I have realised for some time that now that the fridges and freezers of California are full of donated and full cream sperm there is little or no point in the male sex. We can help with the shopping. Put out the laundry. Show how the television controls work. When asked we can explain the off side rule.
WE long since gave up building cupboards, repairing cars, putting new tubes into the television and helping with the Telegraph cross word. Men exhausted by the competition of the other sex have either given up work or retreated into low paid menial work. Many have realised what is coming and found refuge in the arms of other soon to be extinct males. Their marriages will be like those of the Christians before they faced the lions.
So like dinosaurs when the weather started to get colder we wait for the inevitable. Extinction beckons, and I speak for many,when I say after our beastly treatment the mothers of our children and the sources of our pleasure, its what we deserve.
But is there a chink of light. Is there going to be a reprieve. Is there a role which we have overlooked but is essential. Why cannot the mother of my children bear being in the same room as a fly or a bee,or to use her technical term “a buzzer”. Why does the source of all my priapic pleasure refuse to sleep in the same room,nay the house as a spider. Why does the occasional cock roach or stag beetle-magnificent species in the insect kingdom-bring out the Adolf E ,in the vision in curls with whom I am sharing life’s journey.
And what is the solution to these fears,these allergies, these deeply rooted traumas. Step forward ,he who still wears the trousers,even if of a shortened kind. Step forward he who once was prepared to die for his country but now puts it on the line against the spiders and flies who dare upset the beloved.
No cockroach too big, no beetle too black,the terminator can make the household abode once more into a safe and comfortable home. And thereby not only save the sanity of the fair one but point to a future for the male sex.