There are a few things women adore quoting until it’s not convenient. “Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did, backwards and in high heels.” Another favourite is the idea that “behind every great man is a great woman.” Women just love to brag about how easily they manipulate men but don’t let that concept interfere with their brutal theory of Patriarchy.
Honesty just isn’t convenient sometimes. If you consider it both briefly and in depth, it is much more pleasing to control events from the background while letting men place themselves at public risk. According to women, they have historically pulled the strings of men while men took all the responsibility for the consequences of those actions. If you look closely at a woman’s blank face when the shit hits the fan you will usually find a subtle half hidden smile behind a look of innocence while she feigns shock and disdain. Like a child with her hollow, practiced eyes asking “Who? Me?”
So, Ms. Rogers, what about your uncanny ability to do everything backwards? Women have demanded the right to enter the classic domain of men: the workplace.
Feminists insist that we are capable of doing everything a man can do and we can do it better. When we don’t do it better it’s because men had the environment rigged to our disadvantage. Where did those high heels go? Remember dear Woxan, you can do everything backwards and in your sleep. Don’t like the crude jokes? Don’t like kissing ass to get ahead? Don’t like being ordered around like a toddler? So then, at what point did you find evidence that men never navigated the same odorous oceans just to put lard in you larder and a new SIM card in your iPhone?
Alice Schwarzer debated with Esther Vilar, and made her case for the oppressive life of the housewife. If the husband comes home exhausted and drained, worried about his career not going anywhere, she then has the onerous task of having to give him courage again, saying “Oh Darling! But you are so brave!”
To Schwarzer, and her feminist posse, this expectation stands out as a subtle abuse of the female psyche. Oddly, when a woman asserts her workplace is asking too much of her, she totters back on her high heels as society grinds to a halt. With a smirk on her powdered face she claps her hands as the government raids their coffers to bail her out. Then of course, the entire workplace is forced to change to support her emotional needs.
So how have women improved our workplace? Sure, they can do it all but they can’t do it without crying, hugging, bullying each other, or suing their workmates until “sensitivity training” became an industry unto itself. Feminists have proudly developed and grown a wide range of employment sectors based solely on catering to their emotional workplace requirements while simultaneously claiming they can do everything a man can do. That is some fancy footwork indeed, and I agree it is quite backwards.
Of course, the argument goes that making the workplace a blubbering emotional roller coaster with the occasional twist of sociopathic bling has somehow improved productivity. Recently I watched a battery of these gynaecological wonders ejecting their target male out of a position of management. They were busy self-congratulating when I asked the awkward question:
“What are you going to do if they replace him with a woman?”
A sudden, fearful silence resulted. Ahhh, they hadn’t planned that far ahead.
I don’t claim to be the voice of reason here, I only pay attention to the circus because it’s highly entertaining. Despite cries of unfair stereotyping, we women are the first to admit amongst ourselves that working for men is a much easier task. Women are high maintenance, trust me.
I have no doubt that women aspire to be seen as compassionate, life giving, creative, and nurturing by virtue of their nature. We care a great deal about how we are viewed. However, there is a big difference to how you are perceived and how you really are. If you believe what Schwarzer said, then that means being supportive of others, including your life partner, is a lot of hard work for women. Thus, it’s not our nature after all is it?
Feminists thrive on presenting women as the helpless child. They cheerlead their own methods of making life easier for women by blaming it all on men because, with infantile ineptitude, they believe all of our flaws stem from an outside source.
To believe the droll quotes they are so fond of, you must forget that men are controlled by the women in their lives. Only then can we see that feminists are hiding behind their myth of “Patriarchy” to explain their own shortcomings. They can’t work in the same building with a man unless the man has completed a “sensitivity” training course on how women expect him to behave. Women don’t want to learn how to use wit and savvy to stand their ground when it’s more convenient to eliminate all social challenges. Why have a sense of humour when it’s so much easier to just get someone else fired?
Women ask for your indulgence and special attention, but indulgence usually comes at a cost. Sometimes that price tag reflects the value, but sometimes it would have been better spent in a condom dispenser. A woman claiming she can handle the workplace is often as deceiving as her assertion that she is on the pill while strategically forgetting to take her daily dose. While feminists struggle to expand ownership of their sexuality they insist on punishing those who view them sexually. While they insist they are tough enough to stand high-heel to workboot, they want the workplace to adapt to their feminine needs.
Might we dare to ask ourselves if they are serving the greater good or just fucking with us?
If women want to dance in the boardroom they don’t need high heels, they don’t need a fluffer for their crying pillows, and they don’t need a donut shaped conch to pass from bitch to bitch; they need to get a backbone and stop expecting to be treated like vulnerable children playing at being grown-ups.
In the dystopian boardroom of the Woxan world everyone joins the circle and holds hands. They take a moment to affirm the beauty of their inner spiritual selves. “Repeat after me,” their metronome leader conducts, “I am divine. People like me. I radiate perfection and bring a unique light to the world around me.” This mantra fills the room in a self-reverent chant until it reaches a crescendo and shudders to a quiet sigh.
The clock ticks, but they have learned that time robs. That clock on the wall is an evil man-device used by “the Patriarchy” to control the creative energy of the female. The circle collapses because they seat their royal behinds and whip out a tit. Those with present offspring suckle the infant served to their laps by male attendants. These men display the appropriate reverence for this basic life-giving task and acknowledge their inability to produce the required mammalian bodily fluids while averting their eyes in shame.
Before reviewing the quarterly stats the Woxen take a moment to complete any unfinished tasks that might disrupt their ability to multi-task. Once the phone calls are completed and their make-up repaired in ever-handy compact mirrors stashed within purses, it is announced that business is hovering at a happy medium somewhere between “good” and “fulfilling.” In celebration they pass around a tray full of unfertilized eggs and ceremoniously hurl them at a new male intern who dutifully steps forward to receive their blessings. The ritual is complete, the roses hit the stage and the lights dim. The meeting is proclaimed to be a success for the mere fact that it happened.
Surely I jest? I wish it were the case. While the modern Woxan waxes poetic and moans about the growing “Peter Pan” epidemic, the concern is that young men are spending their time playing video games while women buckle down and do the hard work of shopping. Men are simply slacking off with their duty to marry a woman who will strip them of their dreams and laden them with guilt for not placing her materialistic goals above his own happiness.
Feminism has staked its claim: It wants women to have greater access to more stuff. It wants to improve the purchasing power of women under the guise that owning shit makes you happy. In order to accomplish this, women didn’t tackle the job of competing for resources, they have simply demanded the resources lay themselves at their pedicured feet. Women haven’t gotten bored of pleasing men, they got bored of waiting for men to please them.
We now live in a world in which if you take the time to actually ask a man what his dreams are he will probably speak to you of his fractured sleeping pattern. He has long since forgotten what it means to have a dream.
It’s time for us to meet in a different boardroom. We need to stop being in the business of shutting down dreams for the sake of trying to dance backwards and sideways in six inch stilettos.
My dream keeps me awake at night. How well do you sleep?
