All too often, we remember only the horror and forget that the pioneers of modern medicine, mining, construction, law and sport were all men. Today, fewer men than ever before are serving in positions of power. Every political party is headed by a woman. Our national
Lonely hearts dating durban poison and rugby teams consist solely of women. Building sites are full of women. Road crews and garbage collectors are all female. The scales of equality have been heavily balanced in our favour for the past two hundred years pause for applause.
Earlier this week, I was informed that a man had been elected chairman of a basket-weaving collective in the Northern Cape. This is to be welcomed, not feared. Having said that, I give the assurance that members of the fringe Meninist rebel group are monitored at all times by our intelligence agencies.
However, as sweet as it is, victory has come at a price. With critical levels of oestrogen in our drinking water and the steady weakening of the Y chromosome, our baby boys are little more than genetically modified baby girls. Whether this is a good thing or not is currently the subject of debate at national level.
While we all agree that men "Lonely hearts dating durban poison" not yet sufficiently evolved to be accepted as our equals, there are steps we must take if we hope to reduce the high rate of suicide among our young male population. Self-inflicted deaths often have a negative causal effect on foreign direct investment, particularly when it comes to defiantly patriarchal countries such as America, Germany and Nigeria. We could start by allowing married men to travel outside their demarcated areas with permission from their wives.
They could also be permitted to open bank Lonely hearts dating durban poison with the written consent of their state-appointed guardians. And, one day, as radical as it may sound, we might give even them the vote. There has already been considerable change. It is no longer compulsory for men to donate their seed once a month. The last sperm bank closed its doors many years ago and although sex is not illegal, it remains immoral.
Today, most children are conceived through electrofusion. Admittedly, the process only breeds girls. But there is still freedom of choice. For women who prefer to fall pregnant the old-fashioned way, embryonic stem cell kits that produce synthetic sperm are available at state supermarkets around the country.
I am the first to admit that running a country is hard work. When I am called upon to take a difficult executive decision about overthrowing a male president in a neighbouring country, I often think of my househusband and envy him his simple life.
At risk of being called a Meninist sympathiser, I would say the time is coming for us to encourage our men to leave their kitchens, cancel their proctologist appointments and take a more active interest in the affairs of state. I fear, however, that it will be no easy task to persuade them to break free from their of domesticity.
Two generations of men have grown accustomed to living lives that revolve around children, cleaning, cooking, manicures, pedicures and playing tennis on Wednesdays.
We may need to offer incentives. Or, failing that, impose martial law. But it is still early days. After all, centuries of damage cannot be undone overnight. Landscaping units are still in the process of returning thousands of unsightly golf estates to their natural state. Teams of forensic auditors continue to unravel complex tender scams going back years.
An enormous stockpile of warships, fighter planes, tanks, guns and ammunition is in the process of being melted down and reworked as part of our national Jewellery For "Lonely hearts dating durban poison" People campaign.
Even though it is only future generations that will reap the benefit, my government remains committed to the National Rectification Effort. The time Lonely hearts dating durban poison blame and retribution is almost over. In closing, I would be remiss if I failed to point out that domestic violence has reached unacceptable levels. Our prisons, long since converted into shelters for abused men, are full to overflowing.
In the spirit of conciliation, I urge all of you to use non-violent methods when it comes to helping men to understand what it is that you want to say, mean to say, think what you mean and want them to guess what you think you mean. Finally, when I retire at the end of my 10th term, I hope to see at least one male face in this august house. I hereby declare parliament in oestrus. If my column makes less sense than usual, you can blame MTN.
I am currently without a landline, you see. So I have spent the last few months accessing the internet via a hotspot on my phone.
This was also gibberish to me the first time I heard it. Data is a bit like beer. During the day, no problem. What the hell was I meant to do?
Then I discovered you could punch in a few numbers on your phone and buy data, just like that. I have a fear of not knowing. On Wednesday at 1. Finance Minister Pravin Gordhan was due to deliver his budget in parliament at 2pm. This is a man who is fighting a rearguard action on all fronts. I needed to watch this "Lonely hearts dating durban poison." If ever there was a sign that I should go to the nearest bar and use their free wifi, this was it.
MTN is forcing me, and who knows how many other decent God-fearing citizens, into daytime drinking in bars with free wifi.
Thanks to MTN, I am a fairly familiar figure in this particular bar. They know what I want. This is more than I can say for myself. On Wednesday there was a newbie behind the bar. A puce-faced callow youth who did a rubbish job of not showing signs of panic at the sight Lonely hearts dating durban poison a red-eyed unshaven possibly homeless man setting up what appeared to be a crude office in the corner.
I despised him for not instinctively knowing what to bring me. Do I have to spell it out?
Beer, I snarled, lashing a pair of cheap headphones to what little remains of my head. I was just in time for Pravin to take the podium.
He got a standing ovation, even from members of his own party. This was a good start.
I quickly worked out a system of drinking, taking notes, eyeballing the talent and flicking back and forth between the speech, Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Snapchat, Instagram and Pornhub in case something happened that I needed to know about.
I made it thirty minutes in before suffering my first neurological collapse. Fortunately it was gradual and the glass never shattered against my forehead. It seemed to affect my already frosty relations with the moron bartender, though, and he stopped asking if I wanted another after that. I have my pride.