Ya hear how 2019 is set to be another Year of the Woman? Now don’t get me wrong or I’ll have to smack ya: I love women. It’s just rarely for a whole year.
Thing is, I’ve lived through more Years of the Women than I could shake a stick at, but it’s gotten so a fella can’t even shake a stick no more.
What are we supposed to do, twiddle our thumbs? That sounds kinda girly.
Sure, yeah, I know the ladies are mad as hell. Even through the earwax there’s no mistakin’ that caterwaulin’. An’ I’m not about to tell ’em to stop, because Lord knows that could get me written’ up on charges.
It’s just, when’s the Year of the Man? It’s been ages since 2016.
Alright, you could say we had a good run of 10,000 some-odd years before Virginia Slims took off, but a whole generation of boys are growin’ up without a good role model for what it means to be a man, and it’ll be at least three years before Bill Cosby’s out.
Remember, he’s still America’s Dad. You can’t choose your family!
And another thing: you can’t spell “Humanity” without “man.” Try it. You’ll get “Hannity” or some nonsense.
On the bright side, I didn’t like kids in the ’80s any better than I like ’em now, but goin’ by Kavanaugh at least the jocks turned out alright. Maybe I’ll have to watch Ferris Bueller after all.
I’ll admit, watchin’ him cry about how much he likes beer choked me up. There wasn’t a dry eye in the sports bar.
In fact, I’d buy the man a drink but I don’t think he lives around here, though I see and hear lots of drunks that look and sound like him. So next pension cheque it’s on me.
Also, I think I’ll ask my family doctor about those quaalude type deals. If OHIP don’t cover ’em I’ll let my MPP know.
Maybe Faith Goldy, too. The girl seems to have the Premier’s ear.