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Pearls before Chicks

Oops. EdZilla says she’s never been so affronted in her life. She should try being a misunderstood, tragic, vulnerable yet winsome author. [Pass the sickbag. Ermintrude] Apparently I put my foot in it. Or rather my mouth. [Well it’s certainly big enough. Ermintrude] Din Dins at EdZ’s place. The ‘Coven’ were all there, waxing lyrical about her new book, ‘The Cure for Seniors’, and Mac’s new imprint, ‘Caldron’. And, not unnaturally, the conversation took a turn for the turgid when on of the harpies started banging on about sexism in the work place. It seems she wasn’t talking about table-enders. So, emboldened by some wine, and being well beyond kicking range by EdZilla, I tried one of my devastatingly witty ones: about how much I actually admired ‘The Women’s Movement’ – especially Pole Dancing – geddit? Or not.

Lead Balloon No 32,176

Not a smile, never mind any loud guffaws; and that was from the assembled blokes, for Christsake! Clearly ‘The Stepford Wives’ have been replaced by ‘The Stalinist Wimmin’. Ditto the po-faced pussies. Yours Truly was distinctly persona non grunta. Silly cows! It was a sheer dead brilliant joke! Edzilla broke the rather pained silence by talking about broccoli, while I was relegated to the outer regions, where there is a wailing and gnashing of knicker elastic. Of course I ingratiated myself back into the bitches’ brew by telling the bird on my left how much I enjoyed ‘Chick Lit’. Or not. Frowsty cow! I merely whispered to Anselm that there was no pleasing some women, apart from the obvious, when one of the Coven, who was buggering about dishing up vegetables, ‘accidently’ dropped a gallon of molten mushy peas on my lap! I only managed to save myself from permanent balls brulees by contriving to fall off the chair – with ensuing peals of laughter from the evil twisted bush. Bah!

Twisting the Knife

Naturally, EdZilla couldn’t leave it alone. She just had to go and tell the mob scene that her books had to have a separate identity from Mac and me, since potential buyers might be a teensy bit upset, if, when looking for children’s books, they came across piles of dead bodies, and simply massive bronzed hooters. But since we were now on the subject of John’s literary genius, I chanced to suggest to Mac that the cover of my first book could have a sub-text along the bottom that read, ‘More bangs for your buck’, when we both disappeared in a flurry of feathers from the assorted females. I tried to explain that it had worked for Shakespeare, with his bloody ‘Romeo and Juliet’. What gave it its immortality was the fact that it combined two perennially popular themes; knife crime, and under-age sex.

More to be pitied than castrated

When I came to, Anselm was asking me if I felt like some fresh air. And what the hell is this crap about me being an only child? It’s clearly some bloody code for ‘The Coven’, ’cause at its very mention, they all smirk knowingly, telling EdZilla how brave she is. Eh? In defence I simply pointed out that according to statistics, most chicks would be married three point two times, have two point one bratlets, own five point seven labradors, and drive five point nine Volvo estates. I was about to tell them the average amount of orgasms they were going to have, when Anselm kicked me under the table. The bird next to me then asked me why I didn’t like marriage; to which I brilliantly replied that I didn’t approve of blood sports. Laughter all round. Or not. But pressing home my argument, I pointed out that in the vast majority of divorces, regardless of who was to blame, or any other extenuating circumstances, the wife always seemed to get custody of the wallet. Then EdZilla called a taxi to take me home. ‘Obviously way past little Johnny’s bedtime’. We hadn’t even started on the sweet course! Probably felt sorry for me, what with all the hard work I’m doing right now.

John J McCabe. Copyright.

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