Right

I asked my buddy, the male feminist, about women.

"You're a feminist.  You know how to treat the ladies, right?"

"Sure.  I just love 'em.  I love to hold 'em, and squeeze 'em, and smell their hair.  I just love to kiss 'em."

No, that's not what he said.  That's what I told him was a new form of feminism.

Oh, I had the lunchroom in stitches.

No I didn't.  Seemed like someone farted in the room.  Was that my intended outcome?

It's complex.  I've never asked a woman out on a first date.  I don't offer the first kiss.  I am too paranoid at being rejected.  Now, however, I'd be afraid of getting the Creepy Uncle Joe treatment.

I've already lost any argument I might subsequently make, of course.  I began with a personal defense.  You know that such a person is not to be trusted.

But in the lunchroom, I was making a point about the 2020 election.  While the right backs a man who says he likes to grab 'em by the pussy, the left is axing hair sniffers and long huggers.

"Oh, I just love to sniff their hair."

Creepy.  But it is scary, too.  It's o.k. for now.  We're only after rich white guys and a couple rich black guys.  But wait.  Lesbians are beginning to tell, too.  Only on powerful white women, maybe, but it will trickle down.

And that fear will keep old Uncle Donny in the White House, I'm afraid.  I mean, I'm really afraid.

But as my lefty friends say, you can't have a revolution without spilling a little innocent blood.  It's just part of the price we pay.

I'm not defending.  If Creepy Uncle Joe wasn't creepy, he'd have been president in 1988.  But he got caught cheating.  Remember?

Doesn't seem people do.