One woman’s week, with Karen Fenessey
I HAVE the utmost respect for all the sluts who took part in the recent walk through London.
We are still a good 20 years from this kind of thing taking place on the high streets of Saudi Arabia and for that I am truly proud. But after the streets have been hosed down and all the lesbians have gone home, what has really changed?
But despite what the sluts say, most men are not that stupid. They can actually use their sense of smell to ascertain when you have your period and this doesn’t just apply to sluts – it applies to all women, even Her Majesty the Queen. It’s an incredible talent which, despite years of practice, I’ve never been able to emulate. Given that they possess this skill, it’s not a massive leap for them to work out when a lady’s patterned tights are not just some random mortadella vomit by Kate Moss at Top Shop, but a meticulous think-piece from Fenn Wright Manson, costing upwards of £35.
People are always commenting on how pure I am, like an angel, so I reflect this in my fashion choices by dressing in clothes from The White Company. I recently attended an event wearing one of their sheer beach tunics with turquoise bra and pant set by Playtex underneath – which I’ll admit was rather saucy. Every man there wanted to rape me but when they saw my labels, they ran off, crying. Those men knew I was a woman of tremendous stature and that violating me would be a huge error. They used their amazing powers of smell to predict that my post-coital chat would include a series of questions about the merits of devolved powers for the Welsh assembly and saw that failure to deliver an articulate response within ten seconds would be a crushing humiliation. I felt so proud to be a woman that day – which was fantastic because normally I get really bored at wakes.
The message that whores are trying to convey with their hilarious walk is accurate: showing the colour of your underwear is not an invitation for sex. But if you’re dressed by George at Asda then what you’re saying to men is you don’t have the power of abstract thought and are highly suggestible – all things which are not going to bode well for a gal in the inevitable courtroom drama.
The fragile relationship of brothers has never been so tested. Yet again, David Miliband is forced to stand up for his peculiar, bovine relative. But if I’ve learned anything from the Young Guns movies it is this: exercise foresight when selecting which brother’s calendar to decorate your office with. Like Emilio Estevez, all David needs to do is use his Mexican name and bide his time. It won’t be long before the unforgiving public start laughing at Ed’s surplus wives and baseball caps with his own name on them.