You know, even though I’m an angry old scrote goggling at the world around me, every day something makes me goggle even more. I now know how babies feel when they see Iggle Piggle for the first time, so overcome with shock that they immediately take a shit. That’s how I feel right now, only it’s not Iggle Piggle that’s made me fill my pants. It’s men in cars who harrass women.
See, I’ve been following closely the work of the Everyday Sexism Project and the one issue that gets raised again and again is that of blokes who leer at women from their car windows, like crack-addicted monkeys with an unbearable flea problem. And again and again it’s the same pattern: a woman is innocently tootling down the street and gets asked for a flash of her tits/ foof/ arse by a bloke who’s driving by. Oh, and don’t go thinking that age stops them either. It doesn’t. Young girls are complaining about this as much as older women. Christ knows, some girls can’t even nip to the local Spar without being made to feel as if she’s a pervert’s wet dream.
What in the spinning fistful of fuck is wrong with these men? Seriously, why is it that when they are driving along, rather than fretting over speed limits, red lights or the blather of Radio 2, they’re really fretting about finding a lone woman to holler at. I dunno, perhaps they have a radar in their heads which short circuits their ability to aim their piss into a toilet bowl yet enables them to make a girl feel like she needs to bath in bleach.
In fact perhaps it’s an actual mental illness where the guys’ sense of decency, responsibility and ability to see women as more than a collection of pokeable parts is overridden by urgent messages sent directly from their cocks by tiny, typing ferrets. It’s as if their foaming todgers are permanently on alert and at Defcon 1.
See, in all of my years of driving I have never once leaned out of a car and begged a bloke to show me his knackersack. Yes, I have leaned out of the window and begged him to get the fuck off the road because he’s driving like a donkey with an errant frontal lobe, but never for the purposes of sexual gratification. And that’s not because I’ve never seen a good looking guy strolling along a pavement. I have. Plenty of frigging times. I just don’t feel the need to grasp my mental cock and waggle it at him like a pervert hurtling at 30mph.
But then again, I am coming at this problem as a sentient being which immediately puts me at a disadvantage, what with me not actually housing my brain in a wrinkled sack that slumps against my thigh. In fact, trying to work out what makes men do this is like trying to work out why dogs dry hump their own baskets. You know that old trope about women being at the mercy of their hormones? Well, I’ll be fucked if that’s not the case with these men. One quick burst of testosterone and their cars turn into the sort of vehicle owned by the Child Catcher.
Or perhaps these fart-faced spaff-beagles think that their leering is some sort of compliment, as if women walk down the street longing for a man with a semi to tell them they have spectacular tits. I reckon that’s why, when the women they harass flip them the bird, they start yelling obscenities because they feel as if they’ve had their abundant kindness and good grace chucked back at them. Screw the fact that how a woman looks has fuck all to do with them and screw the fact that they’re taking that woman’s day and shitting all over it. I mean, a woman not wanting a stranger to tell her that she has a bangable arse? Jeez, what a slut.
All of which makes these men the equivalent of those little pools of cooling sick that you see in a town centre on a Sunday morning. If only we could turn a high-pressured hose on them every time they roll down a window and destroy a woman’s day. Alternatively I’d be more than happy to take pot-shots at the fuckers with an air-gun,, although the fact that they are in cars makes it impossible to aim for their bollocks. Still, perhaps it’s their mouths we should be aiming for because, after all, that’s how they do the most damage.