PLEASE NOTE:
This piece is intended to be tongue in cheek. If you have lost all vestiges of a sense of humour please refrain from reading. If you believe in everything Germaine Greer has ever written, please refrain from reading as subject matter may well offend. If you believe that the animal world took revenge on one of its very eager champions, in the sense that the animal world planned to and did take revenge, as if a stingray is capable of being an active, forward-planning assassin, please refrain from reading.

Saturday 9th September, 2006

The world mourns.

Commonwealth-famous hard line ‘feminist’ shit-stirrer Germaine Greer has died an author, doing the thing she loved, writing books calling men every name under the sun, and generally bitching about the world. She was supposed to have been writing a book to be called ‘Thank God I’m Finally Happy’, but when writing was held up by a morbid fascination for male pre-adolescent sexuality she decided to ‘go off and write a few lines’ for her next publication instead, ‘Reality Television: Not my reality, except when I can maybe make a few bucks’.

Her manager didn’t protest, and just offered, “fine, anything that will keep Germaine bitching about anything and keep her firmly on her fat ass is okay with me.”

Evidently it’s her manager’s job to keep Greer writing catch 22’s about how wearing a bra and not wearing a bra are all a part of a massive masculine repressive conspiracy designed by men all over the world to keep women wearing bras, or not wearing bras, depending on which repressive conspiracy the woman is forced to decide upon.

Greer was the real hard-boiled prat. A great expatriate who was afraid of living in her own native country because England it offered anyone with wit so much more. Greer was always one to love the forlorn nature of the rain, because it “always encouraged me to bitch about things just that little bit more and indulge in just that little bit more self-important yuppie depression, as in ‘Oh, I shouldn’t have bought that house in Italy, I knew I shouldn’t have done that…’ ”

The world treated Germaine, as a woman and a human, in an utterly despicable way. She was never allowed to publish a naive tome of male hate because men are evil and prevented her from doing that. She was never allowed to sleep with any of the thousands of men that she lusted after, because men would never allow her to do so. Indeed, she was never allowed to appear on the one show that she completely derided, Big Brother, because big male producers and repressive conspiracy theorists never allowed her to do anything. All the men, everywhere, hated Germaine. And as a consequence, she led a terribly restricted life.

Greer was an ambassador for simplifying everything and turning the slightest daily routine into a battle of the sexes. Greer thought the marriage of the late ‘Crocodile Hunter’, Steve Irwin, to be the prime example of an evil patriarchal family, with a dark resemblance to an authoritarian state, in which Steve was Stalin forcing his wife Terri to travel around the world and spend millions of dollars of hard earned cash on conservation projects and education. Greer claimed all Terri wanted to do was sit at home without children (they were all Steve’s fault, because according to Greer nobody in the West likes children), and focus instead on writing books in which she could slag off others for doing the wrong thing all of the time. According to Greer, Irwin was the most self-delusional dictator to have ever stolen the limelight from bitter old bats who would claim that all men hate women and always have. Irwin’s marriage was exactly the kind of insecure machismo that Greer fought all her life to force people to see through. Every time Irwin saw his wife and daughter talking it made him feel so uneasy that he would feel compelled to yell “Crikey! Don’t let the chicks talk! Never let Chicks talk, mate. It’s dangerous! If you let Chicks talk, they have a good chance of killing ya’. Always make sure you beat your wife before you go to bed. Isn’t that right Terri? See? My wife can’t talk with a mouth full of broken teeth. Righto… back to the crocs then.”

Greer was a global phenomenon. Whenever a great person died she thought it was her God-given right to open her mouth and say something bad about them, even though it is an age old tradition across the globe to never speak ill of the dead. When Peter Brock died she said: “The Cars have finally taken revenge on him.” When the Dalai Lama passed on she said: “The Vegetarian diet has finally taught him the importance of good beef.” When George Harrison died she said: “The Beetles have finally taken back their rightful name from an untalented and obese woman-hater.” When Colin Thiele, author of Storm Boy, died she said: “There always should have been more sex scenes in that book. Colin knew he should have written more about the way pelicans and adolescents interact sexually. It is without regret that I say, finally, now that he is dead, I think the pelicans have taken Colin away to watch the bird on boy orgy he knew he should have put down in words. Damn woman hater.”

Greer was phenomenal because even when she was outnumbered by the thoughts and opinions of 99% of her fellow creatures she always believed that she was right. She believed every institution created by man and nature was not in the interest of any right minded academic. Upmost in her list was marriage: the creation of Satan himself. She was also of the belief that since birds mate for life, they were little Satan’s with wings, as “all a penguin needs is a pair of high heels and it will know the pain of all womyn.”

Greer was a superhuman generator of feminist merchandise, books, interactive games and action figures. Her most popular figure was a pull-string doll of herself holding a pen and saying, “The only place where a man can feel really secure is in a maximum security prison.” A true inspiration to happy peoples the world over.

In fact, the only creatures Greer couldn’t dominate were those happy with their lot. A happy person once did their best to rip her nose off her face. Happy people are a lot smarter than sad depressed opinionated bigots.

What seems to have happened on Greer’s country estate is that Greer and a fellow writer of outdated feminist tomes walked around Greer’s house to see what they could find as inspiration for the next nauseating highbrow claptrap to be published. What they found were nice, caring, spiritually and sexually aware men.

You can just imagine Greer yelling: “Struth, just look at these beauties! Crikey! With those minds a nice man could be the ultimate vessel of my indoctrination and mental abuse!” (Yes, Germaine, but most humans don’t want to be indoctrinated. They like free thought, for God’s sake.) All humans, including men, know a thing or two about a thing or two. We are now being told that only 0.5% of people have ever been indoctrinated by Australian expat feminist writers. A few of them must have been the women I went to uni with in the mid 1990’s. Uni back then was famous for its hardcore feminists who hated all men, and what men did, and what men wrote, and how they looked. But men back then did what most men do, put their heads down and got on with things as best they could, deflecting the verbal and physical abuse, accepting that they had a penis that most of the feminists hated intensively, but then always seemed to like at the end of the night when the hardcore feminists would always be the ones to invite the men into their beds to get to know better the thing they so hated. And we all know that bedding an eager sober feminist is the highest form of male repression, forcefully combining spontaneous female hatred and desire. And, that a skilfully induced male-made female orgasm is never supposed to happen because males can never ever have the knowledge, ability, sensuality or skill to create such a divinely feminine thing.  And, that such an orgasm could lead the rabidly horny feminist to forget her staunch position for an unguarded moment and admit to their attraction towards and respect for men, which ultimately leads to self combustion, because combustion is a physical process which self instigates if such a woman ever has to admit that she is wrong.

We believe this may have been the cause of Greer’s death. It was always suggested that Greer would rather die than admit that she may have been wrong.

As a girl, Greer should have had a healthy respect for nice men, which are actually more common and bigger in southern waters than they are in England, where Greer was killed. Another academic maintains that the nice man that Greer took out was a “really decent bloke”. Or Blokis really really decentus, but these are not usually found as far North as England. Marriage Scientist Dr Meredith Apple has been quoted as saying, “It’s really quite unusual for dates to be treated badly by a decent bloke unless the date is abusing the bloke, and knowing Germaine Greer, perhaps that may have been the case.” Not much sympathy there, then.

The only time Greer ever seemed less than entirely lovable to her fans (as distinct from rational devotees of free thought) was when she went into Uni with the bloke she had been dating in one hand and an engagement ring in the other. For a second you didn’t know which one she meant to devour: the diamond or the man. If Greer had been less depressed she might have made the right decision. As the catatonic Greer obediently threw away the engagement ring, the decent intelligent bloke walked away, having put up with enough of her bullshit. The adoring world was momentarily appalled. They call it bitterness and stupidity. Greer would never compromise. Greer would rather have war than peace. The bloke would have rather been anywhere else, and the engagement ring was melted down, but that’s entertainment at Uni.

Greer’s response to the sudden outburst of criticism was bizarre. She believed that she had the decent bloke under control. But she could have fallen in love, no, suggested an interviewer? She admitted that was possible, but only if a meteor had hit the earth and caused an earthquake of 6.6 on the Richter scale. That sort of self delusion is what it takes to be a “purely narrow minded selfish uncompromising bitch full of shit.”

What Greer never seemed to understand is that decent men are everywhere. The one lesson any feminist must labour home is that extreme feminist bigotry is the principal cause of missing out on meeting decent men.  Real relationships aren’t about control, or power. They are based upon love, understanding, equality, and unfortunately for Greer, compromise.

Irwin’s marriage was the perfect example of the male/female team that most married couples at least strive to attain in order to bring up their children in the best way possible. Not having succeeded in the realms of either marriage or children, Greer could only ever engage her unchanging bitterness to influence as many women around her to hate men in the same way that she hated men: by founding her hate on unfounded claims that all men hate women.

There was no man, no matter how upstanding, decent, honourable, moral, loving, inspirational or giving, that Greer hesitated to despise, trumpeting her self-reflecting theories to the skies. There was not one decent bloke that Greer was not prepared to evil-woman handle. Every man she brandished at the camera was in distress. Every man badgered by Greer was at a huge disadvantage, with only a single possible reaction to its terrifying situation, which was to strike. Easy enough to avoid, if you know what’s coming. Even my daughter knows that much. Those of us who live with men, which is pretty much the whole global population, know that they will get out of the way if we leave them a choice. Some men are described as aggressive, but, if you’re a man, unprovoked aggression doesn’t make sense. Men on a plane only want to get off. But Greer was a militant feminist, a 21st century Amazon with too much money who had forgotten to cut off her breast, and never learned to use a bow and arrow, who abused decent men instead of going after the real bastards.

In 2004, Greer was accused of illegally encroaching on the space of decent men in Australia, when she was writing a book called Ball Breaker. She rocked up at a casual dinner being held at a mate’s place in honour of a few birthdays, where about 15 guys were sitting around sipping wine, enjoying a bit of home cooking and generally talking about future plans, how wonderful their kids and wives were, and generally having a great time. All innocent fun. Greer turned up and started abusing the whole dinner party for being men. She refused to listen to the examples of conversations that had taken place, she refused to believe that there weren’t strippers in attendance or derogatory comments about ass and pussy being thrown about, and she refused to believe that the blokes weren’t going to kill each other or their wives and children before the end of the night. In short, she refused to believe that there was not a smidgeon of patriarchy in the room, and that all men present would not have felt more comfortable in a high security prison.

An investigation by the Australian Good Blokes Department resulted in no action taken, which is not surprising seeing that they thought they’d take pity on her because she had already placed herself in self-imposed exile. They knew that the rest of the country was pretty much over her bullshit by now anyway.

No one is really mourning for Greer, apart from the nutter who kidnapped her and thought she was her mum. She spoke ill of that many people and made that many sweeping generalisations about her fellow creatures that by the time Greer died of a broken heart when the last decent bloke rejected her want to have a child, people had simply had enough. What was relevant on the back of the hippy generation thirty years ago simply lost all credibility when its author came out and abused a man that the rest of the world truly respected in all the right ways and for all the right reasons. Even a fellow doctor, renowned for his sincere and upstanding temperament, who had worked hard for his title and had not bitched when Greer had been awarded an honorary one, labelled Greer an ‘oxygen thief’. Such comment is rare in academic fields, but it sadly seems that this had to be the final compliment to a woman whose once vibrant colours had faded into a melange of shit brown.

The world of the Decent Bloke has finally taken revenge on Greer, but probably not before a whole generation of little girls have learned to hate their fathers and brothers for all the wrong reasons, looking at the world in extremes of black and white, where women are always perfect and men are always evil, and determined to become bitter old hags talking ill of every truly happy family man that dies an untimely death doing what they love for all the right reasons.

* This is a re write of Germaine’s article about Steve Irwin published in The Guardian on Tuesday September 5, 2006. It can be found at:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/australia/story/0,,1865124,00.html#article_continue