Another day another
political sex scandal. As the baying crowds rip and tear I crave a moment of
our collective valuable time to reflect on the real victim in all of these brouhahas,
or as I will abbreviate for expediency, bras,
“Who is it” I hear you
ask. Well obviously it’s the man. And I’ll tell you for why.
Men are beasts. As
they drift through their lives from callow youth to hairy chested hunter-gatherers,
these poor souls are at the mercy of one over riding force.
Front bottom urgings.
As the hairy chested hunter-gatherer
phase wanes and they achieve silver haired wisdom, do their urgings diminish?
NOT ONE JOT.
As they travel through
the years their companion, or companions must keep up. It is a well-known fact
that a rich old white man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a
younger wife, slash wives. Who, of course negates their advancing years and is
never mistaken in public for their daughter or granddaughter.
These are the facts.
It is not the fault of
the octogenarian millionaire that his wife has selfishly given into the ravaging
of ageing. There is nothing so demeaning to a man of wealth and taste than the
fact that his wife can remember him when the height of his culinary tastes ran
to and not exceeding, a large bag of chips and a tub of curry sauce.
Ladies reading, who
may have been smeared with the feminazi brush, I will put this analogy to you
in a way that you will no doubt understand.
No matter how good our
old, old washing machine has been, once it’s reached the end of it’s usefulness,
one simply replaces it, with a newer and therefore, better one. One does not
stand over it remembering it’s loyalty and devotion and refusing to move on,
does one?
No, one most certainly
does not.
If a red-blooded man
feels these stirrings, consider for a moment how very, very hard it gets for
him. As he hides himself away night after night in his locked study scouring
the Internet for information, he compares his needs to his reality, devoted
Doreen or Daphne, who has the arrogance to acquire wrinkles and who selfishly
places constant demands on his time and or support.
He is faced with a
choice.
Should he bravely
indulge his natural feeling to embrace his inner Viking complete with be-horned
helmet and peep toe wedge sandals (for added sauce)- whilst spending thousands
on Class A pharmaceuticals and professional front bottom wranglers well versed
in the art of naughty boys; OR waste his time in costly counselling sessions
where he confesses to his proclivities, confronts his inability to make a
commitment to his life partner and recognises that no matter how many breasts
he fondles, no matter how much money he has, he is getting old and will
eventually die.
Well clearly the
former is best as the wife has selfishly chosen to age.
Then factor in how
exhausting all the lies and duplicity are for him. Frankly it is abuse being
waged against the poor, poor fellow, by his battle axe partner slash partners.
Some have the good
grace to be shoved aside as well they should be and there follows shameful and
shocking maintenance payments, as further younger wives also fail to live up to
their side of the bargain, by getting old.
This unfair financial
outlay further impinges on this hard-working man’s ability to buy more drugs
and sexual services, condoms and lubricant, hotel rooms and sandals and Viking
helmet polish.
Some poor men can’t
even afford to go private and have to settle instead for hand relief behind the
office photocopier from big-breasted Sharon, the maternity leave temp, in exchange
for a machine dispensed hot chocolate and a packet of Quavers.
It’s so very sad.
So let us pause in all
our attacks on these men, let us remember that as a society we have a duty to
care for those who are made vulnerable by nothing more than instinct, careful
planning, lies, costumes, a chap with the number of a reliable dealer, a bank
account the wife knows nothing about, opportunity and younger women
professionally required to find them irresistibly sexy.
Never forget these men
are the real victims here.