Written by Mahavishnu BBZ

Saturday, 22 November 2008


The story you are trying to access may cause offense, may be in poor taste, or may contain subject matter of a graphic nature. This story was written as a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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image for Sexist Britain - Letting the bitch know whos boss
Yes, she wears trousers.

Well, no doubt you are trying to read this fantastic, humourous, well-crafted piece of literature with your pleased eyeballs, and somewhere off in the distance you can hear a buzzing. You really want to plough on with this article, hoping, yearning, almost praying that it will give you an excuse to behave like the belligerent, misogynistic, self-satisfying prick you know and pretend to despise. You dare not allow that buzzing to begin clarifying itself into words, because you know deep down, at a primal level, that it is the keening cry of the bovinus persistiium, or nagging cow.

For the sake of your testosterone, to retain some meaning to the term 'alpha-male', in order to show you possess a pair of 'cojones grande', I implore you not to give in to these cries my brothers! The whore indoors will try every trick in the book, and a stack of other tricks in an unpublished edition that us guys don't know about. Be strong my brethren, we must fight this common enemy for the sake of our sanity!

"Are you going to sit on your ample arse all day reading that bloody stupid comic website?" she will enquire, using multiple attack methods in one sentence; Lets count them. (i)a dig at our weight, (ii) a reference to our idleness (notwithstanding the ironic importance of said lazing), (iii) a slighting of our choice of reading material, (iv) reducing us to children with the 'comic' reference. These devious beasts are so powerfully artistic that they can make us feel humble yet angry in seconds flat.

However, as time goes on in your relationship, you learn to separate these emotions becoming either (a) the anger-driven crockery breaker, not a good choice really, as you know eventually this will lead to spousal violence and she will have won, and probably has 6 brothers waiting to do a myriad of pain inducing procedures on those 'cojones shrinking rapidly', all in the name of 'don't mess wiv family.' (b) the humility driven cuckold, who, 6 months down the line will be driving his screaming wench to her sordid Bingo & Bouncer shagging Friday nights out with 'the girls' (all who, by this time have bigger cojones than yours, which have disappeared, possibly in a late night snack for el bitcho.)

Still reading? Good! All is not lost yet, but the road gets even more curvaceous now, like her best mate. She who comes around to see your lass, can only stay for a 'quick coffee', yet whines on for 5 hours about fuck all whilst you hide in the loo reading back issues of 'FatLad', because its really great, then when she leaves, you emerge to be accused of 'eyeing her up' when in truth you couldn't even say whether she wore a jacket, blouse, skirt of jeans as your eyeballs daren't even be in the same postcode as her curves.

So, where does that leave us? 1 Creek, no paddle? Almost. But what's this? Finally, an article fitting for a men's publication that is going to help me on my quest for equality with the beast of vaginal yeast. I can almost hear your cries of relief my kindred spirits, here, set out in 3 simple sentences below, are the ways to turn the tables once and for all on your beloved, and take the reins as head of the household for good. Ready?

OK, - ONE It is a little known fact that . . . . shit, that's, oh god, that's the front door, she's back! And guess who hasn't done the pots! Boy am I in for one drum shattering earful. Catch you next month my fellow mice. Solidarity lads.

Disclaimer: If my better half ever gets to read this, let me just tell you the truth princess. I had a crazed Glaswegian with a loaded flare-gun pressed to the side of my head to make me write these horrid words about you lovely girls. You know I wouldn't ever DARE do anything as awful as any of these beastly things almost written here, assuming there was ever going to be anything negative about you wonderful amazons who allow us to share the planet with you. And I apologise profusely. Pwease say I'm still your cute ikkle puppy dog?

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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