If you have been paying attention over the past few weeks you might have noticed that about half of the population in the United States is upset. Women (henceforth "girls"), being a flighty, emotionally unstable species, seem a bit confused about where certain boundaries are to be found in a civil society. You can hear their screeching over the airwaves. "Give us slut pills!" or "Take your science sticks out of our sin-pits!" they cry. Perhaps it's their time of the month?
The confusion is understandable. In this pastel-draped world of smoothed edges there is no fatherly voice to command them. They require the certitude that only a firm instruction from a man can give them. They need to be told.
Girls, here's what you're allowed to do:
You can have abortions, but only after you have watched the entire 9-hour miniseries "Mommy, Thank You for Giving Me This Life," produced by United Evangelical Church of the Carolinas and directed by God Almighty. It uses a green screen and computers to produce a Shrek-like cartoon of your baby as it is born and grows into adulthood, ultimately becoming a doctor and then President. His VP is the first girl VP. You must also submit to the highest-resolution ultrasound imaging available. This could be an abdominal ultrasound, a vaginal ultrasound or the new 4D spinning butt-driller ultrasound.
You are allowed to keep it neat. Does your husband play golf in a jungle? Of course not. Girls, take care of yourself. No husband is going to buy a house with a filthy yard with weeds growing out into the front walkway. It's called curb appeal. Even if you're in a marriage, it's your responsibility to remain in a prepubescent downstairs state until menopause or your husband's third mistress.
Also, be aware of your odor. We call it "the stink lines factor." If you want to know what you smell like take off your pants and sit on your spotless kitchen floor and drag your butt around like a dog with worms. Then have a whiff of your streak. Does it smell nice? No? Then you aren't doing something right.
You are absolutely free to use contraception, just don't expect men to pay for it. That's against religion. Birth control pills? It's not like we use the stuff. And there's that pill they call the abortion pill. Sounds pretty terrible. Is that like you take a fizzy tablet and five minutes later this thing drops out of you looking like a baby bird that fell from a bakest ball backboard? No thanks.
You can operate battered girls' shelters, but you have to acknowledge that sometimes girls batter men. Change them to just battered people shelters - a safe place for everyone subjected to violence in a relationship - and accept men into them. Yes, even hulking men wearing ski masks and carrying Rambo knives. Buzz him through, toots. Are you a misandrist?
Since more girls are graduating college than men we are allowed to wolf-whistle and smack butts again. All around you need to learn to respect PUA methodology. Read at least one PUA manual so the next time you get negged about your hair by a fat guy wearing an anime t-shirt you will respect his effort and respond favorably to his escalating kino.
You may video yourself and post it on the Internet. You owe this to us, you birth control piggy. Some man somewhere will find just anything you do sexy and you owe it to him, as a girl, to provide maximum titillation. In fact, label all your videos with email addresses so that men can send in suggestions about what to do in future videos.
"Your turkey wrap lunch video was pretty nice, but maybe tomorrow you could do it topless and then jam fingers down your throat and barf all over yourself, then let a huge scary black guy impregnate you, then truss yourself up from the ceiling, then be my mother and my daughter at the same time. Thank you!"
You cannot even conceive of how sexually gross we are and it's your job to cater to that grossness.
You may clean everything. Girls, men are far too busy with their car repairs and their downloading pornographies to help you clean up. Mop the kitchen, vacuum the den, wipe down our toilets and scrub everything we smear with our filth. You want every surface in your house to be clean enough to eat from, mostly because that's what we want you to do in your next video.
You can cook. Or maybe that should be you'd better cook. You'll never snag a husband microwaving soft pretzels. If you're extra nice to your husband, he might even allow you to run the barbecue a little bit while we are refilling the cooler.
Raise our babies. You make them soft, we'll toughen them up and turn the boys into miniature version of ourselves. Yes, we are going to teach them to cuss. If you didn't want that you should have sent them to Hogwarts.
If you follow these simple rules, respect your boundaries, listen to your husband, keep your voice down, give us our space when it's "that time of the month" and generally be a pleaser, things will work out just fine for you.
Hows about you, me, and five uncomfortable minutes in my basement apartment next to the dusty Christmas tree that's still up from my last visit with my estranged children.
The Upper Kitchen Cabinet Where Your Roommate Keeps His Food: You’ll 'need the footstool' to reach your roommate’s 'fine selection' of 'stale cereal,' but he'll never notice if 'only a little is missing from each box.' Feel less guilty by reminding yourself that Jeff 'acts weird around your girlfriend,' and always 'asks about her.' What a 'creep.'
This ain't your daddy's globe...! .... or is it?!
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