“If women ran the world, we wouldn’t have wars, just intense negotiations every twenty-eight days.” Thus observed the inimitable Robin Williams.
It’s just too damned funny not to appreciate, and I love it, but dammit, Robin, I’m starting to doubt you on this one.
Too many war-crazy women, is why. Too many extremists, too many mean women, too many greedy and power-hungry women.
Just like men, as it so happens.
So friends, it’s time to put gender aside in a few places—namely the Presidential race, since that’s the clusterfuck of the day.
Of course I’d love to have a woman President. Of course I would.
But not just any ol’ woman politician.
I mean, I can gay-run-dam-tee you I was no kind of excited when Big-Gulp-totin’, Russia-watchin’ Sarah Palin was a breath away from becoming our VP.
Oh, hell no.
And dammit all to hell, I’d be hella more excited over an altogether different female candidate than Hillary Clinton.
I’m still not so sure that I, an all-out left-leaner, will vote for this candidate who has done zero—if not less!—to earn my vote, but never mind all that, because believe it or not, that’s not why I’m coming to you today.
I’m here today to inform you that:
No matter how much I may or may not loathe or love any particular woman candidate, I hereby want it known that I will not judge her by a different set of standards than I judge a man in the same situation.
Women are held to a separate, more fickle, and highly chauvinistic set of standards than men are, but Hillary Clinton has endured an especially ridiculous type of vitriol—people have lashed out with a hatred that far too often is nothing more than thinly disguised flesh-eating woman-bashing.
Which is just all kinds of wrong, so I have therefore put together a new policy on the matter, which applies to all women in politics, no matter how left or right or stuck in the center she may be.
Therefore, let it be known that—
It doesn’t matter what a woman wears to, say, campaign for President, or what her hair looks like, or what jewelry she has on.
Unless, of course, it matters to the same degree what President Obama or Paul Ryan or Donald Trump wears, or how they do their hair, or even if they wear a giant, sparkly pinky ring, for God’s sake.
(Obviously, What’s-His-Face has his own special hair game going, but you get my point.)
For example, we don’t turn on the TV the day after the State of the Union address to hear newscasters talking about the cut of President Obama’s $1500 navy blue Armani pantsuit, or his understated blue paisley tie, or how his make-up didn’t blend well at his jaw.
A woman shall not be called a bitch or deemed to be “bitchy.”
This is nothing more than a lazy excuse to belittle and invalidate a woman, and illustrates that the accuser is intellectually weak with nothing substantial to say.
Look, I’ve made no secret of the fact that the Democratic nominee is far from my choice, but regardless of my druthers, Hillary Clinton is strong. But we call women “bitches” over the same behaviors we call men “strong,” which is, as we all know, a double-standard.
How about the next time Ted Cruz and Donald Trump get in a tussle, we call it a bitchfest? So can you see my point here?
Along the same lines, the words “cunt” and “whore” and “feminazi” and so forth have nothing to do with anything, are highly uncreative, and are, of course, sexist, and thereby render the user’s comments invalid. Or should I say “impotent.”
A woman’s voice shall not be called “shrill.” I don’t care if she sounds like Fran Drescher.
Words like “emotional” and “hysterical” shall no longer describe female politicians only—please use these words on any and every gender if they are used at all.
Any discussion or mere mention of gender-specific anatomy is off-limits, even in jest. Especially in jest, actually. Jeez.
A woman’s weight and figure are irrelevant. So are Chris Christie’s, for that matter, bless his suffering little heart.
Strong-and-powerful-woman does not equal lesbian. Or man in disguise. Come on.
References of any sort to a woman’s menstrual cycle should result in public ridicule of every lazy SOB who resorts to them.
Rape jokes are never funny. Ever.
I’m sure I’ve left something out, so what have I missed, all you fair-minded readers? Let me know in the comments below!
p.s. The picture above of Iron Lady, Margaret Thatcher is from Simon Doonan‘s window display in Barney’s NYC. (That’s a department store, in case you didn’t know.) Doonan described the look on Thatcher’s face as “having identified a foul odor.”
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