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Pollyanna Meets Captain Kirk
Does God Bless America?
Paedophilia is Not a Crime
Kill the puppy dogs
Desecration
Big Women Revisited
Fashionable People
There's Nowt as Queer as Folk
The Ghosts of Puritanism
Palace Admits Prince Charles is Gay
Feminism is a Bitch
Give Peace a Chance
Religious indoctrination is child abuse
Tasteful pink is an oxymoron
Alecia Moore should have kept her name. Pink is a marketing disaster. Men hate pink. It is as simple as that.
Pink repulses men. Why would any woman wear the colour which men hate and drives them away? This is another negative impact of having the fashion industry stuffed full of gay men who haven't got a clue about how heterosexual men think. It is madness for women to let gay men give them dress tips still less to let them tell them what to wear. Gay men seem to think that men like pink, well duh, pink is used as a sign that a man is gay so when a gay man sees a man in pink he is attracted to the sign that the other man will not violently repulse his advances. Why on Earth should a heterosexual man ever be attracted by the colour favoured by gay men and little girls?
Pink is the colour of women and homosexuals, it is not ever going to appeal to straight men.
Of course women can look attractive when wearing pink, but only if they are looking fabulous anyway. He may love you in that pink dress but he'd love you more if it was a different colour. Pink things belong to girls. Wearing pink emphasises your otherness. Choosing pink for your possessions is the equivalent of spitting in your drink. He will never borrow your car if it is pink. Never. You can't even get a pink car stolen in daylight. If you put your dog in a pink collar he will never take it for a walk, to do so would be to admit that the man has no dick and is walked on by a woman or that he is gay. To get married in a pink wedding dress in a pink castle or with a pink cake is to tell the world that the groom is a trinket the bride wears. Check your balls at the door Peter, she's got you, the woman rules this relationship. |
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No men considered.
A few years ago I phoned into Talk Radio UK, before it became obsessed by sport, to complain about the use of phrases such as “people who are pregnant”. You can't be a man and pregnant. If you are pregnant you are a woman. “People” don't get cervical cancer. “People” don't get prostate cancer. When a condition can only by definition concern one sex then that should be acknowledged in the way it is discussed.
There is of course one big exception to this. Breast cancer. It is a condition that can affect men as well as women. This is why it is so very wrong that breast cancer charities have used the colour pink to promote awareness. How do you expect a man to feel if he is suffering a deadly disease that the whole world including those whose job should be to be the most sympathetic, paints as an issue only for women, literally paints it pink in many cases.
Let cervical cancer have pink, men can't get that.
Men can get breast cancer. I know because I was suspected of having it. I could cope with the fear of death, surgery, radiotherapy and chemotherapy. What really bugged me was pink. I sat waiting for the consultant in a pink room and feared the worst.
I had been aware of the lump for months. I really didn't want to think about it. I have always been self-conscious about my “man boobs”, they have blighted my life and have contributed to my sedentary lifestyle by making sport and exercise problematic. The less inclined I was to physical exercise the more noticeable they became. Were they now going to be the death of me? The Christians would love that: Smitecam man dies of cancer. Would I be able to fight cancer and fight the gleeful ghouls?
But what was really troubling me was all the pink. Everything seemed to be pink. Pink ribbons. Pink wristbands. Pink walls.
“I am not a woman! I don't like pink! It really isn't my colour!”
The biopsy hurt. I was stabbed with a needle that felt as wide as a biro tube, with not even a smear of pain-numbing gel, and with a good half an hour to concentrate on nothing except my discomfort and the impending pain. It did smart a bit. The waiting hurt too. Eventually the time came to go back to another pink room on the same corridor and wait to hear what had been found. The chap was wonderful, he hadn't even come into my line of sight before he told me it was nothing to worry about, just two steps into the room. Nothing to worry about, it was just the way I'm made. I never felt the lump again. Colossal relief. Now I really am adamant: I don't like pink.