[HPFGU-Catalogue] Re: more...and more

[Sean Dwyer]

With an eeek of disappointment, a surly glance at the silent Deux ex
Catalogua, and an air of injured martyrdom, the penguin sets down the popcorn
and fizz, adjusts Wollongong Warriors scarf, and beadily eyes dungrollin:

> I'm not sure I'd put the women's complaints down to self-absorption 
> though, more an inability to stop giving a damn about society's 
> expectations of them. The old men were far more arrogant: 
> pronunciations from on high about everything that's wrong with the 
> world, and why it should conform to their expectations of it and how 
> horribly unfair it is that mobile phones exist. The women were 
> complaining about how irritating it is to have to conform to 
> society's expectations of them. It's awfully sad that they still 
> feel they have to.

There is one noticeable difference: the men project outwards, the women
project inwards. Men have merely mastered the art of blaming everyone but
themselves. Women are still clinging to the false belief that the smallest
violin in the world is actually audible. Not bashing each other over the head
with the tiny things would be a good start, although much less entertaining.

> I'd be fascinated to know what the grumpy oldies of fifty years 
> hence will be bitching about. Will the male and female groups be 
> more similar in their grumping subjects, or is an obsession with 
> female appearance something our species is stuck with? I have a 
> horrible feeling it's the latter.  If only we were descended from 
> birds rather than mammals, then it'd be the blokes having to deal 
> with keeping the bright colours bright, and the impracticality of 
> maintaining overly-long absurdly-coloured lice-free tail feathers...
> 
> I wonder what they'd complain about then.

Another red herring: it is true that women have a dangerous obsession with
self-image; it doesn't change the fact that they are still essentially in
control of the mating game. So gaudy or not, men are still flitting about
gathering impressive trinkets, beating their absurd six-packs and roaring
about something or other with ever-so-careless glances in the direction of the
female herd. 

Trust a penguin: when they've got you sitting on an egg for six months in the
middle of Antarctic snow blizzards while they swan off north to stuff
themselves, you know who's got the better end of the deal.

The penguin reflects hopefully on the coming Ashes^H^H^H^HQuidditch tour of
England. We've been thrashing the Moutohora Macaws, the Chudley Cannons should
be a walk-over. Hmm...*swigs fizz* *munches popcorn* I'll wait till the next
round before I turn the telly back on...

ewe2

-- 
When all you have are foxes, everything looks like a henhouse.