It’s hell getting up mad in the middle of the night.

So I got up in the middle of the night, mad as hell. Sick to death of women claiming privilege when they haven’t actually done anything in the whole history of human history.

Mad, you know. No Blake. No Shakespeare. No Michelangelo. No da Vinci. No Mozart. No Lord Nelson. No Einstein. Just a bunch of whining bitches who once cobbled together a play called the Vagina Monologues. So I did a search for “hundreds of vaginas.” Guess what? I found it. Created by women. (You can make it bigger by clicking, guys. Same with what follows.)

Egad.

And it’s October now, so the NFL is all in shocking pink because of breast cancer. So I did a search for hundreds of breasts. I mean, it is what you want isn’t it? For all of us to see you as nothing more than so many vaginas and breasts? Found that too. Also created by women.

Who’s more obsessed? Men or women? I’m thinking women.

It was late. I was trying to particularize. Came up with the idea of searches for “one breast” and “one vagina.” You know. A distillation. Because women are individuals too, right? Unless they aren’t. The ones who aren’t know who I mean. Right?

So I got the idea one breast, one vagina.

One breast.

Don’t you like her smile?

One vagina.

Life is beautiful. In the particular, not the mass of masses. Don’t you like her smile?