No holds barred Battle of the Sexes

By Kris Kotarski

     What’s the deal with women?

Why are they even allowed out in public? Don’t get me wrong, I like the good-looking ones, but why do they have to open their mouths? Wouldn’t the world be a better place if they just knew their role and stayed in the kitchen?

This brings us to Ruth Davenport. She tries to defend the female subspecies–that nasty, illogical, feeble and generally useless derivative of humankind. Miss Davenport is obviously suffering from one of two things. It’s either penis envy or PMS. As we all know PMS stands for both pre-menstrual and post-menstrual syndrome and covers anywhere from 28 to 31 days every month. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Aside from being linked to the lunar cycle in a rather nasty way, Miss Davenport insists that both sexes should be treated equally.

Equal? Are you serious? How can women be equal when their greatest assets hang "inconspicuously" from their chests? How can they be equal when they can’t do normal household chores because their knockers get in they way? Every trip to the store, every laundry basket carried, even the seemingly easy task of running is hindered by two, hopefully large, offshoots from their chest.

And what’s the deal with math? Seriously, it’s not that hard. I guess simple logic is also beyond the grasp of females, as is reading and speaking coherently. Funny, I never thought driving standard or letting people merge on the freeway involved logic, yet here we are. The inability to think straight precludes women from almost any task in life, short of kitchen work and nursing children until they become useful. With their "amazing" mental capacity, women connect to pointless and babbling infants much easier than men. Women should be barefoot and pregnant, but if they must do something they should try to pick their spots a little better. Instead of a real profession like journalism, Miss Davenport should pursue a more feminine line of work like that of a Playboy bunny, a housemaid or a ho in a Snoop Doggy Dogg video.

Seriously, why can’t all women be like Anna Kournikova? She’s hot, she doesn’t speak much and as soon as it becomes legal she’ll play tennis naked. Take your cue from Anna, Miss Davenport, she’s made a life for herself and she never has to do any math, driving, reading or heavy lifting. Hell, she doesn’t even have to win any tournaments. She plays tennis and looks pretty. That’s what being female should be all about. It’s a shame by the time she turns 30 she’ll lose all her finer features. We might as well shoot them all once they turn 35 and the kids are grown up. By then, they’ve outlived their usefulness.

In short, this is what’s wrong with women: They eat too much, they gossip and they have no sense of direction. They own too many pairs of shoes, they don’t understand that it’s firemen for a reason, and they ask questions they don’t want the answers to.

"Does that make me look fat?" asks Miss Davenport. Yes. Yes it does.


     I have a feeling Mr. Kotarski is compensating for something.

Well, I suppose I don’t know that. I suppose it’s very possible that Mr. Kotarski, like every other man on the face of the planet, is simply intimidated by the concept of a woman. So intimidated, such that a woman who walks upright, talks in multisyllable words and does generally better than him in all walks of life–including getting some–that he’s degenerated into this sad, sad state of demeaning me and all the other glorious, beautiful women I speak on behalf of.

Then again, Mr. Kotarski’s visible head is so small and furry, I be-lieve he must be compensating for something.

Can you believe I’ve never actually seen a butter churn? To the best of my knowledge, they’re just about big enough to fit the snivelling excuse for humanity that is Mr. Kotarski. They also come fitted with a handy little pole used for pummeling said snivelling excuse, all the while chanting "I’m! Not! An! Animal! You! Cretin!"

I’m very amused by Mr. Kotarski’s fixation on women’s breasts; we fixate on that which we cannot have, which tells me that Mr. Kotarski spends many nights alone since being weaned from his mama’s breast. Talk about an Oedipal complex. I’m told he actually couldn’t type his part of this argument due to crippling wrist injuries brought on by too many late nights spent in the company of Kleenex, vaseline and a film called "Good Will Humping."

Though Mr. Kotarski believes women to be good for nothing other than sex, he cannot speak on this subject with any authority–even the plastic dolls spontaneously deflate if he so much as looks at them.  I’m willing to bet his carnal conquests are seriously hampered by the fact that he has not yet found a way to secure the Velcro properly. I truly believe the ‘Y’ chromosome is Mother Nature giving voice to a deep and abiding sorrow: "Why, why, why do I deserve this?" she may well ask. No woman on earth is quite certain why the mutton-fisted apes called men were included in the equation for life. A world populated by only women would be perfect. We would have read the instruction manual and stopped to ask for directions. Men seem unable to resist this need to beat their chests (there’s that breast obsession again…) and dominate everything in sight in a desperate need to assert their superiority. This alpha male concept–yeah, that’s logical. The guy with the loudest snorts, the smelliest farts, and can beat himself the most times over the head with his own club is the winner? Mmm. Nothing but intellect behind that one.

Ah yes, Mr.Kotarski, you may well wonder why women were ever allowed out in public. The simple reason being that we are that good. You can’t begin to argue with that. And since you seem to have attached so much importance to women’s breasts and lack of logical skills, I’ll put this in a language you’re sure to understand: Two boobs are better than one penis any day.


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