of money she has made from being perpetually outraged.

One more, then I will promise to disappear into the ether and hold my peace, at least until the next time I feel the urge to sound off about the preposterous mores of contemporary life. My final vignette concerns a lady by the name of Bel Mooney, never heard of the dame? Not to worry, very few have, so, I offer one or two biographical details. Ms Mooney is an agony aunt for the Daily Mail, dispensing crap tarted up as advice to those poor souls witless enough to write to her. The lady in question, and believe me she is a Lady, television royalty no less, once married to a Dimbleby, you don’t get much royaller than that in this day and age. Unfortunately dear Bel has about as much experience of everyday life as did a French aristocrat of the anciene regime, which is why she is divorced and now wedded to fashionable causes.

Many years ago they were building a motorway near Bath, as is obligatory in such circumstances the event attracted the mandatory compliment of weeperes, wailers and assorted tree huggers. Naturally Bel was there handing out moral support by the bucketload. One of the protesters asked a favour of Mrs. Dimbleby, the answer he received was priceless. Unwilling to accede to the request, Mrs. D. fearless feminist that she was fell back on this priceless bon mot “I’ll have to ask my husband” That dear readers says it all., which proves that behind every unflinching feminist there is a strong man. As I Said at the beginning, feminism is all balls, and where the hell would they be without ours?

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