Shaidle Unchained

Thanks for Nothing, Bitches

January 24, 2017

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Thanks for Nothing, Bitches

Women rarely fail to let me down.

There’s a Roz Chast cartoon showing one lady shouting at another: “The price of Kleenex WAS SO 47 cents in 1963!” That sentence approximates roughly 86% of the “conversations” I’ve had with (or overheard being conducted by) other females over the span of my 52 years.

Now they’ve gone and done it again.

Here I thought my column would write itself this week: A bunch of dumb broads were plotting an anti-Trump demo in Washington that, like all the other “Million Something Marches,” would surely wind up being just a handful of jerks standing around stupidly screaming for a few hours. And then I’d make fun of them (and their unfunny, semiotically askew, pink knitted “pussy hats”) for 800 words.

(Seriously, what do those hats mean? “I dare Trump to ‘grab’ the fuchsia, cat-eared wool vagina on my head”?)

Well, thanks for (almost) nothing, bitches. Because startlingly (especially considering the pre-march “intersectional feminist catfighting” reported by our own Jim Goad), a few hundred thousand protesters really, truly turned up for the #WomensMarch in D.C., and at “sister” rallies across the apparently suckier parts of the planet.

How? Everyone knows that most women are generally lackadaisical and incompetent. (As blogger Kate McMillan likes to say, “If women ran the world, we’d still be living in caves—but with really, really fancy curtains.”)

“I had to pivot from gloating about puny attendance to collecting evidence of the marchers’ idiocy.”

Then I realized: One thing women are good at is organizing get-togethers with other women. Every cubicle job I’ve ever had consisted of almost daily bridal and baby and birthday parties, and the all-important “going for lunch,” occasionally punctuated by work.


So I had to pivot from gloating about puny attendance to collecting evidence of the marchers’ idiocy, which, of course, proved laughably easy.

If asked to choose a “favorite” picket sign from the oh-so-many left littering the scene, I’d have to go with the unfathomable “Make Them Pay for Razors if We Pay for Tampons.”

(A close second? This guy’s ”Don’t Grab Women by the Pussy—That’s Where Babies Come From!” is currently tied with “Cinnamon Rolls Not Gender Roles,” but I’m open to suggestions (with hyperlinks) for runners-up in the comments.

Prizewinning reaction from our side? No contest—the ubiquitous:

Trump got more fat women to walk today than Michelle Obama did in eight years.

Reporter Faith Goldy of the right-wing braved the veritable sea of avoirdupois and lanugo at the D.C. march and punked the crowd royally.

Goldy asked marchers if the president-rapist of Juanita Broaddrick should be impeached, and they all said yes. Of course, said rapist is (“allegedly”) Bill Clinton, not Donald Trump, but, well, how are these poor dumb females and their beta-male drones supposed to know that...?

She fared better than another Rebel journalist, Sheila Gunn Reid, who covered the Edmonton, Alberta, rally and got hit in the face, by a right-on, left-wing, feminist man (who looks exactly like you’re picturing him right this very minute). But of course. Like I always say: “No neocon ever called me ‘baby.’”

Mainstream reporters survived unscathed, naturally, unless having to write stuff like this qualifies as a variety of mental torture:

At such a young age, Norman’s daughter doesn’t understand a whole lot about American politics, but her mother wants her to remember Saturday as a day where she stood on the right side of history. Norman also has a four-year-old daughter.

On election night, she and her daughters made cupcakes with the promise to eat them if Hillary Clinton won the next morning. When that didn’t happen, Norman explained to her girls that sometimes life isn’t fair.