Blather of sexual equality has long been bruited about, especially by a camarilla of insouciant or dull fainéants, prescinded from thorough descantation or ratiocination of any kind whatever. Forgive me for my aciduity, learned reader, but I reckon vituperation is well-nigh, as a rather gracious estimation of the predicative time incurred, erstwhile to this blessed entelechy, by the débile whispers of that sect, and our heeding them, measures at some fifty years, and I can but conclude that such nefarious effects could only have festered with virtual impunity by dint of general willful perversity, but especially by the junta. The body politic has much too long suffered under the misapprehension that to level the cataract, sheer deleterious gumption need simply be exercised; and, sure, the basalt and sand had ostensibly conjoined in a tabular union, but such facile nuptial accoutrements, bereft of undergirding congruity, are irksome at best, and hence, ineluctable infelicities inhered from the inception: the Fallen Side was pockmarked with such a preponderance of parabolic dross it looked as if a quarry were in operation. A shear was exigent, viz., the surgical paring of the quondam glade such that a homogenous tabula rasa would be viewed by all tyros as the primordial topology. 

This rather pleonastic analogy, whither, casting a glance above, I cannot say it is at all worth its while, is to wave ‘fore the recalcitrant face of the aporiated Turgits that which was limpid from the outset: if the plenitude of equality is to grace this society, it is far from enough to abrogate the impasse of female ingression to the male dispensation, for this would be tantamount to squaring the circle (the nethermouth has no key); there must be fostered a dialectic verisimilitude, thereby effacing the duplectic nature entirely, and working a soliquitous dialogue, like the point in Flatland.

The insuperabilities of such a seemingly quixotic scheme, set to discover the inverse elixir of Salmacis’ fount, can readily be imagined (though there is a tendency, with the miasma of that dead letter wafting yet, through a gross exaggeration of the outré aspect of the envisage [such claims easily melt with an even cursive inquiry into the viability of their “plan”, but that is best left to a discrete and locused explication], to essay a resuscitation! [granted, posterity, like cadavers, are pressing concerns, and peremptorily impose a post mortem post haste]), such that little will posterity believe the efficacy of the implementation. Yet presently, young women have begun to reflect many of the heretofore chthonically male-mœurs, these being: brazen contumacity; protracted puerility; licentiousness, grammatically and concupiscently (there has been an explosive rate of female conversion to Onanism); a sloven, enervated mien; manifest, flagrant autohebetation; jocular, ribald ejaculations amidst boon companions; and a distaste for education and voting, the perforce discoloration of old pleasures attending mental elasticity.

Some seventeen months ago, I saw a girl converse with a teacher in so quintessentially male a manner, arms flopping about uninhibited, a countenance so marked with weariness it verged on a derisive reproval of the interlocutor, and, when she could condescend to slough her languor, her replies were, I’ll say, telegraphic. Further, a moon after that, having nimbly ingratiated myself into what once would have been termed a gaggle, but now rightfully bears the mighty, redoutable moniker of posse, I was able to witness many a blue streak, such as a counterfeit of coition with brio, executed by the metrical percussion of the thighs through the mano-medium, and, incredibly tabulating the wonted asymmetry, the hands issuing out at slight temporal serries, accompanied by oral emissions of intimate exaltation. I could go on, but I have found a most peculiar embarrassment is oft engendered by such approbatory assessments of progress, perhaps emanating from an unbecoming female humility, which we shall be moved to scotch, if it is abscotched and, while the reader and I know well this is perfect nonsense, I shall nonetheless graciously refrain from further odes to the tractability of that sex. 

Unhappily, since I have migrated south to a land over-run by the pious and stupefied (are they not contravertible?) sycophants of Christ, I have duly found the majority of my flock to be sedulously adverse to proselytization, and have suffered a precipitous fall in my rate of conversion, through no fault of my own, I must affirm. But, whatever the condition of my pitiable parish, I ought to stifle my moans inward, for the movement remains vital, virile, and viral; we have triumphed over the milk-toast dissenters, or virtually so, and soon the fe shall undergo the condign auto-de-fé, and thus extirpation.