http://www.radaronline.com/exclusives/2007/02/british-mp-blames-picky-ladies-for-uks-demise.php

By Sarah Horne 02/01/07 1:50 PM

"A British Minister of Parliament, Boris Johnson (MP-Henley), is
proving that retro attitudes in England aren't limited to matters of
race. In "I'll Tell You Why Women Are Running Out of Men to Marry," an
op-ed for the Telegraph today, Johnson weighs in on the Dowd-trodden
phenomenon of overeducated women who are unable to find mates, blaming
the picky singletons for a decline in social mobility in the UK....."

Oh dear, Boris has upset all the girly-boys with those comments you can bet on it.

About now they will all be empathising like mad and running around the house with a mobile phone clamped to their ears talking furiously to "Janet" or, "Denise" and screeching things like, "Oh, I know!" And, "Yes, I know!" And, "You would have thought one of the 'sisters' would have framed Johnson for sexual harassment by now, wouldn't you?" in reply to everything they hear, in a effort to appear interested in what the other twat is talking about and with the other hand they will be masturbating like fury over an image of 'Richard' taken directly from the Richard and Judy web site.

Being a subtle sort of chap, not given to angry rants and getting the wrong end of the stick, (Ahem!) it came as a shock to me one day last summer when out shopping in Camden market with my grown up daughter, when our private conversation was suddenly interrupted by an eves dropper whose "eve" was being dropped inches from the back of our heads.

This 'New Man' type had heard me say, "I hate Camden at the best of times - all these bloody females stinking of Putuli Oil because soap is a stranger to them and their white "dreadlocks" are designated as mobile wildlife preserves by Prince Bloody Charles and his weirdo friends in the, 'I'm-more-green-than-you' Chelsea set. I mean, look at that idiot with the kid in a papoose strapped inches away from her stoned face!" I then indicated with a curl of my lip and a slight movement of my head, a nearby female who was licking an ice cream that was dripping milky white deposits on her crying child's head and who was staring vaguely into space as she fingered a T-Shirt that had a slogan on it which read, "Greens do it in the garden." Her other hand was held in a death like grip by a terrifyingly butch lesbian, who I would bet, worked for Camden Council as a special advisor on all things patriarchal/heterosexual and death camp building related matters.

I then turned back to my daughter and said, "That poor kid is going to grow up in some smelly bed sit somewhere in the back streets of Camden, convinced that reality is a fog of dope smoke and the ceaseless whirring of vibrators and assorted dildos. It's hero's will be chairman Mao, Dennis Skinner, Germain Greer and Tony Blair and its favourite toy will be a Peter Mandelson action figure that comes complete with a free Ken Livingstone doll dressed in drag and which has its own make up set and London congestion charge planner."

At this point in my harangue against new age hippydom and the loony lefties that were all around me like a vaguely hostile tribe of right-on, deeply suppressed, angst ridden, wankers, I was gratified to note that my daughter was almost crying with laughter. Encouraged by this and the fact that she had been miserable all week because her boyfriend of two weeks had gone back to Spain and "deserted her." I carried on and it was then that I upset the 'eve carrier' behind me and caused the idiot to drop his load.

"I know you are a woman, darling." I said to my daughter. "And I don't blame you for that. It was just the luck of the draw. " I added, for extra comedic effect. "But, surely.., even you, with your limited intellect, poor vehicle reversing skills and inability to grasp logical thought, can understand that this poor kid is doomed to a life of endless lefty rallies against female victimisation by multi-national conglomerates - who demonstrate their evil patriarchal control over women by daring to make a profit from the sale of Tampax - and a diet of muesli, pasta and smoothies." I paused and watched as my daughter turned purple and found herself unable to speak because she was convulsed.

You see, my daughter understood that I was taking the piss and not being [very] serious. Something the eve carrier behind me missed.

Ask any comic and he will tell you that the worst possible thing in life happens when you have your audience helpless with laughter and some twat takes it upon himself to start heckling you. In the next few moments, standing there in the boiling heat of a global warming inspired summer, and surrounded by a huge heaving mass of sweating, pressing bodies, I understood how that feels.

"I bet she and her lover-thingy spend endless hours discussing the virtue of crystal based meditation as a means of achieving world peace while at the same time, believing with all their hippy hearts, that unlimited abortion is in the, "best interests of the child."

No sooner had I uttered the unspoken full stop at the end of that sentence than I felt a bony finger tap me on the shoulder. I turned to see a another new age hippy type white male, resplendent in, yes you have guessed it, unwashed dreadlocks. He was wearing dark blue corduroy trousers and open sandals and sported a white T-Shirt with a large printed blood stain on the front beneath which, in tiny letters it said, "Fur Free Equals Guilt Free."

As soon as I read it, I knew this twat had never had a moment of guilt free living in his life. I could just picture him being force fed Muesli in a dope smoke haze of a nearby bed sit, to the tune of a whirring vibrator.

He was about twenty years old, but his eyes said he was over eighty. Astonishingly, I noticed he had wisps of grey hair at his temples. Whether by the vagaries of some underground fashion statement, or the endless worry about his personal space being invaded by right wing reactionary "normals," I was unable to tell. Evidently, he was unable to tell that he had just tapped a right wing reactionary space invader's shoulder because, if he had, he would not have said what next came spilling from his fried lefty brain.

"It's people like you that have oppressed women for centuries and you should be ashamed of yourself talking to her like that."

Martine, who was by now, almost apoplectic, stared at this confused youff with a sort of, "Oh shit! Bad move." expression in her eyes while at the same time, her face was jerking from the effort of trying not to guffaw in public. She lost that battle entirely in the next few seconds.

"Who are you poking?" I began. Aggressively. I felt it was important to dominate this cretin in a typical right wing reactionary way in order to establish a general sense of evolutionary pecking order and because I hate being poked by left leaning strangers, on hot days, in Camden market.

He literally gulped. I saw it. A genuine gulp, that forced his Adam's Apple to resemble an over excited child on a bouncy castle. The fact that I was a good six inches taller than him. Weighed about a 100 pounds more. Obviously ate meat and had a look in my eyes that screamed, "I may kill you in public if the mood strikes me," may have caused the gulp.

I never got his name. We were never really formally introduced, but I am willing to bet he was called either Jeremy or Ken. I have noticed from watching BBC output that almost all, loud mouth, interfering, nosey, I-wanna-rule-your-thinking, would-be lefty male bullies, are called, either Jeremy or Ken. (Paxman, Clarkson and Livingstone spring to mind. Female lefty bullies tend to be called Jo, or Natasha. As in, Brand and Kaplinski).

[Editors note: In the interests of political balance and general spite, I should point out that Liberal bullies do not exist. Being threatened by a member of the Liberal party is tantamount to be threatened by an occasionally pissed off salad.]

The thing that had poked me finished his gulping and took an involuntary step backwards as he lost his sense of outrage and felt it replaced by a general sense of grim foreboding. I stepped forwards, as all good space invaders should and loomed large and pissed off over him.

"Run away!" I roared.

"Wha..." He stammered.

"Run away!" I roared again. Holding a large bunched fist close to the end of his nose. "I can feel a patriarchal urge to beat a sense of humour into you. I may not be able to contain this testosterone rush more that a few seconds."

He gulped again.

Martine lost the plot and publicly guffawed.

He ran [well, sort of, politiley pushed his way through the throng, really] away.

OK. So what is the point? The point is that Boris, bless him, is taking the piss and the new men and rabid feminist lefties out there, who along with losing all sense of rational proportionality years ago, also lost touch with reality as their single and deeply oppressed mums fed them feminist bullshit every day and a diet of barely edible tasteless mush, bought with the money left over from a huge giro cheque and annual forced payments extracted from an absent, half forgotten father. After dope buying, rampant and pointless shopping and absurd patriarchal inspired Tampax expenses have been taken into account too, to be fair.

Though Boris would never have the guts to say this, (He's a politician after all) the real reason women are not finding men to marry them is that most heterosexual men eschew homosexuality and therefore, the idea of marrying something that swears and drinks like your dad. Thinks it is a man in all respects and resembles a docker in drag, complete with tattoos, is abhorrent. They may sleep with her because she has all the required bits and they at least, still resemble something vaguely feminine, but marry them? Good grief no! Apart from anything else, marriage these days is like working for years to be in a position to buy a house and then giving it away. Who the hell wants to do that?

The cynics among us might remark, "But that is exactly what the feminised left want!"

And they would be right!

As for Boris, he is just joking right? Boris? I mean, you ARE just joking...right?

George Rolph.