Sex Strike with Joy Behar? Just Where Do I Sign?
Of all the liberal women on Planet Earth, I confidently announce that the absolute A-No. 1 Poor Choice for a Democrat spokeswoman to call for a National Sex Strike is Joy Behar. Amen. Boy howdy. Sign of the Cross. Star of David. Make a shadow puppet on the wall of some kale or whatever liberal vegans bow before in their worship of Beelzebub.
I could never understand the attraction of Behar’s audience. It’s been on ABC for 25 years now, attracting a smidge less than 3 million women viewers daily. Even liberal Wikipedia takes a shot at the show, describing it as “…featuring five slow-witted women who discuss the day’s ‘Hot Topics,’ such as sociopolitical and entertainment news.”
“The View” is a nagfest, a living, breathing Monty
Python skit, as if cast and audience were all mumbling Long John Silver As
A Soccer Mom imitations.
If the three cauldron-stirring witches from Macbeth were watching, they’d wince and complain: “…cripes; the Shrew Cable Network!”
And yet, Joy Behar and crew are now the self-appointed Sex Boycott Poster Babes for the Democratic Party?
What. Was the staff of Hooters at a weekend management seminar?
Recently, Joy called for America’s women to launch a nationwide boycott of sex. Why? To protest the Supreme Court’s ruling last week, striking down Roe v. Wade. Or, as we heartless conservatives like to call it: The “I’ll Make That Damn Baby Stop Crying” Act. A majority of Supes ruled a week back that abortion is not a constitutional right. A small cloud was blown off the oft-used headline: “Left EXPLODES!!” And, big surprise, they did. Again. Armed with bullhorns and braindead bumper stickers, the tedious and predictable reaction from mimes to movie stars, drug-addled celebs to performance art pests, was to douse themselves in pretend blood and roll out — Another. Big. Hissy. Fit.
It’s like they were a bunch of Los Angeles Laker fans. Now the debate on when to end a child’s life — in the womb or when they’re 23 and their boa constrictor knocked over their electric bong pipe and set the garage on fire — will go on.
Joy Behar? Calling for a sex strike?
That’s like me yelling into the next room: “Hey! I was thinking about driving out to Leatherface’s place from ‘Texas Chainsaw Massacre’ later today to see if he’ll sell me some firewood. Wanna drive out with me?”
Excuse me. Let me pause in the column to invite Guest Celebrity Curly Joe of the Three Stooges to doff his hat several times, blink, pull his shoulders up to his ears, do five madcap pirouettes, cross his eyes, go “gnyah!!-gnyah!!-gnyaa!!” and high-step it toward the horizon at the very stringing of “Sex” and “Joy Behar” in the same sentence.
Thank you, Curly Joe, for your unreimbursed editorial opinion, which does not necessarily but I’d bet a case of ice-cold imported lager reflect the opinion of The Signal newspaper.
I don’t think one should be calling for a sex strike when one’s 140. (Same age as a certain Signal letters to the editor writer.) Like Nancy Pelosi (Democrat), “The View” is evil. It’s like the EPA put Bette Davis, Joan Crawford, the shark in “Megalodon,” the Atomic Radiation Senior Depends Disposal Bin and Burt Reynolds’ toupee [currently used by Congresswoman Maxine Waters (Democrat)] in a blender and hit the puree switch.
Me? I’ve been blessed. I’ve been in relationships with some of the prettiest, most fetching and compelling sexy women to ever stalk the planet, while accompanied by bongo drums and soft saxophone music in the background. There’s not enough coma-inducing rum in all of piratedom to indulge in the white man’s overbite with anyone on “The View,” let alone suffer through afterglow. Joy Behar demanding: “Surrender your support of unprotected babies and worship Lord Satan or I’ll never give you sex again!!”?
Remember the end of “Braveheart?” They’re about to pull Mel Gibson apart with a team of horses? What does Mel yell? “FREEEEEEEE-DOMMMMMM!!!”
Let’s take a biblical perspective:
“Mr. SCV?” says St. Michael, the Archangel. “There’s an asteroid the size of Whoopi Goldberg headed butt-first toward Earth. Unless you sacrifice a conjugal visit with a certain unpleasant in Old Testament proportions talk show host, all life, even the slimy lying self-procreating microbe like Glendale congressman Adam Schiff (Democrat) will be wiped out.”
Trying not to ruffle a feather, I place my hand on St. Michael’s shoulder. I look him square in the eye and answer: “Mike. Humanity. It’s been a noble albeit questionable experiment. Thank you for your long and tireless service…” Then me and Curly Joe go “Woob-woob-woob!” and dive into a fiery pit.
Having Joy Behar lead the call for a national sex boycott is like having the 600-Pound Man from reality TV fame demand that the Hawaiian Sun Tropic Bikini Team have sex with him or he’ll eat a preposterously large sandwich.
Not enough wrinkled foreheads and confused hand gestures to make sense of it.
Sex boycott of Joy Behar? Any of the harpies from “The View?” MSNBC? CNN? USA Today? A certain annoying 3,000-year-old Signal LTTE writer? Not even if they kept the 12 large Piggly Wiggly paper sacks on over their heads during the unpleasant experience of straddling an iron lung.
Let me check my social calendar. Whoops. All booked until the 29th century so can’t have sex with you anyway, no matter if it’s to protest the Infield Fly Rule or The Mann Act of 1910. Not to mention, Joy? My choice. My body.
Which is going to need a boiling hydrogen peroxide bath after talking about the bump uglies with any of the Left’s Snarling Hunchbackettes of Notre Dame.
Besides.
We already have current laws on the books for sex boycotts. It’s called — “marriage…”