by Ben Kritikos
I’m going to take a break from talking about books. All this reading women has caused an eruption of empathy for the female dilemma.
Men are idiots. Not all men, of course. But most. They fuck everything up, from relationships, to economies, to the environment — even bands. People blame Yoko Ono, but the Beatles broke up because of John, Paul, George and Ringo: not anybody else.
Lately, I’ve noticed how intolerable so many men are to be around. Maybe it’s because of this project; maybe in 2011 I’ll be back to normal, all grunts and chuckles and punches in the arm. But at present, I find myself cringing about five times a week in the midst of conversations with male acquaintances.
Whether it be the description of a woman simply by referring to a piece of her anatomy, or bemoaning the inability of women-at-large to perform some simple task (like driving, or playing drums for example), or whether they jabber mercilessly about something they know fuck-all about — ach, men can really make me sick.
Don’t get me wrong, some women are capable of the same degree of stupidity. After all, people are people, and a doughnut is a doughnut no matter if it’s sugar-coated, glazed, filled with jam or a talk show host.
It’s men’s hubristic predominance that makes them offensive. Their stupidity seems impenetrable. When faced with a stupid man, you know the situation is most likely hopeless; he’ll almost certainly not level with you, or listen to reason, or be swayed to think about what he’s doing.
Men are like robots. Could you imagine Gordon Brown or David Cameron in the middle of a parliamentary verbal punch-up pausing to hold back the tears after a particularly scornful tirade? I doubt they ever even listen to each other. Even Margaret Thatcher, who is more unusually-tall-evil-munchkin than human, was caught on camera weeping when her party turned on her (and, incidentally, gave the world John Major, who lost his lips in a tragic arse-licking accident).
Why are men so thick? Just the other day I tried to put spaghetti into the kettle. I caught myself just in time, as I was laughing about some other man trying to cook a sausage by running it under hot water from the tap.
If you’re not convinced, just think of Jackass. Better yet, think of Dirty Sanchez — the Welsh equivalent. You won’t find women stapling their genitals to wooden planks, will you? No, I didn’t think so.
When the shit really hits the fan, and the guilty come out from their skyscraper hiding places to beg the government for multi-billion dollar (or pound) bail-outs, you’ll notice it’s a bunch of cocks doing the begging — literally and figuratively.
The only political party in England with a female leader is the Green Party; Caroline Lucas also happens to be the only party leader talking sense. The men seem to descend further and further into mudslinging as the election draws near.
Here’s my suggestion: give women 10 years to take charge of the world and fix the mess we’ve made over the course of history. That’s 10 years to put right what men have had an eternity to fuck up. I bet they could do it. So long as nobody invites Ann Widdecombe.
Who’s with me?