The Eternal Struggle

“Women are always right and they are never more right then when they are wrong and you try to convince of this.” - Pascha Ray

Yesterday I visited my friend Richard Sweet in Brighton Beach. They hadn't suffered from the huricane floods. I showed up on time, for his Ukrainian wife and he were celebrating their baby girl's 2nd birthday. I brought Lakee a gift. Her mother couldn't have been more pleased. I was an honored guest and Richard an attentive host. His friends and I spoke about Russia, the KGB, Taras Bulba, and drinking.

"Never mix vodka and water. Sacrifice." Alex had drunk two glasses more than me.

"You mean 'sacrilege'." A single cube was floating in my shot glass.

"Yes, sviatotatstvo." Alex wasn't drinking vodka. He had started with sangria. "I never mix drinks."

"I'm half-Irish. We drink anything." Our cultures were at a clash until we told jokes. Laughs are a universal language and soon all the women were inside the two-story house with the children. The men spoke in hush voices.

"A woman is always right." Alex had been living in this country twenty years. "And there's only one person more right than your wife."

"Her mother." I answered to a chorus of muffled chortles. Any married man fears his wife's extraordinary sense of hearing. Our oppressed state is an accepted sacrifice for the surrender of their bodies.

To us sex is lust. For a woman it's love.

Women are a completely different species as proven by this mail from Brian LeBouef featuring a short story exercise written by a male and female student at the U of Phoenix.

The professor told his class: “Today we will experiment with a new form called the tandem story. The process is simple. Each person will pair off with the person sitting to his or her immediate right. As homework tonight, one of you will write the first paragraph of a short story. You will e-mail your partner that paragraph and copy me on the email. The partner will read the first paragraph and then add another paragraph to the story and send it back, also copying me. The first person will then add a third paragraph, and so on back-and-forth. Remember to re-read what has been written each time in order to keep the story coherent. There is be absolutely NO talking outside of the e-mails, and anything you wish to say must be written in the e-mail. The story is over when both agree a conclusion has been reached.”

The following was actually turned in by two of his English students:Rebecca and Gary.

THE STORY
(first paragraph by Rebecca)

At first, Laurie couldn’t decide which kind of tea she wanted. The chamomile, which used to be her favorite for lazy evenings at home, now reminded her too much of Carl, who once said, in happier times, that he liked chamomile. But she felt she must now, at all costs, keep her mind off Carl. His possessiveness was suffocating, and if she thought about him too much her asthma started acting up again. So chamomile was out of the question.

(second paragraph by Gary)
Meanwhile, Advance Sergeant Carl Harris, leader of the attack squadron now in orbit over Skylon 4, had more important things to think about than the neuroses of an air-headed asthmatic bimbo named Laurie with whom he had spent one sweaty night over a year ago. “A.S. Harris to Geostation 17,” he said into his trans-galactic communicator. “Polar orbit established. No sign of resistance so far…” But before he
could sign off a bluish particle beam flashed out of nowhere and blasted a hole through his ship’s cargo bay. The jolt from the direct hit sent him flying out of his seat and across the cockpit.

(Rebecca)
He bumped his head and died almost immediately, but not before he felt one last pang of regret for psychically brutalizing the one woman who had ever had feelings for him. Soon afterwards, Earth stopped its pointless hostilities towards the peaceful farmers of Skylon 4. “Congress Passes Law Permanently Abolishing War and Space Travel,”
Laurie read in her newspaper one morning. The news simultaneously excited her and bored her. She stared out the window, dreaming of her youth, when the days had passed unhurriedly and carefree, with no newspaper to read, no television to distract her from her sense of innocent wonder at all the beautiful things around her. “Why must one
lose one’s innocence to become a woman?” she pondered wistfully.

(Gary)
Little did she know, but she had less than 10 seconds to live.
Thousands of miles above the city, the Anu’udrian mothership launched the first of its lithium fusion missiles. The dim-witted wimpy peaceniks who pushed the Unilateral Aerospace disarmament Treaty through the congress had left Earth a defenseless target for the hostile alien empires who were determined to destroy the human race. Within two hours after the passage of the treaty the Anu’udrian ships were on course for Earth, carrying enough firepower to pulverize the entire planet. With no one to stop them, they swiftly initiated their diabolical plan. The lithium fusion missile entered the atmosphere unimpeded. The President, in his top-secret mobile submarine headquarters on the ocean floor off the coast of Guam, felt the inconceivably massive explosion, which vaporized poor, stupid, Laurie and 85 million other Americans. The President slammed his fist on the conference table. “We can’t allow this! I’m going to veto that treaty! Let’s blow ‘em out of the sky!”

(Rebecca)
This is absurd. I refuse to continue this mockery of literature. My writing partner is a violent, chauvinistic semi-literate adolescent.

(Gary)
Yeah? Well, you’re a self-centered tedious neurotic whose attempts at writing are the literary equivalent of Valium. “Oh, shall I have chamomile tea? Or shall I have some other sort of F—ING TEA??? Oh no, I’m such an air headed bimbo who reads too many Danielle Steel novels!”

(Rebecca)
Asshole.

(Gary)
Bitch.

(Rebecca)
F__K YOU – YOU NEANDERTHAL!

(Gary)
Go drink some tea – whore.

(TEACHER)
A+ – I really liked this one

Women are not the enemy. They are merely women. An alien race created from our flesh.

And every man knows this to be true.

Just don't say it too loud in the company of women.

Not if you know what's good for you.