First, an apology and then the bloodletting

      First, let me say right now that the majority of women are great creatures. I love them completely, particularly the ones who comment on my page. So I want to apologize for what follows. Because there are some woman -- one in particular -- that I'd like to shake until her teeth rattled. So please know that what follows is for her -- not for any of my commenters or regular readers -- even though she will never read this, and even if she did, she lacks the self-awareness to realize that I'm talking of her.
      To the whiney weasel woman:
      Shut up. Yes, that's what I most want to say to you. Shut up! Give us some peace and quiet, would you? Can you for once stop being so moody and whiney and self-absorbed? You could be a decent person if you'd stop thinking the whole universe revolves around you. But you can't do that, can you? You're just a child in a woman's body, and like a sugar-crazed toddler in a glass shop, you wander around shattering things and thinking that somehow we shouldn't blame you.
      I'm tired of you. Tired of your amazing ability to turn everything into a discussion about your life. Hey, I don't care what men have done to you in the past. I don't want to hear about your countless boyfriends who didn't recognize what a delicate flower they held. You were the only constant in all those many relationships. I'd say the problem was you. Got that? Let me repeat: YOU ARE THE PROBLEM.
      Stop lying. To us. To yourself. HAVE A BACKBONE! We all know you lie. The first thing out of your lips is a lie. You lie even when there's no reason to lie. And you've told us so many lies that you can't keep track of them, and we've stopped trying. Couldn't you stop by the truth once in a while? But no, the truth is too hard to face. Here's one truth for you: If you are unloved, it's because you are unlovable.
      Here's another one: Need isn't love. You're lonely; isn't that sad? You're depressed; isn't that terrible? Why is that anyone's problem but yours? The rest of us have crappy things that happen to us, too. The difference is that we don't stop our lives so that we can wallow in the ruin. We make it through it. We survive. We go on.
      I don't have much sympathy left for you. If this were an island, you'd be beaten up and voted off. If this were a jungle trek, you'd be tied up and left as a gift to the hungry natives. If this were a starship, you'd already be pushed out the airlock where we couldn't hear you whine.
      The worse part is that you know better. YOU KNOW BETTER. And you can run from it, you can drink until you forget, you can pop those pills, you can sleep with all the men in the phone book, but when you get done, when you're finished, you'll still be left with you.
      The best thing would be for you to grow up. You have a lot of things going for you. You could be a lovely, decent, talented, smart, wise woman whom anyone would want to love. Of course, pigs could fly, too.
      But until the day when we see pork in the treetops, I have only one request of you. Shut. Up.