Women’s Strike a Huge Bust

March 13, 2017

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Women’s Strike a Huge Bust

In case none of your intersectional feminist friends alerted you, last Wednesday the world was supposed to shut down through the brute force of collective female impudence. Across this rainbow-colored globe, women were supposed to clasp their uteri together in a general strike called A Day Without a Woman. In order to kick the patriarchy in the nuts and bring the global economy to its knees, organizers suggested the following three revolutionary activities:

1. Women take the day off, from paid and unpaid labor
2. Avoid shopping for one day (with exceptions for small, women- and minority-owned businesses).
3. Wear RED in solidarity with A Day Without A Woman

The event was sponsored by one organization with the word “Black” in its title, one with “Jews,” and a baker’s dozen of associations and convocations with either “Woman” or “Women” in the title. Conspicuously absent was any organization with the word “White” in its name.

“The point of all these pointless women’s marches seems to be that women have vaginas, and they aren’t afraid of barking at you with them.”

There was also some initial confusion over whether the pink “pussy” hats, made so famous in the Women’s March on Washington on January 21, would also be worn, or whether the pink would clash with red, which organizers claim was chosen partially for its affiliation with the “labor movement.” (Back in January, there was also some controversy over whether the pink pussy hats were indeed racist, since some women of color have genitals that lurch more toward purple and dark violet: “they excluded women of color by insinuating that pussies must be pink.”)

Claiming that this male chauvinist society forces women to unfairly bear much of the burden of smiling, some women planned to honor the day by refraining from all smiles. To shame men for the relative dearth of female fiction authors, an Ohio bookstore turned all male-authored books backwards on its shelves. (As far as I know, the bookstore owners did not bother to explain what’s preventing women from getting off their asses and writing more fiction.)

Much of the rhetoric advertising the event was the same nonsensical KultMarx jibber-jabber that currently infects hundreds of millions of tiny brains across the West. There was much solemn blather about the “spirit of love and liberation,” about “the economic injustices women and gender nonconforming people continue to face,” about the “violence” of the free market and alleged “economic attacks” on Muslims, about “gender justice,” and generally about a cruel, psychotic, relentless, and soul-crushingly violent world that doesn’t exist but that these wound-collecting psychopaths can’t seem to live without constantly imagining.

Predictably, there were the sort of intersectional pissing matches that attend all of these Olympics for the Oppressed and provide endless amusement for onlookers such as myself. Many people griped that the bulk of people who were taking the day off were teachers who belonged to public unions and have all summer off anyway, forcing working-class single moms working three part-time jobs across the country to either risk unemployment by taking the day off to watch their kids or to surrender their entire day’s salary by paying for a babysitter. So in addition to it being a gender issue, it suddenly also became a class issue. And of course it was also made into a racial issue, because everything is these days, as one observer carped that the whole event “screamed white privilege.”

As with the Women’s March on Washington and all other latter-day feminist caterwauling, the Great Unanswered Questions remain:

What the hell are you all whining about? Can you name a single right you don’t have that men do? It’s not enough that you live longer than men? Controlling the majority of the nation’s consumer wealth—soon to be two-thirds of it—isn’t enough for you harpies?

American women account for 42% of “legislators, senior officials, and managers” in this country. That’s a higher quotient than all the poofy places such as Canada and Western Europe that are supposedly far more gender-enlightened than the 24-Hour Rape Palace that is supposedly Donald Trump’s America. Women in the USA rank among the world’s most entitled when it comes to things such as personal freedom and overall welfare.

But none of this mattered to the Vagina Strikers. As a result of women across this great borderless planet uniting to play hooky from work while clad head-to-toe in menses-tinted red and exclusively patronizing coffee shops owned by black lesbian midgets, the global systems of capitalist colonialism and white supremacy would come crashing down when everyone realized that nothing could function without delusional middle-aged white clam-diggers who pop SSRIs and own thousands of cats. It was to be Lysistrata,, but with women withholding labor and money instead of sex—and judging from the looks of many protestors, it’s not as if the latter was an option, anyway.

At least that’s how it was supposed to go. As far as I can tell, no one even noticed anything different last Wednesday. Everything operated smoothly, efficiently, and perhaps even a smidge more peacefully. Overall, this general strike was a general bust. A HUGE bust, actually.

It was an equivalent failure to last month’s “A Day Without Immigrants,” which similarly tanked in its attempt to hobble the nation but instead was barely noticed. At the aptly monikered I Don’t Care Bar and Grill in Catoosa, OK, a dozen “immigrant” workers called in sick last month, and all of them were fired.

I bear a lifelong distaste not only for ideologues, but also for activists and especially for protesters. I am proud to say that I have never engaged in a public protest in my life. Nor have I hoisted a picket sign or chanted in a drum circle. I question not only the motivations and work schedule, but also the fundamental personality of anyone with an insatiable need to appear in public and thump their chest about something or other. It reminds me of comedian Pat Cooper haranguing a black man at the original Million Man March on the old Howard Stern radio show. He said something to the effect of, “You’re a MARCHER! That’s what you do—you march! You sound stupid because you got your brains in your feet!” The point of all these pointless women’s marches seems to be that women have vaginas, and they aren’t afraid of barking at you with them.

Didn’t everyone already know that?

A day without a woman? These marchers should try living an hour without male inventions.

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