Emerald Bile

I am totally and utterly sick of men, and no I am not coming on. When they are born, baby men piss in your face at every nappy change. When they are older they sometimes ask you to piss in their faces - which might be entertaining if it weren't utterly fucking odd as all get out - but generally men continue to piss on women, with their selfish, self-obsessed, whining, selfish, self-centred, fucking self-regarding, self-absorbed, selfish, fucking cuntery.

Men who seem exciting quickly turn into the most tedious slipper-toting bores - yapping on about machines, or buying and selling things for a ludicrously small amount of profit or loss on some gay online auction. Men who once admired provocative and exciting clothing on the female form will soon tent their wives in ghastly fat- face rugby shirts and comfortable jeans in a weak, Turkish bid to keep other men away. My sister Maud had a boyfriend who was desperate to get her to wear dungarees, DUNGAREES - the lesbian wardrobe staple- to hide her legs away from other leering males, and I had one who used to try and shove me into Laura Ashley, and liked round toed shoes. Needless to say those two aren't on the scene any more.

And then there are the biscuit restrictors- men who lack will-power and fuss about their weight, who can't bear to see anyone else tucking into a hob nob. Even women like me who eat their own weight in chips and pies and chocolate and remain skinny and never, ever go on about being fat or eating healthily, can get a biscuit restrictor hovering frantically, ready to whip the packet away and hide it - just so they, the pathetic males, can eat the biscuits later and then beat themselves up in a frenzy of weak-willed self-hatred. I fucking hate men who whine about their weight it is just beyond gay. Be a fat bastard - or don't be one - I don't care. Just don't tell everyone else what they should be eating as some of us want to eat things we like - rather than fucking lettuce.

And then there are those awful cockmongers who enter into toxic relationships with women, where each party removes a right from the other - like a vile, restrictive game of Jenga: "I don't want you seeing so and so". "Right, then I don't want you going to the football". "Okay, well then in that case, I don't want you to go out with people from work if there are men there". "Fine, well as long as you are happy not to go on the golf weekend then that's fine by me". "Okay - but you aren't wearing those shoes outside of the bedroom" and on and fucking on until both parties are boxed in and as miserable as sin, and all that remains is for them to stare at each other until they die of boredom - occasionally breaking the deathly monotony with a trip to B and Q to buy a stone ornament for the garden, or painting the bedroom a slightly different colour.

Worst of all are those fucking dickheads who won't tell you what is wrong - I absolutely loathe those cunts. "What's wrong?" you ask them "Nothing" they say. If I wanted to have that kind of conversation, I'd hang around a girls' school playground. Fucking nonces.
Noreen

Update!!!
This man isn't a cunt - go read him. Deep and thoughtful debate on my favourite subject.
http://youjustdontknowjack.blogspot.com/