The Itchy & Scratchy Show

illustration by Bob AulI used to say that feminism was dead, that it was fine for my mother but we were all equal now. Then I met you. You slept around, and when I found out about it, you said we weren't married, and besides, you have a powerful male drive for sexual variety. "What about me?" I asked. "You're a woman," you said. "You don't need variety." When I told you that you could go to hell, you called me for a week straight, promising you'd changed. When that didn't work, you spread the word among our friends at church that I had slept around behind your back. I haven't said a thing to anyone, but I'll say this: one of the several women you're sleeping with told me not long ago that she has a sexually transmitted disease. Now the "Alan Keyes for President" bumper sticker on your car won't be your only symbol of hypocrisy.

Send anonymous thanks, confessions or accusations—changing or deleting the names of the guilty and innocent—to "Hey, You!" c/oOC Weekly, P.O. Box 10788, Costa Mesa, CA 92627-0247, or e-mail us at letters@ocweekly.com

 
 

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