Caution

There’s a saying “Women, can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em”. I don’t see why not. Those men that travel on the other bus seem to reach their destination quite gaily. Conversely the rug munchers, with their double oestrogen dose, are stroppy, miserable huwoman beings.

There’s another saying “Behind every successful man there’s a woman” but I bet behind every unsuccessful man there are two women. I bet they’re both complaining as well.

Rather than us carping about broads we should arrange the mother of all easter egg hunts and incarcerate the cells in test tubes – that’d get ova the problem. No more walks with a clothes-horse that hasn’t been shod properly. No more balls thrown all of ten metres: seriously ladies if you think we’ll bother retrieving that then you’re as stupid as you look.

And what’s with the makeup? Fake-up more like, I mean it’s false representation and the application of makeup should only be permissible when it’s in a car and the odd slam of the brakes makes it entertaining. Unless you’re Marilyn Manson, in which case you don’t need the car ride – nor, seemingly, a mirror.

Women are, furthermore, a total nightmare when they’re riding the cotton pony. And for a fortnight before. And for the week after – d’ya see the pattern here? Only exorcism can improve these she-devils.

It’s also true that the female of the species are more deadly than the male, just ask John Bobbit. The worst serial killer in history was a woman: Countess Bathory murdered over 600 apparently – that’s serious pmt. It’s not as bad as it seems as some of the victims were likely to be women.

It’s not that I’m a misogynist, it’s mainly that they steal food and that’s a cardinal sin. We’re not talking Winona Ryder in a supermarket. It’s they say they don’t want any French fries and then steal them off someone else, usually their partners, but not always. I knew a waitress at a truckers’ pit stop café called Maureen, (the waitress, not the café) tho’ everyone called her Moron. She was such a slut I’d called her a box of assorted creams. Anyway she’d always take a couple of fries, till one guy punched her so hard in the mouth those fries punctured her perineum. She deserved it. Food is sacred. Or if you’re dyslexic, food is scared – and I imagine it is: would you fancy being a hotdog in the hands of some fat American kid?

The other problem is they don’t have a volume control and the moaning is relentless. “Oh Toddy, look what you’ve done” oh stfu + clean it if it bothers you that much, but of course you can’t say that. I heard there are two theories about arguing with women and neither of them work so save your breath and use it on a Bendy Wendy instead.