I wrote this last year sometime when I was young and unknowledgable. And .. sexist by the looks of it. I was just sorting out my folders and I found this little thing I write about women.
Women, no real purpose in life except to give birth, cook and clean around your humble abode. Just put your feet up and stick your nose into the sport section of the free newspaper that is rudely propelled onto your hallway floor at seven in the morning, waking you up when the letterbox clatters back and forth like a cat, entering and re-entering the house through the cat flap, deciding whether to stay outside or snuggle in front of the television as you try to watch Newcastle’s first decent game all season.
As the Hoover pushes your legs out of the way to pick up the remaining patch of biscuit crumbs, you seem to learn when to drop your feet as the strong vacuum of the rosy-cheeked smiley faced machine stares you in the eyes with a glint of satisfaction, like he has done the job well and nothing can do better. Well that is until Christmas comes around again and along with a tie and a pair of black socks you receive the latest Dyson product with tubes and brushes that you never know where to attach.
Blonde or brunette does not really matter when every woman still has the mental attitude of a parrot. Annoyingly nagging at every word you say, chiselling down your attention span to a sloth being taught a lesson of double algebra with a side-dish of fractions whenever you feel the urge for a nibble. Even stuffing a handful of LSD down the sloth’s throat would still make it dose off in an uncontrollable urge to yawn. That would be a minor problem compared to the outrage from animal rights protestors across the nation and the overall anger of the RSPCA.
As all men know, hair colour is not the only thing they look for in their “perfect women” (if there is such a thing). The breasts situated on the female’s chest. No matter how young or old a man is, the breasts are looked upon during any encounter with a woman. However hard a man tries to pull a woman with at least a D-cup size bra, there is always an easy way. He would simply have to book a flight to Berlin, enter a beer drinking contest and sneak behind the delivery lorry with an obese German yodelling man. Not only would a life-time guarantee of sausages and beer, but also a perfectly sized pair of “man-boobs”, more than any women could offer!
