The Umbrella of Dumbness

There’s a figurative “umbrella” reason that men are better than women. It’s because men are men and therefore have brains and balls and everything else that makes a man-cog work properly in the giant cosmic machine of progress. Women have only glitter and sugar for brains and other manners of shit that rot your teeth.

There’s also a literal “umbrella” reason men are better than women, and that is an actual umbrella that you hold over your head when it rains — unless you’re a woman that is. If you’re a woman, you also use an umbrella to poke everyone over 5’8″ in their goddamn eyes.

Women walk down the street exactly like they live their lives. Men do the same of course; constantly being courteous and walking with purpose and dignity. Women mince around town without even looking down at the shit they’re stepping in and whilst twirling their wares like drunken umbrella salesclowns. It’s embarrassing.

Women with umbrellas; women with nose-choking lotion; women walking through the office in high heels all fucking day; it’s all the same. It’s women doing whatever they goddamn please and not at all caring who gets their eyes poked out, nose crammed with almond springtime, or driven insane by the constant clacking. Respectively.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again now and in a new way. After all, as a man, I am thorough if nothing else. Part of being thorough is repeating something in a different way, kind of like a sequel to a hot blockbuster. That’s men alright. We find the right formula and then we stick to it like glue.

Women think like dogs. That’s what I’m saying again. Women poke the shit out of everyone when they have to use umbrellas for any purpose because they can’t put themselves in anyone else’s shoes but their own. Just like dogs.

“I wonder how it feels to get your eyes poked the fuck out?” a man might ask. Well not a woman and not a dog. It’s much in the same way a dog would eat a delicious smoked ham sandwich that it’s master just made the other day and then set on the edge of the table. The dog can’t ask itself, “How would I feel if someone ate my delicious smoked ham sandwich and then smeared mustard everywhere?” Probably pretty bad.

Is it any wonder that a dog is man’s best friend and a woman is intended to be a man’s life partner? It’s like they’re both cast from the same brain mold.

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