By Jove, was there ever anything so splendid as the Gender War? What a gift to the gentlemen of the world! What a delightful sense of humour the Universe has!
As you are aware, old fruit, women don’t actually have a personality. There’s merely one hive personality that they all share -terribly dull, lacking in any imagination at all, and absolutely risk averse. Gentlemen, being the most splendid of beasts, have taken almighty risks since primordial days, and reaped monstrous rewards. Ladies are merely a decoration, a sort of gentlemen’s handbag, and it’s essential to change it with the seasons. Stay current, old chap, don’t date yourself! A nineteen-ninety-six vintage or there about is in the best taste, I feel.
Women are rather similar to Schrodinger’s Cat, they don’t really exist until a gentleman notices them, at which point they start spitting and hissing, arching their backs with their fur standing up in rage. It’s all a test of the gentleman’s manhood, and the correct response is to carelessly drop a few insults in her direction whilst wafting cigar smoke in her face. If she coughs up her dentures, then jolly good show, old chap!
Now let’s briefly explain, wot! You see, betwixt lady and gent there exists a Grand Canyon. It’s a Grand Canyon of perception. W and M see the world differently, they always will, their views are diametrically opposed, and never the twain shall meet.
The correct state of affairs is this: A coven of women huddle about their boiling cauldron, cursing and screeching about men, and men’s perceived shortfalls. Into the midst of this screechfest a pride of gentleman happens to majestically stroll. The ladies all immediately smile at them sweetly, greet them with great enthusiasm, and compete mightily with one another for their attention.
Likewise, a group of elegant lads, bursting with vitality and wit, might be manfully decrying the intellectual limitations of women, and the need to train them in simple tasks, at which point a shoal of women will drift past. The lads will leap up like a pack of wolves, display their masculinity and virility, and make warm greetings to the lucky ladies. Once the two groups are alone again, they will return to their emotional evisceration of one another’s genders.
This is the correct state of affairs. Without the mighty Gender War, Ladies and Gentlemen would have nothing of interest or great passion to say to one another.
What do the genders do in every great romance story since Ancient times? They fight bitterly, of course, and this leads to frenzied bouts of rogering, and spilled champagne.
The gender war gives us life’s greatest gift: passion.
Huzzah for the Gender War!