Battle of the Sexes
The first installment of this rubbish, hosted by Miriam O’Callaghan, starts with women debating the role of men in the new Irish society. I wasn’t expecting much, but decided to watch it and see the embarrassment unfurl. If anyone was expecting some sort of serious intellectual debate they will be sorely disappointed. For a moment there I thought I was watching a Sex in The City fanclub meeting. The usual moaning about men not pulling their weight in the household chores, how unfashionable they are and how terrible they are at being romantic. This is the type of programme that seeks to provide entertainment by showcasing the weariest stereotypes of both men and women.
Funny how the woman complaining about Irish men’s lack of fashion sense was sporting terribly bleached hair and pancaked makeup (Name: Claire Tully. Occupation: Glamour Model… that makes sense). She later started moaning about how she would never date a man in his late thirties who didn’t have a car and a house. I can hear the faint digging right behind her ears. She didn’t understand what a man like that would have been doing with his life. Another panelist mentioned the possibility that such a man may just have been studying for a PhD, or something else worthwile. Claire didn’t accept this, however. Some people actually do spend time studying or travelling in their twenties, Claire. Not everyone can pause their studies and get paid to pose naked in seedy magazines.
Claire wants a man she can settle down and have kids with, after she has done her ten or so years of getting her tits out for the lads. I don’t think there’s much chance of an intelligent man being interested in her anyway, or at least a man who asks more from life than saving up his money, entering a boring marriage, buying a house and popping out kids, which is what she said she wants. Claire has a good education behind her, apparently. Just shows how meaningless degrees are as a measure of intelligence. Apart from one or two exceptions, the barrister and one or two other women, most of the people involved in this programme were unintelligent and uninformed. And how lame was that spectacled guy at the end who tried to stir things up by mentioning a swimsuit round? You’re not funny, you’re not witty.
Coming next week, a big group of balding farmers and pea-brained rugby players talk about how women are no good at reading directions and spend half the day worrying about the size of their bottoms.
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I find my other half shite at directions and I spend most of the day worrying about my bottom.
It’s a nice bottom!