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A Triumph of Hope over Experience

What is it with chicks? Hello? When a relationship is inexorably heading for the hills, most blokes will be relieved, albeit, in a sad, traumatised way. [Wipe that grin off your face! Ermintrude] Sure, she’s a great trick, but after a month or two, it has to be plain to the meanest intelligence that there are plenty more chicks in the ocean. [The attention span of a gnat in heat. Ermintrude] (I’ve heard that’s not the only thing that’s the size of a gnat. EdZilla). Beat it, ‘Sisters’! How do you feel by the time she wants to show you to her friends? How do you feel when she wants to show you to her parents??? And for her part, she must be truly sick and tired of laughing in the right places at your now-old jokes, which once seemed so sharp and witty. Ditto the shagging; sorry, ‘lurve-making’. And, like you’re not already eyeing up her younger sister, mother, best friend, bird in the library? Sure. [Not all men are cheating, two-timing bastards! Ermintrude] No. But they’d like to be.

Mattresses in Sickness and Health

If you have the misfortune to be one of the chromosomically challenged; i.e. a chick, it seems that you feel you just have to hang on to what you’ve got – long after it’s lost its usefulness… Even if it means kissing goodbye to your last vestige of self-respect some ten years down the line, in the futile future. ‘Empty Bed Blues’. Get a life! Better still, why not get a victim who still wants to shag you because you’re you; not because the in-laws have the kids on a Friday night? Try and remember, chickadees, ‘Erectile Dysfunction’ doesn’t mean he can’t get it up. It means he can’t be bothered to get it up you – it’s not quite the same thing. How you lot ever got the vote still remains one of life’s great mysteries. [How you’re still alive after all this shite is an even bigger mystery. Ermintrude] Oh. So none of ‘The Coven’ have stayed in a relationship long after the sperm has dried on the sheets? (It’s called ‘love’, twathead! EdZ) No, Dum-Dum, it’s technical name is ‘Irrational Optimism’; or rather ‘desperation’, borne out of ‘Empty Bed Blues’. Still; at least you all have got something to show, for all those years – apart from the stretch marks. [Your pathological fear of commitment demonstrates an insecurity the size of a bloody planet! Ermintrude] And your rare recourse to swearwords demonstrates that I am right. (Yeah. ‘Right’, but lonely. EdZ) You, dear EdZ, would romanticise the ten-times table. [You can’t count that far. Ermintrude]

The Truth Always Hurts

[Or rather, it soon will do, when its baked for ten hours in the oven, covered in hot pepper sauce and rammed up your arse! Ermintrude] Forget it, your Feminist Freakettes. As I may have mentioned before, ‘monogamy’ actually means ‘monotony’. Geddit? [No! Ermintrude] Dear Readerettes, or at least those amongst you who can understand the big words, (Lemme at him! EdZ). Take a long, hard look at yourself; then an equally long, hard look at your ‘soul-mate’. This is really what you were looking forward to when you employed all your feminine wiles to ensnare that lean, attractive male these many years ago? You must be especially pleased with the baldness, fat tummy and piles. ‘Love is blind’? No. ‘Cause if it were, the divorce courts would be a great deal less busy. Still; that’s why God invented ‘Personal Assistants’, ‘secretaries’ and ‘working late at the office’. And why women invented ‘personal trainers’, and ‘gardeners’. (You are one cynical, sick moron! EdZ) At least I don’t try to rhyme ‘romance’ with ‘orgasm’. [Twitter and Bisted. It certainly explains your books. Ermintrude] They’ll sell like hotcakes because of the deep and meaningful truths they contain: as well as the sex and violence. (Just keep kissing your mirror, you pathetic bastard. EdZ)

Cloud Cuckoo Land

‘With this ring, I thee bed’. Shakespeare, I think. (‘Twatspeare’, actually. EdZ) Come now, children. The freedom of women to control their fecundity, if not their temper, and to increase their economic independence has, at last, brought them face to face with the truth about the mythology surrounding ‘Happy Ever After’. Just a male invention for keeping chicks in and on the nest. The reality of the fall-out, when coupled with the Web, has resulted in an outpouring of some of the worst poetry this side of Edwin Morgan. Often as not accompanied by some soft-focus chicks splashing about in the sea, or by a waterfall. Probably something to do with their cellulite. And for anyone rash enough to try and read the stuff, with a few notable exceptions, once the angst and broken-heartedness guff has been peeled away, they all still revert to this longing for the mythical beast – the attractive, fit, slightly wayward bloke – who will sweep them off their feet, snap their knicker elastic, and stay with them forever? I mean to say; how sad is that?  [I do hope that your books are not as autobiographical as I’m beginning to think they are. Ermintrude] (If only for the sake of his balls. EdZ) [It seems to me that his continuing inability to work the washing-machine, or any other domestic appliance is really a metaphor for his inability to maintain relationships. Ermintrude] (It certainly helps to explain the state of his underwear. EdZ) Forget it, you two. Not so much ‘Witchcraft’ as ‘Bitchcraft’. Ouch! That was bloody sore!

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