The Feminist Mystique Squelched

Women are always complaining, regardless of the time of month. It started in the 1920s when they started whining about their voting rights, continued through the seventies with ridiculous songs like Helen Reddy's "I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar," and continues to this very day. And while I am all for women wearing pants, owning licenses, and having tampon dispensers in public restrooms, I just don't understand what they are still yammering on about. The feminist agenda parallels the female mind- both are unorganized, delusional and unnecessary.

One of the main arguments feminists make is some metaphorical nonsense about a "glass ceiling." Leave it up to women to make even politically correct terms sound like something from some Sylvia Plath sonnet. Anyway, this imaginary ceiling is supposedly blocking women from surpassing their male counterparts, making their paychecks worth less and their work less appreciated. Many women attribute these inequalities to sexism in the workplace and a lack of confidence spawned working in male-dominated establishments.

However, this track of thought is sheer stupidity invented by women to draw attention away from the fact that they are paid less because their work is simply substandard due to the female anatomy and mental capability. Woman can rarely even finish a task. In fact, I doubt any one woman will actually finish reading this very article.

The female species' lack of mental capability also explains why they are constantly contradicting themselves. First these broads want respect from their peers and then they go home and dissect every flaw of theirs, from the circumference of their thighs to the paint of their pinky toe. It just doesn't add up. And not only are women self-loathing but they also hate their own kind. Women don't have women friends, they just have friendly competition.

Every woman has either been the perpetrator or victim of boyfriend thief, vicious Internet altercations and/or harsh, ego-shattering judgment. I am sure that even in the National Organization for Women (NOW) there are plenty of catfights as the members viciously claw each other, criticizing their associates' campaign ideas and pantsuits.

This is the nature of the beast. Women are unappeasable because they don't know what they want. They are constantly contradicting themselves and each other, demanding the right to go out and work but then complaining that they are discriminated against when they go on baby makin' vacation. Even Ruddy's "I Am Woman," which is considered the anthem of the women's liberation movement, is at its core a contradiction. Not only was it co-written by a man (because a woman alone could not possible write such a monumental song) but many of the lyrics are nullify the message of the song.

"You can bend but never break me," Helen Ruddy sings both proclaiming her favorite sexual position while acknowledging her own physical and emotional limits.

She then goes on to boast that as a woman not only is she "strong" but also "invincible" but then counterclaims this with the line "but I'm still an embryo." Embryos are neither strong nor invincible, as all those femmy pro-choicers attest.  

If the feminist anthem is in fact a bunch of croc then by the transitive property, the entire feminist movement is as well. In fact, the only good kind of feminists are the ones that start R!ot grrl bands because at least those girls sound cool when they are griping about all their mundane drama. Every feminist other than Kathleen Hannah should just shut-up.

Listen toots, I know it hurts. Trust me. I, too, have been wronged by this cruel world. However, instead of getting all wishy-washy and writing to Oprah, I empowered myself my honing a craft. Instead of fighting a non-existent porcelain wall or whatever, I am proud to say that I can make an excellent cannoli and that my man has never been more satisfied.

Even famous feminist writers don't think women should strive to be anything more than a trained dog.

"Sir, a woman's composing is like a dog's walking on his hind legs. It is not done well, but you are surprised to find it done at all," Virginia Woolf wrote in her critically acclaimed novel "A Room of One's Own."

As Woolf implies, women shouldn't embarrass their species by trying to be something they are not. Be a feminist in the sense that you are proud of your inferiority. Hike up those skirts, warm-up those ovaries and make the best of the little that you have. After all, as the old adage goes, the only thing worse than a male chauvinistic pig is a feminist that won't do what she's told.

Writers Note: Before you fire-off an indignant e-mail to the Corsair, save yourself a shred of dignity and look the definition of "satire" and google "A Modest Proposal" first.