Amanda can’t fisk this, but I bet I can (although I admit to being less sure when I got to the bottom of the page and saw the link to page 2).
Long story short: Women, why did we ever give them the vote?
Long story longer: Charlotte Adam just can not stop typing when it comes to talking about women, and how much they suck. I can’t imagine how she managed to get that many words onto the screen on this topic, seeing as she must have been stopping frequently to look at her own hands and/or faint reflection in computer screen and shudder or sob quietly for at least a few seconds. Maybe it was cathartic, and when she finally put the final period on the final sentence, she sighed a great sigh of relief, knowing that for a little while at least she was no longer unclean.
Charlotte has noticed that Obamamania has swept the nation, with girls going wild over the man who could be our sexiest president since Kennedy. And like our first Catholic president, our first black president can work an audience like no one’s business.
“He did not flinch when women screamed as he was in mid-sentence, and even broke off once to answer a female’s cry of ‘I love you, Obama!’ with a reassuring ‘I love you back.’ ” Women screamed? What was this, the Beatles tour of 1964? And when they weren’t screaming, the fair-sex Obama fans who dominated the rally of 16,000 were saying things like: “Every time I hear him speak, I become more hopeful.” Huh?
Let me help you deconstruct that last sentence, Charlotte: Whenever this one woman listens to Obama’s speeches, she feels more of an emotion called hope. You’re probably unfamiliar with this feeling, having been dead inside ever since that traumatic ceremony that marked your entry into “honorary guy” status, but basically it means that Obama’s message makes this woman feel excited by the possibility that he can make the future better than the present. The more Obama speaks, the greater this feeling becomes in her heart. Probably, it’s because he outlines policies that, if enacted, she feels would make her life and the lives of others better.
Or, it’s because she’s a stupid irrational cuntbag who poses a danger to herself and those around her merely by existing. Your call.
I can’t help it, but reading about such episodes of screaming, gushing and swooning makes me wonder whether women — I should say, “we women,” of course — aren’t the weaker sex after all. Or even the stupid sex, our brains permanently occluded by random emotions, psychosomatic flailings and distraction by the superficial. Women “are only children of a larger growth,” wrote the 18th-century Earl of Chesterfield. Could he have been right?…Depressing as it is, several of the supposed misogynist myths about female inferiority have been proven true.
Women like bad television and sappy media, self-help books and romance stories; Hillary Clinton’s staff is a bunch of man-hating Amazon dykes and she herself isn’t even smart enough to fire them at the right time. Also, goddam are women neurotic.
Of course, not all women do these things, either — although enough do to make one wonder whether there isn’t some genetic aspect of the female brain, something evolutionarily connected to the fact that we live longer than men or go through childbirth, that turns the pre-frontal cortex into Cream of Wheat.
Men don’t call in sick when they’re really just taking a personal day, men aren’t hypochondriacs, men like only good television and serious books, and men don’t pussyfoot around with soft-core porn in romance novel form, no sir, they like it hard, hot and violent. (or was Charlotte’s soft-core porn remark not supposed to remind us who is driving the hard-core porn market?) Men are so much better than women it’s not even funny. There’s probably a biological, immutable basis to this, tied to childbirth because there’s no way that women can do something men can’t without a cost being extracted somehow by benevolent natural forces. Oh, and gay men count as women.
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