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Where have all the neurons gone?

Ho hum.  It seems that fat-headed, fatuous, Feminism has once more clambered out of bed, wiped off the fa(r)ce cream, showered in the Bad (eed) Ass gel, waxed what passes for their brains, and topped up on the HRT – all to no avail. Presumably listless whilst awaiting the next issue of ‘Orgasm Monthly’, and having run out of wrinkle cream to try and stem the tide, the ‘Sisterhood’ have turned their tiny, fluffy minds to pastures new. Still, if it takes their thought-processes off the fact that their victim; sorry, husband, partner, significant other, seems to spend more and more time with the au pair, it can’t be all bad. Except for the recipient of their boyish enthusiasm. To wit, one Sir Tim Hunt, Nobel prizewinner, late of University College London, AFTER BEING FORCED OUT OF HIS POST THERE. Apparently, according to certain news reports, he was threatened with being summarily dismissed or resigning. Hello? Now while that particular repose of lefty losers has never exactly been in the upper strata of the groves of academe, one might have thought that someone there might just have heard of the Employment Protection Acts and subsequent legislation; with all the requirements for a fair hearing and such. But like so many British universities, although they prate about supporting such pro-worker legislation, they simply ignore it when it should apply to themselves. Oh yes. And the crime? And I quote verbatim:-“Let me tell you about the trouble with girls. Three things happen when they are in the lab: you fall in love with them, they fall in love with you, and when you criticise them they cry.” No dear avid discerning reader; that’s it.  There are very few crimes which do not require some form of trial – but crossing the pussy power is one of them. One might be forgiven for thinking that there would be some blokes in UCL who could maybe just still walk, talk and chew gun at the same time. But evidently not. The word that you FFFFFeminist fffruitbats and male hangers-on seek is “Veritas”. Latin; for “Truth”. It’s a legal term oft as not employed in court type cases; like for example when some poor innocent chap is threatened and forced to resign by some heartless not to say brainless employer. Any of this rrrring a bell? No, of course not. The communal neuron that drew the short straw and has to be shared by the Sisterhood, is probably still in rehab after the Feminists discovered that the inventor of the contraceptive pill was a bloke.

Why our race are called HOMO Sapiens

‘Cause chicks just can’t cut it; don’t have the right equipment. Like reversing a car round a corner. Or thinking. Of course, a bountiful God has gone out of His way to endow them with lots of other good things. But Menstrual Maisie, Celia Cellulite, Shirley Stretchmarks and the rest of the ‘Sisterhood’ want it all. So. My furry little eager beavers; try and pay attention. Point One; Girls can be trouble; for boys, and girls.  It’s laughingly referred to as ‘love’. Point Two; males do fall in love with females. Point Three; females fall in love with males. Point Four; girls cry far more than boys. So the prof is being fired and vilified for telling the truth. Poor old Hunt. I mean; what’s the fuss all about? A chick falls in love with you; she cries. She fights with you and hates you; she cries. You buy her a new house; she cries. You leave the old house; she cries. She watches ET for the twentieth time – and still she bloody well cries! But according to the Sisterhood this is one of these truths that dare not speak it’s name – a shibboleth – like a holy cow, or even for that matter, a bloody-minded cow. Menopausal even…

Sisterhood Snobbery

However, as the affected petits mals subside; and the feathers are unruffled, the reality of this latest outburst of Feminist Facism is revealed. It’s just soooo middle class, my dear! Cub Reportette, Emma Barnett writes in the Torygraph, “Why has feminism become such a toxic word?” In great part due to you and your patronising look at working class women, sweetie pie. “No, don’t be daft,”; “they roared at me, looking appalled.” She reported.  Y.e.e.e.e.e.s? Goddit? Feminism is irrelevant. Most women have no need of such shrill self-aggrandisement. The laddettes who shag ten guys a night and can drink most blokes under the table are the real feminists; except with names like ‘Chardonnay’ or ‘Cheryl’ tattooed on their tits, they’re just too common for words, my dear. Or what about the lap-dancers, or ‘hostesses’ or prostitutes who exploit pathetic blokes who couldn’t score in a brothel? Or how about the under-age single mothers who don’t think having a kid at fifteen will be the end of civilisation? Or what about the grannies who look after the sprogs while mummy is out working or enjoying herself on a Friday night? They’ve got a bloody sight more Feminism in their tiny pinky, than most of the vapid, irreflective tarts with their Lower Seconds in Earth Studies and Finger Painting who have nothing better to do than read their own blogs and entries in Face Book; to ask themselves and their like-minded coterie, “Does my Ego look big in this?” Not so much a witch hunt as a bitch hunt.

Copyright. John J McCabe.